For the next month while the cottonseed grew into plants, the three of us became a family during the days. At night Jim would always find his way back into my bed after Jima was taken home. We became secret lovers. I ran into Picky and Pilly a time or two when I’d go into town for groceries. They were always cordial but retained a certain level of suspicion in their eyes. Polly was bed ridden and Jason spent most of his time tending to her needs.
My vegetable garden had produced more than I could handle. In the mornings, when Jim took Jima to school or tended to his own fields I would gather the vegetables in a big basket and put them inside the back tree line. By noon the vegetables would be replaced by a bundle of wild flowers, or spices, and on occasion freshly baked bread and churned butter. For a second here and there I allowed myself to believe the fantasies had come true. But, inevitably the crew would be around to remind me that happiness should never be trusted.
By the middle of June, the heat was vicious, and not an ounce of moisture had hit the earth for two months. Cotton farming is basic; the plants thrive off minimal amounts of water or care but there are times when water is important. My plants, having been planted three weeks late, were still healthy. Jim’s plants were a month older, and the drought had left the leaves dry. If they didn’t get a good amount of water soon the bolls wouldn’t have time to develop, and that would mean no cotton. Jim had irrigation but the well was running low. He only watered the plants during the dead of night giving the plants time to soak up the moisture and Jim a good reason for not being home. We weren’t fooling anyone other than ourselves. The looks I got in town told me everyone knew our little secret and few, if any, approved.
10.
It was the twenty-ninth of July, two thousand and twelve. The moon was full, and Jim was sitting outside on a lawn chair (hidden between two trees) with a shotgun across his lap. During the previous few days we’d woken up to puddles of water in the fields without clouds, rain, or irrigation to create them. I didn’t know how, but I knew who was watering the fields. It was the final straw for Jim. He had become obsessed with the need for facts. This would be the third night he’d spent outside daring the perpetrators of goodness to show themselves. I tired of his stakeout within minutes of the first night and now found myself bored and alone without anything other than my mumbling mind to keep me occupied. I had tried multiple times to get the TV to work, but without cable all I received was white noise.
I turned on the radio and listened to the only FM station with a strong enough signal to reach the west Texas plains. The droning country music gave me a better understanding of the slow nature of people who listened to it hours on end. I flipped the switch to AM and listened to the last farm report of the day and was pleasantly surprised to hear a promo for Texas Today, an insightful discussion of statewide issues.
The first story was about the Texas Rangers vs. Red Sox baseball game. Texas took that game nine to one. The second story was about politics, and the run off election held that day. Texas always did know the proper priority of events. I looked around the kitchen for a snack while the political pundits speculated their party’s win. The fourth story caught my attention.
“It’s nine thirty-eight, and next we have a follow-up to Wednesday’s car bombing death of CIA agent Frank Argot. Former Agent Timothy Todd, Argot’s partner, along with his wife Doctor Marla Todd are still missing and wanted for questioning by the CIA. The FBI along with the CIA and all local law enforcement are not commenting on the tragedy. Agent Argot was a single father of two young girls. In other news, today was the one-hundredth day without rain and the twelfth day with temperatures above the century mark.”
The shock to my system was immeasurable. I was frozen with fear as the room, and my thoughts spun. I started to search for more information, turning the dial and stopping for any signal I could hear in hopes there was a rogue station breaking through the radio waves with nothing but news to tell. I fumbled through the newspaper Jim had brought inside for his daily sit on the toilet, but it was from the previous Sunday. The reporter had said it happened on Wednesday.
“It happened on Wednesday, yesterday,” I said. “Facts—Tim and Marla are still alive, on the run. It happened yesterday and what were you doing yesterday while all this mayhem was taking place? That’s right you were playing house. The dutiful wife and sex slave skank all rolled into one.” I wanted to hurt myself as my mind visualized Tim and Marla being tortured by the government to give up their fortune telling freak.
I turned on my cell phone and attempted to open the Internet, but it wouldn’t connect. I gathered Jim’s clothes, wallet, and keys then headed outside. He jumped to his feet waving the shotgun around when I slammed the door behind me. “Point that thing down before you hurt someone,” I said, and handed him his belongings.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“You’re going home.”
“What?” he asked and scrambled to hold onto the clothes and gun without dropping either.
“I said you’re going home.”
“I know but why?” he asked.
“You need to spend time with your family.”
“It’s ten o’clock at night they’re all in bed by now.”
“Then, you’ll be there for breakfast in the morning,” I said walking back to the house.
“Did I do something?” he asked.
“No I did,” I said.
I lay in bed that night making mental lists of what I’d do the next day. I needed some national newspapers and a source of constant information, which meant cable TV and Internet. I was worried sick about Tim and Marla, and as much as I wanted to know I didn’t want to leave again. Tim said if the shit hit the fan (and it had) I should wait for them to contact me, and that’s exactly what I’d planned on doing. Act normal and wait, but in the mean time I needed information.
By nine the next morning I had eaten breakfast, harvested the garden, and was driving east on I-20, thirty miles west of Abilene. I’d picked up an Abilene newspaper at a gas station in Anson. There were no articles about the CIA bombing or Tim and Marla, but there was an ad for Total Electronics; everything you need to keep you technically up to snuff. I liked the tag line but what attracted me the most was the twenty percent discount I’d get for presenting the ad to my cashier when checking out.
The store was small, and at the end of a strip mall situated on College Street in north Abilene. The sign on the door said they opened at ten. It was a quarter past, and I was the only customer. I looked around at computers and realized I hadn’t the first notion of what I would need. I went up to the cash register where a zit-faced nerd was playing games on his cell phone.
“Hi, I wonder if you could help me with something?” I asked.
Without looking up or skipping a note of the beat his thumbs were tapping out on the phone he asked, “purchase, repair or tutorial?”
“A little of each.”
He pointed to a desk in the back of the store where an extremely large black man was sitting behind a trio of computer monitors. “Fat Boy’s the know it all.”
I walked to the back of the store and stood in front of Fat Boy’s desk. “Hi, I’m Shanna. The kid at the register said you could help me.”
“I’ll be right with you,” he said with a quick look and grin. “Give me one second. There, all done. If I can’t help you, you can’t be helped,” he extended his hand and I accepted the gesture with a firm handshake. “What’ll be?”
“I live in the country,” I said.
“No cable, no cell, didley squat?” he asked.
I confirmed and he shut off his monitors with a master switch. “Lets look at a sat dish, you could probably pick up some FTA, won’t give you much—won’t give you Internet—you’ll need a provider for that. What do you like to watch?”
“I need news stations,” I said.
“God knows there’s plenty of them out there,” he said. “What are you using? PC? Mac?”
“Neither. I’v
e been trying to get a signal on my cell, but I can’t even get enough bars to carry on a complete conversation,” I said.
“I hear you sister, and I can hook you up. You don’t need one of those high priced me pads we’ve got a netbook that does the same thing at a fraction of the price.”
“Ok,” I said. “Hook me up.”
I watched Fat Boy walk in circles around the store grabbing items from the shelves and bringing them to a counter next to his desk. He had a light step considering his overwhelming size and moved with smooth precision. The choices were made, and the counter was filled with boxes and cables to connect what was in the boxes in order to give the devices an ability to capture invisible signals that gave me access to the rest of the world and most importantly knowledge.
“How hard will this be to install?” I asked. “Does it come with instructions?”
“We install,” he said.
“Can you do it today?”
“Where do you live? Tomorrow’s Saturday, I can grab a ride over in the morning and have you fixed up by noon.” He handed me a pad and pencil. “Write down your address and phone number. I’ll call you when I’m five minutes out.”
“I live in Sunny.”
“Where’s that? Is that out near Lytle Lake?” he asked. “I know that area.”
“No it’s a town. Sunny, Texas. It’s west of here.”
“A town? How far west?”
“About forty miles.”
“I don’t have a car. Isn’t there someone in town that could help you? Your husband, or a boyfriend could probably figure it out.”
“I don’t have either, and I can’t trust anyone in town to do a good job. It’s a farming community,” I said.
“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t have a car, how would I get home?”
“I’ll drive you both ways. I can pay extra for your trouble. I’ll even make you lunch.”
“Lunch?” his brows rose with interest.
“Whatever you want,” I said.
“Agreed,” he said. We shook on it, and I paid using my twenty percent off ad, while Fat Boy loaded the car.
The drive back to Sunny took us a little under an hour. He told me more about my car than I cared to know and even more about the stereo. Who knew it took over twenty connections using forty wires with three different colors—four if you’re using tweeters—to install properly.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Fat Boy,” he answered.
“You’re big, but you’re not fat. What does your Momma call you?”
“Kevin. My name is Kevin Stewart but Ma’s the only one who calls me Kevin, my friends call me Fat Boy.”
“Did you go to school in Abilene? Where's home?” I asked.
“I grew up in Houston. My mother works as a social worker for the state. When I graduated from high school, she got a job in Abilene so I moved with her.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope, my dad died when I was a baby. He was a cop. It’s just Mom and me. I graduated from Hardin Simmons, got my masters from McMurry, and now I’m going to apply for the Doctorates program at Abilene Christian.”
“You must really like Abilene.”
“Not really but I like Ma and this way I can get my education and look after her. Besides, I don’t have to pay my loans back until I stop going to school.” He turned on the radio and searched to find a station.
“The country station’s all I’ve been able to get so far,” I said.
“You have OnStar. See this red button?” He put his finger on a little red button next to the radio and pushed it. “I’m going to get you some free time.”
I heard static through the speakers and then a female voice. “OnStar this is Debbie, how can I help you?”
“Yes Debbie, can you direct me to your sales department?” he asked. More static ran through the speakers.
“This is Michael would you like to start your thirty day free trial.”
“Yes we would thank you Michael,” Fat Boy answered.
“No problem, give me a second to pull up your records. Here we go. Am I speaking with Timothy Todd?” he asked.
Kevin turned and gave me a look of confusion mixed with suspicion. I panicked, pulled off the road and killed the engine as Michael spoke. “Mister Todd, are you there?”
“Hey,” Kevin protested grabbing onto to anything that would stop his foreword momentum into the dash. “What was that?”
“Look,” I said. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. I pressed them on my legs, which were also shaking. “Don’t mess with my shit ok? Let’s keep this simple we’re not friends. You’re doing a job for me. Got it Kevin?”
“Got it,” he said. “Who’s Timothy Todd?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “The car’s used maybe it was the previous owner. Does it matter?”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he said.
You’ve got to stop making stupid mistakes; I admonished myself. I should have read the owner’s manual and known every detail of this car so that something like what just happened wouldn’t have. The only part of the debacle that made me feel better was that Tim had made a mistake by keeping his named attached to the car. It was not like Tim to overlook even the most minor detail, but at least I wasn’t worthy of complete blame. Kevin was curious about Tim’s name. He didn’t want to appear curious, but he was. Maybe he’d heard the story on the news. Maybe there was a public manhunt for him. My regret was mounting, and now I was taking a stranger to my house. I felt as though I were at a point of no return. I had to go forward and deal with whatever consequence Kevin’s inclusion caused.
We pulled onto the path that led to the house, which was now considered my driveway and stopped in front of the tree line. Kevin got out of the car and walked to the fields.
“Is all this yours?”
“It is. With the house, and the hills it’s a good amount of land.”
“Is it all cotton?”
“Nothing else will grow out here.”
“Show me inside and we’ll get busy,” he said and followed me to the house. “Farmers eat a lot of beef don’t they?”
“I’ll set out some steaks and cook them on the grill while you’re working,” I said acknowledging his hint. “I’ll make some hash browns and beans on the side.”
“Sounds good,” Kevin said. He seemed more interested in the house than he did the food. “Is this a family homestead? When was it built? I love the wood, and the craftsmanship is remarkable. The front garden is perfect and the smell of the roses mixed with rosemary is brilliant. Did someone in your family build it?”
“My Grandfather’s family came to Sunny in the mid eighteen hundreds. I’m not sure who built the house or how long it’s been here. It’s just an old farmhouse without much history, but it beats pissing my money away on a rental.”
“Seen any ghosts?” he asked with a snicker.
“Nothing like that,” I said. Not wanting more chitchat I added, “the TV’s right here as you can see.”
“I’ll get the stuff.” Kevin unloaded the car, and I wandered around to the back yard trying to get phone reception. I needed to call Jim. I didn’t want to apologize for sending him home the previous night. I needed to ensure he’d stay away for the day and the only way to accomplish that was eating crow.
“Hello,” Jim said.
“Jim? Can you hear me?” I had him, but the line was scratchy. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I needed some time alone, to think about things. I guess things are just going too fast for me.” I sounded like one of those whiney bitches on a mushy primetime soap opera.
“What?” Jim asked.
“Can you hear me Jim?”
“A little. Did you say something?”
“Just that I needed some time,” I said.
“I can’t hear you. Polly’s in the hospital we brought her to Sweetwater Memorial last night. Are you there?”
“I’m here. Is she ok?�
�
“She had a pretty nasty fall, hit her head on the floor and knocked herself out. You there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“If you hadn’t sent me home, she would’ve died on that bathroom floor. Not one person woke up. Hell if it weren’t for her fuzzy pink slippers sticking out of the bathroom door, I probably wouldn’t have found her myself.”
“Thank the lord and pink slippers,” I said.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Nothing.”
“I’m going to be here for the day, and probably through tomorrow. We’re waiting on the Doctor.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
“Jim,” I said with hesitation.
“Yeah Shanna what is it?”
“Stay tough,” I said. I wanted to say I love you. I wanted to say stay with me forever. I couldn’t say any of the things I was feeling. This was just another bridge I was being forced to burn.
“I’m tough,” he said and the phone disconnected.
Jim loved his family. He had always felt a deep loyalty and responsibility for their wellbeing. I felt sad for him and—to a certain extent—Polly. I also felt a great wave of relief. I wouldn’t have to explain Kevin, and with that accomplishment came hunger. I started the charcoal in the grill with some mesquite twigs.
The steaks sizzled while my mind occupied itself with thoughts of running. I would wait a few days for Tim to contact me and if he didn’t, I’d leave. Meanwhile, I’d at least be able to follow the news. I would have to ease out of Jim’s life swiftly; there was no time to waste. It wouldn’t be easy for him. I was confident the people in town would make it harder for him with their I told you so’s. Sunny would never be my home again. I heard the backdoor slam, but I didn’t hear Kevin’s footsteps coming to me. I looked down at the steaks and could no longer hear them sizzle. I saw Kevin’s lips moving yet all I heard were Joseph and The Preacher fighting for attention. This session was different. As usual, the crew took over my hearing but this time my vision was fading. I was dizzy and felt as if I were being robotically driven to find the notebooks and pens. I bumped into the empty boxes Kevin had left on the floor. He followed me, tapping my shoulder to get my attention. I went into my room and sat on the bed.
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