Chapter 30
Ricky
A life.
A job.
A girlfriend.
As I stare at the bedroom ceiling through the dark, I go through that list. Life—postponed. Job—gone. Girlfriend—gone. Rolling for the hundredth time, I punch the pillow into submission and groan.
It isn’t that Marilyn and I had been a couple for long, but from the first dinner, we had a familiarity that made things seem comfortable. In a Venn diagram, our overlapping knowledge and backgrounds left little to be new. Over the years, I’d grown used to her smart and sassy comments. In the last few weeks, I came to recognize her wit and the depth of her devotion.
A look at the clock tells me it’s only three in the morning. Nevertheless, I don’t foresee sleep in my future. Last night, after Marilyn left, I yearned to call Justin. I don’t know what I wanted him to say, whether it was to say he understood why I pushed her away, or maybe I wanted to hear someone confirm that I treated her wrong and I needed to make it right.
Justin wasn’t and isn’t an option.
I say a prayer of thanks to the higher being that he is an option. Mom and I talked about what could have happened if the baler had fallen on his spine. While he is alive, the last thing he needs is to hear about my love life, or the lack thereof.
The idea of going to the diner in another few hours sparks my interest. It will be nice to see the gang of men. Today’s Saturday during the winter. The table should be full.
What do I say if someone mentions Marilyn?
Do I admit I did what I never wanted to do—that I hurt her again?
Again would insinuate a first time, and they don’t need to know about that.
The possibility of breakfast with the guys loses its luster.
Turning on the light next to the bed, I reach for my phone.
Marilyn said I had messages from the partners, but I haven’t had the stomach to listen to them. No time like the present.
Sitting with my back against the headboard, I pull up my voice mails.
There are three from Parker and Stevens. I click on the first and listen.
“Mr. Dunn, this is Tillie Johnson, Mr. Ralph Stevens’s assistant. We received your message. The partners are disappointed and wish you well in the future.”
Nice. Concise. To the point.
In other words, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”
The next message was left two hours after the first.
“Richard, Herold Parker here. We understand you have found something other than Parker and Stevens. If you’d be willing to discuss your decision, we may be able to counter-offer.”
I sit taller. That is unexpected.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
The third message was received at five twenty last night.
“Richard, this is Ralph Stevens. Please call my office Monday morning. Herold and I have spoken about your situation. We’d like to discuss options with you.”
I shake my head.
It about killed me to make the call yesterday morning and decline their offer. I’m not sure I have it in me to do it again. Beyond the panes of glass, the wind blows. Closing my eyes, I listen to the creaks of the old house. In this house is where I lived most of my life. There’s undeniable comfort within the walls that isn’t duplicatable beyond.
Yet, living in Indianapolis filled me with different emotions.
I’ll even admit, if only to myself, that fear was one of the feelings. Fear of the unknown. Leaving Riverbend was like leaving a bubble of security. The guys meeting for breakfast later this morning are part of that bubble.
A cushion.
Protection.
While leaving that familiar safety net elicited fear, it also provoked excitement.
Being an older student wasn’t easy. Hell, some of my professors were younger than me. However, I never expected easy. As one of my professors said, I possessed a determination to succeed beyond that of most of the younger students. Not only did I and do I want to learn, but I’m also enthusiastic to learn.
I think about things Marilyn said…I had a career before entering the world of finance. That experience is what Ralph Stevens and Herold Parker saw. Sheepishly, I make the decision to give them a call on Monday morning.
By seven thirty, I’m jacked up on too much coffee as I enter the diner on Main Street.
“Ricky,” Joyce, the owner and best waitress, says from behind the counter.
I see a few familiar faces at the counter and filling the booths. The round table near the back is empty, but it’s set up for the normal crowd. As I walk toward Joyce, I get a few waves. Everyone else goes back to their breakfast.
“I heard a rumor you were in town.” Her smile dims. “How is Justin doing?”
“I haven’t spoken to him today. Yesterday…” I’m about to say he was feeling sorry for himself, but I can’t make the words form. Marilyn said I was doing the same. She may have been right, and fuck, I didn’t have a ten-ton piece of machinery fall on me. “Yesterday, he was still hurting.”
Joyce shakes her head. “It’s a miracle.”
I take a seat at the counter. “Seems like a tragedy, if you ask me.”
“Don’t you remember Alvin Gordon?”
My lips come together. “Bruce Gordon’s brother?” I’d forgotten about him. “Way before my time.”
“Mine too,” she says with a smile, setting a cup in front of me and pouring coffee. “Goodness, it was probably sixty years ago now. He was younger than Justin. Something malfunctioned in the silo. The poor man drowned in corn…”
I grimace, thinking of a scene from a movie. “You’re right, Joyce. Justin will recover. That’s a miracle.”
The bell above the door jingles.
“Ricky,” Cory Sims calls, coming closer and patting me on the shoulder. “We were hoping you’d show this morning.”
I nod to Joyce and take my cup, following Cory to the back table. “Who are we?”
Cory’s eyes circle the table. “About everyone. Dax has been organizing people to help at the Sheers farm.”
“He has?”
“You know Dax. He has spreadsheets and shit.” Cory laughs.
“Fuck,” I mumble. “I suppose I should have reached out to Dax.”
The bell above the door jingles as Dax Richards and Nick Dancy walk in together. Looking up, I think about how different the two men are. Dax is an attorney and does some shit with a title company. Nick is a plumber. On a cold Saturday morning, they are just two friends. A few steps behind, Mick Reynolds and Harvey Russel enter.
“Ricky,” Dax says, taking a chair across the table. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Cory tells me that you and I need to talk.”
“About Justin and the farm?” Dax asks.
I nod. “I’m taking a sabbatical. I’ll be here until harvest or when Justin is ready to take over.”
Dax leans across the table. “I heard you were hired by Parker and Stevens in north Indy. That’s an accomplishment. You shouldn’t waste it.”
My lie about not getting the job is on the tip of my tongue.
Nick saves me by jumping in. “You know, Rick. You and Dax will make a good team, and we’re all willing to do what we can. Maybe then you can put off that sabbatical.”
I lift my coffee cup toward Dax. “Let’s talk.” Justin married my sister, and Dax married Justin’s sister. That’s Riverbend. “Family.”
“Family.” Dax smiles and lifts his cup.
I didn’t believe I was feeling sorry for myself, but the shock and relief of knowing I won’t be doing this alone alleviates stress I didn’t realize I was carrying. It is probably similar to the relief Justin felt when we spoke yesterday. Maybe there’s a way to save my job in the process.
If there is, I know who I owe for that possibility.
Regret is a bitter pill early in the morning, especially mixed with coffee.
“What do you boys want to eat?” Joyce asks, walking around the table and taking orders.
Cory elbows me after I give Joyce my order. “Are the rumors true about you and Marilyn James?”
Probably not anymore.