Chapter 10

John’s turn:

Uncharacteristically, based on my life up to this point, somebody else is driving me. We’re headed northwest, out of the hurricane footprint, off into an area where government offices are still open at normal hours to normal people.

In the briefcase behind me are my birth certificate and passport. Laura has similar documents.

“What’d you need a passport for?” I’d asked.

“You never know when ... like, a senior trip, which I didn’t take, or a honeymoon, which we won’t need a passport for, so ... just because...”

We coursed through secondary roads lined on both sides by alternating farmlands and woodlands, and if you’re sharp you’ll recognize the blur because a lot of those ‘woodlands’ are tree farms replanted after the first or second growth forests were logged off. Acres and acres of the same kind, same age pine tree? Farm. Sometimes the rows are evident.

Acres of twisted, mixed, jumbled pines and hardwoods and various kinds of undergrowth? Not a tree farm, although that might be the result of tree harvesting seventy-five years ago, where the owner didn’t see fit to replant.

There’s a hazard to this driving. The secondary roads go through a lot of small-town America and it seems that the majority of them take on the ‘mayor – police department’ model, where they have a little ‘city’ government that maintains a few parks and streets and a government building, AND a police department with a few dedicated ‘protect and serve’ types who tend to protect their jobs by serving out traffic tickets.

One is well advised to conservatively attend to traffic signs around these places. You’re rocking along at fifty-five, the normal limit for two-lane roads, you see a ‘city limits’ sign, top a hill, the speed limit drops to forty-five, then thirty-five, within a few hundred yards, and just past that is the town cop running radar.

Louisiana’s famous for some of these, little towns that get eighty or ninety percent of the town’s revenue from traffic fines. I remind Laura of that fact.

“We’re NOT in a hurry, baby.”

“You might not be.” She grinned. “I kinda am.”

“You don’t need to be. Your mom’s lining up your pastor for Saturday.”

“The idea. Piece of paper, the signing of which lends government sanction...”

“Paper means diddly. YOU are what’s making this a marriage.”

“WE are,” she corrected.

“You’re nuts, you know.”

“I know. But why shouldn’t I choose you? You’re a good guy. Smart. Decent-looking. And I know couples who married after knowing each other for years, and when they started living together, it all broke down. I live with you – even before you became a hopeless cripple, we got along together. I’ve seen you tired and dirty and clean and refreshed and stressed and relaxed and you know what I notice?”

“Tell me.”

“Every time you see me, your face brightens. Even before we started messin’ around.”

“You’re a cutie. It didn’t take long for me to see you as intelligent. You make me happy, just letting me hang around you.”

“Let you?!?” she laughed. “It’s gonna be, like, MANDATORY!”

“Good!”

“I think about it, you know...”

“About what?”

“About living together after things get closer to normal.”

“I do, too. I hope you’re not one of those people who has to stay home.”

“Were you?”

I mused, “All too many times I wanted to get out of the house but I dearly wanted somebody to stare out the windows with me on a road trip, to talk about what we saw and what we thought and argue over which direction to take at the next fork in the road.”

“Is there room in that fantasy for sleeping in on the occasional weekend morning, or lying in bed on a rainy day reading a good book...”

“While the gumbo simmers?”

“You DOG, you!” she laughed. “You’re playing me...”

“Just till we get married. I always wanted a scullery maid.”

“Yeah. Get your arm healed. I’ll show you some scullery action.”

“Ooooo,” I said in falsetto, “I love it when you’re all forceful.”

“You’re such a beast,” she laughed.

The original intent of the trip was fulfilled in a government office after the cursory examination of identification papers and the exchange of a few dollars.

We made a trip around the local area, biding our time until lunch, a need fulfilled at a little locally-owned restaurant. Then it was time to head back.

Right after lunch her phone rang. Since it was paired with the truck’s sound system, I saw the caller ID. Carl. Dunno why she put the call on ‘private.

“Yessir,” Laura said brightly. “How can I help you?” Pause. “Yes, I think that can happen.” Pause. “D’ya mind if I bring John along? I can park him in his office while we talk.” Pause. “I can’t guarantee he won’t work, but that’s between you and him and Pete.” Pause. “Yessir. Looking forward to it.” He hung up.

“I have a meeting with Carl and Pete tomorrow morning.”

“Interesting. Maybe they need a Bobcat operator.”

“I’m not going to do that,” she said. “I am a college student.”

“Whenever college decides to crank back up,” I said. The campus, like every place else in southwest Louisiana, had taken a beating, buildings damaged, now being gutted out and restored and refurbished.

“In the meantime, you and me, we’ll be married and just do whatever we feel like doing until you go back to work.”

Laura’s turn:

I had a premonition so the next morning when we drove to John’s office for my meeting I had the same documents that I’d had the previous day when we got our marriage license.

I was a bit early. I always try to be. In this instance that got me and Pete and John in the lunchroom getting coffee when Carl showed up.

“I’ll be in my office,” John said.

I let Pete hold the door open to the conference room and followed Carl in. Pete closed it behind me.

“So I guess you wanna know what this is about,” Carl said.

“Oh, you can imagine I have questions.”

“I know you were getting into college this fall,” Pete said. “How strong are your intentions toward that?”

“It’s what kids do,” I said. “Finish high school, go to college, then find a job.”

“Your major was gonna be biology?” Carl asked.

“Always had an interest,” I said.

“What was your career path after graduation?” He pushed.

“Not really sure. Have a few years to see what develops.”

“The reason we wanted to talk with you is that John spoke highly of your intelligence and we’ve all seen your work ethic. Laura, one of our admin analysts is quitting and we need to replace her.”

I restrained a squeal.

Pete picked up the thread. “It’s an office job, right here in this building. You’ll track project costs and budgets and such. Starts off around forty-two thousand a year. Vacation, medical, other benefits.”

“Just like that. A job.”

Carl smiled. “We’re kinda circumventing the normal process. Normally there’d be internal postings, maybe interviews, and if there were no internal candidates, we’d post it for outside applicants, and then we’d go through that whole tedious process again. Weeks...”

“And Gabby’s given us a couple of weeks’ notice. Says she’ll train...” Pete said.

“Well...”

“Okay,” Carl said, “Let’s get kind of personal. You ‘n John...”

My antennae went up. “Okay...”

“You two are serious?” Pete asked.

“Yes.”

“Not married yet, though...”

“No. Got the license yesterday. We’re planning...”

Carl shook his head. “Do what you want, but we have a nepotism policy...”

“Which means we don’t know a thing about you and John, other than you know each other...” Pete inserted.

“So your marriage a week after you hire on, it’s a complete surprise...” Carl finished. He pushed a sheet of paper across the table. “Official offer letter.”

“When do you need an answer?”

“Sooner is better,” Pete said.

“John’s in his office?”

“Probably.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“How long?” Carl asked.

“Dunno. This is kinda momentous.”

“Gut feel,” Carl asked. “Yes or no?”

“I’m inclined to accept. I’ll let you know no later than tomorrow morning.”

“Great!”

“But ... no questions about qualifications and stuff?”

Pete laughed. “You haven’t done this before. You know spreadsheets and word processing, that tells me you’re computer literate. The rest? Gabby’ll teach you while they’re getting ready to move back to the north end of the state.”

“Okay. Lemme go talk to John. Thanks for the opportunity.”

John was in his office looking over a code book when I stepped. “Baby, we need to talk.”

“Oh? About what?”

“D’ya have your heart set on marryin’ a college girl?”

“The idea intrigued me,” he smiled. “Why?”

“You know Gabby’s leaving?”

“I’d heard.”

“They want me to replace ‘er.”

“It’s an office job. Mostly bean-counter stuff. I couldn’t do it.”

“I think I can.”

“What about college?”

I sighed. “I dunno, John ... people can live lives without going to college. I didn’t really have a career plan based on a degree in biology...”

“You don’t NEED a career. I have a career.”

“We’ve had this talk,” I stated. “Don’t get all sexist on me with your tired old role models...” Yeah, I can do ‘social justice’. I’ve been around a lot of them.

“Do you WANT to try this?”