Installment #11

Installment #11

Fred

Ah, yes, this was going to be a good job. Even after he
paid for the wrought iron and the delivery he was going to pocket
over $3,000. He thought briefly of where to hide it. He had an
empty Hershey’s can on the shelf. That would work perfectly to
hold the bills, but where in the yard. He thought of all the little
cans buried here and there.  The area around the cabin was getting pretty filled up, but
he owned 12 acres so he was not going to run out of room any
time soon. It was just that he had a plan. The money he got from
his trust fund was plenty to live on. And dad had built this little
cabin and then left it to him when he died. No one else to leave
it to since his bitch of a mother had taken off with some salesman
and left him and dad to figure it out. He had been an
impressionable teenager when she did that. Both Fredric Himes,
Jr and his father, Fredric Himes Sr. had mourned the loss of
Marybeth Himes. It was not that it was a shock, quite the
contrary. Fredric Himes worked long hours in the factory and
then at his accounting job on the side and Marybeth was a young
woman and full of life. And she loved to dance and hang out with
party people.

So she was gone one day. Just gone. No note, no tearful
goodbye, just a slamming door while Freddie was in school and
Fredric was at the factory. Fredric donated her belongings to
charity and never spoke her name again. Freddie just envied the
boys who had a mother and wished someone would make him
cookies. No one seemed too surprised that he never dated. Girls
were not to be trusted. He learned to cook and keep house and
what good would a woman be anyway? He hung out in the
saloon and learned the tricks of the trade there.

He was a misfit in school so when he turned 16 years
old, he just quit going. Big waste of time. He mowed yards and
shoveled snow. He painted and fixed roofs and mended fences
and became quite the handyman. Very dependable. Did great
work and charged a reasonable fee. Strange bird, but honest as
the day was long. Then Dad built the house halfway up the
mountain not far from Denver. Built it for a vacation home.
Just somewhere to get away from the rat race that was his life.
But it was more to Freddie. To him it was an oasis away from
the pitying eyes of the people in Denver. The ones who never
had forgotten about how Marybeth had just walked away and
never looked back. Poor Freddie, raised by his Dad. No woman
in his life.

So they lived; the father in Denver and the son on the
mountain until one day the father stepped in front of a train.
Some said it was an accident and some said it was on purpose.
So young, only 47 years old. He had left a will and a very large
Life Insurance. The executor took over and a trust fund was
established for Freddie. The home on Larimer street was sold to
a developer. And then Freddie was dealt the crowning blow.
The house was demolished and the reason Marybeth had for
leaving was revealed. Her bones behind the wall in the root
cellar spoke volumes and her son now saw it clearly. His father
had not let her go quietly. He had not let her go at all. For all
the years Freddie had missed his mother, she was right out there
in the yard. And his benevolent father had put her there.

Yes, the mountain was where he must remain. The
mountain and his solitary life. Oh, and the cans of money. Those
were his monuments. When he buried one, he never dug it up. He
knew it was there. He knew who had given it to him and why.
That was all he needed. He had been doing this for 20 years and
he had no idea how much was there. It did not matter. What did
matter was that when he buried something of value, he
remembered. Not like his father. No, not at all like his father.
Freddie looked at his reflection in the window. He was
not a bad looking man at all. Just over six feet tall and a body
hardened by hard work and primal living. A diet of natural foods
grown in his own yard kept him healthy. Lots of water to drink.
A tender yearling deer on occasion, or a rabbit, or a dove
furnished him with needed protein. His dark brown hair was
shoulder length and his beard was full. His dark brown eyes were
alert, but they covered the confusion in his mind.

No woman was not exactly the truth. There had been that
one in Kansas when he was working construction. That was
back when he thought he was normal, before they found the
bones. He liked to travel the country and just taste life. He had
tasted that woman very deeply. He had wanted to stay, but he
couldn’t. Women were evil. They would tie you down and you
would have to work in a factory and be tired all the time. Then
they would just leave. She had been warm and willing and he
had thought about telling her about his mom and asking if she
was that way, but he knew better. She would just lie. He wished
he could remember her name. He could remember her body and
how she moved beneath him, but he could not remember her
face. When the last day of work came he was relieved. He had
grabbed his gear and headed back to Denver, secure in the
knowledge that she could never find him. He was right.

Then he smiled as he remembered her name. It was
Darling.

Yes, that was it, Darling.