Chapter 55

Finding out there were two separate people wanting to buy The Langford Review and get me out of this mess did make me happy. I might not show it, but for a second, I saw some light at the end of the tunnel that I had been stuck in for almost a week.

If we could sell the newspaper, Mom’s house would be free. So would I. There would be no job waiting for me back in Tulsa, but a person with my experience can always find something, or at least that’s what I tried to convince myself.

One of the stipulations from the first buyer was that I must stay on and manage the newspaper. Elliott Lancaster, the man trying to sell the newspaper, was already back with a second offer. I expected this stipulation to be along the same lines as the first.

“It’s strange, but they'll only buy the newspaper if you have nothing to do with it,” Elliott told me over the phone.

That was fine with me. But the timing and the way this was worded, struck me as a little suspicious.

“Who made this offer?” I asked.

“Oh, you know I can’t tell you that,” he giggled. Elliott was starting to irritate me.

“Did they give you a name?”

“You know, now that you mention it, I don’t think they did.”

“How are you going to give them an answer?”

“He’s calling back this afternoon. By the way, the man said he had to have an answer today.”

I ended the call. This thing was getting really stinky. It was almost like whoever was threatening me and wanted my behind out of Langford was doing this. I made my way back to the office and had just walked in when the phone rang. Nancy was with a customer and Theresa was probably in the back admiring her new statutes so I answered it.

“Hello, is Mister Hunt there?” the caller asked.

“No, Mister Hunt is dead,” I answered. “This is Michael, may I help you?”

“Yes, this is Gale Renker from the bank.”

“Which bank?”

“The Bank of Langford, you know, your hometown bank!”

That about made me yack. “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Woodard just wanted to know if you planned to cover the check that came in today or if we needed to return it as insufficient?”

“What check? I haven’t written a check.”

“The check was, I believe, to the funeral home in the amount of almost nine thousand dollars.”

“Was this written on the newspaper account?”

“Mister Hunt, I wouldn’t be calling you otherwise.”

“I’ll call you back.”

I hung up the phone. Mom had found a check somehow and used it to pay for the funeral. The biggest problem was there wasn’t enough money in the account to pay for the funeral. That account had a balance of $1.41. The account at the branch bank only had a little over eighteen hundred dollars in it.

Mom answered the phone on the first ring. She was like Nancy and didn’t like the phone to ring a second time, afraid the caller might actually hang up.

“Hello,” she said, real cheerful.

“Mom, did you write a…”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Michael.”

“Oh, I thought it was you. It would be better if you introduced yourself at the start of a phone conversation.”

Silly me. I thought my mother might recognize my voice after talking to me almost every day for the last forty-two years.

“Sorry. Did you write a check to the funeral home?”

“Yes, I had to pay for your father's burial, Michael.”

“Why did you use the newspaper account at the Langford bank?”

“Because that’s the one I always use when we need to pay for something big.”

“Mom, there wasn’t enough money in there to cover the check.”

There was a silence on the other end. Finally, she replied. “There must be some mistake, Michael. Your father ran a good business. He always told me we had plenty of money.”

How do you tell your mother that her husband, my father, lied to her? I don’t know. I let it slide. She had enough to worry about without adding this to it.

“Mom, please don’t write any more checks on this account,” I said.

“Can’t you just transfer money from the savings account?”

Sure, you could, if there was any money in there. I checked the other day, there was less than a hundred dollars in their savings. Mom’s personal checking account had a little over three hundred dollars in it.

“We can’t do that.”

“Why? It’s our money!”

“There isn’t enough in the account.”

“There isn’t?”

“No, Mom, there isn’t any money in the account.”

“Oh, dear! Well, Michael, what’s going to happen when the check to the hospital hits?”

“What check to the hospital?”

“I had to write them one for five thousand dollars the other day.”

I wanted to bang my head on the desk. We were out of money and then some. Luckily, that check had not hit.

“Which account did you use?” I asked, knowing the answer even before she told me.

“The newspaper account, Michael. I’m sorry!”

She almost sounded like hysterics were on the verge of overcoming her. I rubbed my forehead, back where hairs once laid before they went the way of my youth.

“Are you still there, Michael?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom.”

“What are you going to do?”

I like the way she said that. What am I going to do, not her.

“I’ll take care of it somehow.”

“Good.”

She had a burial policy that would take care of the funeral expenses, but that check probably wouldn’t be here for several weeks. My personal funds were depleted and we didn’t have enough in the other account to even put a dent in the checks she had written.

I didn’t have any choice. First, I called the bank and told them to return any checks that came in. Good old Gale Renker almost seemed giddy. She got to bounce a check! Next, I called the funeral home and talked to the owner.

He really wasn’t happy, but seemed to understand.

I needed a standing TKO. I was beaten to a pulp. Somebody needed to throw in the towel, but my corner guys were nowhere to be found. The guys from the tire shop had fixed my truck with some not-so-used used tires, so I did have transportation without having to borrow somebody’s car.

It was time for a little break. I told Nancy that I would be back later. She could tell I was upset and nodded. As I walked past the bathroom, Theresa came running out.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I think I deflated my breast!”

“You did what?”

She was hysterical. I looked and it did look like one boob was shriveling before our very own eyes.

“My bosom is leaking!”

“What happened?”

“I was trying to straighten my breasts when my new acrylic fingernail on my pinky finger, I'm not used to how long they are, well, it scratched my breast. It’s leaking Michael!”

She was looking to me for help. I had no idea what to do when a breast implant was deflating, or whatever the heck it was doing.

“Want me to call an ambulance?” I asked. Nancy had heard the commotion and came back to see what was happening. She almost seemed happy in the way women do when bad things happen to other women.

It wasn’t an obvious smile, but I could detect the glee.

“No, don’t you dare call the ambulance! Then everybody will know!”

I wanted to tell her that everybody in town would know by the time school was out, but I didn’t. She stood still for a second, staring at her chest, then ran toward the door, screaming and waving her arms.

“Don’t see that every day,” Nancy commented.

I nodded. That was about the highlight for the day. I doubted Theresa would put this in her story about the breast reconstruction.

As I started walking toward the door, Nancy followed me outside.

“If things don’t work out with what’s her name, don’t forget about me,” she said.

“I’ll keep you posted,” I said.

“Okay, but I need more than to be posted.”

I acted as if I didn't hear that remark. She walked back inside. Nancy was an attractive woman and down to earth, aside from that hair. That was a good twenty years out of date. At another time and another place, I might be interested in her. But not here and now.

I drove off toward the mountain that overlooks the town of Langford. There is a narrow winding road that goes to the top. A couple of cabins are being built near the top, causing a little controversy when the state discovered they didn’t own the land. The cabins looked nice. I stopped and looked out the window of my truck. The view from here was one to die for.

At the top of the mountain, there is an office for the state park. I had been in there many times before and decided to pass it by. I drove past the playground equipment and a large building that people use for reunions and meetings. The overlook was just past that.

This was a place I used to come a lot as a kid. When a day is clear, it’s almost like you can see forever. There are mountain ranges surrounding Langford in every direction. I parked and walked down a steep incline. There are rocks jutting out from the cliff. You really aren’t supposed to go out on the rocks, but I do so anyway.

I look over the town that I always wanted to escape from. It’s changed a lot over the years, not necessarily for the better. The school is off to the left. I can see the football field and the gym tucked in behind it. Most of the downtown buildings are visible. Especially the Bank of Langford’s building that I wished would collapse with Woodard inside.

Past the railroad tracks and the highway, I see the steeple for the First Baptist Church of Langford rising above the trees and buildings. I sit down on a rock wall that is supposed to keep people off the rocks, but doesn’t. The rock hurts my back, but I ignore it as much as possible.

There’s only one person I can talk to, but I don’t want to disturb her. Sandy’s probably busy with a client and has better things to do than hear my problems. I try to convince myself of that, but another part argues back that she wouldn’t get mad about me calling. Sandy would only get mad if she knew what I was going through and didn’t call her.

After debating this for several minutes, I decide to give her a call. If she is busy, I can just give her the old "just wanted to call and see how you were doing" routine.

She picks up after two rings.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” I ask. I don’t need to identify myself to her and don’t get in trouble for it, either.

“I just got through showing a house. Where are you? I just called the office to talk to you.”

That makes me feel good. “I’m up on the mountain.”

“What are you doing up there?”

“I needed some peace and quiet for a while.”

“Want some company?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Okay, I saw Squiggy a few minutes ago. I’ll send him and Mule up to keep you company.”

I let that sink in. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No, I did see them.”

“Okay, you aren’t going to tell them where I am, are you?”

“Is there somebody else you’d prefer talking to?”

“Yeah, there is.”

“And who might that be?”

“Look in the mirror,” I said.

“Just a second. Okay, I’m looking in the mirror.”

“Who do you see?”

“Me, of course.”

“Good, that’s who I want to see.”

“That can be arranged,” she said. We threw out the goodbye and hung up.

I walked over to the nearest picnic table and sat down. She arrived about fifteen minutes later. It was good to see her, even better after seeing Sandy carried some sacks with what I presumed to be food.

She smiled and everything didn’t seem so bad. Sandy set the sacks on the table, leaned over and kissed me. It caught me off guard, but I decided not to complain. She sat down next to me and opened the sacks. Sandy brought fried chicken, chicken strips, potato spuds and drinks.

“I remembered that you liked the legs,” she said and handed me two of them.

“Thank you, I’ve always gone for legs and breasts,” I said. That reminded of the breast experience I had encountered while leaving the paper. I told Sandy the whole story. She almost got a spud caught in her throat after hearing about the deflating bosom.

“You didn’t laugh, did you?” she asked.

“Not on the outside. I wasn’t in a laughing mood at the moment.”

“Why?”

This time, I told her everything, leaving nothing out.

She didn’t touch her food during the entire story. There was a chicken strip in her hand, but it was ignored.

“Mikey, you should have told me,” she said. I could tell that Sandy was a little disappointed, but I didn’t want to worry her. But if she was really serious about me, she needed to know all the good things and the bad.

I nodded and attacked a leg. They didn’t cheat on the batter for this bad boy. This would also attack my cholesterol, but tasted too good to worry about.

“So, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” I said. “Any suggestions?”

“Yeah, a few, but you probably won’t like it.”

“Why don’t you try it out on me?”

She told me and was right. I wasn’t all that crazy about her idea.

“We can’t do that,” I said.

“Why?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Suck up your pride there, Mikey. You don’t have any choice.”

I nodded. We continued eating and making small talk. I always knew Sandy was special, but never knew how special until today.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t even mention it,” she replied. “I’m serious.”

We actually threw our trash away, something that all visitors to the Runestone State Park did not do, then drove back to town. She followed me down the road. We went to the Bank of Langford first and got the information I needed.

After we exited the mausoleum, Sandy took my hand in her hand.

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “Can I ride with you?”

I nodded and we got in the mighty Ranger. Our next stop was at the branch bank.

As we approached the stoplight, traffic was bunched up and inching along. "Must have been an accident", I mumbled in Sandy's direction.

Sandy rolls down the window and sticks her head out. "There's an old lady with a cane in the middle of the road. She's trying to pick up a lame chicken with her cane."

Her car was parked on the line marking the center of the two north-bound lanes. Traffic from the south was swinging out into the inside lane of oncoming traffic from the north causing a bottleneck.

As we inched up to the commotion, I could see a young hippie-type with long hair, multiple tattoos and no shirt trying to help the old lady back to her car, with the chicken under one arm and his hand on her shoulder. He seemed in a hurry and no doubt was the driver of the car with the door open, just behind her Lincoln Continental. She seemed to take a lifetime to make her way into the driver's seat while trying to stuff the chicken into the floor on the passenger side.

It was obvious that the chicken had "escaped" from one of the hauling trucks on its way to the processing plant on the outskirts of Langford. She meant to have him for dinner, since he was only wounded and couldn't cross the road. It didn't matter to her that it backed up traffic for half a mile in both directions. She eventually gassed her car and slowly eased down the highway, pulling the plug on the congestion.

The traffic jam slowly broke up and we drove north. Sandy left her window down and the wind was playing with her hair, blowing strands across her face. She would move the hair away and have to do it again. As we reached the branch bank, I saw the parking lot was full of cars again. Inside, there were several people at the teller stations and a couple of customers sitting in the waiting area in the middle of the lobby.

We sat down opposite the waiting customers. It was a man and woman, about our age. He was skinny, she was rather full-figured. The man wore jeans and a tee-shirt advertising some bailbond service out of Poteau with the slogan "Get Loose!". His hat was from a finance company. He had not shaved in several days.

She had on a pair of what appeared to be pink stretch pants. Her flowered shirt was a button-up and gapped in between the buttons revealing a small embroidered rose on the center line of a dingy bra.

One of them, or maybe even both of them, was throwing out some serious body odor. I picked up a magazine and started thumbing through it, trying to not look at them. I smelled something like wintergreen and saw the man putting a huge dip of original Skoal in between his cheek and gum, just like old Walt Ferguson used to say in his ads.

The woman didn't seem to mind. She had grabbed a People magazine with Jennifer Aniston on the cover. The man gave the woman a nudge with his elbow.

"Go get me a spitter," he said.

She shook her head. "Go get your own."

"They got some coffee cups right over there," he added, pointing at the coffee machine.

"I ain't the one a needing to spit."

"C'mon, woman!"

"Get your own. I'm a reading."

"You're just hacked cause I made you mow the yard this morning."

"No, it's cause you wouldn't get out of bed and get me some toilet paper outta the spare bathroom. I had to waddle into the kitchen with my drawers round my ankles and get a paper towel."

"Crapfire, woman!" he added and walked over to the counter. The man got a styrofoam cup and walked back. This time, he sat away from her. He would teach her, by gosh! He put the cup to his mouth and spilled his spit in the cup, just letting it ooze out of his stained lips.

Sandy's face looked like she just stepped in a fresh cowpie, barefooted.

Swifty, the loan officer, and the branch manager both had customers. We were waiting for the first one available. It turned out to be Swifty. He came out in the lobby and asked the other customers who they needed to see. The man had to spit several times before answering.

"We're waiting for the bald-headed fellow," he said. The woman nodded in agreement. Swifty looked a little relieved, not that I can blame him.

"Come sit by me, honey," she said to the old man, while patting the chair next to her.

"Okay," he said and slid back in the chair next to his woman.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shoulda got your spit cup."

"Yep, and next time I'll stop watching the TV long enough to get you some toilet paper."

"You was watching TV?" the woman asked. I could tell she didn't know that. The man nodded and started whistling. "I thought you was asleep, you lazy little..."

“Are you guys here to see me?” Swifty asked us, interrupting the woman.

“Yes, we are,” Sandy said. We got up and followed him into his office.

We exchanged the usual small talk before getting down to business.

Sandy told him what we needed. Swifty might have gulped a time or two, but never blinked.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Sandy nodded, then looked at me and smiled.

“I’m positive,” she said. I had never cared so much for anybody. Sandy took my hand. “It’ll be fine.”

I nodded again. Yes, I was actually starting to believe that we would be fine. At least until I saw Trevor walking into the building.

“Uh oh,” Sandy said, a feeling that I shared with her.

Chapter 56