The Influence

by Bentley Little

  The idea made him feel more confident. He conducted the mass with assurance, his voice strong, and the worshippers were more involved than they ever had been before, with every last one of them taking communion.

  All because of New Year’s Eve.

  It was the very definition of a blessing in disguise.

  He told himself this.

  And he tried hard to believe it.

  ****

  After the last service, after the final parishioners had gone, Father Ramos took off his vestments and retired to his quarters, intending to make himself an egg sandwich. His appetite had returned full force—his stomach had been growling so loudly during communion that he was sure people had noticed—and he grabbed a handful of cashews from the nut bowl on his way to the refrigerator, popping them in his mouth and chewing loudly. Lesson to be learned, he thought. Never skip meals.

  He opened the refrigerator, took out a half-full jar of mayo and put it on the counter next to him, then grabbed the small carton of eggs he’d previously hardboiled for just such an emergency. Something seemed wrong, and for a brief flash of a second he thought they were experiencing an earthquake.

  Then he realized it was the egg carton.

  It was thrumming in his hands.

  Immediately, he put the carton down, flipping open the top. The eggs inside were bobbing up and down like oversized jumping beans, a sight so crazy and inexplicable that he wasn’t sure at first how to react. Gooseflesh had broken out all over his body. He watched the bouncing eggs and was suddenly afraid that one of them would crack open and something would come out. It made no sense—the eggs had been boiled—but he closed the carton quickly, threw it in the trash and immediately sealed up the Hefty bag lining the trash can. Holding it at arm’s length and moving swiftly, he dumped the entire thing in the garbage can outside and closed the lid tightly. His heart was pounding, and he imagined the eggs continuing to bounce, eventually breaking out of the carton, tearing through the Hefty bag, jumping out of the garbage can.

  By nighttime, they might be hopping toward his living quarters.

  The thought was intolerable.

  The dump was closed on Sunday, but Tax Stuart, who owned and operated the small landfill, was a friend and parishioner, and Father Ramos started to call him up to ask him to open it today as a favor, but he stopped dialing after the first three numbers and put the phone down. He would have to explain that it was an emergency, and Tax would ask him why, in order to make sure he was not dumping illegal chemicals or toxic waste, and Father Ramos…didn’t want to have to explain.

  There was another site where people abandoned cars, where they left discarded appliances and threw old paint containers, an unofficial spot past Saguaro Hill, and he decided to take his trash there. In fact, he intended to leave the garbage can there as well. He knew it was wrong to use the desert as a dumping ground, and he would pray for forgiveness after he was done, but, he rationalized, it was farther away from town than the actual landfill, and the more distant the better. Maybe the eggs—

  or what was inside them

  —wouldn’t find their way back.

  He took a deep breath.

  After that…

  He needed to go out to Cameron Holt’s ranch.

  He needed to see it.

  Father Ramos steeled himself. The idea had been in the back of his mind ever since that first night of prayer in the empty church—

  “Hector”

  —and he had resisted it until now, fearful of God’s wrath. But he was a man of the cloth, and if anyone had the responsibility to directly confront what had happened, to face what Holt was hiding in his smokehouse, it was him.

  After checking to make sure the church was empty, Father Ramos put on his gardening gloves and carried the garbage can out to the station wagon. He didn’t want to lay it down in case the lid fell off, but he didn’t have to; when he put up the back seat, there was enough space in the rear well for the receptacle to stand upright. He deposited the garbage can at the dump behind Saguaro Hill, wedging it carefully between a rock and a rusted washing machine to make sure it would not easily fall over, then drove west, down the series of increasingly narrow dirt roads that led to Cameron Holt’s place. He slowed the car as he approached the ranch. A chain was pulled across the road in front of the cattle guard, and from the center of it hung a No Trespassing sign. Beyond the cattle guard lay a dead cow, its bloated form covered with gray slime that encased it like a shell.

  He pulled to a stop, staring through the windshield at the cow, thinking, not for the first time, that God was punishing them for what they’d done. He understood why Holt had put the body in his smokehouse, knew the fear and panic the rancher had felt—they had all felt—but the priest wondered now if it might be better to provide a proper burial, to show respect and remorse.

  Isn’t that what God would want?

  He wasn’t sure, but thought that if he could just get into the smokehouse and look at it, he might be able to figure out the best course of action.

  It was impossible to continue driving up the blocked road, and he tried to decide whether he should honk the horn and wait for someone to show up, or ignore the sign, get out of the car and walk to the ranch. The decision was made for him as Cameron Holt himself came striding down the dirt lane. Father Ramos got out of the car, wondering if the rancher had some sort of security setup, a camera or a motion-detector, that let him know when someone had arrived. “Mr. Holt—” he began.

  “Go away!” the rancher ordered. “This is private property!”

  “I just came to see—”

  “I know what you came to see.” He stopped on the other side of the chain. Cradled in his arm was a shotgun. “Get off my land.”

  “Technically, this isn’t your land.”

  “Technically, my property line is a good twelve yards back from where you’re standing. This cattle guard does not mark my property boundary.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Holt. I didn’t come to fight.”

  “I know what you came for.” He shifted the shotgun in his hand.

  Father Ramos took a deep breath. “I think we are being punished.” That seemed to strike a chord, and he pressed on. “Maybe we should bury—” He wasn’t sure how to refer to what was in the smokehouse. “—him…her.”

  “It,” Holt said firmly, “and I intend to do no such thing.”

  “Why not?”

  He could tell that the rancher had no answer, no real reason for his actions, but the determination was nevertheless set in stone. “Stay off my property, Father.”

  For the first time, it occurred to him that maybe the consequences they were suffering were not God’s doing. “Just let me look,” he said. “That’s all I ask. I won’t touch. I won’t do anything. You’ll be right there with me.”

  “No.”

  “It might have happened on your property, but it happened to all of us. You have no right to—”

  Holt raised his weapon. “Leave. Now.”

  The threat was not idle. Father Ramos had no doubt that Holt would use his shotgun and feel no remorse afterward. He would have liked to believe that this was a result of what had happened on New Year’s Eve, part of the ripple effect, but he was pretty sure that it was all Cameron Holt, that the rancher would have behaved this way regardless.

  Reluctantly, he withdrew, walking back to his car. He would try again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day…

  But for the moment, all he could do was pray.

  Which he did, silently, with his hands on the steering wheel, all the way back to the church.

  THIRTEEN

  Ross answered his phone on the second ring.

  “Mr. Lowry?” It was Jamie Wong, his realtor from Phoenix, and she was calling with impossibly good news. Not only had she found someone who wanted to rent his condo, but another prospect was interested in buying it. At the full asking price.

  Ross’ head was spinning. Full price was $175,000. He could l
ive off that amount for two years, easily. Three or four if he was extremely frugal. He could even get an apartment back in Phoenix if he wanted.

  But he didn’t want, he realized. Not only was he getting used to life in Magdalena—he was starting to like it. Sure, it was only temporary and eventually he would have to move on. And he did not want to be a third wheel to Lita and Dave. But he’d gotten into a groove here, and it was fun working on the ranch.

  There was also Jill.

  That was most of it. He liked her, and he wanted to see where this might go. It had been awhile since he’d been involved in a relationship, and while this wasn’t a relationship yet, it had the potential to be, and he needed to give it a chance.

  Lita and Dave had gone to Willcox for their monthly supply run, but he was too excited to keep the news to himself, so he tried to call his parents to tell them he had a buyer. Once again something was wrong with his cell phone reception, despite all of the bars showing on his screen, and though he attempted to call four times, even going so far as to wander around the yard facing different directions, he was unable to hear anything but silence.

  Vowing to pay back Lita and Dave for all of the calls he’d made in the past week, he used the land line in the shack. He spoke to his mom, who seemed to think that this meant he was returning to Phoenix. There was relief in her voice, as though he’d been doing something wrong or shameful by living out here in Magdalena, and he sensed disapproval in the mention she made of his cousin.

  Ross said goodbye and hung up the phone, his enthusiasm dissipated. Count on his parents to throw a wet blanket over any good news that might come his way.

  He considered calling Jill to tell her the good news, but thought that might be a little too much too soon. Since he’d been planning to call her tonight anyway, he decided to tell her then.

  He let Lita and Dave know what the real estate agent had said as soon as they arrived back.

  “Does this mean you’ll be leaving us?” Lita sounded dismayed.

  Dave clapped a hand around his shoulder. “We need you around here, buddy. Don’t bail on us now.”

  “Actually, I was hoping I could stay awhile longer.” He felt embarrassed. “Not forever. Just until I find a job…”

  “Of course!” Lita assured him. “We love having you here!”

  “We’re thinking of expanding,” Dave said. “Now that we have some money. Eventually, I’ll probably have to hire another person, but I thought, at first, the three of us could handle things. Until we get settled and figure out exactly what we need.”

  Ross was relieved. “Great,” he said.

  Lita smiled. “Then it’s settled.”

  “I do need to go back to Phoenix for a few days,” he told them.

  “What are you going to do?” Dave asked. “Rent it out or sell it?”

  “I think I’m going to sell. I need the cash, and I don’t think I want to live there again anyway.”

  “If you rent it out, you’ll have a steady income,” Lita pointed out. “Plus the market is depressed right now. If you hold onto it, prices may go up.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true. The neighborhood’s been going downhill for awhile now, and I don’t think that’s going to change. This is the same amount I paid for it; I might not get this chance again.”

  “Will this get rid of your debt?” Dave asked.

  “With a lot left over.”

  “Then go for it.”

  ****

  He left the next morning, after breakfast. He offered to leave later, after feeding the chickens and collecting eggs, but Dave assured him that he had things under control and told Ross to go.

  He’d been gone for only a couple of weeks, but the city seemed more crowded than he remembered. And dirtier. As he approached Phoenix from the south, Camelback Mountain was little more than a hump outlined in gray behind a wall of white sky. Wind from a passing truck blew a plastic grocery bag into the front of his car, where the top of it fluttered above the edge of his hood for several miles before deserting him for a Lexus. It was weird seeing so many vehicles on such wide highways after traveling down narrow dirt roads with his the only car in sight, and it made him feel surprisingly ill at ease.

  Ross had arranged to meet Jamie Wong at her office at two. Though he was nearly a half hour late, the real estate agent was still there and waiting for him, and she showed him two printouts detailing the financial pros and cons of both renting out and selling. Politely, he let her give her presentation, then told her that he wanted to sell the condo—her choice as well, since she’d be making a commission. The realtor expressed surprise that someone was willing to offer full price for a place in that neighborhood in this market but suggested that they not look a gift horse in the mouth. Ross sat there as she called the prospective buyer, who said he would meet them at the condo tomorrow morning. Jamie hung up the phone and told Ross that, if all went well, they could sign the papers in the afternoon and the money would be transferred into his bank account within five business days.

  His cellphone worked here, but when he tried to call Jill, all he got was static. It was the same thing when he placed a call to Lita, and he gave it up. He’d be back the day after tomorrow anyway.

  He stayed overnight at his parents’ house, after meeting his friends for dinner. Alex was moving to Salt Lake City in two weeks, so they had an early going-away party at Yossarian’s, a burger joint/bar in Tempe that several of them had frequented during their college days at ASU. It was still popular with students, though the clientele ran more toward jocks these days, and they were forced to leave early before a drunk and belligerent Trent got into a fight with a pair of steroid abusers from the Sun Devils. Patrick and Trent had carpooled, and while neither of them had brought along a designated driver, Patrick was closer to sober and got behind the wheel.

  “Again?” Trent called through the open window. “Tomorrow night?”

  Ross laughed. “We’ll see.”

  After Trent and Patrick left, with J.D. and his latest girlfriend following immediately after, Alex asked Ross if he wanted to meet for lunch.

  “Sure,” Ross said. “If I’m finished with all the real estate stuff in time.”

  “Because I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m not moving to Salt Lake City.”

  Alex laughed. “We’ll talk. See you tomorrow. Garcia’s. Noon.”

  “I’ll be there. Or I’ll call if I won’t.”

  It was after nine when he arrived at his parents’ house in Chandler, and, to his surprise, they were still awake. They seemed to be waiting for him, and from the expression on his dad’s face, it was not to offer him a warm welcome and hearty congratulations. He ignored those signs, however, overlooked the restrained greeting, and told his parents that the sale was a lock, only signatures were needed to make it official. Sitting down on the couch, he talked about how it was nice to see his friends again, and how it was too bad Alex was moving to Salt Lake City.

  That was his father’s cue to jump in. “Why can’t you get a job like that?”

  Ross knew what this was about. And he was proved right as his dad began to lecture him about staying in Magdalena, while his mom nodded her agreement. They didn’t have a counterculture bone in their bodies and, to them, living on his cousin’s organic ranch was tantamount to joining a commune. This was nonsense, his father told him, and he needed to stop playing at being some sort of hippie and start seriously looking for a job. Ross didn’t bother to remind his dad that he had been job hunting. For over a year. And despite the fact that, until he’d been laid off, he’d been far more successful than either his brother or sister, not to mention far more stable, he’d gotten much less support from his parents than his siblings had, either monetarily or emotionally.

  But his parents saw him as some fuzzy-brained freeloader who had no desire to work.

  Ross walked out in the middle of his father’s lecture, not wanting to argue. Ignoring his dad’s demands to “Get back he
re! Right now!”, he closed and locked the door to the hall bathroom and took a long, lingering shower. By the time he got out, as he’d hoped, his parents were in the bedroom, their door closed. He didn’t know whether they were asleep or not, and he didn’t care. He was just glad they weren’t in the living room. His mom hadn’t bothered to make up the couch for him, so he got a sheet, pillow and blanket from the linen closet and did it himself, making as little noise as possible so they wouldn’t come out and lecture him again.

  He fell asleep watching David Letterman.

  There was silence at the breakfast table in the morning. He tried to smooth things over by talking about how he’d be in pretty good financial shape once the condo sale went through, but his father would have none of that. “What I was trying to tell you,” his dad said, “was that you need to stop pretending to be a farmer and get back to looking for a job. Things change fast in the engineering field, and you’ve already been away from it for a year.”

  Ross met his gaze. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Then why aren’t you out looking for work?”

  “I am, Dad. Every day. My resume is on about a million sites, I keep up with openings and hiring calls…”

  “You can’t do everything through a computer. You have to be out there, pounding the pavement, showing your face, going to personnel departments so companies get to know you.”

  “Sure. And I’ll put on my cufflinks and my hamburg—”

  “Don’t you get smart with me, young man!”

  “I’m not looking for a job in 1950, Dad. This is the way it’s done today.”

  “You’re lazy. That’s your problem. I don’t know why you’re out there on a farm instead of here in the city—”

  Ross leaned across the table. “You want to know why? Because I was out of money and couldn’t afford to keep my condo. I almost had to walk away from it and let the bank foreclose, but now, fortunately, I can actually sell it. Lita offered me a place to live. You didn’t, Dad. Neither did Alma or Rick, despite all I’ve done for them. You’re all a bunch of… Forget it.” He stood. “I’m leaving.”