Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When?

by Charlene Baumbich

  “Of course nothing’s usually guaranteed in real estate until a deal’s signed and money passes. Gone are the days of handshakes and trust, even among the backwards.” Colton’s snicker bordered on menacing. “That’s why she’s paired with Morgan, the local known and respected factor, approaching the farmers through him rather than doing it herself, which is very smart. Of course they’d picture me to be the big bad wolf too—unless Vitner, their mayoral hopeful, convinces them otherwise, which maybe he can do, and maybe he can’t. Anyway, on Kathryn’s behalf, Morgan proposes the idea to the farmers—and Carl, it’s prudent—that if they want to keep farming for awhile and yet have the assurance of a comfortable retirement when they’re ready, why wait? Why not option now for the possible sale and hopefully have the best of both worlds?”

  “Why doesn’t she just buy the places outright?” Carl asked, sounding livelier than his heart was feeling. But after all, what would it hurt to find out a little more information himself, especially if Colton had played him, which by this time he felt pretty sure of.

  “She didn’t get wealthy in this game by being stupid. No sense emptying your cash drawers before you know if you can lock up everything you need to make your plan work. With the purchase option, if things don’t go her way the most she can lose is her earnest money. So it goes like this: Morgan tells them his buyer—which everyone knows is Kathryn, or Katie, or whoever she’s calling herself to the townies—needs time for something, which he doesn’t tell them is to secure six properties before she will exercise her option to buy. If they agree to her terms and timeline for the option, she gives them earnest money with the contract—since tying up any other possible sale of your land has to be worth something—and then she includes a confidentiality clause.” He laughed. “Whoops on the confidentiality, huh? Anyway, during this option period, they continue farming their land and selling their crops while she reaps the benefit of possible land grabs for the future at today’s prices, although I’m sure she uses an escalation per acre as the timeline increases.”

  “I still don’t get something. If these farmers do sell, where are they going to live?” Carl thought about his folks, who ended up going straight from their farm into a modest prefab home in a retirement community when they could no longer care for the land or themselves. His dad couldn’t bear to watch anyone else farm the land.

  “If they want to stick around, there’s a thing called a life estate agreement, which means they’ll get to stay in their home and a few surrounding acres—you know, in case they want to keep their chickens or goats or whatever—until they’re dead. That’s how you end up seeing an occasional farm house in the middle of a housing development.”

  “Who’s the guy, or at least one of the guys, holding out?” Carl asked.

  Colton went silent for a long spell. “Now that, my friend,” he said, his voice shifting tones, “you don’t need to know.”

  Carl took Colton’s sudden reluctance to play all his cards as a sign of a shift in trust. Well, then, that made them even.

  10

  Josh leaned over and gave Shelby one more kiss on the lips before she said, “I have to go, Josh. Don’t look, but my mom just appeared in the front window.” Shelby nodded her head sideways to indicate which direction he shouldn’t look, which he immediately did. She giggled. “I’m really not in the mood for her Lecture Number 273 again,” she said with a sigh, “the one where she reminds me what too much kissing can lead to,” she paused to deliberately cross her eyes, a familiar gesture she sprang on him to make him laugh, “so I better get inside before she’s knocking on your truck door.”

  Josh’s heart skipped a beat and his neck reddened at the mere thought of too much kissing, which personally he didn’t think was humanly possible. But he knew exactly what her mom was worried about since he thought about exactly that a bazillion times a day, even right this moment, even though his girlfriend looked ridiculously silly—but still oh so cute.

  He wondered how much different Shelby’s mom’s lecture was from the one his mom delivered. Every time he was going to be at the farm alone his mom deemed it necessary to say, “And do not bring anyone in the house named Shelby. And not in the barn, either, you hear me?” What did she think he was, deaf? “And you treat her like a lady. This is a small enough town to count on the fact that somebody is always watching you.” Moms and their scare tactics. Could be a reality show. But how dumb. He knew about the Fire Pit hidden in the woods at the end of a dirt lane on the outskirts of Partonville, the one their parents didn’t know about—or so he thought, since the Fire Pit had been the preferred necking spot for generations. When Josh had first overheard a portion of a conversation about it, he’d enthusiastically said, “Oh! Do you have bonfires there? We have a fire pit down by the creek!” Kevin, Josh’s best Partonville friend, rapped on Josh’s head with his knuckles. “Hel-lo! Fire Pit, Josh-o. Couples in parked cars? Get it?” Sometimes Josh felt so dense.

  Kevin pointed out the entrance to the secluded wooded area one time when they were out cruising in Kevin’s car. When they passed right by the turnoff that looked to be nothing more than a two-lane cow path, Josh asked him why he didn’t take him back there so he could see it. “You and me? At the Fire Pit? I wouldn’t be caught dead driving back there with a guy! You don’t go to the Fire Pit unless you’re with your woman and . . . on fire,” he said, winking. The first thing Kevin said when he saw Josh’s new wheels was, “Josh my man, that truck bed is a Fire Pit magnet!” Josh’s heart raced again just thinking about it. He awakened from his momentary spring-fevered trance just in time to notice Shelby, who had uncrossed her eyes and was reaching for the door handle.

  “Wait! Let me get your door!”

  “That’s okay,” she said, opening the latch. “I already know you’re a gentleman.”

  Not if you knew what I was thinking. . . . One of these days maybe he’d just casually mention the Fire Pit to her, see how she’d respond. She leaned toward him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she slid out of the truck.

  Her mom greeted her at the door, then waved to Josh. After several volleys of waving, he finally made himself pull away, deciding that for now he’d just have to be happy with the warmth she’d left at his side and the lingering scent of her hair. He was so revved up it was all he could do to keep from tromping on the gas pedal and laying a patch of rubber, but her mom was probably still at the window and . . .

  Yes, his mom was right. Somebody was always watching.

  At least his day was winding down better than it started. He went to bed late last night after working on his physics homework for three straight hours. He was usually good about getting up on his own, but he forgot to set his alarm before he dozed off with his bed light on and the book still in his hands. He overslept by forty minutes. His mom didn’t realize he wasn’t up until she was ready to leave for work and she yelled up the stairs for him to have a good day—and he didn’t answer. She barreled up the steps, blasted his door open and shook him out of a sound sleep. The minute his eyes sprang open she was right in his face. All he’d asked her to do was to back off a little until his eyes focused, but she’d misinterpreted his “back off” request and a brief yelling match ensued. His mom had accused him so many times lately of mouthing off that he’d all but been silent around her the last two days. Once she got on her roll this morning, she said she was tired of his pouting and accused him of just trying to push her buttons. He couldn’t win. The last thing he heard when she flew out of his room on her way to work was, “And you better not miss your bus!”

  Oh, well. Some things couldn’t be helped. After all, he hadn’t missed the bus on purpose. He’d scrambled as fast as he could to gather all his homework, which he’d left around the room in a disheveled mess when he’d climbed in bed last night to finish studying. He’d even skipped his shower trying to beat the clock. But when he heard the bus toot the horn
at the end of the lane and he wasn’t even finished dressing yet, he knew his efforts were in vain. The bus driver waited for nobody longer than thirty seconds after the toot. “No way, José,” he said to his reflection in the small dresser mirror. “Might as well take a shower now,” he muttered, shucking his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. Even though he barely ever got to drive to school, one of the things he liked most about doing so was that he could leave later and still make it to his first class on time since his home was near the beginning of a very long bus route.

  The day had passed quickly and spring had arrived, he mused as he passed by a farmer plucking rocks out of his field and a woman inspecting her flower bed. He rolled down his window and sniffed the fresh spring air, something he’d seen Dorothy do countless times. Although his route didn’t require that he circle the square, nearly everyone did whenever they could, just to see what and who they might see. He’d gone halfway around when he realized he’d rather not see his mom—or have her see him. It would be humiliating if she bolted into the street and flagged him down, which he wouldn’t put past her since she had been so mad this morning.

  He veered off the square and wove his way around the side streets until he found himself in front of United Methodist Church. He remembered his Uncle Delbert— Pastor Delbert Carol Jr.—mentioning on more than one occasion how Josh should stop by the church some time, kidnap him, he’d joked, and take him for a ride in his truck.

  “Josh!” Pastor said, when his nephew appeared suddenly in his office. He stood up and scooted his chair so quickly that it rolled back and banged into the wall behind him, a habit he just couldn’t stop. The wall looked like he’d been chipping away at it with an axe.

  “You know what I’ve heard, Uncle Delbert. ‘Pastor writing a sermon. Please interrupt.’ ” In fact it was his Uncle Delbert who’d told him that. “Not only am I interrupting you, I’m finally kidnapping you—at your very own request—for a ride in my truck!”

  After they buckled up, Josh drove toward the hard road, as Dorothy always called it, that headed out of town in the direction of the farm. “Hey! Let’s circle the square a couple times,” Delbert said.

  “No can do, unless you’d like to risk running into my mom’s warpath.”

  “Oh?”

  “Long story, but trust me. We’re better off not circling the square today. Maybe next time.” He cranked the radio up just one more notch and gave the engine a little goose.

  “So what can she do?” Delbert asked, patting the dashboard. During his senior year in high school he’d worked as a pit crew member on his buddy’s stock car out at the raceway. Even though these days he drove a minivan (maybe especially because he drove a minivan), he still loved speed and the rumble. He thought the picture of him standing next to his Buick Wildcat with his shirt unbuttoned nearly down to his navel was the best picture ever taken of him and his hotrodmobile, as his friends called it. Recollections of back-road drag races awakened latent memories of headlights flashing through the darkness, squealing tires, giggling girls. . . .

  Josh goosed the engine again, causing the truck to lunge ahead. “How should I know?” He glanced at his uncle and gave him a devilish grin.

  “Because you’re sixteen and this thing has a V-8—not that I’m advocating anything illegal, mind you, but there is no law about how fast you can get to the speed limit!”

  It was all Josh could do to keep from flooring it, his desire to do so lingering since he’d dropped Shelby off, thoughts of the Fire Pit still coursing through his brain. “Hang on!” he said, hesitating only a moment before mashing his foot on the gas pedal. He watched the speedometer race to sixty-one miles per hour, causing Delbert to let out a very unpastorly “Yeee-haw!” Josh let up on the gas and flipped on his blinker to turn onto the county road that led to the farm. Once they were past the ninety-degree bend in the gravel road, he yelled “HANG ON!” and pushed the pedal to the floor. The truck bed shimmied back and forth as rocks pelted the undercarriage. He understood all the more now why Dorothy used to love flooring The Tank on this strip of road, and the experience was made all the better by having his uncle, whom he so much wanted to get to know better, riding shotgun. He felt like a modern-day cowboy—until he heard the siren behind him.

  When Dorothy heard a knock at her door, she’d discovered Katie standing there looking like she was ready to cry, which was saying something since Katie was about as stoic as they come. “I couldn’t talk to another living soul about this besides Jessica, Dorothy, and she’s got her hands more than full right now. She doesn’t need my sob story.” The two women sat at Dorothy’s kitchen table where Katie had been talking nearly nonstop since she arrived.

  When she’d let Katie in, she knew God answered at least a portion of her prayer by sending Katie to her house for shelter. Dorothy’s phone had been ringing off the hook since early this morning, everyone sharing their opinion about the big news, wondering what Dorothy thought about it and who she would vote for—although most believed it would be Gladys since Dorothy was so tight with Katie. After each new call, Dorothy shot up another of her Bazooka Prayers telling God to just DO SOMETHING about this situation before a civil war broke out in Partonville.

  “I just had to get out of that building,” Katie said, scurrying in and closing the door behind her after looking up and down the street, “and go where nobody could find me. I didn’t even move my car. I snuck out the downstairs side door of the mall and zipped over here as quickly as I could, hoping nobody would see me. I don’t know whether I’m more mad, frustrated or just . . . dumbfounded by this turn of events. I thought we had put these issues of mistrust behind us.”

  When Edward Showalter came to Katie’s office to tell her he’d turned away no fewer than four people who’d come calling for her that afternoon, at first she just thanked him for doing a good job. Then he told her who they were. She understood why Herb Morgan and Gladys would come, and she in fact felt badly she hadn’t given Edward Showalter instructions to allow them in. She’d have to call them tonight and apologize, which made her slightly curious as to why they hadn’t already called her. (Actually, they were too busy calling each other, trying to figure if they had anything serious to worry about due to their alignment with Katie.) But Frieda Hornsby? Why would she want to see Katie? The clincher, however, was what Edward Showalter told her Sharon Teller said when he’d told her Katie wasn’t accepting visitors. “I’d hate to have to report in the Press that Ms. Durbin couldn’t be reached for further comment after she learned about the conflict surrounding her this morning.” Katie stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then thought about marching herself straight to the Press’s office and giving Sharon a piece of her mind. Were they all insane? But that, she knew, would be a huge tactical, political and personal error. You don’t antagonize the press. Instead, she decided to just escape until she could calm down and gather her thoughts. “If anyone asks where I went,” she told Edward Showalter while she was gathering her green file box and handbag, “tell them you don’t know, which will be the truth. And I’m turning my cell phone off,” she said, doing exactly that. “I’ll see you in the morning. Let everybody knock off at five tonight. We could all use a break.” Edward Showalter’s mouth was still hanging open when she walked briskly past him and flew down one stairwell after another—him leaning over the atrium rail watching her until she disappeared from his sight.

  “Now, honey,” Dorothy said, “just settle down, have another sip of water. Here, let me get you a fresh glass,” she said, noticing Katie had nearly drained the first one.

  “It just does not make sense! How did I get to be the villain by pouring my time and money into. . . .”

  “Enough, Katie,” Dorothy said sternly as she placed the fresh glass of water in front of her and sat back down. Katie was stunned and her face and stiffened posture showed it. “You have a right to be upset, honey,” Dorothy said, lowering her voice and patti
ng Katie’s shoulder, “but sliding into a pity party never gets a body anywhere. I know that because I’m an expert at flinging myself down that slippery slide. Thank goodness God usually gets my attention before I crash land! And I’m sure nobody’s thinking you’re a villain. Goodness me!”

  Katie gulped down another half glass of water, then grabbed a paper napkin out of Dorothy’s napkin holder, dipped the edge of it in her glass, wrung the extra water back into her glass and patted her upper lip with the cool, damp wad. “I detest these hot flashes,” she said when she finally spoke. “And you’re right. Pity parties are unbecoming and unproductive. Thank you. I’m behaving like a child. One of those in my household at a time is almost one too many right now,” she said, sitting back in her chair and dabbing under her eyes.

  “Oh?”

  Katie thought about launching into her morning, but truthfully, it would sound trite in light of the rest of her day and just fuel her ire. Besides, Josh was always so good about getting himself up. Why had she flown off the handle the one time he accidentally slept in anyway? She flashbacked to the state of their relationship when she and Josh moved to Partonville. Thankfully, there’d been mending and growth on both of their parts. But all her hours on this mall project—and working too many hours was mostly what had broken their relationship in Chicago—was causing her to fall back into old workaholic patterns, which led to a disconnect with her son and a shortened temper. She sighed, vowing she would make it up to him tonight.

  “It was nothing, really. Or just one more thing, or. . . .” She sighed again, set the napkin on the table. “To be honest, I could use one of your prayers.”

  “You got it! And to be honest with you, I’m kinda frustrated with the Big Guy since I thought He already took care of this mini-mall mess, so I guess I’m ready to give Him a good what’s-for anyway!” Now it was Dorothy’s turn to sit back and sigh. After Katie finished digesting the fact that anyone would be bold enough to give God a lecture, both women closed their eyes.