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Smelling coffee, Mack dressed and made his way to the kitchen. He was surprised to find Sister standing at the counter, still in her housecoat with her hair uncombed, buttering toast. “You’re up early, Sister.”
“Heard you stirring around, figured you’d be hungry. How many pieces you want? Can’t do more than one myself. Stomach’s shrunk, along with everything else.”
“Whatever you got there’s fine.” Mack took the plate of toast and began to eat. “Where’s Mama?”
“Sleeping. I stuck my head in the door earlier. Still out like a light.”
He washed toast down with a swallow of coffee and glanced toward his mother’s bedroom. “Maybe I should check on her.”
“Wouldn’t wake her, I was you. Seemed real tired last night.”
“She been feeling okay?” Mack recalled the concern Nonny had expressed about his mother’s health. “She complained about not feeling good, been to the doctor more than usual?”
“Ruby goes to the doctor less than anybody I know. Complains less than anyone I know, too. Till lately.”
“Lately,” he repeated. “Oh, you mean this thing with Pa.”
“It’s loosened her threads good, for the life of me I don’t know why.” She turned suddenly to face Mack. “She even got riled at me last night—first time she’s ever done that.”
“Well, I’ll just stick my head in the door on my way out, see if she wants me to pick up anything. I need to get to town early.”
“Town?” Sister gave him a look. “Can’t believe you didn’t get all your errands run last night—and you forgot the Coca-Cola.”
Mack rubbed his face, wondering if his mother’s concerns about Sister might be well grounded. “Maybe I should stick around. Mama might need to see a doctor.”
Sister gave a quick wave with her hand. “No need for that. Ruby’s tired, not sick. Besides, she’s got a haircut later this morning. Hasn’t missed an appointment in twenty-some years . . . Oh, I just remembered what tired Ruby out last night.”
Mack rinsed his plate and coffee mug at the sink. “What’s that?”
“Tootsie Turner called and canceled her Friday appointment for good. She won’t be coming back no more.”
“Last night? Tootsie called last night?”
“Was almost nine o’clock! Had a standing appointment for twenty-some years. Don’t that beat all?”
“Yeah, it does at that . . .”
“Ruby was real upset.” Sister stirred cream and sugar into her coffee with a fury. “She probably didn’t sleep a wink because of that hussy.”
Mack couldn’t help but grin. “So Grace wasn’t the only tart, huh?”
Sister’s eyes went round. “Oh, Tootsie’s worse than Grace ever was—totes a gun. Least she did back then. She hails from Texas, you know. Fort Worth, I think. Or maybe it was Dallas. Those Texas gals pack six-shooters in their pocketbooks.”
He picked up his jacket. “You need some help with your clothes or anything?”
“Course not,” Sister said, puffing up. “Ruby’s the one thinks I need help. I just humor her because it makes her feel better.”
Mack let out a grunt. “That’s what I figured. I’ll stick my head in her room on the way out. And in case she’s not awake, tell her I won’t be home till late, so there’s no need to fix a big meal tonight.”
“All right then. Don’t forget the Coca-Cola this time.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And don’t sign anything. They did away with those Blue Laws years ago.”
Mack laughed as he made his way down the hallway. Then he sobered, internalizing his concern for the safety of his mother and aunt. Opening the bedroom door a crack, he peered inside the darkened room.
“Mama?” he said, talking softly. He listened to the breathing coming from the bed. He wanted his mother to be awake so he could talk to her about the patio home. He had planned to do it the previous night, but she had been sound asleep when he got in.
“Mama?” he said, louder this time. But his mother did not stir. He eased the door closed and stood for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The sooner he could show his mother one of the patio homes, the sooner he could put these kinds of concerns to rest. Deciding to call Roxie Komenski while he was in town to see what progress she’d made with the builder, he went to his bedroom to retrieve the packet of information she’d given him.
She’ll want me to sign that Intent to Sell, he thought, taking the packet from the closet. He walked down the hall, thinking of the fast-talking realtor, and was swearing as he opened the front door.
“By God, I’ll sign this damn thing when she does right by me,” he said, “and not a minute before.” The door slammed behind him.
*****
Mack snapped his flannel-lined jacket to his chin and turned up the collar, but the light coat made a thin barrier to the crisp morning air. The leaves were dropping faster now, revealing gnarled trunks sheathed in gray velvet. But still, the denseness of the undergrowth made him uncomfortable. He focused on the caliche-covered road, only giving Big Mac the slightest glance as he passed it by. It looked dismal in the morning light. Like a one-night stand the morning after, he reflected. Harsh and oppressive. How had his father stood working there? he wondered.
He made do, he thought. Hell, isn’t that what 99% of us do? Daddy always wanted to farm his own land and when that possibility passed him by, he found the next best thing that would make a living for his young family. He had worked outside the prison’s walls, managing the prison farm.
Mack drove straight through town, planning to stop on Highway 69 where he remembered seeing a pay phone. Within ten minutes, he was talking to Roxie Komenski.
“I said I’d give you a call in a couple of days.” He stood outside the Seven-Eleven talking over the noise of semis running down the road, people filling gas tanks, and Willie Nelson’s Texas twang coming over a loudspeaker. He leaned in close to the phone to hear better. “Well, it’s been a couple of days. You talk to that builder yet?” He grimaced, hearing the woman express the need for him to sign the listing agreement.
“No, I don’t have time to get it to you today. Besides which, you need to make some corrections on it.” Hearing silence on the other end, Mack hurried on. “We agreed to six percent, not seven. And you got the place underpriced—way underpriced.”
The realtor found her voice and he had to concentrate to keep up.
“Roof doesn’t need replacing,” he said when she paused. “Those shingles got a lot of life yet. Might wanna ask that guy who climbed on the roof what he was smoking.” He listened some more.
“What other things?” He took a pencil from his pocket, pulled up the phone book hanging from a chain, and scribbled notes on the outside cover. Suddenly, he stopped to interrupt the woman. “You wanna slow down? My ears can’t listen as fast as you’re talking. Did you say the foundation needed fixing because the floors are sagging? How would you know that if you didn’t go into the house?”
He listened a bit longer, then interrupted the realtor again.
“So let me get this straight. You’re making assumptions based on the age of the house.” Mack let the phone book drop on its chain and stuck the pencil back into his pocket. “I fixed that foundation when I bought the place and those floors don’t sag, all of which confirms what I just said. You got the place underpriced— No, you listen to me. That’d be a great place for a family with kids and animals. There’s a good stand of grass on the back twenty, good mix for ponies. Best in the county. My grandpa makes a profit on it every year. You including that as a selling point?”
The realtor made conciliatory noises.
“Well, I figure it’s worth at least twenty, twenty-five thousand more. That’s what I mean by underpriced. What did the comps show?”
Mack sucked in air that reeked of gas and diesel as Roxie Komenski shuffled through papers. By the time she stopped, he had begun to question that the woman had bothered to run comparables to see what similar properties were bringing.
“Well, maybe you better take another look,” he said. “Here’s how I see it. If you’d done it right the first time, it wouldn’t be taking more of your time. I don’t see that as a reason for me to split that extra percent with you.”
She went to fast forward again.
Mack rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, you are the one dealing with the builder, I’ll give you that. Tell you what. You see what he’ll do on those changes I wanted and we’ll see if we can deal on this percent thing.” He felt a strong need to retreat but, tethered by the phone cord, was forced to listen some more.
“No, I don’t have time to meet with you today to sign this listing,” he snapped. “I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.”
Slamming the receiver, he backed out of the booth. Walking to his Bronco, he searched out a pocket notebook he kept in the glove compartment and returned to the phone. Pulling up the phone book again, he found his handwriting among that of others who had used it in similar fashion. After transferring his notes to his notebook, he stood a bit longer, staring at the yellow-backed phone book for Pittsburg County, Oklahoma, just like the one his grandfather had scribbled names on.
“Just who the hell are those guys, Pa,” he mumbled, deciding to visit his grandfather after he finished at the Ace Hardware.
