Gatekeeper's Secret
Copyright© 2026 by Fick Suck
Chapter 1
When Grady was called to the school office, he had a good suspicion about what the matter was. He grabbed everything from his locker before rushing down to the office, expecting the worst. Without a word, he was ushered into the principal’s office where the guidance counselor was also waiting.
“My grandpa’s dead, isn’t he?” Grady asked, looking at their long faces.
“I’m afraid so, Grady. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Mr. Grimes said. “Please, take a seat.”
When the principal wound down, Grady told them both that he wanted two things: to bury his grandfather with dignity and to finish his high school diploma. The guidance counselor reassured Grady that there was more than one avenue to finish his schooling, and being eighteen years old, he could easily make those decisions after the funeral.
After clambering into his truck, Grady stared at the steering wheel, trying to think straight. He had taken his grandfather to the hospital three days ago, and the first, really the only, recommendation from the doctor was hospice. This was Grady’s second rodeo with hospice after his grandmother had a stroke last year. Grandpa had warned him of his own health issues and prepared Grady as best he could.
Even though his grandfather’s death was sad but expected, the dignity part was going to be the problem. They had buried grandma with the intent of being solemn, but they could not help themselves. The well-wishers left and they nearly peed themselves from laughing so hard as they stood in the family plot.
Grady was thirteen when his father died. He had already been living with his grandparents for ten years and he had always lived at the ranch. Some events are simply stranger than fiction. His father, for lack of words without revealing the shameful truth, was an ongoing car wreck.
As he drove to the hospital one last time, he relived his father’s funeral, a stark memory still. The day was hot and humid as Grady stood with his grandparents at the foot of his mother’s grave. The cemetery looked like a huge, level field with all the gravestones flat to the ground, while the landfill rose like a horrific blemish behind them. He was holding his father’s ashes in a ridiculous urn that looked like Bugs Bunny, polished to a pleasant grey and white sheen. The funeral director asked them if they needed anything. Grady looked at grandpa who looked back at his wife and Grady before shaking his head and saying, “No, thank you. We just need a few minutes, and we’ll be done.”
They had driven to the other side of the county to reach the cemetery, which was a tidy but ugly patch on the far side of the landfill mountain, separated by a tall fence. His grandmother had telephoned Grady at summer camp to inform him of his father’s unexpected death. The man had died in Montana in some sort of accident she could not describe on the phone. She called on Friday morning and here he stood, Monday afternoon, hopefully upwind of the busy landfill as he placed his father’s ashes in the ground.
When the funeral director stepped away, Grady asked, “Uh, guys, what’s with this urn? What does Bugs Bunny have to do with my father or our family for that matter?”
“I found this cookie jar at the Plainview flea market for twenty dollars,” Grandpa said. “Funeral home wanted $300 for a painted cardboard box. There isn’t any reason to spend a penny more on the dumb ass.”
“Jedidiah, have some respect for the dead,” his grandmother said. “He is your son after all.”
His grandfather, ignoring his wife, glared at Grady. “Do you know how he died?”
“I was going to ask that question next,” Grady said honestly. “Grandma wouldn’t say on the phone.”
“Yeah, because I told her not to say anything that could be recorded,” Grandpa said as he snorted up a big wad and spit on the other side. “From an early age, your father was an embarrassment, Grady. I’m not saying anything you haven’t heard before, but he never stopped humiliating himself and mortifying the rest of us, even in death.”
“Okay,” Grady said. “Is this going to be a painful story? I thought he was raising sheep in Big Sky country.”
“Well, they found him in one of the far meadows,” Grandma said. “Naked.”
“Oh, God.”
“He was shtupping sheep when the ram took exception,” Grandpa said. “The ram charged him, hitting him on the side of his torso and throwing him a goodly way. They found him two days later when he didn’t return. You hold in your hands the remains of Norman Wolcott, sheep fucker extraordinaire. Even his death is an embarrassment that will not be forgotten. They’re going to talk about him at the local bars in Montana for years to come.”
“Are you certain that he is my biological father?” Grady asked. Unfortunately, he had already asked the question several times over the past few years.
“Thankfully, you take after your mother, bless her soul,” Grandma said, looking at the stone with her daughter-in-law’s name engraved on it. “He probably screwed up her medications and killed her too.”
Grady did not want to hear that old saw again. His mom had been dead ten years, and the memories were fast fading. He got down on one knee, placing the urn in the small hole on top of his mom’s grave. “Goodbye, dad.”
“And stay there,” Grandpa muttered. He signaled to the funeral director, who brought over the cemetery worker with the shovel. The worker was acting respectful as he hoisted the shovel to lift dirt out of the wheelbarrow. Grandpa told him there was a forty-dollar tip if he dumped dirt from the wheelbarrow in the hole and got them out of there in five minutes. The man took the money with a smile and a “thank you, sir.”
After the funeral, they sat down at a worn and tired diner-type restaurant. Grady remembered the western omelet was good, and the hash browns were crisp. Grandpa looked like he was under some strain and grandma noticed it too. Every time his forehead creased, she patted his forearm until the wrinkles relaxed. Grady had already learned to be patient, letting the man take his time to formulate his thoughts and put them in order.
“Grady, I’m sorry your dad died,” Grandpa said, pushing away the empty plate. “You may not have been close to him these past few years, but he was still your dad. I was so furious at him I forgot about what you may be feeling.”
“I’m fine,” Grady said. “True enough, it’s weird to be an orphan at thirteen years old. He’s been gone six years though, and he never tried hard to stay in touch with me. He forgot my birthday three out of the six years, which ain’t a great record. I feel like another chapter has ended and I’m turning the page to start a new one. Still, I can’t imagine what to say when my friends’ parents ask. ‘Oh, your father must have died young; what happened?’” Grady could not suppress the laugh. “He died fucking sheep, that’s what happened. I don’t think we’ll be visiting Montana anytime soon.”
Grandma, ever the prim and proper woman, snorted iced tea through her nostrils. She hastily grabbed another napkin from the dispenser and wiped her face. “Can you imagine sitting with the ladies at the Dogwood Tavern for our noon tipple and discussing sheep sex? Spencer would probably throw me out for being lewd and lascivious. Watch your swearing, Grady.”