“Daddy said that since I was leaving for a few weeks that we should have a family dinner. He said I should bring you along.”
Roger had already met the parents, but being invited to “The Family Dinner” was a whole new level. Things were moving way too fast. He wasn’t feeling bad about Paige anymore but this felt like a going steady kind of thing and he had only just met Beth. His stomach began to feel queasy but he said, “Sounds like fun.”
Things happen for a reason
. His mother was fond of that expression. So when he felt his relationship with Beth was based on him saying what he thought she wanted to hear, he thought maybe his responses were just things happening for a reason. Then again, can anything that is based on two days be considered a relationship? He liked Beth and her family. He liked the Jeep and the camping gear. He liked the idea of coming back next summer for a job. However, dinner with the folks, he was not counting on. What he was counting on was being on the road early tomorrow.
“Oh I don’t know if fun is a word I would use,” Beth replied uneasily.
They had gotten through dinner without incident and Roger was beginning to think he was going to get out without the talk. He had it going through his head since they left Billy’s dealership. Jack would take him aside and give him the what for. Shit, the summer had started with him trying to convince his mother that things would be okay. Now he was trying to figure out how he would convince the Walkers the same thing. It was a pleasant dinner. Billy was late and took some of the attention from Beth. He also brought the receptionist and that rubbed Jack the wrong way. Bobbie came in alone, but was dressed in a provocative top that left very little to the imagination. That also pissed Jack off. Beth sat quietly beside Jack like the good child.
Roger began to get nervous early on. Would Billy and Bobbie have Jack so wound up that he would rain down on him and Beth just because he didn’t like the way things were going? But that hadn’t happened, at least not yet.
Then the axe fell. After dinner, Jack invited Roger to tour the house with him. Beth tried to go to Roger’s aid but Jack sent her off to help her mother clean up. How much help she needed with three domestics clearing the table was suspect. Roger followed Jack into his study. That’s what he called it, the study. It was a huge room with an equally huge oak desk, a stone fireplace against one wall adorned with brass pokers and a stuffed cougar over the mantle. The cougar was poised to pounce, its ears pinned and fangs exposed, ready for the kill.
Jack caught Roger’s fixed gaze at the cougar.
“Beautiful animals aren’t they? That one killed three of my cows and my favorite dog before I killed it. If my aim was off an inch either way, I may have been mounted on the wall.”
Roger didn’t reply, he just made a weak attempt at looking impressed. He was sure that his effort only confirmed to Jack that he was shitting bricks. Make a run for it is what Roger wanted to do.
“I like you, Roger.”
Roger cringed at the sound of that. Anything that ever started like that had a colossal BUT, coming right after. His mind raced. Why had Jack dragged him in here? Was he going to buy him off? “Here, Roger, twenty grand and keep the Jeep. Just get out of here before Beth wakes up.” Maybe he was going to threaten him. “Roger, if you hurt my little girl I will mount you right up there with that cougar.”
Before he could speculate anymore Jack continued, “I don’t know if you picked up on it, but Bethy is my favorite. I know parents aren’t supposed to have favorites but if you have more than one it’s bound to happen.”
Isn’t this great, Roger thought, the man kills three-hundred pound killer cats for sport and his favorite child is planning to go on a road trip with him. Roger could feel his pores begin to moisten and his scrotum had drawn up so tight his testicles were pushing at his kidneys. He was sure that his face was beaded with sweat and Jack was about to turn up the heat.
“I decided long ago to trust my kids to make good decisions. Bobbie isn’t very good at that yet, Billy is beginning to get the hang of it but he still has lapses. Beth on the other hand, I have never had to worry about. So when she came and told me she planned to join you on your quest, I had to support her. However, her little toy car wasn’t going to make the cut. Once you get off the highways around the canyon the roads can be primitive at best. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her hitchhike, it just isn’t safe. So I had Billy arrange the Jeep.” Roger’s mouth began to open and Jack held up his hand to silence him.
“You seem to be as level headed as Beth so I’m not too worried about this,” Jack continued then paused again. “Don’t disappoint me kid, okay?”
“Yes sir,” Roger said. He was desperate to think of something inspired to say to Jack. Something that would ease his mind, or maybe something that would reassure him, but ”Yes sir.” was all he could muster. Jack slapped Roger on the back and left the room. Roger stood and watched him leave unable to rationalize what was happening to him.
Tomorrow he would be driving southwest toward Arizona in a brand new Jeep. Beth, a beautiful girl he hardly new was going to ride with him. Beth’s father who seemed to own most of the state of Nebraska had just given his blessing and there he stood, in the study of a huge mansion unable to make a simple decision like rejoin the group in the dining room.
He stood in the middle of the study when Beth walked in.
“Hey Vermont, you still alive? When you didn’t come back I thought maybe Daddy skinned you and mounted you up there with the cougar.”
As Roger turned to look back at the cat, Beth charged him, screaming some kind of battle cry and jumped up on him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist. Roger caught her, barely maintaining his balance.
Jack entered the room and raised an eyebrow. Roger realized that he was holding Jackson Walker’s favorite child by the cheeks of her ass.
“You two aren’t going to make me regret my decision, are you?” Jack asked.
Beth released Roger and ran over to Jack jumped up on him the same way and kissed his cheek. “Calm down, Daddy, I’m just trying to cheer him up after you scared the crap out of him.”
“Well, let’s get back to the others. Your mom’s got a big jug of lemonade or sweet tea waiting,” Jack said, leaving them behind.
Chapter Nineteen
At the Prairie Inn, sure, the staff was courteous, and the facility was clean and well- maintained. After the day Scott Randall just had it should have felt like Xanadu. In spite of the hotel’s amenities, a state of unease pressed in on him. He hoped work would take the edge off his agitation. He answered all his emails then sat in front of his computer staring at an unchanging screen while the urge to bolt from the room percolated between his ears. There was nothing in particular he disliked about his room or the hotel, but he wasn’t comfortable.
His irritation started when the clerk at the front desk said, “Okie-dokie” while handing Scott his keycard. He had come to hate that expression from the first time he heard it come from the mouth of The Nightcrawler in front of Thomas Andrews’ office. Now what about that, he had given his hallucination a name. A name that came to him in a dream, well, in a nightmare was more like it. Maybe it was neither. Maybe it was a window to hell. Anyway, when questioned, the clerk claimed that what she said was “you forgot your room key” not okie-dokie, but Scott knew better. She said, “okie-dokie”.
What the fuck does okie-dokie mean anyway?
Then the bellhop in the lobby did that finger gun thing and made the clicking sound with his tongue
. Is there anyone in the heartland who doesn’t do that? What is this, cops and robbers? It is not my finger; it’s a gun, you dork. For Christ’s sake,
he thought
. It’s like there’s a discussion group going in my head. Hello, my name is Scott and I’m a fucking whack job. Then the group says, “Hi Scott”. He goes into a history of Whack Job Scottie, and then there’s applause. Shit, that does it, fucking clapping in my head.
To escape the group session, Scott went for a walk, dressed in the same clothes he had changed into at the hospital. The air was still hot, no hint of a breeze, the rain from the afternoon storm evaporating into a haze that hovered over the area. The moon was full, the sky clear and cloudless, but the lunar glow lacked luster, its reflected rays subdued by the haze. It was quiet, too quiet; eerie was how he would describe it. The only sound was an occasional whoosh of a car speeding by on the interstate a quarter mile away.
He felt like he was twelve. The night he had run away from home was just like this. His dad had scolded him for not trying to stretch a double out of a line drive to left center. When he got home, he ran to his room. He sat there for what seemed like hours, just sitting on the bed stewing over his dad’s tirade. Why couldn’t his dad be happy that he got a base hit? He moved the runner over to third and was safe at first. Then Robbie hits one right at the shortstop and poof, double-play. Scottie improved his batting average but his team lost the game. Sure, if he stretched his hit into a double, there would have been no double play, but that didn’t make the loss his fault. So, he ran away. When it got dark, he opened the window, threw his glove out on the back lawn, and climbed down using the TV antenna tower. He went to the ballpark and sat on first base. He screamed into the darkness, “I’m still safe.” Then he got scared. He lasted about an hour out there, in the night. Crickets chirped, an owl hooted and the wind was moving the trees, but Scottie didn’t feel any breeze. He just saw the trees move and heard the leaves rustle. He had to fight back the tears that welled in his eyes. He ran home, picked up his glove from where it fell on the back lawn and climbed back through his bedroom window.
Twenty years later as he walked beneath the streetlights he again felt frightened. He looked up at the trees and watched them move in the wind. Scott did the Boy Scout test, finger in mouth, hold to the air, feel the breeze. Nothing there and yet the trees swayed to a rhythm of some unheard music.
Crickets chirped all around, louder and louder, as if amplified. At first, it was just chirping, and then it became a raucous chorus of catcalls. It seemed like the whirr of noise that comes from a crowd of people all speaking at once. Then the whirr seemed to slow into a rhythm. The kind the sports fans get when they chant a player’s name in unison. But it wasn’t a name he heard, it was, “okie-dokie.” Scott clamped his hands over his ears. The chant was muffled, but still audible. He squeezed harder, his hands like a vice now, pressing against the side of his head. His ears started to ring, he sat on the grass eyes closed, hands over his ears, rocking to the chant, “okie-dokie, okie-dokie.”
Then a voice broke the chant, “Are you okay, sir?”
It was quiet again, even the chirping was gone. A cool breeze brushed Scott’s cheek as he opened his eyes to see who stopped the noise. A woman dressed in green scrubs was standing on the sidewalk looking down with a concerned expression. She was an average looking woman, not pretty, not ugly. One of the many someone’s, who could walk into a room and not be noticed. Her hair was cut in a bob, she wore no makeup, and her purse had straps like a child’s backpack and was strung over her left shoulder.
“What, I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
“I asked if you’re okay.” She still had a worried look on her face and added, “Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m fine thanks.”
“All right, but you really should get up off the ground, I work in this building and the sprinklers will be coming on in a…” Sure enough, they did. Scott managed to jump to the safety of the sidewalk with just a few water spots dotting his shirt and shorts.
“Well, it looks like you saved me from a cold shower.” By now they were both laughing, the controlled laugh you enjoy when you’re with someone you don’t know.
“Hi, my name is Scott. Let me reward you by buying you a drink.”
“That won’t be necessary, Scott.”
“Look, I’ve been on the road for what seems like forever, I’m just looking for some friendly conversation. How about it? Just drinks and conversation.”
“I tell you what, Scott, I just got off work. My house is a couple of blocks from here.” She paused, almost as though she was debating in her head whether to continue with her current response. “If you like I could run in and change and then I might be open to grabbing a quick bite if you’re interested.”
“Sounds good to me,” Scott answered with an enthusiastic resonance. It was a tone reminiscent of his response to an invitation from his dad to Dairy Queen after a ball game.
His childlike demeanor had brought on another giggle that she tried to muffle by putting a hand over her mouth. Before he could say anything more she said, “My name is Gwen, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Scott.”
Gwen started along the sidewalk without saying anything and Scott followed suit, walking slightly behind and to her left. A luminescent glow gave the trees along the road ahead of them a surreal spookiness. They walked along without speaking. Scott stared at the freakish skeletal shapes of the tree limbs, like he was waiting for someone, or something to jump out at them. Or maybe he thought the trees themselves might just come after him. After all, if worms could mold themselves into people, and crickets could chant, “Okie-Dokie,” then why couldn’t trees chase him through the streets of Salina, Nebraska.