Cole Dust Cole Read online

  In the bedroom a woman laid in the bed, covers up to her neck. Her eyes were closed and her skin was drawn and a pale grey. She was dead. Next to the bed were a bowl of soup and a glass of water. The odd thing was a wash cloth still laid across her forehead.

  I returned to town and went to the sheriff’s office and told him what I found. He telephoned the undertaker and arranged for those poor people to be picked up. Then he asked me the strangest thing. He wanted to know if I want their stuff against the rent. I said yes. I don’t know why I said yes. It just came out.

  “Your pa would be proud, you takin’ care of all this like you are.”

  “He ain’t dead yet,” I said, angry at the way the sheriff said “would.”

  “I’m sorry son,” he said, “it’s just, in his condition...”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Sure he will,” the sheriff said kindly.

  It was then that I knew that my pa would never be fine. The whole world knew it except me.

  TWELVE

  “Sunday is a day for flowers,” Kelly said, taking a bite of her sandwich and gazing out at the front yard. “Look at this yard, yuck! Can’t we water it or something? Talk about Dust Bowl.”

  “The weeds were chest high until I knocked them down with the weed whacker. Water would just bring them back.”

  “Well at least some flowers then?”

  “I need another gallon of paint to finish off the back of the house. We could pick some up then.”

  “Can we?” Kelly pleaded. “It would really help. I’ve got everything wallpapered upstairs. I could use a break.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The day was hot and the drive to town seemed longer in the humidity. Half way there Cole pulled over and put the top up on the Mustang and turned on the air conditioner. They parked on the nursery side of Ballard’s Home Improvement.

  “Meet you back here. Remember we are not starting a Botanical Garden here.”

  “Funny. Just some flowers to make the front of the house prettier.”

  Cole went to get his paint. He did not see Willie and Alvin pull into the parking lot in their beat up old pickup. The store was full of Sunday afternoon handymen and other poor guys following their wives up and down the aisles as they read their list of things to get done.

  Cole bought a standard color for the house. Mostly because it was on sale and partly because it just seemed like the house should be white. He was pleased to see the paint now prominently displayed under a banner reading “Weekend Special, $8.99 A Gallon.” He found the “Cape Cod White” and was off to the check out.

  “You ever stay home?” a familiar voice said, from behind him in the check out.

  “Hey, Ernie, what’s up?” Cole said offering his hand.

  “I needed some PVC glue. Couple of those damnable Rain Bird pop-ups broke off again. What about you?”

  “I’m on my last gallon.” Cole held up the can of paint. “And Kelly’s beautifying the place. She’s out buying flowers and bushes.”

  “The hell you say. I’m not going to recognize the place.”

  “Let me ask you something. How old you think my place is?”

  “Nineteen forties. I remember my Pop telling how the first place burned down. I guess it sat empty for years. Quite an eyesore. When your Cousin George’s dad bought it there was nothing but timbers and a fireplace, I guess. They built the new place. George lived there when he was first married. I was pretty little but I remember them there. Why you ask?”

  “I told you about finding some old notebooks didn’t I? There is a reference to a farm and a house, but the description of the house sounds a lot smaller than what is there now.”

  “Bigger’s better, right?”

  “Guess so.” Cole smiled.

  The two men walked to the parking lot adjacent to the garden department together. As they rounded the building Cole quickened his step. Kelly was standing with her back against the back of the Mustang, nearly sitting on the trunk. Willie and Alvin, the deliverymen from the furniture store, were standing on either side of her.

  “What are those two pieces of shit doin’ here?” Ernie growled.

  Cole broke into a jog as Alvin reached up and took Kelly’s arm. Kelly brushed his arm aside and Cole heard the two men laugh.

  “Cole!” Kelly’s voice said all Cole needed to know.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The two men turned and faced Cole.

  “Well, looky here. Our San Fran-Cisco newspaper ty-coon,” Willie said, in his nasal cleft pallet voice. “She yours?”

  “We were trying to get to know this lady better. So why don’t you go paint something,” Alvin chimed in.

  “I’m sure she has no interest in getting to know either of you, so just take a hike.”

  “A hike? Is that some kind of hard ass California talk? Can we wear cute shorts like yours too?” Willie said sending the two men into fits of laughter.

  “We don’t want any trouble so now that you’ve had a little fun at the lady’s expense it’s time to move along.” As Cole spoke and stepped closer to the two men, he was hit with the bitter smell of alcohol mixed with their body odor.

  “He don’t want no trouble,” Willie said, in a singsong taunt.

  “Get in the car, Kelly,” Cole said firmly.

  “Get in the car Kelly, sweetie,” Alvin mocked.

  “Why, if it isn’t the Homo Harelip and the Redskin,” Ernie said, as he approached the car.

  “Willie, you smell shit? Must be Sewer Boy. The virgin hero. Mama’s French and Daddy’s Greek. Makes you a Freek, don’t it, stinky?” Alvin turned and faced Ernie.

  Ernie smiled and put his hands in his back pockets. He snapped his head from one side to the other, cracking and popping his neck. He gave his muscular shoulders a shrug. Like a prizefighter limbering up in his corner, Ernie twisted at the waist.

  “You gonna do jumping jacks next or skip rope?” Both men laughed at Alvin’s remark.

  Ernie did not respond. He just spread his legs a bit further apart and stood perfectly still.

  “Hey, Alvin,” Willie began, “you know how stinky here got those scars on his forehead? Bungee jumping in a coal mine.” Willie laughed hard at his juvenile taunt.

  “Your mama still a fifty-cent whore, Harelip?”

  Cole winced at the vicious tone in Ernie’s voice. The hatred between the men was almost palpable. Kelly moved to the front of the car and was fumbling in her purse as she watched in horror at the scene unfolding. Ernie moved to the right of Cole and inched closer to Alvin. Alvin’s eye’s tightened to mere slits. His cheeks reddened and he stepped toward Ernie. The two men were now only four or five feet apart.

  “Hey Cole, you ever see Willie’s trophy for bein’ the stupidest retard on the Reservation? It’s a teepee with a quarter moon on the door flap. They call him Shitting Bull.”

  It was obvious to Cole that Ernie was doing everything in his power to provoke the two men facing him. He wanted to fight them. It was an old anger and Ernie was finding a strange pleasure in bringing it to the surface.

  Alvin went into his front pocket and pulled out a buck knife. With a swift flick of the wrist the blade opened. Flashes of sunlight danced across the ground and Ernie’s chest.

  “OK, enough is enough. Everybody just relax. Ernie let’s go,” Cole said, moving to Ernie’s left side.

  “The hell you say. This is just getting fun.” Ernie grinned. “Go ahead, take Kelly home. I’ll finish cleaning up the trash from the parking lot.”

  “Hey Willie, wanna see what mama’s boy’s guts look like?” Alvin tossed the knife from one hand to the other.

  “May I borrow your paint, Cole?” Ernie reached out and took the paint can with his right hand before Cole could respond. With a forceful backhand swing Ernie struck Willie across the side of the head with the can. The force of the blow blew out the lid and a wave of snow-white paint washed over Alvin.

  Willie dropped to his knees
and then all fours. Ernie dropped the paint can then kicked Willie under the chin with his steel toed boots. The Indian slammed onto his back with a thud and collapsed. Alvin slashed and tore wildly through the air. The paint dripped from his chin, his eyes covered in the sticky white pigment.

  From behind them the short whooping blast of a police horn drew Ernie and Cole’s attention. Alvin continued to jab and slash the air, now completely facing the opposite direction of his targets.

  Two Orvin Police officers stepped from their car and approached the scene.

  Officer Tim Wrede pointed casually at Alvin as he continued to cut long swaths through the air and said, “What’s he doin’ anyway?”

  “They attacked us,” Kelly called out from the front of the Mustang, still holding her cell phone.

  The two officers looked at each other and turned to Ernie. “Kappas, you do this?”

  “The paint can popped open, Tim,” Ernie replied innocently.

  “Alvin! Let up!” the shorter of the two policeman, Officer Curtis Whitehorse shouted.

  Alvin spun to face the voice. “You’re dead Sewer Man, you hear me, you’re dead.”

  “I do not want that mess in the back of my car.” Wrede said emphatically, “We’ll have to clean it up.”

  “So how are we takin’ him in?” Whitehorse asked.

  “He’s got a knife,” Kelly said frantically.

  “Yes ma’am, I noticed that,” Wrede smiled.

  “Alvin damn it, knock it off.” Whitehorse moved carefully toward Alvin and his blade.

  “So who is filing the complaint?” Wrede asked.

  “Kelly, we were protecting your honor, so you can start,” Cole said, realizing that the police were not overly concerned with the situation in front of them.

  “Well that one,” Kelly said, pointing at Willie still unconscious on the pavement, “he followed me out of the store and started making lewd remarks.”

  “What the hell happened to him?” the Whitehorse asked.

  “Well Curtis, he’s the reason the paint can popped open,” Ernie offered.

  “That makes about as much sense as planting tomatoes in October. Com’on I need to know what happened,” Whitehorse said, frowning at Ernie.

  “Simple, these two were accosting the lady. Ernie and I came out and they tried to provoke us into fighting. When we would not oblige, Alvin drew a knife. It was at that point Ernie took the paint can and bopped Willie on the head. The lid flew off and paint flew all over Alvin and he’s been slashing the air to pieces ever since. Then luckily you pulled up.” Cole said seriously.

  “We were just around the block when the call came in. Good thing though, he might have cut himself,” Wrede said, smiling at Kelly who was holding her cell phone towards Cole.

  “Got a couple of open containers here,” Whitehorse yelled from Willie’s truck, “and a bag of weed.”

  “That oughta do it. I count three parole violations so far. I’m Tim Wrede, that’s my partner Curtis Whitehorse.” Wrede offered his hand to Cole.

  “Cole Sage. And that is Kelly Mitchell. I own the place next to Ernie. And I guess you know him already.”

  “Since kindergarten. Can you two come down to the station and make a statement? Hopefully we can send these two back to prison for a while. You have helped rid Orvin of two of its greatest public nuisances.”

  Whitehorse took a coil of rope from the back of the truck and approached the group as they stood still watching as Alvin slowly ran out of enthusiasm for his pointless slashing about.

  With the fluid movement and accuracy of a rodeo cowboy, Curtis lassoed Alvin around the ankles and drew the rope tight. With a stiff jerk Alvin was laying flat on his back.

  Tim Wrede approached Alvin and quickly wrenched away the knife from his hand. “I am not going to get paint on my new handcuffs. Hog tie him.”

  With quick strong tugs of the rope Curtis flipped Alvin onto his stomach. “Put your hands behind your back and this will go easy. If not, I wouldn’t want to be you,” Curtis said bending over the paint covered man.

  Alvin spit and cursed but complied with the officer’s request.

  “Ernie, will you drive Willie’s truck to the station?” Wrede asked.

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll put Alvin in the back. Curtis can make sure he doesn’t fall out, save the taxpayers some money in overtime and cleaning solvents.” Wrede walked over to where Willie was still laying on the ground. He nudged the Indian in the side with the side of his shiny black cowboy boot. “Hey, wake up.”

  Willie groaned and pulled his arm from underneath him. The handcuffs clicked as Tim secured them on the groggy man’s wrist. “Up and at ‘em sleepy head, time to go to jail.”

  “I ain’t finished with them yet,” Willie said, jerking his head toward Ernie and Cole.

  “Looks to me like they finished for ya,” Wrede said with a broad grin.

  Putting his weight and strength to his advantage, Tim pulled Willie to his feet, spun him around and cuffed his other wrist.

  “Ready to transport.”

  Ernie and Whitehorse grabbed the rope connecting Alvin’s feet and hands and tossed him in the back of the truck like he was a bale of hay. Whitehorse climbed in the back and used the long end of the rope to secure Alvin to the side rail. “Ready here.”

  “Let’s go,” Ernie said, heading for the cab.

  Cole walked over to Kelly and gave her a hug. “So where are the flowers?”

  “In the trunk. Look at the car! How will I get that off?”

  Cole examined the splash of white paint across the back of the car.

  “Pretty sure they’ll have rags and solvent inside.” Cole kicked the nearly drained paint can at his feet. “I have to go get another gallon of paint. Want to come with?”

  “Only if you explain where you know those two from,” Kelly said, giving Cole a look that said his explanation had better be good.

  After spending the better part of an hour at the police station and stopping for lunch, Cole pulled into the driveway.

  Kelly leaned over and gave Cole a peck on the cheek. “I must admit life around you is never dull. All I wanted was a few flowers and I get harassed by a couple of knife wielding Neanderthals, watch an exhibit of testosterone posturing, a fight out of a Three Stooges movie, and spend an hour trying to explain it to the police and make it sound threatening. You really know how to show a girl a good time, Sage.”

  Cole just smiled and reached behind the seat and grabbed the can of paint. “Last one done cooks dinner.”

  By four forty-five Cole finished painting the back of the house. To his surprise. when he rounded the front corner, the flowerbeds were an explosion of color. Deep purple-red bunches of flowers contrasted with white daisies, a thick blanket of wood chips covered the beds and the sweet smell of wet cedar filled the air. At each end were two wispy plants supported by thin green bamboo sticks. Stuck in the ground was a brass plaque that said “A Woman’s Touch Helps All Things to Grow”, but Kelly was nowhere in sight.

  Cole went in the front door and listened. “Kelly!” he called out.

  “Up here!” came the muffled reply.

  Cole found Kelly in the small bedroom upstairs, razor cutter in hand, trimming the last piece of wallpaper along the far wall. While he painted she worked on the flowerbeds and finished wallpapering the bedroom.

  “I can’t win,” Cole said under his breath.

  Kelly stepped back to survey her work.

  “So,” Cole began, “what would you like for dinner?”

  THIRTEEN

  When Kelly came into the kitchen her hair was still wet from the shower and combed straight back. Cole marveled at her beauty. No makeup, wet hair and in a 49ers t-shirt and shorts, she was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He handed her two plates and said, “Here, we didn’t say anything about who set the table.”

  “My pleasure. What’s cookin’?”

  “Breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, baco
n, and my specialty, hash brown potatoes with minced Vidalia onions.”

  The two ate without much talk. Cole mashed his eggs with his fork and chased them around his plate with hash browns. Kelly made little pancake and egg sandwiches and nibbled at the bacon between bites. On the table were three notebooks. As they ate, Kelly casually flipped through the books, occasionally reading a passage aloud.

  “We will never get through all these by Tuesday night,” she said softly.

  “Guess you’ll have to stay.”

  “Can’t.”

  Cole picked up their plates and walked to the sink. “This has been pretty nice.” He paused. “All the free labor I mean.”

  “Right.” Kelly smiled without looking up from the notebook.

  “I think I could get used to it pretty easily.”

  “The free labor?”

  “Right,” Cole said, imitating her tone.

  “Let’s just keep things nice and easy. I have enjoyed this weekend a lot. I have seen a side of you I didn’t know much about, and I like him. We have become friends over the past few months and we needed that. I can sense we are both ready, maybe, needing to, maybe, I don’t know, move to ...”

  “I’m not trying to push...” Cole turned around, “Yes I am. No I’m not. I want to pull you closer.”

  “You are. But let’s just wait until we get back home. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just...” Kelly’s words trailed off into thought.

  Enough had been said. The hesitancy was not born of doubt, but of letting go. As friends, they were safe to embrace each other and what they had lost. Declaring their love, moving toward a permanent relationship, was a step of release. Like a person clinging to a vine over the edge of a cliff, to reach out and take the hand of help meant letting go of the safety of the vine. As much trust as they built up, the letting go of the safety of what they knew was hard. It was easier for Cole. He never knew a life lived with Ellie. He years of dating and deep committed love, but far more years of separation and longing. Kelly lived a full life with Peter, raised a child and shared years of commitment and love. They hadn’t chosen to end their lives together, death had.