Distribution Ch 11

Chapter 11: Paige's Dilemma

We became so intrigued by the letter Mackey had written for Corporal Ramsey that we forgot to get ready to go to dinner. Paige watched me fold the letter Mackey had written to an imaginary girl and put it in my pocket. She didn't say anything, but we both knew that I would share the letter with our friends if the occasion arose. It was too good to keep under wraps.

We found our little group in the bar, waiting for a table. Fred ordered drinks for us and a second round for the others, except Tilley, who was nursing her first gin and tonic. Nadine and Janice teased us about being late until they saw that Paige was wearing a bra. Her dress was black, buttoned to the neck, above the knees, putting her bare legs on display. I wore my only suit and the tie Paige had selected for me.

I sat next to Tilley and struck up a conversation, first thanking her for her help that day and then asking about her college studies. She confided that her dad wanted her to join him in his business, but that she would prefer to remain in school to pursue a Master of Science degree.

I got the impression that Nadine had told her about my being a widower. She seemed reluctant to inquire about my kids, but once she broached the subject, I told her some of the funny things that had happened, including Amanda finding the envelopes of cash in the roll top desk. I didn't know the others were listening to me until we moved to the dining room.

Nadine arranged us in girl-boy-girl fashion at a round table. I was seated between Tilley and Janice with Paige directly across the table from me.

"How much cash was there?" Nadine asked.

"We never counted it."

This got the attention of everyone at the table and I had to explain how Peggy and I had paid off a mortgage in cash and how Amanda had discovered the envelopes we'd given Mr. Bennett in the desk. "We keep it locked in a safe in the basement and use it sparingly."

"How much is left?" Janice asked.

"I don't know. It's Amanda's job to bring me cash when I need it. I used the cash in about half of the envelopes to pay for a fire suppression system we installed in the old building I own."

"That's an awesome responsibility for a young girl," Nadine commented.

"Amanda is a responsible young lady. She wouldn't like it if she knew I was talking about our secret stash of cash," I said, becoming quiet when I pictured Amanda chewing me out for blabbing.

The server came to take our orders. The women wanted salad to start, followed by broiled codfish and a baked potato. Fred and Harold wanted steak. I considered the fisherman's platter for about fifteen seconds before settling for the codfish. The pleased look on Paige's face made me wonder if she had read my mind about the fisherman's platter. Was she going to start controlling my diet? I hoped not. Fred and Harold begrudgingly added salad to their orders and I also succumbed to the pressure.

The server was filling the wine glasses when Paige explained the reason we'd arrived late. "Brian received a phone call from a soldier who knew Mackey," she said.

All eyes turned to peer at me. Even the server's curiosity caused him to tip the wine bottle back and wait for me to respond, but I didn't.

My attention was fixed on Paige. Had she mentioned the telephone call from Corporal Ramsey because she'd watched me fold the letter and put it in my pocket, knowing that I wanted to tell the others about it? This reminded me of the sort of things the mother of my children would have done. Had Paige taken on one of Peg's traits? It took prodding from Janice and the realization that the server was waiting for me to speak before I broke eye contact with Paige. Her lips parted in a knowing grin when she saw me turn my attention to Janice, who was repeating her question.

"Did the soldier know Mackey from that dreadful battle?"

I explained to the group how Miss Adams' article had appeared in a Denver newspaper, how Corporal Ramsey's granddaughter had recognized Mackey's name and helped her grandfather place the call. I related what the Corporal had told me about being in the same hospital ward with Mackey and how Mackey had gone out of his way to help everyone.

"It was funny to hear the Corporal say that he didn't know that Mackey outranked him," I laughed, remembering how Corporal Ramsey's voice had become somber as he recalled an incident from the distant past.

The salads arrived as I pulled the letter from my pocket and began reading it.

{Block}

September, 1945

Dear Mary Jo,

I know it will be some time before you receive this letter because I don't have your address. We haven't met yet, but I feel like I already know you.

You're soft. I mean that in a nice way. Don't get me wrong. You're not a softie. You don't fall for lines that wise guys throw your way. You're soft to the touch and you like soft things. You may not like me very well at first, but I hope that you'll come to have a soft spot in your heart for me.

We're going to get along great because we want the same things, like a nice place to live and lots of children.

I'm looking forward to our first meeting and getting to know you. Until then, don't fall for those lines from other guys.

Sincerely,

Corporal Ramsey

{/Block}

As I folded the piece of paper I noticed that no one had touched their salad and the wine glasses were still full. The server sort of tiptoed away from the table.

After a few solemn moments the topic of conversation changed to which dressing to try on our salad, what we had done that day, how the search for a new Red Sox shortstop was progressing, and naturally, how the weather was changing.

I was accustomed to speaking almost daily with Fred about the timing of stock sales, and I frequently stopped by to see how Harold was doing with a job, but both men avoided the subject of their work. It was the same with Nadine and Janice. This was a time for relaxation, a time to enjoy each other's company.

There was some discussion about everyone's plans for Thanksgiving. Janice commented that my children would be happy to see me, and Nadine joined in, telling me to drive carefully. I noticed a cloud pass over Paige's face at the mention of me going home for the holiday.

We were well along with the main course when Tilley surprised me by imparting her knowledge of the battle for Iwo Jima. She spoke in a muffled voice, as if the subject would bore the others. She knew far more about the battle than I'd been able to find about it on the internet, or through Mackey's letters. She said that she would like to read the letters. I warned her that they were mainly love letters, with very little about the actual battle, but that I'd be happy to share them with her.

Paige declined the offer of dessert, saying that she was full. I noted that her attention to the conversation had been detached since the mention of my being gone for a few days. I settled for just coffee, although I almost changed my mind when I saw the generous wedge of Boston cream pie being placed in front of Nadine.

I could see that Paige wanted to leave. She looked tired, making me wonder if she had worked long hours in order to get away for the weekend. We thanked Fred and Nadine, said goodnight to Harold and Janice, and I made sure that Tilley knew she was welcome to stop by the house the next morning before she was to leave for school.

Paige waited until we were entering the house before she broke the news.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking this week," she began.

"Aw Shit!" I said under my breath.

"This will be the last weekend I come here." Her voice was just above a whisper, and there was a ring of finality that told me she was serious.

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," she said. I'd seen that look of determination in her eyes before. Her mind was made up, but I had to try to change it.

"Can we talk about this?"

"I told you that I've been doing a lot of thinking. We're from two different worlds, Brian. This isn't going anywhere. It can't. You'll be going home for Thanksgiving next week. We have to break it off sooner or later It will be better if it comes to an end now."

"I'll be coming back. There's the barn that...," I became quiet, knowing how lame I sounded. She was right. Work on the barn would not take long, and there would be no need for me to hang around after that.

"We'll conduct business by email. You know I'll cast my votes to agree with your decisions. You'll have my full support to settle the estate as you see fit." With that, she turned and was halfway up the stairs before I fully digested what she'd told me.

She had indeed done a lot of thinking. Everything she said sounded final, like there was no turning back. I turned out the lights and sat in the dark, letting my mind swirl, like tumbleweeds in one of those old western movies. When the wind stopped whirling, I considered the situation logically.

Paige was not an impulsive person. I'd never known her to be swayed or to change her mind once it was made up. Still, she was in the middle of her period. Perhaps there was hope that this would be the exception.

I thought of our times together. The Red Sox game and her coming to me in her parents' dark living room were at the top of the list. We'd worked well together, had spirited discussions, but never a real argument. We'd had fun, too, laughed at things that happened and we'd shared events that took place when we were apart.

What had she meant by the statement, 'This isn't going anywhere?' Had she been waiting for me to suggest a way that we could be together after our work on the estate was finished? Come to think about it, why had I left the subject of our future submerged, just below the surface? I knew the reason; Peg had always rejected my proposals of marriage until I'd stopped bringing it up. Paige had heard all my stories. She must have known that rejection was a sore spot with me?

Was it that I'd been reluctant to tell her that I loved her? What was wrong with me? I knew that being loved was something all women wanted to hear. I resolved to correct that fault if I got the chance.

Paige was on the far side of the bed. She's tired; things will be different tomorrow I thought, as I made sure to keep a space between us.

The sound of my pickup starting awoke me. I got up to find fresh coffee made, and a note, 'gone shopping.' I don't know what caused me to check the cookie jar where we kept the money we'd found throughout the house. It was empty. That meant she had taken the last eighty bucks.

Tilley arrived early, and we were reading Mackey's letters to Elsie when Paige came in carrying two bags of groceries. I went out to the truck and brought the other two bags in. It addition to the essentials, bread, milk and eggs, it looked like Paige had enough packages of meat and chicken to feed an army.

I offered to make copies of the letters that had passages pertaining to the battle, and Tilley jumped at the chance to have them. When we came back downstairs, Paige was busy in the kitchen.

After Tilley left, I told Paige that I was going to call Miss Adams to see if she wanted to hear about the phone call from Corporal Ramsey and to read the letter Mackey had written to the future Mrs. Ramsey. Thinking that she needed an explanation, I told Paige that I thought she should be there to witness what was said between myself and Miss Adams. When she didn't react one way or the other, I dialed Miss Adams' number, casually adding that we would talk later.

Miss Adams' visit was endless. She seemed reluctant to leave. She listened to what Corporal Ramsey and his granddaughter had told me, read the letter that Mackey had written, and then surprised me by wanting me to get the Corporal on the telephone so she could speak to him.

If Paige was listening to us, she didn't show any interest in what we were talking about. She was busy in the kitchen, loading the oven with dishes of meat and the burners with pans of vegetables.

As Miss Adams spoke to the old man, she typed furiously, making notes on her laptop. I noted that she was incredibly thorough, asking Mary Jo to interpret what her grandfather had said, laughing at times and tearing up at other times. Eventually, she handed the receiver to me, saying that Mary Jo wanted to speak with me.

"Please don't call here any more, Mr. Driver. Recalling the events of that war has taken its toll on my grandfather. He's completely worn out."

"I understand. Please thank him for speaking to Miss Adams. I do have one question before we hang up."

"What's that?"

"Do you mind if your grandfather's story is made public?"

Hearing my question to Mary Jo, Miss Adams waved at me, mouthing, "its okay."

Mary Jo confirmed that it was okay. "I've already told her that we don't mind if she publishes the letter and tells the story as my grandfather described what took place so long as she doesn't include his name. He doesn't want publicity. Recalling the battle and those weeks in the hospital strains his emotions to the breaking point."

I thanked her again and hung up.

"I told her that I'll feature Mackey Peoples and assured Mary Jo that I won't name the Corporal for whom the letter was written."

"Good," I said. "It's too bad he's lost track of the other patients in the ward."

Miss Adams agreed with me, thanked me for sharing the letter with her, said goodbye to Paige, and left."

What followed were the most tense, disappointing thirty minutes of my life. I tried every way I knew to get Paige to supply reasons for terminating our relationship. She was busy washing the dishes and pots and pans she'd used to prepare my meals for what seemed like the next year. "It's an impossible situation," is all that she would say. She did however, tell me that she'd labeled each meal that she'd put in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator.

I had an empty feeling as I drove her to the bus station, and I was almost certain that she felt the same. When she told me that I didn't need to wait for her bus to leave, this got me pissed off and I stubbornly left without so much as a goodbye kiss.

The next week dragged by. I was in a funk, wondering how Paige could look adoringly at me across the table at dinner, and tell me it was over between us a couple of hours later. Was it something I said or did? I began to think it was something I didn't say or didn't do.

Our first communication was my email informing Paige that there would be no distribution that week. I felt it was necessary to explain the reason because distributions had been made each Friday for the last three weeks and her parents might be expecting the influx of new cash. I wrote that I was reserving funds for the refurbishment of the barn, which I expected to take place after Thanksgiving. This was Thursday evening.

Janice called, inviting us to their house for Saturday night dinner. I reluctantly informed her that Paige wasn't coming for the weekend. I could tell that she was curious, but she didn't come out and say it.

"That doesn't matter. You're not as much fun as Paige, but you'll be welcome anyway."

I tried to hide the dejection in my voice as I told her that I would see how things went. She took that as a maybe and let me off easily. Not that Janice was a gossip, but playing it safe, I called Nadine on the pretense of alerting her to the fact that there would be no distribution this week. She said she understood my reasoning.

"Paige isn't coming this weekend so I'll see you guys after Thanksgiving," I said, trying to make it sound like an afterthought.

Nadine lacked Janice's more refined social graces.

"Why?" she asked, and when I sidestepped that question, she got down and dirty, going so far as accusing me of causing a breakup by cheating on Paige. Eventually, she saw that her questions were in vain, and told me to have a good trip.

On Friday morning I received Paige's very curt reply to my email, 'I agree; you have my vote.'

On Friday afternoon, I delivered an updated financial statement to the judge in accordance with her stipulation that I keep her informed if there was a change in the estate's financial picture. Nothing of significance had happened since my last report, but I made it look as if there had been. I attached a handwritten note to inform the judge why there would be no distributions until after the work on the barn was completed.

On the way back to the house I picked up a copy of the local newspaper. Miss Adams' article began on the front page, with the letter Mackey had written, and continued on page seven with the story of how long it took the Corporal to meet Mary Jo, a sketch of their courtship, and a description of their life together. Miss Adams stayed true to her word, repeating what the Corporal had said about Mackey's role in helping everyone in the ward. She included my wish that we could get the stories of others who had benefited from Mackey's acts of kindness. She ended the article by thanking me for alerting her to the story, the letter, and for putting her in contact with the Corporal. 'Mr. Driver is in the process of disposing of the Peoples' personal and real property.'

The telephone began ringing about the time I finished reading the article. Most of the calls were from people inquiring about the items I was selling, but there were two calls from realtors, making me wish Miss Adams had skipped the part about me disposing of the real property. An interruption made me turn in alarm. A very angry librarian burst into the house.

For the next ten minutes, I ignored the ringing telephone and listened to Miss Nancy Dickens rant. It soon became apparent that she'd learned that there would be no distribution until after the work on the barn was completed, but she had other issues, too.

I was momentarily distracted by the telephone going silent, but she quickly got my attention.

"Mr. McMahan and I are going to sue you for being incompetent."

I was mildly curious. What was their basis for my incompetence, and where was Mr. McMahan? Why wasn't he standing next to her? My bemused look clearly angered her. Miss Dickens' nostrils were flared. Her fists were clenched. I wondered if she bit her nails.

"Did you change your hair style, Miss Dickens? I like the way it's combed back on the sides. Gives it..."

My compliments were interrupted by a deep growl. "You've let an opportunity for a killing slip through your fingers. What were you thinking by turning that letter over to that reporter? The story was the estate's property. You gave a lucrative book away. We're going to make you pay for our losses."

She'd only patronizingly answered my question. "Where is Mr. McMahan?"

"Don't try to change the subject. He's working for the city if you must know."

"He got a job? What's he doing for the city?"

Ms Dickens had been standing with her feet firmly planted to the floor, about a foot apart. I pictured her on her back with Mr. McMahan between her legs. Was she a screamer, and was that Gordon's mother in the background, urging him to finish so he could take her shopping? The ringing telephone broke my reverie.

"He's a flagman," she said, so softly that I had to verify what I'd heard. "A flagman?"

"The city is doing repair work over on Beach Street," she said, begrudgingly.

"Let's drive over and watch him work," I suggested, adding, "I need to take a break from the phone."

"I shouldn't have told you what he's doing. Don't harass him," she said, almost begging me not to drive over to Beach Street and make fun of her boyfriend. The vision of him between her legs returned. I couldn't help it.

"I'd like to hear how serious Mr. McMahan is about suing me. Have the two of you made your intentions known to Judge Lockwood?"