The Lost Son | Ferry's Tale # 2

The good hearts of Goodharts

Mrs. Pride's screams were heard long after she was taken to her room. Ferry hurried to plant the tree and leave from under her window where he felt  thousands of eyes watching him. He was preparing to go home when a man approached. It was Albert Pride.

"Mr. Donovan, I'd like to have a word with you after you're done, please. I'll be waiting for you in my office."

Ferry gathered his tools with his thoughts wandering away. Albert Pride had never spoken to him. What could he possibly want from him now? On the way to his office, accompanied only by the echo of his footsteps, Ferry thought of all the tangled threads that bound him to that place. Which still drew him in there, again and again.

He lightly knocked, and Mr. Pride's serious voice invited him in. He pushed open the heavy mahogany door. The office was packed with massive, antique furniture that retained a fading smell of old wood. The windows were closed and the curtains were drawn. The walls were completely covered with thick book shelves, with satin covers, all the same size. The only light came from the lamp on the massive desk. The whole room was as dark as a cave. And just like in a cave, the air was heavy and oppressive.

Albert Pride looked up wearily from the papers scattered on the desk and motioned for him to sit in the leather chair in front of his desk. Ferry slowly sat down, but remained stiff, without touching the cold back of the chair.

Mr. Pride rummaged in one of the desk drawers and pulled out a notebook. A checkbook. "Mr. Donovan, I'll be brief. Tell me what amount you need to leave this town."

Ferry thought he misunderstood, "Excuse me?"

"Any amount," he added with his pen ready. "What keeps you here? You can find much more in the Big City. Anything you've ever dreamed of. And you will have the money to fulfill every dream ..."

"But sir, I don't want to leave," Ferry said, shaking his head. "Even if my mother is gone, all I know is here. My friends, school ..."

"You can go to better schools if you have the money," he said, looking irritated. As for friends ... Friends come and go. How many of your friends can you really call friends? How many are beside you now?"

Ferry shook his head, "Thank you, but no thank you," he said. " When I'll leave this place, it will be my decision. Until then, I have some unfinished business to take care of."

Albert Pride sighed and put the checkbook back in the drawer. He studied Ferry, narrowing his eyes.

"There will come a time when you'd wish you had listened to my advice," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Your mother--"

"Why do you mention my mother?" Ferry asked, clenching his fists. "You didn't even know her. She was just an employee," he said, feeling his breathing increase. "And now, everyone mentions her as if they knew her. Everyone misses her and tells me how much they valued her. Why didn't they tell her that when she was still alive?"

"Your mother was a noble woman. You're right, I didn't know her. Not as it should have been, at least. How about you? How well did you know her?" he asked, leaning over the desk toward Ferry. "You only know her life here. In this town. But before that?" he said almost in a whisper.

Ferry rose from his chair. He felt his head explode. He got out of Albert Pride's office without saying anything, leaving him at his expensive office, in his luxurious mansion, surrounded by his loneliness. Mister. Pride, just like his wife, just like Billy, was a lonely person. Just like he was.

At home, Ferry sat at the kitchen table in his mother's seat. He wanted to get Mr. Pride's words out of his mind. He tried, but couldn't. How well did he know his mother? How much did he know about her life before Goodharts?