9. Maria
Maria
Gone is the torn driver’s seat with the sponge interior spilling out like the guts of a dying animal.
Gone is the ancient ceiling cloth that’s stained an unpleasant yellow-brown by thirty years of my papa’s cigarette smoke.
Gone is the cracked speedo, and the oil warning light you have to tap a few times before it will switch itself off.
Gone is the threadbare carpet, the shiny, bare-metal floor pan showing through in places underneath.
In their place… firm, comfortable, well upholstered seats, with independent driver and front passenger under-seat heating for those frosty, February mornings.
A gleaming electronic dashboard, with neat arrays of buttons, switches and lights that all appear to be functioning as they should be.
Windows that wind smoothly down and back up without stopping halfway.
And in place of the nasty, nicotine-stained ceiling fabric, sits a dual function, electrically operated sunroof. Bliss!
After a few, hesitant turns around the boys’ yard I soon get the hang of it.
In truth it drives very like the Corolla, just…
better. The brakes are less spongy, and it accelerates faster, so I have to get used to being a little more delicate when speeding up or slowing down.
Other than that, I take to it like a duck to water.
I could definitely get used to this!
“It’s great, I love it.” I turn to Regan and smile. He grins back.
“Well in that case, let’s hit the road.”
With Papa in the back, and Regan in charge of the navigation from the front passenger seat, I take a left out of the yard, and head downhill.
It’s my first time in this particular vehicle, so I take things easy.
My interview with the accountant, Shane Horsell, isn’t until half-past-two, and it’s now just a little after one-thirty.
Coyote Creek Falls is about thirty to thirty-five minutes away, so we’ve plenty of time.
Besides, I don’t want to arrive at my interview all stressed and flustered, because it won’t give a good impression.
Better to have too much time than too much pressure,
The journey’s uneventful enough at the start.
Regan keeps up a running commentary, and Papa and I find ourselves equally shocked and entertained by his witty observations and comedic anecdotes.
He obviously has a sharp intellect, together with a strong grasp of the absurd.
He has a way of making his stories really come to life, and he has us both in stitches more than once about some of the strange, unusual or just downright funny things he, Regan and Abel have seen and encountered over the three years they’ve been here.
“What brought the three of you together?” I finally ask in a momentary lull between stories.
There’s a slight pause, before he responds. “We knew each other in the military,” he eventually says. His voice remains lighthearted, yet somehow I feel like I’ve asked a question I shouldn’t have asked. Opened up a direction of conversation he’d prefer to remain closed.
“It’s not important.” I quickly stammer. “I mean… of course it’s important, but I didn’t mean to pry?—”
“No, it’s fine. Really.” He glances across at me, a smile on his lips, but with a curious, far-away look in his eyes. “It’s all a long time ago now. Water under the bridge.” He shifts in his seat, stretching out his long, muscular legs, before continuing.
“We were all three of us in the Special Forces. They asked for volunteers for a difficult assignment. We three were stupid enough to put ourselves forward. Us and six others. There were nine of us in total, all thrown together to make up the task force. We’d none of us met before.
Grant was the senior man, so he was our leader.
“Our task was simple. Drop behind enemy lines and disable their SAM emplacement. It was a simple plan. In and out by chopper, flying under the radar by cover of darkness. There and back in under two hours. That was the idea.”
Regan shifts again. Rubs a spot on his left elbow before continuing.
“Well, seems like the other side had somehow found out about our plans. Oh... we got in okay, all nine of us, dropped off by our chopper, carrying the explosive device for the SAM and with just our handguns for cover. Getting in was no problem.
“But after that… all hell broke loose. There was no chance of fulfilling our mission—none whatsoever. All we could do was call for someone to come and get us out.”
He sighs deeply. His eyes looking back into the past, reliving the moment. Feeling the same things he’d no doubt felt a million times since in recounting this tale.
“Six hours,” he finally says, his voice almost a whisper.
“Six hours penned in behind a wall, under constant fire. Six hours of all hell raining in from every angle. And just the nine of us with light weapons, no armor worth speaking of, and an explosive device that we couldn’t use, that was worse than useless to us now.
Six hours of rounds firing, grenades exploding, body parts…
” He stops himself. Shakes his head, as if to clear it.
“In the end there were just the three of us,” he says, his voice flat, emotionless.
“Just Grant, Abe and me. Three out of the original nine. The other six… all gone. And if it hadn’t been for Abe…
” His voice trails off. Silence floods the little car, no one wanting to disturb it.
Finally, he gives a toss of his head, as if dismissing some spell that has settled over us.
“So, there you have it,” he smiles. “We made a vow. A vow that we’d always stick together, no matter what. And… well… here we are now!” he finishes brightly.
“And also, here we are in Coyote Creek Falls. Take the next left, and we’ll go park up over at the supermarket.”
I think it was a relief for all of us to get out the car.
We stood there, in the parking lot of Sam Wild’s Everything You Need Super Market—a medium-sized and slightly rundown-looking grocery store, with aspirations seemingly several levels above its capacity to deliver—blinking in the sunlight.
Each of us, it seems, need a moment to get our head space back to the reality of our combined job interview and shopping trip after the conversation on the journey down the mountain.
“Time is five past the hour,” says Regan, checking his watch—a Casio G-Shock with old-fashioned hands to tell the time instead of a digital readout, set within a rugged-looking military-green resin case.
“Why don’t we take a look around first so you can get your bearings?
I can show you where everything is, and then leave you at Shane’s for your interview whilst Sandro and I grab a beer at Theo’s Sports Bar, which is just up the street.
When you’re ready, come and find us, and we’ll go clothes shopping.
Then we’ll finish off back here at the supermarket for food. ”
“Sounds perfect,” I smile in agreement.
“Sounds good to me too,” Papa nods his own agreement, and we head out of the parking lot and down the wide and dusty main street, Regan pointing out things he thinks we should know about on the way.
“That’s the post office there. The bank’s opposite—there’s only one bank in town, so most people bank there.
There’s also an ATM at Martha’s, and one inside the supermarket, although that one’s only accessible in business hours, and the bank one tends to run out on a Friday night, so if you come out drinking, come prepared.
” I smile and nod, thinking how despite everyone being basically the same, just how differently each person journeys through life, and how unique our own perspectives are.
“If you need a haircut some time—well, Tony Angelo does mine, but he only cuts men’s hair.
” He pauses as if to allow us a moment to admire his hair, which is in fact blond, lustrous, and entirely worth looking at.
Any woman would be happy to run her fingers through his locks…
or wind her fingers around it and hold tight as she…
“But this here’s Senza Beauty on the right,” his ongoing monologue pulls me out of my reverie, and I blush a little, grateful that neither Papa nor this handsome man who is still practically a stranger—though I feel we’re closer to him now than ever before, after our journey into town—can read my mind.
“I don’t know much about it, being a man.
But it seems to have a good reputation among the ladies in the town.
There’s another place too, up the other end of town.
I guess you could ask around, find out which one’s best. Of course, some of the wealthier women head into the city for that sort of thing, and for dresses and so on. ” I nod at this. Makes sense.
“How far away is the nearest city?”
“Well, you gotta choice of several that’re all about the same.
That’s because whichever one you go to, you still gotta get around the mountains, so it ends up where there ain’t much in it.
But if we need something we can’t get local, we head in to Charleston, and that’s a couple of hours drive from here.
Going the long way gives you much faster roads, but it’s about one and a half times the distance.
Or you can cut across country through the passes.
Beautiful scenery… but I wouldn’t go that way after snowfall, or in the fog. ”
“I see, thank you.” He looks down and gives me a big grin.
“Why it’s a pleasure ma’am.” And somehow he makes it sound like he means it. He might be big and strong—he might even be quite dangerous, given his special forces background—but he clearly has a generous and kind-hearted side to him. The type of man who would risk his own neck to rescue a kitten.
The type of man who’d protect his wife and children?
“Well, here we are” Once more I shake off my personal thoughts, as I glance up to see we’re outside a modern-looking building—an office with the name ‘Shane Horsell Tax and Accounting Services LLC’ discreetly displayed on a brass plaque mounted on the wall by the oak door, which lies invitingly open.
Regan strides confidently inside, and Papa and I follow. Inside is a reception room, with chairs for clients who are waiting to be seen, and a reception desk, behind which a pleasant-looking woman of about fifty years sits, typing.
She smiles when she sees Regan. “Regan, how lovely to see you. How are you three boys keeping? I’m sure Claire would say hello, if she was here.
But I think you know she’s living in Charleston now.
You met Conrad—her husband—didn’t you? At the wedding?
Their first baby’s due in about four months, isn’t that wonderful?
“Why, it sure is, Mrs. Horsell,” Regan grins even more widely than usual at this news. “And yes of course I remember Conrad. How’s he getting on with his engineering firm?”
“Claire says they’re very pleased with him.
Put him in charge of a whole team, though I don’t know much about it.
Shane knows more than I do. Let me get him for you.
” She turns her head at this and shouts down the corridor “Shane… Shane! Regan’s here.
He’s brought their friend along. You know…
the one who might be able to help us with the bookkeeping. ”
There’s an answering call, and a moment later, a tall, rangy-looking man with an unruly mop of blond hair and piercing blue eyes ambles into the room.
He’s wearing a clean but slightly rumpled pair of gray slacks, and a mid-blue serge shirt with a collar but no tie.
He also looks like he forgot to shave this morning.
In all, he manages to appear intelligent, sporty, slightly disorganized, and friendly.
Not in the least dull or intimidating, as I had worried that as an accountant, he might turn out to be.
“Well then,” says Regan. “Sandro and I will leave you to it. We’ll be at Theo’s. Remember where it is? We passed it on the way here.”
I nod to show I remember how to get to the bar, and the two men turn to the door.
“We won’t be long—forty minutes, maybe.” Shane calls after them, and Regan casually lifts up his hand to show he’s heard, somehow also indicating it doesn’t matter to him, and we should take whatever time we need.
Then Shane turns to me with a smile and offers his hand.
“So, you’re the young lady who’s staying up at that cabin for a while with your father?
It’s good to meet you. And you’ve fallen on your feet with those three boys.
They might look a bit rough and ready, but they’re good at what they do, and Grant’s got a sensible head on his shoulders when it comes to business—I help them with their tax return, you know.
Anyhow, Grant says you know bookkeeping, and if you do then you could be a Godsend for us, because the books have been piling up since Claire left us for Charleston.
Come this way, would you like a coffee?”
With a smile, I turn and step into a bright, sunlit room with a large desk in the middle.
A row of bulging filing cabinets is arranged along one wall, upon the tops of which more paperwork has been stacked in various folders and boxes, and a large, ancient-looking basset hound lies on a tartan blanket in an over-sized wicker dog basket on the floor by the window.
The dog looks up at us lazily as we enter, before slumping back down again, seemingly drifting back to sleep.
“That’s Mr. Trumpington,” Shane says affectionately, giving the dog a little pat and a scratch as he moves past it to sit in his swivel chair at the desk.
“We got him for Claire for her eighth birthday. He’s fourteen now, which is pretty old in dog years.
” He sighs. “Fourteen years… doesn’t seem possible.
Seems more like two or maybe three at the outside.
And now Claire is twenty-two, and married.
With a baby on the way. Just doesn’t seem possible.
” He sighs again, and smiles at me, his eyes lighting up as he does so.
“Now then, Maria, tell me about your last role. It was at a health center, is that right?”
With that, we plunge into the interview.