Whatever It Was, It Was Gone
by dcat
This idea sprouted up from a baseball game….more specifically from a quick little disagreement in the dugout between a manager and a player. I don't know what brought the disagreement on or how it was resolved but it seems to be over now. And I heard several guys talking about how that sort of thing just happened between men, the letting off of steam and moving on. It amazes me that men seem to be able to do that…and so it got me to thinking what would happen between Milt and Mark if things they said to each other went just a little too far….use your own imagination to figure out how it started.
I know this one is a little out there….any feedback is welcome…did I keep them in character?
Hardcastle and McCormick don't belong to me.
OOOOO
He said he had to go somewhere anyway, thought Milt Hardcastle as he heard the Coyote pull away from the estate. A mere half hour or so had passed by according to the clock on the mantle in the den.
Ah, sometimes when you lived in such close proximity to someone, and worked with 'em day in and day out, tempers would flair, words got twisted and feelings got hurt. Neither one of them were school children, but still, it could, would and did happen. It was just life. No two people ever completely got along right? If this friendship of there's went on, there'd probably be more of these kinds of days too.
He unceremoniously dropped into one of the leather chairs after turning on the TV. He wasn't even sure what was on, it simply became background noise. Part of him wanted to watch it and become lost in its trivial babble while the other part of him continued to replay his own rerun of what had happened between him and McCormick about an hour before.
He insulted you, that's what he did, Milt shook his head at the somber thought. And it wasn't the usually ribbing they gave each other, this hurt. The kid had found something in Hardcastle that he thought was deeply buried and brought it to the surface. It stung immediately and penetrated deeply. And now Hardcastle wasn't ready yet to give up on his thinking that either. You just couldn't let something like that go, not without some sort of response or reaction and he gave McCormick both. McCormick thought he was a stubborn old donkey anyway, and he may as well just prove him right all over again.
His mind was running like an out of control snowball from one of those cartoons, picking up steam and everything in its path as the day wore on.
Walking out on him out on the patio that sure showed him too! He jutted his jaw out and upward all at the same time, lost in the memory.
He rewinded the whole conversation back even farther. What was it they'd been discussing anyway? What they should have for dinner? Seeing a movie later on? It was crazy. How did things go from that to where they now were?
There was this fine line for both of them that hovered just near the constant smart aleck comments and needling bickering that filled their days and nights. It hadn't been breached yet, except for today, right now. Most of the time, though neither would admit it, they both enjoyed the verbal sparring, it kept them both sharp, it kept them alive, it kept them bonded and needed. But there it was, that subtle, tenuous line between the two of them. And when it got crossed, boy did it ever rear its ugly head in one enormous eruption.
What did it take to cross the line? He thought back to the conversation about food and movies and couldn't pinpoint anything specific that drove them to the precipice.
That's it, that's enough, forget it, let it go, McCormick'll cool down, I'll cool down and we'll just go back to our lives. Milt leveled his head and tried to watch TV once again. And it worked for all of about 119 seconds.
Did McCormick even know what he said?
Maybe not. He'd only been living at Gulls Way for just about six months. No way could he know that about Milt's past. Another reason to just let it go, let bygones be bygones.
Let it go? Like hell, let it go.
He went off on the kid like a flood, all at once and then McCormick lashed back again. This time well-chosen and biting words pierced each one of them. If it had gone on any longer they may have come to blows. Could he really blame McCormick for that? He was only defending himself against the harsh words, Hardcastle would have done the same thing himself. He did do the same thing himself. No, it was all just stupid. Words that didn't mean anything, yet they carried so much power and venom.
There was another problem now though. The kid took off. Not unusual to most, get away, cool down, but McCormick was on parole. If he left and didn't return, there would be serious consequences. What was the errand he said he needed to do? Milt couldn't remember, but McCormick had told him early this morning, after he'd played Mark into the ground out on the basketball court. He usually didn't beat the kid like he had, but luck was on his side this morning as even every pathetic shot he'd fire up was cleanly going through the hoop, while McCormick's weren't. It was just one of those days for him. McCormick took it in stride though. He never did seem to really mind loosing to a guy twice his age. To win the game this morning, he had drove toward the hoop and upended McCormick unexpectedly and tossed up an underhanded 8-footer. Mark landed on his back side. Most people would have called a charge, but they both played the game without the need for rules at least on this particular morning. Part of him now wished they could settle this thing with another game.
Six months and there was still that gut feeling that McCormick would take off, though he'd never given any indication that he would. This could be the proverbial straw with the camel type thing. He had to think about what he'd do. He hated admitting that what he said might actually drive the kid off, yet it probably would. Could Hardcastle pull his ticket for that? For a blow he struck? No, he'd have to talk to the kid and rearrange this parole if that's what was going to happen. His rational, judicial, calmer mind had kicked in for a tiny moment.
And then, the anger percolated from his gut once again. Why'd McCormick have to say that of all things? You already knew he probably didn't realize what he said, there was that inner voice of him talking back. It couldn't have meant anything to him other than a smart aleck response.
They shouted at each other for close to an hour after that. Only once did McCormick question what he had said that was so bad, so out of the ordinary. It stopped Milt dead in his tracks and he pursed his lips together and refused to explain. That was tactful and apparent to McCormick. Milt saw it right away, in his eyes and all over his face, the question, the waiting, the need to know. He denied him.
"If you're not gonna say anything or tell me, then I guess it's over." That's what McCormick had said. And the kid waited, and waited. It was Milt who walked off the patio and into the house.
What was over? This friendship they began? This arrangement? This conversation? What was over exactly?
Into the kitchen was where Hardcastle went, to the sink to pour himself a glass of water from the tap. He watched McCormick from the window, still standing on the patio, shaking his head from what had just transpired. He sat down in one of the patio chairs and began to stare at the water in the pool, maybe hoping the answer was lurking in the tiny ripples.
He leaned to one side, obviously trying to think of what it was he did or said to cause such a reaction in Hardcastle. Then he leaned back and put his crossed arms behind his head. Milt knew he had no clue. Maybe that's what made it hurt so badly.
Hardcastle watched it all from the kitchen. He should just go back out there and clear things up. He drank down the rest of the water. Nope, he couldn't do that, at least not at that point. He'd said some nasty things in response, in defense, and most of all in anger.
He thought that the kid had noticed that he was watching him from the kitchen. That was when McCormick stood up and walked over to his own little hiding place, the gatehouse. It wasn't far enough though, because in another twenty minutes, he heard the unmistaken sound of the Coyote engine.
"Where'd you go kiddo?" He said to the empty room.
McCormick wasn't the only one who said something stupid. What had caused him to discharge his own hurtful tirade? Hardcastle started to remember. After that initial blast by Mark, he fired back with something even more pointed, more direct and more hurtful. He knew all sorts of stuff about the kid right? Only thing was he never thought he'd actually blurt it out, to the kid. He had more restraint, more control, more self-discipline, didn't he? He was a retired Judge for heavens sake. He was a fool.
Where did that even come from? Some folks would find the source to blame, say like the stretch of hot weather they'd been experiencing, work, previous conversations, bottled up emotions, heck any number of things or any combination of things. Hardcastle realized he said what he did just hurt the kid the way he'd been hurt.
It was all pretty stupid and useless and wrong.
And Hardcastle spent the better part of the day dwelling on it alone.
Come on back home kiddo.
Nearing 8pm he still sat in the den, the TV still on in the background, he heard the Coyote pull up.
He got up and went to the window, sure enough, it was still light enough out to see that it was the car and McCormick was inside. He had shut off the engine and there he sat, not getting out, not moving, not apparently doing anything. The kid had some sort of guts to return and face this.
Milt took a deep breath and thought about going out there, but he didn't, he went back to sitting in the chair behind his desk. Olive branches seemed to be in short supply.
He heard the door open up from the outside and then he waited, the door handle to the den was turning and there was McCormick, looking just like he had some eight hours ago, hurt, resentful, and full of questions.
He cleared his throat, "Hi ya Judge," he said. Milt could hear the nervousness in his voice.
Hardcastle glanced up from the near empty desk and made some sort of throaty-noised welcome.
"I brought a peace offering," McCormick held a pizza in his hands. "I bet you haven't had dinner yet have you?"
"Peace offerings usually aren't food McCormick." That was a stupid thing to say, pizza was just about as useful as an olive branch, maybe even more so.
"They're not?" Mark's child-like humor was kicking in.
"Sometimes it takes more than food," Hardcastle added.
The brief smile that McCormick wore, quickly left and he nodded. "You're right. Look, I don't know what happened earlier between us but I know it was wrong. I just want to apologize for this morning. I don't know what I said or what I did exactly, but I know whatever it was, it hurt you and I'm really sorry that it did."
Hardcastle looked away from McCormick's intense glare and got up from his chair and went to the window.
McCormick felt it necessary to continue. "I've been playing it over and over in my head all day and the only thing I can think is that I went too far. It wouldn't be the first time," he added. "This mouth gets me into trouble, but you already know that," he paused and added, "Can you tell me what I said?"
Hardcastle gave him no reply.
McCormick let out a deep sigh, "I guess maybe we should rearrange this parole situation then, I understand it just didn't work out," McCormick said, "I really do mean it Judge, I apologize."
He took the few steps down into the room and set the pizza box on the table and was going to continue when he saw Milt's hand go up and sort of wave which indicated to him that he shouldn't say anything more. He waited where he stood.
"We're not rearranging anything. I'm sorry about the whole thing too," Hardcastle said, back still to him, unusually quiet in tone and inflection, but every bit just as heartfelt. "Let's just let the whole thing go, we both said things we didn't mean or believe. I think we can agree on that?" Milt left it out there as a question.
Mark nodded even though Hardcastle couldn't see him.
Milt suddenly swung around and eyed up the pizza box. "Pizza huh?"
Mark watched him closely, looking for something and Milt would not disappoint him now.
Hardcastle came down from behind the desk and as he came closer he eyed up the kid for what was probably just a long moment. He felt he needed to offer something to the kid and the honest, apologetic look from his eyes was the best and only way he felt he could make his point, that he was sorry for the whole thing too. Words had started it, but honest, unspoken sincerity could end it.
The kid grinned at him, "Yeah pizza and no anchovies either, that's what we decided on this morning, don't you remember?"
Whatever it was, it was gone.