“One sec,” I cried out. That was when his tone changed again, growing more serious.
“Hurry.” I wasn’t sure why I needed to hurry. The cows weren’t going anywhere.
I slipped my pants on, then stomped into my boots. I ruffled my hair a little and slowly stepped towards the door, my bladder feeling full and ready to empty itself, whether I had my dick out or not.
“Hurry,” George repeated and this time the urgency hit home. I stepped out and George came around to meet me. “I need you to go down to where Jeanie is. Raul and Trent are waiting down there already. I have to ride back into town and get the police. I’m sorry, Harry. I really am,” he finished, not waiting for a response.
I watched as he hopped on his horse and kicked it into a gallop. I wasn’t sure what the issue was but knew that Uncle Mick must have meant a time period much closer when he asked me to bury him next to his wife.
I wasn’t expecting it to be the very next morning. How had he done it? I didn’t hear any gun shots, so assumed he probably hung himself. It was the only thing I could think of; the thing that made the most sense.
I continued down the path, making out a couple of vague shapes at the end of it. Neither was moving, but I could see the lit ends of cigarettes occasionally brightening, temporarily lighting their smoker’s faces in the darkness. I hurried a little, now anxious to be amongst the living. Walking that path that morning really felt as if the dead were reaching for me from beyond the shadows. The night was still active, the sun still a couple of hours from ending it.
13.
Uncle Mick hadn’t hung himself. He had been drinking a bottle of whiskey after I left. Probably had it hiding in his pocket as we sat and talked just a few hours before. When he’d finished it, he smashed it on the iron fence, then sliced his wrists with the remnants of the neck of the bottle. The holes he sliced into himself mustn’t have been bleeding out fast enough for him, slamming the razor-sharp neck into his throat.
It was still sticking out from his neck, his hand firmly grasping the bottle with one hand. He must have been kneeling before Jeanie’s grave and as he bled out, fallen across the iron fence, his legs on one side, his torso lying across his wife’s final resting place on the other, as if to cuddle up to her one final time.
By the time the policeman finally arrived, the sun was just starting to break through the clouds, a thin whisper of sunshine lighting up the willow above us. It didn’t take long for the cop to rule the death a suicide and although the body was removed for the doctor to do his thing, Uncle Mick was returned to the very same spot a couple of days later.
I kept my promise, burying him next to his beloved Jeanie. There was a second service in as many weeks and when it was done, was finally introduced to Ben Fordham. He shook my hand, then asked me to follow him up to the house where ‘official proceedings’ needed our attention.
There were only about a dozen or so people that attended and they remained around the gravesites to tell stories. George and his other 2 workers were there, filling the hole in as others stood around smoking cigarettes, watching as the dirt reclaimed one of their own.
14.
George had been right about one thing when we had seen Ben driving up to meet with Uncle Mick. He was there to try and convince him to sell. But there was a reason he’d been summoned, Uncle Mick asking for his presence as soon as was possible that day.
I know because the lawyer told me so. Once we were seated around the kitchen table, it didn’t take long for him to spill the beans on their previous meeting.
“He was a very generous man, your uncle,” he began, looking at me as if expecting some sort of mourning song. When he saw that none was coming, continued. “Looks like he was planning to end his life ahead of time. He called me up here a couple of days ago for this.” He held up a sealed envelope, a single word written across its front.
HARRY
“This was one of the easiest documents I’ve ever had to draw up, son. Do you know what this is?”
I didn’t much care for being called son by this Nancy-pants. He reminded me of one of those men that paraded around high and mighty, but in reality, went home to wear their girlfriend’s underwear while jerking off in the mirror.
I shook my head, although knew perfectly well what the envelope contained. It held my financial freedom.
“This is your Uncle’s will. Let me read it to you, because there’s really not much to it. Unless you can read?” I’m not sure why, but somehow it made it more fun to act dumb, if only to watch this prick sit a little taller in his chair.
I gestured for him to read it, a sly grin edging the side of his mouth. I listened as he read the single sentence I knew was coming.
“I, Michael Lewis Huntington, leave all of my worldly possessions, including all property, finances and other known or unknown holds, to my nephew, Harry Edward Lightman.” Ben looked up from the paper, appeared to frown a little, then handed the sheet of paper to me. “He wasn’t a rich man, Harry. Apart from the land you see, Michael had very
