Decency (3 page)

A few feebly hoped - most knew better - that the rising waves of heat would lift the humidity high enough to make clouds, and then rain. Impervious imperturbable grasshoppers, flies, and mosquitoes ranged free. Nothing else wanted to move. Still, most people had to go out, to protect crops or animals, or to fix what was needed and then do it. Some, of course, could work inside, or in a car, in air conditioning. But not forever.

Tom Koonce, Cass County, Nebraska, Deputy Sheriff, was one of those. But he would have to turn off the cruiser or drive, soon. He already spent nearly all of his lunch break in her folks’ café. Now, he waited out front in the cruiser, its temperature gauge slowly lifting from the air conditioner’s heavy load. He knew what he would do. He would not move. Twenty one years ago, Tom had the misfortune of falling irretrievably in love with Samantha. She loved him too, but she felt the pull of the world and left for Duke. Tom never escaped her gravity, but could not follow.

Just then, a late model, “1” county plate, likely from the airport rental agency, nosed over the rise into the shimmering space between. Her. He flipped off the ignition and stepped out.

…well, there’s Tom…bless his heart…

She wheeled into the space next to the cruiser. Tom strode around to her door and opened it.

“Hey, Tom!”

“Lady, it’s awful good to see you.”

She swung out and put both arms around his neck. He hugged her as tightly as she invited, for as long as he dared. Then, at arm’s length she brightly smiled under her copper hair, blue eyes twinkling.

“Never lost that soft spot did you, Tom?”

“Never claimed to. You know that.” He didn’t really have to speak at all. His eyes confessed everything.

“How is Tammy?”

“She’s fine. And our kids. Your Mom told me when you’d be coming…”

“You look great, Tom. Tammy must be taking good care of you.”

“She is…”

Stolen moments. All there would ever be.

“Best let you go on in to your folks. I’ll catch up with you now and again before you go back. Okay?”

“Sure, thanks for meeting me.”

She hugged him again, then let him turn away. He backed the cruiser, wheeled around, waved and rolled away.

She ducked back in the car. Not for her purse, she could leave that on the sidewalk and someone would just turn it in at the café. This was urgent. Two pounds of fresh Maryland jumbo lump crab meat, iced in a small plastic cooler from the Jessup distributor, hand-carried on the plane, a tradition for homecomings started when she moved to the Fort Meade area for NSA. Her Dad believed there were none better than her crab cakes. Never mind that he’d only tried hers.

Samantha bounded into the cafe. The lunch crowd was gone. Only her Dad was in the front. When the door opened, he jumped up to catch her flying hug. He squeezed his eyelids tightly to minimize the tears. Harlan Pierce, wind-burnished face, work-steeled limbs, and life softened heart, for several years now could never get past the first or last few minutes with his only daughter dry eyed.

“Dad, it’s so good to be home.”

Her mother saw her come in through the long window to the kitchen and hurried out and around the bar to join them.

Harlan handed her off to her mother. For Kathy Pierce the first few minutes were always pure excitement.

“Ooo-oo, my sweet girl! It’s so good to have you back!”

Samantha hung one arm around each of their necks and kissed their cheeks.

“Did I run all of your customers off?”

“Oh sure. We only told Tom the time or we’d’ve had a houseful.”

Harlan had enough of his voice back to venture a few words.

“Darlin,’ you look better than ever…”

“Probably look thirstier too. Is the tea still in the same spot?”

“Sure is.”

“I need to put this crab meat away too.”

“Sa
man
tha. You didn’t need to do that.”

“Mo
ther
. I most certainly did. My Dad likes crab cakes.”

“Pour one for me too, please, darlin.’ I’ll take it with me down to the farm. I need to get a little field work in this afternoon.”

Samantha came back with two tumblers of iced tea. “What time should I have your crab cakes ready, Dad?”

“Kath, should we eat here or at the house?”

“I’d say the house. The early customers can see Samantha and it’ll save you goin’ back and forth.”

“Then about eight. I’ll have good light to about then.”

He kissed both, the only two women in his life, and armed with tea and a hat to battle the sun headed back to the never-ending work around the farm.

Kathy and Samantha quickly fell into woman-speak.

“Mom, did I see a new SUV at the Miniers’…”

“New baby, a girl, Shelly needed it with three under five…”

“Anyone else…”

“Let’s see…Mankovics…Tappanys…both boys…and Smiths, a girl…or did I write about her?”

“You did, is she better?”

“They don’t know yet. Now they’re testing for lactose intolerance. And did you know the Vensecka boy? He was three years behind you.”

“I seem to remember…”

“Hit by a train…at a crossing out by York. Just awful. Two kids still in school.”

“When…”

“Just last week…”

“That will be hard on them…”

“Church and the kids’ classmates are doing what they can…Timmy and Jenny Swartzkoph are getting divorced.”

“You’re not serious…I knew them both…”

“Their oldest just won a full ride Regents scholarship to the University.”

“Is Dad doing okay…”

“I really believe so…”

“He looks great…”

“He says he feels great…”

“And you…”

“I’m starting to slow down…a little…”

“You should, more…”

“Oh, I don’t want anything catching up on me…”

If the town was the closest driving distance, you were certainly a neighbor and probably a customer or supplier to everyone else. More so than even the church or the school, the cafe was the community center. So, one of the things to do in town was to stop and see if Samantha was home yet. A steady pilgrimage carried through the afternoon. Hugs and I-knew-you-when-you-were-this-big repeated many times.

All too soon, the sun lowered and dinner meal orders cast Kathy and Samantha in their familiar roles of alternating cook and waitress as if nothing had changed at all from Samantha’s years up through high school.

Old Mr. Marston, the principal when Samantha was there, long since retired, put on his best suit and tie. From the door he pointed his cane at Samantha and repeated his oft-given admonition.

“Now, young lady, you can do much better than that!”

Samantha was delighted to see him, realizing his advancing age meant it was perhaps for the last time. She always instinctively felt he wanted the best
for
her by demanding it
from
her. Now she fully understood just how much he had impacted her life.

“Mr. Marston, bless your heart for coming.” She kissed his cheek and led him by the arm to a table.

He ordered iced tea for Kathy, Samantha, and himself to permit as much conversation as possible in the few minutes available.

“Samantha, are you still doing well?”

“Of course, Mr. Marston, as well as you taught me.”

He hoped and believed it was true. His life was wrapped up in the students. It was vitally important to him that they validate what he tried to do.

“That’s so good to hear. You were the best I ever had…”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, you do know you were while you were there, and I’m telling you again, you were also the best before and since.”

“Well, it’s very kind of you.”

“Samantha, it’s not so kind. You know as well as I this area is the same population, maybe less, than when you were a child. We export people. It is their job to enrich the rest of society. Yours more so than any of the others. So, it’s not kindness. You have the biggest job of all of the kids I ever had in my schools. You’ll never let me down will you?”

Desperation to prove the worth of a lifetime burned in his eyes.

…there is no way I can tell him how complicated that is now…

“Of course not, Mr. Marston.”

“Thank you, Samantha. It is so very important to me, as you can probably tell.”

“Yes, I can tell.”

“Very well, then. I’ll not keep you longer. Until next time?”

“Certainly. But I’ll often think of you.”

“And I of you.”

He struggled to his feet and Samantha walked him to his sun-faded 1968 Chrysler Imperial, the most extravagant purchase he ever made.

“Thank you, Mr. Marston, for all you did for me.”

“Samantha, you can’t know how much it means to hear that.”

With the supreme caution of the elderly, he backed out, straightened, and with a wave puttered away.

At 7:30, with the dinner crowd thinned out and the last of the dishes in the machine. Kathy packed some of her special green beans from the stock on hand and a green salad for the feast at home. She left Trudy Becker in charge, as she often did for the last few drinks ordered. The regulars wouldn’t dream of short-changing the best restaurant in easy distance. In fact, Kathy invariably found a few extra dollars in the drawer when she left someone else in charge.