The Widows of Wichita County (8 page)

October 31
Memphis, Tennessee

R
andi Howard paid her money and maneuvered her large purse around the pimple-faced roly-poly teenager taking tickets.

“Third one to the right,” he mumbled as she passed.

“You're welcome,” she answered back, then hurried down the carpeted hallway to the last theater door on the right. She almost laughed at the excitement rushing her blood. This was a big-time theater, not some small local place that smelled of mold and age. She was in the big city now.

She'd been in Memphis for three days and was batting zero on working on her great plan to become a star. No apartment. No job. Her motel was the right price, but noisy until after midnight. Tonight, being Halloween, there was no telling how long the parties would last. Of all the holidays, Randi hated this one the most. People were frightening and mean enough without getting dressed up.

She had spent the day rubbing elbows with all kinds
of creeps, being nice, putting her best foot forward, and now all she needed was a little downtime.

Falling into the first plush theater seat she found, she decided life wasn't all bad. This place was dark and cool, and the chair rocked. Here she wouldn't have to worry about being hit on or told to look somewhere else. At one place she had applied they asked if, while she was singing, she would mind taking off her clothes. He didn't see why she was offended. He offered to pay five bucks more an hour.

She relaxed, breathing in the popcorn-flavored air. This had been a good idea and it even came with a movie.

She rocked back as the previews started with a volume high enough to push anyone still standing into a seat. The place darkened and music surrounded her.

Randi tried to let go of the day but she was too sober to stop thinking.

The bad thing about job hunting in bars, she decided, was going into them in daylight hours. A bar might look great after dark, but in the sunlight most looked seedy. There were no shadows to hide the stains on the welcome mat or the blood splattered in some long-forgotten bar fight. The people found in a bar before dark were also different. A few were just in to drink their lunch, but most looked like they lived around the clock in the smoky air. They were like the strange little bugs and spiders found in caves. They'd lived in the environment so long their skin had become translucent, their eyes blind to light.

Randi pulled one of the beers from the six-pack she'd stuffed in her huge purse, thinking she wanted to just forget the day and have some fun. She rocked back and forth trying to think of the name of the movie she was about to see. Not that it mattered, she'd be too far gone to remember by halfway through.

She thought of calling Crystal and checking on Shelby. Or Helena. Both had made her promise to call. The old lady had even insisted on giving Randi a phone card before she left Clifton Creek. “A phone card.” Randi laughed out loud. “Who do I have to call? Next thing you know she'll be getting me a cell phone for Christmas.”

“Hey, lady!” someone yelled from a few rows back. “You going to talk or watch the movie?”

“I haven't decided!” Randi yelled back, noticing for the first time that the movie had started.

“Well, make up your mind before I call you and tell you to shut up!”

Randi gulped down a long draw. There was something exciting about arguing with someone in the dark. “How about I come back there and show you what I can do with my phone card?”

“Come on back and bring your doctor. You'll be needing him.”

Randi twisted around hoping to tell which one of the shadows was her advisory. All the heads looked the same. “And you bring your mother,” she shouted. “Because you'll be crying for her like a little boy.”

“Shut up and watch the movie!” a deep voice declared from somewhere on the left. “I didn't pay money to listen to you two exchange mating calls.”

Several other people joined in, adding their two cents.

Randi swore and straightened back into her seat. She'd ended up in the middle of a damn choir.

She finished off the first beer and let the bottle clank its way along the floor to the front.

“That beer you drinking, calling card lady?” Her original harasser was back.

“That's me. If you were old enough to drink I'd give you one!”

“I'm old enough!”

Randi held up two beers and yelled, “Well, come on down!”

Ten minutes later she was sitting on the curb in front of the theater she'd just been kicked out of. Her harasser sat beside her offering her Milk Duds while he drank one of her beers.

“How old are you?” She looked at six feet of mostly arms and legs.

“Twenty-three,” he answered. “How old are you?”

“The same,” she lied. “And in all the years I've been twenty-three I've never been kicked out of a theater for drinking.”

“Sorry about that.” He tapped his bottle against hers. “Better luck next time.”

He didn't sound any sorrier than any other man she had ever heard. But Randi forgave him anyway. Holding something against a man was no better than keeping a grudge against a dog. They may wet on your carpet and look real sorry when you yell at them, but that doesn't mean you won't be stepping on another damp spot soon.

“How about I buy you a plate of the best barbecue in town, lady?”

Randi smiled. “And I buy the beer, right?”

“Right,” he smiled. She almost expected to see braces on his teeth.

Two hours later, after they'd eaten and drunk their fill, the kid did her a big favor. He introduced her to his cousin, the owner of a bar, who needed someone to serve drinks. The cousin even agreed to let her sing a little on slow nights.

Randi returned the favor. She kissed the kid good-night
at her car. He might want more, but he was too young. The fantasy of what might have been between them would give him far more pleasure. When he really was twenty-three, he'd think of tonight and wish, and when he was forty-three he'd probably remember the night and laugh. And, if she were lucky, when he was sixty-three, he'd look back and regret missing out on what might have been.

She returned alone to her hotel room. Most of the noise had stopped. Her brain was too clouded with beer to think. She stumbled around the small space pulling off her clothes. When she finally landed in bed, Randi grabbed her pillow and screamed into it with pure joy.

She was living her dream. The big city. The big time. Tomorrow she would be one day closer to being discovered.

Settlers watched from a dugout as the oil teams moved in. One young daughter stared in wonder at the endless line of supply trucks and wagons rolling by.

“Who are they, Mother?” she asked.

“Not anyone you'd want to know,” the mother answered. “They're just oilmen.”

November 3
County Memorial Hospital

C
rystal Howard stood beside her husband's bed and watched the line of suits file into the hospital room. The first man in line was in his late twenties and carried a colorful plant in full bloom. But the others looked as if they were coming to a funeral.

The nurse took the plant from him before he could step past her. “No live plants allowed,” she said simply.

The young man smiled. “I'll bring dead ones next time.”

She didn't acknowledge the joke, but Crystal had to glance at Shelby to keep from laughing.

Her husband looked more like a mummy in an old movie than Shelby Howard. Parts of his skin were beginning to heal in patches, parts were covered in thick cream. Though his head was bandaged, the swelling had gone down, leaving only blisters and charred deposits where his hairline had once been. He'd mumbled few words since the accident, but she could feel his pain when she touched his hand.

Trent Howard was the last to step through the door,
and he closed it behind him. He was convinced Shelby had suffered brain damage from breathing in too much smoke, and today would mark the showdown at the OK Corral as far as he was concerned.

Crystal had tried to tell Trent that morphine made Shelby's mind fuzzy. Trent paid her no mind. She guessed Shelby's only son saw her as filler packed around the important people in life. She was no more valued than that curly foam that fills a packing box. People like her: the waitresses, clerks, construction workers, doorman and hundreds others were no more important to him than a machine.

The men crowding into Shelby's room might wear business clothes instead of Western gear, but Crystal knew they would be shooting from the hip today. All the power Shelby had so carefully guarded was about to shift from father to son, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She smoothed the linen of her dress that almost passed as a businesslike suit, knowing she couldn't protect Shelby or herself from what was happening. How could she even talk to this group? She'd dropped out in the tenth grade and gone to work when her stepdad kicked her out of the house. Half the time she didn't know what Trent was talking about and, today, he'd brought his lawyers. She was so unimportant, Trent didn't even bother to introduce her to the group.

Crystal slipped her fingers onto Shelby's, wishing she could reassure him. Since the accident she sensed fear, as well as anger in his slight grip. She felt both now.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming so late in the day. I felt we could delay no longer on what must be done. I'd like you to say hello to my father.” Trent made a grand sweep of his hand as if he were a barker showing off the
newest freak in the circus. “His condition and the hospital reports will confirm the urgency in taking action today to transfer the reins of Howard Drilling to me.”

One man opened his briefcase over the tray-table and asked, “Does your father concur?”

“My father hasn't said a word in almost a month. He's awake, but he can't communicate. One ear was burned completely off, the other damaged. The nurses tell me he can see light and dark, but we're not sure how much else. The damage from the fire and the tubes thrust down his throat would make it hard, if not impossible, for him to speak.”

Trent moved impatiently. “We can't wait any longer. I'm sure he would want me to take charge. After all, I'm only following the orders laid out in his will, nothing more.”

A gray-haired man migrated closer to the bed. “But as long as he's alive, the will doesn't take effect.”

Frustrated, Trent added, “I understand. But the company can't run itself. There have been questions about the cause of the fire on the Montano Rig. Someone needs to be there to answer them before investors on other rigs get nervous. As his only son, I have to take the reins. At least until he recovers.”

Three of the men appeared uncomfortable. The oldest advanced another step. He glanced at Crystal, nodding a silent greeting, then looked at the bed where she held Shelby's hand.

“May I touch his hand?” he asked politely. “I promise not to shake it too hard.”

“The doctor said that his left hand wasn't burned so badly.” Crystal tried to press against the wall as he moved beside the bed. She couldn't remember ever seeing the man, so he wasn't one of Shelby's drinking friends. He
had kind eyes and a soberness about him that made her think most folks probably trusted him more than the other suits.

“Shelby?” The man touched the lightly bandaged hand, sliding his fingers into a handshake. “It's Elliot Morris. I don't know how much you can hear or understand, but I'd like you to know how sorry I am about all the suffering that has found you.”

“He won't respond,” Trent snapped. “I've tried to talk to him every day since the accident. Nothing. My father may be little more than a vegetable, gentlemen. I am forced to take charge to see that his company stays intact.”

“Shelby? It's Elliot. Can you hear me?” The old man wasn't listening to the younger Howard. “I've been doing legal work for you for thirty years. I'm dreading like hell to draw up the papers your son wants.”

Crystal swore she saw a tiny tear fight its way down the old man's face.

“Shelby?” he whispered. “Shelby, is the wildcatter who walked into my office all those years ago beneath those bandages and burns?”

Crystal stared as the old friends touched. Slowly, Shelby's fingers closed around Elliot's hand.

No one in the room breathed.

Elliot straightened. “Shelby, can you hear me?”

The bandaged hand closed slightly again.

“Can you understand?”

Shelby's head rose an inch and nodded once.

Crystal broke into tears. She didn't care that makeup streamed down her face and puddled onto her good clothes. She hadn't been imagining that Shelby was somewhere beneath all the pain. Sometimes, late at night, she thought maybe she was just wanting him to know she was
there, to need her when he really was too close to death to care. But now she knew. Everyone knew.

Elliot chuckled. “Well, wildcatter, you sure had everyone worried. Appears it takes more than a little explosion to slow down Shelby Howard.”

Everyone except Trent laughed as Elliot continued, “Since I'm here, do you want to turn over the power of attorney to your fine son? That way, you can recover without worrying about the company.”

Crystal read the lie in the honest man's face as easily as she used to spot an undercover cop at the bars.

When Shelby shook his head slightly, she saw Elliot's grin. The old man tested Shelby, and her husband just proved his sanity.

“This is insane.” Trent finally recovered enough to attack. “He can't run a business from this bed. I'll bring lawyers from Dallas if I have to. The man is too far gone to do anything. In a few weeks, he'll be looking at months of surgeries. For his sake, I have to take charge.” He moved to the end of the bed, a gambler covering his bet. “I'm doing this for your sake, Dad. When you do get better, I'll step down from the helm.”

It was obvious that no one in the room believed him.

“I'm sure the company ran just fine when Shelby took a few days off.” Elliot's voice was calm, almost as if he were going over facts to himself. “I remember he and Crystal went to Vegas for a month last year. The payroll still got made. The bills got paid.”

“That's because of my cousin, Jimmy Howard. Some say Jimmy knew more about Howard Drilling than my father did. He ran it most of the time even when Dad
was
in town,” Trent offered. “He's the only one who could write checks on the business account besides Dad. He was killed in the accident.”

“Can't you sign?” Elliot looked directly at the son.

“No. Dad never got around to authorizing anything but an annual salary for me. I'm rarely at the office. I have a great many other responsibilities.”

Elliot's forehead worried into a hundred tiny lines. “Someone must be able to sign on the account. It doesn't make sense that a man would have so many holdings and not trust more than one person.”

Crystal didn't miss the slight emphasis on
trust.

“I can sign checks,” she whispered.

“We're not talking about the household account,” Trent grumbled.

His reaction came fast, like an invisible slap. She braced herself, expecting to hear him tell her to keep her mouth shut.

Elliot ignored Trent. “Is that true…Mrs. Howard? You can sign checks on Howard Drilling?”

She smiled at the way he called her Mrs. Howard. No one ever called her that, though everyone in town knew she was rightfully married to Shelby. Mrs. Howard was Shelby's first wife, the mother of his children. She was just Crystal, the tramp he'd married one weekend in Dallas.

“After we got married, Shelby would always bring his work home. To finish his work faster he had me write the checks out.” She saw no need to tell them that Shelby's eyes were weakening, and he'd been too vain to wear glasses. “He said he'd learned a long time ago never to let a bookkeeper sign checks. ‘A man handles his own money,' he'd say, then he'd tell me what to write and I would.”

Elliot nodded toward one of the younger men. The silent soldier pulled out a cellular phone and stepped to the door.

“Dad never mentioned such a practice to me.” Trent glanced at her as if she were bothering them by talking. “You would've cleaned out the liquid assets and been long gone if you could sign on the corporate accounts.”

Crystal shook her head. “I didn't need any money. He gave me plenty for spending. All I ever wanted was to have a home with Shelby. I don't care about the business or how much he's got.”

Trent huffed in disbelief. Silence grew in the room like bindweed.

The young man stepped back inside. A nurse's warning about using cell phones drifted through the open doorway, but the man answered directly to Elliot. “It appears, Mr. Morris, there are two names on the signature card for Howard Drilling other than Shelby Howard. James Howard and Crystal Howard. The bookkeeper told me most of the business checks that come through each month were signed by one Crystal Howard.” Trent paled.

“Well.” Elliot grinned. “It seems we have no problem after all. While your husband is recovering, you'll be able to keep the cash flowing.”

He looked directly at Trent. “I assume you'll be taking over the running of the company while your father's ill.”

“I guess I'll have to.”

“Good.” Elliot motioned for the others to leave. “I'd like to offer my assistance, Mrs. Howard. I'll be happy to look over the accounts each month, answer any questions you have about expenses.” He handed her his card. “Call me any time.”

“Thank you, but I don't know if I can—”

“Of course you can. Howard Drilling has a bookkeeper and a few secretaries that I'm sure will be made available
to you.” No uncertainty echoed in Elliot's voice. “Shelby really needs your help now. I know you won't let him down.”

Crystal wiped mascara from her cheek. “I'll do my best.”

Trent left after Elliot Morris without saying a word. Crystal lowered her face to Shelby's hand. “I'll try real hard, Shelby. I'll do the very best I can. I won't let you down. Mr. Morris will look over everything I do, just to make sure. He can explain things to me, and as you get better, I'll be able to talk with you.”

Nurse Landry came in to close the curtains and tell Crystal she could use the whirlpool tub at the end of the hall if she wanted. Visiting hours were over. Since that day Helena had first visited the hospital, a folding bed with clean sheets had been delivered every night at nine for Crystal.

During her bath, Crystal thought about how she was a real wife now, not just some bracelet on a rich man's arm. She'd be helping, working with Shelby, not just signing checks. She could feel a good wind blowing in her direction. A wind that would give her a chance to prove she could be somebody important. Somebody worth loving.

By the time she dressed for bed, she decided she would call Anna and Helena. Maybe one of them could go shopping with her for proper clothes. She'd have to go to the bank now, and Mr. Morris's office. She had responsibilities.

Sitting gingerly on the side of Shelby's bed, she whispered, “I'll do the right thing, darling. You can count on me.”

Shelby's bandaged arms had been taken from the splints. He lifted his hand to her face.

“I'll go to your office and find out all I need to do. I
can type. I took a semester before I dropped out. Maybe I could get someone to teach me how to use your computer to check on stocks, like you always do.”

Bandaged fingers lowered to the V of her nightgown.

“Oh, no.” She giggled and gently pushed him away, still lost in her thoughts of becoming a businesswoman. “I could find a book at the library on the stock market so I could talk to you about it, too. You always said it was the biggest poker game around, but I never understood what you meant.”

He reached again, hooking the material with curled fingers.

“Shelby?” Crystal tried to pull his hand away. “I don't want to do that. Not here. Not now.”

He tugged again.

“But Shelby, I want to think about all I got to do. Surely you don't want me to—”

“Yes!”

His voice was so low and hoarse she didn't recognize it. Any joy over his first word vanished as she realized what he wanted.

Slowly, Crystal unbuttoned her gown and bared her breasts. Big, beautiful, perfectly formed breasts he'd bought for her the second month they'd been married.

Tears floated in her eyes, but she knew he wouldn't notice. She'd played this game for years. When he was drunk, he'd say, “I got my own peep show.” He wanted her to sit still as he touched her. Since the day she came back from Dallas and the surgery, he'd bragged about her breasts to any man who would listen. Demanding his feel of them even before the bruises healed.