Chapter 2

“I feel ya Tree.” Otis said sympathetically. He belched as he pulled another cigarette from the breast pocket of his worn and greasy coveralls. “And I’m happy as hell to go wit ya and the boy this weekend. Where we goin anyway? Out by the lake? Shur could use a couple hours fishin on the shore yessiree.” He paused long enough to light his cigarette, take a long drag and exhale with a rush.

Chad sat beside his old friend and drank slowly from his can of beer as he pondered his life. They sat out back of the garage that Otis had started up nearly 20 years ago. Chad, being a certified diesel mechanic was always happy to lend a hand when his expertise was needed.

It was Thursday evening and they had wrapped up Billy’s birthday party several hours ago. Eager to get out of the house and away from his bitter and dysfunctional family, he headed straight over to Oty’s and spent the last hour bearing his heart and soul to the other man. Despite their difference in age (and race) they were as close as brothers; with Otis being the older by 2 years. Whereas Chad appeared younger than his 37 years, standing tall and strong with the body of a wrestler and steelworker, Otis looked decades older and walked about with a stooped frame and barrel chest from years of tobacco use. His dark skin wrinkled and sagged from his thin body especially beneath his eyes and chin.

After a wracking cough Oty hocked and spat a phlegm wad before pulling on his smoke once more. “It really ain’t no neva mind ta me see, but the missus an I has been watchin and wonderin about some of the goings on ova yonda at yer place lately.” He spat again and continued like he was discussing the weather. “Yessir a trip to that lake sounds mighty fine to me. An we bringin that young’un a yours too?”

Chad let his comments sink in as he nodded his head solemnly.

“Ya hear about that damn Lah-to-ree Tree? They says that three differen folk won that pile o cash! And so far only twos made claim to it.” He shook his head in wonder as he grabbed a beer, handed it to Chad, then grabbed another for himself. “How much ya think they all got when alls settled with taxation and such?”

Chad grunted and popped his beer. “Dunno. How much was the pot?” He took a long drink.

“680 sum Mil-ee-un dollah.”

Choking as he swallowed sent beer foam shooting out Chads nose which caused Otis to cackle.

“Holy shit!” Chad gasped as he recovered from his burning sinuses. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he laughed at his own antics. “Goddam Oty! That’s... 225 million each. Minus what ... Say 25%? That’s still about 170 fuckin million.” He shook his head in wonder.

“Whowee!” Otis cried rocking back in his chair.

“What’d you and the misus notice about my place Oty?”

With a tired sigh the skinny black man lowered his chair back to the ground and fished out another cigarette. “Well, it jus seems like as soon as you head on off to the fields to earn your keep, that there Frank fella shows right up at yer door and makes hisself at home.”

A cold chill settled over Chad’s huge shoulders as he digested his friends’ words. “Ya don’t say?” He muttered under his breath. Otis heard him and nodded.

“Yessir. An if’n it ain’t him showin up at yer door—it’s yer missus headin out fer days at a time with all the kiddos in tow. She’ll leave word wit me or Bea ta come over an feed Gunner and let him out a few times a day.” He stubbed out the cigarette and finished his beer. “Ain’t mine ta say boy, but sure smells rotten if ya know what I mean.”

“Smells like what Oty?” Part of his mind denied the innuendo as just coincidence. But he knew.

“Well with ya gone all that time and Franky boy havin all tha money from his poor dead wife—God rest her soul.” Otis’ eyes opened wider suddenly, the white part showing a yellowish tint. He looked uncomfortable as he sat beside his friend. “Like I said it ain’t mine ta say.” He swallowed nervously. “But it sure has the feel of yer woman hangin with a new sugar daddy.”

It was getting dark but the moisture on his cheeks reflected the failing light as Chad slowly lowered his chin to his chest and let the dreadful feelings wash over him. With a grunt he rose from the chair and turned away from his friend.

“I best be getting back home.”

Running off and joining the Navy had caused no small amount of grief for Chad from his and Molly’s families. His dad pretty much disowned him for ‘abandoning the farm’ and—even though she supported him as always, his mom became sad and lonely. Molly and he had discussed their future and she excited about the steady income, housing (once they married) and free health care. But she cried piteously as she saw him off on the bus to Great Lakes where he would go to boot camp.

Basic training was intended to break down a man (or woman) and build them back up into a better, smarter, more disciplined sailor—ready to go out and defend their country against tyranny and evil. Compared to the long hours and physical demands of the farm Chad considered Basic a cake walk. It amazed him some guys actually failed to make the grade and were washed out early. He learned quickly how to follow orders and adjust to the military mind set. In 9 weeks, he literally ‘sailed’ through boot camp. With nothing to spend money on he was able to save enough for Molly, her sister, and his mom to make the trip and participate in his graduation. Seconds after being dismissed to his very first liberty he found himself catching a squealing black-haired beauty who caught the gaze of every man (attached or otherwise) on the compound.

After Boot Camp he reported directly to Basic Engineering Common Core school where he spent 14 weeks learning his new trade as a diesel engine mechanic. Halfway through the course he was allowed 12 days liberty during the Christmas holiday. He stopped by his hometown just long enough to collect his fiancé and headed to Vegas for their wedding. Upon graduation and earning his rating (ECC) he was ordered to San Diego where they moved into base housing, and he joined the crew of his first ship.

8 months later their first child Bethany Jordan Hartley was born at Balboa Naval Hospital. She shared her mother’s raven hair and crystal blue eyes and filled the hearts of her parents with joy. 3 months later, with work-ups complete, Chad departed on his first at-sea deployment. Originally scheduled for 6 months, their tour extended twice, and he didn’t return to his home port until 9 months later. Many things happened during that fateful deployment. The Hartley Christmas was absent a father. As heart wrenching as it was, it paled compared to his missing the birth of William Radcliff Hartley. The timing must’ve been perfect for them. While breast feeding their daughter, it seemed unlikely that Molly would ovulate again for a while. They were wrong and Billy was born in July, also at Balboa Naval Hospital; and he too sported his mother’s ebony locks and crystal blue eyes. On the plus side Chad was meritoriously promoted to E5 for outstanding performance during his first ‘WestPac’. The money was good and upon his return he enjoyed 30 full days of Leave. Returning home to Iowa was bittersweet. Bitter for Chad but sweet for his wife and two children who were well received by both their parents and all their friends. Frankly, he felt suffocated by all the attention and couldn’t wait to get back to the fleet and on with his career.

It was early Friday morning when Chad woke up on the couch, Gunner sprawled across his legs. He had slept in the clothes he wore home, not even bothering to go up to the Master bedroom and change. Instead, he just kicked off his boots and lay back on the sofa. God knows he had slept in worse places; berthing aboard ship came to his mind with a grunt. Nobody was awake yet, so he let Gunner out back to take care of business while he filled his dish with kibbles and started a pot of coffee. Quietly going upstairs, he gingerly retrieved some clean cloths then retreated to the main level where he showered in the guest room.

He decided to keep to himself today and consider his situation. Just as the rest of the family began stirring, he headed out to his truck, letting Gunner claim shot gun, as he started it up and headed out to the Truckstop for breakfast. 10 minutes into his trip he heard his cellphone buzzing in the glove box. He ignored it and turned up the radio. Rolling down the windows drowned out further interruptions but drew a few stares from other motorists, who happened to glance up and find themselves staring into the drooling face of a huge German rottweiler.