The Day Bob Greeley Died

by Kimberly A Bettes

  Gerald came down the ladder and walked over to Ollie. He glanced over Ollie’s shoulder, across the road toward his house. Looking back at him, Gerald said, “I would say we’d go to my house and make some sandwiches, but I don’t think we should go in there. Not with Emma having one of her headaches. I’d sure hate to disturb her.”

  Ollie nodded in agreement. “We don’t want to do that. So what do you suppose we do?”

  “We could head on in to town. Stop at the diner for a bite.”

  Ollie thought for a second. “We could do that. Or we could just run on out to my house. I could check on Andrew and we could get something to eat there.” To sweeten the pot, Ollie added, “Maude made a pan of fudge yesterday. So we can have that for dessert.”

  Gerald laughed. “That sounds mighty fine. Let’s get these brushes cleaned up and then we can go.”

  The two men set about cleaning the brushes and putting the lids back on the paint cans. They then set the cans in the shade, where they would remain as cool as they could possibly be in the suffocating heat of the day. When they were ready, both men got into Ollie’s car and headed down the road toward his house, pursued by a cloud of dust.

  Having the windows down didn’t help much in the way of cooling off the men. It was no more than hot air blasting their skin, but it was better than nothing.

  By the time Ollie pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and got out of the car, his clothes were still pasted to him but they were nearly dry. At least the front of him was nearly dry. His backside was still soaked with sweat.

  Gerald followed Ollie inside the house, wiping his face and neck with the handkerchief he kept in his back pocket.

  Once inside, both men went to the nearest fan and stood, enjoying the air. Gerald raised his arms so the air could hit his steaming arm pits, while Ollie turned around and let the air dry his wet back.

  After cooling in front of the fan for a few minutes, Ollie said, “Well I guess I better get in the kitchen and rustle us up something to eat.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Gerald followed Ollie into the kitchen, where Andrew sat at the table, drawing.

  “Hello there, Andrew,” Gerald said. “You feeling any better?”

  Andrew nodded and kept his attention on his work, even when his father walked by him and tousled his hair.

  “Your mother said you weren’t feeling well,” Ollie said as he opened the refrigerator. “How you feeling now?”

  “Good,” Andrew said quietly, still drawing on the paper in front of him.

  As he pulled the bologna, cheese, and mayonnaise out of the refrigerator, Ollie asked, “What are you doing there?”

  “I’m making a card for somebody.”

  “Oh yeah? For who?”

  “Sue.”

  “Sue? I don’t guess I know any Sues.”

  “Sue Murphy. She’s a girl in my class.”

  “I don’t remember hearing that name before,” Ollie said as he began preparing sandwiches. As the mayor of a town as small as Sweetwater, he considered it part of the job to know everyone. It required virtually no effort at all since everyone knew everyone anyway. Add to that the fact that Ollie had lived in Sweetwater his whole life and it was almost impossible to not know someone. But still, He didn’t know any Sues and he didn’t know anyone with the last name of Murphy.

  “She hasn’t lived here very long.”

  “I see.” That cleared things up a bit and eased Ollie’s mind. Of course he didn’t know the Murphy family. They were new in town.

  Gerald sat in the chair across the table from Andrew. “Is that her on the card there that you’re drawing?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a lovely girl. What are those in her hands? Balloons?” Gerald craned his neck to get a better view. But try as he might, it was difficult to see the picture clearly from across the table. Besides that, from his point of view, the card was upside down.

  “They’re lemon lollipops. They’re her favorites.”

  “I see. What’s the card for? Is it her birthday?”

  “No,” Andrew said, still not looking up from his work.

  “Well what’s it for then?”

  “It’s to cheer her up.”

  “Oh. She’s been sad?”

  “The kids at school make fun of her. I thought this would help.”

  Ollie glanced over his shoulder at his son. “They make fun of her?”

  “Yeah. A lot.”

  “Well being a new kid in school is hard sometimes. The kids have to get to know you,” Gerald said softly.

  “It’s not because she’s new.”

  “No? Why do they make fun of her then?”

  “Because she talks funny.”

  “An accent, huh?” Ollie said, slapping the sandwiches together. As he carried them over to the table, he said, “Most people would think it was cool to have an accent.”

  Andrew looked at his father. “It’s not an accent. She stutters.”

  Ollie sat in his chair. “Well that’s no reason to go making fun of somebody.”

  “I know that,” Andrew said. “I try to get them to stop, but they don’t listen to me. Sometimes they even make fun of me for sticking up for her.”

  “Being a kid today is very difficult,” said Gerald. “You’re doing the right thing, Andrew. Trying to cheer her up and all. You keep being the good boy your daddy raised you to be and everything will work out just fine.” He bit into his sandwich to silence the grumbling of his stomach.

  “That’s right, son.” Ollie bit into his own sandwich, then realized he hadn’t asked Andrew if he wanted one. Pushing the bite of food to one side and holding it in his cheek, he asked, “Did you want one?”

  Andrew shook his head and continued working on the card.

  Ollie finished his lunch, which included a piece of fudge for dessert, and couldn’t help but think about how proud of Andrew he was. Taking up for a new kid. Making a card to cheer her up. He was turning into quite a young man.

  When their lunch break was complete and their hunger was satiated, the men drove back down to the church where they went back to work.

  “Think we’ll have this done by dinner?” Ollie asked.

  “Oh sure. We’ll have it done before then, I bet.” Gerald looked at the sky. “We better. It’s clouding up. We just may get that storm after all.”

  “You think?” Ollie asked, looking at the sky and then taking a good look at the church. It wasn’t a big building by any means, and they were already halfway through painting it. He figured Gerald was probably right. He certainly hoped he was right. He wanted to be done and home before the storm came, if it came at all. This was the third major storm that had been predicted within the month. If it came, it would be the first to arrive.

  “I believe so. Then I’ll tell you what. When we’re done, I’ll drive you into town and buy you an ice cream to cool you off.”

  “Now that sounds like a plan to me,” Ollie said with a smile.

  Eager to get the job done, the two went back to work.

  Chapter 14

  Henry Miller watched as Sara leaned in closer to Jack Lee. A few months ago, he would’ve cringed at the sight of her touching his arm and laughing at his jokes. Fifteen years ago, he would’ve stomped over there and punched Jack in the face for putting his hand on Sara’s thigh. But a lot had changed in the last fifteen years. Even more had changed in the last year. Looking at the two of them, snuggled up at a table in a dark corner near the front door, Henry realized he doesn’t care anymore.

  Maybe he should still care. Maybe he should go over there and make a scene. He should tell that Jack Lee a thing or two and throw him out of the bar, then pull Sara into the back and have a talk with her. Maybe that’s what she wanted. Him to stand up for her. To fight for her, to show that he cared.

  But Henry was fifty-eight years old. He shouldn’t have to impress her. She was his wife, and if she didn’t know he cared after thirty-four years of m
arriage and countless hangovers, then nothing he did would prove it to her. And frankly, he didn’t care. Not anymore.

  He was tired. Tired of working until his feet and back ached and stiffened. Tired of tending to her while she vomited and suffered through an endless string of hangovers. Tired of watching her throw herself at any man who’d pay attention to her. He was tired of it all.

  Henry looked away from his wife when she reached up and pushed a chunk of curly hair behind Jack’s ear. He couldn’t stomach it any more. It was mid-August, and he had a strong feeling that by the end of the year, he would have another divorce behind him. This time, it would be he who left the marriage.

  “Henry,” growled Steve Barnes from the far end of the bar.

  “What is it?” Henry asked walking toward him, wiping his hands on the rag he used to wipe down the counter.

  Steve held up his glass. “I’m dry.”

  “I can fix that,” Henry said as he filled the glass once again.

  As Steve lifted the glass and brought it slowly to his lips, he asked, “What’s new?”

  “Nothing much.”

  After downing a gulp of the whiskey, Steve returned the glass to the bar and nodded. “Never is much new in a town like this, is there?”

  “No. I kind of like it that way.” Henry flipped the rag up and over his shoulder, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I like knowing what to expect every day.”

  “So you don’t like surprises?”

  “No. Surprises aren’t always good.”

  Steve’s eyebrows drew together as he squinted at Henry. “You’re talking about the war, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. But it applies to everything else. Surprises usually mean change, and change isn’t always good.” He shot a glance across the room to his wife, who was now sashaying her way toward the jukebox, where she would no doubt hit F5.

  “I reckon you’re right. But I sure do get bored in this one horse town. Go to the same job every day. Come home to the same house every night. See the same people all the time. Hear the same old stories, same old rumors. I just wish for once something new would happen.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.” Steve waved his hand. “Maybe a new business to come to town.”

  “What kind of new business? What do you think we need? We’ve got about everything a town would need.”

  “Oh hell. There’s plenty we ain’t got.”

  “Like what?”

  Steve thought for a moment. “We ain’t got a movie house.”

  Henry shook his head. “Town’s too small for a movie house. Have to just keep going over to Hoxton to take in a flick.”

  Steve nodded. “Yeah. You’re probably right. But there’s got to be something. Maybe it doesn’t even have to be a business. Maybe if there were just new people, things would liven up a bit.”

  “Well now we get new folks from time to time.”

  “Oh hell. Maybe once every year or two somebody new moves to town, but they usually don’t stay long. And none of them have ever livened the place up yet.”

  “Now what about Mr. Sanders? He entertained us for a while, didn’t he?”

  “Only as the town drunk.” He chuckled. “He was entertaining to watch, that’s for sure.” Steve took a drink as the jukebox started.

  The sounds of F5 filled the bar. Henry watched as his wife, the new town drunk, danced her way back across the room to Jack Lee, who sat waiting with a broad smile plastered on his face.

  The thing that bothered Henry these days wasn’t so much that Sara flirted with men. It was that she did it right in front of him, like he wasn’t there. In the beginning, when she first started her promiscuous ways, the men she flirted with tried to push her away. They constantly looked over at Henry as if they were embarrassed and afraid he’d see what was going on. After a while of Henry doing nothing about it, the men had probably begun to assume that he didn’t care. They didn’t act as though Henry was anywhere around now, even touching his wife openly in front of him.

  Sara pulled Jack to his feet and the two danced as if they were the only two people in the bar. There was a time when that would’ve been a slap to the face for Henry. Not now.

  “You know that woman that just moved here a while back?” Steve asked.

  Henry was lost in thought as he watched his wife rub up against another man. It wasn’t until Steve repeated himself that he looked away. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Name’s Claire Murphy. You met her yet?”

  “Sure. She’s been in here a time or two. Why?”

  “She didn’t waste any time, did she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hell, she ain’t lived here a month and she’s already been to the bar. Woman moves fast.”

  “Now, Steve. Don’t go jumping to conclusions. She was in here looking for a job.”

  “I bet she was. I’ve been to many bars looking for jobs, if you know what I mean.” Steve winked at Henry, slapped the bar, and let out a howl of laughter. When he stopped laughing, he said, “So she didn’t have a job when she moved here? Does she have family here or something?”

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t think so. She has a job over in Hoxton, but she was hoping to find something here in town so she didn’t have to make the drive.”

  “How’d she wind up here?”

  Henry shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well I’ve seen her. Just once. She sure is a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

  “She’s not bad,” Henry agreed.

  “Hell, I’m not bad. That woman is downright pretty. And she’s built to please.”

  Henry looked at Steve but said nothing. He was uneasy when men spoke of women in such a manner. But Steve was working on his third glass of whiskey. Liquor always loosened his lips a bit.

  “I’ll tell you what I’d like to do to her,” Steve said before gulping down the rest of his whiskey.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I’d take her back to my place. Have her naked before we even make it in the front door. Then—”

  “Steve, that’s enough.”

  “I’d squeeze around on them titties of hers. I bet they feel right good, you know.” Steve threw up his hands and squeezed the imaginary breasts that hung in the air in front of him. His right hand bumped his whiskey glass and sent it flying off the back of the bar.

  Henry almost succeeded in catching the glass before it hit the floor. His hand cupped around it easily enough, but the momentum behind the grab pushed the glass against the edge of the bar, shattering it in Henry’s hand.

  Feeling the pain immediately, Henry raised his hand to see the damage. A piece of glass was embedded in his palm, on the meaty part at the base of his thumb. He wasn’t sure how far it went into his skin, but the part sticking out was just over an inch long.

  Carefully, Henry pulled the shard from his hand and tossed it into the trashcan under the bar. He pulled the rag from his shoulder and pressed it onto the cut to try to stop the bleeding.

  “I’m sorry,” Steve said. The incident seemed to have sobered him up somewhat. “Here. Let me clean that up.” He slid off the barstool, wobbled on his feet a bit, and started around the bar.

  “That’s okay,” Henry said quickly.

  “No. It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

  “No, Steve. I think it’s best if you just go on home.”

  Steve looked at Henry for a few seconds, as if he was considering protesting, but then he nodded. He slapped some money down on the bar and left, apologizing once more on his way out.

  Sara had walked up to the bar without Henry even noticing it. He wasn’t aware of her until she asked if he was okay. For the first time in a long time, she sounded concerned.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. He pulled the rag away from the wound and saw that it was still bleeding. He pressed the rag against the cut again, harder this time.

  “Are you sure?”

 
Henry looked into her eyes as F5 wound to a close. In that moment, he thought she cared about him again. It was as if the last fifteen years hadn’t happened. He felt the urge to hug her close to him, but he knew that if he did, he’d smell the alcohol, smell the scent of Jack Lee’s cologne, and become angry with her. So he didn’t.

  “I could use a bandage,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll get you one.” Immediately, Sara came around the bar and went straight for the cigar box in which they kept bandages and other supplies that might be needed if a fight broke out. A fight in the bar wasn’t unheard of, but also wasn’t a regular event.

  “Shoot,” she muttered. She looked up at Henry, worried.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re out of bandages.”

  Henry thought he detected a note of panic in her voice. Or maybe he just hoped it was there. If she was panicked because he was hurt, that would mean she really did care about him.

  “It’s okay. Just go down to the pharmacy and get some.”

  “Are you going to be okay until I get back?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Henry smiled at her. It was weak and felt odd to have his facial muscles perform the rare task. When she returned his smile though, it was worth the effort.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Henry watched as she quickly walked across the bar toward the front door. She opened it and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She never even glanced at Jack.

  For the first time in a long time, Henry felt that there was hope for their marriage after all. As he looked to Jack, who threw his arms up in the air, angry that Sara had left him, Henry realized that he’d never stopped caring about her. He’d only tried to make himself believe he had.

  Chapter 15

  The bell above the door chimed, causing Frank to look away from Miriam just as she said, “Claire Murphy.” He heard Maude gasp at the revelation as he watched Sara Miller walk briskly into the pharmacy and look around with a clear purpose. She obviously wasn’t here to browse.

  Seeing that she clearly knew what she wanted, Frank walked away from the soda counter and crossed the room to the pharmacy counter. He took his place by the register and waited, happy that there were plenty of people in the store today. Maybe with a crowd this large, she wouldn’t try any of that funny business of hers. Still, Frank was nervous and uncomfortable as he waited for her to find what she was looking for.