“Bout time you get here, boy,” Gramps rumbles from his bed.
I chuckle. “How you doing, Gramps?” I ask from where I stand leaning against the doorframe in his bedroom.
“I’m fine.” He coughs. It’s one of those deep coughs that make you cringe because you know it hurts just from the sound.
“I can tell.” I step further into his room and take the chair beside his bed.
“I don’t need a sitter,” he grumbles.
“I agree.” He looks shocked.
“Well, then what the hell are you doing here? I told that son of mine and your mother that I didn’t need no help.”
“You might not, but who is going to run the distillery?”
“I can do it from here.”
“Really?” I sit back in my seat and cross my arms. “You’re going to run meetings barking like a seal?”
“I’ve done it before.”
“I’m sure you have, but, Gramps, the doctor says your emphysema is getting worse and pneumonia on top of that, it’s not good. Dad said they wanted to keep you in the hospital but you refused.”
“I have a—” He breaks off with a deep cough. “I have a business to run,” he wheezes.
“How about you let me do that. I’ll report in each day; you just worry about getting better.”
“You know beer,” he states matter of fact.
I try like hell to hide my smile. He’s grumpy as fuck in his old age, but this illness is making it worse. “I know beer; I also know whiskey. It’s been a few years since I’ve been here, but I know that place like the back of my hand.”
“Things change,” he says, defeated.
There, now we’re at the heart of the issue. I’m a prick. I went from spending every single summer with him to none at all. I’ve been back for a few days here and there since college, but nothing like I used to. “I’m here now.”
“So it seems.” He coughs again.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask.
“I’ve been doing fine on my own.”
He’s really pissed, as he should be. I make a mental note to let Mom and Dad know that, once he’s better, I’m going to stay a few more weeks, spend some quality time with him once he’s feeling like himself again. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” I finally say.
“Hmpf.” He closes his eyes and turns away from me.
“Look, I’m here to help you get better. I’m not going away anytime soon. It would be a hell of a lot easier if you would just tell me where you are with things down at the distillery. Otherwise, I’m going to have to go down there and start digging to figure it out on my own.”
“The hell you will, boy. You know beer, not whiskey,” he says again.
“I know you. I know how you run your business. I can figure it out, and what I don’t know, I have you to help me. So, which is it going to be? You going to help me out or am I going to have to jump in feet first and wing it?”
“I don’t need you here,” he grumbles. “I can work from here.”
“I’m sure you can, but not efficiently. Not and run the distillery the way it needs to be ran. Let me do this for you, Gramps.”
“I’m tired, please leave me be,” he says, still facing the opposite wall.
With a heavy sigh, I leave him to rest. Back down stairs, I grab my bags that I left in the foyer and head to the west end of the house. That’s where the room is that I always used to stay in when I was here. Pushing open the door, nostalgia falls over me as I take it in. The same full-size bed with the blue and white checkered comforter sits in the center of the room. My old ball glove and bat are sitting on top of the bookshelf. So many memories. Walking further into the room, I take a look at the corkboard above the desk. A picture of me and my old buddy Jake, Gramps, and Jake’s Uncle Jerry, all of us holding our fishing poles, is still pinned there. I don’t remember exactly which summer it’s from, but I remember those fishing trips fondly. I’ll have to ask Jake if he and his uncle want to get together once Gramps starts feeling better.
I make quick work of unpacking before jumping in the shower and washing off the travel. My plan is to head over to the distillery and check on things. Dad didn’t when they were here, leaving that for me. I guess, even though they get along, there is still some animosity about the distillery between the two of them. Gramps is grumpy as hell, and although some of it is his illness, the rest lies on me. I’m a prick, have been anyway, but I’m going to make it up to him.
I check on him one more time before leaving. He’s sleeping, so I leave him be. I’m just going to go in for a few hours and see where things are. I assume Dorothy is still his assistant. Sharp as a whip, that one. I’m sure she can catch me up to speed.
The drive to the distillery is a familiar one. Things have changed, yet remain the same. What used to be a huge lake in my eyes as a kid, is now just a really big pond in my eyes as an adult. Baxter’s Distillery is located on over one hundred acres, and Gramps has all kinds of perks for his employees, the pond being one of them. There’s also a park and a full gym with twenty-four-hour access to employees. There is a full-time cafeteria, and one weekend a month, he has family day. You can bring your family to tour the facility, enjoy the park, the pond, and all the other amenities. As I drive to the main building that houses the offices, I take in the fall scene; it looks like a damn postcard. Gramps always used to describe it to me, but I’ve never been able to see it. I was always in school, and by the time we would come to visit for Christmas, all the leaves were gone. I can still hear him telling me to always enjoy the beauty of nature. Gramps is one of a kind for sure.
Pulling my rental into the spot marked reserved for Rhett Baxter, I can’t help but grin. Gramps used to say this was reserved for me when I came to visit. For years, I believed he had the sign there just for me. As I got older, I caught on of course. This is the first time I’ve driven and parked in this spot. I may not be the right Rhett Baxter, but my lips tilt in a smile all the same.
Inside, I take the elevator to the top floor, where I know I’ll find Dorothy sitting outside of Gramps office.
“Well, I’ll be,” she says as soon as I step off the elevator. “Rhett Baxter, you get your little hind end over here and give me a hug.” She stands from her desk and walks around to greet me.
I laugh. “Hey, Dorothy, how have you been?”
“My goodness, you’re not so little any more. It’s been too long.” She playfully smacks my arm. “I’m good, dear. How is your grandfather? The last time I spoke to him, he had his undies all in a bunch. I assume that’s why you’re here?”
“I guess you could say that. He needs rest, doctor’s orders, and well, he didn’t want the help, but Dad overruled him and here I am.”
She studies me. “How do you feel about that?”
I give her a smile, the one that usually gets me what I want with the ladies. “It’s been too long, and you’re more beautiful than ever.”
“Oh, hush you.” She waves her hand in the air before taking her seat back behind her desk.
I chuckle. “I miss this place. He’s not impressed that I’m here.”
“He misses you.” She says is so matter of fact, that I feel like an even bigger tool for not visiting sooner.
“So, where are we? Staffing, production times?” I fire off questions.
“How much do you know, Rhett?” Concerns laces her voice.
“What do you mean? How much do I know? About running the distillery?”
She shakes her head, a solemn look on her face. “No, child. He’s been ill for a while now. He swore to me that he told all of you.”
I stand stock-still waiting for her to say more. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. When she doesn’t elaborate, I find my voice, although it’s rough. I ask, “What are you talking about, Dorothy?”
“Oh dear.” She places her hand over her heart.
“Dorothy.” I say her name with authority.
“He’s going to be angry with me, but you need to know.” She takes a deep breath. “Two years ago, he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. His symptoms are getting worse to where he loses his balance. It’s hard for him to even hold a pen.”
“Parkinson’s,” I repeat.
She nods. “Afraid so. That stubborn old coot refused to tell any of you, and lied to me about it. And now with his emphysema and the pneumonia on top of that, it’s taking a toll on his body.”
Needing to sit down, I take a seat in one of the many chairs reserved for guests who are here to see my grandfather. Why didn’t he tell us? Even more so, I should have fucking known. If I’d visited, l would have seen the signs. I should have been here. Fuck!
“Can he… I mean, what do we do now? Has he seen a specialist?”
She nods. “Yes, dear. There is nothing more they can do. He takes medication that helps with the tremors most of the time. The pneumonia is a setback, and a serious one. Many his age, who fall ill to pneumonia with Parkinson’s, well, they don’t seem to come out on the other side of the illness,” she says as gently as she can.
Her words sink in. This could take his life. I’ve been living it up, partying at college and then engrossing myself into the brewery, too damn busy being me to come and see the man who shaped who I am today. He was my best friend growing up. My heart is racing, as is my mind with what I can do. I need to speak to his doctors, get their credentials, find another doctor who can help him.
“Rhett.” Dorothy’s raises her voice, bringing me out of my mental debate. “We’ve taken him to the best doctors. He’s receiving the best care. What he needs is to not stress about things here. You being here, that’s what you can do for him. Make sure this place flourishes.”
“I wish he would have told us,” I say, fighting back the emotions that are fighting to break free. Dorothy is like a grandmother to me and has been with Gramps for years. Her and Grams were best friends before she passed, at least that’s what she’s always told me. It was before I was old enough to remember her.
“He’s a stubborn man, that one. Now, go on in.” She points to his office door. “I have a few items that need taken care of. I also have a few contracts for you to sign. There is no governing board, as he is the sole owner, and I know as sure as I stand here that he would agree with letting you step in. His feelings are hurt, but he knows deep down this is the best until he’s better.”
“You think so? Is he going to be able to come back? How bad is he?”
“I don’t know, my dear. He has good days and bad days, but this has really got him down. I’m glad you’re here, Rhett, for him and for the business.” She gives me a small sad smile and points toward the office door again. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Feeling like a kid again, I do as I’m told and wait for her in his office. Sitting behind his desk brings back memories of times I would sit here and spin around until I was so dizzy I couldn’t walk. Gramps would just laugh that deep belly laugh of his and tell me that I looked good in his seat and that someday maybe it would be mine. He has three framed pictures on his desk. One of Grams, it’s of their wedding day, one of me and my parents, and then one of him and me. It’s of the two of us sitting in the grass around the pond, both wearing big grins. That was my last summer here.
“Ready?” Dorothy asks.
Looking up, I see her arms loaded down. I stand to help her, but she just shakes her head and drops the load on the desk.
“Right, let’s do this,” I say, grabbing a pen from the desk drawer. For over four hours, Dorothy and I comb through reports, contracts, staffing, and what feels like a million and one other items that needed approval. Production is low, product is on backorder. Apparently, there is a machine down and no one wanted to bother Gramps with the order to sign off to fix it.
Dorothy packs up her stack and stands now that we’ve been through every piece of paper. “I’m glad you’re here, Rhett. We needed you. He needs you.” Those are her parting words as she carries the mound of paperwork back to her desk, leaving me alone.