Buried

Prior to her father’s death, Jessica had only seen John maybe once or twice a year at family gatherings. She liked him well enough. She knew him to be kind and a little eccentric—but for most of her life, he was never really more than her father’s business partner.

Apart from the odd platitude, John didn't say much to Jessica at her father's funeral. She got the impression he was grieving as much as her—after twenty years of working together in a tiny office, he and her father were as good as family.

“When your mother died—you and I were lucky enough to have each other. John doesn’t have anyone. His own son won't even speak to him—can you imagine how lonely he is?” she remembered her father saying.

Thirteen months after her father's death, Jessica returned to town to exhibit some of her sculpture at a local gallery. She was renting a small studio space downtown, which she knew was a few blocks from John's apartment. Feeling lonely one Sunday evening—having come to the realisation she no longer knew anyone in town—she called John and invited herself over to his place for coffee.

"I'm in town for a few months," she said to him on the phone—trying not to sound too desperate, "I could pop-in and say hello. I'm not far from your place."

The following week, Jessica visited John at his apartment. Conversation was predictably awkward at first—neither of them were quite sure how to act around each other. However, things warmed-up a little when they started to reminisce about her father's obsession with expensive wine.

"He spent a lot of my inheritance on Burgundy he never got to drink," she joked.

She was shocked by how bare the apartment was. There were no photos or artwork on the bright white walls—no clutter. It looked like he'd just moved in. The only sign of some personality was a large shelf stacked full of DVDs, and a large television mounted on the wall.

"I thought I was incredibly modern when I bought them," John said, as Jessica was eyeing-up the DVD collection. "I know most people watch movies online nowadays, but I like to have a physical copy to hold—you know what I mean?"

“Sure—I used to collect vinyl myself. But I moved around so much it was no longer convenient to keep it all."

They got talking about movies. John and her father had both shared a love of Hitchcock.

"We once watched Vertigo together—but I haven't seen anything else directed by him," Jessica admitted.

"Really?—you're welcome to borrow anything."

"I have a better idea—maybe we could start a cinema club? You could pick a film each week—we could start with Hitchcock,” Jessica said enthusiastically.

"Sure—I'd like that."

The following Sunday, they began their cinema club in earnest with The Birds. This tradition continued every Sunday afternoon, always in John’s apartment, for the next four months. They would often share a bowl of sweet popcorn, and they would sometimes drink a beer. He would sometimes ask her about her personal life—but only out of genuine interest. He never made any judgements about her life, as her late parents so often would. She found it hard to believe this gentle man had a son who hated his guts.

On one unusually warm Sunday in October—when they were halfway through watching The Third Man, John turned around to Jessica and told her he'd been given five months to live.

“I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t want anything to change just because I have cancer,” he said firmly.

For the next few days, Jessica contemplated getting in touch with John's son, Michael. After a little snooping online, she found an email address. He had never told her what had happened between them, but he was dying—surely they would be able to put the past behind them now. John might think she was interfering, but wasn't it worth the risk if there was a chance at reconciliation?

***

Jessica poured two cups of steaming black coffee from the French press. Maybe another coffee was a bad idea, she thought—she'd already drunk three today. She was nervous, and didn't want to be too wired and chatty for the serious conversation she had planned. He needed space to talk without interruption.

“Could you bring in some cookies as well, please?” John asked from the living room. He had a sweet tooth just like her father. “They're in the cupboard near the fridge.”

Jessica brought through the coffees and cookies on a tray into the living room. John was sat on the sofa, carefully reading something on his laptop. On the wall behind him was a black-framed poster for Citizen Kane. In an effort to make his apartment more homelike, Jessica had given it to him last month as a birthday present.

“What are you reading so intently?” A little small talk and then down to business.

“Have you ever heard of Fenn’s treasure?” He closed his laptop, eager to share his recently acquired knowledge.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, hoping this wasn’t John’s attempt at evasion. She had forewarned him in a text message that she had something serious she wanted to discuss.

"Fenn was a wealthy art dealer who buried his fortune somewhere in the Rocky Mountains—around two million dollars worth of treasure.”

“Sounds like a bad movie,” she quipped.

“I heard about it on a podcast I was listening to, before you arrived. I was just googling it.”

Even though Jessica knew John to be unusually tech-savvy for his age, there was still something strange about a man in his seventies, casually using the words podcast and googling.

"So—what did they have to go on? Did he provide a map?” Jessica humoured him.

John stood up from the sofa animated. “He self-published a memoir, which contained a poem. In it there were clues about the treasure's location.”

"Did anyone find it?"

“Yes, eventually. Lots of people quit their jobs, and dropped out of society in search of it.”

“What about you John—do you think you would've dropped out and become a full-time treasure hunter?”

John gave it some consideration. “And quit my exciting career as an accountant? No chance!”

"The stories dad told me." She laughed. Her father was never this self-deprecating about his job, and had thought it unfair that accountancy was considered by most people to be boring.

“What about you?" John asked.

I've indulged him long enough, she thought. The treasure hunt trivia can wait. "Look—John, I need to talk to you about something."

"I think I know what's coming," he replied solemnly.

“I know it’s painful for you to talk about him—but I emailed Michael.” Jessica could feel her mouth begin to dry up. She took a sip of coffee. “I just want to know we’ve done all we can to reconcile things.”

Expecting an angry response, Jessica was surprised by how calmly he replied. “My son doesn’t want anything to do with me. He can't forgive me for cheating on his mother. I'd give anything to see my two grandchildren, Jessica, but I’ve tried all I can.”

Jessica went red—suddenly feeling like a child interfering in adult matters. She knew from her father that John had gone through a messy divorce a couple of years before starting their business together, but she had no idea that this was the reason why. There was no way she could sit down and watch a movie after this revelation.

"I'm sorry John— it's none of my business," Jessica conceded, quickly walking out the door embarrassed. "I'll see you soon."

Later that evening, as she was half-watching the news on her laptop, Jessica skimmed the Fenn’s Treasure Wikipedia page on her phone. It was a medical student who had finally found the treasure. She wondered if he was a swashbuckling, Indiana Jones type, or more of a nerd. She was shocked to discover a number of people died trying to find the treasure. Disheartened by this fact, she stopped reading and put down her phone. She continued to watch the news, all the while pondering what was it about this stupid story that had excited her usually placid friend?

***

It was three weeks later when Jessica next visited John. She was still a little embarrassed by her meddling, but she'd also been very busy preparing for her exhibition, which required her to work everyday, including Sundays.

He was happy to see her, and didn’t seem to begrudge her attempt at reconciling him with his son. They talked about the weather. It was cold now, and clear that summer was well and truly over. After politely inquiring about her exhibition, John returned to the subject of buried treasure.

“Do you remember me telling you about Fenn’s treasure?”

She nodded. “You know—a lot of people died trying to find it. I think it's pretty reckless.”

“You think?” John said surprised by her reaction.

“Of course—why didn’t he just donate the money to charity? He could’ve helped a lot of people.”

“I was thinking about doing something similar.”

“Do you want to bury some treasure, John, or just bury your head in the sand?” she said sarcastically.

“I have twenty-thousand dollars. I want to bury it for my grandchildren to find. ”

"Should I be worried, John?"

"I’ll make some clues, just like Fenn—but we can give them exclusively to my grandchildren. They can follow them and find their inheritance."

“Why don’t you just give them the money?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Think about what an adventure it would be—a real treasure hunt! They could tell the story to their grandkids. I wasn't able to give them anything—I could give them this."

He handed her a small black notebook. “I've made some notes about where to bury it. I spent a lot of time in these woods when I was a kid, and we used to take Michael there too as a boy—so I know it very well.”

She flicked through the notebook. It was full of pages of directions, sketches of maps, and drafts of a poem with some lines scribbled out.

"Wow!—this is pretty detailed."

“I'll need some help burying it," he continued, "And I thought that maybe you'd also like to help with writing the clues. I could pay you an assistant's salary if you agreed to help me. Think of it as an art project of sorts.”

Jessica continued to flick through the notebook, avoiding eye contact with him. He'd really given this a lot of thought. She was angry that instead of using what little time he had left to make amends with his family, he'd been working on this crazy scheme.

But—perhaps if she agreed to this, she could get him to agree to keep trying with Michael. It was insane, of course, but wasn't it also kind of sweet? Now looking at him directly in the eyes, she finally responded:

"Shall we discuss this over a beer? There's a lot of stuff that could go wrong burying twenty-thousand dollars in the woods."