The Trailing Edge

Previous chapter Friday. We ate a light breakfast and lunch because Gerry had warned us that an Italian feast would be arriving with him shortly after sunset. I wondered: With New Jersey traffic being what it was, especially on Friday afternoons, he might be delayed. Nonetheless, we made sure that we and the house were ready to greet him. Gerry had asked us so many questions about Ben, it was even more amusing when Ben started quizzing us about Gerry! Ben seemed to have established a mental picture of our friend, mostly based on his name and age. He considered 40 to be a “mature” age -- this was hilarious to us. Gerry was inordinately fond of fart jokes and paintball weekends. Out of respect, we declined to tell Ben anything about Gerry’s stretch in Federal prison, even though it hadn’t been a long one and the process that he hoped would lead to the conviction being overturned was underway. Gerry is fundamentally honest and decent, albeit naive and gullible. He comes from the...

                               Previous chapter The story starts  here... After our meal (which included leftover homemade soup -- Ben’s first direct exposure to food prepared in the microwave -- he excused himself for a short rest. Warren, Trevor and I high-tailed it out to the barn, along with Trevor’s cell phone. All of our phones were charged to varying degrees, but we didn’t want to take chances. We plugged all of them in. We wanted to speak to Gerry, reassure him that Ben was back to his normal self, and find out if he knew anything more about the inn. Gerry confessed to us that his business dealings with regard to his real-estate investment had been less ironclad than he’d pretended. He had silent partners who held out the option of shutting down the entire enterprise if he fell short of expectations, and he had -- at the most inopportune possible moment. Later, of course, we reflected th...

                          Previous chapter Whoever he might really be, Ben had me worried. He sat umoving in his seat, staring absently ahead. No tears fell, but he was no less upset as the house came back into view, than he had been half an hour before. Trevor and I seemed to be communicating telepathically because neither of us spoke a word; nonetheless, we felt each other’s concern. Both of us were wondering What next? Warren seemed to catch the mood, too. Once we reached the drive, he slowed the horses, trying not to jostle the carriage. He hopped down promptly and put up the steps next to the carriage door. I saw his face as he peered in and offered Ben a hand out. We all watched Franklin navigate the steps slowly, haltingly, nearly stumbling as he reached the ground. Warren hurried, fumbling for his keys, and opened the front door of the house for Ben as quickly as possible. Ben proceeded through at a march, no...