Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Landon
“I don’t want any son of a bitch green tea! Your sister tried that when she was here too.”
“Tried to get you healthier? What an asshole.”
I get a sneer for my efforts. He gets the refrigerator door slammed, and the old blue metal cup he handed me tossed in the sink.
“Jesus, Landon! My ears!”
Good. Maybe he will get the message and stop being this new version of himself.
The dogs take off like bats escaping hell.
They are looking for better company. Biscuit and Barney have taken to leaving the room whenever the yelling gets too annoying.
Who says animals aren’t intuitive beings?
This time they didn’t see it coming though.
Zero to sixty has become a quicker trip lately.
Here we are a few days into Holly and things are not getting better. They have taken a bad turn.
I worry. He isn’t improving. Psychologically, he’s worse than when we started.
Physically, he is stuck in the same place and doesn’t seem to want things to change.
The hip, the ankle, both better. But you wouldn’t know by the time spent sitting, laying.
The white beard has morphed into a shapeless mess.
He looks like Santa gone rogue. It’s driving me crazy.
I am tired at one-thirty in the afternoon and need a shower.
I stink from ripping out the dead growth by the empty dog run.
There is so much more to be done, it is almost overwhelming.
How did he ever take care of this place by himself?
And run Mom's. The thought of my shift at the bar starting at six depresses the hell out of me. I will be counting the minutes till it’s over.
“The physical therapist will be here in a half hour. Try not to piss her off again.”
There is way too long a pause, and no pushback. Something is off.
“What the fuck did you do, Dad?”
“Got rid of her. That’s what I did. Don’t give me any grief about it, either. She wasn’t doing anything!”
“The hell she wasn’t! It’s you who drops the ball. I’ve had to practically force you to do half the exercises she gave you to do when she isn’t here. Who you bullshitting, Dad?”
“I don’t like to do them! It hurts me!”
My sarcasm slips out.
“Why do you think that is? You’re getting stiff because YOU’RE NOT DOING THE EXERCISES!”
He doesn’t continue the “conversation”. Instead he goes quiet. Shit. I bring the heat down and speak in a calm voice.
“You did them for Kim.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
He looks defeated and I hate to see it on the face of a man who never was intimidated by anything.
“I can’t explain. It just was.”
His head turns and stares out the window.
“Listen. Do you think if she comes back and stays here, for I don’t know a month or so, you would keep up with the physical therapy?”
Now I have his attention.
“Yeah. Probably. Yeah.”
“You know I eventually have to get back to Memphis. I verbally committed to a job starting at the end of August. It’s a good payday for me, subcontracting for a company I have been wanting to work with. But with you in this condition, I don’t see how I can leave.”
The delivery sounded harsh, but he needs to see the consequences of not doing anything to help himself.
“I wouldn’t want to mess anything up for you, Landon. Go ahead, see if she’s interested.”
“There is no use offering her the job if you’re going to treat her the same way you have the other therapists. It’s abusive, and I wouldn’t have her be in that kind of situation.”
Tilting his head he reads my face.
“I have never abused a woman in my life. I think it’s you who would like the arrangement. Right?”
“Yeah, I’d like it.”
What’s the use denying what is obvious to us both? Besides, it makes the old man happy. Her being here wouldn’t just be for his benefit. We are both needy fucks.
“What could we offer her, money wise? I can’t afford much. And you can’t either.”
“I think if we sell a few things around here that are just taking up space, we could swing something that wouldn’t insult her. It would just be a temporary gig. A month, maybe two at the outside.”
“Sell what things?”
“Like the big lawn mower. You could hire some day workers every few months or so to do the job. And doing it regularly would bring the price down. Or we can take it out and plant something that doesn’t need constant maintaining.”
One crooked index finger sort of points my way.
“Don’t think I’m going to sell the bike. That won’t happen.”
I feel the anger spark inside me. My voice rises.
“I said nothing about the Fat Boy. I know you’re going to try to hold on to it.”
“That’s right. Even if the day comes that I can’t ride it anymore, you know in twenty years or so, I still want to look at it, sit on it. Your mother still likes to sit behind me.”
Man, that about kills me. In my ear I hear her whisper.
“Don’t be so grumpy, Landon.”
So I tone it down.
“The bar is bleeding money, Dad, and we need to upgrade a few things there and here on the property. Things have gone to shit. Why is that, exactly? Tell me how it happened.”
A long sigh precedes his answer.
“I haven’t felt good enough to handle the bar and the property. I had to pick one that had to suffer more than the other. Things will get better now that they fixed my heart. And I will do better with the exercising.”
I take a seat so we can get to the bottom of things.
“Wish you would have told me before. I would have helped.”
“How, Landon? You don’t live here. You have your own life and your sister does too. I wouldn’t want it any other way. That is how your mother and I raised you. To be independent. I’ll figure something out.”
“Well, the first change we need to aim for is getting you strong. You can do it, but you have to put in the effort. Nobody can do that for you.”
I see the tears gathering in his eyes. I step up the pep talk.
“Maybe we can do it together though. With Kim’s help I think it’ll happen. She can cook us healthy meals and we can try being less grumpy with each other. Bottom line? We’ll try really hard not to be ourselves.”
That makes him chuckle through the tears that spill over. He wipes his cheek with the back of a hand.
“You are as big an asshole as I am. Just sometimes,” he adds.
“So I’ve heard. But Mom liked us, so we can’t be all that bad.”
“True. I love you, son. Like she did.”
Oh brother. Now it is me battling tears. I push the feeling away and step on it as I go by.
“Yeah, me too. I’m going to call Kim, and I want you in on the conversation. From now on you are going to make all the decisions, Dad. You aren’t some old ass fart having trouble thinking straight.”
“No, I am not,” he says, sounding as badass as he used to.
“Get in control of your life and make it right. I will help, and hopefully Kim will be onboard. Stacy can help too. She can be our consultant at least. The goodie packages she sends can be your rewards for sticking to the exercises.”
“Yeah. She’s a good girl. I know she wishes she could do more.”
“But you have to be willing to reclaim yourself. Otherwise it won’t work. You’ll end up losing a lot more than your mobility. Your independence, Mom's, and this place. No shit Dad, this is serious. Everything is on the line.”
Putting words to the reality of the situation scares him. It is all over his face.
“That isn’t going to happen. No way.”
“It could. If you lose Mom's, and have no income, you won’t be able to afford the property taxes or maintenance. Neither of your children have that kind of money to help. The house of cards will fall. It’s up to you.”
I grab my cell off the coffee table and tap on Kim’s name.
“I’m calling her.”
Three rings later her voice answers.
“Hello cowboy.”
“I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Thanks for the heads up. What’s happening there at Rancho Ronnie?”
“Dad and I have a proposition for you.”
“What sort of proposition?”
“It’s better if we tell you in person. Is there any chance you can come over?”
“Yeah, sure. You have me intrigued now.”
“Listen, I’ll make us dinner. Want to spend the night?”
She hesitates with the answer, but I know it is only because my father’s listening.
“Sounds good. I’ll get my things together and be over in about an hour.”
“Thank you, Kim!”
“You’re welcome, Ronnie. I’ll bring you grapefruits from my tree.”
His face scrunches in distaste.
“Great!” he lies.
The late afternoon Tennessee sky holds memories of other days.
Sitting on the porch, watching the sun begin to dip, reminds me of when I was a kid.
After school, I couldn’t get home fast enough.
The property allowed a boy’s imagination to fly.
I was a pirate burying secret treasure in the dirt.
Superman leaping boulders in a single bound.
A biker on his Harley that looked suspiciously like my bicycle.
Dad and I are good at being silent. It is not uncomfortable for either of us.
Turning to him, I say the first words we have spoken since sitting our asses down ten minutes ago.
“Remember my first motorcycle?”
“Yeah, of course. I had to fight your mother on that one. She thought you were too young.”
“No. I’m talking the Mountain Bike.”
“You still have it, right? It must be twenty-five years old by now.”
“You guys bought it for my ninth birthday. Of course I still have it.”
That brings a smile to his face. It is accompanied by the expression he’s thinking of those days.
“You would put my leather gloves on. And your helmet. I knew then. You’d be a man who understood how satisfying it is to ride. How it feels with the wind in your face. You were already hooked.”
The sound of Kim’s car reaches us.
“Here she is,” I say, getting up.
The Honda pulls in front of the house and the engine quiets. Her head lowers and catches the scene. She smiles.
“That looks like a good time,” she says, getting out. “Let me get this inside and I’ll join you.”