Chapter Sixteen - Klempner
934 Words
Chapter Sixteen - Klempner
“May I join you?”
James sits in his favourite armchair, by the hearth, his bad leg propped up on a stool. A brandy glass cupped in his palm, the stem slotted between two fingers, he gently swishes the contents around.
“Be my guest, Larry… Sorry, Lars.” He gestures to the opposite chair. “Help yourself to a drink.”
“Thank you.” I pour myself a malt, then take the chair.
James pulls a face. “My apologies. I keep trying to call you by your proper name and it’s giving me trouble. I know you're Lars Waterman. But the fact is, I knew you for so long as Larry Klempner, that it’s stuck. In my head, you're still Larry Klempner. I don't think I'll ever be able to think of you any other way.”
I sip the malt. It’s very good, not that James keeps any other kind, be it whisky, brandy or wine. “Then don't try. I left that identity behind when I was a boy. In my head too, I'm Larry Klempner. So, no apology necessary.” I nod down to his leg. “That giving you trouble?”
He presses the heel of his hand onto the thigh, rubbing, then wincing. “Damn thing always aches in cold weather. The damp makes it worse.” He shrugs and waves it away. In a lighter tone, “That was a good thing you did there, helping out Ryan and Kirstie the way you did. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But I didn’t do it for you, James.”
He clicks his tongue. “I know. You did it for Kirstie. Ryan as well. But mainly, Kirstie.” He sips the brandy. “I’m fond of her too.”
“She’s a likeable girl and she deserves better than to be robbed by some small-minded petty criminal. And I owe her for helping Jenny the way she has. I’d like to think I’ve paid off some of that debt. But, if I’m honest, I did it as much for myself as anyone else...”
His forehead wrinkles…
“… I enjoyed myself. I felt much more myself today.”
James shoots me a dark-eyed glance, then stares into the flames for a few moments. “How are you doing, Larry? Is there something you want to talk about? At breakfast sometimes, it seems to me… I don’t know… There’s something…”
Ah… Crap…
Do I really want to talk about this?
?
It’s James…
Another sip of the malt sets embers glowing in my throat. Yet another sip and the knot of tension in my chest loosens. “I don’t always sleep well. Sometimes, in the night…. I’m back… there.”
He nods slowly, chewing at a lip. “The sewer tunnel? Where we found you?”
My words aren’t there. My mouth dries up. I give the smallest of nods, sip again, swilling the whiskey around my mouth.
Why am I telling you this?
He breathes in deeply. Lets out air again, just as slowly. “We all get the night terrors sometimes, when times are bad. Or after some truly devastating experience. It can take a while to get past it…”
Now James too looks pensive.
What’s that about?
“… I’ve been there too. Granted, on a much smaller scale than you. I had a near-death experience of my own, when Corby shot me. Unlike you, I didn't have weeks and months to dwell on it. The bullet went in and I dropped like a felled ox, or so they tell me. I woke up some days later in hospital. Truthfully, at the time, I didn't understand myself how close I came to dying. But later, when it sank in…” His expression turns bleak… “You don't get past something like that with the snap of the fingers. It takes time.”
“What happened to you? Afterwards, I mean.”
“For some while, I had flashbacks, dreams. Well… nightmares. I'd wake in the dark in a sweat.”
“But you're over it now?”
“Now, yes, I just have this…” He slaps his thigh… “… as a reminder. But it took a while.” He stares into the ashes for a few seconds. “All I can say is, you're going to have to give it a while. We're all here for you, but if you wanted to see someone...”
“A shrink you mean? No.”
“I didn’t think so. That being that case, time and a sense of responsibility are probably the best healers. Something productive to do with your time...” He smiles slightly… “Like today…”
“Just playing to my strengths.”
I want to keep talking, but that isn’t one of my strengths. My words evaporate again.
James waits, watching me. Then, “Larry, what’s wrong?”
“I wanted this. Mitch. Vicky. A normal life. I wanted it all. Wished for it so much.”
He Ahhhs, looks up at the ceiling. Then back again. “As they say, be careful what you wish for. So, you have what you wanted. But what else? What’s missing?”
“The feeling of purpose perhaps. Today, I felt alive for the first time in weeks.”
“You want some kind of work? A job? You’re a father now, again. And with a very different agenda this time. That doesn’t give you purpose?”
“Mitch looks after Vicky. A baby that small needs her mother and not much else. Besides, you’re a father. Haswell too. Even Michael, in a sense. That doesn’t stop any of you working. And it’s clearly work you all enjoy and find rewarding…”
“There’s work around the hotel. Or you could help with the renovations on the outbuildings. There’s still plenty to do.”
“And I’m happy to help. Just yell when you need the hands. But that’s your work. Or Michael’s.”
“Okay. I get you. You need something that’s yours.”
“That’s right. I think so anyhow.”
“You’ve moved on. Changed your life. And I don’t think anyone’s going to argue it wasn’t worthwhile. But you’ve not found your own new direction.”
“No.”
*****
- Writer
