Jeff Abbott: Only Good Yankee

Are you okay?” I nodded. “I’m surviving. But I don’t plan on leaving town right when… Mama dies. That may not be for a long time anyhow, Lorna. And I have Bob Don to consider-and Candace, too.” “As soon as I laid eyes on her, I could see you marrying that Scarlett clone and playing the gentleman planter on her money.” “So you know about Candace’s money?” A chip halted halfway to my mouth. “Is this part of your land-acquisition deal with Intraglobal, finding out who’s got what where?” She looked startled, then shook her head, dark curls jiggling around her face. “I’m not surprised you know about the land deal. I suppose word gets around in such a small town.” She opened her briefcase and began to shuffle papers. “Perhaps it’s best we simply put our former relationship on hold for the moment. It really doesn’t matter. I’m not here to lure you back to New England. The truth is I’m here to offer you a reasonable purchase price for your land.” Her shift in gears was so abrupt I was taken aback. Not like Lorna. She’d already observed how I’d changed; perhaps she had changed as well.

Fine, we’d talk business. Surely that would be less stressful than the earlier topic: us. “I know. Intraglobal Development wants to build condominiums, right?” “An entire resort condominium community, Jordan,” Lorna amended for me. “Designed for residents who desire a higher standard of living-” “That should narrow down the candidates,”

I interjected, but she pressed on. “-and those from Austin and Houston who seek a comfortable weekend getaway on the shores of the Colorado.”

She began to spread out maps; architectural drawings that included a golf course, pool, tennis courts, and clubhouse; construction schedules; and environmental-impact statements. She told me in more detail than I cared to hear exactly what the development plans were.

It still seemed ludicrous and impossible: Lorna Wiercinski, who had shared my bed and my heart and my sense of humor for three years, was here. I listened to her overrehearsed presentation, nodding over her figures, blinking at her studies for the potential market (the target demographic audience in the cities was excellent, in her estimation), smiling at her own excitement about the project, and wondering what kind of money they’d offer. I hadn’t yet decided on a course of action. In any case, I’d hear both sides before parting with the title to my riverside acres. I’d promised that much to Miss Twyla. “So that’s basically it-a condominium resort community that will both provide a solid growth pattern for Bonaparte County and not interfere with the river’s ecosystem.” “Lorna, I’m amazed. You actually parroted your company spiel instead of slapping your offer for my land on the table and telling me I had five seconds to make up my mind. Does your boss have you on morphine?” She smiled a smile several wattages below normal and shrugged. “I know; it’s so much more restrained than the real me. I’ve got to do it that way. Greg says I’m too blunt otherwise. Scare people off.” “This would be Greg Callahan?” “Yes. I take it you’ve heard about him.” I opted not to share Nina Hernandez’s less-than-charitable characterization of Lorna’s colleague. “Yeah, his name’s getting around town.” Lorna huffed. “I warned him to stay away from the local women.” “Excuse me?” “Greg’s a bit of a ladies’ man. He doesn‘t have your studly height, but he has a hell of a lot more charm.” Her voice lowered slightly to a tone I was ever so familiar with and I wondered just how much charm this Greg had. “Charm’s a passing commodity, unlike height,” I said with a smile. She examined me with mock gravity. “It seems to have passed you right by, if I may say so.” “You stopped long enough to look.” “Looking’s free,” she replied, scooping up more guacamole. “You can’t find something worth having without doing a little window-shopping.” “So how much is my land worth to you?” We’d slipped into the gentle flirting we’d done so well and so often back in Boston. We used to stay up late, munching popcorn and watching videotapes of the Thin Man movies-and exchanging verbal salvos as if we were Nick and Nora. I could hear Clo rumbling around upstairs, obviously preparing to join us. And the chicken enchiladas smelled nearly ready. “I can’t make the offer. That has to come from Greg. Maybe he can meet with you tonight.” “Let’s eat first, then discuss this further.” I called upstairs to Clo, then went into the kitchen. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” I said. I went into the kitchen and opened the oven door. Lorna leaned over my shoulder, sniffing at the casserole dish. “Maybe I will stay.” Lorna peered at the bubbling mix of cheese, jalapenos, and tortillas that smelled like a corner of heaven. “It just depends on what the hell’s on the menu.”

Watching Lorna eat her first bona fide Mexican meal while juggling conversation with Clo was a great entertainment value. “Mrs.

Butterfield, Jordan tells me you do a wonderful job with his mother.”

“Try to.” “So, are you a lifetime resident of Mirabeau?” Lorna asked as she filled her plate with two thick, cheesy chicken enchiladas.

“Yes.” Clo had obviously taken her monosyllabic pill while upstairs.

She watched Lorna guardedly and began to eat. Lorna gave me her don’t-we-have-a-live-wire-here look and I smiled. It bothered me, though, that I could still interpret Lorna’s glances so easily. Under the circumstances, it made me damn uncomfortable to have such easy nonverbal communication flashing about. How readily could she read my face? I suddenly felt as naked as a newborn. “So tell me, Mrs.

Butterfield…” Lorna attempted again. “You must get a tremendous amount of satisfaction out of nursing.” “I see why you like him.” Clo jerked her head toward me. “You talk just as much as he does.” With that, she popped half an enchilada into her mouth and began to chew with great dignity. That silenced Lorna long enough for her to try Sister’s culinary treat. She surveyed the spicy quagmire on her plate, scooped some on a fork, and popped it into her mouth. Popped is the correct verb, as her eyes then proceeded to pop in surprise and she rapidly popped the top on a new bottle of beer and began to gulp down the icy brew. Clo and I smiled over the peppers on our forks and proceeded to eat them with great relish, little sweat, and no beer.

When Lorna’s vocal cords quit smoldering she stared at me with one eyebrow raised. “It’s that war thing, isn’t it? You lost, so when one of us comes down here you try to rupture our internal organs with this Tex-Mex concoction.” Clo made a choked chuckle and I was saved from replying literally by the bell. I scooped up the phone receiver, swallowed my mouthful of enchilada, and said a hello. “Jordy, you must honor my request!” It was Miss Twyla and she was apparently reliving her previous life as a Byzantine empress. She clearly expected me to fetch every time she barked. “Calm down, Miss Twyla. What’s the matter-” “The crowd will be such at tonight’s meeting that my little living room can’t hold them all. May we use the library instead?” “I suppose so.” I checked my watch. It was a little past seven. “Still starting at eight?” “Yes, dear. Nina, Tiny, and I will call everyone and let them know of the change in plans.” “Excuse me. Did you say Tiny is there?” “Yes, Jordy, and what a wonderful help he’s been. I’m sure the meeting will be an orderly one with Tiny’s help. I’ll leave a note on my front door for those we can’t reach by phone. Perhaps you can meet us at the library a little before eight.” “Certainly. See you then.” I hung up. Oh, great. Now Miss Twyla had gotten Tiny Parmalee involved. My evening was complete. I would spend my evening with my ex-teacher with a cause, an environmentalist windbag who bossed folks around, and the fellow who’d bullied me and every other kid at Mirabeau Elementary. I’d have to make sure I’d hidden my lunch money before I headed over to the library. Clo had finished eating and was rinsing her plate in the sink. Lorna’s plate was also clean, except for the pile of sliced jalapenos she’d pushed to the rim. Clo excused herself to check on Mama. I told her I’d be gone for a while, but should be home by ten. She agreed to stay with Mama until I returned, then went upstairs. “Delightful woman,” Lorna observed. “A graduate of the Nurse Ratched School, I take it?” “Clo doesn’t like Yankees.” “I don’t get this Yankee garbage. Why do Southerners continue to mope about the war? I’m a little tired of being referred to as a Yankee and having it sound like I’ve got a venereal disease. People down here don’t try to get to know you before they make judgments-” “Sorry, but no sympathy. Now you know what I went through in Boston. Like the times folks made fun of my accent by repeating back everything I said, all the times I was asked how many oil wells I owned, all the times people wondered aloud if I was a member of the KKK.” I cleared our plates and began to wash them. It wasn’t easy using my one good hand, but I managed. She was very close behind me before I realized it.