Free Castle: A Novel by J. Robert Lennon

no lights on, so I groped my way to the banister, slowly climbed the stairs, and stumbled into bed. I had only time to consider how little difference there appeared to be between sleeping and lying awake in darkness, before I fell soundly asleep.
    The next morning, I woke to a new stiffness in my joints and an overall sense of disappointment and embarrassment. My failure in the woods and anger at my sister the day before had thrown my mind into disarray, and I felt the need to change tack. I would work inside the house, I decided—continue my improvements and try to enjoy the simple pleasures of labor.
    I took up my pencil and clipboard, made a list, and drove to Milan, and the hardware store. My hope was not to have to encounter the tall, thin clerk who had affronted me some days before, and at first, when I pushed my cart in through the automatic doors, I thought that my hope would be realized. The only clerks visible were a couple of young women.
    But fifteen minutes later, when I approached the checkout line, there he was. The store was quite crowded, despite the early hour, with middle-aged men wearing tool belts and sports-team-branded sweatshirts. Local contractors and builders, no doubt, preparing for their day’s work. I wheeled to the back of one of the young women’s lines, pretending not to see my nosy acquaintance. But in a frustrating trick of fate, the man in front of me had some intractable problem involving his company charge account, and meanwhile the tall clerk’s line quickly dwindled to nothing. He looked up at me from his register and signaled for me to pull into his lane.
    I would not be so rude as to refuse. With a heavy heart, I did as he suggested, and began to unload my items onto the counter.
    “Morning, Mr. Loesch,” he said.
    “Hello,” I replied, surprised. Had I told this man my name? Perhaps he had remembered it from my credit card. I noticed that his name tag read RANDALL . But I declined to use this information.
    To my temporary relief, Randall did not speak as he dragged my purchases over the price scanner and packed them into plastic bags. The credit card machine, however, took its time accessing my account, and as we stood waiting, he said to me, without turning, “You met a friend of mine the other day.”
    Determined not to become annoyed, I replied with as much cheer as I could muster. “Is that so?”
    “Mmm-hm,” he said, nodding. “Paul Hephner. The electrician.”
    “Oh yes. Heph. He seems very good at what he does.”
    “He’s the best there is,” Randall agreed. “We go way back. Hunting buddies.”
    “I see.”
    The cash register, at last, kicked back into life, and a receipt slid out silently from between its metal teeth. Randall tore it free and set it on the little transaction platform before me, along with a pen.
    As I signed my name, he said, “You a hunting man, Mr. Loesch?”
    “Not really,” I admitted.
    “Just as well,” he told me, accepting the pen and receipt. He tucked my copy into one of my sacks and faced me, his arms crossed. “Those woods are a bitch to get through. And there isn’t much there.”
    I transferred my bags to the cart and prepared to leave. “So you’ve hunted on my land,” I said.
    “Tried to.” His eyes narrowed slightly.
    I was free to leave, if I so desired. Nevertheless, and despite my reluctance to encourage this man in any way, I couldn’t resist making a small inquiry.
    “Let me ask you something,” I said. “When you explored those woods, did you ever reach the rock outcropping?”
    He seemed to relish the question. A small smile stole over his gaunt face, and he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back against his cash register. “Oh, I remember the rock you mean. Practically a little mountain, isn’t it? Just sticking up over the trees?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “If I recall, there was some talk of making our way to it, that day.”
    “Yes?”
    His smile spread into his eyes, and it was