Authors: Patrick McGhee
Chapter 18
Wally had barely closed his mobile phone and placed it in his pocket, when Dorinda chimed in, “I don’t mean to be nosy, Wally. I bet that was Tony, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, he’s in North Carolina on the shores of Lake Nansemond. He misses me and wanted to say ‘hi.’”
“Did he want you to send him some money?” asked Dorinda.
Wally looked puzzled. “Actually, he didn’t mention money.”
Dorinda exclaimed, “Then, I bet he’s got a hot little thing very close by, like right in his face. For shame! For shame!” She paused to think a moment, then she went on, “Oh, Wally, honey. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say something that would hurt you.”
“Don’t be sorry, Dorinda. It’s probably true. He had a hot little thing on a the night just before he left here.” Wally looked out the window. He thought he might start to cry. He didn’t. Then, he turned to Dorinda, “How can a person love somebody even when he gets treated like trash?”
Before Dorinda had a chance to answer, Mileah joined in, “It happens all the time, Wally boy. I should know. I am the expert at going out with trash.”
Norman interrupted, “Now wait just a minute, dear, sweet Mileah. You went out with me and I’m not trash.”
“That’s true, Norman,” replied Mileah. “You are an exception to the rule. I’m talking about smooth-operators. They treat you like trash, and they keep it up until they die. Then, they don’t treat you any way at all.”
“There you go again, sweet thing. I’m nowhere near dead!” exclaimed Norman.
“Land sakes, honey. You got that one right,” swooned Mileah. “You’re a hot tamale, if I ever went out with one. No! You’re more like a whole bushel of jalapeños. Whoa! You put some spice into my life.”
“Yeah. I’m hotter than a whole Mexican restaurant.” bragged Norman.
Jarvis Muncey appeared at the doorway. His face was the usual red, and he was sweating. “OK, folks, let’s get some work done, here.”
Mileah adjusted her boobs. Norman adjusted his package. They went back to work.
Norman found himself unable to concentrate. He looked out the window. I don’t now how long I can be as hot as they think I am. It’s wearing me out. I need someone who wants
me
, Norman Gómez, not just my fantastic body.
Norman wheeled his chair around. He caught Wally’s glance. Wally gave a quick smile, then continued his work. Norman wheeled back. He gazed out the window again. I wonder if Wally would want
me
and not just my body. He seems fascinated with Tony’s kisses, almost like they’re more exciting than
other stuff.
Norman continued in deep thought. You know they make too much ado about
other stuff
. I mean, I really think I could kiss Wally if I knew he liked it, as long as he didn’t try to get me to . . . well, I don’t want to think about that part. I am so tired of performing around all these wild women. They crave my body and don’t give a crap whether or not they connect with my mind. I bet Wally would connect with my mind. The only problem, Tony’s in the way. Wally seems to think Tony is the answer to everything, the hunk of all hunks. It’s sad, but that guy is going to drain him until he won’t have enough to buy a stick of gum. Oh, Wally. I could smother you with kisses and never ask for a dime. I need somebody’s soul to fall in love with my soul. Oh, God, I need that.
Norman wheeled around again and caught Wally looking. This time, Wally didn’t look away. He smiled and rested his chin on the palm of his hand.
Norman thought, he’s got the most pleasant look. I wonder. Is he thinking about me? Norman sighed. He adjusted his package and swiveled around to his desk. Wally was still watching.
When the workday was over, Wally and Norman walked together to their cars. Neither of them mentioned the desk episode, but Norman made a casual comment, “If you ever need to talk to someone about this Tony guy, I will listen. If you need to talk to me about
anything,
I will listen. Just call me. Remember that. OK?”
Chapter 19
Sheriff Silas Camden, a portly man with red cheeks and thinning hair, walked from the cruiser to his office in the courthouse. He moved slowly to keep up his self-styled image as a dignified southern gentleman. If he ran, he would be out of breath, the result of years of smoking. In all situations, regardless of urgency or severity, the sheriff walked. He got there breathing normally. He handled it. The sheriff would not allow himself to be undignified or even overly emotional, except in rare instances, such as his mother’s funeral. There, modest facial expressions of grief, and even tears and sniffles, were considered appropriate, especially when Alfreda Lackey got up and sang a tear-jerker in her pseudo-operatic voice. She would slide from note to note as if the music were written that way. She always got people teary-eyed. After the service, folks would lavish her with gushy compliments, and she would manage a saccharine display of gratitude as if she were Lexington’s official mourner. Sheriff Camden wondered how Alfreda could carry on so, funeral after funeral, regardless of day or season, and still live a normal life. He figured that her mind must have been wired up a different way.
When the sheriff reached the office, he sat at his desk. He shuffled through papers. He lit a cigarette. He shuffled more papers. He rubbed his forehead. He tapped on the desk. He shuffled more papers. All this time, Chief Deputy Gilbert Lane had been standing at the door waiting for the sheriff to acknowledge him. He never barged in. The sheriff didn’t like that.
Sheriff Camden spoke without raising his head. “Come on in Gilbert. I’ll be right with you.” He fidgeted. He rubbed his forehead again. “F-word! . . . Why in tarnation does this have to happen? . . . F-word!”
Gilbert looked baffled and began to wonder if he should stay. “If something is bothering you so much, Sheriff, why don’t you just go ahead and say that word. You’re already thinking it. It will make you feel better, and I am the only person who’ll hear it.”
“I can’t Gilbert. I’m a Bible-believing Christian. I cannot let the world hear such vile, filthy language coming out of my mouth. Why, that word is just one step below taking the Lord’s name in vain.”
“But, the word is not so bad, if you don’t use it all the time. And, it packs a lot of power. I mean, you’re upset about something, very upset.”
“Get thee behind me, Satan!” roared the sheriff. He paused. Taking a deep breath and calming down, he went on, “Gilbert, it’s like the devil himself is standing behind you. And, he’s trying to get
you
to make
me
say that word. Don’t take it personally, but it
is
like that.”
Gilbert nodded. “I guess you have to stand for what you believe.”
“Yes, yes, I do have to do that, and I am being severely tested right now. My son . . . my own son is an abomination to the Lord. Oh, where have I failed?” The sheriff paused and looked out the window. Then he turned back toward Gilbert, “You know, sonny boy . . . you could be right . . . it just might help to say that word. So much has been happening in my family.” The sheriff snarled as he formed his lips and teeth to say the first consonant. No sound. Then, he shaped his mouth to let his tongue fall in the front and rise in the middle for the vowel sound. Nothing came out. Last, his tongue lodged against the ridge behind his upper teeth to allow a burst of air to drag across for the final consonant. There was no air. There was no sound. “There, I feel better,” said the sheriff, a satisfied smile easing the wrinkles in his forehead.
“You didn’t say anything.” quipped Gilbert
“No, but I sure was thinking it hard, and I made all the motions. I just did not let the air cross my vocal cords. I committed part of the sin, but not all of it. Forgiveness should be easier.”
“OK, Sheriff, I’ve got some time. Today’s kind of lazy. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Have a seat, boy. This may take all the time you’ve got.”.
Gilbert took a chair near the sheriff’s desk.
“It’s that son of mine. You know . . . Kirby? He’s squandering the trust fund I set up for him to have for college. And making a mockery out of our family values, I might add.”
“Is he into drugs or wild women?” questioned Gilbert.
“Not exactly,” continued the sheriff. “It’s a bit more embarrassing than that, at least
I
think so. I am afraid my son is on his way to Hades, and riding there in high style. Let me back up a bit so you can get a better idea.”
“OK,” said Gilbert. He moved his chair closer to the sheriff’s desk. Then he leaned forward a bit, ready to tune it all in.
“You know that lady I’ve been seeing since my wife divorced me?”
“You mean Isabel, the one in Charlotte?”
“Yeah, she’s a widow. Her husband was a doctor. He had loads of investments and
good
life insurance.”
“You met each other at a single’s bar, didn’t you?”
“Yes, it was about two years ago. We took a liking to each other from the beginning.” The sheriff stopped to light a cigarette. “Do you want a smoke, Gilbert?”
“No, I gave up the habit five years ago.”
“I didn’t think I had seen you smoking. Do you mind if I do?”
“No, go ahead, I still like second-hand smoke. Doesn’t bother me a bit.”
The sheriff lit up, took a puff, and continued, “Well, Isabel rented a lakeside cabin in that new development near Saxon Bridge. This is their first year open, and she’s got it for most of the summer.”
Gilbert asked, “Have you been there yet?”
“Oh, yes,” answered the sheriff. “I have been going down there on my days off, except for the past two weeks. Got too many folks on vacation around here.”
For a moment the sheriff lost his train of thought. His face was blank. “Oh, I almost forgot where I was. Well, the cabin . . . it’s got two bedrooms in case Isabel has other company. It’s on a hillside between the road and the lake. There’s a deck perched out over the lake. Well, it looks that way when you’re out on the deck. But if you go down underneath, you can see that the poles, holding it up, are a couple of feet away from the water’s edge. There’s a fireplace in the living room so you can break the chill on cool nights. It’s got cable TV, internet, phone, a fantastic kitchen. You name it.”
“I bet us regular working people couldn’t afford it,” remarked Gilbert.
“Probably not. I haven’t asked her how much it costs, and she hasn’t told me. She invites me down. It’s her business how she spends her money.”
“Is there plenty of privacy?” asked Gilbert.
“No. Actually there are cabins on each side like you would find with the houses here in town. Three cabins going down the road, and six cabins going up. She likes having neighbors because it’s more secure.”
“You’re right. An elderly woman should have neighbors to look in on her.”
“Who are you calling elderly? She’s only fifty-one, a year younger than me.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. Didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, the other day Isabel and her friend Barbara, who lives in the last cabin up the road . . . they go into town for groceries and Barbara says, ‘There’s a young man in his twenties living in the cabin next to me. Right nice fellow, he is. He will be staying for two weeks. He introduced himself as Kirby Camden. Is he related to your boyfriend?’” The sheriff slammed his fist on his desk. His lips quivered. “Well, just how many Kirby Camdens do you know, Gilbert? It’s not like he was named Sam Jones or Joe Smith. My God, of course he is related to me!”
“Sheriff, you’re getting your blood pressure up. What’s wrong with him having a cabin?”
“I know, Gilbert, I’ve got to calm down. But it’s hard ‘cause the whole mess gets worse. It’s not just the cabin.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gilbert.
“I mean, Barbara goes on to tell Isabel that a man in his early thirties is staying with Kirby . . . a man! Barbara saw them out on the deck the other night. They were drinking beer and kissing each other on the mouth! Lord, God, have mercy on our poor family. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Kirby started kissing this man on his chest near his nipples and they got to laughing. Then Barbara heard the other guy tell Kirby, ‘Let’s go inside, so you can kiss other stuff without us getting arrested.’ And Kirby says, ‘You don’t know how long I’ve hungered for this. You’re the man of my dreams.’ Oh, Lord, where have I gone wrong as a father? I gave him
everything
.”
“Sheriff, you didn’t go wrong. You’ve been a good father. Your daughter Emma Lou is a fine young lady, respected hereabouts as a dedicated teacher. She gave you two of the loveliest grandchildren a man could want. And . . . she has always taken your side in this divorce business. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re right, Gilbert. I need to be thankful that
something
went right in this family. As for the others? Talking about dysfunctional. We’re going to hit the record books. Mercedes is hopping from man to man, spending her alimony, and it’s
absolutely
breaking me up. She doesn’t sleep with one guy long enough to fall in love and marry him. The only thing that’s gonna get me out of this mess, is a good wedding. That, and getting a psychiatrist for Kirby. Oh, God, where did I go wrong?” The sheriff hung his head and began to sob.
Gilbert excused himself and slipped out of the room.