Memories...

The snow crunched under John’s feet as he made the short walk from his Range Rover to the ancient barn. He pulled the door open just enough for his lithe form to slip through the gap into the darkened interior. The only illumination was from the open hay door by the remains of the loft, and the gaps in the boards of the side barn.

***

John’s father had called him to talk over and over and he had been too busy. Now he wished he could have just one of those moments back. When the last call came, John had been in a client meeting. He was pitching a new account and had tapped the phone without a second thought. A few hours later, after getting home and making his dinner, he called his voice mail to see what his father wanted.

“Hello, Mr. Cray? This is Reginald Downs at Piedmont Medical. Can you give me a call as soon as possible? It’s about your father.”

He looked at the screen of the phone again… it was his father’s cell number. He immediately dialed his father’s number and waited as the phone rang. He dialed his father’s land line, but there was no answer there, either. Suddenly, his heart started to race. He was certain something was wrong, but he was powerless to get answers.

John quickly cleaned up his dinner and tossed a few clothes into a bag. His father’s old farm was three hours away and it was already eight o’clock. The old man usually stayed up late, so even if he got there at eleven or midnight, he should be awake.

“Darlene,” he said, getting his assistant on the phone, “I need to run to my father’s farm. I got a mysterious call and I just want to check on everything. Can you juggle my appointments so I don’t have to rush back in the morning?”

“Certainly, Mr. Cray. I’ll take care of everything,” he heard her say on the other end of the line.

Fifteen minutes later John was tossing a duffle with clothes into the back of the SUV for the drive to his father’s place.

***

He crossed the center of the large space and sat on the hay bale in the middle of the room. He pulled his legs under himself and crossed them, then bowed his head as if in prayer. He’d had an incredibly difficult time over the last six months and more than anything he wanted to decompress and escape. His father had passed away and left him the farm with the old barn.

He told himself that he'd rushed up as soon as he’d heard about his father, but he knew that wasn’t true. The old man liked to play everything close to his vest, but by the time he drove up to his father’s, the old man was already gone. He didn’t want to tell his son about his failing health over the phone, and John had always been too busy to take a day to visit his father.

He looked up and saw the owl sitting on the beam in the middle of the barn. The owl stared back at him without blinking.

***

He had pulled into the driveway the night he got the call, noting that all of the lights in the house were off. Over the years, he never remembered seeing the old house with all the lights off… there was always a light burning somewhere. As he sat in his vehicle, he fumbled through his keys to get the right one, then walked up onto the old porch. He looked over at the swing and thought about how he would sit with his mother and swing before the cancer took her. The tear that rolled out of the corner of his eye passed the corner of his mouth, upturned in a smile. He opened the door and leaned in, knowing from memory which of the switches to flip.

“It’s been too long,” he told the old house. Then he shouted out, knowing there wouldn’t be a reply, “Dad?”

As expected, he was greeted with the near silence of the country. When he turned to head back out to grab his bag, he saw the bundles of mail sitting on the rocking chair opposite the swing. That was where the Miller’s would put the mail when his family was on vacation. Picking up a bundle he saw a postmark that was almost a week old…

***

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he said roughly to the owl.

The owl spread his wings, but never took his eyes from John. The man noted the owl looked like it was smiling back at him. When he smiled at the owl, it folded its wings away.

“Did you know my father?” he asked, his voice calmer now. “You probably would have liked him. He was wise, too… I mean, I know that you probably aren’t sitting there getting ready to tell me something mystical… but you look like you have the wisdom of ages hidden behind your eyes.”

Again, the owl spread his wings for a minute, the delicately folded them again. His head turned to the side, as if he were listening.

“I’d give anything for his sage advice now. I took it for granted when he was alive… I thought he would live forever. I should have known better after my mom… but I guess I’m not as smart as you are.”

***

Once his bags were inside, along with the mail that had been left on the rocker on the porch, John sat down in his father’s chair in the living room. The next thing he knew, the sun was streaming into the room and his phone was ringing.

“John Cray,” he said, pulling it to his ear before he even looked at the screen.

“Mr. Cray, this is Reginald Downs.”

“Is my father ok? Is he at the hospital? I can be there in a few minutes… I drove to his farm last night. I was going to go to the hospital after I got up here, but I fell asleep the moment I sat down.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cray… your father passed away yesterday. I tried to call you before he passed, but I you didn’t answer.” John felt the accusation in the other man’s voice, despite there not being a note of judgement in the way Reginald Downs made the statement. “He passed away around three o’clock.”

“I guess I need to come over there.”

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Cray. Your father left instructions for everything. It’s all being handled.”

His father had taken care of all the details. The funeral was planned out and paid for, as was everything surrounding it. When John sat down with the mail, he discovered that most of the bills had been prepaid… his father had thought of everything. That was when he’d figured out that his father had known for months that he was dying.

My Dearest Son,

I guess you made it to the old farm. I hope I had a chance to see you before I left, but if I didn’t, I want to make sure you know how proud I was of you. I know that your mother would have been incredibly proud, too. Don’t be sad for me… I had a wonderful life, and now that it’s over, I can be laid to rest next to your mother. If there is a heaven, I know that she will be there, and we’ll be able to keep watch over you.

I know how busy you are, so I tried to make sure this wouldn’t be a distraction for you. The Millers are tending the fields, Buck can fill you in on the terms and there is a note in the filing cabinet. I sold them the equipment, too. If you want to sell the house right away, Mary-Margaret Tate can take care of it – she already has all the paperwork ready.

John put the letter down when he couldn’t see it anymore. Tears filled his burning eyes as he thought about his father making sure that his death wouldn’t be a bother for his son. He wanted to be angry at his father for not telling him how serious his health had become, but then he realized how hard his father had been working to try to get him to come and visit.

Steven Cray was as old-school as they came. His handshake was as solid as a contract. He believed in dealing with people toe-to-toe, or as his father would say, belly-to-belly. In his world, the phone was for setting up a time to talk to someone in person. That was how business was handled.

John realized how much of that rubbed off on him. As the pandemic raged, he hated every minute he spent in “virtual meetings”. He preferred to survey the room. Whether he was delivering good news or bad, he wanted it to be in person. Especially bad news.

He picked his father’s letter back up again and continued reading. There were several pages of memories - vacations, milestones and anecdotes. Their relationship boiled down to five hand-written pages of meticulous script.

***

John started to feel that the owl was truly listening as he poured his heart out. The guilt had become overwhelming over the last few months. His father had reached out, knowing he didn’t have much time left, and John had rebuffed him over and over, putting him off. But as he talked to the owl, he could feel his heart lightening. The way the owl watched him, it was almost as if he understood.

***

After the funeral, John wanted to escape. He couldn’t bear to visit the house, but he knew he would have to eventually. He’d called Buck Miller and asked if they would send him any mail that made it past the forwarding order he left with the post office. And each week he would get a note with the mail letting him know if there was anything that needed to be taken care of at the house.

Darlene had made sure that all the household bills for his father’s house were set up on his electronic bill-pay, or that checks were sent out. John had told her that she didn’t need to… it wasn’t part of her job… but since the funeral, she had gone out of her way to take care of him. She had been the only person from work to make the trek to the funeral, although his boss had sent a nice flower arrangement.

***

“John?” he heard a woman’s voice behind him as he sat in the old barn. The woman’s hand slipped over his shoulder, her touch intimate, but distant at the same time.

“Ange,” he replied quietly. “I missed you at the funeral.”

“I know. I was out of the country. I just got back a couple of weeks ago.”

“It’s ok.”

She settled on the bale next to him, her arm still around his shoulders. Angela Miller and John Cray had a long history together. They had been next-door neighbors their whole lives until John left for college.

“I saw your car outside… I’ve been hoping to catch you here,” she said.

Angela rose from the hay bale and pulled John to his feet. She slipped her arm into his and led him from the barn toward the house.

“I hadn’t seen your father for a year before he passed, but he showed me these before I left.” As they walked through the door she turned him toward his father’s study. Stopping in front of his rolltop desk, she pushed a panel on the side. Inside the panel was a folio with charcoal drawings of the owl from the barn. “Your father began drawing the owl a couple of years ago. They would sit in the barn for hours. Sometimes, when I came to check on him, he would be talking with her.”

“Did you visit him a lot?” John asked. His father had never mentioned her visits.

Angela looked into John’s eyes. She wondered how much to tell him. “Your father and I were quite close. He enjoyed spending time reminiscing. I enjoyed it as well.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“You.”

***

Just after graduation, John had spent weeks planning his next move. Angela had no idea what he was putting together. The food, the venue, the entertainment. The ring…

The problem was that she said no. After spending more than five years together, since seventh grade, she said no. She told him she wasn’t ready, and after shedding a rivulet of tears, she jumped up and ran from the restaurant. She disappeared until after he left for college. His heart was broken, and she was the last woman her seriously dated.

***

The next morning, John found himself looking over his father’s drawings. That was when he saw that the drawings were labeled on the back. Marcia. That was his mother’s name. His father had named the owl after his mother. As the idea sunk in, he decided to visit the barn.

As he sat in the barn the owl lit on the beam in front of him again. But the more he looked at it, the more he noticed it wasn’t the same one his father had drawn. As he wondered about the newest development, another owl lit next to the first. This one was slightly smaller… and it was Marcia.

“Good morning, John,” Angela said as she walked up behind him in the barn again. “Oh, they’re both here. Marcia has been here for a long time, but I have only seen the new owl since I got back. I’ve come over here a lot in the last few months… I’ve been the one usually collecting the mail and letting my father know about things that needed attention. I usually come into the barn and sit,” she said, as she slipped next to John.

“Your father used to say that heaven would be spending the rest of time next to your mother. I like to think that the new owl is your father. He used to come out here to talk with Marcia… I don’t know if it was the owl or just the thought of your mother.”

“Mom did love the barn,” John replied.

“Can we talk?” Angela asked. “I need to clear the air.”

“Don’t worry about it, Angela. We were just kids.”

“We were… but when you proposed, I panicked. I had been dreaming of that day, then…”

“I’m past it,” John replied.

He rose to leave the barn. His first thought was to just get in his Range Rover and drive away. As he approached the door, the owl flew down in front of him, blocking his way.

“I think the owl wants you to stay and talk,” Angela said quietly.

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