Dakota Blues

by Lynne Spreen

  What would happen to her? Finding another job would be impossible. Prospective employers would take one look at her resumé and know she was expensive. Even if age discrimination weren’t in play, she’d probably have to take a giant pay cut to land a job. The idea of competing with some young thing fresh out of graduate school slayed her. Going on interviews would be like sitting in a bar trying to convince a guy that your clever, witty self should compensate for your wrinkles.

  This is what my life has come to. I come back for my mother’s funeral and I lose my fucking job. They can’t fire me. I’m too valuable. They need me. People know me.

  What am I going to do? Twenty-five years, my whole career, gone in one little phone call? Karen took a deep breath. She would call Lou Cullen at corporate. Lou would overrule Wes. He had to.

  She turned back toward the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a sleepless night, Karen waited until nine and then punched in the number of the executive secretary to the CEO. Even though the office was closed, she knew Janice would answer. Janice was never away from her phone. She worked even harder than Karen.

  She waited while the call connected. Louis Cullen would fix this. Their friendship, or at least their professional acquaintance, spanned two decades. Over the years, she’d kept Lou up to date on the challenges and victories at Newport, and he had been appreciative, sending her encouraging messages in return. Every Christmas he tucked a complimentary, hand-written note into her bonus envelope. It didn’t seem possible he would agree to her firing.

  The phone rang and rang, seconds ticking away, until the executive assistant picked up. “Karen, I heard. I’m so sorry.”

  “You heard already? Does Lou know?”

  “He would have to.”

  “Where can I reach him?”

  “You can’t. I’m serious. He left Friday for a month-long trip to Africa.”

  Holy shit. Karen sagged against her aunt’s table. “Who else can I talk to? What about Freeman or Esperanza?”

  “It’s a holiday. Everybody’s gone.”

  Karen lay on the sofa, fifteen hundred miles from home, jobless, and on the verge of divorce. Her delusions of security had vanished. Everything she knew seemed abnormal; everything she knew seemed to have changed. In middle age she was discovering it was true: a person could do her best at a job for years and still be out on the street because some fat-assed CEO bought himself an island and needed the money.

  Aunt Marie stood in the doorway. “I’m fixing lunch. Are you hungry?”

  “No, thanks.” Karen moved her legs so Aunt Marie could sit down next to her. “I lost my job.”

  “Oh, dear. Just now?”

  “Last night.” Karen stared across the room, unblinking. “It’s like I’m trash. Like I’m nothing.”

  “Can they do that? After all the years you worked there?”

  “They can do whatever the hell they want. Sorry.”

  “You should talk to Lorraine’s lawyers. Maybe they can help you.”

  “It’s not illegal,” Karen said. “I’m old. If they can hire somebody younger and cheaper, they can and do. Why not? It’s business.”

  “Used to be, people would work for one company all their lives,” said Aunt Marie. “Your father did. So did my Henry. They were loyal, and Dakota Gas took care of them.”

  “Yeah, well, those days are gone forever.”

  Aunt Marie brightened. “Maybe now you don’t have to rush home.”

  “I still need to work. I need to go back and find another job.”

  “There are plenty of good jobs in Dickinson, what with all the oil. Maybe you could look here.”

  “I can’t think about it right now.”

  “Maybe in a few days. You’re in shock right now, but once you leave, you don’t know when you’ll ever get back. Think how happy it would make Lena, to know you’re living here and safe.”

  Right now all Karen wanted to do was escape. She’d done her best and where did it get her? All that duty and obligation hadn’t protected her from anything. She wiped her eyes and leaned into the warmth of her aunt’s embrace.

  “Change is hard,” said Aunt Marie. “But in the long run, maybe this is better.” She gave Karen a squeeze. “I don’t want to add any pressure on you, but if you decided to stay, you could have this house back. Free and clear.”

  Karen pushed away. “This is your house.”

  “It’s still in Lena’s name. Let me finish,” she said when Karen began to protest. “Years ago, Lorraine and Jim asked me to move in with them. They even remodeled their place so there’s a mother-in-law’s cottage at the east end of the property now.”

  “I’m not moving back, and even if I were, I wouldn’t kick you out.”

  “You wouldn’t be kicking me out. It would be a blessing. Listen to me, dear. I’m eighty-six and living alone is getting harder. We knew this day would come. So you can have your house back.”

  “I’ll deed it over to you.”

  “Do what you like. I’ll still move in with the kids.”

  Karen wanted to escape, to go somewhere where nothing mattered, nobody knew her, and she was entirely free. For the moment, though, she was stuck in North Dakota. “Can I borrow the car?”

  She hit I-94, a strip of solitary asphalt stretching across the state. Propelled by a sense of claustrophobia, she motored through seemingly endless farmland, racing westward toward the Badlands. The rush of the wind coming in all four windows stung her eyes, but the tears never showed up. A half-hour later, she turned off the freeway at Teddy Roosevelt National Park, passed the visitors’ center, and followed the narrow road along the Little Missouri until, at the end of a tree-shrouded lane, she arrived at a campground. She cut the motor and sat quietly, listening to the shriek of a redtail hawk and the rustle of the cottonwoods.

  What am I going to do?

  No answer.

  Locking the car, she trotted down a willow-edged dirt path until reaching a clearing, past a deep depression in the soft sand, still wet from the bison that had rolled in it after crossing the shallow waters. The wallow was large enough to accommodate a car. Beyond the wallow, the path disappeared over a berm. The herd could be right there, just out of eyesight.

  You’re insane, she thought as she marched up the berm.

  I don’t give a shit, her inner brain responded.

  “Hey!” She yelled, topping the berm. Lucky for the bison, the herd had moved upriver and now grazed along the banks of the Little Missouri, safely out of range. Karen stood glaring at the dozen animals, muttering to herself and thinking she was losing her mind.

  Get it together. You’re not twenty-two anymore.

  Back in the car, she cruised slowly through the park, gathering herself and feeling calmer. She played tourist, stopping at turnouts and viewpoints, using her phone to snap pictures of the red scoria buttes and cap rock pillars. Near the western overlook, a small band of wild mares and foals clattered across the road in front of her, their iron-gray stallion bringing up the rear. He stopped in the middle of the road, nostrils flaring, tossing his head imperiously and pawing the ground. Way too soon, the horse wheeled and charged after the mares. Karen didn’t move, awed by the sight.

  Thank you, she whispered, the breeze stealing her words.

  That night she sat out on the porch with Aunt Marie. The two of them watched fireworks streaking overhead through the dark sky, her very own independence day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Karen knocked on the door and waited. She heard shuffling, and then Frieda appeared through the dusty screen. “I thought you’d come by eventually.” She unhooked the door and walked away, leaving Karen to let herself in.

  Inside, the air was thick with the smell of new paint and cleaning products. The living room was bare and the carpet bore tracks from a vacuum cleaner.

  “Spring cleaning,” said Frieda, hobbling into the kitchen. “I got some of the kids from down at the college to help me.”
/>   “Where did the furniture go?”

  “Want some coffee? I can make fresh.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll get you water, then.” Frieda took a glass from the cupboard and held it in the general direction of the dispenser in the refrigerator door, splashing most of it on the floor. She backed away, the glass still mostly empty. “I hate this stupid thing. I told Sandy I didn’t want it. Get me a plain old icebox, I said to her. I said I don’t need anything fancy. But no. Girl’s got more money than brains.”

  Karen tore a couple of paper towels off a roll and wiped up the floor, then washed her hands, filled two glasses with ice water, and set them on the table near the window. While she worked, Frieda stuck a knife into the center of the pie and sawed crooked lines toward the edges until she had managed to carve out two uneven slices. “Get some plates from that cupboard there. The whipped cream’s in the Frigidaire.”

  Karen sat down and took a bite of the pie. Either processed food was improving or her standards were slipping. It was delicious.

  “Have some whipped cream.”

  “I shouldn’t.” Karen took the can from Frieda.

  “Stop worrying. You can do with a few more pounds.”

  “I’m glad you think so, because ever since I got here I’ve been eating.” Looking around, Karen noticed the kitchen counters were bare. The walls held no pictures or knick-knacks of any kind. Even the window over the sink lacked curtains, although she could see nail holes in the upper corners.

  Frieda nodded out the window. “There’s the Roadtrek. When we’re done I’ll show it to you.”

  The RV, parked under an aluminum canopy, resembled a large passenger van whose top and back end had been extended. The roof sloped upwards behind the driver, giving the inside an extra foot and a half of headroom and allowing for a bank of skylights along the front. The tires were shaded by big square pieces of plywood, and the windshield was covered by a heavy vinyl drape. The light-blue paint gleamed.

  Frieda juggled a ringful of keys until she managed to unlock the double doors on the passenger side of the van. “Take a look here.”

  Karen opened both doors wide and stepped inside, half-expecting to see an overheated, dusty cavern sprinkled with mouse turds. Instead, the interior looked almost new. She helped Frieda up the step.

  “You see how nice it still is? Russell kept everything looking good.” Frieda’s fingers moved slowly over the blue velour, coaxing memories from the fabric. Then she pointed at the glove box. “In there’s the manual. You can read it while I get some air in here.” She moved toward the back, cranking open windows.

  Karen slipped into the driver’s seat and began thumbing the pages. The van was called a Roadtrek 190 Versatile because of all the ways the interior could be rearranged to suit the traveler’s needs. In the rear, for example, a dining table stood between two bench seats. At night, the table could be stowed and the benches made into a bed. In the van’s midsection, a person could shower in the walkway between the galley and bathroom by closing expandable folding doors on both ends and letting the water run out through a drain in the floor. Toward the front, the driver and passenger seats swiveled around backward so the campers could eat at a small, removable table. If needed, the shotgun seat and the one behind it could be connected to make another bed, and that area partitioned off from the rest of the van for privacy. It even had an awning outside that would shade the entire passenger side of the vehicle, creating a porch over the double doors. “It looks like it’s never been used.”

  “We used it plenty, but Russell kept it up. He even built the carport so it would be out of the weather.”

  Karen felt around the base of the seat until she found the lever that released it to swivel around. Facing backwards into the van, she noted that the galley was equipped with a sink, stove, microwave, convection oven, and a small refrigerator. A television hung from an overhead cabinet, easily visible from the pivoting captain’s chairs in the front of the van. A control panel behind the driver contained LCD displays for power, water, lighting, and temperature. If a person wanted to take a nice slow trip across the country, the Roadtrek would do the job.

  “Even though I don’t drive it anymore, I have Nate come by twice a year and look it over, so it’s in good shape,” Frieda said. “What do you think of my chariot, young lady?”

  “I think you could get a pretty good price for it.”

  “You’re dodging me.” Frieda shook a finger at Karen. “You know what I’m asking. Now that you’ve seen it, doesn’t it make you want to go?”

  “Camping would be hard on my back.”

  “I can get any drugs you need. One of the benefits of old age.” Frieda sat at the dinette. “So many memories. Do you remember that one year Russell and I went with your family and a bunch of other people to Yosemite?”

  Karen nodded, but the memory was vague.

  “You were little. But maybe–do you remember the Firefall up on the cliff? They don’t do that anymore but it was something.”

  “I do remember that.”

  Frieda nodded. “But then the government put a stop to it.”

  “I remember us singing.”

  “That’s right. Even though there were hundreds of people watching in the meadow, it would always get real quiet before they shoved the coals off the cliff. And everybody would sing ‘America the Beautiful.’” Frieda’s eyes were closed. “I always thought that should be our national anthem.”

  When Frieda went to stand, Karen grasped her arm, her skin cold even on this warm afternoon, and helped her step to the ground. Frieda locked the van and turned toward the house.

  “Can you imagine being out under the stars at night? I hate hotels. For my money, if you’ve got an RV and the weather’s nice like it is now, why, you open out the awning and eat outside. You listen to the birds and or you wave to the neighbors as they walk by. You can make all your meals in your own little kitchen. You save money, you don’t have to dress up, you eat when and what you want.”

  Karen heard ravens squawking and looked up. High overhead, a pair cavorted in the warming breezes, climbing up and diving together, over and over again. Suddenly one flipped over and glided upside down for several seconds before righting itself. She blinked with surprise. “Did you see that?”

  “They do that all the time around here.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Probably lot of things you haven’t seen.” Frieda started up the porch steps. “You’re missing out on life, girl. You need to get out on the road.”

  “I have obligations.”

  “You might be passing up an opportunity. Lots of people say they do their best thinking on the road. Something about the whatchamacallit–the lizard part of your brain–working while the thinking part runs free. Maybe it would help you figure things out. Anyway, when was your last vacation?”

  Karen didn’t answer.

  “You can’t remember, can you? You need some time off, but you’re afraid to take it. You think if you keep your nose to the grindstone, nothing bad’ll happen, but you have to learn there’s no guarantees. Lord, I have to catch my breath.”

  Frieda sat down on the porch swing and gestured for Karen to join her. “I don’t know if you remember but I worked at the city office. Lena brought you there to see me a couple times. Then you got older and you’d be with your friends, hanging out at the dime store next to where I worked. Sometimes I’d go in there to pick something up and I’d see you.”

  Karen smiled. “I liked the soda fountain. The root beer floats were the best.”

  “You were always quiet. Seemed like the smart one. Unlike those gals you hung around with. You never got in any trouble. Lena was proud of you. I thought you seemed old for your age.”

  Karen had in fact felt as if she were an old person from a very young age, getting good grades, earning her own money babysitting, and working as a Candy Striper at the local hospital. She hung around with girls who
offered superficial friendship in a world defined by adolescent superficiality, but it was the only available hedge against loneliness.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get back.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

  “And now you’re sparking with that boy Curtis. You know he’s never going to marry again, but he’d be good company.”

  “I’m not sparking with anybody. I’m married.”

  “You didn’t let that stop you, from what I heard.”

  Karen started to get up. “Aunt Marie has a bunch of relatives coming over tonight.”

  “Let me tell you something.” Frieda stared off across the yard, past the Roadtrek and the fence, to the open fields beyond, where a man drove a tractor up and down rows. Her head bobbed on her crepey neck, and her hands shook. “I feel bad about all you’ve been through, but it was lucky for me when you came into town. The minute I saw you, I got a feeling we were going to make this trip. Lena knew my ways. Now she’s gone. You’re all I’ve got.”

  Karen noticed the scent of lilac, and saw the vines overhead were dripping with the delicate blue clusters. She stood and plucked a blossom, holding it close to her nose.

  “But I’m not in the best health and in case you didn’t notice, I’m old. You should think about that while you’re deciding what to do. I’m ninety-one years old this October, if I make it. I’ve had a good life. I miss Russell but I don’t stop living.”

  Karen didn’t answer.

  “Who knows why things happen? Life is funny. So when you showed up, I tell myself, ‘If I can get her to take me on the road, it’ll be good for her and I’ll be able to see my great-grandbaby.’ Anyway, I don’t know who else can take me there. If they’re young, they’re working. If they’re old, they can’t drive any better than me. You’re right in the middle. You’re perfect.” Frieda paused, her birdlike chest heaving with the effort of her speech.