Family Business

“Tell me—tell me again, Grandpa!”

The old man looked lovingly at the young boy and smiled.

“Okay. But remember, you can’t tell Grandma you know the true story of Lescott Brown.”

The boy nodded his head, crossed his heart with a somewhat grimy index finger, then sat down on the bench beside his grandfather waiting eagerly for the story to commence.

With a slow, deep breath, the boy’s grandfather settled himself next to his grandson, looked deeply into the boy’s eyes, and began.

***

Lescott Brown was born with an odd talent: he could blend into the environment around him—it was as if he became invisible. His ability to go unnoticed was the reason he knew about Maggie Klein’s illegitimate son, and about Dr. Gregdale’s flask, and about what his father really did for a living. Lescott didn’t mean to find these things out—it just happened—people seemed to carry on in his presence as if they didn’t know he was there.

At first, Lescott warned people he was nearby: he’d shout out a “hello” or cough strategically, but after awhile, he got tired of getting yelled at for snooping. Lescott understood what snooping was, and he knew better than to do such a disrespectful thing—his father had taught him that—it was the reason he tried to warn people he was nearby. But how was he to help it if people just acted like he wasn’t there and went about their secret business all within the young boy’s view?

Lescott was a good kid, and he grew into a fine young man—which was fortunate for many of the people in town. Lescott understood that what he saw was often not meant for his eyes, and because he knew secrets were not for telling, he never revealed what he learned about the others around him.

Lescott’s father was aware of his son’s gift; in fact, he considered his son’s ability to go unnoticed a talent of sorts—though it took most of Lescott’s childhood for his father to really consider how his son’s skill could be put to use.

When Lescott turned sixteen, his father decided it was time to discuss the family business with him, so he did what every father who wants to have a serious talk with his son does: he took him fishing.

When they were well away from the shore, and no one could disturb them, Lescott’s father approached the subject of what he really did with his son. Lescott listened politely, even though he’d discovered years before that his father wasn’t really a farm-equipment salesman, and when his father was done, Lescott simply nodded his head. (The young man knew there was no reason to reveal to his father that the secret he’d worked to keep from his boy had been revealed before its time.)

It didn’t bother Lescott that his father was a hit man; in fact, it made his father bigger in his eyes. At least it had at first. As Lescott grew older, he began to see his father’s job might have been the cause of his mother’s sudden death, and he also grew to understand his own safety might be jeopardized by what his father did. (His father’s was a dangerous profession that naturally resulted in the acquisition of enemies.)

It took less effort than Lescott thought to drown his father: perhaps it was because he’d been practicing for this day for the past two weeks—like other things about Lescott—his frequent trips to the lake had gone unnoticed. Like many of the things he’d learned, his father’s arrangements to rent the boat had been another of those secrets revealed to the unnoticed young man.

Taking over his father’s business was a natural extension of Lescott’s talent, but the young man knew his father would stand in his way. His father was sometimes noticed, and when that happened, the witness generally ended up out in the barn. It was one of those oversights that had led to Lescott’s learning about his father’s true profession, and an oversight sure to end in his father’s being caught.

With his father out of the way, Lescott was free to run things, and he’d have no trouble stepping into his father’s shoes: he knew enough about his father’s clients to ensure the continued success of the family business, and his risk of being caught was virtually non-existent.

Lescott made the sculpture of the last moment of his father’s life to remind himself of who he was, and just like Lescott, that sculpture went unnoticed, and his father’s accidental death was never questioned.

But the story of how I came to own it is for another day.

***
The young boy’s eyes were glazed with excitement as his grandfather’s tale came to an end.

“C’mon, Grandpa, tell the rest this time—tell the rest.”

Turning a rough eye to the boy, the grandfather replied,

“You know better than to ask me that—I’ll tell you the rest of the story when I’m good and ready. Now go on, I’ve got things to do.”

The boy knew not to pursue the matter further, so he slid off the bench, excited by the tale but disappointed that this time wasn’t the time—the time he’d get to hear it all.

Walking out into the sunshine, he passed his grandmother as she went into the barn after her husband.

“Go on into the house and get washed up. Lunch is ready.”

“Okay, Grandma.”

The young boy headed for the house, his head filled with the tale of Lescott Brown and the details only a young mind can add to a story.

Once inside the barn, the boy’s grandmother walked up to her husband and whispered, “You’ve been telling that boy the story again, haven’t you?”

The man weighed her words carefully, and then he nodded his head in confession.

“Oh, Lescott, why? You know that boy is going to figure it out one day. He’s going to know it’s not just a story—he’ll know it’s true. What if he hates you—us? What if he blames us for his parents’ deaths?”

“You’re right, he will figure it out one day, and I don’t know what he’ll think. What I do know is that boy goes unnoticed just like I used to do, and sometimes, that frightens me.”