But Redemption Mountain was a disaster, for him personally and for DD&M. He not only failed to secure the purchase of the DeWitt farm, he’d declared his allegiance to the enemy, and, worse than that, he’d been exposed. That was a mortal sin, and when the timing best suited OntAmex, Torkelson would administer an ignominious end to his career. Of that, Charlie had no doubt.
DD&M would survive without Charlie or Lucien. Warren Brand and his lieutenants would move the company to some class-B space in Fort Lee, sell the building in Manhattan, and divide up the assets. In a year they would sell what was left of the company, at an inflated price, to one of the midsize engineering firms blinded by the prospect of acquiring some big-time OntAmex contracts.
For some, it would probably be a blessing. He and Lucien would be fine. Their professional reputations and their balance sheets would take a hit, but they’d survive. But Bud and Alice DeWitt would not. Nor would their son Petey or Natty’s mother. They would lose their farm, their livelihood, and, more important, their heritage—the familial bond to the land that came from four generations of DeWitts born and buried on Redemption Mountain. And Redemption Mountain was going to disappear. Hard to feel close to a piece of land pulverized by a thousand tons of ANFO and turned into valley fill.
As his computer tinkled out its familiar welcome, he rolled his chair closer and let out a sigh. The economic advantage of mountaintop removal had already been proven at scores of mines throughout West Virginia and Kentucky over three decades, and nothing in his research would change that.
Yet in the back of his mind was the immeasurable cost of mountaintop removal. Hank’s angry accusation reverberated in his head. If Redemption Mountain was in California … or Vermont … in the Catskills … Of course, Hank was right. You could never obliterate a mountain, covering over streams and wildlife habitat, anywhere outside of Appalachia.
He started with a query to Nina Matlin, the DD&M librarian. He requested everything she could find on the economics of mountaintop-removal coal mining. Then he launched his own search, which yielded dozens of articles and files devoted to the horrors of mountaintop removal. Charlie read for several hours, then changed into a sweat suit for a run, anxious to punish his body and numb his mind with a hard five-miler before it got too dark. Whatever it took to avoid thinking about Natty Oakes.
After four laps around the power plant, Charlie decided to push himself with a mile-and-a-half sprint back to the apartment. He ran past the windowless hulk of the old elementary school and an abandoned trailer being swallowed by the ubiquitous kudzu vines. Farther up the road was the concrete rubble of a long-decrepit motel and another deserted building with boarded-up windows.
Hank’s words echoed in his mind: You see any great wealth, see any old money, around this town? After more than a hundred years of coal production, what did West Virginia and McDowell County and the town of Red Bone have to show for it? Crumbling roads and derelict buildings … Monongah, Farmington, Buffalo Creek, and dozens of monuments to thousands of dead miners … streambeds stained orange with ferrous oxide … homes and towns sinking into abandoned mines … drinking water that ran brown … too many children living in poverty … a town that couldn’t afford to patch the roof of its library … Woody and Mr. Jacks squatting in an abandoned firetrap to live out their final days … Bud and Alice DeWitt, who hadn’t suffered enough with the deaths of their sons and granddaughter, now soon to lose everything … and Natty Oakes, the most incredible woman he’d ever met. Charlie stumbled to a ragged stop in the middle of the dark, deserted road. He’d had enough. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath, sweat running off his forehead. He thought he might throw up.
* * *
NATTY WALKED SLOWLY across the field under the weight of her athletics bag. Far ahead, she saw Emma and Gabe walking together. They would take a seat a little farther back in the bus from where Emma normally sat. Natty smiled to herself. She’d never seen Emma happier.
“Hold on there, Miz Oakes.” The voice came from behind Natty. She knew who it was before she turned to face Kyle Loftus. “Understand you got the invite to the Thanksgiving tournament up in Charleston.”
“You know we did, Kyle. So what?”
“Had a league meeting other night ’cause of that ugly incident at the game in Welch, and I got to inform you that you got two players who is suspended from any sort o’ postseason play.”
“What! What kind o’ shit are you trying to pull, Loftus?”
“You heard me,” he replied firmly. “The Willard boy, Zack Willard. Suspended for starting a fight. And the girl, too, Emma—flagrant foul. Broke that kid’s nose.”
“You go fuck yourself, Loftus. You can’t do this!” Natty whirled around, nearly hitting him with her bag as she made her way to the bus.
“Can do it, and did do it,” Loftus called after her. “Those two are out.”
Natty spun around briefly. “You put it in writing,” she yelled, not knowing what else to say.
“Already in the mail.”
“I can appeal it,” Natty yelled back.
“Be my guest.”
* * *
THE BLINKING RED light on the Hewlett-Packard printer called for another black ink cartridge. Charlie looked over the stacks of pages on his kitchen table, the text marked with red circles. In front of him was a yellow pad, a dozen pages filled with notes.
He tossed the pad and his pen onto the table, sending another dozen sheets to the floor, where a small pile already resided. He reached over to his laptop, clicked on ABORT PRINT, and grabbed the bottle of Heineken on the corner of the table. He didn’t have another ink cartridge, and he didn’t need it, anyway. It wouldn’t help. None of it would help.
Charlie looked at his watch. For nearly eight hours straight he’d been reading downloads and studying charts. He stood up and took his beer out onto the back porch. The air was cold, but after a long night inside the apartment it felt good. The best he could do was to reduce the differential to around ten dollars a ton, and even that required a great many assumptions. Too many assumptions. Too much bullshit. Companies like OntAmex don’t make decisions based on bullshit.
Charlie took a swig of his beer and looked over at the cigar box on the table. Hank had put a piece of hard plastic over the box with a rock on it to protect it from the wind. Charlie moved the rock and the plastic and opened the ancient brown box. From under the two decks of playing cards, he extracted the appointment book Hank used to record their winnings and losses. He leafed through the first two-thirds of the book, which recorded the years of games between Hank and Alva Paine.
Charlie compared his measly part of the book to the scores for Hank and Alva. Twenty-one years’ worth of cribbage games—now, that was a friendship. He looked at the last page. He was down $407. How the hell does he do that? Charlie’d won about an equal number of games, but Hank always seemed to win a little more money in his wins and lose a little less in his losses. It’s all in the pegging, thought Charlie, resolving to improve the next time they played.
Charlie went back inside to the kitchen table. One more thing to do. One last try for Bud and Alice DeWitt. He sat down in front of his laptop and searched through his address book for Duncan McCord’s personal email address, reserved for a few friends and old teammates, because they understood that it was not to be used for business-related correspondence. Charlie was about to break the rule.
Duncan—In a few weeks, through an eminent-domain proceeding, the Ackerly Coal Company and OntAmex are going to destroy a family living on a small farm on Redemption Mountain, West Virginia. Within weeks of the displacement of the DeWitt family from Redemption Mountain, the destruction of the mountain will commence with the beginning of a mountaintop-removal surface coal mine. Mountaintop-removal mining is an environmental catastrophe that would be inconceivable anywhere outside Appalachia, where the population is thin, the people voiceless, and the politicians are owned by the coal-mining industry.
Charlie r
eread the last sentence. So, what’s the problem? Duncan would say.
It’s clear to me now that the plan for Redemption Mountain was made long ago and is the main reason that the plant was sited in McDowell County. I learned recently that Jack Torkelson and Larry Tuthill, along with the president of Ackerly Coal, visited Redemption Mountain two years before the final selection process began. Very soon, you’ll own the plant and the coal company, along with the mineral rights to Redemption Mountain and the contract to supply the coal to the Red Bone generating facility. With all this integration, is it possible to do the right thing for the environment and for an elderly couple who don’t deserve one second of the harassment they’ve already taken from your lawyers and the coal people down here?
Charlie scowled, reading his own words. Duncan would probably hit the DELETE key and conclude that Charlie had lost his mind. He decided to press on, even if it was pointless.
There is at least one alternative to mountaintop removal. It is admittedly more costly but, considering the environmental impact, an alternative worth considering. A slope mine could harvest the coal at a premium of eight to ten dollars per ton over a surface mine.
Charlie grimaced at the lie and inserted a few links to some inconclusive studies of the cost differential.
Duncan, this isn’t how we should be acting down here. This is how corporate interests have been treating Appalachia for a hundred years—crippling the workers and leaving behind poverty, heartache, and ecological ruin. Maybe it’s time for us to cut it out.
Looking forward to an old-fashioned Big Ten ass-kicking of OSU this weekend. Go, Blue!—Charlie
He briefly considered deleting the whole letter and starting over when he was less tired. No, Duncan would easily see through the economic bullshit. Anyway, he’d wasted enough time on the whole thing already. He hit the SEND button. Sorry, Bud, Alice. It’s the best I can do.
A few seconds later, he received an auto-reply from Duncan. I’ll be out of the country until the 10th of November, attending conferences in Switzerland and Belgium, followed by a vacation in the Canary Islands. Will respond to your email when I return. Duncan McCord
Charlie stared at the message and laughed. Switzerland, Belgium, and the Canary Islands—a long way from the topless bars in Detroit you used to love, Dunc. He turned off the computer and went to bed.
CHAPTER 27
When they pried off the lid of the first packing crate, Charlie was glad he’d invited Eve to the party, too. The lobsters were three- and four-pounders, much too big to cook in his small kitchen. Pie’s eyes went wide with amazement, and he took a tentative step backward when he saw the brown lobsters in the plastic bag of ice. Eve reached in, pulled out one of the monsters, and placed it on the restaurant kitchen’s floor.
“Charlie, the lobthter is very ugly. Do you really eat it?” Pie edged forward for a better look.
“Pie Man, you’re going to love lobster,” said Charlie, taking two more out of the ice and playfully thrusting them at the boy, who retreated with laughter. With a dozen huge lobsters, they’d have more than enough. Charlie broke out two Stroh’s and handed one to Eve.
“Little early for this, isn’t it, Charlie?” asked Eve, taking the beer.
Charlie held his up for a toast. “It’s the Michigan–Ohio State game, Eve. Gotta get tuned up.” He helped Eve retrieve a huge dust-covered pot and put the lobsters in the walk-in cooler. Then he and Pie went upstairs to get the apartment ready. On the way, Charlie stopped in the store for a fifth of Jack Daniel’s, a large bag of pork rinds, and some cheese curls for Pie.
They rearranged the living room, moving the overstuffed sofa and love seat around to face the TV set. It would be a little crowded, but they’d manage.
“C’mon, Pie, let’s go over and get Mr. Jacks and Woody,” said Charlie. Hank was coming in as they left, carrying an armload of snacks and a clear bottle of something that looked suspiciously like moonshine. Eve followed with a huge bowl of salad, a basket of bread and rolls, and two large bottles of wine. Jesus, thought Charlie, we’ll be lucky if anybody’s still awake at halftime.
With Charlie helping Woody, and the Pie Man holding on to Mr. Jacks, they slowly made their way down the stairs of the Pocahontas Hotel and across the street. Hiking up the four flights to Charlie’s apartment proved to be a challenge, especially for Woody, who needed to rest at each landing. Finally, they made it to the fourth floor. Charlie settled the two old miners on the couch, put a bowl of Stroh’s on ice on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.
Eve and Hank had been busy during their absence. The kitchen table was crowded with plates, silverware, a pile of napkins, and bowls for the butter, which Eve had brought up from the restaurant. She even had small lobster forks and a few shell crushers, which Charlie never would’ve remembered. Hank sat on the love seat and visited with Woody and Mr. Jacks. Pie was busy with the cheese curls. Hank had a beer, as well as a small glass of the corn liquor he’d brought. Eve poured herself a glass of Chablis, and after preparing two loaves of garlic bread for the oven, she stepped out the back door to take in the view.
Charlie pulled a Stroh’s out of the bowl and followed her. Eve was leaning on the railing, gazing off into the distance.
“Forgot what a great view you get from up here. I should charge you guys more.”
“No question about that,” said Charlie. “Thanks for all your help, Eve, you’ve been great.”
Eve lit a Merit 100. “C’mon, Charlie,” she said, gesturing to the soccer field below. “You make a new library and ball fields for us. I make garlic bread.” They both laughed. Charlie glanced at his watch. It was nearly game time. “Don’t worry, she’ll be here,” said Eve with a smile.
“Maybe,” he replied. He thought about the last time he’d seen Natty, a week ago at the soccer game in Princeton.
“Heard that Buck was at the soccer game. That he saw you there, talkin’ to Nat.” It was as if Eve had read his mind.
“That was a surprise,” admitted Charlie.
Eve took a sip of wine and squinted into the sun. “Don’t mean nothin’,” she said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“It don’t mean a goddamn thing, after all this time Buck finally showing some interest in them kids, in his wife.” Eve shook her head angrily. “Imagine, beatin’ that sweet girl way he done and thinkin’ he’ll always be the love of her life.”
“Well … it means something to her,” Charlie said.
Eve turned and grabbed his Michigan T-shirt. “It’s too late for Buck now, that’s what I’m telling you, Charlie. That girl’s so dippy over you.”
“C’mon, Eve, how do you know if—”
“’Cause I know,” Eve said. “Women know about these things.” She let go of Charlie’s shirt. “Important thing now is how you feel.” She eyed Charlie warily. “So how do you feel about her, Charlie? And don’t give me any of that bullshit about nothin’ happenin’ ’tween you two, like you were peddlin’ that night at the Roadhouse.”
Charlie crossed his arms against his chest. There it was—the question he’d been dodging for months. How did he really feel about Natty? He thought about their conversation in the dark a week earlier. He’d tried to tell Natty how he felt about her then, but what had he said? Did he actually tell her anything? He told her that she made his palms sweat and his heart beat faster and that she was remarkable. And that he still loved his wife. God, what an asshole.
Eve studied his face intently. Charlie sighed and gave up the fight. “I think I’ve been in love with Natty since the first moment I saw her, in your store that night I arrived,” he said softly. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
Eve smiled, giddy at finally hearing Charlie say what she’d hoped for. “I knew that, Charlie, but tellin’ me ain’t doin’ anyone any good. You gotta tell Natty. And you gotta tell her soon. Else you two could end up makin’ a mistake’ll haunt you the rest of your lives you keep waitin’ for life to be perfect, where
nobody ever gets hurt.”
Charlie recalled the sick feeling at the soccer game when he sensed Natty slipping away. “I know, Eve. I just haven’t had the balls to admit it to myself, I guess.”
“So tell her tonight, Charlie,” Eve said emphatically. “Tell her tonight. Will you?”
“C’mon, Eve,” he pleaded. “Give me a break here—”
“I’ll have Pie sleep at my place. You do what you have to do.” Eve took a sip of wine. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You tell that girl how you feel, and then you make love to her like she ain’t never been made love to before—which won’t be too goddamn difficult.”
Charlie heard the crowd noise from inside, signifying the opening kickoff. He looked down the hill just as the red Honda came speeding into view. “We’ll see, Eve. We’ll see.”
Eve scowled at him. “Charlie, you may never get the chance again.”
* * *
NATTY BREEZED INTO the apartment with a twelve-pack of beer and a bottle of wine. “Woo woo, go, Michigan!” she called out, flashing a smile to Charlie in the kitchen. “Game start yet?” She hugged Eve and Hank, then went over to the couch and put an arm around the old miners. “How you boys doin’?” she asked, looking them over carefully. She cuffed Pie playfully, put an arm around his neck, and pulled him close. Pie grinned, his mouth half full with cheese curls.
Natty turned around just as Charlie brought two chairs in from the kitchen. It would’ve been natural for Natty to hug him as she had the others. But when their eyes met, they both hesitated, and the moment passed. The crowd noise from the TV grabbed Charlie’s attention as a Michigan runner broke free for a long gain.
“Yeah!” Charlie shouted. “Go, Blue.” He offered up a high-five to Natty. She smiled and slapped his open palm.
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