Page 107 of High Intensity

“What can I get you?” the waitress asks when she finds me.

“What is fast? Food-wise,” quickly clarify.

“Five minutes for a pulled pork sandwich and fries.”

“Sold,” I tell her with a grin. “And half a pint of whatever pale ale or lager you have on draft.”

“Coming right up,” she promises, before walking straight through what I assume is the door to the kitchen.

As I watch her disappear to the back, I can feel a rush of cool air when someone opens the front door. When I turn around, I’m unexpectedly met by a familiar pair of dark-brown eyes that are already locked on me.

JD

“Are you heading out, son?”

I turn around to find Thomas sitting on the porch.

Thomas is my boss Jonas’s father and old as dirt. I swear he spends most of his days out here on the porch just so he doesn’t miss a damn thing that goes on at the High Meadow ranch. He’s in his nineties and may be frail, but his mind is still sharp as a tack.

My ma runs the ranch house here at High Meadow, and she and Thomas have a special bond. They bicker like siblings, but everyone can see they adore each other. For Ma—who grew up in the foster system—Thomas is more of a father figure.

The old man sits on the porch and doles out his wisdom to anyone passing by—whether you want it or not—and is about as subtle as a two-by-four between the eyes. My mother doesn’t mince words either, so in that respect they’re peas in a pod.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

We rode out early this morning to take a herd to pasture lands close to the ranch’s boundary lines, where they’ll graze for the summer months. Unfortunately, when we got there, we found a lot of the fencing damaged and ended up spending the rest of the day fixing those.

By the time we got back it was almost dark. Dan went straight home, but Jackson and I grabbed some dinner here.

“I heard,” Thomas shares. “What do you reckon messed up those fences?”

“Not sure. Looked like a bunch of elk or something plowed through, but some of the lumber was already rotting, so it needed repairs anyway.”

“Herd secure?”

“Yup. They’re all set for the summer.”

The storm door creaks when Alex, Jonas’s wife and Jackson’s mother, pokes her head outside.

“Are you gonna come in tonight, Pops, or are you planning to sleep on the porch?”

He huffs and flips back the throw blanket that was covering his spindly legs.

“Hold yer horses,” he grumbles, hoisting himself to his feet.

I move to his side and grab him firmly by his elbow, when he wobbles a little as he begins to shuffle to the door.

“Weren’t you on your way home?” he snaps ungraciously, even as he puts most of his weight on me.

I grin and catch the amused twinkle in Alex’s eyes as she patiently waits with the door propped open.

“I’m leaving right now,” I tell him as I hand him off to Alex who leads him inside. “See ya in the morning.”

The old man doesn’t turn around but lifts his free hand and waves as he shuffles down the hallway. I close the front door and head over to my truck.

I imagine it’s not fun getting so old, your body won’t move the way you want it to anymore, and you need help with the most basic things. Still, I’d rather have a sound mind in a decrepit body, than the other way around. My grandpa on my father’s side had vascular dementia, and he became a person we didn’t recognize anymore. I know the prospect scares my Pa, even though the disease itself isn’t necessarily hereditary, the risk factors to developing it can be.

Up until last year, when Jackson—Alex’s son and my friend—tried to finish the job himself after nearly losing his life at enemy hands in a military operation overseas, I hardly ever gave thought to my own mortality. But that shook me up. Since then, I’ve tried to exercise a little more awareness, a little more consideration, and definitely more appreciation in my day-to-day life.

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