Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“Aww,” Bert said. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Well, you will. That’s going to be one of the things I plan on taking video of. Although I ain’t never seen flames shoot that high from them before. Don’t know whether the Aukowies will cooperate like that tomorrow, but we’ll see.”

“It would be better if you wait on this,” Lydia said.

Durkin ignored her and took a second helping of pot roast.

Lydia sat thinking. The din of forks scraping plates and water glasses clinking and the grunting and chewing noises from her husband and sons blended with the roaring of blood rushing through her head. That fool husband of hers would probably try to give his video to the local news stations, not only killing that lawyer’s plans but making the family an even bigger joke to the town than they already were. She knew she’d have to make sure no one saw any video he took. She’d still talk with Paul Minter the following day, but no matter what, she was going to have to make sure no one saw any of that fool’s video.

The certainty calmed the roaring inside her head. The din became distinct noises again. The throbbing behind her eyeballs eased to a dull headache. She opened her eyes and continued eating her dinner. She was finishing up when there was a knock on the door. Durkin got up from the table and, after a minute or so of talking with someone outside the house, brought Charlie Harper into the kitchen. Charlie carried a six-pack of imported beer in one hand and a video camcorder in the other. He put the six-pack in the refrigerator before joining her husband at the table.

“Thought you could use some good beer,” he said.

“I appreciate it, Charlie. How about joining us for some pot roast?” Durkin offered. “Lydia really outdid herself this time.”

“Smells great, but I better not.” Charlie showed an uncomfortable grimace as he looked around the room. He said to Lydia, “Ah, Mrs. Durkin, I apologize for interrupting your dinner. I didn’t know what time you and Jack go to bed and I didn’t want to risk waking you folks up.”

She murmured something about it being alright.

Charlie nodded, mussed up Bert’s hair. “Damn, if you’re not growing like a string bean,” he said. “Last time I saw you, you were half this tall.” Bert grinned sheepishly and said something innocuous before turning back to his food.

“And it’s a pleasure seeing the future Caretaker,” Charlie said to Lester, his hand outstretched to him. Lester looked annoyed, but reached up and offered a weak handshake in return. “Not me,” he said. “Pulling weeds all day is lame.”

“What’s he talking about?” Charlie asked Durkin, his heavy face showing alarm.

“Don’t mind him. He’s going to be Caretaker when he turns twenty-one. As the contract requires.”

“No, I won’t!”

“Oh, yes you will, Lester. When you see what’s at stake you’ll change your tune fast enough.” Durkin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his son. “And I want you to join us. Mr. Harper’s going to teach me how to use his camcorder and I want you to learn, too.”

“I already know how to use one. I’m not an idiot.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. And you’re going to join us.”

“I’m still eating-”

“I said now!”

Charlie cleared his throat and said, “Jack, that’s all right. I don’t mind waiting.”

“No, you come all the way here to do me a favor, I’m not having you wait. And you told me at the door Sam’s minding the bar for you. You’ve been put out enough.”

“Jack, really, it’s not a problem. A few more minutes won’t matter and Sam’s fine behind the bar.”

Durkin shook his head. “Right now that old codger’s probably drinking you blind.”

Lydia, her voice pinched, suggested that her husband have Charlie show him and Lester right there in the kitchen how to use his camcorder.

“I could do that,” Charlie said.

Durkin’s lips curled over his teeth like he wanted to argue with his wife, but he nodded. “Alright, whatever’s easier for you. Lester, you get over here so you can watch.”

“I can watch where I’m sitting.”

“Look, I’m not going to tell you twice-”

“I have to think the boy’s fine where he is,” Charlie agreed. He nudged Durkin good-naturedly with his elbow. “Here, let me show you how to use this.” He went through the basics with Durkin, turning on the camcorder, recording video and playing it back on the view screen. He handed the camcorder to Durkin and helped him as Durkin’s thick fingers moved awkwardly over the controls. After a few tries and repeated instructions from Charlie, Durkin seemed to get the hang of it.

“Okay, let me show you how to zoom.”

Charlie showed Jack Durkin how to use the controls to bring the lens in and out. He had trouble manipulating the buttons with his thick callused fingers, but after a while he figured out how to position his nail just right so he could do it. He turned to Lester and asked whether he got all that.

“Hand me the camera and I’ll show you.”

Durkin handed the camcorder to his son, who then flicked a piece of carrot from his plate at his brother and recorded Bert’s reaction as the younger boy brushed the carrot piece frantically from his hair. Lester played the video back on the view screen, all the while smirking to himself.

“Very funny,” Durkin said.

“You wanted to know whether I knew how to use it.”

Charlie took the camcorder from Lester and got Durkin’s attention. “Let me rewind the tape. I recharged the batteries last night so you should be all set to go tomorrow.” Charlie turned the camcorder off and handed it to Durkin. “You’re going to let me see the video you take?”

Jack Durkin nodded. “You and the whole town.”

After Charlie Harper left, Jack Durkin took a couple of bottles of imported beer to the living room so he could drink them while he soaked his feet. Lydia stayed in the kitchen washing dishes and cleaning up. Both boys went upstairs. When they were alone in their room, Lester reared back with a clenched fist and struck Bert square in the shoulder.

“Oww!” Bert cried. He shied away and rubbed his shoulder, tears flooding his eyes. “Why’d you do that?”

“For being such a kiss-ass. Oh, daddy, please let me do it instead of Lester.” He clenched his fist tigher, muttered “asshole” under his breath.

“You better not hit me again.”

“Oh, no?” Lester raised his fist to deliver another blow but Bert stood his ground. “You better not,” Bert said, his voice changing to something threatening enough to stop Lester from following through with his punch. “I lied to Dad downstairs. I know you were one of the boys who threw tomatoes at him. You, Tony Morelli, Sam Parsons and Carl Ashworth.”

“Bullshit.” Lester’s color paled. He edged closer to his brother, his mouth pushed into a tiny circle and a sour breath came out of him. “Whoever told you that is full of shit.”

“Nope.” Bert shook his head. “I know it for a fact. Why’d you want to throw tomatoes at Dad?”

Lester’s eyes shifted away from Bert. He shook his head. He couldn’t articulate to his brother the frustration and humiliation that drove him to do what he did.

“You don’t want to tell me, don’t,” Bert said. “But you better be nice to me ’cause I know what will happen if Dad finds out what you did. I know because I snuck down to the basement this afternoon and read his contract. Want to know what will happen to you?”

Bert made a fist with his left hand and yanked it up while his head drooped towards his right shoulder, all the while his eyes bulging in a lifeless stare and his tongue pushing out of his mouth. He held that pose for a few seconds, then broke out laughing.