Gatekeeper's Secret
Copyright© 2026 by Fick Suck
Chapter 2
“Damn, Grandpa, you could’ve warned me,” Grady moaned as he tried to massage the splitting headache that was pressing on all sides of his skull. He rolled around on the couch for a few minutes before he felt any easing of the pressure. He worked his jaw a few times and slowly rolled his neck, testing the truth of his hope that the pain was diminishing.
He sat up and looked out the window. The world was dark and quiet, as if nothing was moving outside. A flash out the kitchen window behind him followed by a slow roll of thunder told him all he needed to know. He knew storms were due overnight and by the sound of things, they had arrived.
The clock in the kitchen read 3:14. Grady downed a glass of water in one gulp, only to feel his stomach complain at the circumstances. He pulled the old glass bowl from the shelf and dumped oatmeal, milk and water in it before setting it to cook in the microwave. When the timer beeped, he dumped half a jar of applesauce in it and a handful of raisins. He dusted the concoction with cinnamon and quickly devoured it.
Lightning lit up the sky again as Grady stared at the twin peaks of the mountain behind the house, The Sisters. Now, he knew their secret and what his true inheritance was. The money in the trust was just that, money, a tool to be used to meet the needs of the day. What he needed, his grandpa had given him already: A love and respect for nature, woodcraft, and a deep dive into health of the land and what it required. He had received a deeper schooling from his grandfather than what he received in high school, not that school was good, bad, or indifferent. High School was simply learning without context.
He scratched his chin, realizing that he needed to shave if he was going to be presentable tomorrow. He figured “the busybodies” as grandpa called them would be by tomorrow morning to make the plans and generally muck things up. Grandpa had tolerated them because he loved his wife, but Grady had learned early on that for his grandpa, it was an act of tolerance. Grady was more flexible; he knew he needed their help.
He absently stroked the gem that hung from his neck. The smoothness of it felt good on the pad of his thumb. The warmth that emerged from the stone was comforting, connecting him to a greater source somewhere out there on the mountain. Another rumble of thunder shook him out of his musings. With a shrug of fatalism, Grady shucked his clothes onto his bedroom floor and went to sleep.
The storms had moved on by the time he awoke in the early morning; the snow had not stuck. He brewed himself a cup of coffee, cognizant that he was only making one cup. His grandfather had not been able to tolerate coffee the last couple of months, but there was their quiet time in the morning when they sat with a cup. Now, it was his quiet time alone.
There was a moment when he was five years old and his grandpa had brought him home from his first day of kindergarten. They were sitting on chairs in the backyard before dinner, watching the Twin Sisters and the sky. “We missed you around the ranch today, Grady. I’m proud of you and today reminds me how precious you are to me.” He did not remember much else about that day, but that moment was one he kept close. He sat up, brushing more tears away.
After giving the house a surreptitious clean with a broom and a damp rag, Grady settled into the stuffed chair to read the digital news of the day. He heard a car pull up just before nine. “Right on time,” he mumbled.
The surprise on his face was unmistakable when he opened the door to find two of his school friends climbing out of the jeep. “Damn,” he said, as they closed in on him for a hug. “I had no idea.”
“Typical,” Darla said. “You have no idea because you think your problems are your problems and you shouldn’t worry anyone else. You, my friend, are a doofus.”
Grady tried to speak, and nothing came out of his mouth. His buddy, Randy, rescued him by imposing his body between the two and giving him a hug as well. “Tough beans to bake, dude.”
Grady stepped back and shook his head. “Don’t I know it. What’re you two doing here, skipping school and playing hooky?”
“My momma suggested it,” Darla volunteered. “The news made it around school pretty quick yesterday. She told me to grab Randy and then she gave me a list of chores: mop and dust, clean out the refrigerator, make sure you eat, and have Randy shove you in the shower if you stink. You know, stuff like that.”
“Come on in,” Grady said. “Truth is I was expecting grandma’s friends to show up and do their tut-tutting and poo-pooing as they gussy up the place.
“Gussy?” Randy said with skepticism on his face.
“Grandpa word,” Grady said.
“He had great stuff,” Darla said. “My favorite was ‘It’s not the company you keep but sharing the place where you buried them.’”
“Or ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies six feet under,’” Randy said.
“Oh, he liked to say, ‘Better a bird in hand than two in the bush, but three in the stew pot is best,’” Darla declared before pushing Grady aside and marching through the door. “O Randal, dahlin’, please fetch the tools from the back seat. The remains of the day are horrid.”
“Randal?” Grady asked.
Randy shrugged. “We’ve been streaming British dramas. She likes them.” He walked back to the car and pulled out the bucket, the broom, and the mop.
“We’re not uncivilized up here in the back country,” Grady said with his arms crossed. “We even know how to brush our teeth and wipe our butts after pooping.”
“Her momma’s rules,” Randy said walking past. He stopped and looked back. “I follow the da momma’s rule because I like to get in her daughter’s pants. Capish?”
“Got it,” Grady said, following his friend inside.
Darla walked up to him and gave him a sniff. “Go and shower,” she ordered. “I’m going to cook you breakfast while you clean yourself. Shave, too, while you’re at it.”
Grady nodded his compliance without uttering a word. He grabbed a clean towel from the linen closet and locked himself in the bathroom. He washed himself. He shaved. He brushed his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering why his head was empty. Then he caught a glimpse of the gem and began moving again. Five minutes later, Grady sat down at the table with a wet head and a growling stomach.
Darla laid out a platter of scrambled eggs with diced ham and peppers, fried waxed potatoes, and toast. All three ate in silence, devouring the entire platter and the potatoes. Only a couple of pieces of almost burnt toast remained.
“Did you make the funeral arrangements,” Darla asked.
“We did them together three months ago, when the doctor told us the news,” Grady said. “He wanted graveside and no preacher. The funeral director will recite a few readings and if the busybodies want to say something, they can.”
“Sounds cold and clinical,” Randy said.
“Grandpa always said if you have something to say or something to do, do it before you’re dead. There aren’t any options afterwards,” Grady said with a sad smile.
“I heard you say that in your grandfather’s voice,” Darla said.