Count On Me: Baytown Boys

by Maryann Jordan

  Opening for questions, he was thrilled with the overall enthusiasm.

  “Will there be a registration?”

  Nodding, he said, “Runners can register early, or they can register that morning. Anyone under the age of eighteen must have parent permission.”

  “How safe will the fun run be for the kids?”

  “To make sure we don’t have any children running on the roads, the fun run will take place inside the fairgrounds. Only the 5K and 10K will travel along the country roads.”

  “I sure as hell can’t run… damn, I can hardly walk,” one of the older members chuckled. “How can we help?”

  Grinning widely, Scott replied, “Glad you asked!” The meeting participants broke out in laughter, and once it subsided, he answered, “The American Legion Auxiliary will be providing water bottles and energy bars for the participants. They will also be conducting a bake sale to raise money. Anyone willing to volunteer to monitor the racecourse, I’ll have a sign-up sheet for the end of this meeting. I know some of you will be running, but we can use people all along the way to help direct the runners along the roads, having golf carts around in case someone becomes fatigued or injured. I know Zac is coordinating the EMTs and paramedics in the area to provide assistance. Mitch, Colt, and Hannah will provide security.”

  Hannah was Easton’s Police Chief, a nearby small town, and Zac was Baytown’s Rescue Captain, once again proving that members of the AL were pillars in the community and perfect for arranging wide-scale activities.

  When there were no more questions, he nodded toward Ginny and moved back to his seat. Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, filled with enthusiasm and energy for the upcoming event.

  His mind was on what still needed to be done, and he almost missed Ginny’s final comments.

  “As we come to the end of the meeting,” Ginny said, “I want to let you know that we just received notice that we have lost one of our members. Beau Weston has been a member of our AL Chapter since it started. He’s been a resident of North Heron his whole life, living and working on Weston Farm. His granddaughter, Lizzie, found him on the farm earlier today, unresponsive. He was pronounced dead at North Heron Hospital soon after. I spoke with Lizzie briefly, but she was distraught and obviously had not had a chance to consider his services yet. As soon as those are firm, we’ll get an email out to everyone.”

  Ginny concluded the meeting, but Scott heard nothing as he fought to suck air into his lungs at the news. As soon as he could, he escaped the gathering, skipping the usual trip to Finn’s Pub with his friends, wanting to be alone.

  A few hours later, lying in bed as sleep eluded him, the news of Beau’s death still whirled in his mind. While he had only known Beau for a couple of years, he enjoyed their conversations and had looked forward to a time when he could meet with Beau and Lizzie about the plans for their farm.

  Rolling to the side, he stared out the window of his small house, the cloudless night allowing the stars to shine. Heart heavy, he remembered Beau’s words. When the good Lord decides to take me, I hope He takes me quick and easy, doing what I love best. He supposed Beau had gotten his wish and smiled at the thought of the old farmer dying the way he wanted. But then his mind turned to Lizzie and how alone she must feel. Damn, Beau’s last wish is his granddaughter’s nightmare.

  4

  The day was cloudy, but thankfully not rainy. The sun would occasionally peek through the thick white clouds, sending an immediate ray of sunshine toward the mourners below, then just as quickly pull the warmth away as it hid once more.

  Scott stood to the side, surrounded by other members of the American Legion. He had not been surprised to see the small church where Beau’s funeral service was held to be standing room only. The minister spoke of Beau’s undying love for his country, his farm, and his family. He spoke of the long line of Westons that had settled on the Eastern Shore in the 1800s. He spoke of Beau’s loving wife, Reba, and how the two were now joined once again.

  Several older members of the American Legion also gave eulogies, speaking of the man who would drop everything to come to the aid of a friend. Scott listened carefully to the words others said of Beau, not surprised to find that the man he’d enjoyed talking to was someone that others found easily relatable as well.

  Now the crowd had moved to the cemetery for the final ceremony. Scott leaned toward the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lizzie. Her blonde hair was so pale it appeared almost white against her dark, navy dress. Sunglasses covered a third of her face and a tissue was constantly lifted to wipe her tears and nose, keeping him from being able to discern her features. He wondered if she would have Beau’s piercing, intelligent blue eyes. He also wondered if, in better times, she shared Beau’s bright smile.

  She was standing next to a woman with short hair that was the same color as Lizzie’s and a tall man. He assumed they were her mother and stepfather, but it struck him how she still appeared very alone. A single, solitary figure amongst many. It also caught his attention that there were no women her age standing nearby, and he remembered Beau’s comment that she had little time for friends, spending most of her time on the farm.

  On the other side of the gravesite, he noted many of his friends from Baytown, some having been raised in the area as Lizzie had been. He did not know how old she was but wondered if she had attended high school with some of the Baytown men and women.

  Just as he had bonded with many of the men in the American Legion, he knew that many of their wives had formed a tight-knit group and would quickly swoop in if they saw a need. Staring at Lizzie, it was obvious to him there was a need. And while the women would befriend her, he hoped there was a place for him as well.

  He needed to talk to her about the farm, taxes, the estate, and especially her plans for the future. Seeing her lift the crumpled tissue to wipe a stray tear once more, he knew that discussion would have to wait. At least for a few days until she would be less exhausted.

  When the service was finally over, he watched an honor guard from the American Legion step forward to take the American flag that draped Beau’s casket, fold it, and present the neat triangle to Lizzie. Clutching the flag, she stepped forward and placed a single rose on Beau’s casket before moving to stand next to the minister.

  The gathering disbanded, everyone heading to their cars, and the men from the funeral home directed everyone as they exited the cemetery. Assuming she was well-tended, he looked over his shoulder, seeing her standing with just the minister and the couple. He waited by his truck, allowing the rest of the mourners to pass by, offering chin lifts to those he knew.

  Looking back to the gravesite, he watched as the couple led her away. Instead of settling into the back of the funeral home’s black Cadillac, she climbed alone into the old truck that he had last seen Beau driving. He hated to be caught staring but could not drag his eyes away as she drove by, her fingers tightly clutching the steering wheel and her sunglasses-covered eyes facing straight ahead.

  The urge to follow her and comfort her was strong. But what would I say? She doesn’t even know me. Surely, when she gets home, there will be others to see to her needs.

  Convincing himself that he was right, he climbed into his truck and headed into Baytown, knowing most of his friends would be gathered at Finn’s Pub.

  Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at a table next to Lia, her husband Aiden working behind the bar. Ginny, married to Brogan, the other McFarlane brother also behind the bar, sat next to Lia. Nearby were their other friends from Baytown: Mitch Evans, Grant Wilder, and Lance Greene, all members of the Baytown Police Department, and their wives Tori, Jillian, and Jade. Zac was with his wife, Maddie. He remembered that she was a counselor with the mental health group in town and stored that tidbit of information away in case Lizzie needed it.

  Gareth Harrison was married to Katelyn, the third McFarlane sibling who owned Finn’s Pub. Callan Ward, a Baytown native, now worked for the Virginia Marine Police. Hunter Simmo
ns was a detective for North Heron County, working under Sheriff Colt Hudson. Hunter’s wife Belle and Colt’s wife Carrie were sitting with Rose, owner of Sweet Rose Ice Cream Parlor. Her husband, Jason, was off to the side, sitting with one of the newer members of the American Legion, Joseph. Jason owned an auto mechanic shop along with a tattoo shop next door. He worked there rarely, but Joseph was now the main artist.

  Excusing himself, he walked up to the bar, ordering another beer. Eschewing small talk with Aiden and Brogan who were both busy behind the bar, he made his way over to Jason and Joseph. Shaking their hands in greeting, he said, “I wondered if you had a chance to fit me in for a consult sometime.”

  Both men nodded, and Jason asked, “I remember you talking to us about more ink. Are you ready?”

  Nodding, he said, “Yeah, but I’ll have to get the race over with first. I can’t have irritated skin while running. I’ve seen your work and know you’ll do a great job.”

  Joseph replied with a chin lift, and Scott knew there was very little he would get from the large, taciturn veteran. “I appreciate it. I’ll give you guys a call.”

  Veering toward the tables where most of the women gathered, he asked, “I want to ask you about Lizzie Weston. Did she go to school with any of you?”

  Jillian nodded and replied, “She was a couple of years younger than us, but I can honestly say I barely remember her.” Sighing heavily, she added, “I really hope that’s because she was quiet and not because I was so much in my clique that I ignored her.”

  Belle placed her hand on Jillian’s arm and said, “Jillian, you can’t take that on. Everyone in high school is cliquish. It’s just the way teenagers are.”

  Katelyn piped up, “It might be, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  Belle added quietly, “I do remember her, but barely. I was very shy in high school, and Lizzie lived in the county, not in town.”

  Tori, her gaze holding steady on Scott, asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “I spent time with Beau, both at the American Legion and professionally as his accountant. He had a lot of friends, and there were a lot of us there today. But I couldn’t help but notice that Lizzie didn’t seem to have a group of friends with her. Of course, it seemed like that was her mother standing next to her, so she’ll have company.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jillian said. “I overheard some people talking when they were in my coffee shop saying that her mother and stepfather won’t be able to stay because of a mission trip overseas.”

  Silence met her news and then, almost in unison, the women immediately began to toss out ideas.

  “We can take some food.”

  “We can visit her.”

  “We need to invite her to the American Legion Auxiliary.”

  Chuckling, Scott said, “I’m not sure she’s up to being overwhelmed at the moment. But I wanted to mention it. Beau indicated that she spent most of her time working the farm, and that may not have left a lot of time for socializing. I just hate to think about her being alone.”

  “Scott, I usually try to visit the family when there’s been a death of a client,” Lia said. “Since you were so close to Beau, I think that would be appropriate for you.”

  Nodding his agreement, he said, “I had already planned on doing that.” Looking at the women, he said, “Why don’t I visit her tomorrow, and then I’ll let Lia know how she’s doing and what she needs. Lia can then pass that on to the rest of you.”

  The friends all agreed, and he decided to forgo the beer he had just bought and said his goodbyes. Stepping out of the pub, the cloudy day finally gave way to a misty rain. He turned up the collar on his jacket and headed to his SUV. Once inside, he drove home, his mind on the visit he planned to make with Lizzie the next day.

  Lizzie sat alone at the kitchen table, a dull ache in her heart as well as her head. Several women from the church had brought casseroles that would still be sitting on the counter if her mother had not wrapped them and placed a few into the refrigerator and the rest into the freezer.

  She had offered thanks for the food, her grandfather’s words ringing in her mind. “Lizzie, always accept the gifts of others with gratitude, even if you don’t want it. If someone wants to give, allow them that charity.”

  Her mother had wrapped her arms around Lizzie once more, and the two women grieved as they clung to each other. “I loved him so much,” her mother said. “He was more father than father-in-law to me. I’m only glad that he and dear Reba are finally together.”

  Her stepfather had offered to take care of the animals that evening, but it was all Lizzie could do to keep from rolling her eyes at the thought of kind but citified Richard trying to take care of the goats and alpacas. She loved her stepfather and appreciated his offer, but he was unused to farm work and would never be able to properly handle the animals.

  “Mom, Richard, you don’t need to stay. I know you need to fly back soon. Why don’t you come back in a few months when you can stay longer, and we can all remember Papa Beau and not cry so much.” Her parents had just made it in for the funeral but did not have many days for bereavement leave.

  “Oh, baby, I don’t want to leave you here alone—”

  “Mom, I don’t mind. Really. You two are needed there. I’ll be fine, and I have the farm to keep me busy.”

  They chatted for several more minutes, her mother extracting a promise that Lizzie would call every day. That seemed to placate them, and when she finally closed the door, she stood for a long moment with her hand still on the doorknob and her forehead pressed against the solid wood. She had been uncertain if it was possible for her to cry any more, but as she slid to the floor, it was evident that acute grief produced an unlimited number of tears.

  Once spent, she stood and climbed the stairs. Stripping out of one of her few good dresses, she pulled on her jeans and a flannel shirt. Jerking on a thick pair of socks, she went back downstairs, through the kitchen, and into the mud room where she slid her feet into her work boots.

  Stepping outside, she ignored the mist falling, knowing there were animals to feed, eggs to collect, and goats to milk. Unlike other jobs where bereavement leave was expected and taken, farm work did not stop even when your heart was breaking.

  Now, several hours later, the animals were in the barn, fed and milked. The hens were roosting, their eggs collected. She had walked around the fence line, checking to make sure the pastures were secure, and she was now sitting at the kitchen table.

  She had no desire to eat, feeling nauseous at the idea of food. She simply sat with her forearms resting on the table, her hands clasped together. The house was eerily quiet. She waited, almost expecting to hear her grandfather walking through the back door, the heavy clump of his boots hitting the floor. She wanted to glance to the side and see him walk into the kitchen, his wide smile greeting her. He would have talked about the animals, what needed to be repaired on the farm, how the garden was doing, and even news and gossip from the neighbors.

  But he was not there, and the bone-chilling acknowledgment that he would never greet her that way again moved over her. She let out a long, shaky breath. Standing, she moved to the back door to check the lock, then repeated the action with the front door, something that he had done each night.

  Walking up the stairs, she stopped outside the room that was his, the one he had shared with Grandma. The night he died, she had come in from the hospital and closed his door, unwilling to peer inside. Now, she hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, then slowly backed away. Not now. Not tonight.

  Her room was across the hall, and she went inside, stripping out of her work clothes. After a quick shower, not willing to wait for the water to warm, she pulled an old, soft T-shirt over her head. She barely glanced at the unrecognizable woman in the mirror. Climbing underneath the covers, she lay for hours, but sleep did not come. Her chest heaved and another cursed tear slid down her cheek, wetting her pillow.

  She wondered if she would re
st any that night, knowing that early the next morning she would need to rise as she did every day. The farm and the animals would not wait for grief.

  5

  The next morning, Lizzie pried her swollen eyes open, wanting to do nothing more than pull the covers over her head and not move. In the distance, she could hear the bleating of goats and sighed heavily as she sat up in bed. Looking around her room, she could almost pretend that it was just another day. A day where she and Papa Beau would rise early, greet each other before both going out for the pre-breakfast chores. Once done, they would meet back at the house where they worked side-by-side fixing a hearty breakfast, downing it with strong coffee. They would sit at the table and discuss the day, then, once the breakfast dishes were cleaned, they would head back out, each taking care of what needed to be done on the farm.

  But now, sitting in bed, there was nothing but silence in the house, and a weight settled on her chest so heavy she wondered how her body did not cave in. The bleating continued and, not giving in to the overwhelming grief, she flung the bed covers back. Dressing quickly, she ran a brush through her hair before tying it back then pulling her ponytail through the back of a baseball cap.

  Repeating the actions that were rote, she headed outside. The back door led to a brick patio, and from there, a worn path led to the gravel drive. The animals heard the sound of her boots approaching as she walked toward the barn, their bleats increasing in volume.

  The two-story structure held enclosures for the alpacas and the goats. Sunlight sent rays through the dust as it beamed through a few loose boards. A large metal bin contained some of the food. Tools were now on the second story along with some hay. Throwing open the door, she observed the goats all vying for attention, pushing against each other in an effort to be fed first.