Page 36 of Plentywood
“True, but neither of you has ever treated me like family, so why bother?” I argued, wondering why I’d troubled to call this heartless example of a parent.
“What is the purpose of this call?” he asked, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Out of money so soon?”
I pulled a sheet of paper toward me and glanced at the numbers again. Agnes had given me the repair cost estimates for the theater and a proposed budget for this year’s suggested play the theater group wanted to put on.
“I’d like a donation from mother’s trust for the town’s theater,” I began. “Mother was a past supporter, and she would’ve approved.”
“Your mother is dead, Benedict, and as things turn out, my desire to continue supporting that cause has died as well.”
“I want the funds because I’m considering naming the theater after her,” I said. “The naming and donation are a nice gesture and will go a long way to showing our commitment to Plentywood,” I added, doing my best to sell the idea.
My father paused, but not before making an odd sound under his breath. The pause itself was worrisome, but his strange inhale seemed like he was about to deliver more bad news.
I was correct. “About that commitment, young man,” he began.
I uncrossed my legs under the antique desk I was sitting at above the clinic. I’d begun to get used to being surrounded by old furnishings and had even found some pieces charming.
“Go on,” I said, bracing for news that I might not like. “But let me remind you it was Grandmother, your mother, who started the theater when she and Grandfather lived in Plentywood.”
“Things change,” he stated. “After you leave, when you’ve completed your year, the Hawthorne family will be done with Plentywood.”
I sat up straight in my chair. “Done?”
“That is correct. Your grandfather, grandmother, and your mother are all gone, Benedict. I’m sure as hell never going back, and you’re the end of the line. Ahomosexualend-of-the-line, I might add. As in no heirs.”
I was stunned by his news and didn’t respond to his jibe at my sexuality. Surely I didn’t want to live here either, but what diddonemean exactly? “What about the clinic, Father?”
“We’ll be pulling the plug on that as well as selling the ten thousand acres of land the family owns there.”
I glanced at a mirror on the wall to measure how wide my eyes had just expanded. “Hold on a second!” I exclaimed. “The clinic is funded by Hawthorne Industries,” I reminded him. “And when the fuck were you going to let me know about ten thousand acres of land?”
“The clinic and that aging town are costing us a small fortune,” he stated. “How many millions of your inheritance are you willing to give away?”
“You can’t do that!” I insisted. “The clinic was Grandmother’s gift to Plentywood. Your own mother’s gift.Jesus!How can you do that?” I asked.
“Are you willing to plant roots in Plentywood, Benedict? Do you want to manage that much land and pay for free health care for people who cannot afford to pay their own bills?” he asked, his indigence heavily coating his words. “Because the last time I saw you, you were complaining about spending one single day in that town. Andwhywere you complaining about having to go there?” he asked. I said nothing, so he continued. “Let me remind you. It was because of losing thirty million dollars if you didn’t.”
“Well, I’m not…”
I paused, and he breathed. A stalemate before he spoke up. “So, ‘No’ is what I’m hearing. As I figured,” he stated.
His words stung, but he was correct. I couldn’t stay in this town, even if my leaving risked the clinic. I’d called him to get a few thousand dollars to help with a theater. Now he was telling me we owned a shitload of land, and that he intended to rip the clinic right out from underneath a town full of people who depended on our family’s philanthropy.
“I’m not sure about this, Father,” I said, quietly thinking about the elderly patients I’d seen over the past month. The single mothers. The government dependent folks with chronic diseases like diabetes. “This sounds heartless.”
He was unflinching in his stance. “Heartless?” he mocked. “So says the man who didn’t even want to go there. So says the man who would only commit a year because of a trust fund? Cry me a river, Benedict. This is business.”
“Your own mother will roll over in her grave, Father. Even Mother would never allow this to happen if she was here,” I pointed out.
“Dead, and dead,” he stated. “Any other questions?”
“What has happened to you?” I asked.
“More like, what has happened to you, Benedict?” he shot back. “Where does this altruistic bullshit come from? You’re out of there in less than a year, so who cares, right? Aren’t those your exact words?”
“But what abo…” I began.
He quickly interrupted my question. “I’m busy here running an empire that you will one day inherit, young man. Do you have anything else before I hang up?”
