Here we are:
He had to pee.
From what had become his usual spot to accommodate bodily function, Will looked through the windbreak, over the turned earth and sprouting corn, eyes fixed on the white house and its flowerbeds. It looked awful small from where he stood. So, he missed Nan’s funeral. So, he was drunk, stoned and sunburned as the Limburger’s gathered to bid farewell to the last of the Rijsbergens. Of course, he was conspicuous in his absence. That day may well have been the first time he’d ever been conspicuous in these parts, on his own, anyway. He was sure he’d shared some of the scrutiny when it came to Mom, but after she was gone, he’d allowed himself to believe any attention he attracted was nothing more than sympathy for an unfortunate little boy. That had made for a refreshing change. His return to the hinterlands meant a return to conspicuousness. Ah, well . . . The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Keeping his eyes on the house, Will zipped up. Remarkable, he thought, how a freshly emptied bladder could also provide fresh perspective. So, he missed Nan’s funeral. Deplorable as it may be, he owed nobody an explanation. Any redemption he could hope to attain would be found in whatever resulted from the noise being made behind him. Whatever amends he could offer wouldn’t grant him redemption, and it sure as hell wouldn’t make the guy who lived in the house he was staring at any less an asshole. Bertie’s caution was understandable, but it was seated in a past Blom understood, and the present Will was living in. He now understood why he’d come here. He was going to fix that house because it was the least he could do for his grandparents. He had the means of making the structure as solid and habitable as it could be. Leaving it to another family to put some warmth and happiness in it was as grand a legacy any family could hope for, fucked up or not. As far as that legacy was concerned, a large part of it was rooted in protecting a piece of ground his grandfather had found joy in, no matter that a great part of that joy was had by using it to scare the living shit out of everybody else.
Will stepped forward, well clear of the wet spot he’d just made, and continued in even, measured steps. He walked past the Cottonwoods and Pin Oaks, through knee-high grass, thistle and brush, into open space. He trod steady and straight, paying no mind for the footprints in the churned soil or the inch high sprouts flattened beneath his feet, toward the front porch that was on the other side of the next windbreak.
Until tomorrow, then…