Chapter 42
Dirk
I head for Franklin, hoping the open road will clear my mind about Lucy’s proposal. I would have liked to see Lucy again before setting out, to offer her my support. But she made it clear to me she wants to buy the apartment herself.
And with Jamison under my feet, I need to act now to get my own unfinished business over and done with. No point delaying it.
In Jamison’s red car, I step on the gas, up the highway. Farms and fences and forests blur as the city disappears in the rear vision mirror. There’s so much space out here. Too much space.
I park at the Franklin realty company, Eric Nettleford and sons.
He and Millie were at school together. Everyone was at school with Millie.
As we shake hands, I try to forget his wife’s obsession with her bunions, and ignore Eric’s growing girth and family history of heart disease.
I can’t move on fast enough. But there’s the talk of the families, the weather, the price of cattle, the way Franklin has been discovered by citysiders wanting weekenders, by the tree changers.
He rubs his hands together when he hears what I want.
“I want out,” I say.
“No! We want you back, Doc. Find a little bride and bring her back with you. Hey. Find one in Franklin. No shortage of spinsters and widows pining for ya, Doc.”
“You don’t want me back, Eric. You want my old house on your books, before the spring sales.”
“I won’t argue with you, Doc. Be a fine property for us to shift for ya. The finest. In fact, I’ve got hot buyers on my books for a classic like that right now. We can move this pretty quick for ya if it’s what ya really want.”
He names a price I never would have dreamed.
There’ll be plenty here for me, and for Jamison, and for Dee if he’s talking truth.
You never can tell with estate agents. Might drag on for years, the place needing repairs.
Cracked winter pipes, new fire reg compliance, new roofing, Millie’s white picket fence needing repaints.
I know the place. The repairs never let up.
“Let me get back to you in an hour, Eric. I just want to revisit it one last time.”
“Of course, Doc.”
I told Jamison I wouldn’t help him financially, but I can’t say no to my boy.
To give him breathing space, I’ve bought his crazy red car from him after all.
I need wheels of some sort, and the array of choices is bewildering.
Given I’ve finally learned how to use this one and it gets me around town okay, and to Franklin, I might as well stick with it.
It’s twilight. Franklin was never at its best in winter. The town is asleep, apart from the bar. All the action is inside, behind glowing windows, as snow drifts down and smoke spirals up from a few chimneys.
It’s pretty as a picture, but I know most of the people and their diagnoses, their neuroses, their preoccupations and fears. I could never solve all their problems, hard as I tried. Roger Tappy cares for them now. I am free.
The Christmas lights are up on the community tree. Near the top, a yellow one blinks on and off, on and off.
I pull up at my old house. I’ve done it thousands of times.
This time, there is no cheery company in the passenger seat of Jamison’s jaunty sportscar, and nobody at all inside the place.
Strange. It is Lucy who springs to mind this time, not Millie; Lucy with her bright smile and energy.
Lucy with her beautiful warm body snuggled up to mine all that night after she’d trimmed the roses.
Lucy. Am I wrong to be holding a distance from her? I miss her. When I’m done with this business with the old house, I’ll reach out to her. I’d love to see more of Lucy in my life.
My footsteps resound in the old hallway. I was curious to see if anything would pull me back here, to this place where I slept every night for decades. But there are just my own echoes and memories of a life of toil.
The best memories are of my children as they ran to the door to greet me. As they still do, in my new life in the city. They are the future. This house was Millie’s dream, and with Millie gone, it has become irrelevant. Nobody needs me here now.
Millie cared deeply about this house. It’s like saying goodbye all over again.
I wanted to check, but I am resolved.
Back at Eric Nettleford’s we shake hands, I sign a few bits of paper, and I’m out the door and back in the car pointing west again. Farewell, Franklin.