“Jacob,” Sam said, “I think I’m gonna pull out of the market.”
Occasionally the Cassel brothers had lunch at the cafe, just the two of them. Now with Jacob at seventy years old, a pecking order had fallen. While Sam and Tommie were neighbors, right in each other’s back pockets, their wives like to say, it was the eldest of the oldsters to hold court. Jacob rarely drove to Sam’s for a visit; Sam was the little brother and always would be.
He might hold the reins of the trust, but Jacob had taken an interest in the finances, something Tommie never did. Sam made the decisions, but always ran things by Jacob before anything was done.
In early May 2007, Sam had noticed falling house prices. Looking at places with Eric had been the first sign, back in March. Since then Sam had noted the slowing pace not only there in sleepy Arkendale, but in Albany, Salem, Eugene, and Portland. Then south, to California; Sam was glad they had sold Chelsea’s house when they did. Even in San Francisco, homes were selling for less.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Jacob said quietly. “Things aren’t doing so well lately.”
They spoke in soft tones, not looking like men who would care about the Dow or NASDAQ. Jacob told of what he knew there in town, construction starting to fall off some. Scott was having a hard time finding work for his crew, and Jacob was worried. Tanner would be the first casualty if someone had to go.
He was the last hired, and there was no nepotism. But if Tanner lost that job, compounded with who he was hanging around with, anything could happen.
Jacob didn’t need to say that. These brothers were close. Sam hadn’t breathed anything to Jacob about Dana, but just about everything else was shared.
“We’ve already lost twenty,” Sam mumbled.
“Well, better get out before we lose any more.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’ll tell Tommie.”
They finished their lunch, the idea of twenty million dollars wiped away not slowing their appetites. Twenty out of three hundred million wasn’t a crucial loss.
By the end of that day, Sam had repositioned nearly all the family’s stocks into accounts that wouldn’t be rocked by volatile markets. They wouldn’t make any money in these funds, would just sit even, which was fine. Two hundred eighty million dollars would last for ages, freeing some of Sam’s gray matter. With so much surrounding him, the last thing he wanted to consider was the state of the family’s earnings.
Kids were graduating, not only his. Emily was finishing her masters, had been accepted for her PhD at Stanford. Lexi’s daughter Kim was done at the University of Oregon, but Sam wasn’t sure of her next move. Lana’s daughter Melissa would finish high school, then leave for Lewis & Clark College in Portland.
Steve and Marcy’s sons remained in vet school, but their daughter Cara had a job in Eugene, working as an accountant. She was the only one besides Sam’s kids to be employed, as Tanner might be out of work soon. Sitting next to Jenny on the sofa, Sam didn’t say anything about that boy, only glad that with so many to get through school and more grandchildren on the way, plenty of money waited, all needs to be met.
That night, Tanner ate dinner with his family. Melissa had pulled that Spanish grade back to a B, but it didn’t really matter as she was getting A’s in everything else. In the fall she and Courtney wouldn’t be living together in Portland, going to different private colleges on opposite sides of the Willamette River. Courtney would share an apartment with friends, but Melissa would live in the dorms, where she’d be for the first two years, a Lewis & Clark requirement. By the time she could have her own place, Courtney might be done at Reed.
Tanner had investigated the costs, nearly fifty grand, including the dorms, both sisters’ tuition about the same. A hundred G’s just so those girls could get some book smarts, and Tanner wanted to laugh out loud.
Nanny was thinking about a school closer to home, Willamette University in Salem, the oldest college in the western United States. It was another small, exclusive university costing about the same, no difference between them except the names on the buildings, or on the checks.
Three sisters, plus Susanna and Mike down the road, probably not Janessa. Tanner looked at her, but felt no envy. He didn’t feel any toward Melissa either; she had worked her tail off getting that C up to a B. Tanner had an appreciation for brains, as he didn’t have any. Then he smiled, feeling more like his youngest sister. He and Janessa would buck the trend.
Mitch had too, then Tanner brushed that man aside. Tanner wouldn’t join the Marines, not because he was afraid to carry a gun. The military required too much discipline, there were too many rules, of which Tanner had enough here at home. He would be twenty-two in a month, but still lived at home.
He ate his spaghetti; Alana was a good cook. She was back to Alana in his head, but from his mouth came Mom, which felt like the biggest goddamned lie. Nothing else slipped from his throat, nor had anything been ingested. But he was so tempted, it was right under his nose. Only an angel’s whisper edged what beckoned, a gentle voice easing all the memories, all the bullshit. All the money the family would spend on kids going to college, but none for him.
Tanner didn’t watch the stock market, only the numbers on his paycheck, which were adequate, set into his bank account. He could move out, get his own place, but he still needed… These people, his sister, not the one preparing to leave for college, or Nanny. It was Janessa. As long as Tanner stayed under her not so observant wide green eyes, he would be okay.
He didn’t care about hurting his parents. Scott had belted him, more concerned for his wife than his eldest child, his oldest son. When Tanner had returned, Alana had been the soft touch. Scott was further away, and at first Tanner understood. He had said some pretty shitty things, not that he remembered them all, but Travis had told him, so had Daniel and Brian. Eric hadn’t, too wrapped up in his own mess of a drug addict. How ironic that for all the times Eric had bitched at Tanner, look who he had fallen in love with.
But Travis had made the point; Tanner had stepped over a line, audibly threatening Alana’s life. Even Janessa had heard it, but she had forgiven him, Alana too. Not Scott; Tanner’s dad still held a grudge.
But he let his son live there, use a truck, not charging Tanner rent or money for gas or insurance. Tanner had three thousand dollars in his savings account, about a grand in checking. Maybe this summer Melissa wouldn’t be the only moving out. Maybe Tanner would too.
He wouldn’t move in with Eric, who was looking to buy a place when he and Dana came back. Or rather Sam would buy his son a house. Eric would work on the farm, but truthfully, what in the hell was that? Probably not much more than what Alvin had managed back in the old days. That place was still a tax write-off; Tanner had stored up plenty of information over the years, sort of like his Grandpa Jacob, staying in the shadows but not missing a trick.
Between all the cousins still in school, Tanner calculated that over half a million dollars was paid out annually. While math hadn’t been his strong suit, it wasn’t hard if you rounded up, fifty thousand per kid, and that didn’t include living expenses, like Eric dropping a cool grand for new tires a few months back. One thousand dollars was all Tanner had in his checkbook, but Eric had spent that without a second thought, not even asking his dad. He just did it, drove north, then was compensated. How tough a life did Eric actually have?
Forkfuls of bland food went in Tanner’s mouth. It had been good at the beginning, like his life, then had soured, finally settling on some weak, colorless existence. Tanner needed to make his own way, as obviously no one in this family was going to lift a finger for him. He had been home for nearly seven months, but nobody was buying him a house, no one giving him a new vehicle. No one was going to do a thing for him unless he decided to go to college. What bullshit! Tanner finished his dinner, then heard Janessa. “Where you going Tanner?”
He stared at his parents, who were talking to Melissa and Nanny. Mike and Susannah were arguing about somethi
ng. Only Janessa noticed he was done.
“Nowhere honey,” Tanner smiled, seeing the ease in her eyes. “Just done with dinner, that’s all. Good spaghetti Alana.”
All attention focused on him. It had slipped, but despite cool blue and green eyes, one pair of gray stood out. Tanner didn’t care. She wasn’t his mother, Scott was barely his father. Only Janessa mattered.
“I’m glad you liked it Tanner,” Alana whispered.
“Yeah Mom, it’s great,” Nanny said pointedly, glaring at her brother.
His only full sibling, but Tanner felt for Nanny as he did the rest, all except the youngest. Tanner said nothing more, ruffling Janessa’s smooth blonde braid, leaving it somewhat messy as he left for the night.
That same evening, Chelsea stepped from the shower, running her hands along a swell that hadn’t disappeared. Every morning she woke to that belly and every night she washed it off. She preferred an evening shower, something about falling into bed clean easing her mind.
Andy had found a similar routine, some nights joining her, but lately there wasn’t much room. They joked about it now that she was twenty-five weeks along, looking more like how Bethany had appeared when she was due. Just how large was Chelsea going to get?
In another three weeks, if the babies came early, they would most likely survive. Chelsea was all about numbers, but not like Tanner. Chelsea focused on double digits; if she could reach twenty-eight weeks, she would be on a cloud.
Maybe then she could enjoy it, but by then, she would have about two months left, and that was if she went as far as her doctor would allow. Once she reached thirty-six weeks at the end of July, they would induce, not wishing to make Chelsea suffer any longer.
It was, to the woman still trying to wrap her head around motherhood, a big if. If she carried the twins that long, if she didn’t go into pre-term labor… Chelsea dried her body, which now meant her babies. She was having a baby, times two, but it didn’t seem any more real than if she was as before.
She wiped condensation from the mirror, noting changes beyond her unruly stomach. Her breasts were huge, the nipples large and dark. She smiled, setting her hands under them, wishing Andy was there. Then she giggled; her doctor said she would increase at least one more size when her milk came in. Chelsea recalled Alana with her last three, her medium bust looking more like Aunt Rae’s and Lexi’s generous bosoms.
That was about as far back as Chelsea recalled, maybe that Jenny nursed Eric for two years, but at the end, it was only at night, her medium bosom unaltered. Back then Chelsea hadn’t given it another thought, just how things went in her house. Jenny breast-fed all her kids and Chelsea would too. But now she understood why her mother had kept Eric close those last few months of his babyhood. He was fully weaned by the age of two, but had been Jenny’s last child. One so precious, what Chelsea now fully comprehended.
She could grasp why her parents got pregnant again when Rachel was just six or seven months old. Chelsea did the math, standing naked in her bathroom, the warm humidity pleasant and cozy. Rachel had been eight months old when Eric was conceived, right after Sam’s accident. Then the last Cassel arrived, Chelsea at eight and a half years with a pretty firm memory of her baby brother.
She lost a few tears, feeling her babies turn and kick. Her babies; how unreal was that, she considered, tracing the dark, thin line that ran from her pubic hair to her navel, another oddity. She had known about that byproduct, having observed Mike come into this world, as she would never experience that herself. Louise was Chelsea’s namesake but now Will teased that if they had known, they would have named her something else.
His banter was always followed with a soft touch along Chelsea’s face, then his hands set to her belly. Will harbored no ill feelings, only loving appreciation and awareness. David, Rachel, and Eric were happy for her, but Will’s comprehension was from where only they originated. Only since the accident had Will known Alvin’s hand on his life, but once she was a teenager, Chelsea had felt it. It never affected how she was Sam’s daughter, just reinforcing she was Alvin’s too.
Now she was Andy’s wife, for there in front of her was solid, immutable proof. Strong kicks reminded her, if she had forgotten, and Chelsea began to cry, unsure of the reason. Hormones of course, she had been sappy since the beginning. But something more, maybe knowledge, perhaps a lack of fear? Alvin had lived a short but fairly full life, falling in love, becoming a parent. For all she knew of him, his existence became whole once her mother moved to town. Tommie repeated it often; once Jenny arrived, Alvin was a completed man.
Now Chelsea was a fulfilled woman. Naked in her bathroom, she stared at a body not faulty, only lush and ripening. She smiled, the words sounding funny, but as her natural father had matured under the specter of love, his daughter was doing the same. Chelsea appreciated that similarity. Alvin hadn’t dreamed he would father a child, Chelsea had never considered she might carry one, much less two. She set hands along her babies, calling them by names she felt had fallen into her head just as these children had landed in her body.
Just like Jenny had stepped into Arkendale, on the arm of an angel.
Several times zones ahead, in a new day, Mitch stepped from a shower with just enough time to wipe down his trunk, running a thin towel along his nearly shorn scalp. He dressed in fatigues, laced up boots, leaving that small space that was his home.
The recent troop increase hadn’t made much of an immediate impact in the number of people he worked with, only in the escalation of battle. Mitch dwelled in the northeast of Baghdad, would be here for the better part of summer. Unlike Chelsea, questioning everything, Mitch was more like Tanner, accepting what couldn’t be denied.
But unlike his cousins, Mitch never looked beyond, only to staying alive, maybe taking another shower. It might be a few days, but when he did step under running water, it was just long enough to muck off the big spots. Mitch’s frame was lean, but his wide chest was more that of his father’s family. A Smith through and through, Mitch had little hair on his head as well as the rest of his body.
Getting a shower reminded him of living at home. Eric and Tanner’s frequent sleepovers made bathroom space rare. Mitch never felt he grew up in a rich family; Max and Liz’s house had four bedrooms, but wasn’t ornate like the place Scott built for Alana. That was different, Mitch allowed, a haven for that woman. If Mitch had been old enough when Tim McGillis was still around, he would have busted that man’s ass.
Why his dad and uncles hadn’t just flat out killed Tim, Mitch didn’t understand. But then, the taking of lives in war was justified. Where Mitch’s family resided the lines were firm, but here they were blurred from dust and smoke, from night and shadows. In Arkendale, life was black and white, no question.
Mitch didn’t ask questions, traveled to where he was sent, listened to orders, then followed them. It was difficult at times, rote in others, boring as hell when nothing was going on, but when something was happening, it was simple, in that there were two objectives: do what your commanding officer says and don’t get killed. So far Mitch had pursued those to the letter.
He was a good soldier, not mouthy. At home he had let it rip, but here he lived by different rules, maybe like how his father hadn’t killed Tim. It hurt watching others die, surrounded by devastation and ruin. Mitch wasn’t blind, also wasn’t sure his presence mattered, but this was his job. He did as his superiors directed, regardless of what he felt, for he had willingly signed up, better than going to college, and at the time, what his heart felt was right. 9/11 blew into Mitch’s small-town soul a world so much bigger, mired in unrest. He was just eighteen, having graduated high school. Then he watched planes explode, bodies fall from windows, towers crumble. A landscape was obliterated, much like what he now saw in Iraq.
People died as houses fell to pieces, as market squares were blown to bits by suicide bombers, nothing at all like the quiet, green Oregon countryside. This tour would be his last; he had emailed his parents all he
wanted was to come home alive. Usually he wasn’t so blunt, but since the troop increase, generals were getting things accomplished and that meant blood spilled. It took a few cracked eggs to make an omelet and Mitch was aware of the risks.
He wanted to see Chelsea; somehow he reveled in her news, the biggest surprise since Tanner came home. Mitch thought about Tanner often, more than he considered Travis, who would be fine, might be the smartest of the bunch. He was smarter than Mitch, for Travis had gone somewhere safe. LA might have its share of bullshit, but it wasn’t anything like Mitch’s current backyard. All Mitch wanted was to see his family again. Tanner’s clean return had touched him, and he would have to write to Tanner to tell him so. Mitch hadn’t been in touch as often as he would like, too preoccupied with the business of war to properly note what needed to be said.
He ate breakfast in the mess hall, wishing for his gun. Mitch was ambidextrous, taught by Grandpa Tommie who told that grandson it might one day save his life. Holding a gun came naturally in his right, but at times, he used his left, willing to employ whatever tricks lay up his sleeve, for now Oregon was now calling to his soul. He might never fit in completely, but at least Arkendale was familiar. There Mitch would always have the rain.
Chapter 15
Alvin's Farm Book 5: An Innate Sense of Recognition Page 14
