Chapter 52

The old man was organized in a way I could never touch. He always kept everything right where it should be. His bills would be in one area, the newspaper files in another and never should two things meet that shouldn’t.

You could ask him about something that happened five years ago. He would retreat back to his files and return within minutes with the requested information. I don’t know how my father was so organized. He did so well on everything that required organization other than his finances.

After everybody finally left, it was time to search my father’s files. There were at least five filing cabinets filled to capacity. There was no rhyme or reason to his filing. It was a design of his own that worked well for him. It would take hours to search through it. Much of the stuff should have been purged long ago, but that wasn’t how my father was.

I got something to drink and retreated back to the file room. It was in the building next to the Review, a small room where my father kept the files and back copies of the newspaper, along with a little bit of everything else. There was a room in the back where he kept a bunch of stuff that needed to be thrown away, but my father could never part with.

The air conditioning did not work well in this building, so I needed to get the files and take them into the Review. I grabbed a file and looked around, just seeing if anything caught my eye. I went through the other office and into the large storage room.

It was hard to navigate through all the junk, but I managed to scope everything out. Nothing seemed out of place until I got to the far corner. There was a filing cabinet I had never seen before. It was old and looked like it had been in this location for some time, but it was something I missed in my few visits to the Review over the years.

I opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. It was filled with folders also. I set down the folder from the other files and started to open this one.

The phone rang. I had to put down both files and run off in search of the phone. I was out of breath and barely got out a greeting.

“Michael, are you at the bar?” she asked.

“No, Mom,” I said. “I’m at the office.”

“When are you going to sleep?”

“I don’t know. Right now, I couldn’t sleep if I had to.”

“I have some pills for that,” she offered. What a sweet woman, offering prescription medicine to her son.

“No thanks, Mom. I’m checking out a few things.”

“Well, okay. Are you hungry?”

Not after seeing a dead person in our parking lot. That kind of killed any urge to eat for a while.

“No, Mom, I’m fine.”

“Okay, but if you get hungry, call me and I’ll make you something…Oh yeah, please don’t scratch my car.”

“I’ll try not to.”

We said our farewells and I went back to get the files. On the way back, I stopped and grabbed a copy of each paper over the last two months. There might be a clue tucked away in there.

Over the next hour or so, I read all the papers, but really didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. There were plenty of stories about Cousin It visiting relatives or the Addams family welcoming long-lost cousins for a weekend of merriment, but nothing that seemed to shout out my father’s suspicions.

Dad was a decent writer. Grammar was perfect and everything was spelled right. He did do some things right. But he also had a few failures. After deer or turkey season, he always used the headline “Deer kills 100 in county”. It was a standing joke. Maybe that was why he kept doing it. The deer and turkey had murdered a fair number of our citizens over the year.

His writing was not all that exciting. His stories were usually bland and would lose interest after the first couple of paragraphs.

Finding nothing in the papers, I grabbed the first file. It was filled with information on city government. Topics ranged from city managers to woes in the water department. This file did not help at all.

I turned my attention to the file from the back. I opened it. There were copies of a bunch of stories that were familiar. They should be, I guess, since they were ones that I wrote. Dad apparently cut out all my stories, made copies and kept them in a folder. But before he put them up, he would pull out the red marker I used to hate and make little comments on the stories.

There were comments over sentence structure, word usage and other items. Near the headline, my father would write his thoughts. The first story said “Interesting story!” It shouldn’t do it, but it made me feel better.

The second story’s comment was “Really good stuff!” It was followed by “Great writing!” All the stories in the file had comments like this. He pointed out a few errors, but it was mostly compliments.

I always thought he did not appreciate my writing. My father had never said one word in praise, only complaints. If there was a word misspelled in a story, he caught it and pounded me with it. But he never relayed any of these compliments to me.

It tore me up. I would have liked to hear him actually say some of this to me, but it made me feel good to find out after all of these years that something I did actually pleased the old man.

I should have been looking for clues, but I had to see what my father wrote on the stories. They went back to when I first joined the newspaper, so many years ago. The filing cabinet was filled with them. I couldn’t remember any stories that he did not have a copy of, complete with his comments. He filled one file and started another. They were in perfect order, from the first to the last.

Some of the comments were not as flattering in the old stuff, but I wasn’t as good of a writer back then. I was big on adjectives back then. Since then, I have toned it down a bit and realized the writing was much better.

I was so into reading this that I never heard the backdoor open or the footsteps from behind me. The first indication that somebody was there was when I felt the hand on my shoulder. I set the folder down and jerked around, expecting the worse.

Instead, it was Sandy standing behind me with her hand on my shoulder. Her hair was messed up and she had obviously been crying. From the bags under her eyes, I realized she had not gotten much sleep either.

She had on a green Old Navy tee-shirt and grey shorts. I had never seen her so torn up.

I got up and offered her the chair. She shook her head. Sandy was always good at hiding her emotions, until now. She sat down on the edge of the desk and I got back in the chair.

“Are you okay?” I asked. She nodded in the affirmative, but the tears and her condition told a different story.

I put my hand on her hand and lightly squeezed it. There had to be something I could do to take her pain away. I wished there was some way you could transfer her pain to me, like you could money in a wire transfer from one person to another.

She was sniffling and crying. I grabbed some tissues and handed them to her. Sandy packed them together and blew her nose. It sounded like elephants had invaded the Review office.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She shook her head back and forth. This wasn’t going to work in here. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Sandy nodded and got off the desk. I got up and put my arm around her and pulled her close as we walked toward the back door. Just as we arrived at the exit, the door opened and Nancy came bounding in, smiling and humming a tune.

She saw us and skidded to a stop. Her humming died and the smile disappeared. I couldn’t be positive, but could almost swear that her hair almost settled.

I thought Nancy was going to start crying. This could not look good. She would think that I did something to hurt Sandy and make her cry.

“What happened?” Nancy said. She was looking at me in a different way. Gone was the admiration, replaced by a fear. “Why did you hurt her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” I fired back. “She came in like this.”

Nancy looked at Sandy for confirmation. “Mikey didn’t do anything.”

I could see Nancy’s relief. That just wouldn’t work if the guy she had a crush on was hurting women. Some women seemed to go for guys like that, which never made any sense to me, but I didn’t think that was something Nancy would like.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” I said.

Nancy stepped aside. As we walked by, she rubbed Sandy’s shoulder.

“Take as much time as you need,” she said. I would usually make some comment about thanking her for that, but didn’t feel up to it right now.

We walked out in the parking lot. There were four vehicles. My truck with the flat tires, my mother’s car, Nancy’s ride and Sandy’s car were parked side by side.

I knew my mother would have a cow if I took her car out riding around. My truck was out of commission so we needed to go in her car.

“Can we take your car?” I asked. She nodded and handed me the keys that were in her hand.

We got in and I started up the car. “Aren’t you going to buckle up?” she asked.

“No, I always figured that if I’m dumb enough to not buckle up, it’s my choice. When God decides to punch your ticket, it won't matter if you have your seatbelt on or not.”

“Please buckle your seatbelt.”

I did, of course and we took off. I drove to the convenience store. My stomach was protesting now and needed nourishment.

“Do you want something?” I asked.

“Coffee,” she answered.

I hit the store and got some food and a drink for me. She got the biggest coffee cup in the place. I paid and walked outside. We are fortunate in Langford to actually be able to understand what the clerks say, unlike Tulsa. It was still dark, but the first hint of sunlight was showing in the distance, from behind Poteau Mountain. On the highway, there were only a few vehicles coming and going.

We drove south. As we got out of town, I saw the sign warning everybody to look out for falling rock in the gap the highway department made through a hill. It was kind of interesting to drive through this in the winter as there were usually some huge ice cycles hanging down from the rocks.

I rolled my window down and hung my head out the window.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking out for falling rocks.”

She smiled and it made my heart beat faster. I drove by where the woman hit the deer last night and the truck almost ran me over. The skid marks were still there. I remember the exact spot where Orville and I talked. There is some kind of swamp off to the side of the road, an area nobody with any sense would ever enter.

We drove slowly through Hodgen. It was barely big enough to have a store and a post office. The school is off to the left, a few small buildings that host children from kindergarten through the eighth grade. I sped up and took the big curve going a little fast. Sandy grabs hold of the door.

It’s an old habit of mine, seeing how fast I can take this curve. We survive and roll on down the highway. We haven’t discussed it, but both of us know where we are going. It is Cedar Lake, the same place where we had that one night of glory so long ago.

Holsun Valley Road is empty. Just a few years ago, the road was in terrible shape thanks to all the logging trucks. But it has been restored and the drive is smooth. Behind us, the sun is starting to light our world. It is overcast and the skies look threatening. We could use the rain after a dry summer, but I hope it waits until later.

I turn right at the entrance to Cedar Lake. We maneuver through the winding roads, past the closed store and the land that people are paying too much money to buy. I drive past the first entrance and stay the course. I pass the pay area and continue to the stop sign. There is a right turn that goes to the boat ramp where Beef Critter’s body washed up. I drive straight and park next to the big building that hosts the restrooms. There is a big pavilion to the left.

We get out of her car. She has stopped crying, but is still upset. Sandy carries her coffee. I wait for her on the rock sidewalk. I put my hand on her back as we slowly descend the path. The lake is beautiful this morning. Pines hide the sun, except on the far side of the lake. The water is still. I hear the call of some birds, mixed in with the grasshoppers, crickets and frogs.

A heron soars over our head. It looks like something prehistoric. Sandy puts her hand on my arm for support while she takes off her shoes. She walks over to the edge of the dock and sits down. Slowly, she slides her feet into the water, testing the temperature. I sit down next to her and take my shoes and socks off.

“Your feet smell,” she says. I had already realized this, thank you very much. It was a smell that should come from somebody like Squiggy, not me. I do shower daily. I set my shoes and socks downwind and roll my pants legs up. "I'd hate to put clean feet in this old lake." I murmer.

I test the water first with my big toe on the right foot. It is cool, but not cold. Slowly, the foot descends in the water. I add the second foot and wiggle my toes. It feels good on the old dogs. Sandy is swinging her feet back and forth in the water and I join in.

A fish hits the surface, breaking the stillness of the water. Two ducks emerge on the left, swimming to wherever ducks go. I look up and see a hole in the clouds that show a few stars still shining. It’s been a long time since I took the time to admire a star. I lie down on the dock and look into the sky. Sandy follows my lead. We lay next to each other, admiring the view.

I wait for her to talk. She will when the time is right. I’m in no rush to go anywhere. My world is falling apart, but everything seems okay right now.

“I caught Trevor with Brooke Cartman,” she said. I don’t know this Brooke Cartman, but do not care for her since she played a part in hurting Sandy. “I had suspected something was going on, but never knew for sure. I set the alarm for early this morning and went to Trevor’s trailer.”

“Trevor lives in a trailer?” I asked. That seemed somewhat appropriate. He was trailer trash, as far as I was concerned.

“Yeah, in that park on the west side of town. The one with the sign tilted over and falling down. It's owned by the guy they call Slick at the branch bank. You know, you'd think a banker could afford to pay some handyman to fix and re-paint that sign.”

I had no clue where she was talking about. My visits to trailer parks are few and far between. I guessed Slick had better things to do with his money than spend it on a sign.

“They were trying to be sneaky,” she continued. “Her car was parked up the road. I found it and knew for sure what was going on. He didn’t bother to lock the door so I walked in and found them in bed together, her on top. They didn't even know I was there.”

“I’m sorry, Sandy,” I said.

“You don’t have anything to feel sorry about. I go into the bathroom. He has a big bucket that he throws his dirty clothes in. I empty the clothes on the floor and fill the bucket with water. I carry it back in the bedroom and throw it on them.”

That was something I would like to see. “What happened?”

“Brooke started screaming,” she said. “Trevor started hollering at her, telling her to get out of his bed. Trevor acted like he didn’t know she was in bed with him. Since neither one of them had any clothes on, I was pretty sure they were aware of each other’s presence. I start toward Brooke and she bails. She jumps out of the bed and runs down the hall and out the door.”

“Naked?”

“As the day she was born. But it gets better. There are about ten Mexicans standing around outside next door. They were drinking beer and playing their music. She runs right into them. I looked out the window and saw her pale rear running down the road and all the Mexican guys whooping and hollering.”

“What did Trevor do?”

“He tried to convince me that she snuck in or something like that. I didn’t buy it and told him so. I told him that I never wanted to see him again. He said that I couldn’t break up with him, that women didn’t break up with him. Trevor had a different look on his face when he got out of the bed. He walked over to me and glared at me. I guess he was trying to intimidate me or something."

“I stared right back at him until he blinked and lowered his head. That was when he grabbed me and threw me against the wall.”

I jerked upright. Trevor had crossed the line right there. He could strut around town and pull his little act on everybody and get by with it. But when he gets physical with Sandy, I would make him pay.

She was still lying down and looking at me. “He raised his hand like he was going to hit me. I told him to go ahead, that I would tear him and his little thing apart.”

“Little thing?” Aha, just as I expected!

“Never mind.”

“What did he do then?”

“He lowered his hand and started apologizing. I told him it was too late to apologize. He kept asking for a second chance and I told him we were over.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

She smiled and put her hand on mine. “Seeing him like that wasn’t what had me so upset. I was mad, but it was more at myself, than him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I realized that he wasn’t to blame. It was my fault that I hooked up with somebody like that. Trevor isn’t what I want. I guess he was just there and something I settled on.”

Instinctivly, my gut started knotting up.

A breeze was starting to blow, breaking up the stillness of the lake. Tiny waves were forming and crashing into the dock and rocks. I loved this sound.

I turned to look at Sandy and summed up my courage. “What do you want?”

She looked me in the eyes and smiled. Then, she told me.

Chapter 53