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Mack slept later than he planned and hurried to the kitchen for a cup of coffee before he started to search again for the mules. He found his mother twisting the hair of an old woman onto curlers. A pair of glasses lay on the table, thick as the bottom of a coke bottle. From the opaqueness of the woman’s eyes, he figured she was all-but-blind.
“You remember Bessie Anderson,” Ruby said, speaking abnormally loud. “She and her sisters live at Peaceable. They’d be your cousin, second time removed. Or would it be third? Well, doesn’t matter. Family’s family.”
Mack nodded toward the woman, taking note of his mother’s coolness.
“You off to look for them mules?” Bessie cradled a mug of milky coffee in her hands and sipped it now and then.
“Yes ma’am.” Mack spoke loudly so the woman could hear him.
“They was a fine-looking pair of mules, matched set of black and tans. Grover thought the world of them.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Mack finished his coffee and gave his mother’s stiffened shoulders a quick hug. “I’ll be gone most of the day.” He debated mentioning Nonny’s experience with the mysterious watcher the day before, but decided he might be jumping the gun. “You and Sister don’t take any chances,” he said instead. “I’ll probably finish up with my list today. You want, I can finish yours, too.”
“We’ll be fine,” Ruby said, her tone businesslike. “Whitey goes with us.”
“Did you say Whitey?” Bessie said. “Why, that old hound can barely get around.”
“You wouldn’t know it these days,” Ruby said. “He’s acting like a pup.”
Mack left his mother dabbing permanent-wave lotion on Bessie’s hair. Slipping into his jacket at the front door, he stared openmouthed at new blue Buick sitting inches from his Bronco.
“Now there’s an accident waiting to happen,” Sister said, looking through the front window. “You believe they renewed her driver’s license last month?”
“Bessie did get a might close, didn’t she?”
Sister clucked her tongue. “She buys a new car whenever it’s time to renew her license. Doesn’t want the DMV to see what a bad driver she is—her sisters, too. Got more money than sense. Their Pa did oil drilling down in Texas, made it big.”
“All their cars bent up that bad? I’m surprised they haven’t been hurt or reported.”
“Why, she fell down walking up the front steps to the Driver’s Bureau! Had to call the paramedics to band-aid her arm, but she refused to go to the hospital. Said she was there to get her license and she wasn’t leaving till they gave it to her.”
“And she passed the driving part?”
Sister nodded. “Course, they don’t make you parallel-park anymore. You just have to pull up sideways to the space, turn your wheels a little, and say, I can’t make it. That’s all I did last time I took the test. I figure it’s because you can pull in straight these days, like over to the Walmart. Easy parking or not, Bessie’s too old to be driving.”
“How old would that be?” Mack sidled up next to his aunt. “She’s ever bit as old as you, isn’t she?”
Sister bristled. “You saying I’m old? People these days are living longer than ever before. Sixty’s the new fifty—and seventy’s the new sixty.”
“How old you feel today?” Mack grinned at the feisty woman. “Don’t look a day over thirty.”
“Oh, go on.” Sister grinned, looking pleased. “You want some company looking for Bill and Jack? Drives me nuts trying to talk to Bessie. She’s deaf as a post.”
Mack shrugged. “I have some other things to check into, but Mama’s planning on going back out later. She’ll want you to keep her company. Be careful walking around those pastures and woods.”
“Pastures are grazed down, can see real well.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. For cattle people, those Turners don’t show much sense when it comes to the land.”
“That’s why they need so much of it.”
Mack chuckled. Sometimes Sister’s insight amazed him. “I’ll check on Pa while I’m in town. You and Mama don’t need to drive in.”
Mack worked several minutes to get his car out of the driveway where Bessie Anderson had wedged him against the old willow tree. He laughed again as he pulled past a new Buick that now resembled a crushed beer can.
No two ways about it, he thought. It’s in the genes.
*****
Mack spent the morning checking the remaining plots of land that Nonny Folsom had marked on his map. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror for a dark pickup and felt glad the trees had dropped most of their leaves so he could see distantly. As a precaution, he scanned the areas to be searched before setting out, looking for anything that might look out of place. A practice he’d gotten good at years ago.
At one point, he caught himself thinking that the closeness of the undergrowth was not as bad as he had found it when he first mustered out. But then a sharp snap in the brush brought him to a squatting crouch and reaching for a weapon that was not there. He ran a zigzag pattern from the woods, eyes over his shoulder searching for movement, palms so sweaty he had to wipe them dry on his pant leg.
Back at the car, Mack noticed the tremble in his hands. What the hell’s got into me? he thought, thinking he’d seen meaner bush in Colombia and Bolivia. Though logical thinking filled his mind, his body was slow to respond. Pulse throbbing like a drum, an image of wide empty spaces popped into his mind. He needed to shed this country, he thought. Get back to safe ground.
Not tarrying, Mack ticked off the rest of his list, continuing to move warily, an eye to his rear. But he did not find the doubletree or a black pickup. It was the latter he found the most puzzling.
Why was Nonny seen as a threat and he wasn’t, he wondered, and decided it had to be because of where she was looking. Deciding to take another look at her map, he added her name to his to-do list, which was growing longer by the minute.
Swinging past the nursing home, he found his grandfather sleeping soundly. After confirming with the nurse that she had discontinued the use of meds, he went back to looking for a buyer for the spare duplex.
He bought a McAlester News-Capital & Democrat out of a curbside newspaper box and stopped at Popeye’s for chicken strips, French fries, and coleslaw. As he ate, he scanned want ads for buyers looking for horse property, but no prospects surfaced. Pitching the newspaper into a waste barrel, he decided to return home using the route Nonny would travel. If he ran into her, he could take a look at her map and ask her about possible buyers for the other duplex unit. Two birds with one stone.
But as he drove down Choctaw Street, he was drawn to an old rock building that once served as a grocery store. He sat outside for a while, staring at the buckling sidewalks lined with umbrella trees and a sagging roof that needed bracing. Then, kicking himself mentally for succumbing to curiosity, he walked to the door where an unprofessionally painted sign read SHELTER.
The interior of the building had been gutted since the days he frequented the place. Counters and shelving had been replaced with folding tables and, along the back, two rows of cots had been set up, separated with a makeshift partition. One side was marked WOMEN and the other, MEN.
“Coffee’s always on.”
Mack turned to the voice and was surprised to see an older man smiling at him. He was soft looking, both around the middle and in his eyes, and had a flat nose that spoke to having been broken at some point. A scar at his hairline resembled the bottom curve of a wine bottle.
“Got a pot of soup cooking, be ready soon,” the man said. “Some dunkers next to the coffee pot. Couple days old, but still good.” He paused, studying Mack. “Just passing through town? Haven’t seen you in here before.”
“No sir, I’m visiting family. Name’s Mack Barlow.” He stuck out his hand.
“I go by Chester. I run this place.”
“It used to be a hardware store. Before that, a grocery. My folks used to shop here when I was a boy.”
“Right, right. Well, here’s how it came down, Mack. Town condemned the building, I circulated a petition to start up a homeless shelter, and the town went for it. Seems they could get more as a tax write-off than sell it outright.”
“You live here then?” Mack nodded toward the cots at the back of the room.
“Not here, up on the hill there.” Chester jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Above the canal in my folk’s old place. I moved back from Norman after I retired. Taught philosophy there.”
“Philosophy—in Oklahoma?” Mack laughed.
“I get that response a lot. You know, it’s not like I’m the only philosopher Oklahoma ever produced.”
Mack grinned. “Some would consider Will Rogers a philosopher.”
Through the beard, Chester’s teeth made a showing. “Only a native son would remember that nugget. If you want to look around, go ahead.” He waved an arm around the building. “Not much to see. Like I said, coffee’s on.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t really come to look at the place.” Mack got a questioning look. “I’m, uh, I’m a friend of Nonny Folsom.”
Chester’s grin widened, along with his eyes. “No kidding? Well, that’s good, real good. She could do with a friend.”
Mack read the implication in the words. “Not that kind of friend,” he said, wondering if the man ever stopped grinning. “I mean, maybe once, but we said our adieus a long time back.”
“Oh, I see. So you thought Nonny and I were . . . friends.”
“No, nothing like that,” Mack said, feeling a sudden need to retreat.
“Sure it is. You thought we had a thing going, came to check me out.”
Mack took a step backward. “No, it’s just that this . . .” He waved his arm in an arc. “This do-good stuff is out of character for Nonny, at least the one I knew twenty years ago. Back then, all she wanted was to make something of herself.”
“Do-good stuff.” Chester nodded thoughtfully. “For a fact, it is out of character for the old Nonny. She turned out to be a fine teacher, a real loss to the profession.” He paused. “But I’m inclined to think their loss means a bigger win for mankind—if I could just get her to face off, that is.”
Mack shook his head. “You lost me.”
“I mean she chose the wrong battle to begin with. Those spoiled brats filling up classrooms aren’t the ones who will inherit this earth. It’s the kids that walk through these doors got the guts to go head-to-head with the bad guys. Most of them are battle savvy before they reach puberty.” Another pause. “That’s why I’m here.”
Still lost, Mack said, “It is?”
“Yeah, I was one of those brats. Went to college on a full-ride scholarship. Got a doctorate degree and holed up in that philosophy building all my life—my entire life. Then I got old. I asked myself the day I retired what it had all been for. Speculating about the meaning of words—words. Debating what long-dead men said hundreds of years ago. Who the hell cares? I never fought a battle in my life, not a real one.”
Mack studied the scar on the man’s head again. “Well, from what I seen of some of the guys that who inhabit these soup kitchens, you just might find one.”
“Oh, I hope so, Mack. One with a righteous purpose.” The smile disappeared suddenly. “You the reason Nonny’s turned so sour?”
“Sour?”
“Dark. Moody. Like the old days. I’ve been worried she was close to falling off the wagon.”
“Wagon.” Mack stared at the man. “You mean, as in . . .”
“You didn’t know she was a recovering alcoholic?”
“We, uh, we haven’t seen each other in a lot of years.” Mack’s head began to spin, as though his parachute hadn’t opened and he was free falling. “But no, I didn’t know that.”
“She’s been dry for three years now, ever since she came back home.”
“So that’s why she came back,” Mack murmured, things starting to fall into place.
“That, and the fact she got fired.”
“Fired.” Mack began a slow retreat toward the door. “Why are you telling me all this? It’s none of my business.”
“Because you want to know.” Chester grinned again. “I can see it in your eyes. I’ve known Nonny for a lot of years, ever since she started teaching, and pride myself on being a pretty fair judge of man—as in mankind.” His mouth took a downturn. “Even so, I didn’t see it coming. Whatever it was that drove her to the edge, I mean. One day, she just dropped over. Couldn’t face her students anymore. Laid up in her apartment drunk as a skunk. Then a female student filed a complaint about strange behavior, and she got fired.”
“Strange behavior.” Mack digested the words slowly. “Are you saying . . .”
The grin appeared again. “She’s not. Trust me, I would know.”
The old saying, It takes one to know one, crossed through Mack’s mind. Though he wanted to leave, he held his ground because the man had hit one nail square on the head. He did feel a strong need to know what had changed Nonny.
“To finish this saga,” Chester said, “Nonny’s dad died and I told her his passing was her redemption, to take it and run—and, she did. I retired not long after, so we both moved back home. She’s been doing all right until just recently. You the reason?”
“Can’t imagine I would be. At least, not directly.”
Chester raised his eyebrows and waited.
“See, she’s been helping me out with some family business.” Mack lifted his palms. “But I don’t see how that could be connected. I’m at a loss.”
Chester nodded. “Well, hopefully she’ll get whatever’s on her chest off it before she backslides.” He turned, sniffing the air. “I need to stir a pot in the back room. It was good to meet you. Stop by again.”
Mack shook the extended hand out of habit. When Chester didn’t loosen his grip, Mack had no choice but look him in the eye.
“You give any thought to laying down your sword and shield, Mack?”
Mack heard the words but did not linger on them for he was hammering on another nail. The softness of the man’s hand in his own and the possibility of what the lingering handshake was telegraphing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, but you might want to turn loose of my hand.”
Chester let go of the hand, but not the thought. “All I was saying is I see a lot of people who’ve done battle walk through these doors.” He motioned toward the kitchen again. “Must stir that pot.”
Mack watched the man disappear through a door leading to the back of the building, then left through the front. He digested Chester’s words as he drove, rechewing the revelations about Nonny, her need to fill her time with things like jelly and persimmons and dusty books, the possibility that he could be the cause of her backslide.
No two ways about it, he thought. For everyone’s best interest, he needed to close this business down and get the hell out of Dodge.
