Goldenrod

by Ann McMan

  David snagged a French fry and bit it in half. “On who fried the fish. Was it you or Michael?”

  Nadine propped her hands on her hips. “What if I said I made it?”

  “Then it won’t need a thing.” He beamed at her. “It’ll be perfect.”

  Nadine rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why that man puts up with you.”

  “Same reason you do.” David winked at her. “My infectious charm.”

  Nadine clucked her tongue. “I don’t doubt for a second that ‘infectious’ describes a lot of things about you, boy—but ‘charm’ ain’t likely to be one of ’em.” She looked down at Celine. “Am I right?”

  Celine didn’t reply. She was still gaping at David.

  Nadine looked back and forth between them.

  “Now what on earth is the matter with you?” She pointed an index finger at David. “Is he telling you stories about what the two of them get up to when the lights go down?”

  “Of course not,” David replied. “She’s just in shock because I mentioned her new beau.”

  That comment was enough to help Celine find her voice. “David . . .”

  “Boy, you got some kind of nose for news.” Nadine pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. “No wonder that partner of yours says he could use you to find truffles.”

  David smiled sweetly at her. “He told you about that game?”

  Nadine popped him on the side of his head. “Don’t you blaspheme in here, boy.” She looked at Celine, whose face was a study in mortification. “Listen. Even the biggest idiot can get things right once in a while. So, if he’s talkin’ about you and that good-lookin’ hunk of Sheriff, I say ride that pony, sister. Life is short.”

  The swinging door that led to the café kitchen banged open. Nadine’s husband, Raymond, filled the opening. He was holding a mop and a large plumber’s wrench and he did not look happy.

  Nadine sighed. “Exhibit A in the circus parade. Let me go deal with my own bunch of flyin’ monkeys.” She patted Celine on the shoulder. “You got a shot at lettin’ us all live the dream, sister. Don’t mess it up by worrying about what people think.”

  She strode off toward the kitchen, angrily snapping a hand towel at her perpetually distressed mate.

  “What she said,” David added. Then he proceeded to swap their lunch plates. “You gonna let me have some of your French fries this time?”

  Celine continued to stare across the table at him. Then she gave him a slow smile.

  “Yippee ki yay.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “Gimme one of your smokes.”

  Jocelyn Painter was going over the budget with their new dispatcher, Natalie Chriscoe.

  The business at Cougar’s Flag Cars had grown so much, she and Deb Carlson had been adding staff. First came Natalie, who’d been the bookkeeper at the Bixby Bowladrome before it got demolished in the tornado the year before. A few weeks ago, they had hired her sister-in-law, Rita, who formerly ran the shoe concession. Hiring Rita was a no-brainer because she’d spent most of the last year working as a substitute bus driver for the consolidated school district. That meant she already had her multi-axle license. Rita now handled a lot of the overnight runs, delivering manufactured homes to retail lots in Kentucky and West Virginia.

  Natalie pushed her open pack of Camels across the desk. “I thought you quit?”

  “I tried them e-cigarettes, but one of ’em kicked back on me and the flare-up about burned off my adenoids.”

  “You still got your adenoids?” Natalie blew out a long plume of smoke. “I had mine took out back in October when I had that hysterectomy. I know’d it was just a matter of time before they went bad on me, so Mack and I thought we should take advantage and get a twofer on the deductible.”

  This kind of shrewd thinking was precisely why Jocelyn and Deb wanted Natalie on their team.

  “You got a good head for business, girl.”

  Natalie shrugged. “With this Obamacare, you gotta figure out new ways to game the system.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? We’re gonna go broke if we don’t take on more business to cover insurance costs for our full-timers. And the more drivers we hire, the more we gotta shell out in premiums.”

  “At least you got them government coverages. The rest of us ain’t so lucky.”

  It was true. Jocelyn held on to her day job delivering mail just so she could keep her USPS benefits. But that kept Cougar’s short-staffed during the day until she finished her route. Right now, there was more work than Deb and Rita could handle. They had to hire more drivers. But traipsing down that path was what her daddy always called a sticky wicket, because right now the manufactured home business was booming—but nobody could predict what might happen if the area got hit by another recession.

  “Well, I been thinkin’ about some ideas that might just work out.” Natalie pulled her cheaters down from the top of her head and opened a loose-leaf notebook.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense.” Jocelyn fired up a smoke. “Tell me what you got in mind.”

  “For starters, I think there’s a bunch of opportunities out there in some of what they call ‘underserved markets.’ Things like this.” She passed over a folded piece of paper.

  Jocelyn took the flyer and opened it up. After she’d scanned its contents, she regarded Natalie. “What the hell are Poppin Johnnies?”

  “Them ole timey, two-cycle tractors John Deere used to make.” Natalie waved a hand. Her fluorescent nail polish all but left skid marks on the air between them. “But that ain’t the part that piqued my curiosity. It was this.” She pointed at the lower half of the flyer. “That’s what I been fixatin’ on.”

  “Wheatland Swap Meet and Show?” Jocelyn quoted. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a ginormous convention they have every year out in Wichita. Big-time collectors travel there from all over the country just to stand out in the middle of some dried-up field showing off their antique machines and drinking up tons of cheap beer. That got me to thinkin’. All of them wanna-be farmers have to move them tractors out there some way—and not everybody has the time to take a week off to drive across country to get there. That’s where we come in—or could come in.”

  “You mean we’d use our trucks to haul these Poppin Johnnie things?”

  “Of course not.” Natalie ground out her cigarette. “Forget about them damn tractors. I’m talkin’ about usin’ our trucks to haul anything. Across town or across country. Anyplace. Everyplace. Get it? I’m talkin’ about gettin’ out of the flag car business and embracing the brave new world of lo-gistics.”

  “Logistics?”

  “It means relocation. Moving. Moving anything that needs moved. That right there is the pot o’ gold at the end of the truckin’ rainbow.”

  Jocelyn finished her smoke and thought about it.

  “Well I’ll be damned.” She looked at Natalie with wonder. “It just might work.”

  “Count on it. This plan is the key to your success. And it’s poised to roll right up the byways of America on our trucks—the trucks that have this day been reborn as Cougar’s Quality Logistics.”

  Cougar’s Quality Logistics.

  Jocelyn tried the words over and over in her head. They had an almost reverential ring to them. Yes. It could work. She didn’t even worry about telling Deb. She knew in her heart this was right. It was the way forward.

  “I’ll be damned,” she said again.

  Natalie was nodding and smiling at her. “And I got us a lead on our very first long-distance haul.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bert Townsend told me that Doc Stevenson’s mama was looking for somebody to fetch her piano and move it here from California.” She tapped another cigarette out of her pack and winked at Jocelyn. “I think she’s playin’ our tune.”

  A piano? Jocelyn didn’t know much about music, but she was pretty sure they could handle it—with the right crew on board.

  But who could they send? A job like t
his would require their crew to be gone for eight to ten days, minimum. They didn’t have any employees who could take on that kind of commitment. Most of them had to work two jobs just to make ends meet.

  “James Lawrence.”

  Jocelyn looked at Natalie. “Say what?”

  “James Lawrence,” Natalie repeated. “I already asked him. He said he’d do it. He said he moved bigger stuff ’n that in the army.”

  “Well, shit fire.” Jocelyn shook her head.

  Things were lookin’ up.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Henry was distressed. “Why didn’t he take the animals?”

  Dorothy lowered the book. They were sitting together in the shade created by a cluster of Heirloom pear trees that proudly staked their claim to a section of sloping bank above a switchback along the New River. Today was their bookmobile day, and Dorothy was making good on her promise to read The Incredible Journey to Henry during their times together after school.

  “He couldn’t take them along, Henry,” Dorothy explained. “He was on his way to a fishing cabin that was very far away.”

  “Why couldn’t they go, too? Why couldn’t they stay with their family?”

  Dorothy was beginning to think this book wasn’t the best choice. She wondered why Miss Freemantle had suggested it to Henry. For one thing, he was too young to read it by himself. For another, it was a pretty sad story. At least it was so far.

  “The family was in England, across the ocean,” she explained. “This man was taking care of the animals for them—until they got back.”

  Henry nodded. “Like Maddie and Syd took care of me when Daddy was in Afistan.”

  “Yes. Just like that.”

  Henry stared down at the pages full of words. “I think Maddie and Syd would take me if they went fishing. Pete, too.”

  “What about Before? They couldn’t take your cow along.”

  Henry thought about that. “I guess not.”

  “And they couldn’t take Before to a kennel, either. They’d have to have somebody come in to feed her.”

  Henry looked up at Dorothy. “She eats grass.”

  Dorothy sighed. “How about we stop reading this for today?”

  “Does that mean we have to go home now?”

  “Not if you don’t want to.” Dorothy looked at the angle of the sun. “I can stay a little bit longer.”

  “Okay. Daddy has to work late.”

  “How late?”

  Henry shrugged.

  “Are you gonna be home by yourself tonight?”

  “No. Buddy is going to come over and stay with me ’til daddy gets there. We watch TV. He changes channels all the time.”

  “It’s nice he can come over.”

  “He washes cars for Mr. Junior. I like him. He can read my library books backwards.”

  Dorothy was surprised by that. She’d met Buddy a few times when her father hired him to clean the gutters or repaint the porch posts on the weather side of their house. He’d ride up on his little red scooter, wearing his bright orange vest and a silver helmet with a jaw strap. Then he’d go right to work. He was always nervous and shy whenever she tried to talk with him, so she learned early on not to bother him when he was out there working. He’d leave without saying goodbye as soon as he finished his chores. People in town all said he was slow, but harmless. She knew that last part was true. She never felt afraid of him. But it seemed strange to her that he’d be able to understand a book, much less read it backwards.

  “Does he read to you?”

  Henry nodded. “Can you read me some more?”

  Dorothy was still working her way through Cold Sassy Tree. The only other book she had with her was Lord of the Flies. They were reading that one in English class. She didn’t think either of those would work for Henry.

  “I don’t have any other good stories from a book today. But maybe I can tell you a different one?”

  “Is it about dogs?”

  “No. But it has a horse in it. A magic horse.”

  Henry’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of horse is that?”

  “One that knows how to fly.”

  “Is that one of Miss Freemantle’s books? Can I get it?”

  Dorothy shook her head. “No. This one was in a big book of stories that belonged to my mama. I found it in a box in our attic.”

  “Does it have pictures of the horse?”

  “A couple. It has more words than pictures.”

  “I don’t like those books as much.” Henry picked up his copy of The Incredible Journey. “I can’t read this many words.”

  “You will someday. You just have to keep trying.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t have anybody to help me, either. So, I just kept practicing. When I got to really hard words, I’d write them down and ask about them.”

  Henry sighed. “When daddy is home, we watch TV.”

  “You could ask your teacher?”

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  Dorothy knew Henry’s teacher. She’d had him as a substitute teacher, too. She wondered why so many people who hated kids taught school. It didn’t make sense. But then, not much about the things adults did made sense.

  “Maybe you could write things down and ask me? Or ask Miss Murphy or Dr. Stevenson?”

  Henry nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at her. “Syd always helps me with my homework when I go back there to stay.”

  “See? That sounds really nice.”

  “I like that part better than piano lessons.”

  “They make you take piano lessons?” She thought about Miss Freemantle and the book she described about how all ladies played the piano.

  Henry nodded. “Gramma C. does. She’s going to have a big piano in her new house. She said that maybe I can come stay there sometimes, too.”

  “You’re lucky to have so many nice people who want to take care of you when your daddy is gone.”

  “I know. Who takes care of you when your daddy goes away?”

  Dorothy looked out across the river. She could see swarms of gnats buzzing around close to the water. They moved around in crazy patterns and looked golden in the afternoon light. That meant the fish would be swimming close to the surface, trying to catch an early dinner. She loved to watch them flash and pivot in the slow-moving water. It was like they had all the time in the world.

  But she didn’t. And she knew she was skating dangerously close to the time she needed to be home.

  “My daddy doesn’t go away.”

  “I bet you like that,” Henry said.

  Dorothy decided to change the subject. “How about I tell you the magic horse story? Then I have to head home.”

  “Okay.” Henry put down his book and laid back against the soft grass. “I’m ready.”

  Dorothy closed her eyes as she began the story.

  “A long, long time ago, before the world we know now was created, the heavens were controlled by a big family of gods and goddesses. They all had scary, special powers and lived on top of a mountain called Olympus. They were a very warlike family and fought many battles against other gods and monsters. One of the major gods on Olympus ruled over the oceans. His name was Poseidon, and he was made from big, angry waves. The flying horse called Pegasus was his son. His job was to soar across the heavens and carry thunderbolts for the head god, Zeus. They said that wherever the feet of Pegasus touched the earth, a spring of water would appear. One day, after Pegasus helped the gods win a big battle against a fire-breathing monster, Zeus rewarded him by turning him into a constellation of stars that could be seen forever.”

  Henry sat up. “He’s in the stars?”

  “That’s what the story says.”

  “Can I see him tonight?”

  “Not tonight,” Dorothy corrected. “But in the fall, when it starts to get cold and the night sky is very bright. You can see him then.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Lots of times.” Dorothy nodded. “I
look for him from my upstairs window. He’s always there, too. High in the northern sky above the trees, running free through the night with his wings spread wide.”

  Henry gazed up at the snatches of blue sky that were visible between the maze of leaves and branches above their heads. “I can’t see anything from my window. There’s a building right in front of it and a bright light that stays on all night. Daddy says that’s so people won’t try to steal the cars.”

  “Maybe you could look for him when you’re out at Dr. Stevenson’s farm?”

  “Do you think I will see him there?”

  Dorothy smiled down at him. “I bet you will.”

  Henry seemed satisfied with that answer. He dropped back against the grass. “When will the fall be here?”

  “Not for a while. The summer is just getting started.”

  Henry sighed. “Good things always take too long.”

  Dorothy understood his implied corollary. There was no waiting period for bad things.

  It was past time for her to go, but she decided to risk it and stay just a bit longer. She lay back on the grass beside him and pointed up at the tree canopy above their heads.

  “Let’s look for pictures in the branches.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “You need to calm down.”

  “Calm down? How?” David was striding back and forth across Maddie’s office like a caged beast. “That man doesn’t have the good sense God gave a gnat.”

  “David? If you don’t sit down, I’m going to tie you into a chair and give you an injection of Thorazine.”

  That stopped him dead in his tracks. “Really? Can I get a dose to go, too? Because when Michael hears about this I’m going to have to scrape his ample ass off the ceiling fan.”

  Maddie pointed at a chair. David finally complied and dropped into it with a grunt.

  “Now,” Maddie continued. “I’d love to offer sage advice, but you haven’t stopped fuming long enough to tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s that rat bastard mayor.”

  “Gerald Watson?”

  “Duh? You know any other rat bastard mayors here in Shangri-La?”