This is who you are, Wyatt tells his reflection in a golden brick. You have been through too much adversity to not solely rely on yourself. You are the only one you know who is sure to have your back.
He drops the gold brick, shocked at the lengths his mind runs. This is what gold does, changes a person. The promise of riches overriding all else. Likely Trav ruminates over the same moral dilemma too. He desires a fish shack, and building a business never comes cheap.
But they’ve discovered so much! Piles of gold, less than he originally found, but enough to at least begin to live again. He could get out of the abandoned goods store and find a real home. Help Aylen out so she wouldn’t have to stay with her troublemaking cousin. What more does he need?
An image of Adalaide fades into Callie. Similarly, Little Joe morphs into Eli. What would it be like to come home to them? Could they be enough to satisfy his restlessness?
Eventually replace his beloveds? Time would do that for him, just like it kept him alive.
He’d done the hard work of returning to himself. Doesn’t he deserve to be fully complete and loved?
Right? he asks the wind, not blowing hard but stiller than ever. Barely a sound. So he ceases asking. He bottles it up and pushes it deep down, only existing as a bubbling in his belly.
Travis skates across the frozen lake having grown up on ice as an Alaskan native and adept at good balance. He scoops up their packs and swooshes over to the pickup, tossing them in the back, and hugging the edge of the lake looking for the tree shaped like a fork.
He can’t believe the fish shack a possibility now, since there should be at least enough gold after splitting it in half for a down payment. He could even kick some Stu’s way to help with any gambling debts and Papa’s health care should he make it out of the hospi-
tal. Wyatt had been right, as insane as it might’ve sounded. But another nagging thought arises. If Wyatt was right about the gold, does that mean he’d really been frozen for the past century too?
“No fuckin’ way,” he tells the rearview, as he shoots past the tree shaped like a fork and has to back up. He drives through a wall of branches and parks right outside the cave.
Wyatt sits beside the wolf, petting its coat as if the animal was his pet.
“Jeez, Wyatt,” he says, getting out of the pickup.
The wolf observes with his ice-blue eyes.
“Be careful, man.”
At the sound of his voice, the wolf takes off, skittering across the snowbanks until it’s a furry blur.
“He was friendly,” Wyatt says, disappearing into the cave.
They spend the next hour and change chipping away at the bricks of gold and hauling them into the pickup. When they’re done, they’ve created a few nice piles. They do one last look for anything left in the cave, but it seems like they’ve tapped it dry. It’s night when they finish.
“I say we head home rather than stay over,” Travis says, turning on the brights that pass over the wolf. “Ah, there’s your buddy.”
The pickup heads down the pathway, turns at the tree shaped like a fork, and travels along the lake until it reaches Anvil Creek.
“Dude, I can’t believe we found mothertruckin’ gold! There must be about a hundred or so thousand dollars’ worth there.”
Wyatt stays quiet, watching the sweep of the dark trees as they travel out of the wilderness.
“Wyatt, man, you cool?”
“There’s a sadness in finding what you spent your entire life searching for. What do I chase now?”
Travis is all wide smiles. “You bask in it, bro. Treat yourself.”
“I feel old.”
Travis finds himself about to joke that Wyatt has lived over a hundred years, but keeps it to himself. He shakes Wyatt by the shoulder instead.
“Glass half full,” Travis says. “Always. Every day we’re older than we were the day before, but not every day we strike it rich!”
As they drive onto a main road, Travis’s cell starts buzzing.
“Your machine is making a lot of noise.”
“Probably Callie checkin’ in, even though she knows I might’ve not had reception.”
With one hand on the wheel, he digs into his pocket and takes out his cell.
“Ah shit, I got like a dozen messages. Callie, Pop, even Grayson. That’s never good.”
He dials his voicemail and puts it on speaker. Callie’s voice comes up first.
“Babe, call me back as soon as you can. Papa just passed. We’re all at the hospital.
I’m so sorry. They say he went peacefully. Okay, call me. I love you.”
Stu’s voice comes up next but Travis mutes it. When he looks over at Wyatt, the man’s eyes are red with tears.
“Hey, Wyatt, don’t cry. Papa was ninety-three. It’s sad but it’s a life well lived. Really. He would say that too.”
Wyatt allows the depression to wash over. Most never knowing what it’s like to live long enough to suffer your grandson’s death.
“You don’t know what he was to me, Trav. You couldn’t understand.”
41
“I’ll take you back to the abandoned store before I head to the hospital,” Travis says to Wyatt, once they hit the outskirts of Laner.
“I’d like to go to the hospital too,” Wyatt quietly says.
“Shit, Wyatt, after what happened with Stu the last time, probably only family around is best.”
Wyatt wants to shout that he is family, but chews on a hangnail instead.
“I would like to say goodbye to the body,” Wyatt says.
“There’ll be a funeral and an after service. Plenty of time for that.”
“But I could help with your grieving—”
“Wyatt,” Trav snaps, the first instance he’s lost his cool with him. “Dude, my grandpa died. Gimme a minute, will ya?”
Wyatt goes to speak, retools his thoughts. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close.”
“I know, man. You’ve told me before. Can we be quiet for the rest of the drive?”
“I’ve upset you.”
“No. I just don’t wanna talk.”
“I apologize.”
Trav doesn’t respond. When he sees Wyatt about to speak up again, he turns on the radio. The same country station with a different crooner. He turns up the volume until it dwarfs all other sounds.
When they arrive at the abandoned goods store, Trav gets out to help Wyatt haul the booty inside.
“You don’t have to,” Wyatt says.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“You hurt my feelings.”
“I know. I can do that sometimes. This was wonderful today. Really. We found fuckin’ gold. Let me deal with my family stuff and we can celebrate when the time is right.”
Trav grips a few bricks under each arm. He peels off the tape from the garbage bag covering the window and slips the gold through the hole. Wyatt comes in dragging the rest.
“My condolences to you and your father,” Wyatt says, and begins putting away the bricks behind an island in the middle of the store.
“I’ll let you know the funeral details.”
“Please do.”
Trav extends his hand. Wyatt takes a moment to shake but does. Yet something has changed in the air between them. The easiness they experienced with each other is gone.
Wyatt’s aware of this. He sees exactly who he is to Trav, an acquaintance but not a true friend. It will make whatever he decides to do down the road that much easier. His options multiplying.
“Make sure you hide that gold well,” Travis says, halfway out of the hole in the window.
He keeps walking without waiting for a response from Wyatt, finding that spending an elongated time with the man and his idiosyncrasies can be hard. Wyatt’s someone who’s not only daunting to read but also difficult to gauge what will set him off. It might not be the worst idea to create some space between them. But then he feels bad for even thinking this. Here Wyatt helped him la
nd a literal goldmine and he doesn’t have it in him to be at all thankful. He can admit to being an uncaring son of a bitch at times, not always taking others feelings into consideration. Something he wants to work on, especially toward Callie. He ruminates on this as he pulls up to the hospital in the dead of night, the only other cars in the parking lot being Callie’s, Cora and Stu’s, and Grayson’s deputy wagon.
Grayson’s in the waiting area when Travis arrives.
“Ah hell, man,” Grayson says, giving him a strangling hug.
Travis’s eyes begin to water, having tried to keep them dry since he heard.
“That man was the toughest SOB I knew,” Grayson says, and Travis can smell the beer on his breath and spies the two remaining bottles in a six-pack squirreled away under the seat. “You okay, buddy?”
“I’m all right. How’s Stu?”
“Hasn’t really said much. Which I think means he ain’t doing so well.”
“You can go, Gray. Thanks so much for tending to my folks when I wasn’t here.”
Grayson picks up his bottles to leave. “Where were you by the way?”
“Out in the wilderness with Wyatt. Went camping.”
“Dude, I don’t understand. That guy is freaking weird.”
“He’s a friend.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m your friend. Me. Since grade school. He’s a stranger.”
“Can I go see my grandpa now? Huh, Gray? Is that okay?”
“Just watch yourself is all.” He clinks his two bottles together and backs out the electric doors. “That’s all.”
In Papa’s room, a white sheet has been draped over the body. Stu sits close while Cora and Callie have their arms around one another.
“Hey,” Travis says, as all eyes glance up. Callie first with a hug. She smells like apples and he loses himself in her flowing hair. Next comes Cora who can’t stop touching her only son, fussing with his appearance.
“Go to your father,” she whispers, scooting him toward Stu.
“Pop?”
Travis has his arms out. Stu stays crumpled in his chair, his eyes displaying his grief.
This was a man Travis never once saw cry before Bobby’s death, now he’s enveloped in a permanent sadness, ready to weep at any moment. He hugs his father, not letting go even when Stu squirms to break free.
“I love you, Pop.”
Finally, Stu embraces back, placing his chin on Travis’s shoulder.
They mourn in silence until a doctor comes inside. He explains to Travis that the family has taken care of all the funeral arrangements. They can go whenever they’re ready or stay with the body as long as they like.
“It was peaceful, right?” Travis asks.
“Very,” the doctor says. “In fact, all accounts indicated he had died yet his heart continued beating ever so softly for a while until finally it just stopped. He was a very strong man, your grandfather. Only the superhuman of our race make it into their nineties. It is an accomplishment.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Cora convinces Stu it’s time to go and Travis leaves with Callie after many more hugs.
Everyone seems ready for bed. On their drive home, Callie holds his hand while he steers with the other.
“Eli’s at Miss Evelyn’s. I’ll pick him up in the morning.”
“Yeah, please tell her thanks.”
“So how was your camping adventure?” she asks, managing to give him a smile she surely thinks he needs. “Or if you don’t wanna talk…”
“There’s something I need to show you when we get home.”
And when they pull into garage, Travis makes sure the door gets fully closed. Then he removes a heavy tarp revealing the piles of gold.
Callie gasps. “Is that…is that real?”
“It’s the purest thing you’ll ever see, baby.”
She leaps, knocking him to the ground. He bangs his head, but they’re laughing until they feel bad to be happy during such a sad time, but they can’t help it. They go to bed, giggling under the covers, exploring parts of each other’s bodies that they haven’t in a long while, not even noticing when morning sneaks up on them before they even have a chance to sleep.
42
The funeral’s a small affair, immediate family only. Callie has Miss Evelyn watching Eli at the house where they’ll receive visitors afterwards. Father Clayton gives a nice speech about Papa being connected to so many moments in history. How even though Papa wasn’t a regular at church, Father Clayton was always glad to hear his jokes when they met in town. How everyone loved Francis and how she emanated pure goodness. How wonderful it was to see them sitting on the bench off Main Street sharing a thermos of soup. And how they enjoyed the water and used to take their boat out to go cruising, the one they called Honeybell, Papa’s nickname for Francis.
Stu speaks briefly, never a man for long speeches. He tells a memory about when he was a small boy Papa took him fishing for the first time, and how he was bored at first but Papa explained to enjoy the silence because silence is difficult to find. How Papa got him to truly love the quiet, appreciate their isolated existence in Alaska.
Travis has a sense of vertigo when the coffin is lowered, an urge to dive inside the grave. Like once when he was on a roof and for a moment he thought what it would be like to jump, not because he wanted to die, but because it allowed him the sense of being in control. Father Clayton says his final words and they drive back home.
When they arrive, Miss Evelyn bustles around, busy plating the food with Elson and Lorinda, who cater the event. Plenty of pizzas with various toppings along with Mondo Burgers that Papa always liked to takeout when he was still eating full solid meals. Eli squirms in his little suit until Travis remarks that it’s unnecessary for anyone to dress up.
With a “weeeeeee,” Eli flings off the suit until he’s running around in his underwear.
“Gotta put on a shirt and pants, buddy,” he tells Eli, who defends being nude but eventually gives in. “Good boy,” Travis says, hugging the child and holding onto him for longer than normal, not ready to let go.
“Are you okay?” Callie says, rubbing his back while Eli’s given enough room to break free and flees into his bedroom.
“Yup, hate funerals, though. Give me the willies. Death and all.”
“You have a long life left, Travis. You ain’t cutting out on me soon.”
Arm-in-arm, they walk to the table eyeing the food. Travis swipes a salmon pizza.
“There’s plenty of pies in the fridge,” Lorinda says.
“Thanks so much, Lorinda.”
“Ain’t nothing. Just when Gray arrives, I’m gonna pop out. Think that’s best for everyone.”
“Probably.”
The town soon shows up. Smitty with his wife. Cora’s book club ready with kind words and casseroles. Old Charlie with a flask. Tuck along with Jesse, who stands awkward and gangly in the corner. A couple of other fishermen talking business after they finish paying respects. A few men from the retirement community who are all ten to twenty years younger than Papa but knew him from playing canasta. Grayson’s wagon pulls up and Lorinda spies it parking so she makes a beeline for the back door.
“I’ll talk to you later, girl,” she tells Callie, with a kiss on her cheek.
Grayson lumbers in, embracing Cora who appears the most devastated out of anyone. Stu receives a handshake since that’s all he offers.
“How ya holding up, sir?” Grayson asks, which is the last question Stu wants. An in-trovert at heart, the notion of everyone focusing on him, monitoring his emotions, proves too much. He longs to escape down into the basement.
“Part of the cycle, right?” Stu says, the same phrase he tells anyone. “We live, we die, nothing more can be done. Papa had a full life, most of it healthy as a fiddle. We should all be so lucky.” He’s growing tired of this rehearsed speech, but at least he can do it on autopilot.
“Beers in the fridge?” Grayson asks.
Tra
vis runs into Grayson in the kitchen. “Ah, how’s it going, Travis?”
They hug and Travis mumbles he’s fine. Grayson swipes a beer and one for Travis as well. They cheers to Papa.
“He gave zero fucks, didn’t he?” Grayson says, and Travis confirms. “Did whatever the hell he wanted to do at all times. I admire that.”
“Me too.”
“So what you’ve been up to? Haven’t seen you in some time.”
“I’m around, Gray. You know, been on Smitty’s boat—”
“And hanging out with that hobo.”
Travis shakes his head. “I don’t understand your beef with Wyatt.”
“Something about him I don’t trust. I’m trained to spot liars, criminals. He don’t add up to me.”
“He’s a good guy. We went camping.”
“I know, bro.” Grayson drains the bottle and grabs a second, or likely he’s had one or two before he drove over. “But that’s our thing. Hunting and shit. I feel like I’m being replaced.”
“Gray, buddy, ain’t no one can take your place.”
“It’s just…Okay, you know with me and Lorinda on the fritz, I need some cheering up.”
“You do? It’s my Papa who died.”
“Dude, I know. I’m not trying to be a jerk-off. But I feel like you don’t have time for me anymore. And I miss you, man.”
Travis sighs. “It’s been a weird time for me, Gray. Being out of work, going back but not doing what I want.” He leans in close. “I’m opening my fish shack.”
“Oh yeah? Since when?”
“I’ve come into some money.”
“From Papa?”
“I’ve put this dream aside for too long.”
“Shit, man, that’s awesome. I’m happy for ya.”
“But it’s gonna monopolize my time even more. I know I’ll get flak from Callie, can’t have it from you, too.”
“No worries here. But if I see you with that hobo…” Grayson parts the floral curtains that reveals a view of the backyard. “Speak of the devil. You invited him?”
“Course I did, he’s met Papa.”
Wyatt raps on the screen door while already stepping inside. He’s combed his hair, beard too, a slightly more presentable version of himself.
The Ancestor Page 26
