Late Night Return
It was half past twelve. The family rumbled back in, tracking dirt and bits of leaves and twigs throughout the hallways. I'm not sure they noticed. I would have to clean this before my wife spotted the mess. If not, I would certainly hear about for at least 3 days, maybe more.
I was just wrapping up the details for breakfast the next morning when I overheard the sister. "You're in this just as deep as I am. I can just as easily hang you out to dry as I can come back year next year." The sounds grew muffled and I heard no more.
Breakfast came as it does every morning. It was a particularly good one this morning. Each plate looked like a photo from one of those food magazines you see at the doctors office. Really, it looked good enough to eat. So there I was, doing my thing, serving each guest. There was a lot of talk going on at the breakfast table, about nothing it seemed. When I set the plate of breakfast in front of the Grandfather, he looked straight at me and said with perfect clarity. "Thank you so much for this, it looks just wonderfully" I nearly fell on the floor. A man who seemed to have lost reality, now was as coherent as I. How could the man who was guided around the Inn, like he was in a fog, not uttering a word, suddenly seem so rational and awake.
It was at that moment I knew that what I saw was only a facade. An act, on each person who sat in the dining room. An act designed to show the world that everything was as it seemed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a family getting together to visit and catch up. Once a year. For three hours. Driving in from all over the country. For a cookout. Two days on the road for a three hour hot dog and coke.
But I knew different. I could guess, but I would have to investigate to discover the truth. My guess is the family committed a horrible act. Last year, two years ago or several. They were returning to re-commit themselves to silence. The were reaffirming a bond of fear that kept each person in a dark quiet place. A bond that was so strong that the Husband could only bury himself in the tv, not really aware but pretending nothing else mattered. A bond or fear so strong that the grandfather was willing to spend every day faking some sort of mental illness, just to avoid the truth. When I looked into his eyes I knew the truth.
The wife of the dad and mother of the son knew the truth too. Maybe she didn't leave as he told me. Maybe this was part of an act designed to reaffirm the story which took years to fabricate. The only reminder of the truth was this yearly cookout in the mountains of Maine.
The was only one answer to the question. What could be that horrific, that a family would go to this much trouble to keep it a secret. It had to be murder. Nothing else would be worth this much. Nothing else would send an old man into shock. Nothing else would send people into some sort of mental hiding place. Nothing else would bring this many people to the mountains of Maine for three hours.
Nothing.
I was just wrapping up the details for breakfast the next morning when I overheard the sister. "You're in this just as deep as I am. I can just as easily hang you out to dry as I can come back year next year." The sounds grew muffled and I heard no more.
Breakfast came as it does every morning. It was a particularly good one this morning. Each plate looked like a photo from one of those food magazines you see at the doctors office. Really, it looked good enough to eat. So there I was, doing my thing, serving each guest. There was a lot of talk going on at the breakfast table, about nothing it seemed. When I set the plate of breakfast in front of the Grandfather, he looked straight at me and said with perfect clarity. "Thank you so much for this, it looks just wonderfully" I nearly fell on the floor. A man who seemed to have lost reality, now was as coherent as I. How could the man who was guided around the Inn, like he was in a fog, not uttering a word, suddenly seem so rational and awake.
It was at that moment I knew that what I saw was only a facade. An act, on each person who sat in the dining room. An act designed to show the world that everything was as it seemed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a family getting together to visit and catch up. Once a year. For three hours. Driving in from all over the country. For a cookout. Two days on the road for a three hour hot dog and coke.
But I knew different. I could guess, but I would have to investigate to discover the truth. My guess is the family committed a horrible act. Last year, two years ago or several. They were returning to re-commit themselves to silence. The were reaffirming a bond of fear that kept each person in a dark quiet place. A bond that was so strong that the Husband could only bury himself in the tv, not really aware but pretending nothing else mattered. A bond or fear so strong that the grandfather was willing to spend every day faking some sort of mental illness, just to avoid the truth. When I looked into his eyes I knew the truth.
The wife of the dad and mother of the son knew the truth too. Maybe she didn't leave as he told me. Maybe this was part of an act designed to reaffirm the story which took years to fabricate. The only reminder of the truth was this yearly cookout in the mountains of Maine.
The was only one answer to the question. What could be that horrific, that a family would go to this much trouble to keep it a secret. It had to be murder. Nothing else would be worth this much. Nothing else would send an old man into shock. Nothing else would send people into some sort of mental hiding place. Nothing else would bring this many people to the mountains of Maine for three hours.
Nothing.
posted by Matt Mattingly at 10:53 AM
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