The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“Jack, really, it’s no bother…” Hank Thompson stopped as he stepped back on his heels. He froze for a moment, then tapped his chest. “Indigestion,” he told Durkin. “I shouldn’t have had that extra helping of stuffed cabbage.” He smiled weakly as he took out his wallet and peered inside it. He counted what he had and handed the money to Durkin.

“Forty-three dollars,” Hank said. “All I have on me. If I knew those bastards lifted the two hundred dollars from you, I would’ve stopped off at an ATM before coming here. You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

Durkin nodded without much conviction.

“Call me tomorrow,” Hank said. “I’m going to fix this, Jack, I promise. I’ll be filing an emergency injunction tomorrow morning to get you reinstated as Caretaker and back in your house. Don’t worry about a thing, Jack, we’ve got a valid contract on our side.” The attorney sighed as he gazed at the boxes and furniture scattered across the front yard. “It might take a few days to get all this worked out, so I’ll arrange to have your belongings put in storage. I don’t want to give our good sheriff an excuse to throw your property away.”

“I appreciate all this, Hank.”

The attorney fixed Durkin a careful look. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked.

“Yep. I’ll be fine.”

The attorney took Durkin’s hand. His face grew a shade grayer as he stared more intently at Durkin. “You’re sure you’re going to be able to weed that field tomorrow?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, Jack.” Hank lowered himself into his Cadillac. “If you need anything you call me, understand?”

The attorney showed a comforting smile as he held up the Book of Aukowies and promised Durkin he’d get it repaired. As he pulled away, he honked his horn and waved out the window. Durkin watched until the car disappeared around the bend. Then he found his flashlight and hobbled painfully to where he’d left Lester’s mountain bike.

Chapter 9

In retrospect, Jack Durkin could’ve planned better. Not that he had much choice in the matter. The idea of staying with Hank Thompson gave him the willies. While he liked Hank and felt comfortable around him, Hank’s wife was another matter. Jeanette Thompson was a tall willowy woman, about the same height as her husband and with the same thick cigar-ash colored hair. Originally from Manhattan, she had gone to the same ivy league college as Hank, and the few times she met Durkin, she had looked at him as if he was nothing but a specimen in a jar. Even more importantly, he had spent every night of his life at the Caretaker’s cabin, and the thought of being an overnight guest in anyone else’s house was strongly distasteful to him. But it was more than that. He couldn’t be dependent on anyone to get him to Lorne Field in the morning. Still, after spending three hours in the dark, first riding Lester’s mountain bike back to Lorne Field and then pushing a wheelbarrow from the shed to the Caretaker’s cabin, hobbling every step of the way on an injured ankle, he wished he had come up with a different plan. He also wished he had found the aspirin before he left.

He pushed the wheelbarrow over to the boxes and nearly fell over when something large crawled out of one of them. He turned his flashlight on it and saw four raccoons digging into the box.

“Git out of there!” he yelled.

The raccoon nearest to him arched its back and hissed. The others ignored him.

“I said git!”

This time all the raccoons ignored him.

Durkin picked up a stone and threw a fast ball hitting the nearest raccoon in the ribs. It let out a loud hiss, turned towards Durkin, then changed its mind and scampered off. Durkin zipped a couple of more stones at the other raccoons and they followed, disappearing into the nearby woods.

He hobbled over and saw the box they were digging into was one of the ones with perishable food packed into it. He pushed it away and found the boxes with the canned goods, then loaded the cans into the wheelbarrow.

“Almost forgot the can opener,” he muttered to himself. “A lot of good those cans would do me without it.”

Durkin searched through more boxes until he found the can opener. The same box had the family silverware, and he grabbed a fork and spoon. He went through the rest of the boxes and loaded blankets, sheets and a pillow into the wheelbarrow, along with a small suitcase that he packed most of his clothes into.

In one of the boxes he came across a plaque naming him the state’s most valuable baseball player his freshman year of high school. He had forgotten about the plaque. He probably hadn’t seen it since the night he was awarded it at the celebration dinner. He lingered for a moment looking at it, and then dropped it back in the box.