Chapter One
Eledora Rosewood:
“Here are the manuscripts Mr. Hartford would like reviewed and edited by the end of the day tomorrow,” Sheila said, putting down a plethora of papers on my desk. I stared at the stack, pausing my packing, before looking back at her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sheila. Can you give them to Elease? I’ve just clocked out and have to get going. My father hates it when I’m late for dinner.”
“Excuse me? Mr. Hartford has finally given you more work, and you’re refusing it after all that begging you did for more responsibility as one of his interns?”
“I’m not refusing anything. I’ve done what I was supposed to. I’ve already clocked out and am on my way out the door to spend some quality time with my family, just like I do every Friday. Mr. Hartford has never assigned me work over the weekend, so this is a bit out of character for him.”
“Ok, I suppose I could go and tell Mr. Hartford that you’ve refused to do your job. I’m sure he’d love to hear that.”
“I’m not refusing to do my job, Sheila. I just don’t have time to-”
“Then you have no problem reading over these, editing them, and then having them on his desk tomorrow evening.”
I worked as a literary agent and editor in training. I was still going to school, working on my second year to get my Bachelor’s degree in Literature. I loved reading. I loved writing more, though. I do more journaling rather than stand in the palace of make-believe, but I love it all the same.
My dad was a company lawyer for Writing Logistics Publishing and managed to score me a job during school, working as a trainee under Mr. Hartford and his publishing team. It was a thrilling job, and I loved it. The problem was that Sheila was one of the most annoying assistants I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. She was bossy, rude, and felt as though she was above everyone around her. I believe she got a kick out of telling me what to do, knowing there was very little I could do about it.
“Sheila, surely you can-”
“Sheila, I need you to-”
Mr. Hartford interrupted us, pausing to look between us. He was a somewhat older man. I believe he was in his late thirties to early forties, but he looked younger. He had a somewhat peppered beard, mainly due to the stress of his job.
“Ms. Rosewood is giving me push back on the manuscripts,” Sheila said without so much as a glance in Mr. Hartford’s direction. My mouth dropped open in shock at how fast she sold me out. I never get assigned work on Fridays. Mainly because that was Mr. Hartford’s way of giving me room to work on my school work while still working five days out of the week, and because my dad requested that he give me time to spend with family. So I got the weekends off.
“Manuscripts? I never give Rosewood work on Fridays,” he says, confused.
“Sir, you told me to bring these down to her when I got the chance. Remember during your lunch break?”
“Well, give them to Elease so Ms. Rosewood can be at her parents’ house on time. I don’t need her father on my case about it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hartford,” I said, smiling. I finished packing my bags. On my way out, I heard Sheila nagging.
“You know you are in charge? You are doing this out of charity for her.”
“I am doing this because her father is a good friend, and she has a keen eye for someone so young...”
The conversation faded out, but I was happy that Mr. Hartford didn’t give Sheila any satisfaction. He stood up for me. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Mr. Hartford enjoyed my editing. In the last two years of working with him, I’ve had plenty of talks with him about his latest book, “Humble Beginnings”.
That book has caught fire with the way people have been raving about it. When he participated in the writer’s conference a few months ago. I appreciated it a lot. Mr. Hartford was a very humble, very genuine man, and I was so glad that I got stuck with him, even if his assistant is annoying.
******
“Where’s father?” I asked my mother as I stepped through the doors. I began taking my coat and shoes off. I hung my jacket on the Hall Tree and placed my shoes on the shoe rack by the door. As I walked through the large house, my childhood home, I kept my eye out for my younger brother and father.
“Oh, he’s upstairs on the phone. I didn’t get a chance to ask him what it was about because he seemed annoyed.”
“You think it’s grandpa again. He’s been calling a lot recently. Maybe something happened,”
“If something did happen, that would be your grandpa’s fault.”
“You guys always say that. What did he do that was so bad?”
“Your grandfather is a selfish and mean man,”
“He always seems so nice when we talk to him on the phone.”
“It’s for show, honey. Sympathy points, trust me.”
The conversation ended, and I washed my hands in the sink so I could help Mom finish the food. After about ten minutes, my little brother, Dawson, came bounding in. He had on no shirt, plaid pajama pants, and his gaming headset sat on his head. He seemed to be in a deep conversation with whoever was on the other side. “Hi, Dawson,” I said, waiting for him to notice my present.
“Hey, Eledora. You spending the night tonight?” he asked, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.
“For the games?”
“Yeah, last week you bailed. And the week before that. And the week before that...”
“Okay, okay. I get it,” I said, cutting him off, to which he laughed. “That’s because I really needed to focus on school. I had exams coming up and needed to study hardcore,”
“I will not be going to college,” Dawson said, shaking his head. He hated school now. The only reason he kept his grades up was that our father was very strict and particular about that. He deemed education of the highest importance. Being somebody was important to him, and he didn’t want his kids to grow up and be nobodies.
“Yes, you will.” Speak of the devil. My father joined us in the kitchen, irritation etched on his face. Dawson went quiet with an annoyed look on his face. They’ve fought about this topic since Dawson was in seventh grade. He’s now a sophomore in high school, and they’re still debating about it. The tension the moment father was present was palpable. He really did know how to ruin an atmosphere. He was so uptight and tense. Always pushing, never comforting. I wondered if he got it from his father.
It was strange because I’ve never met my grandfather in person. I’ve only talked to him over the phone. We see him on FaceTime, but we’ve never actually met him. Father is very serious about staying away from him.
“I’m assuming your phone call didn’t go well,” Mother said. Father sighed heavily and sat at the head of the table.
“Grab me a drink, Martha,” he said. I began bringing the food to the table, and Dawson helped me, telling his gaming friend goodbye and setting his headset in the living room. Mother had the bottle of wine and poured it into Father’s glass before putting it away.
She sat down at the opposite end of father, and Dawson and I sat in our usual seats across from each other. There was noticeable space between all of us. Mother and father and the heads of the table, Dawson and I on the side. The perfect family dynamic. It never felt family-like, though.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Mom asked, trying to ease the tension by getting Father to talk about his feelings.
“It’s just Buck being Buck, Martha. Playing the fuckin’ sympathy card,”
“What did Grandpa do now? It doesn’t seem like he’s capable of doing much,” Dawson said.
“Apparently, he has two months to live.”
“And you’re saying he’s looking for sympathy?” I was appalled by what he said. Your dad tells you he has two months to live, and you say he’s looking for sympathy. That was insane. It was also really sad to see how much my father hated his dad. I couldn’t imagine hating my father that much. No matter how hard he is on Dawson and me, we’d always be grateful for his guidance.
“Yeah. He’s telling me he has two months left to live as he is currently outside in the heat, sweatin’ buckets, trying to wrangle cows and get them in a truck. Someone with just two months left to live doesn’t move like that,”
“That doesn’t mean he’s not sick, though, Dad,” I said.
“What does it mean, then, Eledora? Because with just two months left to live, you’d be in bed, damn near ready to croak. He’s up walking around healthy as a fucking horse,”
“He has no one dad. If he doesn’t tend to his animals, who will? Plus, how would you know his condition? You haven’t seen him in years,” I mumbled. I was kind of annoyed by how he wasn’t taking this seriously.
“Pardon me,” there it was. Sometimes, when dad got mad enough, you’d hear that southern twang leave his mouth. I could sometimes hear a bit of grandpa in him. That scruffy, gruff voice mixed. When I was a child, it was enough to make me behave however he wanted if it meant he wasn’t mad at me.
I’m 21 years old now. If anything, that tone of voice irritates me. Especially when it involves grandpa. Even though I’ve never met him in person, I thought the way Father was treating him was unfair and mean.
“You haven’t seen him in years, Dad. You don’t know what his condition is like. He could be telling the truth right now, hoping to get to spend some time with his son before he goes, and all he gets from you is disingenuous conversation and a slammed door in his face,”
“I know, Buck, Eledora. You don’t,” he said, his voice holding finality. Nope, he was not going to just shut me down because he feels some kind of way at the fact that I’m defending the man that raised him.
“I would if you’d have let me meet him. If you had let him be a part of mine and Dawson’s lives, we could’ve formed our own opinions. Sorry if I don’t appreciate the way you treat the man who raised you. Whether you think his methods weren’t the best or not, he did it. And he made you the hard-working man you are today,”
“No, I made this man. The man my father would’ve made would still be back in buttfuck nowhere, sitting on my ass drinking beers, smoking cigs, and herding bulls. Where’s the fuckin’ future in that?”
The atmosphere was dark. Everyone was silent after Father’s last statement. I found it hard to believe Grandpa Buck was as bad as Dad made him out to be. I ate in silence while everyone eventually continued the conversation, changing topics, causing a lighter tone within them. I still sat brewing. There was a small part of me that wanted to experience it for myself. I yearned for a relationship with my grandparents. Mom doesn’t talk to her parents at all. She hasn’t spoken to them in years. I doubt she even has their number.
When dinner was over, I helped Mom clean the kitchen and joined Dawson and our father in the living room for games. I did my best to be happy, but I couldn’t take my mind off of Grandpa. He could really be dying, and Dad doesn’t care at all. I would hate for Grandpa Buck to die alone. Especially when he’d love nothing more than to see his son again. Why else would he tell him about it? Why else would he reach out? Surely he’d like to spend his last two months with his family.
*****
Before heading to bed, I stopped Mom from leaving the kitchen. She officially closed it off for the night. No one was allowed to make anything. The only thing you could do now that the kitchen was clean and everyone was heading to bed was get something to drink. “Yes?” she questioned, fixing her robe tie to make it tighter than it was before.
“Do you have Grandpa Buck’s number?”
“Eledora....” Mother said in warning.
“Mom, please. He could actually be dying,”
“Buck is known for lying.”
“Do you know this personally, or did Dad tell you that?” That stopped her in her tracks. She’s never met Grandpa Buck in person. Dad made sure to keep her away from him, too. Everything she feels towards him is because of my dad. She doesn’t have her own opinion of him.
“I will see if I can get it and I’ll send it to you,”
“Thank you,” I said. I went to my old room and got into bed. I made sure my 6:30 am alarm was on and then drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
******
When I woke up in the morning, I pressed stop on my alarm and did a mini stretch, while yawning. I had to wake up early because mother liked to go on Saturday morning runs, and she always wanted me to join her. I always made it a point to be ready before her so we could walk straight out the door. Otherwise, she’ll be complaining I took too long, and then, on the run, she’ll complain about the heat.
I grabbed my phone to see if I received any messages from Sheila. I had. She had sent me twenty messages. I opened and browsed through those. Most of it was just her telling me that A. A. Wrightforth had a manuscript ready for me when I return on Monday. That was another author under Writing Logistics Publishing. I opened another message I got from my mother and saw it was a phone number.
I stared at it for a while and then nodded my head. I got ready for my day by brushing my teeth, washing my face, and making sure my ponytail was still neat. I put on some leggings and a nice-fitting shirt. My running shoes were downstairs by the front door, so all I would have to do when I walked downstairs was put them on.
While I waited until I was sure mother was ready, I decided to call the number. I decided to FaceTime it instead of calling it normally. When Grandpa Buck answered, it looked like he was inside. He was squinting at the camera, before a big smile came across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, a heartfelt chuckle leaving him. It was very quickly followed by uncontrollable coughs.
“Are you okay?” I questioned immediately.
“Don’t mind me. That’s them cigarettes. Lungs have been bad for years. It’s just finally catching up to me,” he said, wheezing and out of breath.
“So, you’re really dying?” I questioned, feeling my heart break. Father was really dismissive.
“Yeah, cancer. Ain’t nun I can do ’bout it,”
“Is chemo not an option?”
“It’s too late for that. Plus, I’ve lived a long life. I’m satisfied.”
“You seem to be getting around just fine. You’re not in any pain?” I can see why Father dismissed it. He didn’t seem to care too much about the fact that he was dying.
“I’ve been through worse, this ain’t nun I can’t handle,” he said, pausing his steps to take a deep breath before continuing. “What made you call? It’s been a minute since I’ve heard from you kids. I’m surprised Tyler even told ya,”
“Yeah...” I felt guilty. I probably should’ve tried to get to know him sooner.
“Don’t worry. I ain’t mad at ya. Can’t be, it ain’t your fault. It’s nice to have you reach out.”
“When you told Father, what did you tell him? He seemed to think you just wanted a reason for him to feel bad.”
“I told him I was dying, stage four, and would love it if he came to see his old man one last time,”
“And he said no,” I said, feeling angry with my father all over again.
“Yeah, he did. He did it in old Tyler fashion as well. Yelling and screaming about how I did it to myself and all that other bullshit,”
“What happened between the two of you?”
“That’s a long story, kiddo.”
“I would like to hear it. Maybe over the rest of the summer?” There was a long pause.
“What?” he questioned.
“Maybe you can tell me over the summer. You were going to invite father over, right?”
“Yeah, would’ve bought the tickets and everythin’,”
“Well, I’d love to come in his place instead.”
“You don’t need to do that, darling, it’s alright,”
“I want to,” I said immediately. “I think it would be nice. To get to really meet you and get to know you,”
“Tyler ain’t gonna like that too much. It’s best you just stay out there. Old Buck will be just fine,”
“I don’t need father’s approval. I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”
There was a laugh on the other end of the phone. It was another heartfelt laugh that you could feel in your chest. It was infectious and made me smile unwillingly. I was being serious. “I like you,” he said, after a long while. I could still hear him wheezing. “But really, it’s just fine. There’s no need to cause any trouble between you and your father.”
“I’m coming. End of story. I want to get to know my grandfather and form my own opinions. Especially when he only has two months left, and I hardly know him. Everything I know comes from a man who seems to be spiteful to the only parent he has left,”
“Don’t be too hard on him. He has his reasons,”
“Are they good enough to deny your father a visit while he’s almost on his way out?”
Another long pause. Exactly. Father was being spiteful. He was being rude and wasn’t being understanding at all. “Ok, kid. Clear it with your father first, and then we’ll see,”
“All I need is an address. I’ll book my flight as soon as I can get approved for a leave absence.”
After that, the conversation went on for a little longer. I just talked to him about what his days were like. He said most of the time he sits on his porch alone, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. He also mentioned that a guy comes by quite often to check on him and spend time with him. I thought that was nice. He didn’t go too into detail about him, though.
I made sure that when I got off the phone with him, I called Mr. Hartford. I was hoping he’d approve my leave for that long. I would still be able to work remotely, but you never know.
