by Joe Nobody
There was another aspect to the woman – a depth that was difficult to identify. The answer is in these pictures, he concluded. I know it is. I’ve looked at these old photos a dozen times, and I still can’t put my finger on it.
There was a young, smiling Grace with her parents, a cap and gown identifying the event, then another image of a slightly older girl, a wedding photo taken with a handsome, clean-cut young man. The marriage was soon followed with several pictures of a newborn baby, smiling underneath a billowing, pink hair bow, despite the baldhead. Amber was her name, he remembered. The big Texan sighed and shook his head at the tragedy that had befallen what seemed like a storybook existence. Grace’s husband and child had died in an automobile accident nine years ago.
On and on, the wall memories continued. An older Grace, sophisticated in her formal gown, posing with a clearly prestigious award. Another clipping from The Dallas Tribune, proclaiming a milestone in her legal career.
“Durham Weathers,” interrupted her voice behind him. “Haven’t you studied those old pictures a million times already?”
Smiling, Dusty turned to see her carrying a lime-green serving tray, complete with two mugs, a matching pot, and small containers of milk and sugar. Grace was the only person who refused to call him by anything other than his formal name, claiming she liked the handle better than Dusty.
She motioned him to the couch while she set the tray on the table and began filling the cups.
With coffee in hand, she chose the loveseat, studying her guest with an intense gaze over the rim of her mug.
“You’re not being honest with me,” she finally proclaimed. “Something else is troubling you besides the flying. What’s going on, Durham?”
As was common with many of their conversations, things weren’t exactly following Dusty’s pre-rehearsed plan.
“It’s no big deal,” he lied. “Like I said, I’ve not seen Mitch in a while, and it’s a long trip. Besides, I’ve had you working on those documents for what – almost a year? It’s high time I got off my lazy duff and finished things up.”
The look on the lawyer’s face clearly indicated she didn’t buy it, but she decided not to press. It would be rude to question him, she reasoned. Our relationship doesn’t work that way. Setting down her cup, she rose and announced, “I’ll go back to the office and find the file. You should review the contents to make sure they still represent your wishes.”
Relieved at being off the hook, Dusty watched as she sauntered to the back of the house where he knew a spare bedroom had been converted into her workspace. “That was close,” he whispered.
Of all the mornings for that man to show up, thought Grace. He had to pick the day I was planning on working in the garden.
Standing in front of the mirror, she determined there wasn’t anything she could do about the old jeans and plaid work shirt – he’d notice a wardrobe change in a heartbeat. Hastily pulling a brush through her tresses, she decided that was about the best she could do without being obvious. Mildly frustrated, she strolled to the office, trying to remember where she’d left his file.
The man was a puzzle, and Grace Kennedy wasn’t a fan of unsolved mysteries. He had been the first to befriend her when she moved to Fort Davis. They had quickly developed a causal friendship, his warm smile and western, gentlemanly demeanor welcomed by a lady who had just struck out on a new adventure in life.
While his friendship was unquestionably genuine, above all he treated her with respect. Unlike the parade of men that came calling back in Dallas, Durham Weathers was interested neither in her money, nor in a quick trip to bed. It was the perfect prescription, exactly what the relocated newcomer had needed – at the time.
After the accident, she’d mourned for months, isolating herself in an empty home, wandering aimlessly, staring out the windows at nothing. Because there was nothing. Time eventually healed the pain, but didn’t fill the void she felt inside.
The realization dawned that she had to do something, anything to fill the deep, dark hole that had been drilled into her soul by a cruel world. It came gradually, beginning as a soft glow of light, enough energy to clean out his closet. The success of that effort fueled more ambition. Amber’s room was next – a gut wrenching exercise of filling boxes and converting the nursery into a spare bedroom that would probably never see a guest.
After recovering from that exhaustive effort, she resolved to fill her life with a professional challenge big enough to overshadow the gaping chasm in her heart. Her unused degree was the key – unlocking a doorway that she burst through, channeling all of her energies with a determination to dominate.
Dallas was a diverse, target rich environment for an attorney. After emerging onto the legal landscape, it quickly became obvious that corporate law was where the money lay, intellectual property the best game in town. And she played that game hard.
Within two years, her shingle was known by the key players at the Fortune 100 corporations. Another year, and she was turning clients away. Ruthless, tough, strikingly beautiful, and seemingly made of ice, Ms. Kennedy quickly became known as the most eligible bachelorette in town. Some of the power-players viewed her potential conquest as a trophy, others as a method to climb the ladder of success. All of them were out of their league.
As time passed, and the accolades multiplied, Grace became bored and frustrated. Her immersion into law had become stale, her personal life entwined by reputation and polluted by a mundane cast of male characters who all seemed so shallow… unfulfilling.
She’d fallen into a trap. Mired in layers of personal and professional reputation, it had all become a game with rules that were dynamic and not always obvious. She began to feel herself changing to meet the expectations of others. Men who failed to woo her advanced reports of a cold woman, so she allowed the ice queen to emerge in all her scorn and glory. Business associates advertised an unrelenting, uncompromising assailant, so the queen bitch joined her arsenal of personality traits. It was all so dishonest – as false as the façade of a Hollywood movie set.
Without fanfare or ceremony, she made the decision to leave it all behind. The complexity wasn’t fun anymore – she needed something simpler, cleaner – more wholesome. As was typical of her analytical mind, Grace plied into research. After a few weeks, she settled on the western end of the Lone Star State. Her visit to the Barlow property sealed the deal.
She soon discovered that the perceived need for the slower pace associated with a small town wasn’t going to be a panacea of wellness. Fortunately, she met Durham early on, and he helped smooth the transition. They had become fast friends, always flirting with a deeper relationship, but that never happened. Some unknown factor seemed to prevent a more meaningful connection.
Finding the file, she straightened herself and then made for the living room.
“Durham, I finally found it. Take a moment and read through everything just to make sure. If it’s correct, I’ll run to the courthouse in a few days and register the document with the county clerk.”
Dusty accepted the thin manila folder and began his review. His last wishes hadn’t changed, with half of his worldly assets going to his son, the other to his brother. “It looks good,” he announced. “I was planning on leaving before first light in the morning. Is there any chance you’ll be heading into town this afternoon?”
“If that’s what my client wants, then that’s what I’ll do,” she replied with a nod. “More importantly though, I’ll do it for my friend.”
She wanted to say more, but the words didn’t come. He paused at the door, seeming to hesitate, acting as if he too had something on his mind.
Just like that, he was gone. She watched his truck pull out of the driveway and then walked over to Roscoe. Gently rubbing the animal’s head, she contemplated, “Why is it I can’t find my tongue when he’s here? Why do the words come after he’s left? I feel like a schoolgirl - a silly, shy thing who’s scared of her own feelings.”
Day 3 -
Morning
Grace accelerated the Jeep beyond her comfort level, taking her eye from the road just long enough to glance at the dashboard clock. “I can’t believe the alarm clock picked this morning to misbehave,” she grumbled.
Her stress level was already high – the result of driving on a strange road, darkness still prevailing an hour before sunrise. Her discomfort was elevated further due to the fact that she wasn’t sure exactly what time Durham would be taking off. The fresh thermos of coffee beside her was an offering – a small comfort that she hoped would send a message to him, a message that she cared.
Something about his demeanor yesterday kept troubling her - his stoic expression, the urgency to finish the Will, his resolve to have it filed with the county immediately. The look in his eyes had haunted her since he’d left. It was if he were saying goodbye.
Maybe she was overreacting, perhaps misreading his mood. There was no way to be sure. Still, the entire episode had motivated her to rise early and brew the fresh roast. Her inner voice said it was worth venturing out in the dark and driving around the countryside at the strange hour. She wanted to see him again, to make sure he realized that he was important to her.
After he’d left, it occurred to her that Durham was like a soldier preparing to ship out for war - too polite and honorable to expose his own fears, too conscious of her feelings to express any internal doubt. He seemed burdened with the uncertainty of the future. Grace didn’t know what battles he anticipated, but he evidently expected some sort of fight. He obviously wasn’t confident in the outcome.
Why is it so important that he knows I care? She asked herself, the same question popping into her mind a dozen times since getting out of bed at a gawd-awful hour.
She’d never forget the kind, gentle guidance he’d offered when she first arrived in Fort Davis. Maybe she simply wanted to return the favor to a troubled friend. No, it was more than that.
Her mind drifted back as the Jeep negotiated the rural lanes. The Barlow ranch had been unoccupied for over two years when she’d found it online. The heirs were trying to fatten the windfall of their inheritance by overcharging for the property. Compared to the corporate players back in Dallas, manipulating two spoiled brats into a fair settlement for the homestead had been child’s play. Acquiring the estate had been easy compared to the daunting task of making it livable.
In the big city, she’d simply hire the work out. Plumbing, electrical, structure, roofing – whatever maintenance needed to be done, Grace sought and contracted professionals. Not so in Fort Davis. The few independents available locally had full schedules, sometimes months in advance. She later found that most locals did their own work, leaving the artisans for the really difficult jobs. Unfortunately, Grace didn’t have a clue how to do much more around a house than change a light bulb.
The other unanticipated issue was the town itself. A new, single woman moving to the small berg was one thing – a lady lawyer quite another. Durham had once commented, “You’re too smart, too successful, too beautiful, and too much woman for the good folk of Fort Davis to swallow without choking. Let them accept you one bite at a time, little by little. They’re good people – they’ll come around.” And they had - with Durham’s guidance.
Eventually, the hard glances she received from the townsfolk faded into neutral expressions, a short time later, honest smiles. The town’s women finally judged their men safe from Grace’s seduction - early rumors of her nymphomania, lack of morals, and trollop-like behavior proving unfounded.
In the big city, you lose individuality, she reasoned. No one knows you or what you’re about. In a small town, everyone knows you and what you’re about. It was a tradeoff, one she struggled with at first, but gladly accepted as time wore on.
Convincing the town’s gossip hounds that she wasn’t an invading courtesan from the east had taken a deft, knowledgeable touch. Her respect for Durham Weathers had grown.
Making the final turn, the headlights pointed at a small gravel lane. She knew it would lead to a barn where Durham kept his plane. She was relieved to see the craft still on the ground – she’d made it in time.
As she approached, the words she wanted him to hear began to form. I want to tell him that I’m not going to hurt him like Maria did. I want him to know that my feelings are stronger than I’ve let on.
She parked the Jeep beside the barn, picking up the thermos while practicing her speech.
He’d seen the headlights coming across the pasture. Curious who would be out this time of the morning, he greeted her at the corner.
“Well, my, my, counselor – what brings you out this way at such an early hour?”
Smiling shyly, she offered the jug of coffee. “I wanted to bring this out so you’d stay awake while flying. I can’t have anything happening to my best paying client.”
His laugh was warm, his skin warmer as it brushed her hand accepting the thermos. “Really, Grace… I don’t know what to say. This was very kind of you.”
“I’ve not felt right since you left yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to nose into your business, but I can tell you’re worried about something. I didn’t want you to leave without my saying a few things.”
Motioning for her to follow, he led them into the barn and gestured for her to sit on a bale of hay. “I can’t offer the same accommodations as those you extended yesterday, but they’re comfortable enough if you excuse the odor of the straw.”
Grace sat and patted the bale beside her. Once Durham was seated, she looked him directly in the eyes. “That’s just the point I came out here to make. I don’t mind the smell – I like it. I’m happy here, Durham. This life isn’t just enough for me… it’s what I want. The only thing that would make it better is if I had someone like you to share it with.”
His eyes didn’t panic – such a reaction her worst fear. Instead, they remained gentle, a slight smile showing at the corners of his mouth. “I know I’m not the most approachable fella around. Shoot, I might even be a little standoffish. But you’ve got to understand – I was deeply hurt when Maria left. The fact that she wasn’t leaving me so much as leaving Fort Davis made it worse. Then you come rolling in from the big city… a successful, sophisticated gal by any measure… it’s just confusing. My wife left me because she was bored, unchallenged, and longing for a faster pace in life. She wanted everything you had. Then you come into the picture, just the opposite, claiming you crave a slower rhythm – a more relaxed environment. I hope you can see how a man might not put it all together… how I might hesitate at opening up my insides again… exposing myself to the real possibility of hurt.”
He paused, looking down at his boots as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m glad you said those words, Grace. They make me feel warm inside. I’ve been worried you were going to change your mind and decide this life wasn’t for you. If you’re here to stay, I’d like nothing more than to see if we’re a match.”
“That’s all I’m proposing, Mr. Weathers,” she replied with a smile.
“When I get back, I want you to come over first thing. I’ll fire up the grill and marinade some steaks. You can bring over some of that fancy wine, and we will sit and talk like a man and a woman, not a lawyer and a client or two friends.”
“That sounds absolutely wonderful. You’ve got a date.”
The concrete landing strips of Easterwood Regional Airport appeared out the starboard window, right where the GPS said they would be. Dusty adjusted the trim and radioed the ground controller for permission to land. The response was immediate, directing him to runway 04/22.
Touching down on the wide, smooth pavement was a pleasure compared to his rough, dirt strip at home. The old crop duster seemed to appreciate the luxury as well, achieving wheels down without incident or complaint. A few minutes later, he rolled the Rockwell Thrush Commander to a numbered spot on the visitor’s tarmac, shut down the engine, and reflected on what had been a beautiful day of flying.
Climb
ing down from the small cockpit, Dusty stretched gingerly, lifting his arms and twisting at the hips. The first priority after securing the plane would be a visit to the men’s room – a necessity after four straight hours in a vibrating cockpit and accented by a now empty thermos of coffee. His mind drifted back to Grace and her visit that morning, an omen of good luck and something to look forward to when he got back.
Stiffly walking around the small craft, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The Thrush had been a part of his life for almost 20 years – as much a member of the family as any nonliving object could be. At one point, when it looked like he and Mitch were going to lose the ranch, the plane had provided financial salvation.
Years later, when times were better, Dusty could have afforded practically any private plane on the market, but wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he’d set about restoring and updating the old crop sprayer – making her better than new. Now she was a classic, sporting a bright, canary yellow paint job accented with coal-black lettering.
He decided to leave all of his belongings in the cramped storage area behind the pilot’s seat, except one. Pulling a small, portfolio-sized, aluminum case from the back, Dusty made for the main building. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving the rail gun behind.
After visiting the facilities, he filed the necessary paperwork, ordered gasoline, and called his brother to report his safe arrival. “Glad you’re safe, brother. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” responded an upbeat Mitch.
