Decency

by Rex Fuller

  Tom Koonce, Cass County, Nebraska, Deputy Sheriff, was one of those. But he would have to turn off the cruiser or drive, soon. He already spent nearly all of his lunch break in her folks’ café. Now, he waited out front in the cruiser, its temperature gauge slowly lifting from the air conditioner’s heavy load. He knew what he would do. He would not move. Twenty one years ago, Tom had the misfortune of falling irretrievably in love with Samantha. She loved him too, but she felt the pull of the world and left for Duke. Tom never escaped her gravity, but could not follow.

  Just then, a late model, “1” county plate, likely from the airport rental agency, nosed over the rise into the shimmering space between. Her. He flipped off the ignition and stepped out.

  …well, there’s Tom…bless his heart…

  She wheeled into the space next to the cruiser. Tom strode around to her door and opened it.

  “Hey, Tom!”

  “Lady, it’s awful good to see you.”

  She swung out and put both arms around his neck. He hugged her as tightly as she invited, for as long as he dared. Then, at arm’s length she brightly smiled under her copper hair, blue eyes twinkling.

  “Never lost that soft spot did you, Tom?”

  “Never claimed to. You know that.” He didn’t really have to speak at all. His eyes confessed everything.

  “How is Tammy?”

  “She’s fine. And our kids. Your Mom told me when you’d be coming…”

  “You look great, Tom. Tammy must be taking good care of you.”

  “She is…”

  Stolen moments. All there would ever be.

  “Best let you go on in to your folks. I’ll catch up with you now and again before you go back. Okay?”

  “Sure, thanks for meeting me.”

  She hugged him again, then let him turn away. He backed the cruiser, wheeled around, waved and rolled away.

  She ducked back in the car. Not for her purse, she could leave that on the sidewalk and someone would just turn it in at the café. This was urgent. Two pounds of fresh Maryland jumbo lump crab meat, iced in a small plastic cooler from the Jessup distributor, hand-carried on the plane, a tradition for homecomings started when she moved to the Fort Meade area for NSA. Her Dad believed there were none better than her crab cakes. Never mind that he’d only tried hers.

  Samantha bounded into the cafe. The lunch crowd was gone. Only her Dad was in the front. When the door opened, he jumped up to catch her flying hug. He squeezed his eyelids tightly to minimize the tears. Harlan Pierce, wind-burnished face, work-steeled limbs, and life softened heart, for several years now could never get past the first or last few minutes with his only daughter dry eyed.

  “Dad, it’s so good to be home.”

  Her mother saw her come in through the long window to the kitchen and hurried out and around the bar to join them.

  Harlan handed her off to her mother. For Kathy Pierce the first few minutes were always pure excitement.

  “Ooo-oo, my sweet girl! It’s so good to have you back!”

  Samantha hung one arm around each of their necks and kissed their cheeks.

  “Did I run all of your customers off?”

  “Oh sure. We only told Tom the time or we’d’ve had a houseful.”

  Harlan had enough of his voice back to venture a few words.

  “Darlin,’ you look better than ever…”

  “Probably look thirstier too. Is the tea still in the same spot?”

  “Sure is.”

  “I need to put this crab meat away too.”

  “Samantha. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Mother. I most certainly did. My Dad likes crab cakes.”

  “Pour one for me too, please, darlin.’ I’ll take it with me down to the farm. I need to get a little field work in this afternoon.”

  Samantha came back with two tumblers of iced tea. “What time should I have your crab cakes ready, Dad?”

  “Kath, should we eat here or at the house?”

  “I’d say the house. The early customers can see Samantha and it’ll save you goin’ back and forth.”

  “Then about eight. I’ll have good light to about then.”

  He kissed both, the only two women in his life, and armed with tea and a hat to battle the sun headed back to the never-ending work around the farm.

  Kathy and Samantha quickly fell into woman-speak.

  “Mom, did I see a new SUV at the Miniers’…”

  “New baby, a girl, Shelly needed it with three under five…”

  “Anyone else…”

  “Let’s see…Mankovics…Tappanys…both boys…and Smiths, a girl…or did I write about her?”

  “You did, is she better?”

  “They don’t know yet. Now they’re testing for lactose intolerance. And did you know the Vensecka boy? He was three years behind you.”

  “I seem to remember…”

  “Hit by a train…at a crossing out by York. Just awful. Two kids still in school.”

  “When…”

  “Just last week…”

  “That will be hard on them…”

  “Church and the kids’ classmates are doing what they can…Timmy and Jenny Swartzkoph are getting divorced.”

  “You’re not serious…I knew them both…”

  “Their oldest just won a full ride Regents scholarship to the University.”

  “Is Dad doing okay…”

  “I really believe so…”

  “He looks great…”

  “He says he feels great…”

  “And you…”

  “I’m starting to slow down…a little…”

  “You should, more…”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything catching up on me…”

  If the town was the closest driving distance, you were certainly a neighbor and probably a customer or supplier to everyone else. More so than even the church or the school, the cafe was the community center. So, one of the things to do in town was to stop and see if Samantha was home yet. A steady pilgrimage carried through the afternoon. Hugs and I-knew-you-when-you-were-this-big repeated many times.

  All too soon, the sun lowered and dinner meal orders cast Kathy and Samantha in their familiar roles of alternating cook and waitress as if nothing had changed at all from Samantha’s years up through high school.

  Old Mr. Marston, the principal when Samantha was there, long since retired, put on his best suit and tie. From the door he pointed his cane at Samantha and repeated his oft-given admonition.

  “Now, young lady, you can do much better than that!”

  Samantha was delighted to see him, realizing his advancing age meant it was perhaps for the last time. She always instinctively felt he wanted the best for her by demanding it from her. Now she fully understood just how much he had impacted her life.

  “Mr. Marston, bless your heart for coming.” She kissed his cheek and led him by the arm to a table.

  He ordered iced tea for Kathy, Samantha, and himself to permit as much conversation as possible in the few minutes available.

  “Samantha, are you still doing well?”

  “Of course, Mr. Marston, as well as you taught me.”

  He hoped and believed it was true. His life was wrapped up in the students. It was vitally important to him that they validate what he tried to do.

  “That’s so good to hear. You were the best I ever had…”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, you do know you were while you were there, and I’m telling you again, you were also the best before and since.”

  “Well, it’s very kind of you.”

  “Samantha, it’s not so kind. You know as well as I this area is the same population, maybe less, than when you were a child. We export people. It is their job to enrich the rest of society. Yours more so than any of the others. So, it’s not kindness. You have the biggest job of all of the kids I ever had in my schools. You’ll never let me down will you?”

  Desperation to
prove the worth of a lifetime burned in his eyes.

  …there is no way I can tell him how complicated that is now…

  “Of course not, Mr. Marston.”

  “Thank you, Samantha. It is so very important to me, as you can probably tell.”

  “Yes, I can tell.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll not keep you longer. Until next time?”

  “Certainly. But I’ll often think of you.”

  “And I of you.”

  He struggled to his feet and Samantha walked him to his sun-faded 1968 Chrysler Imperial, the most extravagant purchase he ever made.

  “Thank you, Mr. Marston, for all you did for me.”

  “Samantha, you can’t know how much it means to hear that.”

  With the supreme caution of the elderly, he backed out, straightened, and with a wave puttered away.

  At 7:30, with the dinner crowd thinned out and the last of the dishes in the machine. Kathy packed some of her special green beans from the stock on hand and a green salad for the feast at home. She left Trudy Becker in charge, as she often did for the last few drinks ordered. The regulars wouldn’t dream of short-changing the best restaurant in easy distance. In fact, Kathy invariably found a few extra dollars in the drawer when she left someone else in charge.

  In less than fifteen minutes Samantha was in the kitchen of her childhood home, crushing a full quarter of a box of Saltine crackers for the crab cakes. Two eggs, a tablespoon of mayonnaise, teaspoons each of mustard and Worcestershire sauce, a half teaspoon of Old Bay seasoning, chopped fresh parsley with the crushed crackers, and a pound of the Jumbo Lump crab meat gently folded into the other ingredients. She formed six crab cakes and put them in the refrigerator to firm them for cooking. They set the table, warmed the green beans and dished out the salad. When Harlan came in, Samantha melted a quarter pound of butter, then slowly browned the crab cakes.

  With the first bite, a chorus of “Mmm-mm” erupted from her parents.

  “These are the best. The best I’ve ever had.”

  This line completed the ritual. Samantha felt completely at home, and so happy that she could do such a small thing for her parents’ enjoyment.

  Kathy finally asked if there are any men on the horizon.

  “Still looking for one to measure up to the one you married, Mom.”

  Harlan insisted she couldn’t be looking very hard. They did not press her. They trusted her judgment second only to their own. With short reminiscences, the long day caught up to the elder Pierces. Samantha’s plane ride was tiring as well. With the dishes washed, dried and put away, they were all glad to be in bed just after 9:30.

  The next day, Harlan was up and out by 5:00. Kathy left for the cafe at 7:00. Samantha made a pot of coffee at 7:30 and was in the cafe with her mother by 8:00.

  With the details left unattended by the “night crew” put right - ashtrays emptied and washed, customers still smoked here, stray bottles cleared, cups and glasses washed - the deposit made at the bank, and the dish machine emptied, readying for the lunch crowd started. Then Kathy had a chance to talk.

  “Samantha, you look like your old self. We’ve been worried. Your letters have sounded like your work was not as fulfilling lately.”

  “I am better.”

  “Just better?”

  “Well, there isn’t as much stress now. When Dad comes in I want to talk about it with you both.”

  Harlan usually got to the cafe about 10:30 for coffee and a chat before the lunch orders consumed Kathy’s attention. Today, with his daughter home, he was a half hour early.

  Kathy poured the coffee. Harlan hugged them both and assured his daughter once again that they were the best crab cakes ever. He and Samantha sat down on barstools, Kathy brought the coffee and joined them across the counter.

  “Dad, I’ve told Mom there is something I want to talk about.”

  “Well, I’m ready to hear it.”

  Harlan sipped his coffee with his eyes fixed on his daughter’s.

  “First of all, I feel better now than I have for a long time. I’ve written you so many times how things have changed so much. The turmoil and uncertainty over what we are supposed to be doing at NSA and how we are supposed to do it is still there. But I have a better handle on it now.

  “That may not seem to be true when I tell you what I really need to tell you though. I will probably be leaving the NSA. They may not want me anymore.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Normally it isn’t, Dad. They referred me to a psychological evaluation.”

  Both Harlan and Kathy wore blank, puzzled faces.

  “Please don’t worry. There is not a single thing wrong with me. But my NSA career is probably over. I am absolutely fine, never better. The reason the referral is significant is I have to keep a security clearance, as you know. The clearance can be pulled if they find that I am not psychologically ‘reliable.’ It’s almost a standard procedure anymore for NSA to get rid of people by having them flunk the psych eval.”

  “But Samantha, why is there any possibility of flunking in the first place… if you’re as fine as you say, and as you look to us?”

  Samantha’s face saddened.

  “Mom, I have just seen it too many times. The whole idea of referring someone for the psych eval is to get rid of them. It is just the way they do it.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “Yes. And they do. But really, I’m okay. I actually don’t intend to stay at the Agency any more. It just isn’t like it used to be. Even if I get a clean bill from the psychologist, keep my clearance and my job, I wouldn’t get promoted anymore, so there isn’t any reason to stay.”

  Harlan and Kathy still mulled all of this over.

  Samantha brightened and said, “Besides, a woman computer scientist can get a great job any day of the week. Really, I’m fine. I’m ready to move on. I just wanted to explain this to you face to face, so you wouldn’t worry that I was keeping something from you so you wouldn’t worry.”

  Harlan chuckled.

  “Well, you’re right about that. We would worry. Why do they want to get rid of you?”

  Samantha elbowed him. “It’s all your and Mom’s fault. I wouldn’t go along with giving one of my subordinates a bad write-up. They wanted to get rid of him, who knows why. So they wanted me to give him the bad performance report. I wouldn’t do it because I wanted to be able to look you in the eye, whenever I come home, and say I always did the right thing. You taught me to do that before doing anything else.”

  That was all Harlan needed to hear. “I’m so proud of you. Get out of there as fast as you can. They’re just not good enough to keep you.”

  That night in bed, Kathy turned to Harlan.

  “Do you think she’s telling us everything?”

  “Well, probably not everything. But the truth, yes. She feels good about herself. She wouldn’t if there was something more to it. She’s handling it right.”

  Two days later, Samantha packed her suitcase and put it in the rental while her folks were getting up and around for the day. Over coffee on the table her Dad made himself, she said, “I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, for sure, if not before that.”

  Tears already misted Harlan’s eyes. Kathy’s too. Departures were just as bad for her as they were for him in the absence of the excitement of home-coming.

  “Go on ahead and get that new job.”

  “I promise. I will.”

  “Keep us posted on everything.”

  “I will, Mom. This has been such a good time for me. Thank you for it, and as always, for everything.”

  She hugged and kissed them at the table, then once again at the car.

  “I love you, Mom…I love you, Dad.”

  Then, smiling brightly, she was gone. For the last time.

  Tom Koonce stopped in that day, chagrined at hearing he missed her.

  3

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE ACT.

  …2:30…better go to bed Kat
hy…you aren’t going to get it in any better shape now…

  In the months since the funeral, Kathy Pierce spent almost every possible moment aside from daily necessaries assembling papers, collecting her thoughts, re-reading Samantha’s letters, making and checking notes, writing, re-writing, and memorizing her story, all for the trip to the lawyer.

  Bowen & Pitts was the oldest continuously operating law firm in Lincoln, Nebraska. It perused the downtown area from atop the Bank Building. From among those who bothered to apply, it picked very carefully. Michael Carson was one. Harlan and Kathy could have gone to their business lawyer or their banker’s law firm. They chose Mike because he knew Samantha. They grew up together, and seriously dated in high school. He would fight for Samantha. They came to him to begin that fight.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, good to see you again even though the occasion is so sorrowful.”

  “Thank you, Mike. You were kind to send the flowers and come to her funeral. Are you still as good a basketball player as you used to be?”

  “Not hardly. And I wasn’t as good as Samantha…” His voice caught. “But, please let me hear what you have to say. Why don’t you start from that time frame right after high school, when Samantha left.”

  Kathy said, “All right. Some of this will be from our memories and some will be from what we’ve learned since her death.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll make notes and then we’ll go back over those. Also, if you don’t mind, I’ll record this so I don’t interrupt too frequently.”

  Kathy poured out her heart. She said, as Mike would recall, Samantha’s grades were outstanding. She won enough scholarships to afford going to Duke University, and did well there. She didn’t wilt from competition with a wider pool of talented kids, she relished the chance to have so many friends as smart as she was.