He blushes slightly. “Once in a while,” he answers and stands. “Can I get anybody anything?”
“The French fries are way cool,” Dillon says. Then Lou casts a slightly disgusted look at his daughter.
“No, thanks,” I say, and Lou smiles at me and gives a nod. I watch him walk to the buffet.
I no longer have interest in my fried food and start to eat my salad instead. I feel Blossom watching.
“What?” I ask, not completely sure why she’s staring at me.
She bites her lip and shakes her head.
“Do you know a Lacey who isn’t a porn star?” I ask, confident that this will make a fine deflection.
And it does. She laughs.
“How old is your father?” I tend to forget how young these two are and how old I actually still am.
Blossom shrugs. “Forty, forty-two? Something like that.”
“And he’s never married again?”
I watch him at the buffet line, leaning down, spooning green beans and creamed corn onto his plate. He stands back up when Lacey comes over to him.
Blossom shakes her head. “There was one woman one time, Pam. Pammy.” She takes a bite of her food. “I never liked her.”
I keep watching him as he moves around the buffet, taking a piece of the meat that Lacey is pointing out.
“But I don’t know about now. He does look like he’s lost some weight and that’s what happened when he dated Pammy, so maybe he’s found somebody.”
He’s gone over to the bread station now, stands there for a second or two, but walks away without a biscuit or piece of corn bread. He is certainly showing restraint. I look at the two fried hush puppies on my plate and place my napkin over them.
“What about your dad?” Blossom asks and I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or Dillon. But then I see her looking at me.
The question comes as a surprise. I haven’t thought about my father dating anyone for a long time.
“I think he’s always been too busy—you know, married to his job—since my mom died.” But the truth is I don’t really know why he never dated anyone else, why he never got married again. I only know it would have been terribly difficult with Sandra and me. With my sister there was hardly enough room in the house for me; I can’t imagine her making space for another woman. I’m pretty certain that would have never worked out and I’m also pretty certain my father knew it.
“You all aren’t through yet, are you?” Lou is back and he slides in easily next to Dillon.
“Dude, I ate, like, a whole cow,” Dillon answers.
I am about to say that I’m through as well, but my phone starts to ring and when I reach down to answer it I recognize the number right away.
Phillip Blake is calling me again.
chapter thirty-four
“YOU still in Shamrock?”
I feel my face redden and notice that everyone at the table is watching me. I give Blossom a look asking her to slide out of the booth so I can take my call privately. She won’t move at first and I hear Phillip ask, “Is everything okay?”
I wait, rolling my eyes at Blossom, who finally slips out.
“Excuse me,” I whisper to everyone, pulling the phone away from my mouth, and best as I am able, I slide out and head toward the door.
“Al, you there?”
“Yes, hey, and no, we made it to Amarillo.”
I can’t seem to find a quiet place to take my call so I end up walking out, pushing the front door open with my elbow.
I glance around the parking lot and over to the tree where Faramond is parked. I see Casserole standing up in the backseat, eyeing me through the opened window. He heard my voice or smelled the fried chicken on me. Either way, I know now which direction I have to go.
“I thought you were staying in Shamrock.”
For some reason, his comment surprises me.
“Well, we were, but we decided that since we were already so close, we’d just drive the extra ninety or so miles and get all the way to Amarillo.” I decide to forgo the story about Ronny. “We’re having dinner.” And as soon as the words leave my lips I realize that I sound like someone who doesn’t want to talk. Now he will probably say he’s sorry for interrupting and allow me to get back to my meal and I may not ever hear from him again.
“You eating at that big steak house?”
Guess I figured that wrong.
“What’s that?”
“The big steak house where they serve a seventy-two-ounce steak and you don’t have to pay if you can eat it all. It’s near the interstate, something with Texas in the name. Wait, I’ll Google it.”
“Oh, okay.” I have made my way to Faramond and I reach in the rear window and give Casserole a pat.
“Yep, here it is. The Big Texan,” he tells me. “Seventy-two ounces, can you imagine?”
I’m about to say that no, I cannot, but he keeps talking.
“Some girl won the big steak challenge—ate three of them in twenty minutes.”
“That’s quite a feat,” I reply, wondering why this is interesting to Phillip.
“Yeah, you can watch the video on their website.”
There is a pause and I think that he must be doing that very thing. Maybe I should try the “eating dinner” sentence again.
The pause continues and I clear my throat, trying to move the conversation along, or at least remind him that I’m still here on the other end.
“Anyway, it’s funny. You should watch it.”
“That is exactly what I’ll do, then, a little later this evening.”
“So, I’m calling because I found out where you can get an address for the remains.”
“What?”
I can see Blossom staring at me through the window of the restaurant. Casserole sniffs my hand and then looks up at me, confused that there are no leftovers.
“Your dead guy, the one you’re returning to New Mexico.”
I glance down in between the front seats and see the box. “Roger Hart.” I say his name because he’s more to me than a dead guy or just remains.
“I know you’re the great researcher, being a journalist and all, and I figured you had already tried the usual methods for finding the address.”
I don’t say anything.
“You did, right? You Googled and ran searches on those websites.”
“Yes, I did a fair amount of checking before I left North Carolina.” This line of questioning, this phone call, it is all quite unexpected.
“Yeah, well, did you do a property search?”
“A what?”
“Property search. Did you go through the records in the county where he lived?”
I have to say I did not think of that. I tried calling the funeral home, tried to look up his obituary to find family members’ names, tried a few websites that promised they could find anybody; but I never found a real clue before leaving on this trip.
And yet, reflecting upon it now, I kind of think I didn’t want to get in touch with anybody before I left. This was part of the adventure, not knowing what or who I might find in New Mexico.
“With running audits for insurance, that’s one of the ways we find out about people.”
“You look up their properties?”
“Yeah, it’s just a way to validate whether or not they own or rent. It’s a criterion we sometimes use when we make risk assessments.”
I had no idea that insurance salespeople researched their clients this way. It sounds a little creepy to me; but I don’t say this to Phillip.
“So, I didn’t check anything out about your guy because I didn’t remember his name; but I just thought about it and wanted to shoot that idea over to you. You can do a property search.”
“Well, that’s a great idea, thanks, Phillip.”
“If you want, I can get my girl to look it up and e-mail you what she finds.”
Phillip has a girl? Should I be offended that he has a girl?
“No, I thank you very much, but I’ll look into this as soon as I can get to a computer and find the county files.”
“Good, then,” he says, like I’m a client or a new insurance salesman or maybe the girl.
“All right. Thanks for the tip,” I say and shrug at Casserole, who is watching me, waiting for the conversation to end so that he can get his dinner.
“Let me know if you find out anything.”
“I will do that,” I say.
“So, I may come to Clayton for the Fourth of July,” he notes.
I turn my back on Casserole. “Oh, well, that’ll be nice.”
“Yeah, Mom is always bugging me about coming home, so I thought I might drive down for the holiday.”
“Well, I know she’ll be glad to see you.”
“You’ll be home by then, right?”
I place my hand on the front of Faramond. The warmth of his hood is comforting to me as I feel a little faint.
“I will be home next week,” I reply, wanting to say, I’ll come home right now if you’re going to be there; but I know to show a little restraint.
“Okay, well, the Fourth is still a couple of weeks away so maybe we’ll talk again before then.”
I truly do not know what to say, but somehow “yep” comes out of my mouth.
“Let me know if the property search comes up with anything; I’ll be interested to see if it does.”
“I will check on that and I’ll text you.”
“Or message me, either one.”
“Okay, thanks, Phillip.”
“You’re welcome. You can pay me back by buying insurance from me.” And I think I hear a slight laugh.
“I would be honored to buy insurance from you.” I don’t even know what that means.
“Okay, have fun in Amarillo.”
“Yeah, thanks for the tip—and thanks for calling.”
And I click off the phone and turn back to my dog. “How’d you like a seventy-two-ounce steak?” I ask him; but he does not respond.
chapter thirty-five
LOU built his house all by himself. It’s small, about eleven hundred square feet; but it’s open and airy, with lots of windows and high ceilings. It’s framed with a pitched roof, has hardwood floors, and is decorated in a Western motif, with horseshoes and cowboy pictures, ropes and rodeo trophies lining the shelves on the walls. He’s proud of it, you can tell, because he slides his fingers tenderly and knowingly across the surfaces and takes out his handkerchief to wipe along the top of the crown molding as he talks about how hard it was to find the right wood and how long it took to locate high-quality gypsum plaster to fill in the ceilings and walls.
His kitchen is simple but ample—a big gas oven and stove and plenty of counter space, two sinks, a stainless steel refrigerator, and a dishwasher—and he claims he uses everything because he enjoys making pots of stew and baking pies. Blossom agrees that her father knows his way around the kitchen and promises that if I stay long enough I will come to know that fact for myself; but I haven’t quite decided if I will stay past tomorrow.
If I can get Faramond up and running, I would like to get to New Mexico as soon as possible, find out where to deliver Roger Hart, and then hurry back to North Carolina. I told Blossom that my dad needed me at work, but the truth is I want to get back in plenty of time before the Fourth of July and Phillip’s return visit to Clayton. Suddenly, I feel a new purpose in being at home.
Lou has given me his bedroom for the night. Blossom has the spare bed in his office, and he and Dillon are sleeping in the barn out back, which Lou assures him has more to offer than just a stack of hay. I told him I was happy to sleep on the sofa in the den; but he insisted that I have his room, even placing an old blanket on the floor for Casserole and clearing a space on his dresser for Roger.
It’s quiet here where Lou lives, out from the sprawling neighborhoods along the interstates and twelve miles beyond the city center. He was given the land by the rancher who had employed him for more than ten years after he first arrived in Amarillo. The man is old now, well past eighty, with no children and only a few cows and bulls, Lou says, and is giving away his ranch parcel by parcel to cowboys and cooks who have worked for him.
Lou got his property just after the rancher’s wife died. He offered to pay the old man a decent price and, when refused, encouraged him to wait at least for a while to make sure this wasn’t just an impulsive act fueled by his grief. But the rancher had made up his mind. He surveyed the land, portioned off the acreage near a small southern creek, and deeded it over to him. And Lou said he continues to do the same thing every year or so, pulling in the fences for the cattle, tightening the grazing land, and giving parcels of his land away to friends and employees. In my opinion, that’s a fine way to leave this world, handing over land to others, being able to watch them build or farm, or just enjoying the satisfaction that comes in giving things away.
I like it here, though I cannot fully articulate why. This part of the Lone Star State is flat and brown and dusty and has no natural barriers to the winds that sweep across the area coming from all four directions. It is the Great Plains, the panhandle for the second largest state in the union, and some people are, I’m sure, frightened by the long views and the threat of storms, while others, like myself, I suppose, discover a kind of contentment. It does feel lonely out here, but also strangely calming. I am at peace in this place, as if something bound in me has been loosened.
Blossom says it’s the way you can see so far, the horizon bending in sight; she says she always feels safe here because she thinks she will be able to see trouble coming and have time to prepare. In Tennessee, she explained, just before we said good night, there are too many trees, too many places for danger to hide.
“I love the hardwoods,” she said, “don’t get me wrong; but sometimes I grow weary trying to anticipate what’s going to fall from the branches or who’s waiting to jump from behind the trunks. West Texas gives you the long broad view, and for me there’s some comfort in just seeing things for what they are.” Now I know why she came here after the baby died. This land left her nothing to work on but her grief.
Tonight the sky is black and I have found I am unable to sleep so I have come outside and I’m seeing stars I have never seen before. The Milky Way and all the constellations are so prominent and visible, stretching from top to bottom, that I cannot see where the earth ends and the heavens begin. It is almost more than I can stand. I am heading back to bed when I see a small light glowing from a landing not too far away. It’s a cigarette burning, and since I don’t think Dillon smokes, I suppose that Lou is awake, sitting just beyond where I stand, apparently watching the same stars that have just overwhelmed me.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, as I approach him, walking carefully in the dark. He is sitting on an old swing attached to a frame, the kind we hang from rafters on porches in the South. There is a wicker chair beside it, but I stay standing for now.
“Oh, hey,” he says, appearing a bit surprised that he is no longer alone. “Yeah, sometimes I have a little trouble.” He takes another drag on his cigarette and then drops it and steps on it, grinding it in the dirt. “What about you? Is the bed okay?”
I glance behind me at the house. “Yes, it’s fine,” I answer.
“You want to sit?” he asks.
And I move over to the seat and sit down. I’m wearing my pajamas, but I grabbed a blanket from the bed before walking outside and I pull it around my shoulders.
“It’s really quiet out here,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s a bit different from living in the city, that’s for sure.”
“You like it, I guess.” I try to imagine every night this dark, every even
ing this silent.
“I do, yes,” he replies. “But I know it’s not for everyone.”
“Yeah, I know some people who would go crazy not having the sounds of traffic or neighbors.” I think about James William at the paper telling me once that he left the television on all the time at his apartment because he needed noise to feel like he was still alive.
“The wind drives a lot of folks out of West Texas,” Lou informs me. “Lots of people lose their minds because they think they hear voices, children crying, women screaming; and some days and nights, it goes on for hours.”
There is no wind tonight. I wonder if I would be affected in that same way by the harsh desert elements. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Nah, I like it, makes me feel like something new is blowing in, change is brewing.”
“You like change?”
“Sometimes,” he answers. “Not all the time, but sometimes, yes.”
“I haven’t changed anything in my life in a long time,” I say. “I’ve lived in the same house all of my life, held the same job, kept the same car.”
“Yeah, I thought the car had a few stories in him.”
I shrug, even though I’m sure he cannot see my expression. “Not so many stories,” I say. “Just a lot of miles.”
There is a pause. I close my eyes.
“You’ve lived in the same house all of your life?”
I know how that surprises some people.
“Bought it from my dad when he wanted to move into an apartment downtown. I just like living there and didn’t see any point in leaving.”
“Well,” Lou responds, “that makes perfect sense to me.”
I remember the discussions we all had, Daddy explaining he didn’t want to live in the house any longer, that he wanted to be able to walk to work. And I remember the three of us hammering out a payment schedule, since I ended up having to pay both him and Sandra, who complained she was getting left out and wanted the same opportunity as I had to buy our house.
Of course Daddy and I both knew that Sandra never intended to move back to Clayton, that she’d never liked our house, claimed it was puny and old. But when she found out I was getting it and that I was paying my father a small sum to take it over, she packed a bag and left Asheville to come home and “make things right.”
Traveling Light Page 15
