9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  From there he crossed the street to Hatlow Farmers Bank. A plaque beside the front door marked it as a Texas historical building. The bank had been founded in the nineteenth century and the hundred-year-old red limestone building had obviously been maintained to reflect its American Victorian-era history.

  Dalton delivered a copy of the receipt from the tax assessor's office showing the taxes paid current on the Parker ranch. The Hispanic employee who took it couldn't have cared less about a ranch that was as much a Texas historical landmark as the bank. Ironic, he thought.

  Then he asked to speak to the manager.

  He left the bank troubled and sobered. The bank manager had been reluctant to speak to him at first, but once Dalton convinced him he was the oldest son and had the capacity to solve the Lazy P’s financial problems, the guy opened up a little.

  Mom and Lane—mostly Lane—had hocked the whole fuckin’ place. Land, cattle and operating equipment. An enormous amount of money would be required to save it. No wonder his mother was so worried. But he wondered if even she knew the extent to which Lane had borrowed.

  Indeed, he, Dalton, had money in the bank. His books did well. Various reputable publications paid him handsomely for his photographs. Galleries in LA, San Francisco and New York showed and sold signed and framed pieces of his work. He spent little money frivolously. What a lot of well-off people hired someone else to do, he did for himself. He had hired a business manager to take care of his business during his frequent travels and a financial advisor to invest his money. He had enough sense to know he couldn’t successfully do either of those things from somewhere in Africa or the deepest parts of Asia. Both men had done well by him.

  Still, he wasn’t sure he would write a check to save the Lazy P. Investing the sum required to save it would mean that in the end, he would own it. And that circumstance presented a whole new world of possibilities, most of them unpleasant.

  He drove slowly, thinking. The old oil well hammered in his brain like a drumbeat. Short of becoming a drug dealer, he could think of no other source for a large amount of money in a short time.

  Leaving the courthouse square and driving along Hatlow's main street, he saw the aftermath of a collapsed economy. What had once been a thriving Norman Rockwell-ish small town, supported by oil and agriculture, was now a dilapidating shell of buildings and stores with boarded-up windows and locked doors. Mom had told him the landscape was the same all over West Texas. Depressing to see the site of his youth in decay.

  Before Dalton graduated from high school in the late eighties, the price of oil had already plummeted. Small oil operators had already started to disappear from the Hatlow business scene. Though he had witnessed the ruinous event at its genesis, he could see that the impact of the economic crash hadn't fully manifested itself until after his departure.

  But more than depressed oil prices affected Hatlow, according to his mother. Cotton farming had changed. Many farmers found it easier and more profitable to let their fields lie fallow in return for government checks. Ranching had fared only slightly better than farming, but ranchers were confronted with new regulations every day. Environmental groups viewed grazing cattle as a scar on the earth. Health zealots lobbied constantly against red meat. Still, most of the cattle operations were hanging on. The American public could do without American cotton, but hamburgers and backyard barbecues and mouth-watering charbroiled steaks were a part of the American landscape.

  Oh, well, he told himself. The economics might be challenging, but at least no one had to fear a sniper hidden behind one of the darkened second-floor windows. No suicide bombers would be showing up in the grocery store or the schoolhouse. Not yet.

  He soon came to a flower shop located on the outskirts of downtown in a Hatlow version of a strip mall. He ordered a bouquet to be delivered to his mother, folded the receipt for the taxes into a small square and inserted it into a gift card to be attached to the bouquet. He requested that the flowers be delivered today.

  When he left the flower shop, he carried a pink four-foot-tall teddy bear wearing a white lacy bow around its neck. A leftover from Valentine's Day, the shop owner had told him. He still pondered the fact that his mother hadn't said a damn word about Lane being the father of a small daughter.

  These days, the thought of kids, any kids, brought to the front of his mind the hundreds of pathetic small faces he had photographed in the poverty-ridden parts of the world. They all had the same mournful expressions—grim little mouths and haunted eyes too old for their years. A little girl lucky enough to be born in the USA should know that she was part of the fabric of America and her family included two sides.

  Dalton might not dwell on the past, he might not be a sterling example of family togetherness, but that didn't mean he had given up on the ideal of family unity. He hadn't forgotten the pain of growing up in a fractured home. Besides that, the Parker clan already had one living bastard. It didn't need another.

  He positioned the teddy bear on the passenger seat. As he climbed into the truck and headed for the edge of town, he could think of no time when a pink teddy bear had been his passenger, or for that matter, when he had bought a stuffed toy of any size or color. He had picked it up purely on impulse.

  A visit to the Dairy Queen wasn't on his agenda for today, but he had the teddy bear and he had to get rid of it.

  At the Dairy Queen order counter, a tall brown-haired girl in a pink smock took his order for a burger and fries, trying to be subtle in staring at him and the giant teddy bear crammed under his left arm. She probably thought he was a nut. She called his order in to the kitchen, then turned back to him. "That'll be six dollars and four cents."

  "I'm looking for Mandy Ferguson," he said, juggling the teddy bear while digging into his jeans pocket for money.

  She smiled and her whole face lit up. "Oh. I'm Mandy."

  She looked fresh and pretty, with long, shining hair and the unsullied face of someone around twenty-five years old. He made a mental sigh of relief. At least she wasn't underage.

  "Would you like for me to hold that bear for you?" she asked.

  "Would you mind?" He handed her the bear. It was wider than she was. "I'm Dalton Parker," he said, pulling a ten from his money clip and dropping it on the counter.

  As a glimmer of recognition passed through her eyes, a blush stained her cheeks. "You're Lane's big brother, aren't you? Has—has something happened to him?"

  "Nothing new. I just want to talk to you a minute if you've got time."

  She handed the bear back to him, opened the cash register drawer and gave him change. "What do you want?"

  "To talk. Can we find a private place to sit down for a minute?"

  "I guess so." She turned and asked a heavyset woman standing at the soft ice cream machine—and obviously eavesdropping—to watch the counter for her. The woman leveled a cold glare at him and Mandy both. Mandy ignored her and rounded the end of the counter. She led the way to a small square table in the back corner of the dining room.

  "I wanted to meet you," Dalton said, setting the bear in a chair. With its fat arms protruding rigidly from its sides, it filled the straight-backed chair and looked as if it was waiting to be picked up and hugged. He took a seat across the table from the girl. The teddy bear stared at both of them with big black button eyes and a smiling snout. "I just found out you and Lane have a little girl."

  She dropped her gaze to her hands. They looked red and chapped.

  "It's okay," Dalton said. "I'm not here to pass judgment or anything. I heard that you don't want any part of my brother, but you know how talk is. You never can tell how much of it's true. If that's how you feel, I'd like to hear it from you directly."

  Her head shook slowly. She looked back up at him, a troubled expression showing in her eyes. "I can't afford Lane."

  Dalton chuckled, hoping to put her at ease. "That might be true of all of us. But that doesn't tell me much. Did he not want your little girl or what?"

  "
Why don't you ask him?"

  "I intend to. Tomorrow, when I see him again."

  Her head shook again and she looked out the large picture window beside them. At what, Dalton couldn't tell. There wasn't much to see in the arid landscape, not even bushes or trees.

  "I would've stuck with him if he'd tried just a little bit. But after I got pregnant, my mom and dad wanted to be sure the baby had a good home. They wanted me to break it off with him. I live at their house and they give me a job, so..." She shrugged and returned her gaze to her hands.

  Dalton glanced toward the woman at the soft ice cream machine. Given the evil eye she was casting in his direction, he suspected she was this girl’s mother. "You said, 'tried just a little bit.' What did you want him to do that he wasn't doing?"

  "I didn't ask him for much. I just wanted him to be sober. I thought we could make it if he would just be sober."

  The girl's face might be unblemished, but her eyes appeared to be nursing a great pain. Her wish was no different from what any other woman, or mother, would wish, Dalton supposed.

  "I see," he said, trying to hide his unease. He was lousy at conversations like this. He had a rocky record with women, but at least a surprise pregnancy wasn't part of it.

  The heavyset woman brought a brown sack stained with grease and handed it to him, along with another pointed glare. He kept quiet, sliding the hamburger out of the sack and stalling by fiddling with salt and pepper until she returned to her spot behind the counter. "If I said I think things could be different when Lane comes out of the hospital, would it make any difference to you?"

  Mandy gave a hint of a smile. "I don't know. I'm pretty easy when it comes to Lane. I always was. He could talk me into just about anything. That was part of the problem my dad says." Her shoulders lifted in a great sigh. "My mom and dad... I just don't know."

  "I know he pays child support, but—"

  "He wanted to," she said, straightening into a defensive posture. "I didn't make him."

  "I'm not questioning that, Mandy. If he has a daughter, he should take care of her. Before he had the wreck, did he see her?"

  "Not much. When she was first born, he came around a lot, but most of the time, if my dad was at home...well, Daddy always ran him off. Or my mom threatened to call the sheriff."

  Dalton nodded, chewing on a bite of his hamburger and studying her. Hell, she cared about Lane. Anybody could see it. But did she have the courage of her feelings? Could or would she defy her parents?

  "I understand how you and your family feel. Here’s where I’m coming from on my end. Yours is the only kid in our family. I think it would mean a lot to my mom to have a relationship with her granddaughter."

  Dalton had no idea whether that statement was true. Mom had never worn her emotions on her sleeve. "It could also mean a new life for my brother. Maybe even a new life for the two of you together. He's gonna get out of ICU this week. Possibly as early as tomorrow. I'd be happy to take you up to visit him if you want to."

  She looked down at her hands again. "I don't know. My mom and dad—"

  "You're old enough to make your own decision about it. I mean, we're talking about your daughter's father and nothing more than a hospital visit."

  She looked out the window again. "Someone told me he's going to be crippled."

  "That's what the docs are saying, but it's too early to know for sure. He’s got a long road ahead of him. A lot of physical therapy. Having the support of people who care about him will help him."

  "I don't know. I'd have to think about it."

  She glanced toward the heavyset woman who was now standing at the end of the order counter and openly watching them. Pushing back her chair, Mandy started to rise. "I need to get back."

  Dalton got to his feet, too. "I know. I didn't mean to keep you. This bear's a present for your daughter. From her uncle."

  The wide smile lit up her face again. "Really? Oh, my gosh. It's twice as big as she is, but she'll just love it."

  "Okay if I just leave it sitting there?"

  "Yessir. I'll put it in my car in a minute. It's so cute."

  He returned her smile. "It is cute. And you don't have to call me sir. What'd you say your daughter's name is?"

  She was still smiling. "It's Malaney. Kind of a cross between Lane's name and mine. Lane and I made it up together."

  Dalton was touched by her youthful sentimentality. He couldn't imagine his little brother making up a name for a baby or as the father of a child, but if he'd had a hand in choosing the kid's name, he must have had some kind of meaningful relationship with this girl. He took out his wallet and wrote his mother's phone number on the back of his business card, though he would lay money that Mandy knew it. "This is cell number and my mother’s phone number is on the back. I’ll be at the ranch a little while longer. Just give me a call if you want to visit my brother. Call any time."

  He left the Dairy Queen feeling like the wise older brother. And it felt pretty damn good.

  A mile on up the road, he came to his main destination, Huddleston Well Servicing. As he pulled to a stop in front of a flat-roofed metal building, he scanned the surrounding caliche-covered parking area. His high school friend Jay Huddleston had worked here in the family business as a teenager. Today, Dalton saw no trucks parked, so that meant Huddleston's crews must be out working.

  When Dalton and Jay were teenagers, the company had provided maintenance service for existing oil wells. Dalton hadn't heard or hadn't been interested in knowing what had happened to Huddleston Well Servicing after he left Hatlow. His focus had been on his own survival.

  Inside the well-servicing company's office, he met a receptionist at work in stark gray surroundings devoid of luxuries. On a metal table behind her metal desk sat the only decoration—a tiny blue pot with phony daisies perched beside a gold-framed picture of her, a man and two kids. She showed him into her boss's office.

  A grinning Jay Huddleston, his right hand extended, came from behind a huge metal desk that looked to be military surplus. "Dalton Parker, you hardheaded devil. Come on in here."

  Dalton shook hands with his old high school friend, noticing he had aged well. Except for silver hair and creases around the mouth, he didn't look much different from their school days. Dalton hadn't seen him since then, when they had played football together on Hatlow's winning team. Dalton had been the quarterback and Huddleston had been an end. An image of Jay suited up and catching a pass flashed from the far recesses of Dalton's memory. As Dalton recalled, Jay could outrun the wind.

  "Joanna gave you my message, huh?" Jay said.

  "Message?"

  "I told her to tell you to come by. Beer? Coffee? It's a little early for me for beer, but—"

  "It's too early for me, too. A cup of coffee will do."

  Jay yelled to the receptionist to bring a cup of coffee. Then his attention returned to Dalton. "Hey, man, you look good. Haven't changed a bit." His expression turned solemn. "Listen, that was too damn bad about Lane. How's he doing now?"

  "Coming along."

  Jay shook his head, his thick, dark brows pinching together. "That Lovington highway's a sonofabitch. But since the DUI laws got tougher, it's not as bad as it used to be. It used to get a lot of 'em."

  "Yep. It sure as hell got Earl Cherry," Dalton replied, revisiting in his mind the irony of Cherry's only son nearly killing himself on the same long, lonesome highway in the middle of the night.

  "It damn sure did. I forgot about that."

  "So you followed your dad into the well-servicing business?" Dalton said. "I never knew."

  "Man, I didn't have much choice." Jay gave a good-natured chuckle. "With Shari pregnant, me only eighteen years old and bills to be paid, I had to do something to make a living. I was lucky my dad took pity on me."

  "Looks like it worked out okay for you."

  "So far, so good. We got four pulling units and four crews now, and they're all working. We had some lean years through the bust, but Dad was a
ble to hang on 'til the price of oil started to climb back up a little. A lot of the competition didn't make it. Me and Dad worked it together for a long time, just the two of us. Then he decided to quit a few years ago and I took over. It's great having things picking up. People are drilling again and that means more work for us."

  "Guess a few dollars more on a barrel of oil is good for everybody, huh?"

  "You know how it is, buddy. The more cake, the more crumbs."

  The receptionist came in with a steaming cup of black coffee and handed it to Dalton. "Thanks," he said.

  "Have a seat, Dalton." Jay moved to his chair behind his desk. Dalton sank to a steel armchair in front of the desk and sipped his coffee.

  "I think about you real often, Dalton. Every time somebody brings up that game with Denver City your senior year, I can still see you running the length of the whole damn field for the winning touchdown. Do you remember that?"

  "Sure," Dalton said, recalling it only in dim snatches. Having trekked through many foreign countries where mere survival was the gut-wrenching daily goal and having lived in Los Angeles for many years, where the aim was frequently the same, if in a different way, Dalton no longer related to how wrapped up West Texans were in high school football.

  "My oldest boy's a football player," Jay said. "He's working for me when he ain't practicing or playing. He's a damn fine ballplayer, Dalton. You oughtta see him. Got some colleges sniffing around, so I might not be able to keep him. Even the army's after him. Anyway, me and Shari are real proud of him."

  Dalton nodded, accepting that some things in this part of the world might never change. Years had passed since the last time he had spent an afternoon or an evening watching football, though during his years in Hatlow, the game and the team had been one of the few parts of life he enjoyed. He no longer considered himself a team player and he didn't have much time for outside entertainment.