Puzzled, Robin glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, that is information we can use in the negotiations.”
“Wait, wait… you wouldn't use her son's condition against her,” she said incredulously.
Evan laughed. “Of course not! Come on, let's go. If you want to get back tonight, we need to wrap this up.” He was out of the car before she could say anything.
Robin followed, pausing to say hello to David, who half grinned up at her. Girt was waiting for them inside, her hair occupying two zip codes this muggy morning, her black jeans, as usual, painted on her thin body. Robin instantly grinned. “Girt! How's it going?”
“Oh, I can't complain,” Girt said, flashing her yellow teeth. “Nothing hurts or won't work, so I guess it's a good day, ain't it?' she asked and punched Robin playfully in the arm. She turned to Evan, stuck out a hand with fingernails gnawed to the quick. ”Eldagirt Wirt. But you can call me Girt."
“Girt,” Evan drawled. “Is there somewhere we might talk?”
“You bet.” She pointed to one of the overstuffed offices on the perimeter of the warehouse. As they started in that direction, she tapped Robin's arm. “Guess what? Remember that nursing service I was telling you about? I talked to 'em last week, and they think they have a woman in Burdette that can care for David. Whoever she was staying with died. Now, I have to provide her room and board and all that, but it's definitely a maybe.”
“That's great!” Robin said genuinely. It was huge for Girt to have found someone, she knew—Burdette was too small and too poor to keep qualified medical help in town, and Girt had confided that she might have to move to Baton Rouge to get David the care he needed, a possibility that had Bob in obvious distress.
Inside the office, Evan made a show of dusting off the one guest chair they had before offering it to Robin. She declined his offer to sit and stood against the wall as Girt settled in behind her desk and lit up a cigarette before she began to answer the questions put to her.
Evan's style was easy; he spoke to Girt as if he was speaking to an old friend, peppering her with very subtle questions about profit and loss, account histories, and expansion into the fresh fish packing materials. Girt got out some of the same
account books she had shown Robin, and Evan pored over them.
After an hour and a half of covering ground Robin had already reported to him, Evan put aside the books, locked his hands behind his head, and propped one Italian loafer on the edge of Girt's desk. “So… American Motorfreight is interested in buying you out, too?”
“That's right.”
“No-good outfit,” he said cheerfully. “Heard some stuff about them through the years. They go into operations like this and pretty much gut it. Replace everyone with cheap labor from Mexico. An outfit like that, the only thing they are interested in is the bottom line.”
“Oh yeah?” Girt asked, her eyes widening slightly.
Oh yeah? Robin thought. That was news—she had never heard anything like that about American Motorfreight, and in fact, had heard they were a pretty good company, employee owned and operated.
“Yeah,” Evan said, frowning as if he disapproved of that. “But you know, you could probably work out some deal with them where they wouldn't let these people go for at least a year, something like that. Of course, they'll try and get them to quit. You know how that goes.”
Wide-eyed, Girt nodded.
“Well. I think we've got what we need. Do you have any questions, Robin?” he asked.
“No. Girt and I have discussed most of this in person and on e-mail.”
“Great! Well then, why don't we think about getting back to Houston?” He came to his feet, extended his hand to Girt. “Appreciate the time. We'll be in touch.”
“Oh! Well, okay… t hank you,” she said, and hurried to open the door for them.
Evan put his hand on the small of Robin's back and ushered her through. They walked with Girt to the front door of the building; Girt peered outside to where David and the woman were sitting beneath the cottonwood.
“Who's that?” Robin asked.
"My cousin, down from Shreveport for the week. She
said she'd sit with him for a time so I could get some work done."
“So you're wanting to provide for your son, is that it?” Evan asked.
“That's it,” Girt said, shoving her hands in her back pockets. “It's gonna cost me around three thousand dollars a month for live-in care.”
Evan nodded, shook Girt's hand again. “We'll be in touch. Robin?” And he was already striding for the Cadillac.
Robin took Girt's hand, squeezed it affectionately. “If we make the offer, I promise, we'll keep the crew. You don't have to worry about that.”
“T hank s, Robin,” she said, the gratitude shining in her eyes. “I'll e-mail you!” she called as Robin followed Evan to the car. Robin waved out the window as they pulled out of the gravel parking lot; Girt had walked over to where David was sitting, and she waved, too, then lifted David's arm in a mock wave.
“We can get this outfit for a fraction of its market value,” Evan remarked as they pulled out onto the main highway.
“We can?”
Evan snorted. “She'd sell it for just about nothing to do something with her kid.”
“Yes,” Robin said, feeling suddenly and inexplicably queasy, “she probably would.”
“The last thing she should have done was tell us what her bottom line was,” Evan said, chuckling.
Robin didn't like that snide chuckle and never had. “Regardless of her bottom line, we would make her a fair offer, right?”
“Of course!” he said breezily, and reached for the radio, complaining that all one could get in Burdette was country western music.
Robin had thought that was part of the charm of the little town.
Back in Houston, she declined Evan's offer for a drink, but he drove to a swank little bistro anyway, insisting she could spare the half hour it would take him to knock back a gin and tonic. While he sipped at the drink, he talked
absently about the work he was doing on his mansion in Turtle Creek of Dallas, then said, “You'd be better off in Dallas, you know. Your roots are there, Rebecca's there. Houston is an oil town. Dallas is better suited to high commerce like you're trying to get into.”
“Houston seems to work fine.”
“I've been talking to your dad about moving the southwest regional corporate offices from Phoenix to Dallas. There would probably be a spot for a new VP in charge of acquisitions. We need to do this nationwide, I think, and with more than just packing.”
The casual remark struck Robin as a bribe, and she was instantly reminded of what Jake had said just this morning. Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't be trying to get me to come to Dallas because of… you know… us, would you?”
“Don't flatter yourself,” Evan said with a snort. “I made that mistake once, but I rarely make the same mistake twice. I am just trying to consolidate. In case you haven't noticed, the economy has taken a nosedive.”
And now she just felt ridiculously full of herself. “Sorry,” she said with a faint smile.
Evan tossed back his drink, pulled out his wallet, and fished out some bills. “Okay, let's go,” he said abruptly. “I'm gonna run some final figures through our corporate finance and then we'll decide what we're going to do. In the meantime, I could use some help in looking at the number of missed pickups down here in Houston. The rate is about twice as high as it is across the country. You should really be on top of that.”
“Sure, okay,” she said, coming to her feet, and had to walk quickly to keep up with him as they left the bistro.
He dropped her at home, made no effort to come in. Robin walked inside, put down her purse. The house was silent—the work crews had left for the day, which she had expected, given the late hour. But she had sort of hoped that Jake would be waiting for her.
He wasn't.
She had a bath, thinking Jake would call anytime. When
he didn't, she picked up the phone and called his house. No answer. Then she tried his cell. It immediately rolled over into voice mail. “Oh, ah… hey,” she said, feeling suddenly awkward. “I, uh, I just got back from Burdette and was just calling to say hi. Well, okay, if you get this, maybe you can call me back?” Wincing, she quickly hung up.
Where was he ? Class, maybe, although the semester was drawing to a close. His mom's? Who knew? At the moment, her stomach was growling, and she headed to her almost completed kitchen, rummaged around until she found a can of tuna and some crackers. A veritable feast, Batman.
She ate half of a bland tuna salad, then wandered onto the back terrace and switched on the porch fans. She took a seat on one of the chaise lounges, watched the pink flamingos swaying in the evening breeze.
When the phone started to ring, she almost killed herself trying to get out of that stinking chaise, and burst through the French doors of the dining room, grabbing the phone on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Robbie, it's Dad.”
“Hey, Dad!” she said, brightening. “How are you?”
“I'm okay.”
“How is the chemo going?”
He groaned. “The way chemo always goes—I'd rather jump off a cliff.”
“But what are they saying? Are you going to be okay?”
“Robbie—” he paused, sighing. “I don't know. We'll see. They want to try this once more along with some drug therapy. Of course your mom is into the spiritual path and is threatening more herbal therapy if this doesn't work, so do your old man a favor and keep your fingers crossed.”
She'd do more than that. “You know, I've been thinking a lot about you, wondering how you were.”
“Yeah, well, I've been thinking a lot about you, too. I'm coming out to the ranch next week and I want you to come, too. We'll be getting into town next Wednesday after my last treatment. I want you there Thursday. Bring Evan if you want.”
Okay, she'd let that one slide. “I'll be there. I am sure I can work it out.”
“So you think that handyman will let you go?”
The question stunned her. “W-what? What did you say?”
“Don't play dumb. That handyman you're fooling around with.”
And now it infuriated her. Damn him! “I'm not fooling around with anyone—”
“When I said I wanted you to stop and smell the roses, I didn't intend for you to take up with the first workman that walked through your door.”
Her heart was starting to pound so hard she thought it might explode in her chest. “T hank s, Dad. T hank s for the clarification. You weren't explicit enough about who I was to date and when. So, what, does Grandma have a hotline in to your hospital bed?”
“Lil? I haven't talked to Lil!” He said it so gruffly that he started coughing, wheezing into the phone. “Shit,” he said to himself.
Evan. Evan and his big damn mouth… Dad's cough grew violent, and though she was fuming, Robin could not bear to hear him like that. “Sorry, Dad,” she said quickly. “Look, we'll talk when you get here, okay? Can we do that?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding noticeably weaker. “I'm looking forward to seeing you, Robbie-girl.”
He had a very peculiar way of showing it, she thought bitterly. “I want to see you, too, Dad. Say hi to Mom, will you?”
Dad wheezed again. “I will,” he said hoarsely and managed a quick good-bye between another spasm of coughing.
Robin hung up, ran through a few choice words for Evan as she carried the phone with her and wandered back out onto the terrace to resume her seat. A full moon, big as a platter, was just beginning to rise, and she thought of that lovely day she and Jake had gone to see the wildflowers.
The phone shattered her dreamy state of contemplation.
“Hey, baby.” Jake sounded exhausted.
“Jake! How are you?”
“Okay. How was Burdette?”
“Great. I think Girt and Evan hit it off.”
“That's good,” he mumbled, obviously distracted.
“I didn't see you this morning before I left. Your truck was gone—”
“Yeah, I ran into a little trouble. Cole managed to get himself arrested.”
Robin caught her breath; a flash of untold horrors raced through her mind. “Oh Christ! What happened?”
Jake's sigh was heavy, full of emotion. “He and another kid cut class, went down to the levee and smoked a joint.”
“Oh man...” Her disappointment was, surprisingly, overwhelming. She hadn't realized she cared so much what the kid did. “Why? Did he say why?”
“No. He won't talk about it. I… I was hoping maybe you could help me out here. At least he'll talk to you.”
Robin was already standing. “Are you at home? I'll come over.”
“T hank you, Robin,” Jake said, and she could hear the relief in his voice.
In truth, Jake was at his wit's end. He had gone round and round with Mom on the subject of Cole—her insisting it was his fault for not paying more attention to the boy like he had promised, and he insisting she made matters worse in always trying to assess blame. That got them nowhere fast, and feeling the frustration of the situation, Mom next laid into Cole in that biting way of hers she had perfected through the years. The end result was a tight-lipped, surly Cole who refused to answer or do anything they asked of him. As a last resort, Jake had gathered up a few of his things, tossed them in an overnight bag, and ordered him to the truck. At least he wouldn't have to worry about Cole sneaking out—the Heights were too far from anything Cole knew.
“I don't want to go to your house! That's like another state!” Cole had complained.
“No choice, bucko. You made that decision when you smoked pot.”
“God, Uncle Jake, you treat me like a baby! I'm almost fifteen!”
“That's because you act like a baby. When you stop acting like it, I'll stop treating you like one,” he had shot back. They had ridden in frosty silence across Houston; when they reached Jake's house, Cole went to the room he used on occasion and slammed the door so hard that it almost came off its hinges.
When Robin arrived, she immediately asked where he was.
“In his room,” Jake said.
Robin looked at the closed door. “Do you have a quilt or a blanket?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, confused, “but what does that—”
“Humor me,” she said.