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3 Days Later, My Parents Needed Somewhere Warm To Sleep. My Sister Said “Not A Good Night” — Transcript

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0:00"Brett's always cold in this house, so
0:02he gets my hair dryer." That was my dad
0:04at the head of the table on Christmas
0:06Day reading his new will out loud
0:08between the ham and the pie. One
0:10paragraph before that, he'd read the
0:11part about the house. "The farmhouse,
0:13the barn, and the 12 acres it sits on go
0:16to my sister, Caitlyn." Then he looked
0:18at me over his reading glasses and gave
0:20me his hair dryer. Everybody laughed
0:21like it was a joke. My mom laughed so
0:24hard she had to set her fork down. My
0:26sister's husband slapped the table. My
0:286-year-old niece laughed, too, and she
0:30didn't even know what a will was.
0:32I've paid my parents' propane every
0:34winter since I was 24, 7 years. Their
0:37electric bill, too.
0:39That night, I took my card off every
0:40bill they had. In January, my mom texted
0:43me, "Propane's due." Two exclamation
0:46points. Not even a hi. So, I texted
0:48back, "Just use the hair dryer."
0:513 days later, at 11:00 at night with the
0:53thermometer on my porch reading 20 below
0:55zero, my dad was standing in my driveway
0:57in his slippers. He was still holding
1:00it. What none of them knew was what I
1:02had in my coat pocket at that Christmas
1:04table. I'd been waiting for the pie to
1:06hand it over.
1:07By the next morning, my sister knew, and
1:09so did her husband, and it did not go
1:11the way either of them had planned.
1:13I'm Brett. I'm 31, and I fix chairlifts
1:16at a ski mountain outside Rutland,
1:17Vermont.
1:18Let me back up. My dad's name is Vernon.
1:21He drove a delivery truck for 33 years
1:23and can still tell you which dogs on his
1:25old route bite. My mom, Paulette, runs
1:28the kitchen at the elementary school in
1:30town. She makes 400 lunches a day and
1:32still thinks I don't eat enough.
1:34They live in the farmhouse I grew up in
1:36on the back road past Proctor. It was
1:38built in 1922, and it has been cold
1:41since 1922.
1:43There's a propane boiler in the basement
1:44that my dad calls Old Faithful, mostly
1:47because it faithfully eats about 500
1:49gallons a winter.
1:50My sister, Caitlyn, is 3 years younger
1:52than me. She married Nolan when she was
1:5422. Nolan sells hot tubs out of a
1:57showroom on Route 7, and he's the kind
1:59of man who says he can fix anything,
2:01which in my experience means he has an
2:03opinion about everything.
2:05They have two kids, Paisley, who's six,
2:08and Jet, who's three.
2:09They rent a duplex in Rutland, and
2:11they're at my parents' house every
2:12Sunday, which my mom brings up a lot.
2:15"Caitlin's always here," she'd say.
2:17"Caitlin brings the babies." And that's
2:19true. Caitlin showed up with the kids. I
2:22showed up with my card number. Turns out
2:24the card number is easier to forget
2:26because it doesn't climb up on your lap.
2:29Here's how the propane started. In
2:30November of 2018, my dad bent over to
2:33pick up a package at the back of his
2:34truck, and a disc in his lower back gave
2:37out. He had surgery the week after
2:39Thanksgiving. The doctor said he'd be
2:41off the truck for most of a year. Mom's
2:43job doesn't pay a lot, and the
2:44disability check didn't cover what a
2:46full paycheck did. I came over on a
2:48Sunday in December and found my mom at
2:50the kitchen table with the propane bill
2:52in one hand and a calculator in the
2:54other. Dad was on the couch with a
2:56heating pad. The thermostat in the
2:58hallway said 61. "We'll manage," Mom
3:01said, and pushed the bill under the
3:02sugar bowl like I hadn't seen it. I was
3:0524. I'd just finished my second season
3:07at the mountain, and I was making decent
3:09money for the first time in my life. I
3:11didn't have a wife or kids or a house
3:13payment. I had a one-bedroom apartment
3:15over a dentist's office and a truck that
3:17was paid off. So, I said, "I've got the
3:20heat and the electric just till Dad's
3:22back on his feet." My dad didn't say
3:24anything for a while. Then he waved me
3:26over to the couch.
3:28"You're a good man, bud," he said. "And
3:30you know this place will be yours
3:31someday. You know that, right?" I said I
3:34knew.
3:35I called Otter Creek Propane the next
3:37morning and put my card on the account.
3:39Then I called the power company and did
3:40the same thing. That was December of
3:432018. Dad was back on his truck by the
3:45next fall. He worked three more years
3:47and retired at 60 with his pension, and
3:50nobody ever brought up the propane
3:52again. Not him, not Mom, not me.
3:55I'll be honest with you. I could have,
3:57but every time that bill hit my card,
4:00I'd think about what Dad said on the
4:01couch. This place will be yours someday.
4:04I figured I wasn't paying my parents'
4:06bills. I was keeping my own.
4:08Housewarming a little early. Every
4:10fill-up felt like putting a log on my
4:12own fire. A bad winter in that farmhouse
4:15runs close to $3,000 in propane alone. I
4:19never added up the 7 years because I
4:21didn't want to be the kind of guy who
4:22adds it up. What I did do was nag. Every
4:25Sunday dinner, I'd walk in, check the
4:27thermostat, and say, "You know, 68 is a
4:30perfectly good number." And my mom would
4:32say, "68 is for penguins." So, I started
4:36keeping my coat on at the table as a
4:37bit. Zipped up to the chin eating mashed
4:40potatoes. My niece thought it was the
4:42funniest thing she'd ever seen. That's
4:44where the hair dryer came from. Uncle
4:46Brett, always cold. My dad, by the way,
4:49has been bald since about 1990. He owns
4:52a hair dryer for one reason, and that's
4:54to dry out his boots and his ice fishing
4:56gloves. It sits on a hook by the back
4:58door next to the flashlight. That's the
5:00family heirloom I got. That April, about
5:038 months before that Christmas, my mom
5:05dragged me to an open house. That's her
5:07hobby. She just likes to open other
5:08people's cupboards. This one was a
5:10little ranch house in Brandon. One
5:12floor, wide hallway. A kitchen with a
5:15window over the sink that looked out on
5:17a field. My mom walked into that kitchen
5:19and stopped. She ran her hand along the
5:22counter like she was petting a horse.
5:24"This is what we need," she said. "One
5:26floor, no stairs for your father's back.
5:29A kitchen I can reach." My mom is 5'1".
5:33She's been standing on a step stool to
5:34reach her own cupboards for 35 years.
5:37Then she looked at the price on the
5:38sheet and folded it in half. "We'll
5:40never afford it," she said. "Come on,
5:43they've got cookies in the dining room."
5:45I didn't eat the cookies. I stood in
5:47that kitchen for a while longer, and I
5:49did some math.
5:502 years before that, I'd bought a lot. 3
5:53acres off Route 7 north of town with a
5:55view of the mountain where I work. I'd
5:57been planning to build on it someday,
5:59whenever someday showed up. And standing
6:01in that kitchen in Brandon, I figured
6:03out what someday was.
6:05I'd build a small house on my lot, one
6:07floor, wide doors, a kitchen my mom
6:10could reach. My parents would move in
6:12and they'd never climb a staircase
6:14again.
6:15And I'd take the farmhouse, the cold,
6:17drafty 1922 farmhouse that I'd been
6:20heating for 7 years anyway. The one my
6:22dad said would be mine someday.
6:25It wasn't a gift so much as a trade.
6:27That's how I explained it to myself.
6:29They'd get easy, I'd get old and drafty.
6:32Everybody wins.
6:33I went to the bank that Tuesday. The
6:35loan officer was a woman named Joelle
6:37Marcott with reading glasses on a beaded
6:39chain, and I told her what I wanted to
6:41do.
6:42I figured she'd laugh me out of the
6:43office.
6:44Instead, she said, "We can do that. If
6:46you're building a home for your parents
6:48to live in, the bank treats it the same
6:50as if you were living in it yourself.
6:52Same rate, same terms."
6:54Then I called Harlow. Harlow Pratt is a
6:56carpenter, 58 years old with hands like
6:59a pair of oven mitts. I met him when he
7:01built the new ticket booth at the
7:02mountain, and he says about one sentence
7:04for every five I say. When I told him
7:06the plan, he thought about it for a long
7:08time. Then he said, "Your mother's 5'1"?
7:12"About that." "Then we drop the counters
7:14an inch and a half."
7:16That was the whole conversation. He was
7:18in.
7:19We broke ground in June. Summer is the
7:21slow season at the mountain, so Harlow
7:23and I did most of it ourselves on
7:25evenings and weekends and hired out the
7:27foundation, the well, and the
7:28electrical. By August, we had walls. By
7:31October, we had a roof.
7:33I built every inch of that house around
7:35two people. 36-in doors all through the
7:38house, so if my dad ever needed a walker
7:40or a wheelchair, he'd never have to
7:42think about it. A walk-in shower with no
7:44lip on the floor because my mom slipped
7:46getting out of the tub at the farmhouse
7:48two winters ago and still won't talk
7:49about it. A grab bar by the shower set
7:52at exactly the height my dad's hand
7:54rests when he leans on the side of his
7:55truck. I measured it one Sunday in the
7:57driveway. He had no idea.
8:00A wood stove in the living room because
8:01my dad loves the wood stove more than he
8:03loves most people. Next to it, a
8:05recliner. Same make, same model, same
8:08brown corduroy as the one he's had since
8:101998, except this one doesn't have a
8:13spring sticking out of the left arm. And
8:15the kitchen counters, an inch and a half
8:17lower than standard, with every cupboard
8:19my mom could reach without a stool.
8:21The second bedroom was mine, small with
8:23a window that looked at the mountain.
8:25That was all I needed, because the plan
8:27was that I'd only be there long enough
8:29to hand them the keys. I didn't let
8:31anybody inside while it was going up.
8:33I
8:34told everyone the same thing, "It's not
8:37done yet." My parents drove past a few
8:39times. You can see it from Route 7. In
8:42October, my mom pulled into the driveway
8:44while Harlo and I were hanging the front
8:46door. She looked at the doorway, then at
8:48me. "That's an awful lot of door for one
8:51fella," she said. "You planning on
8:53getting old?" "Someday," I said. She
8:56laughed and drove off. Harlo didn't look
8:58up from his level. "They know yet?" he
9:01asked. "Christmas," I said. He nodded.
9:04"Good. That's a good Christmas."
9:06There's one more thing that happened in
9:08the fall, and at the time, I didn't
9:10think anything of it. In October, I
9:12stopped by the farmhouse on a Sunday to
9:14drop off some apples. Caitlin and my mom
9:16were at the kitchen table with a pot of
9:17coffee, and they got quiet when I walked
9:19in, the way people do when you've been
9:21the topic.
9:22"Brett's all set now," Caitlin said,
9:24like she was finishing a sentence. "He's
9:26got his own house. He doesn't need
9:28anything from anybody." My mom nodded at
9:30her coffee. "What are we talking about?"
9:32I asked. "Nothing," Caitlin said. "Just
9:35how proud we are of you."
9:37Then, at Thanksgiving, Nolan leaned back
9:39in his chair with his second plate of
9:41stuffing and said, "Must be nice, 31 and
9:44building your own house. Some of us are
9:46still paying somebody else's mortgage."
9:48Caitlin said, "Mom, did you ever make
9:50that appointment with the lawyer? For
9:52the kids' sake, you don't want anybody
9:53fighting later." And my mom said, "Your
9:56father's handling it." I didn't connect
9:58any of it. I was busy picking out a wood
10:00stove.
10:01Harlo and I finished the house on
10:03December 20th. On his way out the door,
10:05Harlo put his hand on my shoulder, which
10:07for Harlo is basically a speech. I put
10:10two keys on a ring. On the ring, I hung
10:12a brass tag I'd had engraved at the
10:14hardware store. It said, "Mom and Dad."
10:17Then, I folded up a copy of the floor
10:19plan and wrote across the top in marker,
10:21"Move in whenever you want. Merry
10:23Christmas."
10:24My plan was simple. Christmas dinner at
10:27the farmhouse, like every year. After
10:29the ham, before the pie, I'd stand up,
10:31put the keys and the floor plan in front
10:33of my mom, and let her figure it out. I
10:35put both in the inside pocket of my coat
10:37on Christmas morning and checked that
10:39pocket about 40 times on the drive over.
10:42Christmas Day was a Thursday. The
10:44farmhouse smelled like ham and cloves
10:46and the rolls my mom makes once a year.
10:49The thermostat was set at 74.
10:51I walked in, checked it, and said,
10:53"Merry Christmas. It's a sauna." And my
10:55mom said, "Keep your coat on then." And
10:58I did, because it was my bit and because
11:00the keys were in it. We ate. Jet fell
11:03asleep in his high chair with a roll in
11:04each hand. Nolan told me hot tub sales
11:07were about to really take off and asked
11:10if the mountain ever thought about
11:11putting a hot tub at the top of the
11:12lift. I told him I'd pass it along.
11:15Then, right when my mom started clearing
11:17the plates, my dad tapped his fork on
11:19his water glass. "Your mother thinks we
11:21should do this today," he said, "while
11:23everybody's here, so there's no fighting
11:24later."
11:25He took a folded set of papers out of
11:27his shirt pocket. They were typed with a
11:29law office's name across the top. "We
11:31got our wills done," Dad said. "We
11:33figured we'd read it out. Get it over
11:35with."
11:36And he did. The first part was the
11:38usual. Then, he got to the part about
11:40after they're both gone.
11:42"The house, the barn, and the land," he
11:44read, "to our daughter Caitlin, so it
11:46stays with the grandchildren." Caitlin
11:48put her hand over her heart. Nolan put
11:50his arm around her. Then, Dad looked up
11:53at me over his reading glasses. "Brett's
11:55got his own place now," he said, off the
11:57paper, like an explanation. "He's all
11:59set." My mom nodded. "You don't need
12:01anything from us, honey. You've done so
12:03well."
12:04Then, my dad went back to the paper, and
12:06he found the last line. And he grinned
12:08before he even read it, because he'd
12:10obviously been looking forward to this
12:11part. "And to my son, Brett, who's
12:14always cold in this house, my hair
12:16dryer.
12:17The whole table went up. My mom laughed
12:19so hard she had to put her fork down.
12:21Nolan slapped the table twice. Caitlin
12:24laughed into her napkin. Paisley laughed
12:26because everybody was laughing, and Jet
12:28woke up and started crying, which
12:30honestly was the most reasonable
12:31reaction anybody had.
12:33My hand was inside my coat. I was
12:35holding that key ring so tight that the
12:37edge of the brass tag was cutting into
12:39my palm.
12:40I didn't laugh.
12:41I didn't say anything, either.
12:43I don't think anybody noticed because
12:45they were all too busy wiping their
12:46eyes. "Oh, come on, Brett." My mom said,
12:50"It's a joke. Your father worked on that
12:52line for a week." "I can tell." I said.
12:55Caitlin reached across the table and
12:57squeezed my arm.
12:58"Thanks for keeping our house warm all
13:00these years." She said and smiled. And I
13:02honestly still don't know if she meant
13:04that as a joke, too.
13:06My mom went to get the pie.
13:08I didn't take the keys out of my pocket.
13:10I didn't take the floor plan out,
13:12either. I stood up, folded my napkin,
13:14and put it next to my plate, and said I
13:16had an early shift, which was true. The
13:19mountain doesn't care that it's
13:20Christmas.
13:21My dad walked me out to the truck. He
13:23always does, holding a paper plate of
13:25leftovers covered in foil. It was dark
13:28and cold, and the snow squeaked under
13:30our boots. "You're not mad over a joke,
13:32are you, bud?" He said. "The hair dryer
13:35was the joke, Dad." I said. "The house
13:38wasn't." He didn't have anything for
13:39that. He just held out the plate. I
13:42didn't take it. I want to be clear about
13:44what I said next because later on my
13:46family told this story a few different
13:48ways, and in some of them I just left
13:50them in the cold. That's not what
13:52happened.
13:53"My card's coming off the propane and
13:54the electric tonight." I said. "Your
13:56tank got filled on the 15th, so you're
13:58at about 80%. That'll carry you into the
14:00middle of January. After that, it's
14:03yours." "Brett." I took out my phone and
14:06texted him a number. "That's Dina at the
14:08office at Otter Creek. Call her
14:10Saturday. She'll put the account in your
14:11name and set you up. Same with the power
14:13company. Their number's on the bill.
14:15"Your mother's going to be upset." He
14:17said. "I know." I said. "Merry
14:20Christmas, Dad." I got in the truck. He
14:22stood in the driveway with the plate
14:24until I backed out, and then he went
14:25inside.
14:26I drove up Route 7 and sat in the
14:28driveway of the new house looking at the
14:30dark windows. Then I took my phone out
14:32and logged into the Otter Creek account
14:34and the power company account, and I
14:36took my card off both. It took me about
14:384 minutes. 7 years, and it took me 4
14:41minutes. Then I went home to my
14:43apartment over the dentist's office and
14:45went to bed. The keys stayed in my coat.
14:48The next couple of days went about how
14:50you'd expect. On Saturday, my dad called
14:52Otter Creek and put the account in his
14:54name. I know because Dina called me
14:56afterward. I'd been talking to Dina on
14:58the phone once a winter for 7 years.
15:00Every time a card expired or the price
15:02changed, and I'd never met her. She had
15:05a laugh you could hear smiling.
15:07"I just wanted to make sure this was
15:09really you." She said. "Your dad called.
15:11He was not happy." "He said you'd cut
15:13them off." "I took my card off." I said.
15:16"They've still got propane." "I know.
15:18I've got the account right here." She
15:20was quiet a second. "7 years, you know.
15:23You never paid late once. Not one time.
15:26You know how rare that is?" "Ask my
15:28parents." I said, and she laughed. And
15:30then she said, "Sorry. That wasn't
15:32funny." "It was a little funny." I said.
15:35She told me her office was so cold she
15:37kept a space heater under her desk. I
15:39told her about the hair dryer. She
15:41laughed so hard she had to put My mom
15:44called that night. "You are embarrassing
15:47your father." She said before I'd even
15:48said hello. "Over a joke. He's sitting
15:51in his chair not saying a word. Is that
15:53what you wanted?" "I didn't want
15:55anything, Mom." I said. "That's sort of
15:57the point. You said I don't need
15:59anything from you. I believe you."
16:01"That's not what I meant." "You said it
16:03pretty clear. Dad read it off a paper."
16:06"After everything we've done for you."
16:08She said. I let that one sit there. She
16:10heard it, too. "It was a joke, Brett."
16:13She said. "Then it'll still be funny in
16:15January." I said. She hung up. Caitlin
16:18texted me Sunday. Mom's been crying for
16:212 days over a hairdryer. Grow up. I
16:24didn't answer.
16:26On January 2nd, Harlo and I moved my
16:28stuff out of the apartment and into the
16:30new house. It took one trip. I don't own
16:32much.
16:33My stuff went into the small bedroom,
16:35the one with the window toward the
16:36mountain. That had always been my room.
16:39The other bedroom I left alone.
16:41It had a queen bed I'd bought in
16:42November, made up with a quilt my
16:44grandmother sewed that I'd taken out of
16:46my parents' attic years ago. It had two
16:48nightstands, one with a reading lamp
16:50because my mom reads every night, one
16:52with a coaster because my dad puts a
16:54glass of water on his nightstand and
16:55then never drinks it. The closet had the
16:58lowered rod. The grab bar was in the
17:00bathroom across the hall.
17:01In the living room, the brown corduroy
17:03recliner sat next to the wood stove
17:05facing the window, waiting.
17:07Harlo stood in the doorway of that
17:09bedroom with a box of my tools in his
17:11arms. You going to tell them? He asked.
17:13No, I said.
17:15What's the room for then?
17:17I don't know yet.
17:18He set the box down and looked at the
17:19quilt for a while.
17:21Leave it a while, he said. You'll know.
17:23So, I left it. For about 10 days,
17:26nothing happened. I went to work. I
17:28rebuilt a gearbox on the Summit Lift. I
17:31came home and lit the wood stove in a
17:32house that was too big for me and too
17:34quiet, and I ate supper standing at the
17:36kitchen counter, which was an inch and a
17:38half too low, so I had to hunch.
17:40Every night I walked past that second
17:42bedroom, and every night I didn't go in.
17:45My coat hung on a hook by the front
17:47door. The keys were still in the pocket.
17:50I
17:51could have taken them out. I didn't. On
17:53Monday, January 12th, at about 10:00 in
17:56the morning, I was halfway up a lift
17:57tower in the wind when my phone buzzed
17:59in my chest pocket. I didn't look at it
18:01until I was back on the ground. It was
18:03my mom. Propane's due. That was the
18:06whole thing. Two exclamation points. No
18:09hi, no how are you, no anything. Just a
18:12bill forwarded to the guy who used to
18:14pay it. Here's what had happened. The
18:16tank hit about 25% and Otter Creek put
18:19them on the delivery schedule for
18:20Tuesday. Dad had put the account in his
18:23name, but he'd never given them a card
18:24or a check, so the office called my mom.
18:27She told them she'd take care of it.
18:29Taking care of it, apparently, meant
18:31texting me. I had to take my gloves off
18:33to type. My hands went numb in about 10
18:36seconds, and I'll admit that's where the
18:38idea came from. Just use the hairdryer.
18:41I hit send, put the phone back in my
18:42pocket, and went back up the tower. My
18:45mom didn't text back. She called my
18:47sister instead. I know because Caitlin
18:49told me herself later when she was
18:51trying to make it sound like it was my
18:52fault. "Honey, the propane's due." Mom
18:55said. "Your brother won't help. It's
18:57going to be your house. Could you and
18:59Nolan cover it this once?" And my sister
19:01said, "Mom, it's not my house yet. It's
19:04yours. I'm not paying to heat a house I
19:06don't even live in."
19:07My mom told me later that she just sat
19:09there holding the phone after that. On
19:12Tuesday, the truck came. The driver was
19:14a guy named Arch Bascom, who's been
19:16driving propane in this county since
19:17before I was born. Arch knocked on the
19:19door with his little paper ticket like
19:21always. My mom answered. "My son takes
19:23care of that." she said. Arch called the
19:26office. Dina called me. "Brett, I'm
19:28sorry to bug you at work." she said.
19:30"Arch is at your parents' place. Your
19:32mom says you're paying." "I'm not." I
19:34said. "Okay." She didn't sound
19:37surprised. "Then I can't fill it. New
19:39account, we need a card or a check
19:41before the truck pumps. I hate it, but
19:43that's the rule." "I know." I said. "My
19:46dad's got a checkbook. It's in the
19:47drawer under the phone. It's been in the
19:49same drawer for 30 years." "I'll tell
19:51Arch to tell him."
19:53Dina told me later that Arch did tell my
19:55dad, and that Arch heard the rest from
19:56the porch. My dad started for the
19:58drawer, and my mom put her hand on his
20:00arm and said, "No. If we pay it this
20:02once, he'll never pay it again." And my
20:05dad stopped. Arch drove away with the
20:07tank at about 20%. That night, the
20:10forecast changed. A cold front was
20:12coming down out of Quebec. Thursday
20:14night, the weather lady said, would be
20:15the coldest night in 4 years. 20 below
20:18in the valleys, colder up on the ridges.
20:21I'll tell you the truth. That night, I
20:23almost drove over there and paid it. I
20:25had my keys in my hand. The part of me
20:27that had been paying for 7 years was
20:29standing at the door with his boots on.
20:32But that part of me had been paying for
20:337 years and it had gotten me a hair
20:35dryer. So I sat down and texted my dad
20:38instead. Not my mom, my dad. Big cold
20:42snap Thursday. Get the tank filled
20:44before then. Dina's open till 5. He
20:46wrote back an hour later. Your mother's
20:48handling it. I'd told him. He'd told me
20:51who was in charge.
20:53Wednesday, nothing. Thursday, nothing.
20:57It got colder all day. By the time I got
20:59home from work, the thermometer on my
21:01porch said 11 below and it was still
21:03going down. I made supper. I ate it at
21:06the low counter. I lit the stove and sat
21:09in my used couch. Not in the recliner
21:11because I hadn't sat in that recliner
21:13once.
21:14At 11:00 I was half asleep on the couch
21:16when headlights swept across the living
21:18room wall. I got up and went to the
21:20front window. My dad's old silver
21:22Silverado was in my driveway. Engine
21:24running, exhaust going straight up in
21:26the cold. My mom was in the passenger
21:28seat wrapped in a blanket. My dad was
21:31standing in the driveway in his
21:32slippers. Not boots, slippers. He was in
21:35his flannel pajama pants and in his work
21:37coat and in his right hand he was
21:39holding his hair dryer. I opened the
21:41door. The cold came in like it had been
21:43waiting.
21:44"Dad." I said. "Tank ran out." He said.
21:48"About 6. Furnace quit. Called Otter
21:50Creek, got the emergency line. They
21:52can't come relight it till they do a
21:54leak check and the earliest is tomorrow
21:55afternoon. Some rule." "It's a safety
21:58rule." I said. "When a tank runs dry,
22:01they have to check the lines before they
22:02light it back up." "That's what the
22:04fella said." He stamped his slippers.
22:07"House was down to 44 when we left. The
22:09pipe under the kitchen sink started to
22:11freeze up. I've been laying on the
22:12kitchen floor for an hour with this
22:14thing trying to keep it open." He held
22:16up the hair dryer and then he looked at
22:18it like he'd just noticed it was in his
22:19hand. I think he'd been holding it so
22:22long he forgot. He'd walked straight
22:24from the kitchen floor to the truck.
22:26With it, neither of us said anything
22:28about the hairdryer. We didn't have to.
22:31"Where's Caitlin?" I asked. "Called her
22:33first," my dad said. "Paisley's got a
22:36cough. Nolan's got a big day tomorrow.
22:38Not a good night." "And the motel?" From
22:41the truck, through the glass, I could
22:43hear my mom's voice. "We are not paying
22:45for a motel when our son has a whole
22:47house." My dad looked at the ground. So,
22:50that was it. My sister, who was getting
22:52the house, wouldn't heat it and wouldn't
22:54take them in. My mom wouldn't pay a
22:56hundred bucks for a motel on principle.
22:58And the principle, I guess, was me.
23:01"Come inside, Dad," I said. "Get Mom.
23:04You're going to lose your toes in those
23:05slippers." He went and got her. She came
23:08up the steps with the blanket around her
23:09shoulders and didn't look at me. I took
23:12the blanket and hung it on the hook next
23:13to my coat. I put the kettle on. I made
23:16them both coffee, the way they take it.
23:18My dad black, my mom with so much milk
23:20it's basically warm milk with a rumor of
23:22coffee. They sat at the kitchen table.
23:25My dad set the hairdryer on the counter.
23:27"So," I said, "whose house did you say
23:30it was, Dad?" "Don't," my dad said. "I'm
23:33just asking. I heard you read it. I want
23:35to make sure I got it right." "Brett,"
23:37my mom said, "your father's had a long
23:39night." "I know," I said. "So have I.
23:42I've had about seven years of them."
23:44My mom set her mug down. She looked
23:46around the kitchen for the first time. I
23:49watched her eyes go along the counter
23:50and then stop and then go along it
23:52again. She stood up. She's 5'1. She
23:56reached up and opened the cupboard over
23:57the coffee maker without going up on her
23:59toes. She opened the one next to it.
24:02Then the one over the sink. She looked
24:04at me. "These counters are low," she
24:06said. "Inch and a half," I said.
24:09My dad was looking at the wood stove
24:10now, at the recliner next to it. Brown
24:13corduroy, facing the window. He got up,
24:16holding his coffee, and walked over to
24:18it in his slippers and put his hand on
24:19the left arm, right where his old one
24:21has the spring sticking out. "That's my
24:24chair," he said. "It's the same chair,"
24:26I said. "It's not yours."
24:29My mom walked down the hall. I didn't
24:31stop her. She looked in the first
24:32bedroom, my room, with the unmade bed
24:35and the pile of work clothes on the
24:36dresser. Then she looked across the hall
24:38into the bathroom. The walk-in shower,
24:41no lip on the floor, the grab bar.
24:43Then she opened the second bedroom door
24:45and turned on the light. She saw the
24:47quilt first, her own mother's quilt.
24:50Then the two nightstands, the reading
24:52lamp on her side, the coaster on his.
24:55She stood in the doorway for a long
24:56time.
24:58"Brett," she said. "Whose room is this?"
25:01My dad came down the hall behind her. He
25:03looked past her at the room. Then he
25:05went across the hall into the bathroom
25:07and put his hand on the grab bar, the
25:09way a man does without thinking, and it
25:11was exactly where his hand wanted to be.
25:13He took his hand off it like it was hot.
25:16I went to the front door and took my
25:17coat off the hook, and I reached into
25:19the inside pocket and took out the key
25:21ring and the folded floor plan. I hadn't
25:23touched them since Christmas. I held
25:25them out to my mom. She didn't take
25:27them, so I unfolded the plan myself and
25:29held it up so she could read what I'd
25:31written across the top. "Move in
25:33whenever you want. Merry Christmas."
25:35Then I held up the key ring so she could
25:37read the brass tag. "Mom and Dad." "Last
25:40April," I said, "you stood in a kitchen
25:42in Brandon and said, 'This is what we
25:44need. One floor, no stairs for Dad's
25:47back, a kitchen you can reach.' And then
25:50you said you'd never afford it." My mom
25:52put her hand over her mouth. "So I built
25:54it," I said. "Me and Harlow, since June,
25:57every weekend. The bank let me do it the
25:59same as if it was for me. The plan was
26:02you'd move in here and I'd take the
26:04farmhouse, since Dad always said it'd be
26:05mine someday. And I'd keep heating it
26:08like I always did. These were in my coat
26:10at Christmas. I was going to give them
26:11to you after the ham, before the pie."
26:14Nobody said anything.
26:16"Then Dad read his will," I said. "I
26:18built it for you. Then you laughed." My
26:21mom started crying, not loud, just
26:24tears, standing there in the doorway of
26:26a room she'd never sleep in.
26:28My dad sat down on the edge of the bed.
26:30He looked at his slippers. I didn't say
26:32anything else. There wasn't anything
26:34else to say. I folded the plan, put it
26:37back in my pocket with the keys, and
26:38went to get them towels.
26:40"You take this room tonight," I said.
26:42"Bathroom's across the hall. Shower's
26:44easy. There's a grab bar."
26:45I slept on the couch. Through the wall,
26:47I could hear my mom crying for a while,
26:50and then my dad's voice, low, saying,
26:52"Paulette, go to sleep." And then it was
26:55quiet, except for the stove ticking.
26:58I made eggs in the morning. My mom set
27:00the table without asking where anything
27:01was, because I'd put every plate exactly
27:04where she keeps them at the farmhouse.
27:06She
27:07noticed that, too. She didn't say
27:09anything about it. At about 9:00,
27:11Caitlin's minivan pulled in. My mom had
27:13texted her where they'd spent the night.
27:15Nolan got out first, looking up at the
27:17roofline like he was pricing it. "Wow,"
27:20he said, coming in without knocking.
27:22"So, this is it. What does it run you,
27:24Brett? You do the tile yourself?" He
27:27walked through the whole house with a
27:28piece of my toast in his hand. He
27:30stopped in the bathroom and grabbed the
27:31grab bar and gave it a tug. "Planning
27:34ahead, huh?" he said.
27:36Caitlin hugged Mom and sat down at the
27:37table. She looked around at the low
27:39counters and the wood stove and the
27:41recliner, and I could see her doing
27:43math, too.
27:44My mom poured her coffee. Then, because
27:46I think she needed to say something nice
27:48to somebody, she reached over and patted
27:50Caitlin's hand. "That old farmhouse will
27:52be your home someday, honey," she said.
27:55"Yours and the baby's."
27:57Nolan came back into the kitchen with
27:58his mouthful. "We'd sell it, Paulette,"
28:00he said. "No offense. Nobody wants a
28:03100-year-old farmhouse with that propane
28:05bill."
28:06Caitlin grabbed his sleeve so hard he
28:08almost dropped the toast. My mom took
28:10her hand back. "You'd sell it," she
28:12said. "Mom, be realistic," Caitlin said.
28:16"Nolan's business is going through a
28:17rough patch. We're not going to live out
28:19there. It's 20 minutes from anything."
28:22"You told me in October," my mom said,
28:24slow, "at my own kitchen table, that
28:27Brett had his own house now and didn't
28:29need ours. That we should leave it where
28:31the grandkids are. You made me call that
28:34lawyer.
28:35"Well, he does have his own house."
28:37Caitlyn said and pointed around my
28:38kitchen like it proved her point. "Look
28:40at it." "I do." I said. "I built it for
28:43them."
28:44Caitlyn looked at me, then at the low
28:46counters, then down the hall at the open
28:48door of the second bedroom with
28:50Grandma's quilt on the bed. I watched
28:52her put it together. And then, I swear
28:55to you, she smiled. "Okay." she said.
28:58"So, that's perfect. They move in here
29:00and we sell the farmhouse now instead of
29:02later. Everybody wins."
29:04My dad set his fork down. "That's
29:06enough, Caitlyn." he said. It was the
29:08first thing he'd said all morning. He
29:10didn't say it loud. He didn't need to.
29:13Then he turned to me and he did the
29:14thing I'd been waiting 7 years and 1
29:17night to see him do. He asked me for
29:19something to my face.
29:21"Bud." he said. "We'll go back to the
29:23lawyer. Change it back. The farmhouse is
29:25yours, all of it, the way I always said.
29:28Just let your mother have this kitchen."
29:30My mom looked at me. Her eyes were red.
29:33She'd been up half the night.
29:35Part of me wanted to say yes. Everybody
29:37would have hugged and by next Christmas
29:39I'd have been back to paying for
29:40everything with my coat on at the table.
29:43"It's not a trade, Dad." I said. "I
29:45wasn't trading you this house for that
29:47one. I was giving it to you. You've got
29:49a house. You read it out loud."
29:52"Brett." my mom said.
29:54"You told me I don't need anything from
29:56you." I said. "You were right. I don't.
29:58I just didn't know that's how you'd say
30:00it." Caitlyn stood up. "So, you're going
30:02to keep a room for them sitting empty
30:04out of spite?" she said. "It's not
30:07empty." I said. "It's just not theirs
30:09anymore." Nolan looked at his toast. He
30:12set it down on the counter like it had
30:13gotten heavy. Caitlyn grabbed her purse.
30:16"Mom, Dad, we'll drive you home when the
30:18propane guy's done." she said. "No." my
30:20dad said. "We'll drive ourselves." They
30:23left. My parents sat at my table another
30:25hour. My mom washed the dishes, every
30:28one, and put them back where she keeps
30:29them at home, which was exactly where I
30:31keep them, too. At 2:00 that afternoon,
30:34Arch Baskum met my dad at the farmhouse
30:36with the leak test gauge. I drove over
30:38behind them, not to help, just to make
30:40sure the tank actually got filled. I
30:42stayed in my truck. My dad stood out by
30:44the tank in his boots this time and
30:46wrote Arch a check on the hood of his
30:47Silverado. It took him about 4 minutes.
30:507 years, 4 minutes. The boiler came back
30:54on a little after 3. My dad stood in the
30:56driveway and watched the exhaust come
30:58out of the chimney, and then he walked
31:00over to my truck window. I rolled it
31:02down. "Your hair dryer is on my
31:03counter." I said. "Keep it." He said.
31:06"It's yours, isn't it?" That was as
31:08close to a joke as either of us could
31:10manage. He went inside. I drove home.
31:13That was January. Here's how it shook
31:15out. My parents pay their own propane
31:17now and their own electric. Deena tells
31:20me they've never been late. My dad was
31:22always good at paying bills. He just got
31:24used to not having to. In February, my
31:26dad went back to the lawyer in town on
31:28his own. I didn't ask him to. I found
31:30out because Caitlyn texted me again, and
31:32this one had a lot more exclamation
31:34points than my mom's ever did. The new
31:36will says the farmhouse gets sold when
31:38they're both gone and the money gets
31:40split between the two of us. Caitlyn and
31:42Nolan won't be keeping it, and they
31:43won't be selling it early, either. She
31:45told me I'd ruined her kids'
31:48future over a hair dryer. I didn't
31:50answer that one, either.
31:52Nolan's hot tub showroom closed in
31:54March. They moved into his mother's
31:55basement in Castleton. I hear it's very
31:58warm. I see my parents some Sundays, not
32:00every Sunday.
32:02I keep my coat on at the table, but it
32:04isn't a bit anymore. It's just a coat.
32:06Nobody laughs and nobody tells me to
32:08take it off. My mom drives past my house
32:10every morning on her way to the school.
32:13She's never once pulled in. Some
32:15mornings, she lifts two fingers off the
32:17steering wheel, the way people wave on
32:18back roads, and I lift two back. That's
32:21where we are. I'm not waiting at the
32:23window to see if it gets better.
32:25Now, here's the part I actually wanted
32:27to tell you. After all that, I figured I
32:29owed Deena a cup of coffee. So, in
32:32February, I walked into the Otter Creek
32:33office for the first time. She was
32:35wearing two sweaters under a fleece
32:37vest, and the space heater was right
32:39where she said it'd be, blowing on her
32:40ankles. "You're Brett," she said.
32:43"You're taller than your voice."
32:45We got coffee at the diner in Proctor,
32:47then supper the next week, then she
32:49started coming over on Sundays.
32:52In April, during mud season, Dina came
32:54over after work and stood in my hallway
32:56with her coat still on and looked at my
32:57thermostat. "65?" she said. "Brett, this
33:02is a crime."
33:03"65 is a perfectly good number," I said.
33:06"65 is for penguins," she said and
33:09turned it up to 72.
33:11I opened my mouth to say something, and
33:13then I didn't. I let her. It's my bill
33:16now, nobody else's. And for the first
33:18time in 7 years, I don't mind paying it.
33:22Later that night, she took a shower in
33:23the walk-in, and when she came out, she
33:25was looking around for something. "Do
33:27you have a hair dryer?" she asked.
33:29I went to the hall closet and got it
33:31down off the shelf. Brown plastic, cord
33:34wrapped around the handle, older than I
33:35am.
33:36"It's the only thing I'm ever getting
33:38from my family," I said. "So, be careful
33:40with it."
33:41She looked at it, then at me.
33:44"This is the hair dryer?" she said.
33:46"That's the one."
33:48She plugged it in and turned it on, and
33:49it sounded like a lawnmower, and she
33:51laughed so hard she had to sit down on
33:53the edge of the bed in the second
33:55bedroom. Grandma's quilt is still on it.
33:58Harlow was right. I knew what the room
34:00was for, eventually. It's the guest
34:02room. Dina's mother stays there when she
34:04visits. She's 5'2", and she loves the
34:07counters.

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