One of the most common questions I’m asked is how my writing’s going. There’s not much to say. I get up every morning, stumble to my computer, and write for a couple of hours. Since my second book was published three years ago I have written three novels and four novel-length installments of a fun mystery series. All are in the hands of my agent; but still, it’s been a while and it’s difficult not to lose heart. Here’s the first chapter of my current project, Changing Lives at the Pool Supply, a dramedy about four generations of Caprock women who endure rape, cancer, unexpected pregnancies, and addiction. How can this possibly be funny? Believe me, it is! As usual, comments and suggestions are welcome.
Chapter one
“I need a favor.”
This is Hal Haggerty, calling her at work, asking for help of some kind. He and Anita went out to dinner several times during that year after Frank died, but he was looking for a wife to take care of his house and cook his meals and she’d had enough of that. But they’re friends. He lives up the street and being on good terms with her neighbors is a code she lives by.
“Don’t we all,” she answers.
“Johnny’s getting out this afternoon.” He doesn’t have to say from where; she knows the story. “And he’s got no place to go.”
“That’s what halfway houses are for.”
She knows of at least three in Caprock—located here on account of the nearby prison.
“Those’re for people who don’t have families. And they’re always full-up.”
“Well, he’s got family, so what’s the problem?”
“Clint and Susan won’t have him.” Johnny’s parents; and she knows that story, too. “And he can’t come here because Myra won’t allow it.”
He married Myra after Anita said no. He was being way too hopeful when he took on Myra, who’s stern and religious and disagreeable. But there’s no denying that she runs an organized house.
“Please,” Hal adds. “You’ve got plenty of room and your trim needs painting.”
“And my gutters need cleaning, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking in an ex-con boarder.”
“He could help you down at the Pool Supply.”
He’s referring to her business, which services pools and sells pool accessories. While it’s true she often hires the lesser gifted, she doesn’t like having employees foisted on her; and she doesn’t like being guilted into things—the guilt being on account of how poor Hal would be a lot happier now if she’d married him instead of him having to make do with Myra. Manipulation is what this is.
“He’s sober,” he persists. “He’s in the program.”
“Through no choice of his own,” is her reply. “I will never consider it, not in a thousand years.”
“I’ll talk to you about it later then.”
He says good-bye and ends the call, leaving her in a pondering mood. She cares about those men getting out of prison. Everybody in town’s seen how, when their sentence ends, they’re handed fifty dollars, put on a shuttle, and carried to the bus station downtown, where they’re dumped—and then they hang out on the sidewalk wondering what they’re supposed to do with themselves. Get on a bus and go somewhere? Where? Why? Most times they end up shuffling up the street to one of the two soup kitchens and then taking a cot in a shelter—and, though many of them are young enough to have some use left in them, their lives become centered around handouts.
This is what a prison will do to a town—put vacant-eyed men on street corners.
Hal’s grandson, Johnny, shouldn’t be amongst their number. He comes from a good family and was raised in the church. When he was young Susan was his Cub Scout den mother and Clint coached his Caprock Kids’ basketball team. But all the parental involvement in the world doesn’t eliminate stupid, which is what Johnny was being when he drove drunk and injured that girl—oh, it’s not a miserable ending, the girl is fine, not even a limp. But drinking and driving, once commonly accepted behavior, has, with the recent formation of MADD, given birth to a no tolerance policy. So into the slammer Johnny went, a year of his life gone.
As to Susan and Clint Haggerty standing firm, they’re Baptists, and Baptists don’t bend. Their son had been the pride of their lives; and his being charged and convicted of a crime was the most mortifying circumstance either of them had ever faced. Also, Baptists see themselves as examples, which means living righteously before the world. Having a son in prison blew their concept of themselves all to hell.
To most folks, taking your son in when he’s in need is unquestionably the right thing to do. Family stands by family. But Clint and Susan attended a few meetings of Al-anon, an advisory group that helps families of alcoholics; and there they were warned against becoming enablers, which is exactly what they wanted to hear because it gives them an excuse for turning their backs. Prissy-assed rationalizing Baptists.
Sigh.
You can’t help them all, but you can help one when he’s put in your path.
George, one of her pool techs, appears at the door of her office. He just left a couple of minutes ago, didn’t even have time to drive off the lot.
“What’re you doing back in here?”
“Dead battery.”
She has a modest fleet of five trucks, all of which have her logo on the side. She keeps one of them for her own use, and now she’ll have to give it to him and be stuck here without transportation until she can get a new battery. This is what it’s like to own your own business. There’s always some random problem to deal with.
He approaches her desk, bringing the smell of the western feedlots with him. The wind must’ve picked up. Placing the keys of the dead truck front and center, he holds out his palm. Adjusting and accepting, she hands him her keys.
“Thanks.” And with a “See ya later,” he’s gone.
During that short space of time when he was proximate, she took an inventory. Manure, yes, but body odor and whiskey, too. Forehead oily, fingernails rough and dirty. Same cargo shorts and T-shirt as yesterday; though the T-shirts are work-provided and alike, this one is recognizable because of the rip in the shoulder seam. The beard that sprouted a couple of years ago is out of control—dense and shapeless, darker than the hair on his head. If it were a current trend she’d understand, but it’s just not. It’s unattractive and it’s the first thing a person sees when he walks into a room.
Good Lord, these boys; actually, he’s not a boy anymore. She does the math. Why, he’s been working here for ten years. He’s in his thirties now. His body has thickened while his face has grown thinner. And his scalp is visible at his crown.
If he doesn’t settle down and marry soon, he’ll die young.
Tending to pools isn’t a job for a grown man. And in the winter, when cleaning pools gives him fewer hours, he takes on shifts as a stocker at World of Food.
Acknowledging to herself that she’s fixing to put her nose where it doesn’t belong, she looks up his records and pokes in the number that he’s given as his emergency contact, his mother—Mariana Millwood, who was a couple of years behind her at High Plains High.
“Has something happened to George?” Mariana asks after Anita identifies herself.
“No. Nothing like that.” She pauses, searching for the right approach. “Look, this is none of my business, it’s just that he’s been working for me a long time and I’m wondering where you think his life is heading.”
“You’re right. It’s none of your business. He pays rent on an apartment and he makes his car and insurance payments. He does his laundry over here, but other than that he’s a hundred percent independent, which is every parent’s goal.”
As a goal, it’s a low bar. And that right there is what’s wrong with Caprock. Along with feeding and clothing her child, shouldn’t Mariana also have taught him about meeting his potential? But in this town parents are satisfied if their kid scrapes by. Why not encourage your child to go to college? Or if George had been dead set against that, he could’ve taken a training course and become a certified mechanic for one of the dealerships. Considering that his father (deceased) worked for the city’s vehicle maintenance department, this would have been a logical career choice.
On the other hand, she pushed Lily to go on to a higher education and, while Lily’s successful, a family doctor, she’s not what one might call enlightened. In fact, her superior attitude is the reason why the uneducated folks around here don’t care for the educated folks, and why they hold on to their lack of education with such contrary and dogged pride. The rift between the two factions is so prominent in Caprock that it’s obvious in every aspect—housing, clothing, grammar, cars, and choice of restaurants.
“George is a good worker,” Anita says. “He deserves more than the measly hourly wage I pay him. And wouldn’t you like to see him married?”
“He lacks ambition.” Mariana gives a despairing click of her tongue. “And he won’t get off his couch long enough to go searching for a wife.”
“Lazy people get married all the time.”
“The way I figure it, my work is done. And you need to learn not to mess in other people’s business.”
On this inauspicious note, they end the call. Taking Mariana’s ambivalence as a form of sanction, Anita gives thought to how she can prod George into moving forward; and it occurs to her that two of her employees are fixing to move on. One of the cleaners, Kevin, is moving back home to Plano because his mother’s doing poorly; and Gerald, one of the supply clerks in the back, has taken a job at one of the warehouses in the industrial area.
She employees ten men to do jobs that women could do just as easily, and she has two openings. Many people find their life partners at work. Calling the employment section of the newspaper, she puts in an ad saying she’s hiring; and she emphasizes that applications from both genders are welcome. A couple of women around the place will shake things up.
The phone on the desk rings. Her personal line is blinking.
“Hey there,” she answers. “This is Anita.”
“I need you to do something for me.” From Lily, who’s too important to give a polite greeting.
Her first reaction is negative, which is shameful. She does favors for others willingly and with joy; so why is she always so begrudging with her only daughter? Well, it’s because Lily expects and doesn’t appreciate. She demands instead of asking.
“I like to know what before I commit.”
“I need you to pick up Charlotte after school.”
“Doesn’t she usually take the bus?”
“She hasn’t taken the bus all year.”
This is the kind of thing a grandmother should know, but Lily’s as stingy with information as she is with a dollar.
“Then how has she been getting home?”
“She gets a ride from a friend.”
In other words, bumming. And it’s doubtful that Lily is reimbursing Charlotte’s friend for gas. By not providing transportation to and from school, she’s turning her daughter into a parasite. Is Lily oblivious or does she simply not care? Either way, this is not the way a conscionable person behaves.
“And why isn’t she doing that today?”
“Because she got a C in Algebra.”
“I’m not seeing what one thing has to do with the other.”
“Riding with her friend is fun. Someone who gets a C doesn’t deserve fun.”
“Algebra doesn’t come easily to everybody. She might be struggling. Maybe hiring a tutor instead of punishing her would be more effective.”
“She’s a smart girl.” Lily’s always insists this, as though she has an insight that Charlotte’s teachers lack. “She doesn’t apply herself.”
“So your way of getting her to do better in math is to inconvenience me.”
“Can you do it or not?”
“When you were that age you had a car so you could get yourself where you needed to be when you needed to be there. It taught you responsibility.”
That’s plainly not true. Responsibility means not getting pregnant at seventeen.
Obviously the issue of a car is a sore point. In this part of the world, a teenager having a car is considered a rite of passage; and though Frank and Anita never made the kind of money Lily makes, they provided, while Lily does not. Charlotte’s told her that she’s the only one of her friends who doesn’t have a car.
She agrees to picking up Charlotte, and Lily ends the call without a thank-you or good-bye.
With the added burden of getting a new battery for the truck seen to, the day passes as it usually does, with incoming orders and drop-in customers. It’s a bit busier than usual because this time of year people are preparing their pools for the summer.
After checking to make sure that the retail area and the supply storage in back are both covered, she takes off a few minutes before school lets out.
The parking lot is mayhem, with kids prowling all over the place, cutting in front of cars, skulking along in packs; and kids behind the wheel, elated to be set free, paying no attention to their driving, squealing willy-nilly from their parking places, sneering as they cut other drivers off.
Charlotte’s hanging with a group of girls around the corner, out of sight of the teachers who keep watch. Seeing the truck, Charlotte turns her face away, drops her cigarette, and subtly steps on it.
Anita presses her lips together and shakes her head. The girl’s not as covert as she thinks she is. But, as Lily’s told her again and again, Charlotte’s behavior isn’t her business. Apparently a grandmother’s job is to keep her opinions to herself.
Charlotte breaks away from her friends. She’s dressed like all the others—jeans and tops. She’s smiling as she approaches, her hair flying in the wind and her teeth glistening in the blistering sunlight. Taking after her father in most ways, she’s tall and thin, with his narrow nose and prominent cheek bones. Bobby was Lily’s first husband. Nineteen when he got Lily pregnant and married her.
Physically, Charlotte’s as opposite to Anita and Lily as it’s possible to be—at five-nine, she’s seven inches taller than her mother and grandmother. And her hips and shoulders are broad while Anita and Lily are trim. She does, however, have similar coloring—shiny brown hair, well-defined brown brows, and blue eyes.
Also like Bobby, the girl’s a people person. Everybody who knew Bobby liked him, which is why the whole town was shocked when he killed someone in a bar fight. He’s been in prison for years. Anita visits him every once in a while, and he’s still got that charming grin, that easy-going way that makes everyone around him feel good about themselves.
“Hey,” Charlotte greets, naively unaware of the smokey stink she brings with her. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“I don’t understand why I have to haul you around because you don’t shine in algebra.”
“Another of her reactions that makes no sense.”
“How was your day?”
“Boring. In Government the teacher hands out a sheet of the exact questions that’ll be on the test. Then she perches her butt on her desk and spends half an hour flirting with the football team while the rest of us look up the answers and memorize them. Then she gives us a test and no matter how the team does on the test, she gives them all A’s.”
“Sounds like some ex-quarterback is going to spend his life unaware of how many senators are in the senate. Do you want to go back to work with me, or do you want me to take you home?”
“Home.” Less than thrilled.
The place they’re calling home these days is the opposite of where they lived during the lean years when Lily was in med school. That tiny two-bedroom had been terrible in so many ways—a scary neighborhood, doors that wouldn’t lock, forty-year-old carpet, a gaping hole in the dry wall in the kitchen.
By contrast, their current house is quite grand—five bedrooms in one of the nicest newest neighborhoods. Lily’s always been one to move often, and each house represents a step up on the financial ladder. They’ve been living in this one for a year and it’s far from welcoming. Under-furnished, with only a piece or two in each room; no pictures on the walls; even window treatments haven’t been seen to. Also, Charlotte still has the bedroom furniture she had when she was five.
Is this because Lily’s too busy to fully move in, or too cheap to spend money on fabrics and decorations? Well, she does work hard and for long hours, so it’s understandable that seeing to the niceties isn’t her priority. But the relationship Lily has with money is a weird one. With Charlotte, she wields money like it’s a weapon, but she always spoils her husbands. For instance, she refuses to look into a math tutor for her child, but you can bet Zeke’s got all the sports channels his heart desires.
“Why is she the way she is?”
“To which aspect are you referring?”
“She doesn’t like the way I dress or who I hang out with or the grades I get in school. She doesn’t like anything about me.”
“Some people live to gripe. I know some women who think it’s their Christian duty to criticize. It’s up to you how you handle it.”
“Handle it. How do I do that?”
“Be who you are, know that you’re doing the best you can, and let the rest simply fly away. And look forward. You’ll be going off to college after next year.”
“And what’s the deal with her and men? The longest we’ve ever been without a man in the house was two months when I was nine years old.”
It’s a reasonable question. Lily likes to have a man around. It’s her habit to worship a guy for a while, and then he’ll forget to turn out the lights or make too much of a mess in the kitchen, and he’s out the door. Anita’s never approved but pleasing Anita has never been Lily’s goal. At least she didn’t marry all of them.
“I honestly don’t know. It’s been a wild ride. Hopefully Zeke’ll be the last of them.”
“I doubt it. Zeke’s a moron.”
That he is. He had a good job with the Cattle Association when Lily met him. But he got laid off from that six weeks into their marriage; and since then, three unimpressive jobs during the last year and a half. What does Lily see in him? Well, that’s easy. He’s handsome and lanky and he wears his cowboy hat at just the right angle so that his brown hair curls attractively at his forehead and nape. Also, he disregards her in a way that keeps her working hard to gain his attention. Anita’s seen Lily come in from working all day and cook a complete meal for him; then deliver it to him in front of the television when he hadn’t had a job for a couple of weeks and had done nothing all day except watch NASCAR.
“Nothing new there.”
“Dad’s not a moron. Circumstances had their way, that’s all.”
Maybe not a moron, but not the brightest bulb either.
“You want me to take you out to see him sometime soon?”
“I suppose. It’s been a while. It’s depressing out there. But at least he likes me.”
“You and Zeke get along though, right? He doesn’t cross boundaries, does he?”
Anita’s got a suspicious nature, but it’s not like Zeke’s sinister, just arrogant for no reason.
“I stay out of his way. He watches television and drinks beer. It’s not like we have a lot in common.”
They arrive at her house.
She unfastens her seat belt, leans over and gives Anita a cheek kiss, then she’s out the door.
Anita watches her granddaughter disappear inside the house. Charlotte lived with her and Frank for her whole first-grade year while Lily was doing her internship. That’s why the two of them are close. She takes comfort that Charlotte knows she can always come to her with any problem, any time.
Returning to the shop, she takes care of business for a couple of hours before closing at six and heading home.
She wants a beer in front of her television.
But instead what she gets is a clean-faced young man, fresh from prison, waiting on her porch. Johnny comes to his feet when he sees the truck turning in.
Irritated but resigned, she pulls all the way up and into the garage. Carrying a duffle, he meets her halfway up the driveway.
“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” he says.
“Sorry for your troubles.”
She unlocks the back door and motions him in.
“As you can see, this is the kitchen. I will not cook for you or serve you meals in any form. I’m not your mommy and I won’t monitor what you do, eat, or drink. When you finish with your plates rinse them and put them in the dishwasher.”
“Can I cook for you, though?” he asks. “Is this the time you get home every day? I can make you dinner.”
“That’d be nice. Make a grocery list.”
Leaving the kitchen, crossing the living room, she leads him down the hall and, after pausing to point out the bathroom he’ll be using, shows him the guest room. It’s a comfortable space with a queen-size bed and a chest for his things. After a narrow hard bunk in a prison cell, she can only imagine how luxurious this must seem to him.
“Grandad said you’d like for me to paint your trim.”
“Sure. I’ll buy some paint.”
She studies him. Nineteen or twenty years old. He’s handsome and well-built, six feet tall, maybe one-eighty, with curly golden hair, his father’s firm chin, and his mother’s striking blue eyes. But he lacks the confidence that usually accompanies someone who looks like he does. His eyes flick nervously over his surroundings. It bothers her to see how uncertain he is, how tentative his offers to cook and paint are. He’s a puppy who’s been kicked. Prison’s no picnic.
“How does this go?” she asks. “I usually like a beer when I get home, but I don’t feel right drinking in front of you.”
“Have your beer. I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Alrighty then. I’ll leave you to settle in.”
She digs her beer out of the refrigerator and, leaning back in her recliner, turns on the news.
A half-hour later she’s presented with a lovely ham and cheese omelet. She doesn’t even have to get out of her chair to eat it—she eats it right where she’s sitting.
I had no eye-catching picture to go with this posting, so I give you The Window at Big Bend, taken on our last trip anywhere before Covid.
