James Hall - Off the Chart

‘He’s got a point,’ Thorn said.

She looked at him and closed her eyes briefly.

‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to have to take care of him, Dad. That’s a big job. Are you ready for that? Bathing him, taking him to the vet. He’ll need shots.’

‘Watch,’ he said. ‘I’ve taught him to sit already. He’s a smart little fur ball.’

With an open hand Lawton motioned the dog down, and the puppy jumped up and tried to nip his fingers.

‘Down, Lawton. Sit.’

With a single bark of complaint, the puppy planted his rear on a sandy patch and stared up at Lawton, his tail brushing back and forth across the bare earth.

‘See,’ the old man said. ‘He’s a fast learner.’

‘That’s good, Dad. And you’re obviously a good teacher.’

‘He’d better be fast,’ Lawton said. ‘Because I don’t have much time left to teach him much.’

‘Oh, come on. Don’t say that.’

‘Where’d that guy Webster go? He offered me a job working undercover. I need to talk to him about when I’m going to start.’

‘That was months ago, Dad. That was March; this is May. He went away and he’s not coming back.’

‘Went away?’

‘Anyway, you’ve got this dog. You don’t need any more jobs.’

‘But Webster was counting on me. It was a national emergency. I could be putting us all in peril. This woman Anne Joy is at the root of it.’

‘Anne Joy?’

Alexandra stooped down beside the dog and scratched him beneath the throat. The puppy grew limp at her touch.

‘Her name came up,’ Thorn said.

‘First I’ve heard of that.’

‘Webster mentioned her. That’s when I shut him up and kicked him out.’

‘Oh, yeah, I feel it coming,’ Lawton said. ‘The end is definitely near. It won’t be long. This dog is going to have to be my legacy.’

‘Dad,’ Alex said. ‘Please stop.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lawton said. ‘I’m ready. Now that you’re finally in good hands and there’s someone to carry on my name, it’s time for me to exit.’

Alexandra stood up, her mouth clamped tight.

‘It’s okay,’ Thorn said. ‘It’s just words.’

‘I know. I know. But still.’

‘You ready for a glass of red?’

‘Thorn, what did Webster want with Anne Joy?’

‘He thought I knew something about her. I assured him I didn’t.’

‘You should’ve told me that.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.’

‘The kind I have right now, you mean.’

‘Yeah, that kind.’

‘We shouldn’t conceal things.’

‘I’m sorry. You’re right. Really, I’m sorry.’

She looked into his eyes, and he could see her letting it go. Most of it.

‘So I had another visitor,’ he said as they strolled back toward the house.

‘What, they sent the vice president this time?’

‘When’d you get so funny?’

She stopped next to the bench.

‘And what in the world is this?’

‘A bench. A yellow bench.’

‘What is it, Thorn?’

‘I was thinking Lawton might like it. You know, for his midnight rambles. Might keep him off the highway if we can convince him the Greyhound stops here.’

She stared at the bench, then looked up at Thorn, a smile warming her lips.

‘Worth a try,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of putting it over there, next to the gumbo-limbo. Kind of like the bus shelter.’

‘You’re something, Thorn.’

‘Well, I’m not much of a furniture maker, that’s for sure.’

She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the mouth so deep and long, it closed his eyes and kept them closed a second or two after she’d drawn away.

‘So who was your visitor this time?’

He took her hand in his and waved his free hand at the open yard and the darkening bay.

‘Would you trade all this for three million dollars?’

‘All this?’

‘The house, the land, my car. All of it.’

‘Three million for that heap of rust you call a car?’

‘I’m serious. The house, land, all of it. Would you?’

She held his eyes.

‘It’s not mine to sell.’

‘But let’s say it were. You could take the three mil, go someplace else, invest some of the money in mutual funds, live off the interest. Never have to work again, do whatever you wanted.’

‘Mutual funds?’ She reached out and pressed her palm against his forehead. ‘You been outside all day without a hat?’

‘Answer the question,’ he said, startled by the impatience in his own voice.

She took her hand from his forehead. Her smile drifted away.

‘Would I swap all this for a truckload of cash?’ she said. ‘Not in a million years, Thorn. Not in three million.’

Thorn let go of the air that had been building in his lungs.

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’

‘Was that some kind of test, Thorn?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because I thought we were a little past the testing phase.’

‘We are,’ he said. ‘It’s just that sometimes, your job, all the shit you put up with every day, I wonder if you wouldn’t be happier retired.’

‘You’d sell all this so I could retire?’

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