CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

TIMOTHY ARRIVED AT Schoen’s and headed for the shop. He needed to talk to Dez.

“Well, well, Ed, look what the wind blew in,” Dez said. Edna coughed up the pack of cigarettes she already smoked this morning.

“Hey, Dez. You got my message this morning, right?” Timothy said.

“Yeah, the ol’ lady told me. What happened?”

Timothy told him the whole story.

“They gonna be able to help her?” Ed asked.

“I don’t know. They’re running some tests this morning. We’ll know more this afternoon.”

“Boy, leave it to those old penguins to suck the last dime out of a sick person. Tests. They always do more tests. It’s like taking your car to the repair shop, and the mechanic finds all kinds of shit to fix. More dough for them,” Dez said. “Boy, you ain’t as smart as you think you are.”

“They’re trying to figure out what’s going on,” Timothy said.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, boy,” Ed chimed in. “And we’re jus’ tryin’ to sell more trees.”

“You gonna be late tomorrow, too? Can’t nobody in your family help ya out?” Dez said.

“Not really,” Timothy said.

“All right, but ya better take me up on my offer. It’s about the only thing you got goin’ on right now. Those hospital dames will stick it to you. Sock you with big bills you’re gonna have to pay,” Dez said.

“Yeah, well, for now I better get out there and sell some trees. They’re not going to move themselves off the lot. Besides, it looks like those guys can use some help.”

“You bet they can. That dope is tellin’ every kind of lie he can think of to move trees. I don’t care what he says as long as it gets a tree on the roof of a car. And the old man can barely lift anything taller than himself. Get out there and help those two charity cases,” Dez said.

Timothy nodded and walked outside. He brought with him a bag of the oatmeal raisin cookies Mom had made earlier in the week.

“Hey, Chester. About time ya showed,” Kenny said.

Chester was a deputy on the television show Gunsmoke who walked with a limp.

“Those for me?” Kenny said, pointing his cigar toward the bag of cookies.

“Yeah. My mom made these for you, Kenny.”

“Tell your mama I said thanks.” Kenny stuffed two cookies into his mouth. “Better go in there and get a carton of milk to wash these down. Hope Ed’s busy and don’t see me so I can get one and not pay.” He spit as many crumbs as he swallowed.

“Do what you have to do, Kenny.”

Hoffen saw Timothy come outside and held back until Kenny went into the shop. He had his work cut out for him today. He had been in the shop when Edna got Timothy’s call this morning explaining why he would be late. Edna couldn’t contain herself when she hung up the phone and gave Hoffen an earful of sarcasm between hacks. He knew Timothy must have been running dry on hope. I hope he didn’t spend too much time in there with Dez and Edna. Their attitudes stink so bad they would knock a buzzard off a manure wagon.

“Those two deserve each other, don’t they?” Hoffen said to Timothy as he approached him.

“Huh? Morning, Hoffen. You mean the two in the shop?”

“Yes.” Hoffen didn’t want to talk about Dez and Edna. He redirected the conversation quickly. “How’s your mother this morning?”

“You heard?” Timothy said.

“Yes, I was in the shop when you called earlier, and Edna told me.”

“She’s stable. Good for now. Rough night. Breathing issues. More tests today.”

The short, machine-gun-burst answers were uncharacteristic for Timothy. It sounded like statements on a police incident report. Hoffen knew many people used cool detachment as a defense mechanism. It was how they kept things together, and Timothy appeared to be trying to hold it together.

“So, how are you doing?” Hoffen said.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“That’s about all I got right now,” Timothy said.

“Well, ‘okay’ will get you through the day. That’s all you have to do. Get through the day,” Hoffen said.

“Hope so.”

“Boy, we’ve really thinned the herd here, haven’t we?” Hoffen said, referring to the number of trees they’ve sold.

“Yeah, we may be able to empty the lot this weekend. That ought to make Dez happy,” Timothy said.

“Anything that puts money in Dez’s pocket makes him happy,” Hoffen said.

“You seem to have caught onto him pretty quickly in the past few weeks. Ever study psychology?” Timothy said.

“No, not formally. But I’ve known people like Dez for a long time.”

Timothy started to loosen up, and Hoffen dug deeper.

“So, what happens when the lot’s empty? Back to more hours at the hospital? Work here for Dez?” Hoffen asked.

“I don’t know, Hoffen. This thing with Mom has complicated things a bit. I’m the only one that’s in any position to help her. Leslie can’t help, and my brother doesn’t care. If I worked here and blew off school for a while, I could make enough money to get us out of the hole we’re in, and with her in the hospital, the hole is getting deeper.”

“What about school?”

“I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. You know what’s funny? I just wrote a term paper on a novel, Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, and I’m thinking the whole time I’m writing this that I’m living a Catch-22 life. School is a dream and a nightmare at the same time for me.”

“How so?”

“It’s my dream to become a psychologist, but getting there is proving to be a nightmare.”

“That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but you asked what I’m thinking.”

“You know why Heller wrote that book, don’t you? He was a bombardier in World War II and discovered that being declared insane was a legitimate way out of the war. Those who wanted to fly were thought to be insane and therefore didn’t have to fly. But anyone who claimed insanity because of the war was really sane. In other words, acting crazy was the sanest thing you could do,” Hoffen said.

Timothy laughed at this. “Yeah, well, I feel like I know about insanity. Maybe that’s why I want to go into psychology. To understand a crazy world.”

“Or maybe yourself.” Hoffen paused to let his words sink in.

“Have you read Catch-22?”

“Oh, heavens yes. I met Heller once.”

“What?” Timothy said.

“Yes, I told you, my son was in World War II as a bombardier. He and Heller were stationed together. When my son didn’t come home, Heller came to see me. We talked about the craziness they experienced and how their reaction made them sane. Heller said he wanted to write about the war. Twenty years later, I was browsing in a bookstore and there, in the best seller stack, was his book. I bought a copy and enjoyed it, especially the craziness of life. I still have it.”

“That’s an amazing story. You really have had some interesting life experiences,” Timothy said.

“That’s one advantage of having been around for a while—you see a lot of things. For example, I’ve seen that life is difficult but not impossible,” Hoffen said.

“Yeah, it seems like I’m still stuck on the impossible side.”

“Give it time. And here’s the real paradox—be patient. Let some things happen. Your dreams may be in the process of reshaping themselves a bit right now, and maybe you’re pushing too hard,” Hoffen said.

“That’s my Catch-22? Be patient even though I’m running out of time?” Timothy said.

“Yes. And you’re not running out of time. You’re young, ambitious, and hardworking. That is a great combination.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Did you enjoy writing that term paper?” Hoffen said.

“Yes, I did. A lot, in fact.”

“Why?”

“Because I understood what was happening. I could identify with it.”

“Have you found that same insight in your other studies?”

“Not really. Not yet,” said Timothy.

“Then I would keep reading good books and writing good term papers. Others’ life experiences are good teachers for curious students. You may find you can work out a lot with pen and paper.”

“I could do that,” Timothy said.

Hoffen nodded. “And as far as this thing with Dez, you don’t have to make that decision today.”

“That’s true, but I feel like I’m running out of choices.”

“There are always choices—some you see, and others you don’t,” Hoffen said.

“Yeah, I wish I weren’t blind to other choices. And I have to consider Cheryl in all of this. She didn’t bargain for all of my problems.”

“What do you have to decide about Cheryl?”

“Whether or not to cut her loose. I love her enough to cut her free from my problems.”

“What! You mean break up with her because you have problems? Doesn’t she have a say in this?”

“You sound like my sister.”

“Then maybe you should listen. It’s like when you’re driving down the street and another car honks at you. You look around to see what’s wrong. If you see nothing, you think the other guy is wrong. But if more cars start honking horns, you should look closer. Maybe you’re causing it,” Hoffen said.

“I don’t think it’s fair for her to have to put up with all of this. You know, life in my world.”

“Timothy, that’s life. Pain. Joy. Hope. Despair. All of it. It’s just life,” Hoffen said. “Pain is as much a part of life as joy. Hope is as much a part of life as despair.”

“Yeah, well, some days, life isn’t that special. . . . I better go help those people with their tree.”

Hoffen watched Timothy walk away and saw despair taking root. Hoffen recognized the confusion and frustration people experienced as they approached life-changing events. He knew fear, doubt, and the pull of the status quo kept people stuck in whatever circumstance they found themselves. He understood Timothy struggled with a simultaneous calling and resistance. This tug-of-war of opposing forces—positive and negative—meant Timothy was on the edge of something big in his life. Hoffen wondered if he had enough time to help Timothy make his transition from feeling helpless to hopeful. He decided to pay Dez and Edna a visit.

He walked back to the shop. Dez and Edna stood there smoking and grinning smugly. Kenny stood in the corner guzzling milk from a pint carton.

“Hey, pea brain. Did you pay for that?” Edna said to Kenny.

“Oh, forgot. Sorry, Ed.” Kenny said.

Hoffen knew Kenny neither forgot nor felt sorry he took it. Kenny paid for the milk and walked out of the shop grinning at Hoffen.

“Ain’t it enough we give someone like that a job? It’s charity, I tell ya,” Dez said.

“There it is,” Edna said. “Then the simpleton steals from us. Shows how stupid he is.”

“It’s downright charity givin’ him a job,” Dez said.

Hoffen knew they laid it on thick for him. They wanted to see what he would say. Dez and Edna stood there grinning and smirking.

“I guess you two are proud of yourselves,” Hoffen said.

“Well, looky here, Ed. Huff ’n Puff’s got somethin’ to say. Say it, old man. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s bad enough you two give Kenny a tough time. I know why he’s here, but Timothy? This young man is trying to build a life, and you two are making it as tough as possible by confusing his thinking,” Hoffen said.

“Hey, you do what you do, and we do what we do, old man. You’re lucky we let you in the game.”

“You didn’t let me in. You had no choice, and you know it. It’s the way the game is played. I’m here to do a job, and I’m not finished yet.”

“Us neither, old man,” Edna hissed at Hoffen.

“It looks to me like you brought out the whole team for this one? This win must be important to your side. What happens if you fail?” Hoffen asked.

Dez grinned, a gaping hole in his face exposing a nasty set of yellow-brown stumps and breath so foul it stunk up the entire shop. Ed coughed a cumulous cloud of cigarette smoke toward Hoffen.

“Don’t plan to fail, Huff ’n Puff.”

“Yeah, we got this one in the bag,” Edna added.

“You haven’t won yet. I’ve got a pretty good idea why this one is important to you,” Hoffen said.

“You don’t know squat,” Dez said.

“I know you’re keeping score and losing,” Hoffen said.

“We ain’t losing nothin’,” Edna said.

“Get outta here, old man, and sell some pine. That’s your job, ain’t it?” Dez said.

Hoffen walked to the back door of the shop and turned to them. “Hope will prevail.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He walked back to the lot and stood there watching Timothy talk to a family about a tree. He knew Timothy faced a tough few days. Timothy was approaching that critical point when the pull of opposing forces was strongest. Hoffen prepared to take bold action.