The Assumption

By J. L. Larson

Todd Atkinson has lived in his boyhood lake home since he was ten years old. He prefers his low-key, predictable lifestyle, aiming for safety and little risk at every turn—that is, until he becomes disillusioned with the direction of his life and business career as he approaches thirty. His growing disenchantment leads him to consider changes in employment and attitude, but his conservative outlook makes it difficult to take action.

Then things outside his control begin to happen, in particular a death at the lake where he lives. He barely survives the ordeal. The situation leaves Atkinson as the only witness to what authorities rule to be an accidental death. But Atkinson knows otherwise and is now in peril. If he offers his testimony, will he put himself in jeopardy? Though he believes he knows who committed the murder, fear keeps him from coming forward, and the guilt associated with his silence turns to an obsession with finding more evidence—anything to point the police toward the killer. In the process, he upends his comfortable, staid life, engaging in risky behavior and seeking out dangerous situations, soon transforming himself into someone he barely recognizes.

In this thriller, a cautious businessman is suddenly entangled in a spiral of death and danger as he confronts his own dissatisfaction with the direction of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532064746

J. L. Larson

J. L. Larson, a graduate of the University of Minnesota, worked in legal publishing and now is a private options trader. He is the author of the threepart Minnesota Lake Series novels, 'The Raid at Lake Minnewaska', 'The Disappearance of Henry Hanson', and 'The Choices of Adam Bailey'. He also authored a collection of Minnesota related short stories, 'The Accident at Sanborn Corners....And Other Minnesota Short Stories'. He and his wife currently reside at Lake Norman in North Carolina.

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Copyright © 2019 J. L. Larson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-6475-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6473-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6474-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019900284

iUniverse rev. date:     05/22/2019

CONTENTS

Chapter     1

Chapter     2

Chapter     3

Chapter     4

Chapter     5

Chapter     6

Chapter     7

Chapter     8

Chapter     9

Chapter     10

Chapter     11

Chapter     12

Chapter     13

Chapter     14

Chapter     15

Chapter     16

Chapter     17

Chapter     18

Chapter     19

Chapter     20

Chapter     21

Chapter     22

Chapter     23

CHAPTER     1

(Thursday, June 15, 2000)

11:00 AM

Standing there on the Lake Amelia dock I’d help build with my father some thirty years before, it was hard to believe how little had changed around the lake area since I was ten years old. In some ways the last quarter of the century seemed like yesterday; in other ways it seemed three lives ago with the vast changes in my life. It had been just six years since I’d sold my boyhood home, but the place still seemed like it was mine. In truth, I was relieved it wasn’t. Being gone from the area was best. I had no yearning or reason to return.

Yet, here I was back in Minnesota after not intending to cross the state’s borders for many years to come. It had taken some strong persuasion by one of my most trusted friends to convince me to make the return trip. Pete Carlson and I had known each other since elementary school. Carlson was also my attorney and in his words, my self-appointed business adviser. He was also a golf fanatic and in the last few years had become a skiing aficionado as well. Both those interests fit with my preferences and further solidified our friendship. That I now lived out-of-state and his home and office were just up the road in Alexandria might sound a bit strange or at least inconvenient, but it has worked out. We’ve seen each other when needed and have talked often by phone…sometimes even on business matters.

Our association obviously went far beyond my just being a client and distant friend. Through some difficult times in the past decade, Carlson had always been there for me…and at times, that had been challenging. I hadn’t been exactly easy to contact. Yet, he held true while I forged my way through some precarious situations. Through his help I emerged in one piece from various perils with mental faculties still in tact.

In more recent years he’s been integrally involved in my business and personal investments assisting with the needed due diligence and making certain all agreements were properly and legally binding. We were close enough that he never held back from questioning me about certain decisions and potential transactions…even when I ignored his admonitions. It’s tough to find a friend and an attorney like that in the same package.

Regarding his coaxing antics that finally brought me back to my home state, I finally agreed to a two or three day visit and then only if I could meet him in Minneapolis. He’d taken great care not to be too oppressive. He was aware of my discomfort in returning and my concern about being recognized.

And, I had good reason. There were so many rumors floating about around Lake Amelia about why I’d moved from a place where I’d lived for so many years. I was known as being a homebody…someone very conservative, low-key, not very adventurous, and holding a job that seemed to fit the life style I preferred. Revitalizing the curiosity of the locals by being seen in the area again was not something I wanted to happen. More seriously, there were still some questions percolating as to my possible involvement in some deaths that had been in the news….one locally right there at Lake Amelia and one that received more national exposure that happened overseas. I had no interest in fielding questions about those occurrences in my life.

I’d said to Pete as little as three months before that returning to Minnesota was something not even on my radar. Seeing my old place on the lake and the reliving the odd assortment of bad memories just didn’t appeal to me.

His most compelling point that convinced me to make the sojourn back to Minnesota was that time had passed. As he kept repeating, I was an entirely different and unrecognizable Todd Atkinson. I respected his perspective since he was aware of certain things that had happened in my life during the previous decade particularly those death scenes that happened in 1991 and 1996.

And, those were only two incidents. What Pete Carlson didn’t know and would never know were my inadvertent involvements in two other deaths in 1993 that were tangentially related to those more heralded incidents just referred. I saw no reason to share details of those other situations even to my best friend.

Those tumultuous times in the 1990’s resulted in hardly a day passing for many years that I didn’t experience at least partial visions of all those alarming events. I’ve had too many sleepless nights and daytime shakes of the head contemplating what could have happened and how lucky I was to still be breathing.

Carlson’s attempt to ease my mind always centered around life moving on. He predicted that I would move on as well, but it took longer than he would ever know. Only in the last year have I allowed myself to accept what had happened. I’ve slept better, but there are still certain times that give me a chill even in the warmest day of summer when I’m reminded of how death breezed by me more than once and missed taking my number.

Pete’s final statement was his assurance of how physically unrecognizable I’d become. As he joked to me, That ‘Todd Atkinson’ of just ten years before could hardly be identified now. Then you were a six-foot two-inch thirty-year old homebody with a slight paunch from carrying twenty to twenty-five pounds too much weight…probably even more during the winter months as I remember. During the warm summer you were well-tanned so the extra weight was somewhat camouflaged by your more active life including you being a first-class water skier and a powerful swimmer. Remember your habit of swimming speedily far out into the lake and then easing your way back to your dock with that strong, smooth backstroke. You never cared a lick about staying in shape or watching what you ate. You’d just considered yourself healthy and fit. Mortality was the last thing on your mind.

I’d chuckled over his long ago depiction of me. Now as a forty-year old self-employed businessman, while still fit, I now pay more attention to diet and regular work-outs. It’s paid off. My six-foot two-inch frame has almost thirty less pounds to carry around and I maintain that size through the four seasons. My altered looks don’t stop there. Hairstyles were longer when in my twenties and early thirties. I was usually clean shaven and kept my hair trimmed so as to maintain some kind of professional look with my clients and customers.

Currently, while my slimness makes me look taller, my facial hair is more ragged with some gray intermixed with the brown. My beard always appears as if a trim is imminently required as does my longer, bushier hair with gray flecks as in my face hair. Friends and business acquaintances where I now live only know me as I am. They wouldn’t recognize the Todd Atkinson of ten years ago in looks or behavior just like my neighbors and acquaintances of ten and twenty years ago wouldn’t know me in my present mode.

With no intent to travel anywhere else in the state, especially Lake Amelia, I also wanted to take time to meet with another acquaintance. He was a stock broker friend named Roland Watson. We’d been associated for a much shorter period of time since 1993. He and I had become closer friends even though we’d only met personally twice; however, our comradeship had grown plenty based on numerous phone calls over the years. He was another fellow who’d been very loyal and conscientious.

Watson was quite excited when I told him of my plans to return to Minnesota for a couple days. He insisted on setting up tee times at two spectacular private country clubs…Wayzata Country Club and the venerable Hazeltine Country Club. Those invitations included Pete Carlson who had communicated a few times but never met Watson. Both of them had overlapped several times during those aforementioned precarious times a few years back.

I arrived in Minneapolis to meet with Watson on Monday, June 12 at the downtown Marriott. I wondered if he would even recognize me after seven years of phone conversations. He always referred to me as his most unique client…and his most crucial client…since I was also his first one. He reiterated often his promise that even if he became president of his brokerage firm, he would never let our business relationship out of his sight.

Some things are sacred, he said.

Carlson couldn’t make the Monday golf and it was just as well. Watson and I played at Hazeltine Country Club and had dinner that evening. We talked some about my finances, but more about sports and what’s been happening in Minnesota. Mostly, though, it was getting to know each other in person once again and laughing over the time we first met. It was comforting to confirm our business relationship, such as it was, after so many years.

The next morning Pete Carlson and I played golf at Wayzata County Club. While Roland Watson had indeed found it difficult to identify me the previous day…and vice versa…Carlson just came up and gave me a resounding hug as he typically did when we’d meet. He’d known me too long to be formal and he’d gotten used to my longish, wild hair and my unkempt beard.

Our talk immediately started with banter about his attorney fee schedule…and in the opposite way one might expect. Again I told him he had been under-charging me too much over the years relative to his time and value. His rejoinder as always was a repeat. Todd, he said, just keep your door open in the winter and summer for skiing and golf. That’s payment enough.

After some additional golf with Carlson on Wednesday, June 14, at North Oaks Country Club near White Bear Lake, over dinner he began strongly suggesting another idea, that is, to take the slightly out of the way trip up to Alexandria for some more golf with him before returning to my mountain home. We both knew his ulterior motive was to get me to stop by Lake Amelia and put some of my negative feelings to rest.

He kept saying, Come on, man, explore some of your former haunts up there. Rid yourself of some unnecessary angst you still have. Hell, it’d be cathartic.

Admittedly, I was having fun in the Twin Cities, but I still had my doubts about Lake Amelia. He finally made my decision for me. Todd, I’ll set up a dinner reservation tomorrow night at the Arrowhead Resort along Lake Darling near Alexandria. That’ll give you all day Thursday to roam around Lake Amelia and see…or don’t see…some folks in the area you used to know. We’ll follow our dinner Thursday night with two days of golf at Alexandria Country Club and the Arrowhead resort course. That should put you in a good frame of mind for your long drive westward.

He had me. I didn’t know about stopping by Lake Amelia, but I certainly looked forward to the golf and not having my short vacation end too soon.

The next morning the moment I left the Twin Cities for the two-and-half hour drive to Alexandria with a probable stop at Lake Amelia along the way. I felt exhilarated. It was June 15, not officially summer but it was a grand day. The fresh-smelling, clear air with high cirrus clouds greeted me like an old friend.

The drive went swiftly. Arriving at Lake Amelia, I hadn’t been disappointed. It was still big and beautiful. I’d taken the short driveway off the county gravel road to the house at the end of the peninsula and saw there were no cars anywhere to be seen. The owners appeared not to be home. I’d have to trespass in order to wander around my former property.

That had caused me no hesitation. I’d parked, walked to the front door and knocked. With no response I shrugged and gave myself immediate permission to roam wherever I pleased on that peninsula. I figured if someone did drive up, my late-model Lexis might earn me some better status than the image of a highwayman in the process of looting their house.

With any concerns rationalized away, I had strolled around the house and property until I’d ended up on that now very old and decrepit dock. It was odd standing on a piece of my history that had witnessed my life from boyhood through those many years in sales for the St. Cloud based, International Medical Supplies, Inc. I’d worked in sales and sales management for that organization far too long. All I remember now was how successful I was at both jobs…and eventually how much I disliked performing both jobs.

As I stared at the long beautiful span of Lake Amelia, images were constantly being triggered. Flashes of the good times and enjoyable experiences wouldn’t stop. The nostalgia was intense.

The lake itself was calm appearing as if the water was covered by a glass top. The entire scene looked like a painting and time had stood still since my boyhood.

Observing the west shoreline of the lake, I focused on those homes present when I first arrived at the lake. It was pleasing to see them in such good condition. Some had thicker foliage on the lot. Some had built additions. To a house they were all very well cared for.

Focusing on the east side of the lake, the scene was mostly unchanged except for one newly built house next to the cow pasture that had always abutted the lake. It was hard to believe that farmland had continued so unaffected without any development. Another generation of cows now grazed along a portion of the east side of the shoreline. A few stood in the water. I would have bet considerable money that land would no longer have the cows and the small manure piles indiscriminately lying in the grassy meadow. How could some money-minded developer or investor not have discovered the promise of that property?

Then I turned and my eyes centered on the large A-framed dwelling at the top of a slight incline from the lake’s edge. My former home was still a marvel given the perfect location at the end of a peninsula with a three-sided view of the picturesque lake. I recalled I’d been bowled over how my father had found such a treasure. Then again, he was in the new home construction business and paid more attention to lakeside purchase opportunities. His only problem in landing this gem was that he’d done so without my mother’s knowledge or approval. I now know he had his reasons. She was never a happy or agreeable woman anyway and wouldn’t have approved of the purchase if the gates of heaven were next door.

As for me, I was thrilled beyond measure having a lake home. That thrill turned to relief when my folks divorced a couple years later. I was able to live at the lake home full-time. In the thirty years since, I’d lived at Lake Amelia as a boy, during summers as a college student, as a care-taker when I began employment after graduation, and then as an owner.

Through all those steps, I’d led myself to believe nothing would cause me to move away from Lake Amelia. I took for granted that peninsula would be my home until I was old and gray….that is to say, at least for a hundred years or more!

I was perfectly content if that was to be the case. Where else could I have the lifestyle I preferred, the long term friends and neighbors, the peace and pure enjoyment, and the convenience in carrying out my sales job. Of course having such a limited perspective on where else might be acceptable to live was greatly enhanced by my belief that Lake Amelia couldn’t be beat. What that perspective didn’t count on was how the normal vicissitudes of one’s life as well as unseen changes in one’s job might cause some re-considerations.

I just learned to adapt to the alterations of my employment. Given my easy going nature in the late 1980’s, I conformed to the times the company cut my territory, when they produced harder to sell products, or when they changed the sales compensation plan. I might have been bothered or concerned, but I was always able to measure those modifications with what negative things that would happen if I left the company. I didn’t want to put up with the hassle of finding another job and upsetting my life style. I was in my late twenties, averse to taking risks, and while single in my personal life, very committed to my single life style at Lake Amelia.

What I never imagined during 1989 was how my job would cause so much discontentment. I was master of my schedule and enjoyed a convenient seasonal respite in the summer where I was able to stay close to the lake. The other three seasons saw heavy travel often during some very inclement even dangerous driving conditions around the Midwest. After six years the disenchantment had begun to fester.

Coupled with the growing displeasure of the job, I was also approaching my thirtieth birthday…a very normal time for anyone to look back and consider what one has done in his life, what prospects there were for future success, and even some self-evaluation as to the kind of person one had become. That gradual evaluation was even more disheartening than my job. I was startling conservative for one still relatively young. I loathed change. Taking risks was something I avoided. The fact that I lived in the house of my boyhood and it was still owned by my father was yet another flag confirming the path of life I seemed to be traveling. The result was little excitement in my days. Choices that might create opportunities didn’t exist. It seemed as if I was heading on a trail of boredom and negativism way too early. Was this all there was going to be in my life?

While I didn’t like that future I was building, my habits and attitudes made it easy to procrastinate. With no guarantee that any change could be for the better, I was expert at resisting change. I liked sure things. I would always end up rationalizing that everyone had feelings of discontent at various times in their lives and jobs and so many of them were in lot worse situations than me.

Well, it took some time, but change happened. I finally left the area. Yet, the dislike of the job was not the reason for my exit. Nor was it my wish to change my attitude on how I lived my life. Those factors were really quite minor and paled to the reason I sold the lake home and left Minnesota.

Up to the summer of 1991 there was no instance where I could fathom leaving Lake Amelia as my home short of a bomb blowing me off the location. That description almost became literal. How peculiar one incident…albeit, one horrible incident…made the unfathomable occur.

That remembrance jolted me. I raised my head and finally faced the scene directly south from my perch on the dock. Across the length of the lake I could point to the exact location where my world was forever altered. I eyed that distant point on the lake unblinkingly as if it was some kind of evil menace. Had it really been only nine years since that tragedy had occurred? So much had happened in those nine years and nothing since then would have come about in the way it had without that horrifying catastrophe happening.

I sat down on the dock and shook my head. This exact moment was why I never wanted to return to Minnesota and especially not travel to Lake Amelia. There were just too many unpleasant memories bumping against each other in my head. Now, I was being forced to stare down the one event that became the precursor for all other things that would happen after that night. There were certainly many wonderful things as well, but at that moment they were being trumped by all the dismal and horrific visions pervading my mind.

That one incident was now entirely in my focus. It was a death…a horrific death…of a friend. It was the night I almost lost my life as well. The thought brought chills to my spine and queasiness in my stomach. It was not a unique feeling. I’d gotten better at managing that sickening feeling caused by what transpired that July night. But, I was now so near to that awful time. Those recollections were coming back like a stampeding herd and seemed even more frightening and unbelievable.

At these times of extreme discomfort, I’d learned how to mollify some of that past horror by trying to focus on the more positive things that had happened in my life over the last nine years. I concentrated on the places in the U.S. and overseas that I’d been. I thought about some friendly people I’d met…….the many jobs I’d experienced…the money I’d made and acquired…the mentally and physically stronger self who had emerged from those trying years. It was a selfish, detached way of handling my mental anxieties, but that mental game had helped me emerge relatively sane. I was allowing myself to feel fortunate that I was still living and breathing.

Even with those mollifying thoughts, I knew I could never completely erase the reality of a friend dying that night…and that I had survived. In the years that followed and as a direct result of that night, I would be involved in the deaths of others. It may sound crass and cold, but for those people who met their doom, I don’t carry near the intense emotion and sadness I still carry for that friend. But, I do recall the terror.

As to the other tragic and unfortunate deaths of which I did have a part, I have long since forgiven myself. My involvement did not constitute a crime. I had to defend myself. Moreover, should it matter that I had to defend myself more than once from potential death? I have rationalized my actions over time even though not always being able to excuse why I was in those situations in the first place. And, it all goes back to that frightful night a decade ago.

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted. I ducked down as if a cherry bomb had exploded beside me. A motorboat at full throttle raced around the peninsula bringing me back to the present and interrupting my daydreams of my past life. The guy and girl sitting next to each other in the boat both had long blond hair blowing in the wind making it look as if their manes were of one person. They waved happily to me as they sped by. They were enjoying some good times. They’d long remember these pleasant days whether still together in the future or not. Summer lake times coveted good memories.

As the noise from the boat’s engine slowly faded, I could only shake my head and remember my own good times, albeit never with a blond sitting next to me with her hair flailing in the breeze. I’d missed that pleasure.

The noise of the speedboat brought me back to the present. There was no doubt, my conservative, risk-free, cautious life as a twenty-year resident of Lake Amelia was no longer visible. I now approached my future in a much organized and urgent way. At times I have wondered about how that old ‘Todd Atkinson’ might have fared had that tragedy never happened. Would I have changed jobs? Would I have moved from Lake Amelia? Likely both would have occurred, but with much delay given my indecisive habits at the time.

Thankfully, it was a moot point not worth wasting anymore thought. The incident had happened and as a result I’d become anything but what I was then.

I again concentrated at that one crucial location straight across the longest part of the lake directly to the south where some close friends had lived. The Jacksons…Greg and Emma..they were such a nice couple who lived at the lake for way too short of a period. From a distance I could still visualize their house which was now gone and replaced by a larger two-story brick and stone dwelling. Also, on both sides of that property, which had been vacant properties, two new equally spectacular homes had been constructed.

I recalled how Greg and I had met at the Alexandria Country Club and while talking discovered we lived on the same lake. For the rest of that summer and the next one, he and I found time on the weekends to play golf when his work didn’t require him to be overseas. With a snicker I also remembered how Emma would always pester me to find a girl and get married.

The two of them and I were often weekend dinner guests with three other couples from May through August over two successive summers. The O’Rileys, the Connors, and the Bennings became delightful friends as well. The dinners would be hosted at one of the couple’s lake homes on Friday or Saturday evenings…sometimes both nights. I was the only single guy invited which made me feel special and at times made me wonder why I continued to be an invited guest. It was suggested I bring a date. I did a couple times, but having a girl with me was a bother. It required I give more attention to her and not be as involved in the conversations amongst the other four married couples.

Remembering those fun times and wonderful couples brought a smile to my face, but a deep yawn as well. With all the reminiscing and the drive up to the lake that morning, I’d not eaten. The fatigue caused me to sit back down on the dock. Taking my loafers off, I eased my feet into the cool water. The feeling was so comforting. I leaned back on my elbows on those uneven boards on the dock like I’d done hundreds of time in my youth. It felt so familiar. The heat of the sun caused a streak of warmth to shoot up and down my spinal cord. The effect was to bring on more drowsiness. It would be so easy to close my eyes, pretend life was as it was when I lived at Lake Amelia and then do what I’d done so often…lay back and fall asleep right there on the dock.

Hearing only the wind in my ears, I let myself drift off to those days that now seemed so innocent and trivial. Yet, it was such an important time in my life because I could feel some changes were in the offing despite my seeming abject distaste for uncertainty and risk-taking.

Recalling those circumstances back then in so much more detail, my elbows gave way and I lay back fully on the dock allowing my entire body to feel the warmth of the sun and the uneven boards of the dock beneath me.

My eyelids were so heavy. In seconds I was in a half-snooze stupor thinking only of that time and reliving those past days at Lake Amelia and beyond…………

CHAPTER     2

The medical sales job with International Medical Supplies, Inc. based in St. Cloud turned into a very lucky find for both the company and me. That was in 1984. They got a gung ho young sales person willing to go through brick walls to be successful. In turn, I had a chance to gain the experience, recognition and respect I craved as a young businessman by working from my lake home office while being responsible for clients and customers in five states. What I especially liked was the two lives I could live. I was a hard-working sales person during the week making more than adequate compensation for my efforts. Friday afternoon to Monday morning I was able to be the scruffy lake person I’d always been. On those weekends I had few responsibilities. Enjoyment was the only aim. I was able to cancel business obligations from my thoughts until Monday. Those mornings, at times, could be challenging with my brain softening so much over Saturday and Sunday.

But, I always answered the bell and got out on the road to make sales calls. Recognizing my good fortune, I never took for granted anything about that sales job. I was highly motivated not wanting any lack of effort to be the cause of me losing my ideal dual life.

And that was the way I felt until my feelings just changed. It took almost six years, but I began feeling a growing disenchantment in 1989 after a prolonged and incessant long winter. Suddenly the business travel five days a week from September through May year in and year out finally began to eat at my enthusiasm. I traveled along the same roads around Minnesota, Iowa, Wisconsin and the Dakotas dodging the icy patches on the state highways and trying to stay awake as the hypnotic driving cold rain or snow bounced against the car’s windshield. Even the monthly sales result accolades I was receiving from my bosses and documented in the company newsletter for all employees to read no longer gave me the same gratification. Too much time on the road gave me too much time to ponder how there had to be an end to the sales job at some point. I could only last as long as I could deal with the travel. I had no doubt I would remain the company’s top salesman. The question kept popping up in my mind as to how long this label would be important to me. Was this job all there was going to be to my career?

As the spring of 1989 crawled into view, I found myself more and more deluged with tedium. My attention span was lax. I felt myself floating along saying the same things to clients to get the sales and not having the same pleasure in the results. Moreover, I was losing the sense of personal growth I’d enjoyed in the early years on the job. It was as if I’d learned all there was to my work and the products I represented. Nothing new was happening.

These doubts and distractions effected my energy level outside my work as well. I wasn’t trying new things or considering new ways to make myself more satisfied with my life. I’d convinced myself I was too busy to take on new interests. I had unconsciously made my life into a repetitive spiral going no where. I took no risks because there were no risks I was willing to take.

When Memorial Day weekend arrived, my travel was reduced overnight. I was depending on the summer to once again fortify my vigor for life and make me forget about the flatness I was feeling on the job. I had been literally counting the days to the end of May when I could place my suits in the closet and talk to clients by phone while wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

I’d always blamed my boredom on my job. It took a while, but I gradually accepted my dour feelings were also self-inflicted. I was not doing anything new or different in my personal life. I went to the same restaurants on the weekends and saw the same people. I didn’t read much. TV was my break. I lived in a house still owned by my father; my responsibility was mainly to keep the house and surrounding property in good shape. It was a cheap price to pay for living at a very enviable Lake Amelia home, but I felt I was living in a cocoon.

As the summer got underway, I played as if desperate for fun and enjoyment. Contacts with clients by phone were only to check on shipments and follow up on possible orders. The rest of the day was mine. That slower selling time over the summer was imperative for me to recover. Where else could I work and replicate the pluses I enjoyed. I made good enough money, the company car was a bonus, and the respect I had in the workplace was perpetual as I maintained high sales productivity even during those warm months.

My father didn’t show up at the lake very often over that summer of 1989. He was busy with construction projects in Mankato and New Ulm, the latter where he now lived with the woman he’d been dating. When he did we had some times together while fishing, golfing, boating or just playing cards or watching a ball game on TV. I noticed however that when we did get together, he was asking me a lot of questions about my life both in and out of the work place.

I figured he was as cognizant about my coming thirtieth birthday as I was. Whether that was true or not, I didn’t realize he was picking up on my malaise from my incessant business travel the previous winter and through the cold spring.

His interest in me seemed to have more purpose. One frequently asked question that summer was Todd, what kinds of goals or aims do you have in the coming years? He’d ask it in different ways, but it was a common query when we were together.

I knew he wanted more profound responses, but my replies were more perfunctory always referring to my business acclaim. I’d robotically repeat my achievement of quota to-date, which was always over 150%. I said it as if nothing else mattered. My other answer was that I was getting plenty out of life and my career implying that I didn’t see much need for change in my work routine.

He seemed bothered by those token statements, but let them pass until the next time we were together. He also always asked about my social life and if I was dating anyone special. That answer was easy and I never had to lie regarding that subject. Throughout my twenties, I dated and even told him about some of the girls I’d taken out. There weren’t that many. I think he believed I was more active on the dating scene than I was.

He’d occasionally ask if I’d ever met any girl who was special. My answer was always a direct, ‘No’.

But, that subject continued to be in our conversation. He’d lament how the marriage I’d witnessed between him and my mother probably had a negative impact and that I shouldn’t disallow myself from seeking the positive side of a male-female relationship…like he now had with the woman from New Ulm I’d met a few times named Donna. He’d been dating her for over a year.

I would of course deny the effects on me of the very poor marriage he had with my mother. I lied more to make him feel better. Truthfully, though, my memories of their antagonistic relationship were quite vivid. I’d witnessed marriage from hell for the first twelve years of my life.

Still I gave dating some half-hearted efforts. There were some females in my age group at the home office in St. Cloud who made it known they’d like to date me. I was inexperienced enough to be flattered and took a few of them out. Frankly, those dates only confirmed my determination to remain a bachelor. I’d gotten used to my freedom and absolutely preferred it.

Beyond his fatherly interest in my social activities, he had other things he discussed with me. I believe he felt some guilt for not traveling around the U.S. more with me during my formative years. He kept encouraging me to take trips on my own around the country or overseas during the slower summer months. I always countered by asking him why I would do that during the warmest, most preferable months of the year at Lake Amelia. It was a common problem for any lake home owner.

But, I couldn’t pull the wool over his eyes completely that summer. He noticed something wasn’t right with me. There were the questions about my health…the town softball team I was on…the horseshoe competitions I played Sunday evenings. Always there were inquiries about International Medical Supplies, Inc….how the company was changing…whether a buy-out or takeover could be in the midst…and occasionally he’d brought up whether I was seeking any promotions.

My answer was straight-forward and always consistent with my conservative mind. I’d say, Dad, I’ve got the best job in the company. It gives me income and freedom that most others would kill for. I don’t want to be tied down in the home office.

As that summer of 1989 waned and the true responsibilities of my job loomed in September, the stress and unhappiness began to build. I kept rationalizing and talking myself into the probability that everyone has to deal with some negatives to their job. The overbearing travel schedule would always be the bane of my job and I just had to deal better with accepting that fact.

It had been another productive summer despite my lack of road time. Orders were flowing in from my sales territory. Those phone calls to clients a couple mornings a week reaped benefits because of the personal sales calls I’d made during the previous autumn, winter, and spring. Commissions and bonuses arrived in June, July, and August just like in the other months of the year.

It was a pattern that kept me somewhat positive and motivated, but as August progressed I was feeling the dread of motels, long travel, and the sense that nothing new was happening in my career. I’d read about something called ‘mid-life crisis’ as it related to one’s work. It was my understanding that syndrome was more common as a person reached his forties or fifties. I was twenty-nine and feeling that condition.

My father took note of my sullen nature and I’ll always believe he chose that time to jolt me into taking some much needed evaluation of my life. In fact, he took an action that shocked me to the core.

It transpired on Labor Day weekend….on a Saturday…close to noon. I’d just made it back to the lake after having a late night party with some business friends in St. Cloud.

He and I had planned to be together for those three days and do some clean-up of the property like we’d done all previous Labor Day weekends. I had it in my mind to entice him into some golf and fishing that day instead of yard work.

When I arrived home, he’d already begun the work in earnest. The peninsula looked particularly messy with some fallen limbs and branches resulting from a windy thunderstorm earlier in the week. He waved at me to join him and I sensed that maybe Sunday would be our day to play instead. I would find out that he purposely had us working together instead of playing that day because he had some matters of importance to discuss with me.

Right away he divulged his intentions to marry the woman he’d been dating for so long. I was surprised. Donna and he had been living together anyway. I didn’t think matrimony would ever again be in the cards for him after such a disastrous and unhappy first experience with my mother. The second part of the announcement was that he and Donna had decided to live down south over the long winter.

All that bit of news was not overpowering. I found myself being happy for him. I didn’t foresee the next bomb shell.

He then calmly announced that his semi-retirement in Florida would require the sale of the lake house. It was an expense he no longer could handle with his new plans.

My initial happiness for him turned into selfish astonishment and trepidation. His words seemed so cold and callous considering this Lake Amelia lake property had been my home for twenty years.

My reaction was befuddlement. I’d gotten so used to the advantages of my living expenses being so low. My income stretched far beyond what most people paid for their living costs. What could I think but the worst case scenario…Lake Amelia was no longer going to be my home. How long could I remain in the house? What about all the years of stored up equipment in the garage? Were the boats going to be sold? Was I going to be saying farewell to all my friendships I’d gained over twenty years? Where was I going to live?

Yet, I had to admit what he was proposing made sense. He no longer spent that much time at the lake house. When he did come to the lake, it was more like he was visiting. I was the only one truly living in the house. I had no mortgage payment….no property tax obligation…no financial onus whatsoever other than handling the routine maintenance costs, keeping the refrigerator stocked, and general housekeeping. After thirty years on earth, I guess it was time for me to grow up.

I recall shuffling away from the pile of limbs and leaves as he started a fire. In silence I gathered a wheelbarrow full of additional branches about thirty yards from the smoking fire. It occurred to me even then that he had an ulterior motive for springing on me his desire to sell the house and property. I know he saw my existence as quite peaceful and advantageous in my six years as a salesman for International Medical Supplies, Inc. He’d gotten used to observing my repetitive work schedule…constant travel for nine months and then, as if a reward, the unique benefit of virtually no travel over the summer. He’d often remarked how that work plan fit me so well. In the past year that observation had not been repeated as much. His concern seemed more focused on my bachelorhood and my determination never to leave the Lake Amelia area. It was apparent he was bothered by my seeming to put too many limitations on my life at too young of an age.

As I brought that wheelbarrow back to the fire and unloaded what I’d gathered, he motioned for me to sit on a log next to him. As we both watched the fire burn, I was still not saying much, my thoughts tossing and turning in my head. He, on the other hand, seemed very much unbothered, as if things were going according to plan.

He then wistfully said to me, You know, Todd, let’s face it, you seem pretty content with where you’re at in your world. It’s as if you don’t expect life to change, even though you know it can in an instant and in the long run most assuredly will. Son, with that being said, your life will obviously change once you leave this home. While I’m aware of the circumstances this decision puts you in, I sense I might be doing you a favor. This will force you to take a look at your future. You are being given a chance to broaden your life…something that you seem to be either ignoring or unwilling to let happen.

Then he paused watching my reaction which was nothing more than dumbly nodding my head.

Seconds passed before he added curiously, Of course, Todd, there’s an alternative.

Puzzlement was written all over my face. What do you mean?

He smiled. Well, with your obvious glum response and you’re love for this place…probably beyond good reason…we should consider this other option.

He’d gotten my attention. I just stared at him.

Todd, You’ve been saying you have some money saved from your commissions and bonuses. If that’s the case and you’re comfortable with the responsibilities that go with ownership, then I think you need to seriously consider buying this property. God knows I’d like to be in a financial position just to pass this lake house onto you, but I’m not. However, if you took this choice, you’ll be taking on all the responsibilities of owning this property. In many ways that alone will broaden your life one way or another; ownership is far different than simply living here. The additional advantage is that if over time if the responsibility and cost is too much, it’ll be your decision when and if to sell it. If that happens, you’ll have undergone changes and you’ll make that judgment at your own pace.

The crackling of the fire was the only thing heard for a couple of seconds,before he made his final statement. Todd, you’ll need to make your decision now, so I can go forward with my life and plans with Donna. There is no reason to think it over further. It’s ‘yes’ or ‘no’. If ‘yes’, let’s determine a fair price. Then you can put some of that savings to work as a down payment and instead of depositing a certain amount of your paycheck each month in a savings account, that’ll be your debt payment to me.

I’d never gone from the depths of hell to such relief in my entire life. I looked at him and just nodded. There were no second thoughts. I was more demonstrable and decisive than I ever remembered being. Yeh, Dad, let’s move forward on that idea right now.

We agreed on a price. I wrote a check for slightly over half the money I had in my savings account. That $40,000 plus a $1000 monthly debt payment commitment until the house and property were paid off and suddenly I was the sole owner of my boyhood home. There was added satisfaction knowing I was making a significant addition to his retirement fund.

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The deal was set and by October 1, 1989, I was the proud owner. That transaction turned out to be a surprising shot in the arm for me. My father was right. Right away, my life broadened. The ownership of that house gave me a new confidence, seemingly more control of my life, and therefore the sense that I had more choices in life…if I ever developed the intestinal fortitude and presumption to make them. The shear excitement of my new possession would also help me face up to and survive mentally the coming winter of 1989-90. There was slightly more purpose to my work. I had financial obligations I had to meet.

Throughout that winter and spring I hadn’t felt quite the emptiness of where my future was taking me or the disillusionment from my week-long repetitive business travels. I incorporated another commitment to my business schedule before winter had hardened the lake. I resolved to never be on the road Monday through Friday just like I’d done the previous winter and spring. If the reduced number of sales calls lowered my sales production and cost me the leading rank in sales, the company would just have to live with that result. I found that outcome more than satisfactory…and I guessed my sanity would be much improved as well.

By May even those four-day business trips were reduced to three. The week before Memorial Day weekend I was already into my summer mode of little or no business travel. I found that I was almost as productive just phoning my clients as I already had been doing over previous summer months.

As the singular owner of the Atkinson peninsula property, I became interested in problems and conditions around the lake. I attended various meetings when subjects related to lake property values, road improvements and environmental conditions were discussed. I got acquainted with a new generation of lake home inhabitants…even meeting a number of longer time inhabitants.

As I got to know many of them, I’d hear their stories…the challenges they faced…the risks they took…their wish for health and safety…and the needs they wanted in living at Lake Amelia. So many seemed to have taken on more of a gamble in buying a second home. They made my risk in buying the lake home from my father rather paltry.

Since my college years I learned that I’d been considered more the profligate son enjoying the frivolities made possible by my father’s ownership of the lake property. That impression had changed in the last year with my new and old neighbors. Now I was known as a successful businessman and sole owner of a very enviable peninsula property.

This newly gained respect had other advantages. The friendships became quite a boost to my social environment. I got to know four couples who began inviting me to a weekly get-together at one of their houses each weekend including aforementioned Greg and Emma Jackson in their second year as year round owners. They were a bright young couple about my age. I’d run into Greg again a few times in May while playing golf at the Alexandria Country Club. He told me he wanted to play more golf and therefore was determined to travel less and enjoy Lake Amelia more in the coming months. Living a vacant lot away from the Jacksons was the friendly middle-aged couple, Bill and Beth Benning. Their home at Lake Amelia was their second home. I’d only gotten to know Bill while playing golf a few times at public golf course in Sauk Centre.

As for the other two couples, Bob and Sheryl O’Riley and Doug and Deborah Conner, our paths had been crossing more and more at several ownership meetings throughout the spring and seeing them at the Lakeside Inn down the road from my home. When they heard the Jacksons and the Bennings were mutual friends, I began getting the invitations to their weekend get-togethers even though, if anything, my single status had become even more deeply rooted.

I must have appeared innocent or at least not posing a threat to any of the couples as I joked often at our dinners about the advantages of bachelorhood and how the hallowed institution of marriage was not for someone like me. Yet, they’d counter with background stories giving examples how their lives were richer being married. I was over-matched. They were pouring it on to make me envious. Maybe at times it did, but only slightly. I’d never met a female that would figure in a marriage to me to be as strong as the relationships those four couples appeared to have.

I got to know the Jacksons the best. They met in college and eventually tied the knot three years after graduation. They had no kids and in their mid-30’s it appeared they were planning on remaining