by Pamela Morsi
Wilma nodded. She’d heard enough stories and met enough fellows down on their luck to believe it.
“If you want to cowboy and you don’t inherit a place,” he said, “then you’re either a rich man playing at cattle ranching or you’re working a second job to support yourself.”
Wilma nodded. “We may have all been created equal,” she said. “But that’s the last time the field is level.”
Max swirled the last piece of his chicken fried steak into the thick white gravy.
“That was a real hard lesson for a young man,” he told her. “When you’ve dreamed and hoped and planned something for as long as you can remember and then suddenly see it completely out of reach…” His voiced trailed off and he shook his head.
“You must have been very disappointed,” Wilma said.
“Disappointed?” Max peered at her over the top of his glasses. “I wasn’t disappointed. I was mad as hell!”
His tone was inarguable. He shook his head as he recalled that time.
“I was in a fury,” he said. “All I wanted to do was curse and scream and smash my fists through things. It was my first real face-to-face encounter with the reality that life is unfair. I knew there was injustice in the world and I’d seen plenty of cause for grievance. But it had never, in my short life, directly affected me or been so irrefutable and without remedy.”
“What did you do?” Wilma asked.
“I did what angry young men always do,” he replied. “I drank too much, drove too fast and lived too wild. I was at the honky-tonks night after night, sleeping most of my days. Working only when I had to and trying not to think further ahead than my next glass of Jack.”
Wilma took a swig of her beer, noticing for the first time, that he always drank iced tea. She’d assumed it was because he was headed back to work. And that might be true. Or it could be more.
“My friends, my family,” Max continued. “They didn’t know what to make of it. I’d always been responsible, dependable. They didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand it either. I wanted to be the person that I’d always been. But I could no longer see any reason to be that way. My future was going to be less than I wanted it to be. So, as far as I was concerned, it might as well be no future at all.”
“Kids do that,” Wilma said. “They don’t know where they’re going, so they just go crazy. It’s almost a stage of life.”
“It’s a stage that lots of folks never live long enough to get past. And those that do, have often wasted so much of their life that they’re playing catch up from then on.”
“Are you playing catch up?” she asked.
Max shook his head. “I was lucky, damn lucky,” he answered. “One morning my head just suddenly cleared and I saw that while owning a ranch was the thing I wanted most, it wasn’t the only thing I could do.”
“So what happened.”
“I decided I’d go into the army,” Max said.
Wilma nodded. “Lots of young men do that,” she said.
Max agreed. “Fighting was something I thought I could sink my teeth into. But as it turned out, I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“While I was waiting at the recruiter’s office I heard that if I went to A&M and got into the corps of cadets, they’d let me enlist as an officer. That sounded like a better idea than being a grunt.”
“You went to Texas A&M?”
“I’m an Aggie,” he admitted. “Just don’t start with the jokes. I’ve heard them all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wilma assured him.
“I liked College Station,” Max said. “And I learned two things there.”
“Only two things?”
“Two that made the difference,” he answered.
“Tell me.”
“One. I don’t ever want anything to do with any kind of military life of any kind.”
He was so adamant it made Wilma laugh.
“And the second thing you learned?”
“That I’m pretty good with numbers, especially the ones with dollar signs attached,” he said. “So after graduation, I worked around in some big companies for a couple of years and saved enough to open my own CPA firm. I’ve been doing business in a little place a few blocks south of here ever since.”
Wilma felt a surge of pride and admiration. Her heart was fluttering in the fond adulation more often found among the seriously naive. She almost wanted to applaud. She liked Max. She really liked him. He was warm and genuine, honest and honorable. Max hadn’t frittered his life away on bad luck and disappointment. He’d wrestled it to the ground and made it something of which he had much cause to be proud.
“And now, you have your place in Uvalde, your own ranch, your own cattle,” she pointed out. “Everything that you hoped for, you made happen.”
For a second, she didn’t realize that something was wrong. Even when she did sense that the atmosphere had changed, it was only that the man across from her had suddenly become less relaxed. He hadn’t moved a muscle, yet he was on full alert, wary. It wasn’t until he spoke, so softly and calmly, that she realized how absolutely up to her eyeballs she had stepped in a pile of it.
“Wilma,” he said, quietly. “I never said a word to you about my land out in Uvalde.”
13
The deadline for vacating the house was approaching at breakneck speed and Marvin Dix had yet to give Ellen any hope at all.
“We’re going to try mediation,” the lawyer told her when she finally tracked him down. “You could never afford to fight them in court, so we’re going to try to make some kind of deal.”
“Just so it’s a deal where we don’t have to move,” Ellen told him.
“I dunno,” Dix told her, less than hopefully. “They’ve filed every kind of brief and motion I’ve ever heard of. You wouldn’t believe the pile of papers that have landed on my desk. And this is just for the hearing!”
She’d left a dozen voice messages for the man on both his office phone and his cell. It was only when Yolanda showed up with his home number that she’d even got to talk to him.
“This is the part of the job I hate,” Dix told her. “I really don’t like the paperwork.”
Ellen was knocked for a loop by that statement. Despite what could be viewed weekly on TV dramas, it was Ellen’s observation that the practice of law was basically all paperwork.
“Have you found the chink in their armor yet?” she asked him. “Do you know how we’re going to fight this?”
“I just haven’t been able to get all of it read yet,” Marvin admitted.
Ellen heard the lawyer’s words and glanced heavenward.
What’s going on up there? she mentally demanded. I pray for someone to represent me and you send a graduate of the Lameness Online School of Lawyering.
To Marvin Dix himself she said, “We are really counting on you. If you don’t think you’re up to the job, you have to tell me so that I have time to find someone else.”
Dix immediately went into sales mode.
“Now, don’t you worry about a thing,” he said. “I’m on the job and I can do the worrying for both of us.”
Even two worriers might not be enough. They might be out on the street.
“Don’t let it come to that!”
She knew it sounded more like a threat than a prayer, but she figured that God knew exactly how she felt.
Ellen flipped through the file of the Chinese restaurant on Durango Street, but she couldn’t keep her mind focused. She’d already lost one house and a business and a lifestyle and a husband. She couldn’t just let this go. If they lost this house, she feared her family would fall apart. Where would they go? How would they live?
If Paul were still here, none of this would be happening.
The thought came to her unexpectedly, and it was inappropriate. Paul had nothing to do with Wilma’s in-laws or Mr. Post’s will. Thinking he had wasn’t all that unusual. Ellen had gotten in the habit of thinking that every bad thi
ng in the world could somehow be traced back to Paul’s death. It was not true. She knew that. But it seemed that way.
Looking back on those days before he was sick, before cancer became a permanent resident of their home, the world, in memory, had been imbued with a rosy glow. Somehow they had always been safe, life had been good when Paul was still with her.
Ellen wanted to cry. She wanted to roll on the ground and howl with grief and misery. She was sure it would make her feel so much better. But it was no longer possible. She would always be sad about losing Paul. She would always miss him and wish he was still walking around. But the grief, the mind-numbing, all enclosing grief was gone. It was, in itself, a kind of refuge, but now it too was gone. It was time to face up to the world now. But Ellen didn’t want to face up to the world, she wanted to retreat from it.
“Tired of living, scared of dying,” she quoted. But in all honesty, living was more scary than dying. Dying seemed so easy. That’s why Paul had done it. She knew that. He was so worn out, so spent, so exhausted from the fight, he just let himself die.
Ellen wanted to do the same. But she couldn’t. Unlike Paul, who knew that Ellen would take care of everyone he loved, she had no one to take care of those around her. Wilma could hardly manage on her own. Amber was throwing her life in the Dumpster with both hands. And Jet…Jet needed her so much. Ellen was the one reasonable, functioning adult in the child’s life.
That was a scary thought. Ellen’s life was barely firing on half its cylinders. If she was the functioning one, Wilma and Amber were really looking bad.
Inexplicably her thoughts turned to Mrs. Stanhope. She was a woman clinging to the past with a death grip.
Ellen had been by her house several mornings since the revelation of the facts of her husband’s death. Mrs. Stanhope was sometimes perfectly calm and rational for the entire visit. But more often than not she drifted into the strange dream in which she lived. Though their conversations were mundane in the extreme, they were all so very pleasant. They talked about the garden and the weather. Mostly they talked about their husbands.
Ellen had relayed story after story of her life with Paul. Their struggles with the business. Their joys with Amber. Vacations and Christmases. Lazy summer days by the pool. Hectic Aprils doing taxes in shifts.
Mrs. Stanhope reciprocated with tales of society life in the San Antonio of the 1950s. Her stories were witty and often barbed with humor—mocking conventions.
Ellen was delighted to listen, but she also talked because Mrs. Stanhope seemed to enjoy it. It was a strange friendship—one Ellen would never have sought out. But she valued it. There was no one else that allowed Ellen to dwell so pleasantly in the past for so long.
Yolanda came tapping on her door.
“Mrs. Stanhope is causing trouble down at Helgalita’s. They want you to get there as quick as you can.”
“Me?” Ellen asked, looking up from the file. “Why haven’t they called Irma?”
Yolanda shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess Helgalita thought you were closer.”
Ellen was on her feet immediately and out the door.
“Call Irma,” she said. “Tell her we’re on our way.”
Yolanda nodded and picked up the phone.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said to Max as she hurried past.
He waved her off. “Take as much time as you need.”
His gracious offer wasn’t all that welcome. Ellen didn’t want to deal with Mrs. Stanhope’s delusions. She was okay when she was just another lonely old woman. But when she was acting crazy, Ellen was truly at a loss as to what to do.
Come on, God. Give the woman a little relief from this. And Helgalita and I could use a break as well.
Half a block from the restaurant, Ellen could see the little circle of customers cowering on the sidewalk at the doorway.
Ellen excused herself and walked right through them. She could hear Mrs. Stanhope before she saw her.
“There is absolutely no excuse for this,” the woman was saying angrily. “How are we expected to sell merchandise when you’ve crowded the store with these tables, allowing these people to eat here. Don’t they have homes to go to? If they are not customers of the store they needn’t be on the property.”
“Lady, it’s not your property!”
Helgalita’s voice had already risen to an irrational shriek. She was holding a dish towel as if she intended any moment to utilize it as a weapon. Ellen was fairly certain that while Helgalita’s reactions might be justified, they exacerbated Mrs. Stanhope’s problem.
“You need to be more mindful of our current situation, Madam,” Mrs. Stanhope scolded. “If my husband cannot sell these goods then he can’t meet his payroll. That isn’t just untenable for us. Your family and those of all our employees will suffer as well.”
“Having some crazy woman stalking my business is more suffering than I deserve in a lifetime!” Helgalita complained loudly, throwing her hands up in the air.
“What are you doing just sitting there?” Mrs. Stanhope asked of a man drinking coffee in the corner. “This is not an icehouse, sir. Please do your loitering elsewhere.”
“Leave my customers alone!” Helgalita screeched.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Ellen interrupted as she stepped between them.
Both women turned to look at her.
Helgalita spoke first. “She’s in my place again, scaring away my business and—”
Ellen held up her hand to silence the woman.
“Mrs. Stanhope,” she said with very deliberate calm. “I can take care of this for you. Are you ready to go home now?”
The woman looked at Helgalita and then at Ellen. She heaved a great sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she said. “Yes, please take me home. There is so much to do. We have a dinner party this evening with the Geyers. I came to remind Lyman.”
“I’ll let him know,” Ellen told her as she gently took the woman’s arm and eased her toward the door.
“You keep that crazy old lady out of my place or I’m calling the cops on her!” Helgalita called out as the final shot.
Ellen didn’t even bother to respond.
Out on the sidewalk, they made their way through the curious crowd of onlookers. Mrs. Stanhope’s head was held high. Ellen was defensive. They walked arm in arm down the street, the scent of summer flowers in the air.
“It’s certainly hot enough today,” Mrs. Stanhope said.
“Yes,” Ellen agreed. “Yes it is.”
“Who is that woman?” Mrs. Stanhope asked. “I don’t remember Lyman hiring her. Yet she’s at the store every time I visit these days.”
“Her name is Helgalita,” Ellen told her simply. “She owns a little Mexican restaurant.”
“Well, she certainly is a peevish sort, isn’t she?”
Mrs. Stanhope had squeezed up her face as if just biting into a green persimmon.
Ellen chuckled. Then the image of the furious little fat woman ready to attack Mrs. Stanhope with a dish towel was suddenly the funniest thing she’d ever seen. Once she started laughing she couldn’t seem to stop. And as contagious as humor is, Mrs. Stanhope was shortly laughing with her, and that was even funnier.
The two of them were weaving like two drunks on the sidewalk gasping for breath as they shook, practically cackling with humor. Ellen thought her sides might burst open.
But when she glanced up she saw Irma coming toward them, her face set in stern lines, she managed to get hold of herself immediately.
Mrs. Stanhope was far less easily curtailed.
“Irma dear, hello,” she called out. Apparently delighted to see her niece. She wanted her to join in on the fun.
“This is the best laugh I’ve had in…oh, heavens, I don’t even know when,” she said.
Irma managed to crack a tight smile.
“I’m glad you are out having a nice time, Aunt Edith,” she said. “You told me you were going to take a nap in your room.”
“Oh, did I?” Mrs. Stanhope asked. “Well, perhaps I still will. My heavens what a card Violet is. We’ve always had such fun together.” The woman stopped abruptly and turned to look at Ellen, her expression curious.
“I called you Violet,” she said. “But you are not Violet.”
“I’m Ellen.”
“Ellen,” Mrs. Stanhope said the name as if it were totally new to her. “Ah…have you met Irma.”
“Yes.”
The two nodded to each other politely.
“Since Irma is here, I’ll leave you with her,” Ellen said.
“You’re not staying for tea?”
“No, I must get back to work.”
Mrs. Stanhope’s brow wrinkled, puzzled.
“Do you work for my husband?” she asked.
“I work for Max Roper,” Ellen answered. “Do you remember? You had coffee with me in my office.”
“Max Roper? Yes, of course, Max Roper,” Mrs. Stanhope said. “He is working on a business deal with my husband. He’s looking for a buyer for the dairy farm Lyman’s parents left him.” Mrs. Stanhope laughed as if she’d said something funny.
“I told Lyman, if we can’t sell it, we can always run it. I married him when he was a dairyman, I wouldn’t mind being a dairyman’s wife.”
She grinned at Irma and chuckled lightly.
“You know Lyman,” she said. “He wouldn’t hear a word of it. He said he’d rather die first.”
Ellen could see immediately when the words from Mrs. Stanhope’s own mouth reached her ears. The words tore at her heart and darkened her visage. Her brow furrowed with sad confusion.
Ellen and Irma shared a quick glance at each other. And then focused their concern completely on the woman between them.
“Irma, I believe I’d like to go home now,” Mrs. Stanhope said. “It must be my anemia again. I am just so tired.”
“Lean on me,” Irma said, putting her arm around the woman’s shoulders.
“I’m not sure that I can make it home,” Mrs. Stanhope told her.