Picking Up Edgar
Friday, Tom picked corn until 7:00 PM. He showered, hopped in the truck, and headed to the airport, an hour away. He stopped at the drive-through window at a fast-food restaurant. He ordered a burger and a Coke and ate on the way to the airport. He parked at the airport’s parking garage a little past 9:00 PM. Edgar’s plane was due in at 9:10 PM. Tom waited at the gate.
The plane arrived, and passengers began flowing out the jet bridge exit. Tom caught sight of Edgar coming through the door. He looked different. His hair was styled and hung loose. His clothes, though casual, appeared stylish. He carried a suit bag.
Tom looked down at himself; faded jeans and a flannel shirt. He rubbed the fronts of his shoes on the back of his pants to remove the dust.
Disappointment showed through Edgar’s smile. Tom immediately noticed it.
‘I should have thrown something better on,’ Tom thought. “And I brought the pickup. He’s embarrassed. I suppose he has the right to be.’
“Hey, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said and joked, “Looks like you’ve been in the fields all day.”
“Actually,” Tom said, “I have been. I’m trying to get the corn in. They’re saying rain next week.”
“Well, what the heck,” Edgar said and shook Tom’s hand, “It’s good to see you, and thanks for coming down to pick me up.
“Yeah,” Tom said, “it’s been a while. You look different.”
They began to walk down the concourse toward the parking garage.
“It’s been a year,” Edgar said.
“Actually, two and a half,” Tom said.
“Are you sure?” Edgar said.
“I’m sure,” Tom said. “Mom kept track.”
Edgar slowed his pace. “So how was she in the end?”
“She was doing fine,” Tom said. “I think the treatments were too much for her. I guess it was one of those things where the cure is worse than the disease.”
“We’ve had it rough,” Edgar said, “losing both parents before I’m 25.”
“How are you feeling?” Tom asked.
“I’m devastated,” Edgar said, but his tone did not match the words. He said it as if ordering a drink.
“Have you contacted everybody?” Edgar asked.
“I called Amy, our cousin, and she said she’d take care of that for me.”
“Should have done it yourself,” Edgar said. “I bet she hasn’t called a soul. I bet the funeral will be an empty house. I was hoping to see a lot of old friends. You should have done the calling yourself. If you want things done right, don’t leave it to a cousin.”
“With getting in the corn and some other things, I had little time,” Tom said.
“What other things?” Edgar challenged.
“I had to make Mom’s arrangements at the funeral home. I met with the hospital, and they explained what actually happened with Mom. The cattle had to be fed. Mom got behind on some bills, and I had to get them all squared away. I had to go and pay our taxes. The cattle broke down a fence. And wandered all over the countryside. I had to gather them and repair the fence. Our well pump went out, and I had to replace it.”
“Couldn’t have somebody come out and do that? That’s what repairmen are for.” Edgar asked.
“Next Wednesday,” Tom replied.
“Which reminds me,” Edgar said, “remember I said something about my room?”
“I took care of it,” Tom said.
“Good man, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said.
They walked to the truck in the parking garage.
“The truck!” Edgar said disapointedly. “We have a car, don’t we?”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I was in such a hurry, I didn’t think. I’m used to hopping in the truck. Mom always drove the car.”
“Make sure we drive back in the car, alright, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said.
“Sure, the car,” Tom said.
“Good lad,” Edgar said.
They drove up to the pay booth.
Edgar fished around in his pockets. He pulled out his wallet. “I’m afraid all I have are big bills.” He nodded at a sign under the teller’s window; We Take Nothing Over a Twenty Dollar Bill.
Tom pulled his wallet out and paid the teller.
As they drove away, Tom asked, “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Noon,” Edgar said.
“You must be starved,” Tom said. “We’ll be home in an hour. A friend of Mom’s from the grange brought some ham sandwiches, a pint of potato salad, and lemon meringue pie.”
“I don’t eat that crap anymore,” Edgar said, “and neither should you. That’s probably why Mom and Dad are in the grave.”
“Actually,” Tom said, “they’re not in a grave. They were cremated.”
“That’s right, but you know what I meant.”
It was quiet for a couple of miles.
“Have you seen the lawyer?” Edgar said. “You know, about the will?”
“He’ll be at the funeral,” Tom said. “He said he’d bring the will and go over it with us privately at the funeral home. I told him about your tight schedule, and he was willing to accommodate you.”
“I guess it’s sort of a professional courtesy,” Edgar said. “Have you seen the will?”
“No,” Tom said.
“Did Mom ever tell you what was in it?” Edgar asked.
“No,” Tom said. “I think she was uncomfortable talking about it.”
“Typical farmer,” Edgar said. “Oh, sorry, you’re a farmer.”
“Yep,” Tom said.
The rest of the way, Edgar entertained Tom by telling him about living in New York City and his work. Tom smiled politely at each appropriate time.
They arrived home. Edgar lowered his dietary preference and settled for the ham sandwich, but not the potato salad. He ate half a slice of the pie.
They sat at the kitchen table and talked as they ate.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Edgar said.
“It’s funny,” Tom said, “When I took Mom for a treatment, I was looking at a magazine, you know, one of those home decorating ones. They had kitchens in that magazine just like this. People are returning to this style.”
“Outdated,” Edgar scoffed. “You should rip everything out and update this place. It looks like Margaret Truman decorated it. You know…”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Tom said.
“Harry’s wife,” Edgar couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge.
“Actually,” Tom said, “Margaret was the Trumans’ daughter. Bess was Harry’s wife.”
“Are you sure?” Edgar said.
“I don’t think it makes a difference,” Tom smiled, “unless they had different tastes.”
“And this place smells the same,” Edgar said. “Can’t you get some scented candles or something?”
Tom smiled. “You ought to be here when the wind comes from the east. The Prescotts have started raising hogs.”
“What time is this thing tomorrow?” Edgar said.
“You mean the funeral?” Tom said.
“Is it technically a funeral?” Edger said, “There’s nobody. Will there be an urn?”
“At 10:00 AM,” Tom said. “I decided on no urn. And there’s a noon luncheon at the grange in Mom’s memory.”
“Sounds divine,” Edgar said.
“They just want to show their appreciation,” Tom said. “Over the years, she put in a lot of time at the grange hall.”
“They owe more than that,” Edgar said.
“What time do you have to be at the airport tomorrow?” Tom asked.
“Plane leaves at 6:35,” Edgar said.
“That will give you some time to talk to some old friends down at the grange,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” Edgar said. “I can hardly wait.”
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