legacy

"Well, would you look at that."

Edgar crumpled into a nearby chair, and gazed with a rueful look out at the tree that his father had planted all those years ago.

"It's still there." He sighed and shook his head. "The bastard died, but it's still there."

Edgar looked over at Grace, trying to gauge her emotions. She took a step back and shifted her weight over her back leg, hand moving to rub an eye reflexively. To rub away a tear that wasn't there, but it's the thought that counts.

"You remember when he rolled that tire home all the way from the warehouse, whistling as he went?"

Grace took her time answering, walking a few steps down the porch and taking a tentative seat. "How could I forget? It was the last time, matter fact, the only time he did something nice for us." Edgar nodded slowly while taking a deep breath.

Grace started tapping her foot, rhythmically at first, but it grew impatient, chaotic.

"He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to have his only legacy be a fond one."

Edgar kept nodding, stood up with resolve, walked forward, offered a hand to Grace and pulled her up.

He walked down the steps, grabbed the axe his father had been so proud of, so gentle with, and strode forward.

He reached the base of the tree, placed a loving hand on it's trunk, whispered a quiet apology and a quieter prayer, and

then he swung.