Page 83 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 25
MacKenna
HOME FOR CHRISTMAS. I am happy to see my folks. But the saying is true. You can't go home again. I've grown too used to the hustle and bustle of Chicago, to the constant noise of the streets. The deafening quiet of my parents' farm unsettles me.
They're the same as I left them. A little grayer, a little more worn. Farming takes a lot out of people, and, as hard as they work, it shows.
After we open the presents and eating a farm breakfast, we settle down to the "How are you doing portion of the visit?"
"So, you must be doing well, MacKenna. That car out there doesn't come cheap." With my car had been junked, I was still driving the Mercedes Oliver Lyons had offered me. I kept telling myself I needed to return it, but with no other viable alternative, I didn't see a way to do so. And he had said I could keep it for as long as I wanted to.
"We were thinking, MacKenna, about selling the farm. We're not as young as we used to be, and well, Ellie here—" he taps my mother's hand "—wants to soak up some sun."
"That sounds great, Dad. You've both worked hard. So who'd you sell the farm to."
"A conglomerate's buying a lot the land in this area. Paying top dollar too. They've got these newfangled ways to till the land. Probably add a whole bunch of chemicals to it." My dad had farmed organically his whole life, minimizing the chemical spraying as long as he could. "Hate to think of how much damage they'll do. But, it's time to move on. Hey, Ellie." He pats my mother's hand. One thing about them, they'd always treasured each other, to the point that Jeanie and I sometimes felt left out. But you couldn't fault their marriage. They held true to each other their entire lives.
"So where you thinking of moving? Florida?" I ask.
"No," dad says. "Ellie has a hankering for Arizona. Her old bones —"
"George, I'm not that old. And yours are older than mine anyhow."
"Now, Ellie, don't get your shorts in a twist." He leans over and kisses her cheek before turning his attention back to me. "The dry heat of Arizona will be better for her arthritis."
About five years back, my mom had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. She'd suffered through the cold winters of Iowa for all that time. Although she takes medication for it, there is no way to stop the disease. The warm, dry climate of Arizona will help her deal with the disease.
"So, when do you think you'll sell."
Soon. They want to complete the deal before summer. So, April, May." So if there's anything you'd like to take with you now would probably be a good time to do that."
I taken all my stretcher processions with me when I first moved to Chicago,, including my Paddington Bear. But since my things had been torn or destroyed when Tommie Hawkins had broken into my apartment, I had a hankering for something familiar. "Do you still have Jeanie's things?"
"Jeanie's?" my dad asks. "Why would you want those?"
"Now, George," my mom says. "They're upstairs, dear. In the attic."
"I'd like to go through them. Take some things with me." They'd be a reminder of the sister I dearly loved. "How is she?"
"Fine. Fine," dad says, looking down. After her assault, he's never been comfortable talking about Jeanie.
"Have you seen her?"
"Not since summer."
"You haven't spoken to her for six months?"
"Lower your voice, dear. It upsets your father when you yell at him."
He should be upset. The way he's treated Jeanie is a disgrace. It's like he wrote her off. After she'd been kidnapped, he could barely look at her. But then I know what he does with animals that aren't right. He shoots them.
"The truth of the matter is she doesn't recognize us. She has no idea who we are."
"But you know who she is. She's your daughter."
My father flinches.
But I don't care. "What are you doing about her? When you move?"
