The Ultimate Gift

by Rene Gutteridge

  He arrived at the gate just in time to board. Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he walked onto the plane and spotted an empty seat in first class. Without hesitation, he threw his bag down and fell into the plush leather. Soon enough they’d hit thirty thousand feet, and thanks to a drink or two he’d be out like a baby.

  “Uh, excuse me, sir.”

  Jason looked up to find the stern face of a male flight attendant above him.

  “Um, can I . . . can I see your boarding pass again?”

  Jason sighed. Obviously nothing was going to be easy. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to him.

  The attendant looked it over and turned it toward him. “Thank you. Yeah, see, this is, um . . . I’m sorry, this is for coach.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No. It’s, uh, 32B.”

  “Well, change it.”

  “You can’t do that, sir. We can’t change it. It’s a Q fare.” The attendant cleared his throat. “You can’t, um, upgrade.”

  Jason glared at him. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  The attendant’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I know exactly who you are. You’re the guy in seat 32B. Here we go.” He stepped back a little and gestured toward the back of the plane like he was pointing to an emergency exit.

  “Whatever.” Jason grabbed his bag and stomped toward the back of the plane. Then he saw where he was supposed to sit. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  Heads snapped up as everyone’s attention focused on him. But Jason’s attention was on the snoring man next to the window and the timid-looking mother who was bouncing a screaming four-month-old on her lap. He watched trepidation wash over the mother as she looked up at him. It couldn’t have been more than the sense of dread that was filling him by the second.

  “Sorry,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and standing so he could slide in.

  Shoving his bag under the seat in front of him, he snapped his seatbelt and folded his arms together. The guy next to him looked like his head could fall on Jason’s shoulder at any minute. The mother glanced at him apologetically. “It could be worse,” she said, smiling.

  “Really.” Jason couldn’t imagine how.

  And then, through the thin wall behind him, he heard the toilet flush.

  It was official. He was never going to have kids. The baby hadn’t stopped crying from the time they took off until they landed. That is, until the flight attendant announced they could de-board. Then the baby fell asleep and the mother begged Jason not to make any loud noises or move quickly. To top it all off, the flight attendant had had the nerve to ask Jason if he would mind carrying the diaper bag out for the woman.

  Rid of that responsibility, he now had to figure out what he was supposed to do. He looked around in baggage claim for someone holding a sign with his name on it, but nobody seemed to be looking for him.

  “Great.” He walked outside and stood on the curb, pulling out the Conversay and pushing the green button.

  After a few seconds, Miss Hastings’s face filled the small screen.

  “Hello, Jason.”

  “So what is this? One of those things my Aunt Martha had to wear or what?”

  “You don’t look like you worked a day in your life,” the man said.

  “Great. The Amazing Kreskin.” Jason turned back to the image of Miss Hastings. “Look, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing because no one’s been able—”

  The man who’d been staring him down grabbed his bag and threw it into the back of his silver double-cab pickup.

  “Hey!” Jason shouted.

  “I’m Gus. I’m your ride. Get in.”

  Jason looked at Miss Hastings’s tiny face on the screen. “Never mind.” Turning off the Conversay, he grabbed the truck’s door handle and hopped in. With a brief look, Gus pulled from the curb before Jason had even had a chance to shut the door.

  “Easy, cowboy,” Jason said, settling into his seat.

  Gus, it seemed, was a man of few words. With one hand draped over the steering wheel like the truck might not need to turn for the next several days, he chewed on something Jason couldn’t identify. Every once in a while, he would look sideways at Jason, almost as if he’d forgotten he was there.

  Jason wished he could forget too. But before he knew it, he had finally fallen asleep to a Patsy Cline tune.

  Jason’s eyes slowly opened, but everything was blurry. Was he hung over again? He tried to sit up, but a crick in his neck had him cringing. He noticed his head was against the window of a . . . truck. He groaned. Oh, yeah. Gus.

  Sitting up a little, he gazed out the window at . . . nothing. Flat, green fields were surrounded by lines of endless fences. It was official. Texas was hell.

  Gus looked over at Jason. “Sorry about your grandfather’s passing. We go way back.”

  Good for you.

  “He was some man. Loved to work.” Gus chuckled. “The man just loved hard work.”

  “Right. Mind if I smoke?”

  “It’s a free country.”

  Could’ve fooled me. Jason felt in the front pocket of his jacket, then checked his jean pockets. He tried to restrain from cursing. That’s all he needed, to be in need of a nicotine fix.

  He tried a polite voice. “Can you stop at the next convenience store?”

  “Convenience store?”

  “Please.” Nicotine could make him awfully desperate.

  Gus’s eyes stayed on the road. “Well, the last store’s about fiftymiles back. We’ve been on my property for the last thirty minutes or so.” He glanced sideways and smiled at what must’ve been a very shocked expression on Jason’s face. Okay, so this guy owned a good portion of hell. Things were getting better by the second. And without nicotine.

  Ten more minutes passed before Gus turned down a modest road. At the end was an enormous farmhouse nestled between trees and some hills, which broke the view to what was sure to be thousands more monotonous acres. A wide but tidy porch hugged the front of the house, complete with rocking chairs. Martha Stewart, here we come.

  As Jason closed the truck door, Gus made his way around to him. “Seein’ as how you’re Red’s grandson, you’ll stay in the main house with us. I know it ain’t much, but the little lady just wanted a modest place.”

  Jason’s glance slid toward the house. Maybe in comparison to what they’d just driven through, this was considered modest.

  “Dinner’s in an hour, breakfast at five.” Gus started toward the front door of his home.

  “Uh . . . Gus? Aren’t you forgetting something?” Jason tried his best smile through the headache that was coming on.

  “I don’t think so. Shoot.”

  “The gift?” A miracle would be if it included a pack of cigarettes. Gus broke into laughter, holding his belly and shaking his head, then disappeared inside the house.

  If this was hell, then Gus was the devil, and the devil apparently liked his breakfast before the sun rose.

  Gus owned one television, and he’d parked himself in front of it right after dinner, then dozed off, sleeping through a series of window-rattling snores Jason could hear all the way up the stairs. Who could blame him? Patsy Cline could put anybody to sleep. But Jason didn’t dare sneak downstairs to turn it off. There was no telling what kind of crazy that would bring out in Gus.

  Falling onto his bed, Jason kicked his shoes off and stared at the work clothes—including boots, gloves, pants, and a flannel shirt—apparently laid out for him. It didn’t bode well for the future. He rolled to his back and pulled out his cell phone. Still no signal. It was a wonder they had running water and electricity out here.

  Cradling his phone, he got comfortable. Why not? He was stuck here indefinitely. This was his grandfather’s idea of fun—to send his grandson on some stupid trip to the far country. Jason shook his head at the thought. It angered him. Why couldn’t the old man just die and be done with it? Why did he have to keep reminding everyone who he was and what he could do
?

  Jason was very aware of what he could do.

  He closed his eyes, and though he didn’t want to, he knew he would dream about his dad.

  chapter 4

  gus stared at the empty seat at the breakfast table, watching the stairs for any sign of movement. The only noise was his own fork scooping the eggs off his plate.

  That boy was going to be awfully hungry.

  He finished his coffee and climbed the stairs, each heavy step of his work boot making enough noise to rouse the farm animals. Outside Jason’s room, he turned the doorknob and flung it open, kind of hoping to catch the kid asleep.

  Gus smiled.

  Walking over to the side of the bed, he nudged the kid on the shoulder. Dead to the world.

  “Hey. City boy. Breakfast is over.”

  At the word breakfast, Jason moved a little. Gus sighed. He didn’t have the patience for this. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually had to wake someone up in the morning.

  “Don’t you have some kind of gizmo to wake you up?” Gus eyed the phone Jason had been carrying with him everywhere he went, then grabbed the boy’s shoulder, shaking him enough to get his eyes to open.

  The kid moaned and mumbled, “Beat it.”

  Beat it? Gus turned and stomped out of the room, muttering to himself as he marched down the stairs and out the back door. What kind of crazy was this kid? And what had Red gotten him into now? Red always had liked to take on the impossible.

  Opening the barn door, Gus turned on the lantern. He held the lamp up and looked around until he spotted what he was looking for. “There you are,” he said through an ornery grin. Grabbing it, he walked back into the house and went up the stairs, making more noise than a cowbell.

  But still Jason slept, the blanket tangled around his legs and an arm falling over the side. Good grief. Pigs have more ambition than this kid, Gus thought. At least they get up to eat.

  Firing up the cattle prod, he touched it to Jason’s backside.

  “Augh!” Jolted by the electric shock, Jason let out a yelp. “What is your problem?”

  “Mornin’!”

  It took another fifteen minutes for the kid to get ready. How

  hard was it to put on work clothes? He was probably up there styling his hair and putting on cologne.

  Gus waited below, eyeing the clock. He was about ready to go up and drag the kid downstairs in his underwear if he had to, but then Jason emerged, slowly lifting one foot in front of the other like his boots were made of concrete. Descending at that rate, he might be lucky to finish by midnight.

  Without a word, Gus headed through the dining room with Jason trailing him. The kid looked around as the kitchen staff cleared the dishes and leftovers.

  “Time to get to work. Sun’ll be up soon. Let’s go!” Gus hollered.

  Jason lurched for a plate, snagging a piece of bacon and dry toast and trying to shovel the food into his mouth as fast as possible. Gus headed for the door.

  Outside, he opened the truck door and held it as Jason stumbled from the house and climbed in. Then, hopping into the driver’s seat, he stared at the kid. “Breakfast is at five. If you want breakfast, get yourself up and dressed, then come down. We don’t come down in our pajamas. Washed, dressed, and then you eat. That’s the way it is.”

  He did feel a little sorry for the kid. He looked like he might be living in his own personal nightmare. Gus chuckled. And the day had yet to begin.

  As they drove along, Gus let the morning breeze do most of the talking. He liked this time of day, when the sun came over the horizon, when the air was still cool and crisp, the shadows of the night diminishing into the soft hazy dew. Everything smelled fresh and new. He studied the pastures, counted the cattle by the fences, and wondered what was going through Jason Stevens’s mind.

  “Your granddad and I started out together wildcattin’ oil wells down in Louisiana,” he said, just as Jason looked like he might be drifting off to sleep again. “Made some money and we each bought cattle spreads as a hedge against the oil runnin’ out.”

  Jason feigned interest.

  “Of course, you ain’t really made it unless you own your own little piece of Texas, right?”

  “Right.”

  Gus pulled the truck to the side of the road and got out. Jason was barely out of the truck by the time Gus had unloaded his post-hole digger. Walking down the ditch and up the other side, Gus first lined up the string for the rest of the fence. Then he plunged the digger into the earth. Grabbing the dirt, he pulled it out and dropped it beside the hole. Eight more times and the hole was deep enough. Gus wiped the sweat already beading his brow, picked up a post, and dropped it in. Shoveling the dirt around the hole, he used his feet to pack it around the base until the post was secure.

  Standing, he looked at Jason, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Just from there. Eight feet from the center.”

  “What?”

  “Lunch’ll be sent round about eleven,” Gus said, walking to his truck. He watched the kid look down the fence line.

  “Well, how far am I supposed to go?”

  Gus smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll run out of posts before you run out of Texas.”

  Jason went a little pale.

  “Wish I had a dollar for every fence post I ever set.” Gus looked down the fence line, then back at Jason. “Matter of fact, I do.”

  The dust cloud from Gus’s departure was all that was left. Jason looked in every direction, but he seemed to be the only living thing around. He couldn’t even see the cattle. Where were all those animals Gus had been bragging about?

  Plopping himself down on top of the stack of wooden posts, Jason thought for a brief moment he might luck out and get a cell phone signal. But no.

  He pulled out the Conversay, stared at it, and put it back in his pocket. That was all he needed . . . Hamilton breathing down his neck.

  He sat back and was getting comfortable on the stack when he noticed the sunrise. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a sunrise in real life. Bright orange and purple streaks cut into the blue sky that was emerging. The morning breeze tickled his face. He took in a deep breath. Despite the phantom cattle, it actually smelled good out here.

  Reclining, with his arms stretched out on either side, Jason laid his head back. Perfect napping environment.

  It was like the day had repeated itself all over again. There he stood, out in the middle of nowhere as the roar of Gus’s truck faded, staring at the pile of wood and wire. And up the sun came. He kicked the wood, cursing. The boots were so thick he didn’t feel any pain. Physically, anyway.

  So this was it? He was going to be out here until he dug some stupid holes?

  “Fine!”

  Jason grabbed the post-hole digger. “How hard can it be?” With one big, heaving motion, he plunged it into the earth, barely making a dent. He tried again, this time getting a little further, but was still able to lift only a handful of dirt out of the ground.

  “Okay . . .” This was harder than it looked. But he wasn’t going to let an old man show him up. It was a hole, for crying out loud. Anybody could dig a hole.

  So on he went, even through lunch, which was dropped off by some ranch hands who seemed to enjoy themselves immensely as they drove off waving and hollering.

  Much later—he wasn’t even sure what time it was—he’d dug eight holes. Lifting the posts, he carried them to the holes and dropped them in. A few leaned a bit sideways, so he moved some dirt around to try to get them to stand as erect as possible. Most of them did.

  Standing beside the pile of posts was a reel of wire. Jason looked at the fence posts. Then, grabbing the wire, he tied one end off on the first post and strung the rest around the other poles.

  “Yes! Genius! Thank you!” He put his hands on his hips and looked down the upright, albeit slightly crooked, fence line. “There! Take that, Gus! Take that!”

  And speaking of Gus, like clockwork, here he came, his truck rumbling dow
n the gravel road. Jason could see his elbow stuck out the window. He slowed down and pulled his truck to the side. Framed by the window, he chewed on a toothpick. Could this guy get any more cliché?

  Jason smiled broadly and gestured toward his piece of art, even though he could barely lift his arms. “Eh? Not bad for a city boy.” And, just for effect, Jason wiped the sweat off his brow.

  He watched Gus back up and turn the truck around. The Texan hopped out. His eyes carefully examined the fence.

  “Hey,” Jason said. “What do you think?”

  Gus didn’t look like he was thinking about anything. He ignored Jason as he went to his truck and retrieved some rope.

  “What’s the rope for?” Jason was feeling generous. “Let me help you.”

  Gus finally looked at him. “You know how to lasso?”

  “Um . . . only with my charm.” Jason laughed, hoping to lighten the curmudgeon up a little. But, hey, at least he’d put up a fence. Gus swung the rope over his head and lassoed the first fence post. Jason folded his arms. “Wow. Maybe if you keep practicing, you can lasso something that moves.”

  Gus grinned. “Oh, this is going to move all right.”

  Without another word, he hog-tied the other end of the rope to his trailer hitch, climbed back into his truck, started the engine, and put it in forward.

  Jason stared in disbelief as he watched one fence post after another pop out of the ground and trail behind the pickup truck as it drove away.

  “No! Hey! Aw . . . come on, man!”

  But everything was quiet again.

  Jason stood there. When he was in high school, he’d made boys cry, so he wasn’t about to shed a tear. But it took every ounce of willpower to keep his despair in check.

  “What do you want from me!” he screamed, but his voice only disappeared into the vast plains around him.

  He looked up, pointing his finger straight over his head. “What do you want from me?”

  When there was no response, he kicked his boot into the gravel. Then kicked again. And again. Over and over, ten, twelve, fourteen times, until a dust cloud formed around him and he was lost to a paroxysm of coughing.