CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Benedict

A gnes hadn't arrived at the clinic yet, so it was quiet and calm before the chaos. After a fitful night of sleep digesting my father's news, I got up earlier than usual and wandered down to the clinic to set up my day.

I'd pledged the money for the theater to the assembled crowd at Smitty's tavern, but now wondered how I'd manage to fulfill that promise. The proposal Agnes had provided read that the costs were nearly a hundred thousand dollars. Not to mention another 5k or so to put on a new production this year.

I didn't have that kind of money. I did receive my second month's payment from my trust of twenty thousand, but that was well short of the amount needed. My only saving grace was that I didn't spend money now that I lived in Plentywood, leaving me nearly the same amount from last month's disbursal.

Agnes burst through the office doors, laying her daily load of items on her desk. Something smelled good, and I wondered if she'd included me in her lunch plans like she'd begun to do the past week. Ever since the tavern party and my announcement, Agnes had become fonder of me. I'll admit it, I liked her nice versus crabby attitude. That, and the woman could cook.

"What's wrong?" she asked, shoving two plastic containers into the same small fridge that held lab specimens. Apparently, I'd be getting a free lunch again.

"Nothing is wrong," I answered, acting cool. "All good with me," I added with a fake smile plastered on my face.

"Bullshit!" she exclaimed, sitting in a chair across from my desk. "You're as easy to read as a Dr. Suess book, kiddo. Spill it," she ordered. "Who pissed in your Corn Flakes ?" she added.

"I'm fine. Really."

"The Sheriff or my grandson? Who pissed you off?"

"Neither," I laughed. "Honest. Both were perfect gentleman."

"Oh, I see," she began. "Neither invited you over since Saturday night a week ago? That it?"

I moved a file across my desk, pretending that I had stuff to do, but Agnes laid a hand on the file and stopped the motion I was using to fool her. I looked up, my eyes welling. "I may have over-promised, Agnes," I admitted.

"How's that?" she asked, letting the file go. "Made both of them think you liked them?"

I couldn't help but smile through my near tears. Agnes had grown on me. She was cranky and old school, but she was genuine and as reliable as Old Faithful at Yellowstone. "The money I promised," I said softly. "I've run into an issue."

She pursed her lips, folding her hands on her lap. "You can't get any, or you can't get enough?"

"My father is unwilling to fund the theater since my mother passed. I know that you already know that because he hasn't funded it in years, but I'd hoped to change his mind. I wasn't successful and I'm sorry."

Agnes turned to the window, deep in thought before she spoke. "Do you still wish we could reopen the theater, though?" She returned her eyes to mine, reaching for a tissue and handing it to me. "Your demeanor tells me you still want to, kiddo."

"I've got some money," I said. "And a steady income coming up as well."

"So, not as rich as everyone thinks you are, doc?"

My face flushed. I wasn't good at acting humble. Being born into wealth came with its challenges. Having humility was one of those challenges. That and not being a total dick because I was rich on paper and had been given everything I had.

"Not until my father dies," I confessed. "My career is just beginning, too. I chose to come here without compensation, so I'm working for free with a stipend from my trust fund."

Her eyes widened, and she scoffed at me. "So, it is true," she began. I raised my brow and waited for the rest of her statement. "Even you rich fuckers have issues."

"Don't tell anyone that. People don't tend to believe things like rich people having problems," I stated.

Agnes straightened up in the chair, leaning forward. "So, kiddo. Why are you really here?" she asked. "Don't try to put one over on me, either. Youngsters such as yourself don't just show up in godforsaken towns like ours without a reason. What's yours?"

I nervously shifted in my chair, looking every which way but at her. "Apparently a promise," I finally confessed. "To my grandmother."

Agnes sat back and laughed out loud. "Well, look at you being sweet and shit. Your gramma ? Ain't that the sweetest shit I've heard this year," she said. "I knew your gramma, and frankly, she was a cunt."

"Wha…?" I gasped.

"Mrs. Hawthorne was a hoity-toity bitch," she stated. "Walking around town like she owned it. What a bitch!" Agnes paused and remained locked on me. "Well, to be honest, she did own most of it, but still, she was a real piece of work. And you made a promise to that old broad?"

"Mm-hmm," I mumbled, nodding. "And the worst part," I added. "So I could get access to my trust fund that she left me."

"And when do you get access to this trust fund you're talking about?" she asked.

"Next spring, it'll still be another four years."

"Not that you're counting down the days, huh?" she asked. "Then what? We rebuild the theater then?"

My face was on fire. I couldn't hide a secret if my life depended on it, but I had to try this time. There was no way I wanted to tell Agnes I was out of here next year. But even worse, so was the clinic.

"Maybe. You know, if we could wait?" I inquired.

Agnes slammed her hand on the desktop, scaring the literal shit out of me. "Why wait?" she asked. "I'll pool some cash with whatever you have, doc," she declared, beaming at me. "If you see your way to paying me back in four years, then so be it. If not, well, fuck it! I'm just happy you're here."

"Really?" I asked. "You'd do that?"

She stood and came to stand beside my chair, resting her hand on my shoulder. "I will do exactly that. I like you, kiddo," she said. "I have a good feeling about you, plus I trust you."

I wanted to shrink into a tiny slice of something and slink away. She had no idea what a fraud I was or that I wouldn't be here next year. Either would her job, or medical care for her friends and family. I liked hearing the kind words she'd said about me. Words like hers were seldom used on me. In fact, they weren't used. Period.

"Agnes," I whispered as she turned to walk away, wanting to admit the truth to her.

She turned to face me. "Yes, son?"

Her calling me son stabbed at my heart. I had to tell her the truth. Agnes deserved that much. She was a very unusual woman, but she had taken me under her wing like no one had ever done. Not even my own mother or father showed me the care she demonstrated.

"Thank you," I said, avoiding what really needed to be uttered.

"Well, of course," she replied. "I got you."

I bit my lower lip and watched as she opened her locker and slid into her smock, an action she'd probably done a million times. Agnes was a good nurse. Practically a doctor if truth be told. In fact, she could run this clinic without a doctor, but the law prevented that.

There was a softness to Agnes that I doubted many got to see. And I was barely in the beginning of a relationship with her. Where would we be in a year? The affection that I felt in my heart and the demand for honesty from my conscience were in a battle. She deserved the truth, but I wasn't able to provide that just yet.

She'd referred to my grandmother as a cunt. I should've been angry, or at least demanded a retraction from her, but she wasn't far off the mark from my experience. Grandmother Hawthorne was a cold bitch. I'd never been hugged by her. She'd had one child, my father, and he was exactly like her. How could he not be?

Where did that leave me? I was cold and distant as well. Those traits were bred into us by generations of emotionless adults. Grandmother was stiff, unloving, strict, and miserable her entire life. My father was the same unfeeling human she'd been. Was I destined for the same?