“I have no idea, Chad,” Parker said, reading his nametag. His stepfather had taught him early that using an employee’s first name made them feel more of a person and tended to get more cooperation from them.
“This is Johnny Smith’s chainsaw. Our work tag is still on it. May I ask how you came by it? Johnny loved this saw,” Chad said defensively.
“It’s good to know he took professional care of the equipment,” Parker replied, wondering why this guy was so abrasive. “Mr. Smith passed away last fall, and I bought his camp. Is something wrong, Chad?”
“No, nothing’s wrong, sorry. I heard of his passing. He was a nice man and a good customer. I was afraid you had come by his things … illegally. We’re a small town, and we tend to be protective of our friends,” Chad confessed. In spite of his kind words, his dark gray eyes were guarded and held contempt for the young man standing in front of him; contempt that bordered on anger.
“That’s also good to know,” Parker said, smiling. “So you can check everything out, make sure it’s all in good working order?”
“Of course. Let me pull his records first.” Chad disappeared into another room and returned quickly with a file. He flipped through a few pages and stopped. “It looks like the generator was in last fall for a tune-up, and the snow-blower was in two years ago. Let’s go look at them.”
“Here’s the strip we place over the ignition when we’re done. It hasn’t been removed, so this hasn’t been used since we serviced it. Let me show you how to start it,” and he checked the gas level, turned the flow on, opened the choke, set the switch to ‘ON’ and pulled the cord. The generator started up on the first pull. Parker grinned.
“You can take this one back with you. However, I would suggest leaving the other two pieces here and we’ll check them out; should take only a few days. Most don’t worry about snow-blowers until November so we’re not super busy,” Chad said, chuckling and pushing his thinning gray hair out of his dull brown eyes.
Parker parked the truck near the entrance to the Chinese buffet restaurant so he could keep an eye on the generator. He didn’t want to lose it right after he found he had it.
“Are we going to need anything else while we’re in town? Maybe like extension cords?”
“If Mr. Smith had a gennie, I’m sure he’s got extension cords around somewhere. Likely in the barn and we just didn’t look hard enough,” David said, biting into a hot egg roll. “I suggest we take the gennie back home, look for anything else that might be useful. Maybe do another hour of wood, and then I’ll show you how to make chili.”
Parker groaned at the thought of stacking more wood, though he had to admit the pile was going down quickly.
“So, what will you do with electricity?” David asked.
Parker went still. “I don’t know. I’ve managed without it for the last six weeks and I’ve grown accustomed to it. Though I will admit the thought of charging my laptop whenever I need to is appealing, and to save on gas.”
“The generator still takes gas, just less,” he added quickly when he noticed how Parker’s face fell. “Maybe we can wait a day to do more wood. When we get back, let’s look for extension cords and gas cans. It’s always good to keep extra gas on hand regardless, and if we, I mean you, don’t have extra empty cans, we can add it to the list. And go shopping tomorrow, after an hour of stacking wood.”
Parker inwardly groaned again, knowing how his body already ached from the work. “We do need to stop somewhere so I can get new gloves.”
Chapter Seven
Parker woke to an unusually cold breeze pushing its way in through the window screen. He shivered and got up to close the window. He pulled on a sweatshirt over his sleeping T-shirt, and added thick socks and sweatpants.
Without even thinking, he pumped the water in the sink and filled the percolator, setting it on the single burner. Next, he pumped a bit more and splashed his face, shivering.
Sitting with a fresh brewed cup of coffee, Parker checked over the shopping list. Even though he had bought a new pair of leather gloves last week, he left that item on the list, figuring a spare pair wouldn’t hurt. They had found two empty gas cans and three 100-foot extension cords, plus a power strip for multiple hook-ups. Their shopping today involved picking up the snow-blower and chainsaw as the last thing to do; Parker realized quickly there needed to be a logical order to his trips to town.
Parker had yet to use his new generator. He looked around and thought how easily he had adapted to no power at all, except for his laptop and cellphone that is. Maybe he should get a reading lamp—those oil lamps didn’t provide enough light to read by and he did love to read. Maybe a radio; he missed music. Maybe a TV! He could watch a movie at night! But then, he might be violating his promise to Cliff, and he realized that was important to him. With all the new things he was learning how to do, he felt learning about himself was the most important lesson of all.
David would be over soon. With all the help the young boy had been, Parker gladly added breakfast to his payment, and mixed up a batch of pancakes. They were already halfway through the second load of wood and the shed still wasn’t full. Parker was sure that if David wasn’t there urging him on, he wouldn’t have nearly this much done.
“I brought you a book,” David said, letting himself in. “It was one of my mom’s favorites: A Prepper’s Cookbook: 20 Years of Cooking in the Woods.”
“You think I’m ready for a cookbook?”
“Maybe not the recipe part, but definitely the stories. The author used a wood cookstove, very much like yours. She even explains how to cook on it and in it, not just what. Also how to clean it and other maintenance hints. Plus, there are lots of interesting stories about her life in the woods, off-grid.” David set the book on the table and forked some pancakes onto his plate. “It might give you some ideas.”
They were almost done loading the back of the truck with groceries when David’s cellphone rang, and Parker listened with concern to the one-sided conversation.
“Yes. I see. How bad? I’m in town now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” David slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. “We have to go—now.”
“What’s wrong, David?” Parker asked, worried about his friend. Yes, he thought, David was more than a mentor; he had quickly become his friend.
“It’s my dad. I’ll give you directions and …” David halted, “… and then I have a confession to make.”
Once on US41, heading east, David stared out the windshield and let out a long breath. “My dad hasn’t been on a business trip. He’s in a nursing home. Make a right here. He’s been there for a couple of months, with dementia, and it hasn’t gotten any better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because, Parker, I’m seventeen years old and living alone. If that got out, I’d likely be put in foster care!”
“What was the call about?” Parker asked, avoiding the age issue.
David didn’t say anything for a few moments. “It was the doctor. My dad is rapidly failing—he’s dying.” David stifled a sob. “There’s the home on the left.”
Parker pulled into the lot and walked with David to the entrance.
“You don’t have to come in with me,” David said.
Parker stopped and grabbed David’s shoulder and turned him around. “Yes, I do. I’m not just your next-door neighbor that doesn’t know squat about living in the woods; I’m your friend, and I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. Come on.” He pushed the doors open.
David stepped into the cool, sanitized air and turned down the left corridor with Parker close behind, their footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. He stopped mid-way and slowly opened another door.
“David, I’m glad you could come so quickly,” Doctor Steele said, and looked past the
boy to the obviously older young man. Parker nodded to the doctor and found a place against the wall.
“How is he?” David whispered.
“Fading fast; this surprised me, yet … sometimes they just give up,” the doctor replied. “He’s not in any pain, I can assure you that.”
David sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his father’s frail hand, a hand that was strong and agile not that long ago. Even with the pristine sheets, he could smell a faint whiff of urine mixed with the antiseptic odors so common to hospitals.
“Dad?”
Donald’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “Ah, you’re the nice young man that stops to see me. What’s your name again?”
“David.” He let out a quiet sob, and his father closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he opened them again, his eyes clearer.
“David, I’m so glad you’re here.” Donald smiled softly. “Your mother is waiting. She wouldn’t let me leave until you arrived. We love you. We wanted to make sure you knew that.” He smiled warmly at his son, squeezed his hand firmly, and he closed his eyes one last time.
David put his head down on his father’s unmoving chest and wept.
Doctor Steele looked at the clock and jotted down the time on a chart. He nodded to Parker as he left the room.
Parker moved silently to stand by his friend. Placing his hand on his shoulder, he could feel the silent shuddering, and then he too left the room to find the doctor.
“Excuse me, Doctor Steele. Are there any arrangements that need to be made?”
“Fortunately, everything has been taken care of. Both Donald and his son wished for a quick cremation when the time came. I’ll issue a death certificate immediately and it can be picked up when David claims the ashes.” He looked into Parker’s dark gray eyes. “I’ve known the Worthington’s for a long time, and I know they were very solitary people with few friends. Thank you for being here for David.” He turned and slipped into another room.
A half hour later, Parker and David left the nursing home for the last time. They silently climbed into the big pickup truck and Parker drove out of the lot.
“I know this is going to sound very strange to you, Parker, but I’m really hungry,” David said, blowing his nose.
“I think a bucket of chicken is in order then, with extra sides, and a six-pack of beer; make that two six-packs!”
On the way back to Parker’s cabin, they stopped at David’s to feed Pythagoras.
After the big meal and a few beers, David fell asleep on Parker’s couch. In the early hours of the morning, long before the sun rose to add daylight to the woods, David woke to crashing sounds coming from the front porch.
Parker ran from his room and bumped into David.
“What the hell is that?” he cried out.
“I don’t know!”
“It sounds like someone is rolling around my trash can,” Parker said.
“You left your trash can on the porch?” David stopped, hands on hips. “What was in it?”
“The usual trash, plus the chicken bones from last night, why?”
David shook his head. “Then it’s likely a bear. Go back to bed; we’ll clean it up in the morning.”
“A … bear?” Parker went wide-eyed.
“What have you been doing with your trash these last two months?” David questioned.
“I haven’t had much so I’ve taken it with me to the laundromat and tossed it in their dumpster,” he confessed. “I didn’t want the chicken bones to stink up the place, so I put the trash can on the porch last night, after you fell asleep. I guess I shouldn’t have done that. Bears, really?”
“Yeah, really.”
Chapter Eight
David left immediately after sunrise to take care of his cat and to do his own chores, leaving Parker to clean up the mess the bear had made. Parker vowed to never do something so stupid again. In a routine now, he stacked wood for an hour and smiled when he saw the pile was almost gone. Encouraged, he worked another hour and finished. The wood shed still wasn’t completely full.
Curious about what else might be in his barn, Parker opened the big door for the light and began searching all the drawers on the workbench. In the third drawer on the far left side, he was surprised to find a gun wrapped in an oily rag. The .22 automatic, with a ten-shot magazine, was clean, full, and the safety was on. He put the gun back, noting where it was, and kept looking. Guns didn’t scare him; Cliff had taken Parker to the country club many times over the years to shoot skeet, and afterward, while Cliff played a round of golf, Parker would target practice at the indoor range with a loaner handgun.
At noon, when David had yet to show up, Parker decided to take a walk. There was so much of his new property that he hadn’t seen. Bob Trudeau had left him a small map of the property, detailing where the cabin set, the roads, the river, and how it was freshly marked with blue paint on the trees defining the property lines.
Parker took the map and walked down his drive toward David’s until he spotted a tree with the blue paint and he stepped into the quiet woods. The tall leafy trees were marked every few feet, which made it easy to follow the line and he figured it would be hard to get lost: all he had to do was follow the marks back to the road.
He walked for a half hour, stepping over logs and sloshing through muddy areas, until the brush cleared and he heard flowing water. Still following the blue markings, Parker found the wide shallow river. According to his map, the river cut diagonally across the lower ten acres of his 80-acre parcel.
It was beautiful. And it was his.
Bob Trudeau parked his truck next to the dark blue F-150. He wandered around the yard until Parker stepped out of the woods.
“Ah, there you are,” Bob greeted him.
“Mr. Trudeau, what a nice surprise.” Parker looked at him quizzically. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Not really, I thought I would stop by and see how you are doing,” he said, smiling broadly. “And by the looks of that wood shed, I can see you’ve been busy.”
“Well, winter is coming and if you’re not ready for it, the woods can kill you,” he replied, still standing in the center of his small yard and thinking of what David had said to him weeks ago.
“And I see you’ve started a small garden. I’m really impressed, Parker.”
“Did Cliff send you out here to check on me?” Parker got to the core of his unease.
“No, he didn’t. I had thought you would have called me sooner for help, so I decided to check on you myself. Would it have bothered you if he had?”
“No, it wouldn’t, and quite frankly, I expected him to do just that,” Parker replied. “I know Cliff doesn’t have much faith in me, and honestly, I haven’t given him much reason to. Since he was kind enough to arrange all of this, perhaps I should email him with my progress. I really have learned a great deal.”
“Tell you what, I promise, that if I ever show up here because Cliff asked me to check on you, I will tell you that immediately,” Bob said truthfully.
Unexpectedly, Keith showed up with the third load of wood. He hopped down from his dump truck and walked up to Bob.
“I haven’t seen you in ages, Bob! How are ya?”
“Now I can see why Parker has his shed almost full. He was smart to call on you,” Bob said, smiling at his old friend as they shook hands.
“You two know each other?” Parker questioned.
“Oh, sure,” Keith said. “A man who sells wood always knows the man who sells land that has wood.” Keith chuckled and turned to Parker. “I happened to be coming this way and thought I would see if you were ready for the next load.” He walked over to the nearly full wood shed. “About half of this load will finish you off.” He hesitated a moment. “Can I make a suggestion for the re
st of it?”
“Sure, it’s always good to trust the expert,” Parker answered, again thinking of David and wondering where the boy was. Then again, he thought David might need some time alone right now.
“Stack the rest of it on your porch; there’s enough room.”
“Why on the porch?”
Keith looked over at Bob to answer.
“Well, Parker,” Bob started, “while it’s good to have the shed close, there will be times when you’ll need wood but won’t want to go to the shed; like during a heavy rain or a blizzard or if you’re sick. Always use the wood from the shed when you can, so you will have the porch wood in an emergency.”
“And it might be a good idea to cover that wood too.” Keith walked over to the side of the porch. “Bob, would you say the porch is eight foot wide?”
“Yep; Parker, another suggestion: get a couple sheets of plywood and screw them up here and here,” he pointed, “and maybe two more sheets here,” indicating the front corner of the porch. “That will keep the snow off.”
“Don’t put the plywood up until after the first snowfall; you want this wood to get plenty of air to dry first,” Keith said, heading back to his truck. He tipped the hydraulic bed and unloaded the wood.
While he was doing that, Parker slipped into the house and got the envelope he had set aside with the final payment and a book.
“Mr. Trudeau, I’ve been meaning to ask you about a book I found.” Parker handed over a county plat book.
“Ah, a nice book to have. Tells you who owns what and where. Though it can get confusing when the map you need next is pages away,” Bob said and chuckled.
“What I did to get a better perspective,” Keith said, “was to copy all the pages and tape them together in one big map.”
“That’s a good idea, thanks.” Parker smiled and handed over the final payment.
“I appreciate this, Parker, but will this catch you short for the rest of the month?” Keith asked, concerned, not pocketing the envelope just yet.
Polar Storm Page 4
