The Backwoods Part 8

"What are you two talkin' about?" Judy asked.

"Ain't nothin', Judy," he said fast, then severed the subject. "How ya want your eggs, Patricia? Judy likes hers sunny-side down, 'n' I take mine up."

Thank G.o.d he didn't tell her what a ditz I am. "I'll take mine up, too."

"Ernie makes the best eggs," Judy bragged. "He kind of floats 'em in b.u.t.ter and bacon grease."

"See, Patricia, out here in the country we don't worry 'bout none of that citified hogwash like cloresterhall're whatever the hail it's called."

"Fine with me. Mine's always been low." Patricia sat next to her sister. "How are you holding up?"

Judy crunched into a piece of b.u.t.tered toast. "Honestly, I feel much better than I thought I would, and I know it's because you're here. I can't thank you enough for makin' the trip-"

"I won't hear talk like that."

"And I'm so, so sorry for bein' so out of it last night-"

"It's all right, Judy-"

"All drunk and weepy and sleepin' most of the day.

I'm just ashamed to be like that for your arrival."

"Quiet, I said," Patricia ordered. But Judy's mood was actually encouraging. Today she's going to scatter her husband's ashes. I'd expect her to be a wreck right now, but . . . so far, so good.

The three of them chatted casually during breakfast, mostly Judy talking about her business, which locals had died, gotten married, or left town, etc. Eventually Ernie excused himself for some outside ch.o.r.es he needed to get done before the funeral services.

Patricia found it almost impossible to keep her eyes off him as he walked out the door.

"Oh, yes, I'm afraid Ernie never quite got over you," Judy was saying over her coffee.

Patricia smirked, more at herself than at the comment.

"But I'm glad you found the life you truly wanted with Byron." Judy chuckled. "Ernie's quite a good-looking man, but not your type at all."

"He'll find his Miss Right one of these days," Patricia said for lack of anything else. "I'm totally in love with Byron, and I'm sure I always will be." But she continued in thought. If I'm so in love with Byron, why am I having s.e.x dreams about Ernie? She wondered what her old psychologist, Dr. Sallee, would say. Midlife crisis, I guess . . .

Later, they walked out back in the garden, which glowed resplendently in sun and flower blooms. Every so often a cicada would fly c.u.mbersomely across their path, in search of a tree to hide in. Judy seemed more circ.u.mspect now, her mind mulling things as she ambled along over the fieldstone trail that snaked through the back property.

"I know what everyone thinks," she said, plucking yellow petals off a small touch-me-not.

"What do you mean?"

"Everybody's glad Dwayne is dead."

Patricia's train of thought stalled. You've got that right, she thought, but said, "Don't be ridiculous." She struggled to say something positive without sounding fake. "Dwayne was a difficult person to read. He was misunderstood and . . ." Careful! she thought. "He had a pretty bad upbringing. When you grow up around a lot of negativity . . . it has a negative effect on a person."

"Oh, no. Everybody thinks Dwayne was a bad person and full well wanted to be." Judy grabbed her sister's arm. "But he wasn't. He was a good man. He helped me so much. He loved me."

He loved the free roof you put over his head, Patricia thought. He loved eating your food and spending your money. "I know, Judy. I'm sure he was a good man."

"And those two or three times he cheated on me?" Judy's eyes were wide. "That was all my fault."

Patricia ground her teeth. "Judy, how can that be your-"

"I gave him no choice. A wife has more responsibilities to her husband than just to run a business. I never made time for him. I was so busy with the company, I'd neglect my duties to him as a lover."

Patricia wanted to wail. Dwayne had likely engaged in s.e.xual infidelities more than two or three times. "Don't stress yourself over it now," was all she said.

"And those times he hit me?" Judy vigorously shook her head. "I had it coming."

At that Patricia had to object. "Judy, no woman ever has it coming. No woman should ever be hit by a husband."

"You don't know, Patricia. I'm sure I frustrated him, and then when I get to drinkin' . . . I can understand why he done what he done."

This was going nowhere. Be a lawyer, Patricia ordered herself. Judy is the claimant and she's just lost her case in litigation. Offer your summation, Counselor. . . . "It may be true that a lot of people here didn't like Dwayne, but that's only because n.o.body really knew him. Only you knew the real Dwayne, Judy. You know he was a good man. You know he was a good husband. He's gone now, in a terrible accident, so the best thing you can do is honor his memory by not caring about what other people might think. Remember Dwayne to yourself as the positive force he was in your life and all the happiness he gave you."

Patricia nearly gagged on her words, yet they seemed to do the trick. Judy's angst was quelled now, and she quieted into contentedness, a sedate smile on her face.

Patricia held her hand as they continued their walk through high ranks of flowers and hedges. She felt awful at her next thought. My G.o.d, I'm so glad that ex-con p.r.i.c.k is dead. Maybe now my sister will find a man who'll be good for her for a change. . . .

They sat down on a stone bench at the end of the path. Sparrows frolicked in a birdbath. The air around them hung still in the sun, and through the trees Patricia could see the glint of the river that emptied into the bay around the other side of the Point. It really is beautiful here, she realized. The thrum of the cicadas pulsed.

"It's going to be hard to keep on . . . without Dwayne," Judy said. "The business 'n' all, I mean."

Patricia smirked. "Any loss takes a while to get over, but you'll be fine." Her words hardened with insistence. "Your company is turning ten times the profit that Mom and Dad got out of it. You're a very successful, self-made businesswoman."

"Oh, that's silly. The only reason the business thrives now is because of the new boats and equipment that you loaned me the money for."

She's just feeling sorry for herself, Patricia knew. She supposed that was to be expected. The future of the company might seem overwhelming right now. "Judy, you paid that money back twice as fast as you ever needed to, with interest. The company's success comes from your. brains and your hard work. You'll do just fine."

Judy seemed reluctant. "Without Dwayne it'll be so much harder. Sometimes I get to thinkin' . . ."

"What?"

"Oh, I guess I never told ya. You saw the construction on the other side a' the river, right?"

Patricia remembered from her drive in. "Yeah, waterfront condos, it looks like. Judy, that's just the way things are. Everything gets bigger. It's social growth. All those condos'll do is bring in more people-rich people, by the way-who'll spend more money here. More growth for you, too, and your business."

"Oh, I know, but I never told ya about the offer, 'cos it's so recent."

"Offer? Someone offered to buy the crab company?"

"No, the land, the entire Point. The construction man. His name is Gordon Felps. He wants to turn the entire Point into a waterfront residential community. He offered a million dollars for everything, and remember, half of that land is yours, from Daddy's will. You'd get half the money. That's a lot of money."

Patricia rolled her eyes. My poor sister is such a hayseed . "Judy, a million dollars for your company and all this land isn't nearly enough. Try three or four million, and you'd still be foolish to sell. Where would you go; what would you do? I know you enjoy running the business; you've told me that too many times. "

Judy seemed doubtful. "I know, but I'm getting old for this."

"You're only forty-two!" Patricia exclaimed. "What, you want to sell everything now and retire? That's ridiculous. Wait till you're sixty-two, when you can sell everything for twenty million. That's when you retire, lit-tie sister." Patricia wanted to object further, but then she took a moment to consider the reality. She's still in mourning. She'll be a little kooky for a few weeks, but then she'll come to her senses. "And besides," Patricia went on, "What about the Squatters? You've had offers before and didn't sell. Remember the last time when you called me about it? You'd said you'd never sell the land because the Squatters would be kicked out and have no place to go. Those people adore you; they're like your children. Don't tell me you've changed your mind about them."

"I don't know. Things are changing. I keep hearin' things, and it makes me think."

Patricia just kept frowning. "You keep hearing what things?"

"Well, that the Squatters are startin' to turn bad. Some of 'em are startin' to get into the drugs, and some a' the gals are sellin' themselves 'n' all."

Patricia could've laughed. "Judy, the only difference between the Squatters and the Pennsylvania Dutch is that the Squatters are even more puritanical. They make the Amish look like party animals."

"I don't know," her sister repeated. "I get to thinkin' that maybe they're startin' to turn bad 'cos of me."

Patricia was getting close to wringing her sister's neck. "Okay, let me see. You give them work. You give them a free place to live, free electricity, and free water. So how are they turning bad because of you? You're the best thing they've got going for themselves."

Judy dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "I feel like a welfare lord. I give 'em work, sure, but it ain't nothin' but minimum-wage work. The men go out 'n' catch the crabs and the women pick the meat. It's sweatshop work, and most of 'em got nothin' but tin shacks to live in. Don't matter that I don't charge 'em rent for the land. It ain't much more than ghetto life, and I'm the one danglin' the bait. Lot of 'em think there ain't nothin' else, nothin' that might be better for them out in the world."

Patricia shrugged. "For people like that there probably isn't. The Squatters exist in their own little society. They're self-sufhcient, living off the land. They're pretty much uneducated and unskilled. The world can't save everyone. All that matters is they're making the best of what they've got and they're very happy. They practically wors.h.i.+p you-you're like their queen. I'm not saying that you have an obligation not to sell the land if you really want to. It's just that there's no reason to do that. And for G.o.d's sake, Judy, you're not keeping them from greener pastures by giving them full-time employment. If they weren't here, they'd be standing in breadlines, living in homeless shelters. If they think they can better themselves somewhere else, then they're free to leave. But they don't, because they know they probably can't. They're simple people who live a simple, hardworking life. Same as the Amish, same as the Quakers, same as a lot of the Appalachians. You're not keeping them down by keeping them employed."

Patricia felt winded after the philosophical exchange, and she felt frustrated as well. Where is she getting these nonsensical ideas?

Judy mulled it over in the silence, then said, "You're probably right. Guess I'm just in a mood."

"You've got a lot on your mind. Just focus on today".

It was about the only advice Patricia could think of. This guy Felps, she thought next. Maybe he's the one filling her head up with this c.r.a.p. "So tell me about this construction man who made the offer."

"Oh, yes, Gordon Felps. He's very successful, been buildin' luxury homes all up 'n' down the East Coast for a long time. And he's very nice." Judy blushed, looking down at her knees. "He even asked me out when he first come to town. Didn't know I was married, a' course, till I told him. But he really is a nice man."

By now, Patricia thought she'd develop permanent wrinkles from frowning so much. She is so friggin' naive I can't believe it! "Judy, you own a lot of valuable property. You have to be very careful with people who seem 'nice' if they have an ulterior motive. You know, like wanting to buy your land for several times less than what's it worth!"

Judy didn't even hear her. "And I'm sure you'll meet him today at the funeral. I think he 'n' Dwayne were even friends. I saw 'em talkin' several times, gettin' on real fine."

Naive, naive, naive! "I will definitely look forward to meeting Mr. Felps," she said. Oh, you can bet on that.

She was relieved at the break now in the conversation, Judy keeping any further thoughts to herself. Patricia just relaxed in the sun, peering around at the s.p.a.cious yard's beauty. The cicada sounds seemed more distant, lulling her. A wine cooler would be nice right about now, she considered, but then looked at the time. In another hour they'd have to start getting ready for the services.

In the distance, she could hear . . . something.

What is that?

A sharp thwack, thwack, thwack!

The noise persisted, drawing closer.

"Here comes Ernie," Judy said.

Patricia glanced around, then at the edge of the yard noticed a s.h.i.+rtless Ernie going at the blocks of hack-berry bushes with a pair of hedge clippers.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

"He does such a wonderful job with the yard," Judy commented through a drowsy smile.

The image caught Patricia off guard. "Oh . . . yes. Yes, he does." But her focus was elsewhere-not on Ernie's hedge work; it was on Ernie himself.

On Ernie's body.

His toned back muscles flexed with each thwack of the clippers. Then his angle changed; she could see his chest, the well-defined pectorals tensing, his six-pack abdomen running with lines of sweat. He paused for a moment, wiped sweat off his brow with a toned bicep. Then he got back to work.

Oh, for pity's sake, Patricia thought.

She couldn't take her eyes off him, off the magnificent physique, and her mind dragged her back to last night's dream.

The terrific s.e.x.

Patricia could only shake her head at herself. Her eyes stayed fixed on Ernie's sweat-drenched chest. I'm turning into a s.e.x-obsessed floozy!

She knew it was going to be a long day.

(II).

"Hey, Pappy Halm!" Trey called out just as he stepped out of his cruiser in front of the Qwik-Mart. "What'choo think you're doin'?"

The old proprietor stopped, cane in one hand, dragging the large front garbage can with the other. "I'm takin' out the f.u.c.kin' garbage, ya moe-ron. What's it look like?"

"Looks like an old codger tryin' ta pull twice what he weighs. Let me take care a' that for ya."

"Aw, f.u.c.k you, ya young f.u.c.k!" the old man railed. "I was bustin' beaver when you was a tadpole in yer daddy's sack. Back in my day I could haul ten of these, with you on my back."

"I'm sure ya could, Pappy. But that was back when Roosevelt was in office. Teddy Roosevelt. So why don't ya let me take that?"

Old man Halm jerked on the big can a few more times, grunted, then gave up. "f.u.c.k it! My taxes pay your salary, so you empty the sucker!"

"My pleasure, Pappy. You can gimme a free coffee once I'm done."

Halm waved his cane in the air. "Yeah! I got' cher free coffee for ya right here, so you come 'n' get it!" And then he grabbed his crotch and hobbled back into the store.

Sergeant Trey laughed at the old man's s.p.u.n.k. A tightwad pain in the a.s.s, but Trey liked him. Pappy Halm was a black-and-white, commonsense kind of fella, and Trey felt that he himself was too.

What he was doing right now, for instance . . . it made sense, and no, it had nothing to do with giving the old man a hand taking out the store garbage.

The point was the contents of the garbage can.