by Kasi Blake
* * *
The service was heart-felt, with the priest offering thoughts on life interspersed with his homily. The casket was lowered, dirt was thrown representationally on top, and friends and family slowly dispersed. Matthew and Joan made their farewells, and yet I found I could not leave. Jason stayed quietly by my side, not saying a word, and I stared down at the grave, lost in thought.
I had found a peace of sorts. My sleep had been even, my yoga practice rich with focus and purpose. John had apparently lived a good life, one full of family and friends, with smiles and good nature. It was a story worth telling. I would at least make my offer, and see what his son had to say.
There was a soft clearing of a throat behind us, and Jason and I turned together. A short, Asian man stood before us, perhaps in his early fifties, with clear, olive skin and gently sloping eyes. His dark hair was neatly cut and he wore an elegant, doe-brown wool coat.
“I do not mean to intrude,” he began, his voice gentle. “Did you know him well?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not,” I admitted. “I never had the privilege of speaking with him.”
“Then how …” His voice trailed off as he looked between us. At last he spoke again. “You must be Morgan,” he started afresh, his voice holding a hint of wonder.
“I am,” I agreed, curious.
He put out his hand. “I am Jeff Dixon,” he introduced. “I’m John’s son.”
I took his hand, trying to hide the surprise that swept over me, but his mouth creased into a smile and he gave a soft shake of his head. “Everyone has that reaction,” he assured me. “My father met my mother in Cambodia. She was a civil engineer working on a water project. She was already pregnant with me, but my birth father had been killed in the conflict. John was the only father I have ever known, and he was the best I could have hoped for.” His eyes glistened with emotion for a moment. “I will miss him dearly.”
He drew in a breath and turned to Jason. “And you must be the ranger, then. Jason, was it?”
Jason nodded, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he offered. “If there is anything we can do for you, please just ask.”
Jeff looked between us. “You have already done so much,” he insisted with feeling. “If it were not for you, he could have lain out there for weeks while I went crazy with worry. By the time we found him, he could have been –” His voice caught. “There are coyotes and raccoons in those woods,” he finished after a moment. “You were a blessing, to find him so quickly.”
“Your father did not suffer,” consoled Jason in a low voice. “The M.E. said death was immediate.”
“Another blessing,” agreed Jeff. “One I am quite grateful for. I told Popovich that he should not feel any guilt at all. Anyone could have made that kind of mistake. My father loved to hunt, and their positions could easily have been reversed.” He looked down at the coffin for a moment. “A tragic accident. And he had his health problems. He was nearing the end.”
He pursed his lips in a line. “Still, he was so set on putting down his memoirs before he went. It had become an obsession for him, this past month, after his last trip to the doctor’s. When Matthew brought that old PC for him to work on, I almost thought to myself, ‘well, this is it.’ I had a sense that my father would work furiously to get out the words, and then I would find him one morning, lying in bed, a glowing smile on his lips, his writing complete and his soul departed.” He dropped his eyes. “I guess fate didn’t offer him those last few weeks.”
A tremor ran through me at my impudence, but I put voice to my thoughts. “I would like to offer to write your father’s biography for you, as a gift to his memory.”
He looked up at that in surprise, his gaze searching my face. “You are a writer?”
I nodded. “I write content for websites, and have always been interested in doing biographies of local Sutton residents. It would be an honor to write about your father’s life.”
His eyes held bright hope, but after a moment he shook his head. “I’m sure you’re quite busy with your other projects,” he demurred. “I appreciate your offer immensely, but I would not want to take your time with this.”
I tilted my head to one side, trying to read his mood. “If you do not want me intruding, of course I understand.” I looked down at the coffin for a moment. “But this is something that I feel strongly. Your father’s story should be told. It would bring me contentment to be able to work on it.”
There was a lightening to his features with that, and he looked at me fully. “Are you sure? This is something you want to do?”
At my nod he stepped forward, offering me a warm embrace. “Then, absolutely, I would be thrilled,” he agreed with a wide smile. “I’m sure I will be busy for a week or two, with all the issues and paperwork that have only begun. But once that’s handled, it would be my pleasure to sit with you and tell you what I know of him.”
He put a finger to his lips in thought. “Maybe some of his friends would be willing to talk with you in the meantime,” he considered. “They sometimes seemed hesitant to talk with me about his youth, as if a son should not hear such things. But with you being an outsider, they might be more open to frank discussion.”
His eyes became serious. “I want his full story to be told, Morgan,” he added. “He was not a man to polish horse dung. He loved to tell about life as it was, warts and all. He would want the entire saga told, whatever it held.”
I nodded in understanding. “I will bring you whatever I find, and you can do with it as you wish,” I promised.
Jeff turned to Jason. “And you will keep a close eye on her, as she does her research?” he asked with a smile.
Jason looked to me, a brightness coming to his eyes. “It would be an honor.”
