The Bentleys Buy a Buick

by Pamela Morsi

  Tom pulled into his usual spot in front of Mrs. Gilfred’s home. For once he was able to get to the front door without being waylaid by Miss Warner. Tom chuckled to himself as he thought of the woman’s run-in with the peeper. The lady was certainly dancing around the fact that she was so nosy she was looking in her neighbor’s window. The policemen didn’t find it at all amusing. Neither did Guffy, who publicly scolded the woman as a busybody.

  “If you want to know what’s going on in my house,” she told Miss Warner sharply, “then knock on the door. I’d be happy to let you inside to eavesdrop in safety and comfort.”

  Half the folks on the street had a hard time keeping a straight face.

  Which was good. Having some creep stalking the neighborhood, even assuming he was a harmless creep, is unsettling for everybody. A bit of comic relief was very welcome.

  Guffy answered the door and, as always, she seemed delighted to see him.

  “Can you stay to supper?” she asked him immediately. “I’m thawing out a bit of stew that was pretty good the first time around. And it would only take me a minute to stir up a pan of corn bread.”

  “No, no dinner for me tonight,” he told her. “My wife is fixing something special and I promised that I’d be home as soon as I could.”

  “All right then,” she said. “So what have you got to show me? More cheesecake photos of my Clara?”

  Tom laughed. “No more hot pics,” he said. “But the photos are working. We’ve got a firm offer from the Seattle guy. And we’ve caught the eye of a genuine romantic in Maryland.”

  The two walked into the kitchen and sat down together at the table. Tom pulled up the email he’d received and turned the computer toward her so that she could read the words for herself.

  He took a slip of paper and a pencil out of his pocket to make note of Mrs. Gilfred’s comments or counteroffer.

  The old woman sighed heavily. “I like this new fellow better than the first one,” she said. “That first one is too smooth. That always makes me nervous.”

  “I think the smoothness is part of being in sales,” Tom said. “He’s trying to make a living. It’s hard to fault a man for that.”

  “True,” Guffy agreed. “Still, selling to him is not a lot different than putting Clara up for auction.”

  “Except you’d know the price you’re going to get.”

  Mrs. Gilfred waved that away. “The money never mattered that much. When you get to be my age, there’s really not a lot of things that you really want or need to buy. My house is paid off and I’ve got my pension. I wanted to sell her because I want somebody to have her.”

  Tom nodded. “I know that’s what you want,” he confirmed. “And that’s what makes the handyman in Maryland look so much more attractive.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “But Maryland is very far away.”

  “You knew we’d have to look nationally,” he reminded her. “Classic cars rarely bring a good price if you sell them locally. It would have just been really great luck to find somebody in San Antonio.”

  “You explained that,” Mrs. Gilfred said. “I wish you would buy her. The photographs alone tell me how much you love her.”

  Tom sighed and shook his head. “Guffy, it’s like I told you,” he said. “I’m a family man. I’m too honest with myself to consider a purchase like this as anything but a man-toy. And I’ve got too many responsibilities to treat myself to such a gift.”

  “You’re too stubborn to see a good deal when one stumbles into the room,” Mrs. Gilfred told him. “I’ll let you have Clara at a bargain price. You can even pay her off over time.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Tom said.

  “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t want to do,” Guffy said. “I wouldn’t be making such a deal for nothing. I’d expect you to take me out on a Sunday afternoon drive with the top down now and again.”

  Tom grinned at her. The old lady had become a friend to him. And he hadn’t expected that. He’d met plenty of old guys coming into the shop, but Mrs. Gilfred could talk about things other than automobiles. And sometimes he needed that. She had a lifetime of experience to share. And she had an ear for listening as well.

  “I did finally recall the entire Buick memory that’s been nagging me,” he said.

  “See, didn’t I tell you it would come back to you when you least expected.”

  “It certainly did that,” he admitted. “I was in the middle of firing one of my mechanics and it all came pouring in.”

  “And was it as nice a memory as you’d thought?”

  “Yes, it kind of was,” he said. Briefly he related the events that he’d remembered. Deliberately leaving out the unnecessary details. He made it what it really was. A story of a sunny day, a lovely wedding and a little boy with a new pair of shoes.

  She heard him out, somehow managing to hear between the lines of the facts he stated.

  “The car wasn’t new even then,” Tom said. “It had to be thirty years old at the time. But I remember that the engine was quiet and it didn’t smoke, the upholstery was still nice and the body was clean and waxed. The shoe-store man had obviously valued it even back when it was just another old car. He treated it with respect and attention and care.”

  “Which was why,” Guffy said, “even as a little boy, you knew instinctively that he was going to be a wonderful husband for your mother’s friend.”

  Tom thought about that for a moment and then shrugged. “I guess you’re right about that. I guess the shoes meant he could provide for her. And the car proved that he could love her.”

  Mrs. Gilfred smiled at him as if he were her star pupil and had just gotten the most important questions absolutely right.

  “It’s a wonderful memory, Tom,” she said. “It’s one you should hold close and cherish. Sometimes you remind me of myself. I don’t have a lot of nice images from childhood. I had a mean, abusive bastard of a father. He nearly put me off men for a lifetime. The only way I could get free of him was to marry someone more powerful than he was.”

  She tutted to herself, shaking her head.

  “I bought Clara just weeks after our divorce was final. For me that car meant I traveled the road alone. No one was ever going to put me in the passenger seat again. She was a symbol for me of all I’d achieved.”

  Tom nodded thoughtfully.

  “For you this Buick represents the family life that you’d always wished you had,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “It probably does. But I don’t have to wish anymore. I have that family life. I have it with my own family.”

  “I can see that you do,” Guffy said. “Although I never think it’s a bad idea to have a reminder parked in the garage.”

  Erica rolled over in the bed and winced. She and Tom had perhaps overdone it last night with the celebratory sex, but they were making up for their argument the previous night. And Erica had her own agenda. She used the occasion as a roundabout way to suggest to her husband that whatever spicy dish he might be hungry for, was as good or better, home cooked.

  “It was certainly roundabout,” she muttered to herself as she grinned and blushed in the privacy of her own bed.

  She could hear the water running in the shower and, from the living room, the distinctive high-pitched sounds of Saturday morning cartoons. It was the weekend and she could lie in bed if she wanted. And although she was still yawning and groggy, she was excited as well.

  The water stopped running in the bathroom. A minute later a naked Tom came into the bedroom headed for his underwear drawer. Silently she admired her husband’s form. His waistline was not as slim as when she married him. But his arms, his thighs, his sculpted abs and tight butt, those still looked very, very good to her. He was her husband, she thought. Hers! If that was too possessive, then so be it.

  Tom must have felt her gaze upon him. He glanced in her direction.

  “Did I wake you? I wanted to let you sleep.”

  “Just admiring th
e view,” she said.

  He turned toward her, giving her a full frontal and held his arms out on either side of him to give a “wild and crazy guy” wiggle. She groaned with humor.

  Laughing, Tom pulled on his boxers and left the room. He was back a couple of minutes later, carrying two cups of coffee. He sat down on the side of the bed and handed one to her. Erica scooted up into a sitting position and brought the dark brew to her lips for the first, the best, sip of the day.

  “Mmm, this is so good,” she said.

  “Better than what you got last night?”

  “Now you’re fishing for compliments,” she said.

  “I can dish ’em out as well as take ’em,” he told her. “I walk in the door and my wife jumps my bones. Now that’s a ‘welcome home’ that a guy could get used to.”

  Erica blushed a bit. “Yeah, well I was so busy with the welcome that you didn’t hear all the news, what was really the best part of yesterday.”

  “I’m all ears,” her husband said.

  “Don’t lie to me, Tom Bentley,” Erica teased, running her hand lovingly along the clean-shaven jawline. “I just saw you without your clothes on.”

  He laughed. “So, tell me the best news.”

  “Mrs. Converse was really, really impressed with how I handled myself.”

  “Of course, she was,” he said. “Smart woman.”

  “She came to the workshop to back me up and answer questions, and to take over if I stumbled. And she was just able to sit there and watch me.”

  “You sound surprised at that,” Tom said. “But it’s exactly what I would have expected. You know your stuff and you’re very good at expressing yourself in a way that people can understand.”

  Erica liked his praise. “Thanks,” she said. “Anyway, afterward Mrs. Converse told me that she’s put in a proposal for a new midlevel position next year as an EMR Outreach Coordinator.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “This person would actually take the training out to the small hospitals, doctors’ offices, nursing homes, wherever.”

  Tom was nodding. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “It hasn’t been okayed yet,” Erica said. “But she thinks, because it’s self-funding, that it probably will be approved. And she said she thought I would be an excellent candidate for the job.”

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Do you think you would like that?”

  Erica nodded. “It would move me into a management bracket, so there would be slightly higher pay. I’d have a more flexible time schedule, though there would certainly be a lot of local travel involved. But I think what I like most about it is that we would have an opportunity to really put our stamp on the changes coming.”

  “That is pretty cool,” Tom said.

  “It is. Very,” Erica agreed. “I like coding. I like what I’m doing now. But this would be really challenging.”

  “And you’re just the woman to take on a challenge,” Tom said. “I mean, you married me, didn’t you?”

  She laughed.

  “Future view—The Bentleys,” Tom said. “Three years from today.”

  “Okay,” Erica said. “I’ve gotten the outreach position and I’ve trained people all over our part of the state. I’ve been able to take my own philosophy of medical records—and how it improves the standards of care—to the entire region.”

  “Sounds good,” Tom said.

  “And I also get to spend all my future Saturday mornings being served coffee in bed,” she added.

  “Hey, now,” he feigned complaint. “You’re lucky you’re sitting on your backside, ’cause talk like that could definitely earn you a husbandly swat.”

  “Ooh, promise?” she teased.

  They continued to talk and laugh and speculate as Tom got ready for work. By the time he left, Erica was humming and feeling optimistic about the adventure of applying for a new kind of job.

  Her thoughts drifted to Melody. Her coworker had more seniority on the job and a better grasp of EMR. Erica was pretty sure that when Mrs. Converse had written the proposal for the new position, she’d had Melody in mind. But Melody’s self-image had been too small to combine both devoted wife and responsible employee.

  Melody’s loss was Erica’s gain. She had no problem expanding the view of herself as wife, mother and successful professional. And she couldn’t even feel bad about it.

  She shook her head thinking about what she’d discovered yesterday. Melody believed that Erica was having an affair with Dr. Glover. That was totally ridiculous. Why on earth would a woman buy into such a silly notion on such flimsy evidence? Believing in gossip could become an addiction as bad as smoking or drinking.

  Erica took her last sip of coffee, luxuriating in her leisure.

  Wife, mother, medical records professional, sex goddess.

  She laughed aloud at her own musings. Then she got up and dutifully began her day. She fixed breakfast for Quint, picked up the house and took care of her regular Saturday chores. Quint had to give up cartoons for room cleaning. And, of course, Quint cleaning his room meant Erica could get nothing else done between the encouragement, questions about where things go and unsuccessful inspections.

  “Mom?” his voice rang through the house time and time again.

  At noon Erica put together what she thought of as a compromise lunch: tuna patties with spinach, for brain power and iron. Macaroni and cheese, to satisfy her son’s palate. She began gathering up the laundry. Still dreading the nearby coin-op, she called her mother to see if she could bring it over to Mr. Schoenleber’s house.

  “When are you buying yourself that new washer?” her mother demanded.

  “Soon,” Erica promised. “Very soon. But today I’d love to borrow the laundry room.”

  Her mother humphed unhappily. “Well, all right, I suppose.”

  “I’m bringing Quint,” Erica warned.

  “Well, Melvin’s here, maybe he can entertain him.”

  Erica gathered up everything and loaded it into the car. She and Quint drove over to the house in Monte Vista. Melvin came out to help them carry everything into the laundry room.

  Ann Marie was on her phone, but interrupted the call long enough to suggest to Melvin that he entertain Quint.

  Melvin looked intently at him for a moment. “What would you like to do?” he asked.

  Quint shrugged his small shoulders. “Anything,” he answered honestly.

  “There’s a dinosaur exhibit at the Witte Museum, would you like to go?”

  Erica watched her son’s eyes widen with excitement. “Could we?” He turned toward her. “Could we, Mom?”

  “You sure you’re up for that, Mr. Schoenleber?”

  “Call me Melvin,” he answered. “And I’ve been wanting an excuse to go see it myself.”

  Erica gave Quint a stern lecture about being on his best behavior, but she knew he would be. She waved goodbye as they headed off. Her mother was still chatting in the solarium. Erica went to the laundry room to get started on the dirty clothes.

  She filled the washer with light-colored things, a couple of her blouses, a few of Quint’s shirts, various kinds of underwear and pajamas. She started that up and then began sorting through some of the more heavily soiled items. Tom’s work clothes were, of course, the worst. With all the grease and oil and various motor fluids, they were always a challenge. As were the superfluous items he always left in his pockets. Early in their marriage she often complained about his jeans in the laundry basket with loose change or a pencil or, worst of the worst, a tissue hiding in the pocket. Over time she’d discovered that it was easier to train herself to check the pockets than to train him to leave them empty. Today her surprises included a tire valve stem, a lug nut, a half-dozen receipts and a business card for a new auto glass shop. Erica piled the saved items atop the dryer. She always took them home and put them on his dresser, which is where he would look for something if he lost it.

  A word on one of the loose pieces of paper cau
ght her eye. She stared at it for a long moment and then slowly, hesitantly, she picked it up and read what Tom had written in his own handwriting.

  Clara

  doesn’t like smooth

  keep close

  somebody to love her like I do

  Erica stared at the paper, reading and rereading it. What did it mean? The last line needed no explanation. Tom, her Tom, actually loved somebody else.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. She’d already cried too much over this. She’d already moaned and grieved and sobbed. The image of Melody caught in her mind—sitting on the toilet, red nosed and mascara streaked. It was not as if there weren’t choices in the world. A woman could live in fear and curse the fates or she could take action on her own behalf. Erica recalled that morning in the bedroom when she’d looked at her husband, casually naked, and had felt that sense of ownership. He was her husband. Couples did not own each other, but they did pledge to each other. Until he renounced that bond, it was still there. And Erica was not giving up or giving in without a fight.

  She grabbed her purse. Her mother was still in the solarium, still on the phone.

  “When my clothes finish, put them in the dryer,” Erica ordered.

  Her mother’s startled face said everything about the uniqueness of such a request. “All right, dear,” Ann Marie answered in a voice that was both shocked and conciliatory.

  Erica walked out the back door to her car. She got in and drove toward Leon Valley and a confrontation with the other woman.

  Chapter 21

  THE SUBDIVISION LOOKED different during the day time. Erica made several wrong turns before she finally turned onto Helm Street. She pulled up and parked in the place where Tom’s truck had been a few nights ago. Then she began to second-guess herself. Everything looked different in the clear light of midday. What if this wasn’t the right house and she went to the door and confronted the wrong woman?

  As she was considering such a scenario, the neighbor came out of her house carrying a broom to sweep her driveway. Erica remembered the neighbor perfectly. She just hoped the woman wouldn’t remember her. Steeling her nerves, she got out of the car and went directly up the sidewalk to the front porch that Tom had stood upon himself.