Wellington Napoleon Dowd - 10. Chapter 10 - Abandoned

I went back to college. I finished my degree and even made a fair effort of it. I skipped the graduation ceremony, too eager to get back to Kevin and to start what my life would be. Mrs. Cooke and Gardener were disappointed, but said they understood.

In appreciation for all Kevin had done for me all these months and to be assured of his safety, I directed the Dowd Construction Company to buy him a new pickup truck. It was overly large and powerful and was quickly dubbed ‘King Kong’. He resisted, claiming that his old truck was fine. One day when he was at the construction site, I concealed his old truck in the carriage house, summoned my mechanic’s skills and dismantled it. Now he would have no choice. He managed to smile at my subterfuge and acquiesced to using the ‘King Kong.’

The next two years were magical. Most days and every night we were side by side, working, laughing, making love – I suppose sometimes one of us was on top. The condo development approached completion. I even helped with the sales effort. Mr. Selwen suggested underwriting some of the mortgage loans, to speed up sales by eliminating balky banks, establish an ongoing cash flow and to be able to repossess should anyone default and thereby maintain the value of other units. Smart guy, Mr. Selwen, thank you.

I watched as Kevin established himself among the construction crew, suppliers and trades. Everyone appreciated his no nonsense approach, his creative insights and easy going manner. The job site was his domain. Yes, I visited often and even spent time with Mr. Selwen in running the company. High level decisions were brought to me, though I always sought Kevin’s advice. I looked forward to the end of the construction and completion of sales so I could have Kevin all to myself. I missed him during his long work days.

The day finally came when the construction trailer was hauled away and the last construction vehicle left the property. Sales had preceded construction allowing the sales office to close down. Moving trucks brought in the possessions of the new owners. The neighborhood hummed with their presence. Even the Dowd Mansion seemed less daunting.

Kevin and I celebrated the completion of the project late into the night. His alarm rang at his customary 5:00 AM. I took particular pleasure in dashing it against the wall. From now on, we could get up when we wanted. Mr. Selwen’s careful financial guidance ensured a sufficient, if not opulent life style. I was content with a vision of the future with Kevin and endless loving.

I awoke on the third morning alone in the bed. Kevin’s side was cold, he had been up for some time. I found him on a parapet looking over the new condominium.

“What’s up, babe? Other than you far too early.”

“Oh, nothing, just couldn’t sleep.”

“Come back to bed, we can ‘not sleep’ together.” I embraced him in what I thought was a seductive manner. He didn’t respond. “Come on, something is up.”

“I don’t have anything to do.”

“That’s right, we’ve gotten the job done. Now you have someone to do. Come back to bed.”

He relented, following back to bed and engaging me enthusiastically.

A week later, he was on the parapet again.

“Are you unhappy with me?” I felt shabby after the loaded question escaped my lips.

“No, Well. I love you. You’re an amazing lover. You make me very happy.”

“Then what is it? Do you know?”

“I never saw myself as ‘a man of leisure. I’ve always worked, even when I was a kid. I always had something that had to be done. I didn’t resent that, it’s how life works.”

“You don’t have to now. We have enough. We can just be us together.”

“But it’s your money, Well. They even call me Mrs. Dowd at the job site.”

“The guys are always teasing, they don’t mean it. Kevin, you know they respect you. They run everybody down. It’s just the way with construction guys. You’ve done far more than me. I had the dumb luck to have inherited some land. It’s you, Mr. Selwen and all those construction guys that made it happen.”

“Don’t count yourself out of this, Well. You had the courage to save the project when Evens screwed it up. You could have walked away and cashed out. But you didn’t.”

“So where are we?”

“Well, this is something I’ve got to figure out for myself.”

“What do you mean?” My heart clenched with fear.

“I don’t know. But I’ve got to do it, whatever it is.”

“Kevin, I love you. I’ll do anything for you.”

“That’s just it, you can’t fix this.” He stormed into the house, tears in his eyes.

***

I happened to be near a window in the front of the house. I noticed someone on the front lawn, it was Kevin, pacing back and forth, clearly wrestling with his thoughts. I was still watching as his shoulders drooped and he walked out the gate.

Kevin did not return that night, nor the next day. I frantically searched the town for him, calling the local police, the town police, hospitals, the FBI, but there was no sign of him. At the end of a week I knew in my mind that Kevin would not be coming back. I sat at that same window from first light until blackest night. No Kevin.

I still had Kevin’s truck, albeit in pieces. The thought possessed me that if I brought this prized item of his life back, he too would return. I set about restoring ‘Little Red’, loving him in place of the other red one, Kevin. All the love and skill I had poured into Clark Gable I applied to this challenge. When I had finished, the truck was finer than when it first left the show room. But Kevin had not come back. The totem had not worked. I returned to my place by the window.

At some point, I am unaware when, I forsook my vigil. I have some recollection of wandering about the Dowd Mansion, always finding myself in my father’s studio, peering into his despair, wandering ever closer to the edge. On few occasions I daubed paint onto the ever present canvas or made noise on the long out of tune piano, somehow seeking the same muse that had eluded him. I rolled a piece of paper into the ancient typewriter and wrote the story of my life. Not this story you read, but a darker, bleaker version with deep meditations on suicide. In that version, only pain, loneliness and suffering were recorded.

The suicides, many methods were contemplated. I sought out the various poisons contained in the Dowd Mansion, lining them up on my writing desk as avatars of doom. The horrible deaths they contained were beyond my ability act upon. The towers of the Dowd Mansion, while forbidding, still lacked sufficient height to ensure an instant death. Accompanying Clark Gable at full throttle off a scenic overlook would breach my longest friendship. I could not bear to imperil him. A rope I found in the carriage house could serve. There was a beam spanning my own bedroom in the tower. I knotted it carefully in the age-old hangman’s noose. And those who would, duty-bound, attend to my remains, I could not subject them to that horror. I not so much resolved to live as to not take my own life. I felt as one with my parents, I was truly their son.

I was dimly aware of the passing seasons. Summer, fecund and warm, mocked the sterility of my life. Fall’s brilliant colors were dimmed to my senses, only the odor of rot and ruin penetrated. Winter could not further chill my soul. Spring, pitiless Spring with all its beginnings, ground my heart to dust. And around the bleak cycle again. I ate what Mrs. Cooke put before me. Tony would come on an occasional Wednesday as if to an invalid, forcing me to bathe, shaving my beard and attending to my hair. I cursed the life that had left me in such a state but would not leave me.