Cole Dust Cole Page 2

  “So he died and you get the money?” Chuck stood to his feet. “That’s incredible!”

  “Not quite. His only child, a girl about my age, was severely mentally retarded. So bad in fact, she had to be institutionalized. Sad part is, when the bulk of the money ran out they put her in a state run hospital. Anyway, I’m the last of the Mohicans, and I have inherited part of an office building, a couple of lots and a farm. Trouble is there’s a thirty day occupancy law. The farm must be owner occupied for thirty days or the county kills you on taxes.”

  “‘Farmer Cole’ kind of has a ring to it! Don’t you think?” Chuck smiled. “So, you have to spend a month as Old MacDonald and it’s yours?”

  “That’s the rub. I was leaving Friday for vacation. I have another week I haven’t used.”

  “You’re never sick. Call in sick for a week, and you’re covered. I’ll approve it. This should make for a great story. Remember that old Fred MacMurray movie ‘The Egg and I’? Are you going to have chickens?” Cole thought Chuck was enjoying this all way too much. “Wait ‘til I tell Chris! He’s going to want to do the curtains, slip covers, the whole works!” Chuck rubbed his palms together in melodramatic glee and sat back down.

  “Oh please, not that,” Cole groaned. The thought of the flamboyant Mr. Chris, as he now liked to be called, and his decorating skills gave Cole a shudder. “You may have to live with his designs, but I don’t! I’m a simple man of simple tastes.”

  “Love is a struggle sometimes,” Chuck said wistfully. “OK, so you leave Friday?” Chuck said, back on track.

  “Looks like.”

  “If it turns out you need a bit more time let me know and we can figure something out. Lucky timing. You’ll miss the fireworks and fallout from the editorial changes.” Chuck stood and stretched; a sign Cole recognized as a signal of Chuck’s recurring back pain.

  “I’ll call you when I know more.”

  “No, no, keep it for the Pulitzer Prize. Write me an article on ‘The Family Farm: America’s Lost Heritage’ or ‘How I Overcame Country Life.’” Chuck twisted at the waist, hands on his hips, and with a big grin said, “Get out of here, I got work to do.”

  Kelly Mitchell’s phone rang six times before she picked up. “Hello!” Cole thought she sounded out of breath.

  “Bad time?”

  “Cole! Hi! No, no I was painting the deck.”

  “Painting the deck?” Cole had been dating Kelly for about eight months. In that time she painted the kitchen, living room, bathroom and one of the bedrooms in her newly remodeled floating home docked in Sausalito. Last month she sanded the deck all around the top floor of the house and resurfaced it in a lighter shade. The woman posessed more energy than any five people Cole knew put together. “I don’t want to interrupt. I can call back later.”

  “Yeah! No! No don’t call, just come for dinner. How about 6:30? Or whenever you can get here. I’m dying for you to see the deck.”

  Kelly’s delight at her work made Cole laugh out loud. “Alright see you around... whenever I get there.”

  “Mmmuah!” Kelly made an exaggerated kissing sound. “Can’t wait.” She hung up.

  Cole dialed Erin’s number and waited for the answering machine, but to his surprise she picked up almost immediately.

  “Hi dad, what’s up?” she said cheerfully.

  “Well, you’re not going to believe this,” Cole began, “but we have a rich relative who died and left us a farm.”

  “You’re right, so what else is new?” Erin laughed softly.

  When Cole hung up ten minutes later he convinced his doubting daughter of the inheritance, told her of his plan to spend the month in Oklahoma, talked to Jenny his granddaughter about the bugs in a jar she was taking to pre-school tomorrow, and promised faithfully he would call them both and tell them all about the farm. In the almost two years since Erin came into his life this would be the longest time he would go without seeing her. He missed her already.

  At five forty-five Cole parked at the space nearest the walkway to Kelly’s floating house. He stopped and picked up a bunch of white daisies. He thought they would go well with the kitchen’s new pale yellow and white color scheme.

  “Permission to come aboard, ma’am?” Cole called from the front deck. The front door was open and the storm door screen gave him a view all the way to the back deck.

  “Permission granted, come on up,” Kelly called from the second deck of the house.

  Cole made his way up the spiral staircase, daisies extended like a torch. Kelly stood holding a green glass vase half filled with water.

  “How did you...?”

  “Part of your great charm, Mr. Sage, is your predictability.” Kelly beamed as she reached for the bouquet.

  “I never brought you flowers before!” Cole said, with a confused look.

  “Exactly!” Kelly gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She didn’t tell him she saw him coming up the walk. “Look below, Cole. What do you think?”

  Cole made his way to the railing. “Wow, that was a big job. It looks really nice Kell’. Where did you learn to do all this stuff?” Cole was amazed at her confidence to tackle all the repair and improvement jobs around her floating home.

  “Internet. You can look up anything.” Kelly put the flowers on a small table next to the rail. “Thought we would eat up here. The weather is so nice and you can see for miles tonight. I didn’t get finished as quickly as I figured. I hope you don’t mind Crab Louie. I baked a brie and made sourdough toast, I know you like that,” Kelly said, heading for the stairs.

  “Sounds great.” Cole turned and watched a small boat move through the channel along the back of the docks. “Need any help?”

  “I got it. So what’s this big news you got?”

  “News?” Cole queried.

  “It’s Monday, Cole. You never come over on Monday.”

  The thing Cole loved about Kelly was her ability to size up any situation and hit with a dead on explanation, rationale or solution. To the casual observer she might seem scatterbrained or dingy, but this was far from the case. The truth was she had so many thoughts, ideas and interests her mind was constantly working. The trouble for those around her was the seemingly disjointed things she said. For Cole it was a delight. Early on he understood how her mind worked and found it easy to follow and even easier to make the transitional jumps from one subject to another. Even when he was completely lost, his willingness to adapt to her laser quick communications assured her he was committed to listening to her and that was what she needed most.

  Kelly took the death of her husband much harder than she would have anyone believe. Though she seldom talked about him, on the few occasions she did, Cole sensed the grief that she buried deep within her. Cole spent years longing for a woman that separation from was nearly as painful as her death. He understood the depth of the pain and admired Kelly’s ability to rise above it and build a life for herself beyond her grief.

  Cole’s grief for Ellie, once all consuming, was now only an occasional dull ache, his grief having been replaced with sweet memories of his last days with her. He thought of Ellie whenever he was around Erin. His daughter, that he had long been unaware of, was so much like her mother it often gave him pause. He sometimes fell asleep at night thinking of how strange a hand life dealt him. Cole spent so many years longing to be forgiven by Ellie, dreaming of reuniting with her and being able to make her part of his life, only to find her at the end of a long sickness. They had only been together for a brief time, but it was enough. They shared their mutual regret. They shared their longing and deep love. And most importantly she told him of the daughter their love produced so long ago. Ellie was gone but he had peace.

  Each time they were together, Cole could see Kelly’s grief ebbing away little by little, replaced, he hoped, by a growing love for him. He decided early on to go very slow with Kelly. Dating his son-in-law’s mother was at best dangerous. At first he thought it was outright insane. But it was working.
They spent the holidays and even a weekend in Tahoe together with Erin and Ben and it all seemed very natural, kind of right in a way.

  The repercussions of a break up were the stuff Jerry Springer shows were made of. Somehow though, Cole couldn’t see it. This woman he came to know over the last few months possessed an inner joy and sense of self few people he ever knew possessed. They found each other at a time both were deeply in need. They were healing together and the bond was strong.

  “Have you ever read anything by Robertson Davies?” Kelly asked as she set the food tray on the table. “I’ve been reading Fifth Business, do you know it?”

  ““It is a favorite of mine, where did you get it?” Cole asked somewhat amazed by her finding what was probably his favorite novel. “I mean how did you pick it?”

  “The neighbors passed around a note last week saying we should all put out books on Monday morning and take a few in return. Sort of a recycling of reading material. So, I took a bunch of stuff I didn’t figure I would ever read. The little lady at the end, in the grey house with the flower boxes? She only put out one book, this one.” Kelly pointed at the book on the deck chair. “I didn’t want her to feel her offering was unimportant so I took it.”

  Cole smiled at her thoughtfulness. “And?”

  “Do you think Mrs. Dempster was really crazy from getting hit in the head? Or does he want us to believe it was having a baby that made her crazy? I’m having a hard time buying it, it’s too simplistic. I’ve had a baby, and Lord knows I’ve taken a few knocks to the head...”

  “And you’re crazy... So your point is?” Cole said, with a mocking frown.

  “Very funny. I just think she had something wrong with her to begin with.”

  “I believe you’re right, but the way people thought back then about the frailty of women played into making childbirth the root of all kinds of ailments. Stick with it, it’s a great book; you should read the whole trilogy, I’ll get you a copy.”

  “Then we can talk about it out here on the deck some sunny afternoon. You’re on.” With that Kelly plucked a piece of crab from her salad and said, “Let’s eat.”

  That’s the way it was with Kelly, you talked about it, it was settled, you went on. Cole found such frankness a refreshing change from the way the rest of the world operated. No build up, no skirting the issue, just spit it out and get on with life. Got a question, ask it. Got an answer, give it.

  “I got a letter today from an attorney in Oklahoma,” Cole began. “It seems I have inherited some property.”

  “Really?”

  “Five acres, a house, a couple of lots and a fourth interest in an office building.”

  “Who died?” Kelly asked spreading brie on her toast.

  “My second cousin. I’m the only Sage left, so I inherit. Thing is, I have to spend thirty days occupying the farm or some silly inheritance law will eat it up with taxes.”

  “Can you get that much time off?”

  “It’s all arranged.”

  “You’re leaving for a month! Can’t say I like that part.”

  “Me either. I leave a week from Friday. I’ve been wanting to do some outside writing. Thirty days of peace and quiet out in the country should help me get a lot done don’t you think?”

  “You’ll go nuts. Too quiet. Is there a garden?”

  “I have no idea what it’s like but I think the quiet will be good for me.”

  “How many times a day will you call me? I’m betting at least three or four.”

  “I might surprise you and not call at all. I may get so busy I forget the outside world.”

  “Yeah, Like in The Shining.” Kelly laughed.

  “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

  “Redrum, redrum,” Kelly teased.

  In making plans to leave Cole did everything but book a flight. He decided one afternoon to make a checklist of all things he needed to do. It was then he realized he forgot to buy a ticket. With only a couple days notice there was only one flight Cole could book.

  So at 6:30 Friday morning he sat drinking a mocha from an airport kiosk that tasted like boiled cigarette butts, waiting to board America West flight 604 to Oklahoma City with stops in Salt Lake City, Phoenix and Albuquerque. He would arrive at 1:40 in the afternoon to begin his journey to Lawton.

  TWO

  With the help of two gas station attendants on opposite ends of town Cole finally found the offices of C.W. Langhorne, Attorney at Law. It was a small block building shaded by large Mulberry trees. The awning was a deep green and did little to shade the single glass door beneath it. On the door was a shiny brass-finished sticker that said, “PUSH”. Cole of course, didn’t notice the sign until he “pulled” it twice.

  Inside, the walls were covered in 1970’s walnut paneling. The two panels facing the door slightly bowed from the wall. A small receptionist’s desk to the left of the door seemed too small for the room. Cole glanced around and listened for life somewhere in the small office. Moments later he heard a toilet flush and a woman of indeterminate age came up the hall drying her hands on a paper towel.

  “Nature calls, you answer,” the woman said, giving Cole a visual sweep head to foot. She settled herself behind the desk that looked even smaller now that it was occupied. The woman’s severe hair cut did nothing to complement her sharp angular features. To Cole’s surprise when she smiled at him she was wearing braces.

  “So, how can I help?” The voice belonged to the same woman who answered when Cole first called the office. It should have come as no surprise, but the visuals before him were so different from the bright chirpy voice and bubbly personality that Cole smiled at the discrepancy.

  “My name is Cole Sage.”

  “Well a’ll swall.” The woman put her hand over her mouth in obvious surprise. “You look nothing like your voice! I mean, there’s nothin’ wrong with the way you look; I just was expecting someone different.”

  “The world’s just full of surprises,” Cole replied.

  “I’ll let Mr. Langhorne know you’re here.” She pushed a button on the phone and said, “C. W., Mr. Sage is here all the way from California.” She paused. “I’ll just do that.” The receptionist stood and said, “Right this way.”

  She directed Cole down the brightly lit hallway and to the door at the end. With a grand gesture she swung open the door and Cole stepped into the office. At a mammoth desk sitting atop a pedestal that lifted it nearly two feet off the floor, sat C.W. Langhorne, Attorney at Law. For a moment Cole stood just taking in the scene. The lawyer was a very strange sight. His shoulders went almost straight down from his neck. His frame looked like a suit on a hanger that was bent down on the ends. The suit he wore was shiny green with a threading of black running through it. It was his head, however, that Cole could not quite put into perspective. Langhorne’s head was much too small for his body. The oddest thing was that all of his features were compressed into an area no bigger than the lid of a Campbell’s Soup can. His wispy, obviously dyed, hair was combed over a slick shiny pate. The strands of hair were held down by some kind of gel or pomade and could easily have been counted, so Cole did. There were six.

  Langhorne cleared his throat and took a deep drag from his cigarette. He held the cigarette between his little finger and his ring finger. It looked like what a raccoon might look like if they smoked. As he began to speak the smoke snaked and curled from his mouth with each word, “Mr. Sage, so glad you made it. Your flight was pleasant I trust?”

  “Very nice, thank you.” The smell of stale tobacco so permeated the room that Cole began to feel a bit light headed. “So what do we do first?”

  “Probably sit down.” Langhorne snickered and motioned Cole to a chair. As he approached the straight back leather chair, the lawyer stood, and leaning over the desk, offered Cole his hand. As he shook it Cole was startled by its size. Langhorne’s hand couldn’t have been much larger than Cole’s granddaughter Jenny’s. “Alright. Things to sign, things to get, directions to give.”
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  The lawyer pulled out a drawer in his desk and removed a file. From his vantage point Cole could not see anything on top of the desk. It was almost like being in court and looking up at the judge. “Here you go.” A small envelope came flying over the top of the desk. The jangling of metal sounded as Cole snatched the packet out of the air. “Keys to your new home. They’re ten years old so they might not work. For all I know there might not even be any doors.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Place has sat empty for the last six years or so. Renter let out and didn’t bother telling anybody. Rent stopped, ya know? They may have changed the locks, but I doubt it. I’ve never been there.”

  “I see. Where exactly is this place anyway?” Cole asked.

  “Orvin.”

  “Where?”

  “Orvin, ‘bout three hours from here. I got a map. Now here is the deed to the lot in Lawton and here is the one in Orvin. Where in the flame slappin’ hell did I put the one for the Black building? Hold on.” Cole heard the shuffling of papers and the slamming of desk drawers. “Got a pen?”

  “Uh... ‘Fraid not.” Cole’s heart sank a bit. The farm’s been vacant for six years? The manner and personality of C. W. Langhorne didn’t lend itself to ready confidence. Cousin George was a wise man and very shrewd so maybe there was more to this tiny-headed man than met the eye.

  “Incoming!” With that, a pen became airborne and flew directly at Cole’s face.

  “Thanks!” Cole said, dodging and catching it.

  “There you are.” Langhorne lifted the papers into the air like a freshly bagged duck. “Pull out the board there and you can sign on it.” From the front of the desk a thin handle popped out.

  Cole pulled on the handle and a well-worn board, like a breadboard in a kitchen appeared. Langhorne handed Cole several documents with little arrows stuck to the lines he was to sign. The board was too high for Cole to be able to comfortably sign the papers seated so he was forced to stand.