Bobby Cole - The dummy line

“Hurry up, Katy,” Jake Crosby called out as he took a wet tennis ball from his aged Lab, Scout. “We won’t have enough time to build a fire and roast marshmallows if we don’t get going.”

What am I thinking? he told himself. You can’t hurry a nine-year-old.

Katy had really taken an interest in the outdoors. She loved to hunt and fish and found fun in the smallest things. She would giggle for hours playing with crappie minnows or crickets. Katy had killed her first deer at seven, making a perfect shot on a small buck. This qualified her as a full-fledged member of the hunting fraternity…or maybe sorority. Anyway, she loved to go with her dad, and Jake gladly modified his hunting habits to accommodate her. Introducing Katy to the sights and sounds of the woods was a pleasure-a blessing. Katy’s motivation was to “outdo” the boys in her class. She relished this competition. And Jake did his part to make sure she was successful. By eight, she had caught several limits of rainbow trout and a boatload of bass, killed four deer, and been on several successful duck hunts. Jake was raising a tomboy, and he loved it. On this trip, he was hoping to call up a gobbling turkey. If it would walk up struttin’ and drummin’ and put on a show, Katy would be hooked. This weekend she was going to experience what turkey hunting was all about.

Katy finally jerked open the front door and ran outside carrying her camo travel bag, two Beanie Babies, and an armful of books. She was a reader. Jake loved the way she looked-her ponytail threaded through the back of a baseball cap-a cute tomboy. Jake smiled.

“Let’s go, Dad. Are you ready yet?” she teased. “Can we play pool when we get there?”

“Sure. Have you got everything…boots, head net, gloves?”

“Yes sir,” Katy replied politely but rolled her eyes.

Jake’s wife Morgan walked out carrying Katy’s lime-green sleeping bag and a pink pillow.

“Please make sure she goes to the bathroom. Last time she didn’t,” she said with a little worry mixed with sarcasm.

“Well, I asked her. She just didn’t really like the facilities. It’s not exactly the Hilton. But I’ll make sure she goes. Don’t you want to come?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, I’m gonna rent a movie, curl up on the couch, and relax.”

“We’ll be home by lunchtime…and I’m bettin’ we’ll have a turkey. Don’t worry about Katy. I’ll take care of her. Tate’s already there and will have the lights on and a fire built. She’ll have a blast.”

“When are you going to finish that flower bed in the backyard?” Morgan asked, not caring if they killed a turkey. She hoped they didn’t because she knew Jake would claim it was Katy’s first and would want to get it stuffed for display in the den. To Morgan, Jake’s improvised “trophy room” already resembled a frozen zoo with all of his dead critters. The deer heads seemed to stare at her; the turkeys were hideously ugly; the ducks she could tolerate, but his full-mount bobcat made her sad. Why shoot a cat? she always wondered.

Morgan hated hunting season. She hated deer season. She hated duck season. And then, just when things seemed to settle back down, spring turkey season rolled around-which she hated even more. She didn’t really hate the “sport”; it just took up so much time-Jake’s time, time that he should spend earning more money or making home improvements. Turkey hunting was especially exhausting for Jake because of the early hours. Turkey hunters operate like a clandestine cult, waking at obscene hours, painting their faces, and driving all over the country in the dark. The result: very little yard work got accomplished in the spring when it was most needed. While the neighbors were busy trimming bushes and mulching, Jake was either gone or asleep on the couch recovering from an early-morning hunt. The reality was that their yard looked better than most. Jake somehow always found time to get it done. But Morgan couldn’t recognize it. Every time she saw Jake lying on the couch, it was a huge source of resentment.

If he’s going to do something worthless, at least he could play golf like every other stockbroker in the world. Maybe he could make some deals on the course or at the nineteenth hole , she thought wistfully.

Even after two years of dating and eleven years of marriage, Morgan had not totally given up on trying to change him-she had just gotten better at tolerating him. She grudgingly acknowledged that Jake was a somewhat decent provider, and even she had to admit that he was a great father-she’d give him that, even if she did find him boring.

Driven more by a desire to silence Morgan’s nagging than any personal desire for riches, Jake had invested heavily in a few “surefire” stocks that surprised everyone, then became de-listed within weeks of his taking a position. His biggest concern now was dealing with the reality of being owned by the banks. House payments, car payments, truck payments, private school, horse-riding lessons; it never ended. There always seemed to be more month than money.

Morgan had married Jake because she had thought he was going places, big places-away from West Point, Mississippi, a small town with a total population less than ten thousand in a rural county. Jake and Katy liked West Point, but Morgan longed for a big city with all the trappings.

Now she hung on because of Katy. And she rarely missed an opportunity to needle Jake about his failures, like taking a bath on Krispy Kreme stock. Jake had insisted that all his clients buy the Krispy Kreme initial public offering. He had grown up eating the hot, glazed doughnuts and knew the world would love them, too. Jake had made his clients and his firm a lot of money on paper. A few of Jake’s clients smartly took their profits while too many others followed Jake’s lead and stared helplessly as the Atkins low-carb craze blistered the doughnut business. Jake continued to hold and hope that the downward spiral would stop. It didn’t. He just loved those doughnuts and refused to sell. Jake and Morgan’s portfolio took an enormous hit. He desperately needed something that would get red-hot fast. His firm was listed as book-running managers on two tech companies for June, and he couldn’t wait. He was also eyeing a way to capitalize on the Dutch IPO of a company that converted used motor oil into low-grade diesel fuel. One big score and she’ll get off my ass , he thought.

Jake saw Morgan was still waiting for an answer about the flower bed. “Soon. I promise. I’ll get to the flower bed.” He planned on doing it. It just wasn’t a priority…to him.

“Load up, Katy. Let’s go.”

“Bye, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye!”

“Bye!”

“Bye!”

“Jeez, girls, we’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“Come on, Katy. Let’s go. I feel like we’re going off to college.”

“Well, Jake…what if something happened? This…this might be our last good-bye.”

Jake really didn’t know what to say to that…what could he say? He just cranked up and waved good-bye.

“We’ll be home tomorrow. Love ya,” he said routinely.

“You, too.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye.”

Rolling down the driveway, Katy waved until she couldn’t see her mother anymore. Turning forward, she said, “Mom doesn’t know what she’s missin’.”

“Well, I’ve invited her plenty of times. Grandpa didn’t hunt, so she didn’t grow up around it and doesn’t understand that it’s way more than killing. Fasten your seat belt, girlfriend.”