The Caretaker of Lorne Field (19 page)

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.

That night he dreamt of his pa. He was back in high school, the night after his baseball team’s championship game. He almost won the game single-handedly, hitting two homeruns and a double and making several tough plays at third, but his team still lost 8-7. His pa missed the game like all his other games since he had to spend the day weeding Aukowies, but in the dream they had dinner together and afterwards he came up to the bedroom that Jack shared with his brother. His pa asked Joe to leave so him and Jack could talk alone.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there today.”

“I know, pa.”

“Your ma was telling me you almost carried your team on your back today.”

Jack was in the middle of oiling his glove. He wiped off some of the oil and rubbed what was left deep into the leather.

“My last at bat I was slow to the ball,” he said. “If I’d picked up on the spin faster I would’ve driven the ball over the fence instead of bouncing it off it. We would’ve won the game if I’d done that.”

“Sometimes it’s a matter of inches, son.”

“Yep.”

His pa sat silent for several minutes. Jack kept rubbing the oil deeper into his glove.

“Folks are saying you could be a big leaguer,” his pa finally said.

Jack shrugged.

“I’m sorry, son,” his pa said. “If it was up to me I’d make Joe the next Caretaker instead of you. But I can’t do it.”

“I know, pa.”

“Everything in the contract’s written for a reason. Any of us start messin’ with it and we’re all lost.”

Jack nodded and kept his eyes on his glove. He tried hard not to cry. He didn’t want his pa to see him crying.

“I know it ain’t fair,” his pa said. “I know it as well as anyone, son. But if I made Joe the next Caretaker, then what happens if he has two boys? Neither of them are going to want the job when the time comes. And they’ll have every reason to fight about it because I cheated with you. And then what? I can’t set that type of precedent, son, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“You don’t have to explain, pa.”

“But I want to. Nothin’ I’d want more than to see you have a chance playing professional ball. But if we start cheating on the contract, we got big problems. We have to follow the contract to the letter. This thing is bigger than you or me, Jack. Ain’t no job harder. You got the weight of the world on your shoulders. But you can do it, son. I got no doubt that you got it in you to be Caretaker. And as hard as the job is, people here will respect you for it. You’ll be saving their lives every day. It makes it easier knowing that. Most days it’s what keeps you going.”

The sixteen-year-old version of Jack Durkin in his dream nodded and wiped a finger across his eye, trying hard not to let his pa see that he was wiping away a tear.

Durkin woke up and realized he was crying in his sleep. He was ashamed of it, even though there was no one there to see it. He wiped a hand across his eyes, then lay in bed thinking about his dream. He tried to remember if he ever had had that talk with his pa and decided he hadn’t. He couldn’t even remember his pa ever eating dinner with them. It was just a dream, nothing more. His pa never talked to him about playing baseball. Never acknowledged that he was all-state or had set state records with both his twenty-two homeruns and .620 batting average. The only talk he could remember having with his pa about something other than his future as Caretaker was after his freshman year of high school. His pa suggested that he drop out of school since there was no point in continuing.

As he lay in bed thinking about his dream, he realized it was the first time in years that he had thought about his pa. It had been almost thirty years since the old man died. After he had retired as Caretaker, he moved to Florida and only five years later dropped dead from a stroke. The funeral took place in August, and because it was held where his pa had retired in Bradenton, Florida, Durkin couldn’t attend. It always bothered him that they couldn’t have held the funeral back home, but he understood why. After so many years of weeding Aukowies, his pa wanted to spend eternity as far away from Lorne Field as he could.

Jack Durkin peered at the clock until his eyes focused. It was only two thirty-seven in the morning. He closed his eyes again, hoping he’d be able to get some more sleep. It was the first dream he could remember having since he was maybe five or six years old, and he hoped it would be his last.

The next four days Jack Durkin didn’t know what else to do but to keep going back to the Rusty Nail for dinner. He had no other food left at home, he had no money and he didn’t even know what bank Lydia kept their money at—and even if he did, assuming there was still even any money in their account, he wouldn’t be able to get there during business hours. Each time he went back to the Rusty Nail, Charlie’s attitude seemed cooler. That fourth day Charlie asked him about Sheriff Wolcott sticking his hand into a clump of Aukowies.

“I heard he did that,” Charlie said, his voice strained. “How come they didn’t bite his fingers off like they did Lester’s thumb?”

“’Cause they didn’t.”

“That’s not a good enough answer, Jack.”

Durkin peered at Charlie and saw the hostility brewing over his old friend’s face. The muscles bunched up along the bartender’s neck and shoulders, the same as if he were about to throw a drunken troublemaker out of his bar.

“Because they knew they could cause me more trouble by not doing anything,” Durkin said.

“You’re kidding. That’s your explanation for it?”

“It’s the truth, Charlie. I could see it in their faces. Somehow they knew.”

Violence passed over Charlie’s face like a storm cloud. He stood clenching and unclenching his fists, but the violence mostly petered out.

“According to Sheriff Wolcott they’re nothing but weeds,” he said, his voice tight. “Unless you’ve got cash to pay for your food and drink, you better leave.”

Durkin left. When he got home he sat listening to his stomach rumble and tried to figure out what to do. He couldn’t think of anything else, so he called Hank Thompson.

“Jack, how are you holding up?” the attorney asked on hearing Durkin’s voice.

“Not so good.” Durkin hesitated, feeling sick to his stomach having to beg this way. “I don’t know if you heard, but Lydia left me.”

“No, Jack, I didn’t hear. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do, Hank. She took the car. I have no money and no food in the house. I don’t even know what bank she uses. If I can just make it another seven weeks or so until first frost, I can straighten everything out then—”

“Jack, not another word. How about I drive over and pick you up. There’s an all-night supermarket out on Route 30.”

“I hate putting you out like this, Hank.”

“It’s no bother, Jack. Just hold tight and I’ll be over soon.”

Twenty-five minutes later Hank Thompson pulled his Cadillac into the dirt driveway. When Durkin got in the car, Hank offered him a handshake, then pulled the car onto the road leading away from the cabin.

“Must be quiet in there with Lydia and the boys gone,” Hank said.

“I’m used to quiet.”

“Still a shame for this to have to happen. Jack, I’ll be deposing Lester next week. I’m hoping to shake the truth out of him so we can get him and Bert back home. Maybe if that happens Lydia will follow.”

Durkin didn’t say anything.

Hank cleared his throat and mentioned that the sheriff was spreading it around town that the only thing growing in Lorne Field were weeds. “He claims he stuck his hand in a bunch of them and nothing happened?”