JUDY ROLLED UP as Bo was trucking the last wheelbarrow full of dead chickens to a burial pit.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” he commented, the words muffled by his face mask. Exhausted and emotionally drained, he wiped his brow and turned away to finish dumping the lot.
“What happened?” Judy asked, shocked by the mass extermination.
“Your guess is as good as mine. County folks are supposed to be here in a bit to do some testing. It’s probably a virus of some sort.”
Jess saturated the pile with gasoline and lit it on fire. “Although it’s not quite apropos, I think you could say our goose is cooked.”
Judy pinched her nostrils closed and gagged.
Bo removed his protective gear and threw it into the fire. “Let’s get away from here before I puke. And it’s not only because of the stench,” he said, walking her over to the tanker. “Hop in. I know it’s an exercise in futility now that all’s lost, but let’s go water the greens for old time’s sake.”
He cranked the key repeatedly for what seemed like forever before the decrepit tanker finally kicked over.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“First, I’ll water the greens. Then I need to disinfect the henhouse, trucks, and all the equipment.”
“No, I meant what are you going to do about the ranch?”
“Not much I can do other than squat on my own property until the bank sends the cops out to haul my ass off.”
“Can’t you sell?”
“Who’s gonna buy this place from me now when the buyer can go directly to the bank after foreclosure and get a nice discount on the property?”
Bo worked what little pedal was left on the clutch. The grating sound of grinding gears reverberated within the walls of the small cab.
“Damn, that’s one more thing to worry about! The plate’s just about gone in this baby.”
“Never a dull moment when visiting the Bensons,” Judy said, uncovering her ears. “Couldn’t you replace it?”
“With what? My good looks?”
She hesitated momentarily. “I could give you a loan until you get back on your feet.”
Bo jammed on the brakes. The worn pads responded with a high-pitched squeal, and the vehicle chattered and crawled to a halt.
“Forget it,” he said in a slightly raised voice. “You’ve already done enough, for which I’m eternally grateful; but in all good conscience, I can’t accept any money from you.”
“Too much male pride?”
“Call it what you like, but the answer is still, respectfully, a resounding no.”
“If you happen to change your mind, let me know. It’s not like I’d be giving you anything. I mean, what the hell, I’ll even charge an outrageous interest rate if that’ll make you happy.”
Bo fought through the gears as the tanker started rolling again. “Thanks, but no thanks. Things have a way of working out—maybe not always with the result I’d prefer, but it is what it is. Sometimes just gotta accept the inevitable and move on.”
The old clunker continued to sputter and cough after he turned off the ignition when they arrived at the first hole.
“That doesn’t sound particularly good,” Judy commented.
“Nothing but a little carbon buildup. Can only hope I run this good when I reach her age.”
Bo was slow to exit the vehicle. He could hardly bring himself to look at his dying golf course.
Judy was the first to reach the green while he unraveled the hose.
“Hey, look at this!” she exclaimed, rubbing the surface. “The grass is making a comeback!”
“A little late in the fourth quarter for a comeback, but what the hell. It’s good to see new growth anyway.”
“Damn it, Bo! I can’t believe what you’re saying. You may’ve thrown in the towel, but I’ve just begun to fight.”
“Hey, life’s a bitch. Then you die and go to hell.”
Judy raced over to the vehicle. “You can go to hell if you want, but I’ve just started to fight the battle. Take me back to my car. I’ve got work to do if I want my exclusive in print by tomorrow morning.”
“What’s up, doc?”
“They say the pen’s mightier than the sword. This gal’s about ready to make a poignant statement with one quick stab of my quill.”
“You’re sure a feisty little hellcat. How do you always stay so upbeat?”
“Learned a long time ago that it’s a lot easier to laugh than cry. As noted by the medical profession, it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown.”
IMMERSED IN HER thoughts, Judy didn’t even hear Frank, the newspaper building’s security guard, when he greeted her. She rushed past him and impatiently pushed the elevator button numerous times before deciding to dash up the stairs. Halfway to her floor, she tripped and fell into the arms of Rick.
“If there’s a fire, shouldn’t you be running downstairs?” her co-worker asked.
Totally out of breath, she bent forward and placed both hands just above her knees. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Obviously—but isn’t this your day off?”
Judy merely nodded as she sucked in another life-sustaining breath.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got an afternoon tee time over at The Condor. Why don’t you join me?”
“Can’t—if I want to make my deadline.”
“Must be important. Whatcha got?”
“An exclusive on the Benson farm and Chicken Ranch Golf Course.”
“That old goat track? Why waste the ink?”
“In order to bring new light to the insidious epidemic of golf course closures that’s spreading across this great nation of ours. And the plight of the small farmer.”
“And this all stems from Chicken Ranch?”
“That and hundreds of other public courses and farms. So if you’ll please excuse me…”
“By all means. If you happen to change your mind, the game starts at two o’clock.”
Judy’s mind raced faster than her fingers as she banged out letters that turned into words, which formed sentences that expanded into ideas.
Max, her boss, came over to see what the uncharacteristically tenacious flurry of activity was all about.
“What are you doing? Today’s your day off. You’re already covered for tomorrow’s story line.”
Judy’s eyes didn’t leave the screen while she maintained focus on her runaway train of thought. “Got a lead on something much bigger than my commentary on Mrs. Pott’s award-winning rose garden.”
“You don’t say. Hope you realize we still aren’t paying overtime. This is on you.”
Judy stopped typing and cocked her head. “Max, how long have I worked here?”
“Oh, I don’t know—ten years, give or take.”
“And in those ten years, how many of my commentaries had any real substance—something with teeth, a story that pulled on the heartstrings of the community?”
“I’d like to think all of them. Isn’t that what you’re paid to do?”
“Come off it, Max. You can’t possibly be that naive. Can you honestly say Mrs. Pott’s heirloom blooms will evoke the same emotion I’m talking about here?”
“If you like flowers—or Mrs. Pott herself—certainly.”
“I’ve got something here that invokes a sense of community—togetherness, a feeling of belonging, inspiration to fight for a cause greater than self.”
“You sound very passionate. Please carry on, and don’t let me get in your way.”
Judy continued to type feverishly, oblivious to the world around her. After several revisions and a final proofreading, her work was complete. She stood beside the printer as it spit out her masterpiece and hugged the finished document with the pride of a Pulitzer Prize winner.