Authors: Nikki Duvall
“Stop…”
“Give
it one more chance, Halee.” Rita reached over and took her friend’s hand. “Go
see J.D.,” she said, her voice softening. “Spend a little time together. If
he’s the one, don’t let him get away.”
Halee
closed her eyes.
“And
if he’s not, keep your options open.” Rita smiled and squeezed Halee’s hand.
“There’s someone out there for you, someone to build a life with, I promise
you. You’ll learn to love again.”
“You
take one more step and I’ll blow your head off.”
J.D.
lowered his Ray Ban sunglasses and squinted against the Oklahoma sun. He could
feel his scalp sizzling like an egg in a frying pan. He needed a hat, but his
hat was on the front seat of his rental car and that was parked two hundred
feet behind him in the only shade he’d been able to locate this side of Texas.
The shotgun in Hank Long’s arthritic hand wobbled in rhythm to his tremors, and
Hank had it aimed in the vicinity of J.D.’s jugular. If he turned his back on
the old man now, there was no telling how lucky his aim might be, and even
though J.D. had been born on the Double HL ranch, he didn’t feel like dying
here.
Hank
shifted his feet and took aim. “I’ll do it, J.D. I don’t care who your mama
is.”
“You
wouldn’t do nothing to make my mama cry and you know it.” J.D. moved forward
one careful step at a time and studied the situation. If he didn’t hate Hank
Long so much, he might pity him. Even though J.D. had only been gone a year, it
seemed like Hank had aged ten. Tufts of gray hair poked out from under the old
bastard’s sweat stained undershirt and his pants hung below a protruding belly.
His bared teeth matched the yellowed fabric of his cotton shirt. The stench of
him nearly knocked J.D. off the front steps.
“When’s
the last time you had a bath, old man?”
“Why,
you little prick!” Hank cocked his shotgun to the sky and fumbled with the
safety.
The
screen door slammed and Faye Shaw shoved past Hank, taking the front porch
steps two by two till she stood eye to shoulder with her son. “Start walking,”
she said under her breath with a faint twinkle in her light brown eyes.
“Don’t
think I won’t do it!” yelled Hank. “Shaws aren’t welcome here!”
“Just
keep your eyes on the end of the driveway,” said Faye. “When he gets worked up,
there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
J.D.
lagged behind a few steps, angling his tall frame between Hank’s aim and Faye’s
body for good measure. “Since when do you work at the big house?” he demanded.
Faye
pulled open the passenger door on J.D.’s rental and climbed in. “Since I got
too old to run cattle.”
“That’s
what Clint’s for.”
“Hurry
up and move this thing before he puts a bullet in your tire.”
J.D.
hesitated, grabbed his Federals ball cap, then slammed the driver’s side door
shut and strode back toward the porch.
Hank
cocked the trigger. “You deaf, Boy?”
“I
hear you’re selling,” said J.D., mounting the hat over his fresh buzz cut. “I
may know of an interested buyer.”
Hank
narrowed his beady eyes. “”Won’t sell to strangers. Won’t sell to no friends of
yours, neither.”
“That’s
too bad,” said J.D., adjusting the bill of his ball cap. “Not too many folks in
Kadele have access to the kind of capital you’re asking for.” He gazed down the
fence line and did a quick count of cattle. “What you running now, three
hundred head?”
“Two
fifty,” said Hank, lowering his muzzle. “The drought made me sell some off.”
J.D.
spit, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “What ya askin’ for the place?”
“Depends
who’s askin’.”
“Seven
hundred acres, a couple hundred cattle, I’d say that adds up to about half a
million in these parts, water rights included.”
The
old man squinted at J.D. through the blaring sun and adjusted his trousers.
“That’s low ballin’ it.”
“Times
are hard, Hank. You only got one heir and she ain’t interested in ranchin’. I
were you, I’d take what I could get and get out from under the taxes.”
“I’d
rather die without a penny in my pocket than sell to the likes of you, ya damn Federal!”
“Didn’t
say I was buying,” said J.D. with a slight lift of his lip. He turned to go.
“No
Shaw’s gonna own this land. I don’t care if you are a fancy major leaguer,
J.D., you’ll always be nothing but a punk in my eyes. I don’t care how much
money ya got. I worked too hard to build this operation to give it away to the
likes of you.”
J.D.
stopped in his tracks and turned to face the old man with a hard look. “You
didn’t build nothin’, Hank,” he spit. “This place was built on my father’s
back. On Faye’s charity.”
“You
know a lot about Faye’s charity, don’t you, Johnny Carmenas? If it weren’t for
Faye, a half breed like you wouldn’t even have a name.”
J.D.
clenched his fists and took another step toward the porch.
Hank
fired into the air. “Go back to your faggot white pants and gold chains, before
I call the sheriff and have ya hung for them horses you stole from me.”
“You
ain’t seen the last of me, old man.” J.D. turned and maintained a steady pace
until he reached the car, then slid in beside Faye. He could still hear Hank
yelling from the porch.
“How
can you work for that sonofabitch?” he asked, peeling the rental out toward the
main road.
Faye
took a drag on her cigarette and gazed out the window. “We always have worked
for him, J.D,” she said in a slow, deliberate drawl. “You’re the last to admit
it.”
“Yeh,
well, someday the bastard is going to work for me.”
“He
didn’t kill your daddy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Really?
Then what did?”
Faye
shifted and put her cigarette out in the ashtray. “It was an accident,” she
said softly, “same as could happen on any ranch.”
“Nobody
else would have worked him like Hank did.”
“Nobody
else would have given your daddy a chance. He was straight out of jail when he
asked Hank for a job. Hank took a chance on him.”
“And
made him pay every day of his life.”
Faye
shook her head. “You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you. They used to hang horse
thieves in Oklahoma, you know.”
“I
had a right to them horses,” said J.D.
“Well,
he hates the sheriff, or he would have called him in.”
“More
likely he wasn’t ready to lose favor with Faye Shaw.”
Faye
smiled a slow, satisfied smile. “Oh, you think so?”
“Hank
always had a thing for you. One more reason I hate the bastard.”
“He’s
always been a gentleman,” Faye said matter-of-factly. “Ain’t no reason to hate
anybody.”
“Look
at you defending him.”
“Well,
I don’t have a lot of choice. Can’t imagine waking up to anything but the sound
of cattle. Working for Hank lets me stay on this land.” She turned toward J.D.
and thoroughly looked him over. “Enough about Hank. Why didn’t you tell me you
was comin’?’
“Didn’t
know till yesterday.”
“Ain’t
the season still on?”
“I
got a week off.”
“So
you thought you’d spend it in Oklahoma?”
“I
can think of worse places.”
“Well,
I missed ya, I’ll say that. I was hoping you’d say you was home for good.”
“Don’t
look like Hank wants me home.”
“You
buy him a couple horses, he’ll probably forget the whole thing.” Faye watched
J.D. angle the car into the long driveway at the other end of the Double HL ranch
with his left hand. He kept the right one unusually close. “You sure you got
nothing else to tell me?” she asked.
“Yes,
I’m sure.”
“You
been fightin’ again?”
J.D.
stroked his sore chin. “No, Ma’am.”
“I
guess you ran into a wall, then.”
J.D.
chuckled as he drove through tall stretches of sunflowers poking their heads up
on either side of the dusty road. He pulled to a stop in front of a rusting sky
blue trailer with a couple of cattle dogs sprawled in the yard. “I see Mack and
Chase ain’t changed a bit.”
“I
don’t fault them,” said Faye. “They did their time. Now they just want to lie
in the sun.”
“Sure
hotter than I remembered,” said J.D., glancing toward the sky. He leaned down
to give each dog an ear rub. Chase lifted his head briefly and yawned. Mack
grunted and rolled toward the shade.
“If
ya came to see your family once in a while, it wouldn’t be so foreign to ya.”
J.D.
wrapped his left arm around Faye’s thin waist and planted a kiss on her
sunburned cheek. “You got me there.” He followed her up a pair of squeaky steps
and into the small trailer. Faye circled the room, turning on a series of fans
in succession. It took a few minutes before his eyes adjusted to the low light
of the kitchen. He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his
good shoulder. “Well, ain’t this embarrassing?”
Faye
came up behind him and gazed with pride at the walls adorned with jerseys,
trophies and a dozen award plaques. “Took a lot of sweat to earn what you’ve
earned, Johnny. I like to flaunt it. Not every woman can say she raised a Federal.”
“Don’t
sound like much of a compliment in Kadele, Oklahoma. You might want to change
that statement up a bit.”
“Ok,”
said Faye with a chuckle, “a major leaguer. This is my wall, too, you know. I
suffered through enough thirteen inning no hitters over the years.”
“That
you did.”
“The
rest is in your bedroom. You planning on staying over? I’ll have to clean
things out. I’ve been bad about accumulating junk.”
“I
can take the sofa,” said J.D.
“When
are you moving to New York?”
“Feds
don’t need me till the end of the month.”
“Or
you won’t be ready till then?”
J.D.
shook his head. “Can’t pull nothin’ over on you, can I?”
“How
bad is it?”
He
rubbed his shoulder absent-mindedly. “Bad.”
“Quittin’
bad?”
“Now
you know I don’t quit,” J.D. scoffed. “Doc’s got enough medicine to get me
through the season.”
“They
don’t care nothin’ about you, Johnny,” said Faye quietly. “You’re just a meal
ticket to them. You ruin that shoulder, you’ll never rope cattle again.”
J.D.
turned away.
“I
know you ain’t mine, Johnny, but I’ve loved you like my own since the day your mama
brought you into this world. I hate to see those rich men use you this way.”
“Ain’t
as bad as you make it out.”
“Hear
they paid you three million dollars.”
J.D.
snorted. “I ain’t no Jeter.”
“It
would have been nice to hear it from you, John.”
J.D.
nodded and moved toward the kitchen, pulling an ice cold drink from the refrigerator.
He picked up a brochure from the counter. “Retirement Village,” he read out
loud. “You thinkin’ about movin’?”
“Maybe
in a couple years,” said Faye.
“Thought
you said you wanted to wake up to the sound of cattle.”
Faye
shrugged. “Can’t have everything you want.”
“Sure
you can. You just gotta want it bad enough.”
“Well
then, I guess I don’t want it bad enough.”
“I
do. I want it bad enough for both of us.”
Faye
took another drag on her cigarette. “You don’t want this life.”
“Maybe
I do.”
“You
forget how hard it is to run cattle, Johnny.”
“I’m
the one who sweated his way to the major leagues, remember? I ain’t afraid of
hard work.”
“You
got New York City dangling at your feet and you’d choose Kadele, Oklahoma?”
“I
got some things to set straight.”
“You’re
wasting your time feuding with Hank. He’s ready to die.”
“Not
soon enough, if you ask me.”
“Hank’s
living is in my favor,” said Faye. “Whoever buys this land ain’t gonna let an
old woman live on it scot-free.”
“Will
if the buyer is me.”
“Johnny!
Don’t be talking no nonsense…”
“Tell
me you wouldn’t love to see the ranch hand’s kid buy the ranch.”
“I
ain’t got no argument with Hank the way you do.”
“So
maybe you don’t remember what happened to my daddy.”
“It’s
in the past, John. Let it go.”
“I
can’t do that, Faye.”
Faye
grounded out her cigarette in a plastic ashtray. “You need to settle down,
John, find yourself a good girl.”
“I
ain’t done being young.”
“Girls
are always in a hurry. You wait too long and you’re gonna wind up with a wife
who doesn’t understand you.”
“I
reckon that’ll happen in any case.”
Faye
chuckled.
"Whaddya
say I drive you into town for one of Binky's special burgers?” asked J.D. “On
the way back we can stop by Dan Doerbrecker's real estate office and see if
he's willing to represent us."
"Us?"
"That's
right, us. You and me. The Shaws. And tomorrow we start interviewing builders
and lookin' at house plans. No mother of mine is gonna live in that run down
house of Hank's."
"You
don't even have a bedroom, Miss McCarthy," said Sanchez. You can hardly
blame us for rejecting your application."
"I
have a master’s degree and the earning power to make a difference in a child's
life. I have good character. What does it matter if I have a bedroom?"
"A
bedroom is on the checklist. It's a requirement."
"You
mean a husband. A husband is a requirement.”
Sanchez
said nothing.
"I
want to appeal. Who do I talk to?"
"You
must start from scratch with your application. First, you need a bedroom. One
for you, one for the child."
"I’ve
paid $5,000 in legal and application fees to The Cradle adoption agency. I
saved for years to come up with that money. I can't just apply again."
"The
Cradle contracts with social services to conduct your home visit, Miss McCarthy.
We determined you do not qualify. I suggest you find another place to live and
start the process over."
"Thanks
for nothing." Halee disconnected and tossed her cell phone on the unmade
dilapidated pull out couch. She stormed over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator
door in search of comfort food, settled on a glass of milk a day past
expiration and the last stale cookie in the cupboard, and plopped down on a
counter stool with her head in her hands.
This
place was the best she could do on the salary she earned. She already spent
three nights a week at Benedetto's to offset her student loans and this last
semester would raise that monthly bill by another $100 per month a few weeks
after graduation. She'd hoped to get more interviews with Chicago nonprofits
this close to her degree, but the economy had crashed and the market had become
saturated with veteran executives.
There
was, of course, Victoria Pryor's offer. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her
breath for a moment, imagining herself living in Manhattan.
Sliding
into my limousine wearing white linen, I lift one manicured hand to wave
goodbye to the multilingual doctoral candidate in child psychology I have
chosen as my son's nanny. The child is happily packed up in a designer stroller
with advanced safety features and is headed along tree lined streets for a full
day at the children's museum. My driver, handsome and chivalrous, winks appreciatively
as he takes in my long lean legs, the ones I have sculpted at the Pilates class
I fit into my three hour lunch break. I rest back against the cool leather
seats and pour myself a cup of ice and mineral water for the ride to the
office. My broker calls to let me know that my stocks have done swimmingly well
overnight and I should call my realtor about the brownstone I’ve been
considering on the upper west side. The driver glances into the rear view
mirror and winks his approval. At the next stop light, he stops and opens the
door. J.D. slides in beside me, smelling like a well groomed gay guy and
sending me a coy, knowing look that assures me he's not. I run my fingers
along the tight muscles that lie just under his gray wool slacks and lean in to
nibble on his freshly shaven cheek... then stop short as a blonde bimbo slides
in after him, crowding me against the door and spilling my mineral water down
the front of my perfectly pressed outfit!!
"AHHHH!"
Halee jumped up and grabbed her cell phone, pacing as she waited for Victoria Pryor
to answer. "It's Halee McCarthy," she said to voice mail. "I've
thought about your offer, and I accept."
***
It
was well after eight when Halee arrived at the literacy office. The building
looked abandoned from the street, all the lights extinguished and the parking
lot empty. She'd braced herself emotionally for this moment for the past six
months, knowing that her new degree would bring with it offers for management
positions somewhere else in the nonprofit world. Until lately, she'd never
considered that job would take her away from Chicago. These streets were the
only home she'd ever known. Gus Benedetto had practically raised her in the
rooms above Benedetto's Bar and Grill, filling in for Halee's absent father
after a car wreck took her mother at a young age. She'd begun helping at the
bar long before labor laws allowed it, spent the brutal Chicago winters tucked
in the bar's warm kitchen, safe under Gus' protection and basking in the
friendship of his only daughter Rita. How would she tell him she had decided to
trade in family and friends in exchange for a boss with the warmth of a snake
and a city she'd never even visited? Some basic part of her knew she was taking
the wrong turn. She just didn't have any other choice. She was tired of barely
making it. She was tired of hoping this city would spit out a man worth loving.
New York would be a fresh start.
She
pulled the empty cardboard boxes she'd collected from the local market off the
bed of Uncle Gus' truck and headed for the side entrance of the literacy
foundation building. Plenty of daylight still remained on this August evening
and she had no trouble working the lock and slipping inside. An eerie quiet
filled the building. She moved down the short hall to the elevator, inserted
her bypass key and hit the button for the third floor. It was Friday night and
no one would be in for several days. She'd be able to pack her things, leave a
note, and avoid all the tears, including her own.
The
elevator took its time, as it always did, and she felt a well of emotion
lumping in her throat. After three years of barely noticing the color of the scuffed
walls or the pattern in the worn out carpet, everything sad seemed endearing.
Even the cranky elevator seemed more like an aging relative who required a
measure of compassion than an aggravating annoyance. "Stop it," she
whispered. "Just suck it up and do what you have to do."
She
opened the main door of the literacy office. The stench of dirty diapers
knocked her back. She'd talked to Carl a dozen times about getting better
diaper pails for the restrooms. On a good day, anywhere from thirty to fifty
babies accompanied their mothers to the office, and with that volume, you had
to bring out the big guns. Maybe the new director would be able to get some
results. Carl had stopped listening to her long ago.
She
flipped on the main light switch and tossed the empty boxes through the door
one by one, then backed in with the last one, juggling two in her arms and
shoving another down the narrow hallway with her foot until she reached her office
door.
Funny.
Someone had left a light on in her office.
"Hello?"
She
thought she heard some movement, a whimper. Her heart clutched. She dropped the
boxes and pushed open the door.
Ty
sat on a piece of stained carpet in the corner of the room, alone and shaking.
His brown eyes widened with fear. Salty tears stained his dark cheeks in two
white lines. He tried to cry out when he saw Halee, but his hoarse voice
couldn’t make a sound. His dry lips quivered as Halee collapsed on all fours
before him and held out her arms.
“Oh,
my gosh! Come here, Baby,” she cried.
The
baby mimicked her, raising his chubby hands toward the sky. She pulled him
close, then recoiled reflexively at the cold urine soaking through her own
blouse.
“Awwww,”
she groaned.
Ty’s
tiny fingers clenched the fabric of her blouse with a fierce need and his body contracted
in a silent scream when she tried to break free. Something inside her
relinquished to his need, that age old instinct of a mother protecting her
young. She wanted to strip him of his clothes, wash him with a fragrant soap
and massage his neglected skin with baby oil, but knew he needed to be held
instead. There would be time later for bathing. Grabbing a sweater from the
back of her chair, she wrapped him against her until she could feel his wet body
warming.
"Ty,
Baby, it's alright. I'm here now. Everything's alright."
She
held him that way until he stopped shaking and his fingers relaxed, then got to
her feet and looked around the office. A note on her desk caught her eye. She
balanced Ty against her chest and grabbed the small piece of paper with one hand.
The writing was rough and in large round letters, like that of a child just
learning to write in cursive. The words took her breath away.
Miss McCarthy, I can't take care of him.
You'll be a good mother.
Chantrell Robinson
Ty
began to whimper. Halee walked him across the office floor, holding him tight
against her body. Her own clothes were now completely soaked through with the
child's urine, but somehow it didn't matter. She'd clean up later. For now, a
little boy needed to feel a warm body against his, one that wouldn’t let go.
"You're
hungry, aren't you Buddy? You need some milk. I'm going to get you some
milk." She flipped through her Rolodex and landed on social services,
picked up the phone and dialed the after-hours number.
"Ricardo
Sanchez."
Halee
hesitated. "I have an abandoned baby in my office, Mr. Sanchez. I need a
case worker to come over immediately."
"Where
is this office?"
Halee
gave him directions.
"Your
name?"
"Halee
McCarthy."
Sanchez
snorted. "You are the same woman...?"
"Look,
I need your help. His mother- she left me a note. She left him here on
purpose."
"Is
the baby alive?"
"Of
course..."
"Age
of the child?"
"Five
months. Maybe six. I don't know. Look, he's hungry and he's filthy and I don't
have anything here..."
"Male
or female?"
"What?"
"The
child. Is it male or female?"
Halee
began to pace. "You're reading off a checklist, aren't you? This baby is
cold and hungry and scared and you're going through one of your stupid
checklists! I'm going to hang up now, Mr. Sanchez. You have thirty minutes to
show up and do what you're supposed to do. If I don't see you in thirty
minutes, I'm going to take this baby home and care for him the way he needs
cared for in my apartment. The one without a bedroom."
She
disconnected.
"Come
on, Ty." She walked the infant to the staff break room and peered inside
the refrigerator. "There must be something here you can eat." She
grabbed an open container of someone's half and half. "It's organic,"
she said with a slight smile. "This could be the best thing your little
lips have ever touched." Rummaging through the cabinets, she found a
number of clean baby bottles left behind by the clients, rinsed one out for
good measure and filled the bottle half with creamer and half with warm water.
"I know it's cold, Baby," she said, offering Ty the bottle, "but
it's all I've got."
Ty
grabbed the bottle in his little fists and hungrily sucked down the rich milk. She
returned to her office and watched out the window for Ricardo Sanchez. Thirty
minutes later, she packed up Ty, left the boxes behind, and headed for home.