Matthew Stokoe - Empty Mile

“She was hooking on her own way before I ever got involved.”

“What difference does that make?”

For a moment I thought Gareth was going to puff himself up again but he nodded and seemed to let go of something.

“Okay, you and Marla are obviously back together. I wasn’t sure before, but things are different now, I can see that. You shouldn’t have your lover being forced to do other men. I actually thought about it a lot after you left and you’re right, it can’t go on.”

“So you’re saying, what?”

“I’ll leave her alone. Call it my gift to you. I won’t make her do it again. I promise.”

I wasn’t really sure what to say to this. I’d expected a prolonged argument, a screaming match, even a brawl. His about-face took the wind out me and I stood there just looking at him for a moment. Gareth laughed.

“Dude! I’m not a complete shit. What do you think, I’m going to be this evil force forever fucking up your life? Like every day it’s gonna be, Sorry, Johnny, but Marla’s got to work tonight? Come on!”

“He made me watch.”

“You watched? Oh, man, I’m really sorry. That must have been shitty. I had no idea that would happen. Look, I’m finished here. You want to hang around and have a beer?”

What I wanted was to meet up with Marla and tell her how I’d convinced Gareth to set her free. But for Marla’s sake, keeping Gareth friendly seemed like the smarter choice right then, so I said yes to the beer.

Gareth got the drinks from the kitchen in the bungalow and led me out to the barn. David, his father, was seated in his wheelchair in the far corner working on something with a drill press. He waved distractedly as we came in and kept on working. We sat in the large open doorway, facing back toward the house. At intervals, behind us, David’s drill whined against metal.

Gareth nudged me and made his eyes wide. “Hey, you hear about Patricia Prentice?”

“Stan and I were the ones who found her.”

“Really? Holy shit!”

“Stan was delivering some potted plants.”

“What’d she look like?

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Was she wearing clothes? Was it, like, a total mess?”

“She looked dead, Gareth, okay? Just dead.”

Gareth held up his hands. “Dude, just asking.”

“Well, fuck…”

“Okay, okay…” Gareth leaned forward and dropped his voice. “I’m glad you came up today, Johnny. I need someone to talk to. Something’s going on between that asshole Marla did last night and Vivian.”

“Jeremy Tripp?”

“Yeah.”

I knew damn well there was something going on-I’d caught her coming out of his shower-but there was no way I was going to get mixed up in it. Gareth shook his head sadly.

“I go around to see her and she’s coming back across the road from his place. I call her on her cell and she doesn’t answer, or she’s around there practicing archery. Archery, for fucksake! I mean, Jesus, man, I love her.”

He took a gulp of his beer.

“I can’t believe it, you know? Two women in my life, the only two relationships that have ever meant anything, and both of them turn to shit.”

“Why would Tripp pay for Marla if he’s seeing Vivian?”

Gareth shrugged. “He’s rich. Fuck, all I need is a little time to turn this place around, to get some decent money together, and I’d be able to keep her. I know I would.”

He looked away and cleared his throat, then changed the subject.

“How are you doing about your dad anyway?”

“We’re coping.”

“When I read the paper I felt bad. Ray was a neat guy. We got to be pretty good friends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, about a year ago I was panning up near Malakoff and he was there too, on the same stretch of river. We started talking, we had the gold thing in common and I was your old buddy so we got along pretty good.”

“Oh? He never said.”

“Yeah, we used to meet up and go panning. Or we’d go to Elephant Society meetings together. I tell you, I was freaked when he disappeared. The cops didn’t find anything?”

“No. But I wanted to ask you something. Did you ever go out with him when he was working? When he was doing his real estate thing?”

“No.”

“Not outside Oakridge, ever? Looking for properties to market?”

“Why would I?”

“I was out at a place called Empty Mile. The woman who lives there said that when my father came out to try and get her to put it on the market he had someone with him.”

Gareth frowned and shook his head, then suddenly his face brightened. “Oh yeah! I know what you’re talking about. My Jeep broke down coming back from Burton. Ray was passing and gave me a ride, but first he had to go someplace for business. Empty Mile. But I wasn’t working with him, dude.”

“Did he have a particular interest in that land?”

“I don’t know. The woman didn’t want to sell, I remember that.”

“I mean the land below her house.”

“I don’t think so, it’s just a patch of land.”

“Did you know he ended up buying it? For himself.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that.”

“The woman said you were interested in a journal she had.”

“Oh yeah, that. It was really interesting. We both spent, like, an hour reading it. Do you think you’ll sell the land, after Ray’s will and everything gets sorted?”

“I could sell it now if I wanted, he put it in my name before he disappeared.”

“Really? How come?”

“Some tax dodge.”

“Interesting… You know, me and Dad have been thinking about getting a piece of land, something for the future. Maybe we could work something out.”

“You want to buy Empty Mile?”

“If you’re selling, why not? I’ve seen it, it’s just the kind of thing we’d be interested in.”

“I thought you guys were broke.”

“We are, but I could still raise the money on the equity we have in this place.”

“I’m not planning to sell.”

He looked disappointed. “Okay, promise me one thing. If you change your mind, give me first crack at it, okay? I’ll pay market value, I’m not asking for a discount or anything.”

After we’d had another beer, Gareth walked me out to my truck. As I got into it I remembered something. “What were the holes for?”

“What holes?”

“The ones you drilled with my father at Empty Mile.”

“Fence posts.”

“Really?”

“That’s what Ray said.”

“But they’re too deep. And they’re right in the middle of the trees.”

“Dude, I was just labor. Your father wanted a hand, he said they were for fence posts. Who gives a fuck? Remember what I said about selling.”

He turned and walked back into the bungalow. I drove to Empty Mile and picked Stan up and we headed to the warehouse for our appointment with what we hoped would be a new customer for Plantasaurus.

There was a high-sided rental van parked at the junction of the garden center driveway and the Oakridge Loop. Its engine wasn’t running and I got the feeling that it had been there for a while. There was someone in the cab but the light was such that I couldn’t make out more than a dim shape behind the wheel.

Stan and I passed it and went on up the driveway. We opened the warehouse and, as we had a little time before our prospective customer was due, Stan turned on the hose and started watering. We’d received our first shipment from the Sacramento wholesaler ten days before and it felt good to stand there and look at the plants, at the different greens of their leaves, shining under the spray of water, knowing that this miniature forest of trees and potted shrubs was ours, that we were in business and this was our stock.