Finding Hope in Texas

by Ryan T. Petty

  “Why not? It could’ve helped you in so many ways.”

  She hit the steering wheel hard with the palm of her hand, her head shaking violently as her red hair waved. “Jesus, haven’t you heard me? I wasn’t going to be your dad.” She sat back against her seat and stared out the window, looking away from me. “God, you should’ve heard your grandparents go on and on about him when we were kids. He won this award or got this scholarship. They had him on a pedestal. I was ‘still trying to find my way’ they would tell their friends. I couldn’t deal with it and I knew I was never going to live up to their standards, so I left. I got on bus and took off without ever looking back. I’d given up and they’d given up on me.”

  “Dad never did.”

  She gave a snort. “No, he never did. He sent me money from work that he held for me, something he never told your mother, although I think she knew. He always welcomed me back in when I needed to come home, told me to stay and that he’d help me find a job or go to school.” She shook her head.

  “You were just too proud.”

  “When they died, I lost it. It wasn’t the money, Hope, please don’t think that. It was that he was the only person who ever cared if I lived or died.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true. All these men I’ve chased, they just saw me for what I saw in myself: a good piece of tail on a cold night. Your dad was a saint. He didn’t have to help me, but he never once turned his back. And I think it took them dying to flip a light on for me, Hope. When I came up there and saw you, God, I just wanted to help you in any way I could, like your father had helped me so much over the years. And I know I talked you into coming down here, but I thought we could start over, could start our lives over together and make something work for a change. That was my intention anyway. I’m just sorry it hasn’t worked out that way.”

  We sat there for the longest time with the car idling next to the curb. I didn’t know what to say to her. I was still upset, but I felt sorry for her most of all. She never could figure out how much we all really loved her and would probably go to her grave with that grief. She was going to end up like Jason’s mother, just leaving someday because of her low self-esteem. Then what would happen? Drinking? Drugs? Something worse? I wasn’t going to let that happen. She was all I had left, too.

  “Dad loved you. They all did. And I love you, too.”

  She looked at me with tears in her eyes, trying to read as to whether I was lying or not. But it was the truth and she smiled as we hugged over the center console. “Alright, alright. So we need to go shopping.”

  “For what?”

  “For a new store you can put a lease down on,” I said.

  “Hope,” she sighed, “it was just a stupid dream. No one wants to really own a second-hand store. And starting something new in this economy is just wasting your money, money I don’t have.”

  “Well, it’s not your store.”

  She looked at me puzzled.

  “It’s my antique store and you’re going to work for me. Besides, what is family for?” She gave me another hug, one so tight in her arms that I thought I would explode.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I already have a name for it.” Now, that was a lie, but she didn’t ask, only giving me a smile. She put the car in drive and we were off to find a new home for her store.

  Richard berated me for half an hour that evening when I told him our plans, said he would refuse to make the transfer of money and that I was wasting it, just as my dad did in supporting her. And maybe I was. There was nothing for Mags to stick around for if things got tough, which they were sure to do, but I couldn’t give up on her because I was the last person who hadn’t. Eventually, Richard caved, but not before he was cutting the money off at $50,000. “Your family has worked too hard to fritter this money away, Hope. I think you know that.” I thanked him and was just hoping it was going to be enough. The antiques alone were going to be half that. We still had to find a place to open up the store, get someone to move all the antiques there, advertise, and get it all done within a matter of days. That evening we did a lot of searching and found four different buildings to look at the next day. I left Mags the job of calling a realtor and setting up appointments, figuring she at least wouldn’t screw that up.

  In an odd way, I was actually looking forward to doing this with Mags. Maybe in the back of my mind I thought it would bring us closer together. Maybe she would realize that she was important, not just to me, but also to our whole family. I still was offended by all of her past but couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe this was a chance to turn over a new leaf and do something with her life. Or maybe she was going to screw me over? I didn’t know either way.

  The next day at lunch I sat down with Lizzy and was about to explain the new antique store plan, but as soon as I sat, she hit me with news I wasn’t ready for.

  “Dad said I probably shouldn’t sit with you anymore,” she said with the sound of regret. “He said you probably weren’t the type of people I needed to be friends with.” She flipped her notebook closed and began to pick up her tray before I reached across the table and grabbed her wrist.

  “Lizzy, please don’t do this,” I pleaded. “I had an argument with your dad and said some pretty mean things. Please don’t leave because of that.” She gave me a depressed look and finally relented.

  “Okay, Hope, what’s your side of the story? Dad said you were making out with Jason. Is that true? And then you brought me up with him? Why would you do that?”

  “We weren’t making out, but we kissed,” I said, countering the first accusation.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Lizzy...” I shook my head, not believing I had to explain myself to her. “He went through so much over there, and everything in my life...well, it just happened. He came over to console me after I spilled my guts and the next thing I knew we were kissing.” Jeez, if I hadn’t been there myself, I probably wouldn’t have believed it. Her expression was one of disbelief, the turned down corners of her mouth made her cute little face droop like it had melted in the Texas sun.

  “Why did you bring Hunter and me up?” I sighed, moving on to the next grilling.

  “Because you like him.”

  “So?”

  “So Mr. Peet thinks you’re a little girl and he shouldn’t treat you that way.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “So, he knows that you have feelings for Hunter?” She didn’t say anything. “Lizzy, you’re already fifteen and way more sophisticated than everyone else your age. And Hunter is a good guy, a kind of guy every girl should find. Don’t you have some say in who you like? I mean, I saw how wonderful the both of you looked at the dance. Haven’t you ever discussed the both of you with him?”

  “With Hunter?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, and I’m sure he likes me, too. But Dad’s kind of stuck in his ways.” She finally sighed, releasing the pent up anger she had reserved for me. “You shouldn’t have said that about my mom.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have, that was wrong.” I looked down at the Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes. “And I’m sorry I mentioned you to your dad. It wasn’t right.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” She paused. “Do you like him?”

  “Your dad?”

  “No, silly, Jason. Do you like him?” My mind went back to that weekend, being so cold, yet feeling so good with his arms around me, like nothing in the world would ever hurt me again with him protecting me and me caring for him. Did I like him? His looks alone were to die for, like he should’ve been stuck in some Abercrombie and Fitch billboard somewhere. And then his heart, a heart scarred by war, but was still so compassionate and understanding. I looked down again before feeling the tears begin to well up in my eyes.

  “I do, Lizzy. I like him a lot.” I gave a fleeting smile that she returned.

  “Dad said I couldn’t go with you to Canton this weekend.”

  I nodded, stirr
ing my mashed potatoes into mush. “Maybe I wasn’t going to ride with you,” I said quietly. “Maybe you just happened to bump into me there and we just decided to hang out, the four of us. You know, because he was so vague with his instructions and everything.”

  She smiled with a sneaky little gleam in her eye. “He did say I couldn’t ‘go with you.’ He didn’t say anything about not seeing you when we were actually there. So around ten o’clock around the county civic center?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, but having no idea where she was referring to. We talked some more about the plans for the weekend. She and Hunter would go down in his truck and we would travel by my car, as I wasn’t too sure about riding on the back of a hog for an hour. Even though Mr. Peet didn’t want me to hang out with Lizzy anymore, I was sure Mags was all too happy to see me acting somewhat normal by going out with friends, even if it was to a trade’s day, whatever that was. But even though I didn’t like how Mr. Peet treated his daughter, I began to think that maybe he was right about not hanging out with me. After all, I did just talk her into going against her dad’s wishes for the weekend.

  The rest of school flew by with more classics in music, more technology in computers, and more running in physical education. The teachers had found their rut and they were sticking to it at least until spring break. I actually looked forward to seeing Mags that afternoon and starting our quest to find the building of our dreams, or at least our pocketbook.

  She had made all the arrangements while at work and learned from Mr. Lambert that he would have possession of the building for just two more weeks. Then, he figured, the demolition crews would be sent in and the entire complex would be leveled. Ahh, progress. If Texas wasn’t building a billionaire’s football stadium on top of some poor people’s residences, then it was destroying historical buildings to pave the way for some future robber baron.

  We saw two places that afternoon, one was on our list to view, and one was not. The first was the right price but was in the middle of being renovated, something the realtor forgot to mention. The work to be done to the building would take far too long.

  “I suspect the renovation to be done in another couple of months,” noted the realtor, who stood looking at his watch for most of the time while we were there. The next place was in a great neighborhood, but the building wasn’t even half the size of what we needed.

  “Did you specify that we needed something bigger?” I whispered to Mags.

  “Yes, but he thought this was a good place.”

  I looked over at the realtor, who gave a sigh as if he was wasting his time, again looking at his watch. My eyebrows knitted together as I marched over to him. Judging from how he acted, I figured he thought we were just a couple of poor slobs that couldn’t afford a toilet to do our business in, but he was about to find out differently.

  “Listen, we need a place bigger than this.”

  “Okay, that’s fine, maybe we can find something on the MLS.” He gestured his hand as though he was about to lead us out the door.

  “No, you listen. Mags gave you a list of properties we wanted to see today and this one is not even on it. We want to see those.” He started to talk, but I cut him off. “I’m not finished. You work on commission, right?” He nodded. “And because you and banks and people on Wall Street screwed up the whole housing market, we are about to all see the worst time since the Great freaking Depression. Now, if we are wasting your time, then we will find some other little realtor that’s about to lose his job when the real crap hits the fan. Otherwise, show us the places we want to see!” He gave me a cold glare. Unfettered capitalism, i.e. greed, was about to put him out on his butt and he knew it. Slowly, he unfolded the pieces of papers Mags had given him earlier and looked at our properties.

  “Shall we go ladies?” he asked politely. We both nodded and jumped back in the car, following him to the next one and then another after that, both being on our list.

  It was dark and well past seven when we finally saw the last property. Pulling up into the parking lot, we noticed the large old building that stood alone just a block off of a main thoroughfare. Mags smiled as the realtor flipped on the lights, which took a minute to warm up and turn completely bright. The place was dirty, not being swept out in months, but it was solid with plenty of room for all of the antiques that had to be moved. I watched as Mags started walking up and down the imaginary aisles, placing the different treasures in specific spots, putting her counter up front. There was even a little room in the back for an office and even I pictured myself in there going over the books and seeing if our little store was even going to survive. This had to be it.

  “And the rent is $1,250 a month? Does that include anything?”

  “No, you’ll have to pay for electric and water,” the realtor answered. Mags looked at me as if asking for permission.

  “How long has it been empty?” I countered.

  “Six months, give or take.” Give or take what? I glanced at him as if he was supposed to finish the sentence, but his mouth had shut. What a jerk.

  “We’ll do eight hundred a month,” I told the realtor while looking over at Mags.

  “Young lady, my time may be negotiable, but this really isn’t.” I turned to him.

  “All I learned in the last few months of being down here is that everything is negotiable, and everything changes.” I looked over at Mags again before continuing with the realtor. “Tell the owner what I told you. That he can wait and try and get what he wants in a bad economy and this place will probably sit empty for the next two years, or he can get most of what he wants now.” The realtor sighed. I knew I was driving a hard bargain and it took courage for me to do so, but it was still a good deal. In six months he probably wouldn’t get five hundred. Things were probably going to get worse before they got better. If someone was willing to pay me some money instead of getting nothing every month, I would’ve jumped at the chance. I only hoped the owner had such brains.

  “I’ll ask him,” he finally mumbled. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” I knew he was ready to go before we even started looking, so we said no and headed for the door. An oral agreement was out there, now all we could do was wait.

  It didn’t take long. I was sitting in Mr. Peet’s class listening to him argue with himself about God knows what when my phone began to buzz in my book bag. Crap! Mr. Peet glared at me and came over to my desk.

  “Go ahead,” he grinned, “answer it.” I glared back at him and pulled the phone out and as I pushed the button, he snatched it away from me.

  “Hey!” He put his finger out in my face to hush me while the other students giggled.

  “Hello, who is this disrupting my college class?” His eyes changed from angry to compassionate in a blink. “Margaret? Is that you?” Oh, Jeez. “No, no. It’s not a problem. If something is important then it’s important... Okay, sure... Nice talking to you as well, Margaret.” He handed the phone back to me, somewhat embarrassed. “It’s for you; please take it in the hallway.” I couldn’t help but smile before grabbing the phone back.

  “Mags, why are you calling me during school? They hate that around here.”

  “I know, I know, Hope. I just had to tell you that we got the store! We got it! Can you believe it? And it’s all because of you.”

  I’m sure I was grinning from ear to ear, but now the real work was about to begin. How were we going to move all that old junk without breaking half of it? But I wasn’t about to rain on her parade.

  “Okay, Mags, sounds great. Thanks for the call. I’ll see you after school and we can start on the next phase in the plan.” What that was, I had no idea.

  “Okay, sweetie, thank you so much for doing all of this for me.”

  “For us,” I reminded her. “And it’s no problem. I’ll see you later.” When I got back into the room, Mr. Peet shot me another glare but didn’t say a word. Instead he continued talking about the doughboys of World War I. He hated when students were texting or getting
phone calls in his class, usually either taking the phone up or answering it as he had done mine. But he gave it back for some reason, even let me talk to Mags. What was that all about?

  When I carted my chilidog and potato squares over to Lizzy for lunch, she already had a map lying out on the table.

  “Canton is about an hour east of here down I-20. I’m sure Jason knows where it is and how to get there, but I wanted you to have these.” She flipped to the next map. “Now this one is of the actual trade’s day area. You’ll park over here. It usually cost about three bucks, and then we will meet over here where I drew the red X. After that, we can just go everywhere and see as much junk your heart can take.”

  “Oh, yippee.” I threw my hands upward in a sardonic expression as we both giggled. “I guess it will be good, though. Mags and I are starting up our own antique store.”

  “Really? That’s great. I heard that Jody had gotten her dad to buy the shopping center, but I didn’t want to mention it, thinking it might upset you.” Man, news sure does travel fast in high school. If it wasn’t the students texting each other or Facebooking or whatever, it was the teachers talking in their little lounge or to those privileged parents that got the inside information. There were no secrets in high school and something too bad could damage your reputation forever. For me, I was still the orphan child of a drug-dealing New York family, thus very few people wanted to mess with me thinking I would do a gang drive-by on them. But who really cared what sheep thought, anyway? It was only Tuesday and my mind was already on the weekend, even if it was walking around in the chilly weather glancing over junk. It would be fun either way, hanging out with Lizzy, Hunter, and especially getting to see Jason again. But would it be the same? I mean, what happened between us was more than just grief, right? Lizzy asked if I liked him and I did. Deep down inside I had feelings for him, but did he have them for me? Sweetie. He’d called me sweetie. That meant something, right? Or was it just a cute thing to say to the depressed girl? Ugh! Why did I have to think so much like a woman sometimes? Couldn’t I just enjoy what might happen and not overanalyze it?