Page 16 of Lone Star Longing
Beck squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, since the dirty windows didn't allow much natural light to sneak in. He didn't recognize the men right off, though he was sure he knew them.
“Beck Conover?” one of the men asked. “That you?”
He didn't know the voice at first, but as his eyes adjusted, his stomach dropped.
“Sheriff Talamantez,” Beck returned the greeting in as even a voice as he could. He hadn’t done anything wrong, this time. “How are you, sir?” He extended his hand, remembering how the older man liked the formality.
“Not sheriff anymore, you can relax.” The older man’s face creased in an attempt at a smile. Beck wouldn't know a smile from him, anyway. He’d never given the man a reason to be kind. The man had never seen him at his best.
Beck glanced at the other two men—Mr. Nazareth, the owner of the hardware store, who’d inherited it from his dad, and Mr. Davila, Lacey’s dad.
“Haven’t seen you in some years,” Sheriff—no, Mr.—Talamantez said. “You still serving?”
“No, I did my five years and came home. I’m a mechanical engineer for NASCAR now, for Riley Davidson.”
“Sure, I know who that is,” Mr. Talamantez said. “You come by to see your mom?”
“Yeah, and the house isn’t in great condition. I can’t find anyone who’ll do the work for me, so I’m going to get a few things to shore it up until I can get back.”
“Who’d you ask to go out there?” Mr. Davila asked.
“I talked to Trey Lopez, Lupe Saldivar and even Frank Perales. Everyone said they were too busy to go. Had too much work to do. I’m no fool, I know my mom can be a challenge, but I don't have much time before I need to be in Vegas.”
“Yeah, well, if you talked to those guys, I don't know who else would be able to do the job,” Mr. Nazareth said.
“Like I said, I’m going to get done what I can. I may have to hire someone from out of town, pay for their lodging or whatever. I can’t get it all done by myself. And if no one wants to work...” He shrugged. Maybe the men would pass the word that he was willing to pay a lot. Maybe then someone would be willing to work for his mother.
“They teach you how to build in the, what was it? Army?”
“I’m an engineer. I know what to do.” Mostly. He just didn't want to do it.
“If you need any advice, let us know. The advice I’m good at. The actual work, not so much.”
*****
BECK PULLED UP IN FRONTof his mother’s house with a truck full of lumber and a new toilet. The old men might have said they weren’t up to doing the work, but they sure loaded his truck with his supplies fast enough.
He looked up at the house for a moment, waiting for his mother to come out with her shotgun. When she didn’t, he became slightly alarmed. He didn't want to startle her so she’d shoot him at close range. So he stomped as loudly as he dared on the front porch before banging on the door, then opening it, braced to spring out of the way if she had the gun nearby.
“What are you making all that racket for?” she demanded from the shadows.
A quick glance told him the gun was in its place on the rack on the wall. He relaxed marginally.
“I didn't want you to shoot me if I surprised you.”
“You couldn't have possibly surprised me with all that racket.” She heaved herself out of her chair and lurched toward the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I thought I’d fix that wobbly toilet, first thing, so you don't fall through before I can get someone out here.”
“You’re going to fix it?”
“I can’t get anyone to come out here, yet, and I don't know how long it will last.”
“But you know how to fix it?”
“I do. I’m going to put in a new toilet, too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that toilet.”
