Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

That thought had brought her out of her near catatonic state. She knew he wouldn’t do anything that went against the contract. An impulse hit her to burn the damn thing but instead she read it carefully, line by line. And she kept going over it until she understood it.

She knew he wouldn’t agree to let people come out to Lorne Field to watch him. And she knew selling those weeds would also be a sticking point for him. But the rest of it seemed possible. None of the other things violated the contract. Nothing in the contract stated that the Caretaker’s Cabin couldn’t be turned into a museum and gift shop. Nothing in it against selling tee shirts and dolls. As pigheaded as he was, the only thing that mattered much to him was that piece of paper. It governed his life and set the rules he lived by. Made him pretty much live like a hermit spending half the year pulling those damn weed and the other half sitting alone in their house, supposedly gathering his strength for the next season. Anything falling outside of that contract didn’t concern him in the least. Once she realized he’d probably go along with most of what the lawyer wanted she started shaking worse than before, her teeth chattering as if she had a 103 degree fever. She had to grab herself and rock back and forth in her chair for a good half hour before she could stop.

For most of the rest of the afternoon she debated whether to broach the subject with him or leave it to the attorney as planned. She decided that if she brought the plan up to him he’d turn her down just to be obstinate and that it would be better to let the attorney do it later, after all the details were worked out. After settling on that, she went shopping and bought the ingredients for pot roast and mashed potatoes.

Bert entered the kitchen. He told her that it smelled good in there and that dad had asked him to help her set the table. The way Bert grinned good-naturedly at her, she couldn’t help herself from hugging him and giving him a long kiss on the forehead.

“What was that for?” Bert asked.

“Nothing.” She wiped a couple of tears from her eyes. “Why don’t you help me set the table?”

By the time the plates and silverware were set down, Lester came into the kitchen and murmured that he was told to help. “Why don’t you get the water glasses, dear.” Lester made a face to indicate how cruelly he was being put upon, but trudged over to the cabinet for the glasses. Lydia asked Bert to tell his pa that dinner was ready.

The kitchen table was cramped enough with all four of them sitting around it, but with the place settings, pots and serving spoons positioned in the middle of the table, there was barely room for the salt and pepper shakers. It’d been months since they’d eaten dinner together. Durkin carefully inspected the pot roast and mashed potatoes, then told his boys to thank their ma for preparing such a nice dinner. While spooning out the food he cracked a couple of jokes at his own expense and laughed at them, too. His good mood seemed contagious, not that it took a lot to get Bert grinning. Lester tried but couldn’t keep from laughing at a few of the jokes, and even Lydia at one point cracked a smile. When Durkin, in between bites of pot roast, asked his sons if they’d found out anything about the delinquents who threw tomatoes at him, the mood shifted quickly. Forget dark clouds, more like a total eclipse had descended upon the room. Bert said he’d been asking around but no one knew anything. Lester shrugged, said he heard it was some kids from another town, but he couldn’t find out anything else.

“What other town?” Durkin demanded.

“I dunno. That’s all I heard.”

“Who’d you hear it from?”

“I dunno. I just heard some kid say it.”

“Well, come on, boy, think. What was the name of this kid?”

“I dunno. Just some kid. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“For Chrissakes, start paying attention to what’s going on around you!” Exasperated, Durkin pointed his fork at Lester for emphasis. “You keep asking around. And get me the name of that boy. This is important.”

“Maybe you should let it drop,” Lydia said.

Durkin stared hard at her. He could’ve been choking with the way his face purpled. A minute passed before he moved. All the while Lydia ignored him and casually ate her dinner.

“I’m not going to let this drop,” he said finally.

“Then don’t. Go ahead, give yourself a stroke worrying about it.”

“They violated the contract!”

“I think I heard something about that already.”

Durkin flashed her an annoyed look before turning to his boys and telling them to keep asking around. “I want to know their names and what town they came from,” he said.

He pushed his plate away and stared petulantly at it. Bert made a face like he had an upset stomach. Lester started pushing his food slowly around his plate. Lydia watched all this for a while, then asked her husband whether he was going to let good food go to waste.

“I lost my appetite.”

“That’s too bad. Especially since it’s your favorite.”

Durkin stared reluctantly back at his plate, then started eating again, slower, grudgingly. Both his sons picked up their forks and started eating again, also somewhat grudgingly.

Lydia asked her husband how he was going to prove he was pulling out something other than weeds from Lorne Field.

He waited until he finished chewing a mouthful of food and said, “I’m gonna videotape the Aukowies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Charlie Harper’s stopping by later tonight to drop off a video camcorder. Tomorrow I’m going to record those mean little suckers in action. There’ll be no doubt then they ain’t weeds.”

Lydia sat still for a moment before his words made sense. Then she felt a dull throbbing start behind her eyeballs. It probably didn’t matter that he was going to make a video proving those things were nothing but weeds. With or without that video, who’d actually believe they were anything but weeds? Still, realizing that didn’t stop the dull throbbing behind her eyeballs. She couldn’t stop thinking that somehow he was going to screw things up. That somehow his video would ruin the mystique of monsters growing in Lorne Field. That it would send that lawyer’s plans flushing down the toilet and their future along with it. She was going to have to call Paul Minter tomorrow and tell him about it. Thinking about that made the dull throbbing worse. She closed her eyes and rubbed small circles along her temples.

“Maybe you can wait until next week,” she whispered.

“What did you say? Speak up, I couldn’t hear a word you said.”

“I said maybe you could wait to do that.”

“What for? The quicker I prove to you and the rest of the town what these Aukowies really are, the better.” He turned to point a forkful of food at Lester. “Which reminds me,” he said. “I need you to go to the Army Surplus store on Maple tomorrow morning. Talk to Jerry Hallwell. He knows what you need and it’s already taken care of. After that I want you heading straight to Lorne Field. Don’t enter it, though. Don’t even step a foot in it. I’ll meet you at the edge.”

“Aw, geez,” Lester complained. “I have plans for tomorrow-”

“Why you asking Lester to go there?” Lydia interrupted, her voice sounding awkward to her, almost as if it were coming out of an echo chamber.

“’Cause it’s about time I teach him how to kill Aukowies. And besides, I need him to help me make my video.” He turned to Lester, “About your plans. Too bad. We all got sacrifices we need to make. You just do as you’re told.”

“Dad, if you want I could do it instead,” Bert volunteered.

“I wish I could let you.” Durkin sighed, then shared a wicked grin with his son. “Bert, you should’ve seen the Aukowies today when I set fire to them. I don’t know why, but the flames shot twenty feet upwards. It was something to see.”