ds_flashfiction | Dead Bob Challenge

1414 words. So good to be back soon enough to respond to my own challenge!

The Yank knocked on the door at precisely noon, dressed in a suit of all things. The knock was unexpected - he wasn’t normally that courteous. Nor had I ever seen him in anything but the most casual of attire. I really didn’t understand why anyone needed more than three pairs of jeans, but he seemingly had dozens, and most of them gave the appearance of being less than structurally sound.

“So - Bob - how’s everything going? I mean, the afterlife and all, everything OK?” He was prowling about the cabin, checking out the curtains, the pictures on the small table next to the fireplace. The boy was the most restless human I’d ever met, as though he’d shut down like a self-winding watch if he stopped moving.

“Well, I’m still dead, if that’s what you’re asking. Not much hope of changing that.”

“Uh, yeah, guess not. So -um what have you been up to, today, I mean. Anything special?”

No - just tidying up a bit, making some adjustments to the dish. I’m picking up some echoes on the Rugby channel I want to straighten out.”

“Didn’t know you liked rugby.”

“Don’t know that I do, but since I can’t watch it properly it’s hard to say. American football makes more sense., which isn’t saying much.”

“Makes more sense than cricket.”

“Now that we agree on. Renfield tried to explain it to me once...”

“Yeah, me too. Thought at first it was just Renfield, but then I tried to watch it.”

“Personally, I think they make it up as they go along.”

“Or it’s a Monty Python skit that got out of control, and now they’re too embarrassed to admit it.” We smiled at that. The Yank and I share a fondness for Monty Python. Drives Benton crazy.

And speaking of driving someone crazy, the Yank was pacing. “Sit down, boy, before you wear out the floor. The cabin isn’t big enough for that.”

He looked a bit startled. Don’t think he realized he was still flitting about. “Sorry Bob, I uh...” He plopped down in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace. He might have been sitting, but he wasn’t at rest. The feet were shifting, one hand was rubbing his thigh, the other picking at a loose thread on the upholstery, and somehow he had picked up Benton’s habit of cricking his neck. For some reason that bothered me.

“What brings you by, Yank?” Not that he’s interrupted anything. I’m usually glad of the company. Caroline is always so busy. I think she enjoys finally having an active social life, even in the hereafter.

“Oh, just - Ben’s at that conference, you know? In Toronto? Told him I’d stop in, see how things were going.”

Utter nonsense, of course, but then I’d been a Mountie all my life and knew a lie when I heard one. “That’s quite thoughtful of you. Renfield has been in several times, but I must say I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well, I like doing the expected thing once in a while. Keeps people on their toes.” His smile was really quite charming. As much as I hated to admit it, I could understand why my son found him so appealing. “So what else you watching besides fuzzy rugby?”

“Baseball of course, now that I understand the strategies behind it. The designated hitter rule still confuses me.”

"The DH is sacrilege and the idiot who dreamed it up should be smited by God. So should the Yankees, but I’d settle for the DH.”

“Feel that strongly about it, eh?”

“Feel strongly about a lot of things.” He stood back up and walked to the window. I liked my view of the mountains. They gave me a sense of peace. Somehow, I don’t think the Yank was receiving the same benefit.

"So, baseball rugby? That’s it?”

“Movies of course, and I’m developing a fondness for Star Trek that is beginning to worry me.”

“How about news - you been watching the news lately?” I’ve had some interesting conversations with the Yank in the past - his words had the same sense of nonstop motion as his body - but this one was completely beyond me.

“Occasionally. Most of the broadcasts on your American channels are, well, to be honest, your politics are pretty boring. The rest of it has so little impact on me. I’m dead, after all. It isn’t as though the weather holds any interest.”

“Yeah, I can see that. The thing is, Bob - hey, listen, you don’t mind that I call you Bob, do you? I mean I could call you Sergeant Fraser, or sir, or something. I don’t want you to think I was raised - I mean I can be polite and stuff like Ben.”

“Bob is fine, Yank.” He really was the strangest man.

“Cool, I can do Bob. Bob is good. So anyway, Bob, the thing is, I don’t spend much on stuff, you know? I’m not one who wants a lot of things, like boats, or watches, or trips. I mean, yeah, I spend a lot on gas, cuz the Goat ain’t exactly the most efficient car on the road, and I eat out a lot, because I don’t want Ben to starve on my cooking. He does most of that anyway, so we don’t eat out as much as we used to.”

“I understand his cooking lessons with Mrs. Vecchio are reaping benefits.”

“Oh, yeah, Ben’s a great cook. But I don’t want you to think he’s stuck doing it all. I help with the cleaning and stuff. We got a good balance going, you know?” He sat down again. “So anyway, we got the house, and we’re really happy there. I’m almost at my twenty with the CPD, and I’ve put some stuff away, investments, and bonds and things. Not a lot, not by some people’s thinking, but comfortable.”

“Comfortable for what?” Honestly, I’ve had conversations with Renfield that made more sense than this.

“Comfortable for Ben. To take care of him. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can take care of him!”

“Well, of course you can. You do already.”

“But I want to do it officially, I mean. He’s in Toronto. I want to fly up there this weekend and do it, if it’s OK with you.”

“You want to take care of Benton in Toronto? I don’t need that kind of information, son. Really.” God, as though the image of him ‘taking care’ of my son isn’t already permanently burned into my retinas.

“Damn, and I thought Stella’s Dad was hard. Bob, I don’t mean ‘take care’ of Ben like - like, well yeah I mean that too, but I mean ‘take care’ of Ben forever. I wanna ask him, but you gotta--”

Dear heavens, the light finally dawned. “Yank, are you asking me for Benton’s hand in marriage, is that what this is all about?”

He blushed. “Um, yeah.”

“You - you want to marry Benton?!” He went so deadly pale that I thought he was going to faint.

“I guess I kinda screwed up. I mean, of course you wouldn’t want - Ben could have anybody, and I know I’m not really what you wanted, or good enough, but no one will ever love him as much as me.” I don’t think he’d looked me in the eyes since he walked through the door.

This insane man, who dragged Benton from one hair-raising adventure to another, who had changed my son from a duty-bound mountie whose first loyalty was no longer the RCMP but rather to him, wanted to subject my son to a public commitment of their relationship the likes of which was still being debated in the courts.

This insane man, who laid what amounted to a dowry in front of me, assuring me that my son would want for nothing, would be taken care of by someone who loved him. Right now he was staring at his shoes. He’d polished them.

And that clinched the deal, I suppose. Those two shoes, polished to a gleaming finish, barely touched by the perfectly creased pants of what was most likely his only suit. He might be unconventional, but he was traditional, and I could only admire that.

He was still pale, but he was finally looking me in the eye. “I told you once. I’ll keep him safe. I’ll keep him happy. I’ll keep him loved.”

I nodded my permission. “Then I guess I’d best start calling you Ray.”

Current Mood: squinting
Current Music: Birds - I think the sun is coming out at last!