Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga)

by Rodney V. Earle

  Joan’s face was beet red. MaeBell winked at Dawn as she slid out of the booth and hurried down the aisle without looking back.

  “You’re hopeless,” Joan scolded.

  “I say that’s a good idea,” said MaeBell. “Pull out all the stops. When Carlos comes in for coffee, do like you normally would… only in somethin’…”

  “Slutty?” Joan filled in the blank again.

  MaeBell winked, pointed a finger gun at Joan, and made a chick-chick noise.

  “I don’t know if I… I’ve never… he’ll think I’m drunk already.”

  “No he won’t,” said MaeBell. “Just horny.”

  “Shhhh! Not so loud!”

  “Joanie… trust me… he’ll come around.”

  “That might be true, but I won’t have the house to myself for a while,” Joan said with a frown.

  “Oh… right… Colleen will be laid up for a while. I almost forgot about that.”

  “It’s not so much that. She’s a tough chick, as you know. She won’t be able to stand bein’ cooped up in that house any longer than she has to. She’ll be back at it one way or another inside of two or three weeks. You watch.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” MaeBell asked.

  “I have another kind of problem.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Joan filled MaeBell in about Augie, and Colleen’s intention to have her come to the Triple C. Joan’s tear-filled eyes spoke volumes about how hurt she was that this “floozy” was going to ruin everything, starting with Chase’s shrine turned “boarding room for whores.”

  “That name… Augie… that short for somethin’?” MaeBell asked.

  Joan sniffed and wiped her face. “Jeff said her name is August something or other… Briley… or Riley. Something like that.”

  “Wait a minute,” said MaeBell. “Is she blonde with really huge fake boobs?”

  “Yeah. How did you know that?”

  “She works here.”

  “Where?”

  “Here. At Hometown Buffet,” MaeBell said as she tapped on the table.

  “Are you serious? I’ve never seen her here.”

  “Come to think of it, I’ve only seen her on weekends. Haven’t you ever been here on a Sunday? She’s hard to miss if we’re talking about the same person.”

  “No,” said Joan. “Carlos usually grills something or we have lunch catered in for the rest of the hands.”

  MaeBell took another sip of her coffee as the wheels turned in her head. “If it’s the same August that works here on Sundays, you’re headed for trouble.”

  “How do you…?” Joan asked and trailed off.

  “She reeks of trouble,” said MaeBell. “She always looks like somethin’ the cat dragged in… like she’s been rode hard and put up wet.”

  “That’s her, all right.”

  †

  “Shit! Why doesn’t she answer her phone?” Colleen said aloud, squinting at her cell phone.

  “Because I’m right here!” Sheila Jones whispered harshly from the doorway, peeking her head inside room 258.

  “Hey!” exclaimed Colleen. “Sheila Jones, Jump My Bones!”

  Sheila stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Shhh!” She scolded. “The whole hospital will hear you!”

  “Trot your skinny ass over here!”

  “If I trot, I’ll pee my pants,” said Sheila.

  “Shee—it,” said Colleen. “At least you can pee without a fuckin’ bedpan.”

  “Hey! Potty mouth.” Sheila said, waving her finger at Colleen.

  “Oh, go ta Hell and come ’n gimme huggie!”

  Colleen dropped her cell phone and held out her right arm in anticipation of the hug. Sheila skipped across the room and embraced Colleen. They held each other as tightly as they could.

  “How you feel?” Sheila asked, her voice muffled by Colleen’s good shoulder.

  “I’ve been better,” said Colleen.

  Sheila let go and stood up. She turned her head to the side and wiped her face, trying to hide tears, but Colleen tilted her head and caught her.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” asked Colleen. “It’s not that bad… really. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Sheila turned even further away and tried to control her tears, but to no avail.

  “Oh, no,” said Colleen soothingly. “Something bad happened… what is it? C’mere.”

  Sheila sniffed, turned back toward Colleen, and dug in her purse for a tissue.

  “Here,” said Colleen, handing her the box of tissues from her bedside tray.

  Sheila grabbed the box and tried not to make eye contact, knowing it would only make things worse. She removed a few tissues, dropped the box on Colleen’s bed, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Colleen was speechless. She knew her best friend better than anyone. Her own eyes welled in anticipation of the bad news, whatever it may be. Without a word, she knew that her own crisis paled in comparison to Sheila’s.

  “I just… I don’t…” Sheila sobbed into her tissues.

  “Shhh…” Colleen said. “Take a deep breath.”

  Sheila tried, but only managed short, choppy breaths. She blew her nose and tried again. Her chest and stomach convulsed out of rhythm.

  “Here. Put the rail thing down.”

  Sheila blew her nose again. “There’s not enough… room,” she said.”

  “Yes there is… here.” Colleen shifted her hip and legs toward her right while Sheila lowered the bed rail. Sheila picked up the box of tissues, turned, and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m… I… Shit,” said Sheila. “I don’t…”

  “It’s okay,” said Colleen. “Take your time and catch your breath, and whenever you’re ready…”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.” Sheila slung her purse from her shoulder and dropped it to the floor. She pulled a fresh tissue from the box and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  Colleen felt helpless. She tried touching Sheila’s shoulder with her right hand, but couldn’t reach. She wiped her eyes and started to say, “Start at the beginning,” but didn’t. She thought it sounded stupid as she said it in her head.

  Sheila finally managed a deep breath. “I just got a call from my doctor’s office.”

  Colleen processed Sheila’s words carefully. “From your doctor? Did you… are you sick? Or did he just call out of the blue… or what?”

  “No,” Sheila said. “A couple of weeks ago… I…” Sheila trailed off and took another deep breath. “Okay… I did a… I found a lump.”

  Colleen gasped and covered her mouth. “What? When was this?” she shrieked through her fingers. “A couple of… weeks ago? Weeks… ago?” she repeated.

  Sheila nodded and sniffed, still looking down at the box of tissues.

  “You never… you didn’t…”

  “I know,” said Sheila. “I didn’t want to worry you. You know how you get. I mean… I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just… I know how you worry about stuff… and shit… Joe doesn’t even know.”

  “Oh, Sheila… What did the doctor say? I mean, I assume you got a mammogram?”

  “Yeah. They compared it with my mammo from six months ago. They wanna do a biopsy.”

  Colleen grasped the bed rail tightly and sat up straight with a groan. “Oh, Jesus.”

  Sheila nodded again and wiped her nose, but said nothing. She held her breath and closed her eyes tightly. Colleen held the rail for balance and rested her forehead on Sheila’s shoulder. Sheila again began to sob. “Oh, honey…” Colleen whimpered.

  Sheila tried to compose herself. She looked up and noticed the empty bed in the room. “Where’s your… roommate… or whatever?” she said and wiped her nose again.

  Colleen pulled herself back to her pillow. “Oh,” she said, sniffling and wiping away more tears. “Umm… she’s been discharged. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that she’s gonna stay at the ranch for a while.”

  “Lucky her,” Sheila
said with a weak smile. “Another stray, huh?”

  “She’s all busted up and shit. Worse than me, even. Actually I’m waiting for her to call so I know she’s okay.”

  Sheila stood up, stretched, and finger brushed her hair. “See what I mean about how much you worry? If I told you a couple weeks ago about my… oh, what the hell… no sense dippin’ it all in sugar… my lump… I’d never get any work done.” Sheila forced a smile, her bloodshot eyes beginning to match her splotchy cheeks.

  “Point taken,” said Colleen with a forced smile of her own. “Look at it this way. Now you don’t have to pamper a bunch of high-fallootin’ SEE-lebrities for a while. Right?”

  “You’re right about that. That’s the least of my worries right now.”

  Colleen felt that distraction would take Sheila’s mind off of things, if only for a few minutes. “Pull up a chair,” she said, pointing at the recliner. “So… what’s the latest on… all of that? How bad is the damage and all?”

  “Shee—it,” said Sheila. “They won’t let me go within a mile of that place. Ripley… she’s the main detective lady who… is handling everything, I guess… says they have to finish their investigation or whatever.”

  “How long’s that supposed to take?”

  Sheila dragged the recliner closer to the bed and sat down. “God only knows. Ripley says they’ll sift through everything with a fine-toothed comb and see what turns up.”

  “Oh, shit,” Colleen said.”

  “What?”

  “I just thought about something.”

  Sheila tilted her head.

  “If the damage is as bad as you said it was… the Bob Ross… is probably…”

  “Yeah. It’s gone, I’m sure. The last time I saw it was on my way out… just before… you know,” said Sheila. “I haven’t even thought about it, to tell you the truth. It’s not like I’ll need it anytime soon anyway. Right?”

  “I guess not,” said Colleen. “But still… I love that thing.”

  “I can have another one made. It’ll cost me an arm and a leg, though.”

  “Won’t your insurance cover it?” Colleen asked.

  “Funny you mention that,” said Sheila. “I couldn’t get the two appraisers to agree on how much it was worth. So… I didn’t have time to certify it with the insurance company. One guy said that it’s ‘new art’ and since it’s one of a kind, he didn’t feel it was worth as much as the other guy said.”

  “Oh, that sucks,” said Colleen.

  “Yeah, but that’s life. Like I said, that’s the least of my worries at the moment.” Sheila yawned and stretched. “I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

  “Hey,” said Colleen with a smile. “Talk about potty mouth.”

  “Yeah,” said Sheila with another yawn. “I think I deserve a pass for now.”

  Sheila’s purse vibrated. “Is that your phone?” Colleen asked.

  “Yeah, but I don’t care to answer it right now.” Sheila looked at her watch. “It’s Joe, I’m sure. I just can’t… not right now.”

  Colleen adjusted her position as the purse vibrated short pulses and then stopped. “Hey,” she said. “Why don’t you grab a nap in the other bed over there?”

  Sheila glanced at the freshly-made bed. “Oh, I’m sure that’d go over well with the nurses.”

  “No… I’m… it’s actually my bed. It’s a private room now. I won’t get any more roommates for the duration.”

  “Really?” Sheila asked and perked up a little.

  “Yup,” said Colleen. “All mine. I can have anybody I want stay here.”

  “No shit.”

  “No shit. They’ll even bring an extra food tray at dinnertime if I request it.”

  Sheila stood and stretched again. “That looks sooo tempting.”

  “These beds are actually pretty comfortable. Look… you can adjust the head and foot and get all comfy.” Colleen demonstrated how to adjust the bed.

  “Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit,” said Sheila. “You sure it’s all kosher?”

  “I’m sure. I can’t arrange for any of the good drugs… at least not from here, anyway… but the bed’s yours.”

  Sheila kissed Colleen’s forehead and finger brushed her hair. “Look at you,” she said. “You’re a mess,” she said with a smile.

  “No worse for the wear,” Colleen said with a genuine smile of her own. “We take nappy… talk later.”

  “O—kay,” Sheila said mid-yawn.

  †

  Joan sought solace in the depths of the soft leather sofa and bounced her knees nervously, a habit which had drawn plenty of criticism since her childhood. She finished her sixth Wisconsin Premium and glanced dreamily at her copy of Western Horseman.

  “Incredible,” she said aloud as she admired the cover artwork of famed western artist Tim Cox. “That reminds me. I gotta call Suzy.” The more Joan drank, the more her habit of talking to herself intensified, and today was no exception.

  “Another dead soldier,” she said as she tried to focus her eyes on the label of her empty beer. She tossed the magazine at the coffee table, but fell short of the mark. “Shit,” she slurred. She all but dragged herself to the edge of the cushion and tried to reunite her “dead soldier” with the rest of the squad and managed to knock over two others. Many wars have been fought and scores of soldiers died bravely on the battlefield that was the coffee table.

  Joan pushed at her knees and rose to her feet. The answering machine on the desk blinked at her like a tiny stop light. “Well, let’s see what we have here.” She swaggered her way toward the desk, catching the corner of the coffee table with her left shin. The last of the squad of dead soldiers toppled, and one of them rolled off the edge of the table and onto the plush maroon carpet.

  “Fucker,” Joan sputtered, and then covered her mouth with both hands as if she had cursed in front of her mother for the first time. “Oopsie!” She shuffled her way to the desk and leaned over the answering machine. “Eight messages. I need another beer,” she said, and then stumbled to the kitchen for more reinforcements. She liberated two more from the fridge and ambled back to the den. “Here we go.”

  She mashed the playback button with her thumb, and the micro tape began its long, tired rewind. Joan fumbled for the side table lamp switch for a moment, gave up, and plopped back into the solace of overstuffed leather. She clutched the soldiers to her chest tightly as she heard the answering machine click again. “Beeeeeeep,” she sang in unison.

  “Hey. It’s me. Gimme a call back… please? I know you’re not exactly happy with me right now… and I’m sorry. You know how I get… and I know that’s no excuse…”

  “You damn right that’s no excuse,” Joan scolded.

  “I shouldn’t have… Shit, Mom. I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. Anyway… please please call me back? I love you.”

  Joan belched a loud, throaty reply and said, “How ‘bout them apples?” The machine beeped again, solo this time. The caller hung up. More clicks. Next message.

  “Mom… I don’t blame you for not pickin’ up. (long pause) Just… call me. Okay? I love you.”

  Joan relieved another soldier of his helmet and took a long swig. His buddy held on for dear life in the leather ravine as the next message droned a sick dial tone from another hang up.

  Joan’s eyes welled up from the Premium’s cold bite in her throat. She swallowed hard and said, “How many is that?”

  “You know…” said Colleen’s teary voice, “Mom… I… I’m tryin’ here. I can only say I’m sorry so many times. (long pause) Just… you know… Chase would never let this… silence between us go on this long.”

  “Oh, that’s the way it’s gonna be, huh?” said Joan. “Hit me below the belt.”

  “I’m trying to hold it together here… (long pause) I’m all alone in this… God-forsaken place.”

  “All alone, huh? Where’s your whore buddy now?” Joan could hear Colleen sniffle, which made her regret what she just said. Even
though her only audience was a broken squad of soldiers, she croaked, “I’m sorry… That was mean… I’m sorry.” Joan swallowed hard. Heart-heavy tears retraced the paths blazed by the sting of cold swill.

  “I can’t take much more of this. You know me… better than anyone. I need you now more than ever… Mom. I promise I’ll make it up to you… somehow.”

  Joan closed her eyes and sobbed along with Colleen’s voice.

  “I’m… I feel… so… helpless. (long pause, sniffles) Anyway… I’m not goin’ anywhere. I love you. It may not seem like it sometimes… but I do. Call me.”

  “Helpless… now that’s a first.” Joan opened her eyes and drained her soldier of what little life remained in his body. She felt her limbs going tingly and numb. The den spun blurrily as she turned and propped her legs on the couch. Her dead soldier dropped to the carpet and joined the Western Horseman under the coffee table. The other went missing in action somewhere in the deep chasm of soft leather.

  The answering machine continued its report with a series of clicks and dial tones, and then went silent. Joan drifted off into the land of warm ocean breezes. She imagined herself aboard a large sailboat, anchored in the Avalon bay of Catalina. She could almost feel the warmth of Carlos’s strong arms against her skin, encompassing her entire being. Joan was in her happy place, free from the worry of ledgers and strays, and there she would remain for the rest of the evening.

  †

  Sheila stretched in the cool hospital bed. She checked her watch and bolted upright. “Shit!” she whispered.

  “You not look like my patient, but I check my chart again.” Doctor Nguyen stood in the doorway and examined Colleen’s chart.

  “That’s my friend, Sheila,” Colleen said with a yawn.

  “Okay,” said Dr. Nguyen. “Sometimes I make mistake.”

  Colleen giggled and shook her head. “Sheila, this is Doctor Nguyen. He fixed me up some.”

  Doctor Nguyen waddled between the two beds and offered his hand to Sheila. “Hi. I Doctor Nguyen,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” said Sheila, shaking his hand hurriedly. “Colleen, I gotta run. Joe is gonna shit himself senseless if I don’t get a move on.”