The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Bert disappeared again. Durkin heard his younger son tell Lester that he was wanted downstairs, then heard Lester complain that he was busy watching one of his shows and to tell dad he’d be down later. Durkin yelled out for Bert to tell his brother that unless he wanted to watch TV standing up and holding an icepack to his bottom he’d better do as he was told, ’cause if he had to go upstairs that’d be the only way Lester would be comfortable enough afterwards to watch anything. Even though both boys heard what was yelled, he heard Bert repeat it to Lester, then Lester complaining and bitching and moaning about it all the way to the top of the stairs. When his older boy saw him, his eyes went blank and his mouth formed into a small hurt oval. He asked what was so important.

“I want you two boys down here now,” Durkin ordered brusquely. “I got something important to say to both of you.”

Bert good-naturedly raced down the stairs, but Lester grumbled as he walked down them, moving as if he were as exhausted as Durkin felt. Durkin couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret that the boys’ births hadn’t been reversed. Even though Bert was small-framed, he would’ve made a fine caretaker, but Durkin had his doubts whether Lester was of the proper material.

Well, the boy will just have to grow into it, Jack Durkin thought solemnly. If he didn’t, God help us all. He moved back to the recliner and sat, trying to hide from his boys how damned tired he felt. After Bert handed him his reading glasses, Durkin told him to fetch him a bucket of hot water and Epsom salts for his feet, then directed Lester to get him a plate of macaroni and cheese and something to drink. “Afterwards you two take a seat on that sofa. I got something important to say to the both of you.”

Bert raced into the kitchen. Lester continued to grumble to himself, hands shoved deep into his pants pockets. Durkin sighed to himself as he watched him. This was going to have to change. Somehow that boy was going to have to develop the right attitude. He slipped his reading glasses on and read through the contract until he found the clause he was looking for. Grimly he reread it. It was as he thought.

Bert returned first with the bucket of hot water. Durkin took his socks off, rolled up his pants and stuck his feet in it. Bert bounced onto the sofa, eager, attentive. “Dad, what’s so important?” he asked.

“Wait until your brother’s here,” Durkin muttered without much enthusiasm. He tried to keep his expression stone-faced and hide the relief he felt soaking his sore feet. It was another five minutes before Lester emerged from the kitchen with a plate of food and a glass of water. Durkin took both from him, putting the plate on the end table next to him. The water was lukewarm. Lester couldn’t bother putting an ice cube in it. And of course, he couldn’t even think of bringing a fork with him from the kitchen. Without bothering to hide his disgust, Durkin ordered his son back to the kitchen for a fork. It was five minutes more before Lester returned with it. He then joined his brother on the sofa, rolled his eyes and stared sullenly at his dad. Durkin picked up the plate of food and took a few bites of it. The macaroni and cheese was tasteless. Cardboard mixed with breadcrumbs and stale cheese wouldn’t have tasted much worse. He dropped the plate back onto the end table and gave his two boys a hard look.

“You boys hear of anyone sneaking down to Lorne Field today?” Durkin asked, his tone icy, dispassionate. Both boys shook their heads, both taken off-guard by his manner. “Why?” Bert asked. “What happened?”

“Never you mind.”

“It looks like something happened,” Lester said, recovering enough to show a smirk. “You smell like tomatoes. Looks like you got it on you, too. Your clothes, even your face and hair.”

“Is that what happened?” Bert asked wide-eyed. “Did some kids sneak down there and throw tomatoes at you?”

Durkin’s eyes narrowed as he studied both his boys; Lester making no effort to hide his smirk, Bert looking honestly concerned. “You two ask around,” he said. “You hear anything, you tell me.”

“Wow,” Bert murmured. “That really happened?”

“Don’t you two say nothin’ to no one about it. Just ask around. See if any of your friends know about it.” Durkin held up the three-hundred-year-old document he had brought up from the basement. “I never showed you boys this before, but this is the Caretaker contract. Most important document in this world.”

“Big deal,” Lester said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’.”

“He said ‘big deal,’” Bert said.

“You bet it’s a big deal,” Durkin said. “You’re going to be Caretaker in less than four years.”

“No, I’m not,” Lester argued stubbornly. “I asked mom and she says I don’t have to.”

“Oh yes, you do, son. It’s stated so in the contract. When you turn twenty-one, you become Caretaker. That’s the way it’s going to be, Lester.”

“Mom says I don’t have to listen to you.”