“Your father died,” Grant’s mom said. She started crying uncontrollably. She had devoted her whole life to that piece of shit. Now he was dead and she didn’t know what to do with herself.
Grant didn’t feel any emotion at all. What kind of person doesn’t break down in tears when they find out their father is dead? Me, Grant thought. That’s who.
Sometimes, Grant amazed himself at how unemotional he could be, especially when bad things were happening to bad people. Instead of sympathy for them, Grant would mentally shrug.
Grant was nice to his mom and told her he would be out to Forks in a few hours. Lisa had awakened. She really hated Larry for all the mean things he had done to Grant (although Grant never told her all the things). Grant didn’t even think to ask her to come to Forks for the funeral. He just left.
The drive to Forks was a time of reflection. Grant realized during the drive how much he had changed since he lived there. College, marriage, law school, law jobs, kids, successes in his profession— he was a totally different person. It was hard to put into words.
As Grant got closer and closer to Forks, he came upon landmarks that reminded him of growing up. Memories came flooding back.
The place hadn’t changed much. Now that he had been living in suburbia, the place seemed like more of a dump than he had remembered it. Was he getting too good for Forks? That thought scared Grant.
The sun was coming up and he could see all the signs that people lived differently in Forks. They had gardens, fishing boats, and wood piles; signs of self-sufficiency. The pickups had gun racks. It was apparent that they could get by much better in hard times than in beautiful neighborhoods like the Cedars.
Grant started ruminating again about how dependent he and his family were on society functioning flawlessly. A man needs to take care of his family; you can’t do it when you’re dependent on all the comforts you’re living in now. He’d thought this a thousand times recently.
All the things Grant saw in Forks that early morning reminded him of a skill he’d lost. He didn’t garden; Lisa would laugh at him for suggesting they put some potatoes in their immaculately landscaped yard. He hadn’t fished in years. He hadn’t split wood either, and probably couldn’t fall a tree like he could back then. Guns. He hadn’t shot in years.
Grant went to his old house. It was more of a rundown shack than he had remembered. There was a strange newer pickup in the driveway.
Grant parked his Acura, which looked absurdly out of place at the shack.
He knocked on the door and his mom answered. She was in terrible shape. Steve was there. It was great to see him, all grown up. Grant assumed the pickup was his.
The occasion didn’t lend itself to idle chitchat. Grant comforted his mom; he owed her that. He got down to business, planning the funeral and making arrangements. Larry had died of a heart attack.
Grant’s sister, Carol, arrived a few hours later. He had kept in touch with her, on and off over the years. She was a professor at the University of Washington teaching literature or something. She seemed to be doing well.
The funeral was a blur. Grant was just there because he was supposed to be. He kept feeling guilty that he wasn’t sad. But he wasn’t. He didn’t really know his mom and dad. His childhood seemed like a lifetime ago. It was; he had a new life.
After the funeral and consoling his mom until she fell asleep, it was late and Grant went out onto the front porch. Steve drove up. It was so good to see him and be able to catch up. Steve had married a nice local girl and they had three kids. Steve was not logging, of course, since the state and feds had virtually prohibited logging for the sake of the supposedly endangered spotted owl, although there seemed to be a lot of them flying around. Steve managed the local auto parts store.
“I need to get out of here,” Grant said. “Let’s go have a beer.”
“Roger that,” Steve said. That’s what Steve and Grant always said back in the day when they worked the radios on CAP searches.
Grant looked at his Acura and said, “Why don’t you drive?” Steve smiled. They left for one of the two taverns in town. No one recognized him in Forks, which was just fine with Grant. Besides, who has a beer after their dad dies? He didn’t want people to recognize him.
In his conversation with Steve, Grant focused on how Steve was living. He made a little bit from the auto parts store, but he hunted, fished, gardened, and did some small custom logging jobs on the small pieces of land still available for logging. Grant was drawn to how Steve lived. He realized that Steve and his family could live just fine if the auto parts job went away. They could feed themselves. And they were perfectly happy. They didn’t need big screen TVs or a closet full of clothes they never wore.
Another thing Grant focused on was the community in Forks and how it banded together. Steve talked about friends giving him deer meat and how he repaired a guy’s boat for free. Everyone knew carpentry, electrical, and even welding skills. Steve had a pretty well- equipped home shop and could just about fix or build everything there. This was how everyone lived in Forks.
Then a song came on the jukebox. It was one of Grant and Steve’s favorite songs from high school, “Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams, Jr. Steve and Grant were singing along to the lyrics:
Wow. That was it. A country boy can survive. Grant can’t. Steve can plow a field all day long and catch catfish from dusk till dawn. Ain’t too many things that ole boy couldn’t do. You can’t starve‘em out and you can’t make ‘em run. These old boys would, sure as shit, raise that ole shotgun.
That song explained everything missing in Grant’s life. It explained the thoughts he was having about being dependent. He was having them because, unlike most people in the suburbs, Grant actually knew how rural people could survive. Grant could see how dependent he was because he knew how people lived without being as dependent. Grant could see it; regular suburban people couldn’t.
“Hey, Steve,” Grant asked, “you still got that old Hank Jr. tape we used to listen to?”
“Nope,” Steve said. “But I got the CD.” Oh, that’s right, Grant thought. It had been many, many years since anyone had tapes.
“Does it have this song it?” Grant asked.
“Yep,” Steve answered.
“Can I borrow it for the trip home?” Grant asked. “I’ll mail it back to you.”
“Got it in my truck,” Steve said with a smile.