The Invisible Son

Chapter 1


It had been five years since Andrew had left our small farm in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom to play basketball for Amherst College. My father had not been to a single one of Andrew’s high school games; he was not there to watch his start as a freshman, and he was not there when Andrew was named MVP after winning the State Championship. My father, rather, was in the barn at 4:00 every morning, and the thought of Andrew leaving the family farm to play basketball infuriated him. Andrew told him that farming was “a job for small-town, dead-end zombies who can’t do anything else with their lives.” The day that Andrew was to leave for Amherst, my father was not around to say goodbye, either.
Five years had passed, and Andrew was 23, working as an advertising executive in Boston. I had seen him three times since he left for Amherst: twice when I went to watch him play college ball, and the one time he had come home, for our mother’s funeral. She had been diagnosed with cancer one month after Andrew left for school, and passed away shortly before that Christmas. At one point I remember thinking that the shock and tragedy of Mom’s illness would bring Andrew and my father closer, but they barely spoke during those few, painful days, and after that Andrew never even came home for holidays. He and I occasionally talked on the phone, but I was usually the one to call.
I continued to wake up for chores with my father every morning before school, and I didn’t mind it. I appreciated the comfort in our routine. Although my father was silent and reclusive, he was hard-working and methodical. He told me that the only day off he had ever had was the day he married my mother. I often caught him looking out the southeast corner of the pasture, just near the tree-line, where her simple tombstone stands next to the dying butternut tree. For these reasons I never minded fitting in milking and chores between school and practice. Eliza and I had been together for two years now, and she was really the only person I ever talked to about anything. She helped me with chores when she could, but my father never spoke to her, and she hated the way he treated me and Andrew, especially since Mom died.

***

It was late October of my senior year when I wrote the letter to my brother.

Andrew,
I hope things are well in Boston. I called you a few times on your birthday. Hope you got the messages. Things are kind of hectic around here lately. Preseason starts next week, and I’ll be taking my SAT’s one more time. I really don’t know what I’m doing, though. Eliza made All-State Soccer again this year, and Bates and Bowdoin have already offered her scholarships. I think she’s really ready to go to school. Coach says that there are some Division II and III scouts that want to look at me, but I don’t know if I can leave Dad with the farm. Eliza gets pissed when I even think about blowing off school to stay home with Dad, but I know if I go to college the farm will fall apart, and really, it’s not just Dad keeping me here, it’s Mom.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking, and I really want you to take a few days before Thanksgiving to come home. You could maybe help out a little bit, go hunting the like old days, and celebrate Thanksgiving with me and Eliza, and Dad. I guess I just need some advice. Please, Andrew, it would mean a lot.
Take it easy,
Caleb