TOO MUCH TIME

TOO MUCH TIME: PART TWO

DAY ONE

Claremont is a quiet town at night, even during the weekends.
It is almost two in the morning and a man in a black suit silently makes his way through a darkened and peaceful neighborhood. The only illumination is from the street lamps, occasional porch lights, and the full moon in an almost cloudless sky.
He stops in front of the Hartley house and stares.
A few minutes pass then a light turns on in one of the second floor rooms.
The stranger continues to stare, watching a shadow of a man move behind the curtain, passing once to the left then back, stopping outlined in the center of the curtain. The man behind the curtain touches his own face, fingers running through his hair; then it begins: the laughter.
At first it's a murmur, barely audible, then increases to an almost manic pitch.
It doesn't stop.
Other lights turn on in the Hartley house.
The stranger nods, as if this is expected, then turns and apparently disappears somewhere in the darkness between two streetlights.
The laughter from the second floor continues.

VERNON

Vernon Hartley was startled from a deep sleep and in the almost darkness saw his wife Denise sit bolt upright.
They both heard it: the sounds of manic, almost cackling, laughter originating from somewhere inside the house.
Denise made several frantic motions to grab her husband's arm as she clamped her other hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
"Vernon," she managed to squeak from under her palm. She didn't look at him but towards the closed door of the master bedroom. He knew her next move would be to scurry from bed to check on the girls. Vernon, managing to gain some of his bearings, took her arm and gently pulled her back towards the bed. With a muted groan he swung a leg from under the covers and made his way to the door, motioning for her to stay put.
"It'll be alright," he said quietly.
The laughter came to an abrupt stop as soon as Vernon touched the doorknob. He looked back to his wife, who would have raised her eyebrows even higher if possible at the sudden silence.
At first Vernon wanted to say he thought a TV had been left on but strangely he suspected their son Taylor had been the one making the noise.
He shrugged to his wife, motioned for her to stay still and calm, then went into the hallway and towards where he was sure the laughter had originated.
A line of light was visible under his son's door.
Vernon shook his head.
It was a little past two in the morning and he thought there had better be a good explanation for this.
He heard shuffling on the other side of the door and stopped himself from turning the knob and barging inside. After all, he recalled what it had been like to be a teenage boy. Still though, waking everyone up at this time of the morning...
With that thought Vernon stole a glance towards his daughters' room. Kelsie and Kayla seemed to have slept through the outburst.
He knocked on the door twice before flinging it open to stand imposingly in the doorway; ready to deliver stern parental discipline.
"Taylor!" he said in a brusque stage whisper. "What the..."
He stopped speaking. Vernon had not been expecting the wide-eyed intense stare from his normally low-key son.
Taylor stood next to his computer desk at the far end of the room.
"Dad!" he exclaimed as he crossed the room quickly and embraced his father.
"Taylor," his father said, shocked by the clamp-like squeeze. His son had not held him like that since... he couldn't remember. Not since he had become a teenager at least. He returned the hug and asked quietly, all grogginess gone, replaced with parental concern, "What's the matter, son? It's 2AM. Is everything okay?"
The younger man let go of his father and stared fixedly. He saw the tears ready to streak down from the teen's eyes but also realized there was nothing but happiness in his son's expression.
"Everything is great dad. Everything is going to be great," he said in an even almost-baritone.
This startled him. His son barely spoke above a mumble and, like the embrace, he couldn't remember the last time Taylor had ever made unflinching eye contact.
Taylor leaned in and tightly squeezed his father again before continuing.
"Sorry about that. Not sure what got into me. I'm going back to bed now."
Vernon saw his son grab an unzipped backpack and place it by his bedside before climbing back in. "Sorry again. Goodnight dad."
"Okay, son," he replied slowly, a little bit of the grogginess returning to his voice. "See you in the, well, see you later this morning."
With that he nodded and turned the light off and closed the door quietly.
Just a few hours later at 6:45AM Vernon sat alone in his kitchen, an unopened newspaper before him on the table and a piping hot cup of black coffee within reach.
He never thought he would be one of those guys who would enjoy the early silence as his favorite part of the day.
Somehow his life had developed that way and for a time he relished the idea of being a boring, middle aged man; always waking slightly before his alarm sounded; quietly slipping out of bed and downstairs; leaving Denise to sleep the extra twenty minutes or so.
On most mornings he didn't even remember stepping outside to get the paper before settling in the solitude of the kitchen.
Lately though Vernon moved more slowly in the morning and spent the majority of his time contemplating in silence rather than sipping and reading.
The rising cost of living and earning was on his mind. It was necessary for them to be a two income family, as was the case with most households. Actually most families needed three incomes to be or even feel stable. Lately his share of the deal was faltering because there wasn't a lot of business for a freelance writer.
Nobody wanted to pay anymore.
Two years ago he could count on a certain amount of work monthly depending on the publication but it seemed as if his former clients had gradually followed the same tactic. After all, why would they pay him to write a bio feature or ad copy when there were dozens if not hundreds of younger writers they could find online to do the same work for free, in the hopes of building their portfolio?
Vernon needed to figure out how he was going to earn more money before they had to dip into their savings. Denise still had her 401K through the bank as well as three slowly growing investment funds to help each of the kids with college.
But holy shit, the tuition costs, Vernon thought and rested his face against his hand. Four years of college for each of the kids?
"It's like paying for three fucking houses now," he grumbled to himself.
He was dismayed, realizing what they had maturing in those funds would only assist with, not pay for, any kind of post secondary education.
Briefly he began to consider that college wasn't a necessity. There were trade and technical schools after all.
It wasn't as if his son was anything more than a C student. Maybe college shouldn't be in his future, especially if he were only going to put the same effort in as he did with high school. It seemed as if Kelsie would be the one who...
Then he felt shame for following that train of thought. It was like he was giving up.
Sure Taylor seemed to have no motivation for school and some of his teachers had never heard him speak. He was always playing games on his computer and reading but maybe there was something he could do with that?
Vernon had no idea what his son could do with any of those habits or skills to build a career. That thought led Vernon onto another consideration - being a freelance writer wasn't exactly the career path he had chosen. It was just something he had continued from his college newspaper writing days. His intent, dream even, had been to be a novelist, ideally a successful one.
He completed a novel in his early twenties, something he had never mentioned to Denise as he had lost a few thousand undetected dollars pitching it to publishers.
Being a new father, settling into family life, gave him what he considered a necessary break from chasing that particular dream.
He loved Denise for her caring, although practical nature, but she had never been a creative person and he wanted it to be a surprise if he had been published.
Secret edits and re-edits followed once he found a balance with working from home and family life, and again he attempted to find a publisher through an agent but to no avail.
That novel, and a few other dalliance writings, stayed on his computer as he concentrated on what he believed at the time to be the most responsible option: writing for magazines, newspapers, newsletters, etc...
How well is that working out now? he thought, fighting regret.
He didn't want any of his kids, especially Taylor, being this uncertain of the future in middle age.
So what could the boy do? he thought.
Maybe he could make video games? There sure seemed to be money in that. Did Taylor know how to do that though?
With a nod to himself Vernon made a mental note to talk to his son about the future.
In the meantime, the solution on his end was simple: he would have to find a job with a stable paycheck and save more.
Easier said than done, he thought and looked down at the paper.
He flipped past the news and sports to the section he thought would contain the classifieds.
Nothing.
There was no classified section.
He riffled through the paper again.
No.
There were no job ads.
He would have to look on the internet. His PC was powered down in his home office. His personal rule being that it wasn't turned on until 9AM or afterwards.
There was no copy to write or stories to pitch so he decided on a job search later that morning. The prospect seemed very unappealing so he decided he would chat up some of the other parents this morning when he drove the kids to school, if there was the chance, and probe for anything suitable.
Feeling a little bit more confident, he decided to attempt his morning routine by turning to the sports section. The Bruins screwed the pooch again last night and he wanted to read what coach Julien had to offer as an explanation. With that line up they should be kicking serious...
Movement in the backyard distracted him. He stood up and squinted through the bay door windows and saw someone's head rising and falling at the edge of the deck.
Vernon stepped barefoot onto the cold planks with a, 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' in the holster until he saw the unmistakable nose, eyes, and forehead of his son.
The verbal challenge changed into a confused, "Ahhh?"
"Hi dad," Taylor said, then exhaled as he lowered himself. "Good morning, again," he offered with a smile when he pulled himself up with another repetition.
Vernon could not remember the last time he had seen his son exercise. Now he was doing chin ups on the back deck before seven in the morning?
"What're you doing, buddy?" Vernon asked tentatively.
With a hint of a smirk Taylor replied, "Pull ups."
His head disappeared and this time there was a slightly slower rise.
"Annnnd, twenty," Taylor said.
Vernon saw Taylor's gloved hands let go of the edge of the deck and heard the gentle thud of impact as his son landed out of sight.
It was a still morning and Vernon could follow the trail of frosty breath making its way to the steps. Taylor ascended, wearing trainers and a sweatsuit.
There was that piercing and confident stare again, directly into his eyes.
Vernon didn't know what to say.
With a smile, Taylor said, "You left the kitchen door open, dad."
"Oh, right," he replied and shook his head with slight embarrassment.
Taylor put a hand on his father's shoulder and gently guided him back into the kitchen. Inside his son made a 'phew' sound and wiped away forehead sweat with his sleeve.
"Training for something?" Vernon asked.
Taylor chuckled quietly and shook a bit as his body got used to the warm house air. He answered as he went to the fridge and got himself a bottle of water.
Vernon thought it might be best to just go with tap water for the time being until something work wise turned out.
"Got up early and thought it was time for a different pace," Taylor said. "Did a run up to Pine Crescent then back. Might try a longer jog tomorrow. Also wanted to start working on something other than..." Taylor made thumb wiggling motions as if he were using a game controller. "Besides, I don't want to lose the muscle I gained when I was working."
Vernon was taken aback again.
With each passing month in high school since attending grade nine his son had grown more and more miserable.
Denise's brother Rod had clued into this and offered to put him up for a summer in Oregon, even got him a job at the woodlot he managed.
Neither parent had found anything wrong with the request and for almost three months he lived with his uncle, worked daily at the woodlot, earned a comfortable amount of cash, and from all reports had been a completely different, almost outgoing teenager.
And it wasn't as if their son had dropped off the face of the Earth; he had called and messaged Kelsie everyday, having her relay messages or hand the phone over to Kayla.
Rod had even hinted at him being popular with girls, which was something never discussed with Denise.
Taylor had returned late in August, sun tanned and noticeably more muscular. He also had not spoken in a whisper or mumble as they had all become accustomed.
He and Denise hoped the improvement would stick but sadly within days of the grade eleven school year beginning, Taylor returned to his slouching, quiet, and miserable habits.
Vernon wondered at times why he had not asked to return to Rod's, who had also been upset with his nephew's relapse to old patterns.
Meanwhile, Vernon considered the 'change in pace'.
"Well that's great," Vernon said as Taylor guzzled the contents of the bottle then looked around confusedly.
Taylor took a step towards the counter and seemed to hesitate before opening a cupboard door.
"You forget where the trash is, son?" Vernon asked.
Taylor nodded and there was that smirk again.
"Right," he said. "Everything goes right in the trash."
He stepped on the lever to open the lid and deposited the plastic bottle. Then from the cupboard he took a cup and made towards the coffee maker.
"You don't mind if I have some," Taylor asked.
Gobsmacked, Vernon paused then shook his head.
"Yeah. Sure. That's another change you're making? I guess that's okay."
"Well," his son replied. "For a second I thought you might object."
"Ah, well, there are worse things than coffee to have in the morning."
Taylor laughed.
"Yup, from what I remember a lot of the kids at my school would have a Coke or Red Bull in the morning. I definitely don't want that shit going through my system that early in the morning."
Vernon again was flabbergasted.
For a moment Taylor looked surprised then with a realization it turned into concern.
With a shrug he said, "Shits not that bad of a word, dad. But I can watch the language if you want." He glanced at his father and waited for a response as he added sugar to his coffee and stirred.
"Well, I don't think your mother would like hearing you say that."
"Definitely. I'll do my best," he said with a nod then after a moment glanced towards the open newspaper on the table. "Anything interesting in there?"
"Oh, was just going to read about the game last night."
"Don't let me stop you. I'm going to need a shower soon anyway."
"Taylor," Vernon couldn't help himself from asking. "Is everything okay?"
For a moment he just stared at his father. Affectionate but piercing. Vernon felt like he was being scrutinized, by an equal nonetheless. No, that fondness was unmistakable. What did it remind him of though?
"Everything is great, and I think everything is going to be great, dad." Taylor took another sip of his coffee. "Since you're not going to read about the Bruins I guess I'll ask, have you ever thought of looking through the stock pages, if they're still in there? Maybe investing in something other than what you and mom already have in the works?"
Investing? What the hell? Vernon struggled to not burst into laughter. Where was investing coming from? Christ, he's only ever had one summer job.
"Taylor, what's gotten into you? I mean, last night you're laughing like the Joker and this morning you're working out. And now you're..."
The young man smiled and gently with a waving motion encouraged Vernon to stop talking.
"Everything is fine. I just, well, I've been wanting to make a change for a little while now. Nothing wrong with being in shape. Healthy body, healthy mind. Not to coin a phrase," he said with a shrug. "And, dad, I don't just spend all my time on that computer playing games. There's a lot to learn on the internet."
Vernon had an idea or two about how his teenage son spent non-homework and video game time surfing the web. He knew because it was one of the first things he had done with their first reliable Internet connection when he was sure his wife and the kids were upstairs and out of earshot.
Taylor continued, "There's a lot to learn on there about investing. I mean, it's not like you need to go to school to pick a stock or anything. Tell me," he leaned slightly towards his father as if ready to confide something of great importance.
Vernon couldn't help leaning forward as well. He couldn't help but recall what it had been like the first time he had bought a used car and was dealing with the salesman.
"What do you know about Amazon?"
Vernon forgot about buying that six year old Honda Accord back in the 90s and considered the question.
"Amazon? That company that mails you books you pick on a website?" Vernon asked and realized Denise liked to peruse the website. "Oh. And you can buy clothes too."
Taylor nodded genially.
"Exactly," he said with an approving index finger pointed at his father. "That's the one."