What I Remember Most (22 page)

“Doesn’t he have an engaging smile?”

Kade threw the teasing right back at them, then said, “Okay. I think I’m photographed out.”

“What, the life of a model wouldn’t suit you?”

“It would be my hell.”

“Thanks for your time.”

“Sure. Anytime.” He ran a hand through that thick black hair of his. “Anytime, as in, you can come and talk to me anytime but I’m not posing for any more photos.”

“Now you’ve taken all the fun out of my life.”

“Poor you. Try fishing.”

I laughed; he laughed.

I thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.

I was not interested in getting involved with any man again for at least a hundred years, but I did have a boss who was plain gorgeous in a wild and sexy Mexican cowboy sort of way. Eye candy.

I felt happy. I was glad I had this job.

For many reasons.

Covey continued to call from different numbers. I continued to delete his messages. He told me I would go to prison for years if I didn’t get my “tight little trailer park ass” home.

I thought he could be right.

I would not bring my ass home, though.

I took Cleo shopping for her fabric and pillow form for her own button pillow on Monday. Rozlyn stayed home and took a nap because of another headache. She called it her “menopausal mental pain, associated with having too many thoughts in my head and a true fear that I will never capture Leonard. Did I tell you I saw him yesterday? I waved, twice, but he didn’t see me.”

Cleo wore an Indian dress with intricate beading that she’d worn at Halloween, pink glitter tights, purple high-tops, and a rainbow-colored hat with a stuffed black cat on top.

She chose fabric with the galaxy on it, and I found a foam pillow.

We went back to my house over the big, red barn. We gave Liddy an apple and Cleo said, “What? You’re right, Liddy, I think I am magic! I’m going to cast a spell right now,” and she waved her arms around. Liddy bobbed her head up and down, appreciating the magic spell. That connection between horse and kid is amazing.

“I’m fluent in horse language,” Cleo said.

“I can tell.”

Later we measured and cut the fabric for the pillow and sewed it on the sewing machine. She did almost all the work.

We used white shiny buttons on the stars, a red button on Mars, and tiny glitter buttons around Saturn’s rings.

She loved it.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Blast off!” she yelled, then ran around the room, arms out at her side. She was a fast spaceship.

Rozlyn was asleep when I returned Cleo. I made us cheese sandwiches and then put Cleo to bed.

Rozlyn woke up when I was cleaning the kitchen.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“You’ve had a lot of headaches.”

“I know. Curse them.”

She then told me about a girl who used to cast spells on her when they were in high school. That girl is now head of a Wiccan group.

“How magical,” I said.

“Indeed. Wonder if her curse extended to thirty years out of high school and that’s why I have these headaches?”

“Doubtful. I think spells have a shelf life.”

“Let’s hope, because she was one mean witch.”

We laughed and talked about our favorite movies, politics and social issues, bladders that leaked when we laughed too hard, how coughing while running was a bad idea, how she farted one time with a man in bed, a ripper, and he never called back, and our art—quilts and collages.

She was pale. I was beginning to feel pale with her. I don’t like seeing people sick or hurting.

I went home, neighed back at Liddy, put my lily bracelet in my pink, ceramic rose box, and went to bed.

A jail cell flashed in my mind. It took a while to get to sleep after that.

FIR GROVE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL OUR MASCOT, FURRY GROVER SAYS, “BE KIND TO EVERYONE.”

April 6, 1985

Dear Mr. and Mrs. LaMear,

I know that Grenadine is your foster child and you are working at home with her on conflict resolution and her temper, as we are. I left you a voice message last week but you did not respond. I don’t know if you received it, so I will repeat the story here.

One of the boys in my class whispered, “Dummido Grenado” at Grenadine on Monday, and she got up and slammed her book over his head. His nose hit the desk and bled. I sent her to the office. That was the third time this year.

When I told her she was going to see Mrs. Crumps to talk about how to resolve problems without hitting, she said, “Why?” I told her it wasn’t appropriate to hit other kids and she said, “If they don’t say Dummido Grenado or Stupido Grenado, then they won’t get hit.”

She did not want to go to Mrs. Crumps initially, but then she found out that Mrs. Crumps likes drawing and she now enjoys her visits. Mrs. Crumps said that Grenadine has helped her improve her own drawing skills.

However, there has been no improvement in the fighting department as only two days ago she was sent to the office when a boy name Lyle called her “white trash foster kid.” She knocked out two of his teeth with a stick.

When Lyle’s father, a dentist, found out that his son called Grenadine “white trash foster kid,” he declined to ask the state to pay for his son’s missing teeth and instead has offered to fix Grenadine’s teeth. He apologized for his son’s actions, as did Lyle. Lyle was suspended for two days, and the principal declined to suspend Grenadine at all.

I do hope you will take advantage of Dr. Wellcoll’s generous offer.

Mrs. Lynn Ashley

Dear Dr. Wellcoll,

Thanks for the new teefh. I think I look a lot detter. Not so uggly. I’m glab you pulld out the gray teefh and gave me knew ones. My smile dont look scary no more and I dont have to covver my mouth wif my hand. Also, thannk you for taking out the two rodden teefh in dack and putting them in the trach. They hurt so bab all the time and now I dont hurt none at all.

Thanks for giving me fifteen new toothbruches too and tendental flosses. Its good to hve the extra suplies, for when Im moved agaen to an other home.

I am sorry I nocked out Lyle’s two bady teefh but Im glad I hit the bady teefh and not teh purmannent ones. I won’t hit again him. At leest not that hard.

I wish he was nice as you dut maybe he will be nice when hes a denttist.

Your new freind,

Grenadine Scotch Wild

I talked to one of the assistant managers, Tad Kamaka, on Tuesday and told him what I wanted for the lobby.

“Nice idea. Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t tell Kade.”

“Don’t tell Kade? Why not?” He was a serious and kind man. Wore glasses. Had degrees in chemistry and music. Now he was an expert carpenter.

“It’s a surprise.”

I could tell he was uncomfortable.

“Kade will like it, I promise.”

“I don’t keep anything from Kade around here, but I will this once because I like what you’re doing.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. Hey, my wife, Debbie, and I are going to The Spirited Owl tonight. It’s her forty-fifth birthday. Will you be there?”

“I will. I’ll come over and say hi.”

“That’d be great. We’re bringing the kids.”

“You have six, right?”

“Yes.” He was surprised. “You remember that?”

“Yes, I do. Sabrina, sixteen. Loves chemistry, like you. Matt, fourteen. Hates bacon. Plays the guitar, like his mom. The troublemaker Tina, twelve. Lyden, ten, not so bright, but loves sports, according to you. And the surprise twins, Abbott and Zoe, one year old. Running your wife ragged.”

He blinked. “Whoa. That’s quite a memory.”

“Thank you. What I remember can be a problem for me.” I shouldn’t have said that; I don’t know why I did. Change the subject, Grenady. “What’s your wife’s favorite dessert?”

“Chocolate cream pie.”

“I’ll bring it to her. My treat.”

“Gee. Thanks, Grenady. That’s awfully nice.”

“See ya there.”

I brought Debbie a chocolate cream pie with forty-five candles that night, my treat. She was so touched, she teared up as we all sang to her.

I had met her a few weeks ago at the bar. “I love my kids, but I’m always so busy. I can’t even think. And I used to be sexy. I used to be smart. Now my brain is in my crotch and my crotch is sinking from all these kids and my boobs have sunk, too. I do housework. I’m a chauffeur. A cook. What happened to me? You know, the fun Deb? The smart Deb? The Deb that used to travel and sell computer stuff and drive a Porsche too fast? Now I have a minivan, car seats, and spit up on my shirt all the time. Look. It’s right here. I’m leaking, too, from nursing. Yesterday I went to the store in my pajama bottoms and didn’t even know until I came home. The day before, my car stalled when I dropped the kids off at school and I had to walk home in my nightgown.”

We bonded over her martinis. I called a cab later.

Debbie stood up and hugged me. “Thanks for making my night special, Grenady.”

Tad shook my hand. “Thanks, Grenady. You’re the best. I’m glad Kade hired you.”

“Me too.”

Oh, me too.

Saturday morning, I had coffee in my own bed with whipping cream with my French doors open, a cool wind blowing through. The mountains were topped with snow, but the sun was shining.

It was one of those moments in life where you have to stop. You have to put aside all the problems, all the stress, all the worries, and be in that moment. Be happy. Be grateful. Be glad to be alive.

I had my own bed again and a white comforter with pink roses. I had my coffee.

The wind blew through again, cool and gentle.

Peace.

Then my divorce attorney, Cherie called, and said that Covey wanted half my income from my art for the next five years, as he’d launched my career. Cherie cackled and said, “I will smear him into glue for you.”

About eleven-thirty I drove to Hendricks’ after a stop at the paint store and a light store.

Hendricks’ Furniture is a man’s place. It’s reflective of Kade. The outside, with the brick, windows, and red barn doors, was architecturally interesting and welcoming, but the lobby needed help. It wasn’t Oregon enough, it didn’t show off the woods he used, it didn’t advertise the furniture, and it wasn’t personal to Kade. In addition, it was tripping Alice, My Anxiety, because it was both disorganized and not pretty.

What it did have going for it was that it was a large room with a wall full of windows around the red, double barn doors.

Using a dolly, I moved some ugly file cabinets into a catch-all room with the copy machine. I put the boxes stacked up around my desk into a closet to clear things out. I’d fix the closet and the catch-all room later, but my first goal was the lobby.

I rolled up a rug and had a man named Sugar, who was there working, help me haul it to the trash. It was stained and old. The wood floor was much better. There were some nondescript pictures up, a bulletin board filled with notices and other unnecessary papers, a dead plant, a white board calendar, and other junk. I got rid of all of it.

I whipped out drop cloths, taped the trim up, poured the paint I’d bought earlier in the week on my lunch break, and went to work.

I am a quick painter, as I have been painting walls since I was a teenager. I painted around the trim first with a brush, then used a roller on the walls. I transformed the grayish, depressing walls into a light beige taupe color. Like coffee with a dollop of whipping cream in it. The trim was white, but it needed to be whiter and brighter, so I did that next.

When I was done making that trim pop, I went to pour beer, wine, Cherry Hookers, and Fuzzy Navels at The Spirited Owl.

“Don’t mess with Kade, Grenady. None of us do, but he’s the best boss.”

“What do you mean, don’t mess with Kade?” I handed Cory Janes a beer across the bar. It was ten-thirty that night, and The Spirited Owl had finally quieted down.

“I mean”—Cory took a long slurp of beer—“catnip and whales.”

“Catnip and whales?”

His friend, Jeeps, next to him said, “Here we go, Idaho. Whenever he drinks too much he pairs opposing words together.”

“Yep,” Cory said. “Don’t know why I said that. Octopus and mirrors. Don’t know why I said that, either. Soufflés and turtles.”

Cory was a young employee of Kade’s. He was smart. I learned that he read two science journals a month, cover to cover. I decided to take advantage of his semidrunkenness to learn something about my boss. “Why do you not mess with him?”

“Because he’s one tough mother you-know-what. Bad words and peppermint.”

“Cory doesn’t like to swear,” Jeeps said helpfully. He was twenty-five, like Cory, and on leave from the military for two weeks. He was hoping to find a wife in that two weeks. “His mother taught him not to swear.”

“What do you mean, Cory?” I asked while I made a whiskey sour and a mojito for one of the tables.

“I mean that Kade did time,” Cory said. “Jail time. He was in a gang in Los Angeles. He was the boss of the gang, I think, by the time he was eighteen or something like that. Spent, like, five years in jail. He showed leadership. Lead. Er. Ship. Gang leadership.”

“Kade was in jail?” Jail? Kade?

“He doesn’t hide it at all. It’s not a secret, and he didn’t try to make it one. We all know. Fact, when Arnie Struthers applied for a job he had a rap record. Told Kade he robbed three banks when he was twenty. Now Arnie’s thirty, and Kade said he trusted him and he hired him and now Arnie’s an assistant manager. Doesn’t bother any of us. Same with Tomas and Emiliano.”

“I was arrested when I ran naked through town last year after I had too many beers at Gavin’s Halloween Party,” Jeeps said. “Dumb me. It was cold out so I was shrunk, you know what I mean. This girl named Patty saw me, and now all the girls think I’m small. It’s embarrassing. I’m not small. I’m not big, average.” He stared into his beer. “Average. But I’m loving. A loving guy.”

“Yeah, Kade was in jail,” Cory rambled on. “I shouldn’t be talking about him. I love the guy. He’s been good to me. Day one. Gave me a job. I’ve been there five years and I’m always learning something new, and he likes to talk about science with me. He knows a lot. We talk about space. We talk about ocean drones, geographic information systems, carbon dating, climate change . . . Pancakes and peaches.”

“And?” Tell me what you know before you’re too tipsy to talk.

“Learned how to fight in there.” Cory stared at the ceiling for a second, as if puzzling something difficult out. “But if he was head of a gang in L.A. he would have learned how to fight there, too. That’s how he got those scars on his face, that’s what I heard. Knife fights. Gangs and jail.”

I swallowed. “Knife fights?”

“He has some scars on his back, too. I’ve seen them. Reason I know is that about four years ago one of the guys cut his leg open with one of the saws and was bleeding like he had a red river coming out of his leg, and Kade runs up, that man can move, I’m tellin’ ya, he’s big but he’s quick. Quick like a coyote, zip, hide, zip, hide.” He raised his beer. “He took off his shirt and pressed it to that waterfall blood and that’s when we saw all the scars. There’s one from a bullet, one that is about six inches all jagged, and a third one that’s raised up. Little ones, too. He has a violent back.”

I put a hand to my suddenly sweaty forehead. I did not like thinking about Kade getting knifed and shot.

“I think I could be a romantic, too,” Jeeps interjected. “Say pretty things. Write poems. Women like that junk and I could do it, I could!”

“But Kade was in jail once upon a time a long time ago,” Cory said, swaying on his barstool. “It was when he was almost a kid kiddy, not like he is now. It’s where he learned how to make furniture, though. That was his job. He made furniture in jail.”

When he left jail he started a business. Smart man. Who would have hired him? An ex–gang member who had done time. Who looked scary. Handsome, but scary. Like a gang leader who’d been in a gang too long.

“Look at Kade now.” Jeeps shook his head in wonder. “Employs a bunch of people here in town. Has a toy drive for a month before Christmas for the poor kids who don’t have gifts. Cory and I here, when we were teenagers, we were the kids who got the gifts. Only gifts I got at Christmas. My mom put her name on the gift tags, I don’t blame her. She was sad she couldn’t afford gifts, single mother, nurse’s aide, but later I found out they were from Kade’s company.”

“Yep. Kade gave me gifts when I was a kid,” Cory said. He wiped his eyes. “He was my Santa Claus. Santy Clausy. Reindeer. He gave me clothes so I didn’t look like a poor elf, and a football. Still have the football.”

I wasn’t going to judge Kade on doing time. It was many years ago, starting as a teenager. I might be doing some time in the slammer myself. I wondered though, What had driven Kade into a gang?

As if Cory had heard me, he said. “He grew up in Los Angeles. Tough kid. Poor . . .” Cory shook his head woefully. “Knives and strawberry shortcake.”

“I think that my naked run and my shrunken state is part of the reason I can’t get a woman,” Jeeps mused. “No one wants a man with shrunken manhood. I want a woman to give me a chance. One chance to show her that I’m a loving guy, not a shrunken guy.”

“Why was he in jail?”

“Can’t remember,” Cory said. “He didn’t kill anyone, I don’t think, maybe he did, maybe not. I think that’s a no-no. Yosemite and calamine lotion. Maybe it was dealing drugs? Nah. That’s not like Kade. He doesn’t want to hurt no peoples. Why did I think of that, though? Robbery? No. He wouldn’t steal. I know that because we get bonuses twice a year.

“Hmm. Hmm. Let me thunk about this. What was it?” He tapped his head with two fingers. “Got it. Assault. He and his gang versus the other gang . . . something dumb like that. They locked him up like a gorilla and pecan pie. Love pecan pie. And I need another beer, Grenady.”

“Nope. No beer.” I turned away and poured grape juice into a wineglass. I had already ascertained that Jeeps was driving. “You can have wine, though.”

“Ah, thanks, Grenady. You know, you always make me feel like I’m somethin’.” Cory burst into tears. “You’re nice to me here, and you’re nice to me at Hendricks’. You always say hi to me and now you’re givin’ me wine like I’m some classy guy or somethin’.”

“You are a classy guy, Cory.”

Jeeps pounded him on the back. “I’ll second that, buddy.”

Cory burst into another round of tears.

“It’s okay, Cory.” Jeeps tapped his glass. “He gets emotional a lot. Isn’t afraid to cry. See Cory and I, we’re big, six four both of us, so we don’t have to worry about our manliness and tears, right, Cory?”

“I’m not afraid to cry.” Cory sniffled. “I’m a man schman.”

“I’ll get you some more wine in a minute, man schman,” I told him.

That sent him into another paroxysm of tears. “Shit, Grenady, thanks. Oh no! I said a bad word. I shouldn’t say them in front of a lady.”

“He’s an emotional drunk,” Jeeps said. “Been that way since high school. Hardly ever drinks, but when he does, he cries. Sort of a cry baby, but a friendly cry baby.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a friendly cry baby,” Cory said. “Friendly. Like Santy Claus. Like Kade.”

I sure learned a lot. I turned to Jeeps. “He must have been drinking before he got here. I didn’t serve him enough to get him like this.”

“He had a few drinks at the bar across the street with some guys from high school before we got here. Why do you think I can’t catch a wife, Grenady? Do you think it’s my face?”

“No, a woman will fall in love with that face soon. I’m sure of it.”

Cory threw his head back, wiped his tears. “Squids and torpedoes. Oh, golly gosh. Squids and torpedoes.”

That night I left the bar with a salad and a baked potato. I thought about what Cory told me about Kade. I was not surprised that this was the first I’d heard of Kade’s stint in jail. It’s a small town. The people were nice to me, and I felt myself making friends, but that doesn’t mean they would open up about the private lives of the people within the town.

Kade was well liked. He ran a company that employed a lot of people. He was fair. He was talented and successful. He was tough. But people respected him and would not like to gossip about him. Cory yammered on only because he was drunk. My guess is that he would regret it later, but I sure wasn’t going to repeat what I’d heard.

I drove down Main Street in that faux Wild West town, imagined a gun fight between macho cowboys and headed out into the country. I saw the big, red barn, the outside lights on, glowing through the trees.