Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

When he saw the empty bed and the open dresser drawers he realized what had happened. He didn’t bother checking whether the drawers were empty. Instead, he walked back downstairs, forced his work boots onto his grossly swollen feet and set off to Lorne Field as required by his contract.

The Aukowies seemed aware of the schism that had occurred the previous day in their death struggles with Jack Durkin and all the Caretakers before him. It wasn’t anything Durkin could put his finger on, just a vague sense of dread. Maybe it was the way they stared at him, as though they were expecting something. They still mostly played possum, not putting up much more of a fight than usual when he ripped them from the ground. But all day he had trouble shaking an uneasiness deep in his gut that things had changed. He felt himself dragging, his bones feeling like they’d been filled with lead and his muscles with rubber.

When he got home that evening he realized for the first time that his car was gone. He tried to remember whether he had seen it that morning and decided he hadn’t. Lydia must’ve taken it when she left the other day. He didn’t bother pulling his work boots off at the door. Without Lydia there to harp on him, why bother?

There were still a couple of beers left from the six-pack Charlie Harper had brought over. He drank one of them while he searched through the refrigerator. There wasn’t much in there, and he didn’t feel like having cornflakes for a third straight meal. He hated the idea of imposing on Charlie after eating at his bar only a few nights earlier, but he rationalized that a cheeseburger, fries and a beer weren’t too much to ask for breaking his back all day to keep Charlie and his family alive. In any case, he needed to bring him back his broken camcorder, and that night was as good as any to do that.

With his car gone, Durkin checked the attached garage his pa had built forty years earlier and found Lester’s mountain bike stored inside. It was different than the kind of bike he was used to. He couldn’t sit straight up on it, instead had to lean forward and put tension on his already sore shoulders. It was also hard getting the thing going, especially since he had Charlie’s camcorder wrapped around his right wrist. He tipped over a few times, but after a half hour or so he got the hang of it. Not that he ever felt comfortable on the bike, but at least he was able to get the thing moving.

It was eight miles from his home to the center of town. When he got off the bike in front of the Rusty Nail, he could barely lift his arms, and his legs were so shaky he doubted whether he’d be able to walk more than a few feet. He lowered himself to the pavement and sat on the curb to rest. He heard cars passing him and could sense them staring at him as they drove by, but he kept his eyes cast down towards his feet. If they wanted to think he cut off Lester’s thumb, that was their business.

When his legs felt less shaky, he got to his feet and entered the Rusty Nail in a stumbling shuffle. Charlie was working the bar. He nodded to him with an odd sort of look on his face. Durkin nodded back. He grimaced painfully at the bar stools, decided he had little chance of getting himself up on one and instead made his way to one of the empty tables. Charlie came over a short time later with a pint of beer. He handed it to Jack and stood awkwardly by the table wiping his hands on his bar apron. A strained smile showed on his large broad face.

“Can we talk a minute?” he asked.

Durkin nodded. “Sure. I need to talk to you anyway about your camcorder. Lester dropped it the other day when he was recording one of the Aukowies in action. I think he might’ve broke it. If you can figure out how much it costs to fix I’ll pay you, otherwise I’ll buy you a new one.”

Charlie picked up the camcorder and examined it. “It doesn’t look like it’s turning on,” he said.

“No, it don’t.”

“Maybe it’s still covered by the warranty. I’ll check.” He sighed and waved the issue away. “Don’t worry about it. You said Lester was recording one of the Aukowies in action?”

“Yep. I let one of them grow to a foot high. It’s the reason he dropped the camcorder. When the thing shot out at me, it startled him.”

“You have this on videotape?” Charlie asked, anxiousness tightening his mouth.

Durkin took a sip of his beer and shook his head. “I would except Lydia took the tape out of it before I left to the field.”

“Why’d she do that?”

Durkin took another long drink of his beer. His eyes glazed over as he thought about his answer. “Because she thought I was going to make a fool out of myself and embarrass the family trying to prove that the Aukowies were nothing but weeds.”

Charlie’s face deflated. He nodded to the chair opposite Durkin. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Nope, not at all.”

Charlie pulled the chair out and perched uncomfortably on it. “That’s an awful shame Lydia did that,” he said.

“Yep.”

“I heard about your son. About his thumb…”

Durkin nodded. “One of the Aukowies bit it off.”

Charlie’s mouth fell open and he gawked at Durkin.

“Saw it with my own eyes,” Durkin said.

Charlie closed his mouth. He nodded dully and rubbed the knuckles on one of his large raw hands. “The story going around is he’s claiming you cut his thumb off,” he said.

“It ain’t the truth, though. I know that’s the story Sheriff Wolcott was telling in court, but it ain’t what happened.”

Charlie stared back down at his hands as he continued rubbing his knuckles. “Why’d you think Lester would say that?”

“I don’t know. But it ain’t true.”

“I hear Lydia’s got a cast on her hand.”

Durkin took a sip of his beer and didn’t say anything.

“I also hear she moved out on you.”

“Did you hear where she moved to?”

“No.”

“Well, she wasn’t home last night, so I guess you heard right.”

“What’s with the cast?”

“I think she broke her hand.”

“How’d that happen?”

“She got mad and hit the table. I didn’t hurt my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Charlie kept rubbing his large thick knuckles. He looked up at Durkin and met his stare. His eyes were pale blue glass. “Why’d she move out, Jack?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

Charlie let go of his knuckles and put his hand behind his neck as if he were feeling for bumps. “How about taking me to that field?” he asked.

“I can’t do it, Charlie. I’d like to, but I can’t.”

“I hear others have been up there.”

“They have, but not ’cause of me. I can’t violate the contract. Things just get harder when I do.”

“Five minutes, Jack. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Chrissakes, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s face screwed up as if he were going to argue, but instead he pushed himself to his feet. “I understand,” he said. He didn’t look directly at Durkin. “I better get back to the bar.” He hesitated. “How about some food? You want anything?”

“A cheeseburger and fries?”

“Sure. No problem.”

When the food was ready, Charlie brought it over with another beer. This time he didn’t stop to talk. Just gave a polite nod.

Durkin tried watching the ballgame on TV, but his mind floated too much for him to follow it. One minute a batter would be up, the next he’d either be on base or heading back to the dugout, and Durkin would have no idea what had happened in between. It was as if slices of the game were disappearing on him. When he was done eating, he left the bar and pedaled home on Lester’s bike. Later, when he was on the sofa, it took almost ten minutes to pull his work boots off, and after he did, he soaked his feet and tried not to think of anything, especially the looks he caught out of the corner of his eye all night from Charlie.