Emory really might have some issues.
“Do you think maybe I could read it?” Paul thought he had nothing to lose.
“Don’t know why you’d want to. I told you it has no ending. God has a plan, and He is not ready to reveal it yet.” Emory began to slur his words just a bit. “Do you know what today is?” Paul had absolutely no idea where Emory was going with this question. “It’s May the third.” Emory grabbed the bottle and poured himself another shot. This time, he did not offer any to Paul. “Damn right, it’s May third.” He slammed the bottle onto the table. His voice got louder. “Thirty years. Thirty goddamned years. Nothing. If He has a plan, then I want to know what it is.” Emory was mainly talking to himself now.
Paul thought that maybe he would not hear those stories after all. Emory was fast becoming intoxicated. Paul decided he would stay a while and see if he could comfort the old man in any way. He was obviously nostalgic about this date. Paul did not think he should be alone. He asked if he could use the restroom. Emory just pointed. Paul called Yvonne on his cell phone and gave her a brief synopsis of what he was doing. She told him to stay as long as he felt necessary and to call her if he was going to be too late.
When he walked back into the kitchen, Emory was not in there. He saw no one in the dining room, so he walked into the living room. The front door was open, so he walked out into the front yard. Emory was standing under the tree pulling the blossoms off one by one. He had the bottle in his hand. Paul approached him and gently pulled the bottle from his grasp. Emory did not seem to notice. He just stared at the tree and pulled blossoms from it.
“Mr. Story, are you all right?” Paul watched him stop pulling the flowers from the tree.
Emory turned around and asked him, “Do you believe in fate too, son?” Paul did not know what to say. Emory waved his hand and said, “Never mind.” Then he gestured toward the tree and said, “I’m tired of watching this tree. I think He knows I’m tired too. I bet I know why you are really here. You’re going to ask me to sell you this house, huh?” Paul was taken aback. He had thought that the old man was not completely in touch with reality, but now he was not so sure. He concluded that Emory was smarter than he had given him credit for.
Paul decided once again that he was not fooling the old man and told the truth. “Honestly, I thought of asking you if you would consider it. You are alone, and this is much too much house for you. I want you to know that I respect the fact that you built this yourself. I can tell that you have put a lot of love into it.”
“Stop brownnosing. It doesn’t suit you.” Emory laughed again. He no longer coughed after he laughed. Paul thought there might be some positive effects from the bourbon. “The fact is, I’ve been waiting on a sign. When I saw you walking down that ridge, I prayed to Him and asked if you could be the one. Just as usual, I got no answers. I decided I might trust my instincts. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.” He walked back across the yard and onto the porch. This time, he did not invite Paul back inside. Instead, he stood in the doorway and said, “Today is not the best day. I apologize for boring you with my antics. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to reenter the house, and Paul walked up onto the porch.
“Mr. Story, did I offend you in some way? I’d really like to hear those stories.”
Emory paused, then closed the screen door, and said, “Come see me tomorrow. We’ll talk some more.”
Paul was confused but turned and started walking back toward the road. He heard the door close behind him and felt that he was chasing shadows. He thought that the old man was, at the very least, confused. He didn’t even know if the house would be worth the price of remodeling. He called Yvonne and told her he was coming home, but he might just be able to persuade the old man to sell. She acted happy. He turned around and looked back the ridge and saw the long shadows of the maple trees stretching across the yard. The flag was waving atop the pole. It looked like a photograph.
When he got home, he told Yvonne about everything that had happened. She looked as confused as he felt. She asked if he thought that the old man might really be considering selling. Paul told her that he thought he just might. He made plans to go and see him the next day.
When he got to Emory’s house the next day, it was just after lunchtime. Emory met him at the door and invited him in. The first thing Paul noticed was the way Emory looked. He was bright-eyed and clean-shaven. He looked younger. Emory offered him a glass of iced tea and led him onto the back porch. The view from the rear of the house was just as impressive as the view from the front. The ridge was steeply sloped on both sides. Emory’s house sat at the end. The back porch offered a view of the creek at the bottom of the hill.
Paul stood by the rail and commented on the spectacular scenery. He saw two horses on the hill across the creek. “Are those your horses?” he asked.
Emory quickly responded, “It’s been almost thirty years now. Got some cows and a few chickens. That’s only because I have to eat.”
Paul could see that Emory’s frame of mind was drastically different today. “Mr. Story—”
Before he could continue, Emory said, “Call me Em. I have never been Mr. Story.”
“Em. You started to tell me a story yesterday. Do you remember?”
Emory looked insulted. “Of course, I remember,” he spat back. “Just been giving it second thought. Probably the whiskey talking yesterday.”
“Well, I’d really like to hear it.” Paul looked at Em and thought that he was going to ask him to leave.
Then Em got up again and went into the house. He returned with the leather notebook and sat back down. He put the notebook on his lap and then just leaned back in his chair. “Before I let you read this, I want to talk to you. Once again, I apologize for my behavior yesterday. The third day of May is not a good day for me. I miss them so much.” Paul then understood. His wife and son had died in a tornado. It must have been May 3.
“Mr. Story, I am so sorry for invading your space yesterday. I never knew.” Paul hoped that Emory would respond because he did not know what to say next.
“How could you? Anyway. I am thinking about selling this house. I never thought I would or could, but something tells me the time is right. When I met you yesterday, I felt that it was time to tell my story.” He patted the book in his lap and looked straight at Paul. “Everything in these pages happened. I do not know if there is meaning to all of it or not. Everyone else in this story is dead now, and I ain’t going to live forever.” Emory paused and then added, “I don’t even want to anymore.”
Paul thought the old man was losing it again. Emory adjusted his glasses and leaned up in his chair. “I have a sister in Florida. I am thinking of going to see her. Always thought me and Irene would walk on the beach when we got old.”
Paul tried to think of a word to describe his new friend. The only thing that came to mind was perplexing. One minute, he swore the old man was not in his right mind. Then the next, he thought he made more sense than most people. One thing he knew for sure was that he deserved respect. He was a veteran of World War II and an important part of the greatest generation.
“Mr. Story, can I tell you the truth?” Paul knew he might be blowing his opportunity for a chance to buy this house. “I really only came back here to try and talk you into selling your house. I was prepared to tell you anything to get you to consider it. I want to tell you how sorry I am for even considering that. Now that I’ve met you, I feel like I should tell you that I feel like I am the lucky one. You’re a
