Chapter 6: Going Home

Leaving the Wilderness Park and Tawnee Stone does nothing positive for my shitty mood. This morning, the sky is heavily overcast with dark, ominous clouds. A thick fog makes my old weary bones feel the cold; then while loading the last of my equipment into my trailer, it seems the whole sky opens up and dumps. The downpour is so heavy there are times I can’t see across the road. Drenched to the bone, the defrosters are on full attempting to clear the windows; I am finally on my way.

Evidence of the heavy rain can be seen along the trail. On numerous occasions, I have to drive around boulders, some uprooted trees and mud slides. Fortunately, the Avalanche has four-wheel drive that is engaged to ensure a safe trip to the main road. The rear view mirrors provide a panorama of rocks and mud being tossed from the tires as they seek something solid to grip. It seems to take forever to get enough heat in the cab to take the damp chill out of my old body. My clothes are still damp, but are drying. Now on the highway, my priority is to find somewhere to change and maybe a hot shower. Finally, after driving over one hundred miles, a very large truck stop appears. The parking lot is full. It is a very busy place.

A large sign on the entrance door advertises hot showers for the truckers for seven dollars. The clerk takes my request and advises me there are four drivers waiting and then she suggests I take advantage of their fine dinning room. A quick trip back to the truck for my bag, I slide into the coffee shop and wait for the number twenty-nine to be called. A quick gaze around has me zeroing in on a family consisting of a mom and dad and two young daughters. The girls have to be in the twelve to thirteen age groups, both are sporting long blond manes. Sipping coffee, my imagination goes to work. Just as everything in my mind is going my way, the PA system crackles “Twenty-nine, your shower is available”. Locating the room, I enjoy a long hot shower. Now warm and in clean dry clothes, my mood slowly starts to improve. A map of the state hanging on the wall gets my attention. Shit, my hometown is less then three hundred miles from here. I hadn’t thought about visiting or attempting to find my siblings, but since it is so close, hell it wouldn’t hurt to look.

A little about myself, I am forty-nine and never married. My name is Matthew Rogers. Early in my checkered life, I got hung with the moniker ‘Mats’ and the crazy thing is, I can’t remember why. My parents were what are commonly known as ‘white trash’. Leaving home as a smart assed teenager, they likely celebrated because it meant one less mouth to feed. I have no idea if they are still alive; being this close, maybe I will attempt to locate my four sisters.

As a loner, you learn to fend for yourself very quickly. Currently, I am an engineer, very proficient in my profession and with my natural ability in the oil fields; it has kept me in demand. I learn early to keep to myself and stay out of trouble is the best course. My employer, under duress, agreed to give me a six-month leave of absence. It was either that or seek a replacement for me. He quickly agreed to a leave.

The trip to Evansville takes nearly seven hours with the weather and the heavy traffic. The majority of the road is only two lanes and with the volume of traffic and so few places to pass the average speed is less then fifty miles an hour. There are so many cars and trucks pulling boats and numerous travel trailers.

Evansville has changed drastically. The town limits have been extended. Large buildings and businesses are where the old baseball field used to be. Hell, there are even traffic lights. Finally, there are a few sights I actually recognize. The Kroger’s is at the same location, but it is a new, large building. It is approximately three miles from the trailer park, assuming it still exists. There is a strong rippling going through my stomach as I make the final turn. The trailer park is still here. Turning in, I slowly drive to the back area. Surprisingly, my parent’s trailer is still standing. It takes me nearly twenty minute to get up the courage to get out and walk to the door and knock.

It seems like an eternity before the door opens. It is very young girl.

“Sorry to bother you, but I am trying to locate Mr. and Mrs. Rogers.”

“Hang on.”

The young lady turns and yells to her mother.

“Mom, someone is looking for the Rogers.”

An older woman comes to the door.

“You are looking for the Rogers? Why?”

“I am their son. This was their home many years ago.”

“I had to ask. We purchased this unit from the bank over a year ago after your mother passed away. Your dad died over four years ago. I knew your mother from bingo.”

“Yes. Mom loved her bingo. What about my sisters?”

“I think Ann is living in one of the apartments over the pool hall. Alice died recently, her children are in the care of the Children’s Service on Beale Street and the other two, your sisters moved from the area but I have no idea where they are now.”

“Do you know how Alice died? What children? I haven’t been back here for over twenty years.”

“I hate to be the one telling you this, but she died of an overdose. She had two daughters that are real hellions. Your sister wasn’t a very good mother.”

“My sisters were always wild, so was I. But when you have to support yourself, things change.”

“Well for most of us, we grow up. A couple of your sisters didn’t.”

“Is there a father for the girls?”

“To be honest, I don’t think your sister knew who the fathers were if you know what I mean.”

“All too well, thank you for talking with me.”

“Sorry we had to be the bearer of the bad news.”

After leaving the park, I find a coffee shop. What to do? First I will attempt to find Ann. The apartments above the pool hall had the reputation of being where you looked if you wanted some action. Long ago as a teen, a group of my buddies and me arranged a visit with one of the girls. We all developed the gift that keeps on giving shortly after enjoying that evening. Thank goodness for Penicillin.

The steps leading up to the second floor are worn and filthy. The stench of urine hits me. There are only four apartments. Knocking on the first one, gets finger pointed to the apartment down the hall when I asked for Ann Rogers.

The door opens on the second knock and is answered by a dredge of a woman. After asking for my Ann, she points to a sorry state of a woman lying on a sofa that has seen better days. She looks up and sees me at the door with absolutely no recognition. Her eyes are glassy.

“Hey buddy, if you are looking for a good time, you came to the right place.”

Ann really doesn’t recognize me. There are needle tracks up and down both arms. She tries to stand, but is so far out of it, she can’t. When she does move, her top moves upward, exposing her belly button and the birthmark beside it. As a child, we teased her continually about having two belly buttons. This sad excuse of a woman is my sister. Turning, I quickly leave the building.

It is getting late. My plan is to find a motel, drop off the trailer and drive to Beale Street to locate Children Services. A Motel Six is happy to have me stay and suggests I park the trailer in the rear. Locating spot beside a very large tree, a heavy chain wrapped around said tree and trailer then locked makes sure it will be there in the morning. After locating the office building for my visit tomorrow, I find a restaurant and have a relaxing dinner. All the information that has been dumped on me runs through my mind. The only concern I have is about my nieces whose existence is a big surprise to me. What can I do for them? A father figure, I am not.

The next morning I am at the reception desk. The place is unorganized confusion, finally someone acknowledges me standing there.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, please. Can I talk to someone in regards to the Alice Rogers children?”

“And what is your interest in them?”

The look on her face is one of disgust, like she is looking at a piece of dog turd. Where do they get these people? There is no reason for her reaction.

“I am Alice Rogers’s brother, their uncle.”

Her look changes from disgust to curiosity.

“You have proof you are her brother?”

I hand her my birth certificate and my driver’s license. There are other documents available, but not at my fingertips. She looks at them and at me to see if the picture matches, then dials a number.

“Sherry, I have a Mr. Rogers out here, Alice’s Rogers’s brother.”

She hangs up.

“Miss Granger will be right out. She is your nieces’ case worker.”

A matronly woman comes down the hall with her hand outstretched.

“Mr. Rogers?”

“Yes.”

“Please follow me.”

She leads me to an office in the interior of the building. Every available spot is covered with a pile of manila file folders. She waves me to a chair and closes the door. At the desks she ruffles through more files and grabs a very thick one. She seems to review some of the information then shakes her head.

“Mr. Rogers, your nieces have been on file with us since they were old enough to get into trouble. I hate to say this, but your sister should never have had children. In both cases, we have no idea who the father’s are, and truthfully, I don’t think your sister knew. She was quite the party animal.”

“What about the girls? Having nieces is a surprise to me, I just learned about them yesterday. I have been in Texas for the last fifteen years.”

“Well, both girls are healthy, that is the only good thing I can say about them. I am not going to beat around the bush with you. They are undisciplined, obnoxious hellions. They have already wreaked two rooms in the temporary care unit. They will likely end up in a secure institution.”

“Institution?”

“A facility for unruly girls.”

“A prison?”

“It has been described as such.”

“And you think that will help them? How old are they anyway?”

“No, it won’t, but we have no alternative. They are not what you would call the ideal subjects for adoption. Tracy is eleven and Rebecca is twelve, both are going on fifty in attitude.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Miss Granger looked at me with a ‘you got to be kidding’ look on her face, started to comment, but stopped herself. She muses for a moment, and then looks at me again.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Rogers?”

“I am an engineer for an oil drilling firm in Texas.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Mr. Rogers, you are a bachelor, you work in the oil fields, how do you purpose to even attempt to give guidance to those two? We have had experienced foster parents interview them. Not one of them even offered to accept them, even on a trial basis and these are people experienced in handling difficult children. Your nieces are in a category of their own. That will give you some idea of the problems. I have to do what is best for the children and right now, that is to get some sort of discipline. Our ideal, of course, is to place them with family. I was only able to locate your sister Ann. Have you seen her since you came back.”

Nodding my head affirmative, Miss Granger facial expression turns to disgust.

“She certainly couldn’t take care of anyone.”

“Can I see them?”

“I don’t think that will be a problem, but please don’t give them any false hope that you can help them.”

She looks at a tattered appointment book, scribbles in an opening, and then looks up.

“I have an opening in our interview room for three-thirty. If you can come back then, you will be able to see them.”

“I will be here. Thank you for talking to me.”

“Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but this is what it is like every day. I have a caseload of nearly seventy hard-to-place children. Your nieces’ situation is rather mild to some of my charges.”

Leaving with much to think about, I find a small restaurant and order breakfast. In my heart, I know there is no way I can leave kin in that environment, not at their age. Ann is a different story, she made her choice and she will die early from her decision. I wonder if my sisters, Amber and Ashley, broke the cycle of stupidity. It appears that leaving home at seventeen and having to survive bodes well.

A trip to the Evansville Gazette gives me an opportunity to search their morgue. Everything is computerized with a search engine. Alice’s story is short and to the point. She died after a night of drugs, leaving two daughters and is described as a single-mother. Ann’s name shows up twice more, both times being arrested for prostitution. There is nothing recorded about my other two sisters. Dad and Mom’s obituaries are well documented, in both they mention me as a son. Whoever placed them, must have known about the family, perhaps the newspaper keeps a record. It is worth a try. Returning to reception, I inquire.

“Excuse me, but do you keep a record of the people who file the obituaries?”

“Yes we do. Why do you ask?”

“Well, my parents past away while I was working away from the area, it would be nice to thank the person responsible.”

She gives me a look of sympathy and asks me the surname and given names, which she enters on the screen. There is a whirl, and then the screen fills with text. On a small pad, she writes what appears to be a name and address, and then hands it to me.

“Thank you.”

The name is Evelyn Gleason. The street is a mystery. It is too close to my appointment with the girls to go running around looking. It is shortly after three when I return to the agency office. After telling the receptionist the reason for my visit, she asks me too wait. Just in the middle of an interesting article on parenting, Mrs. Granger calls me.

“We have them in the interview room. Don’t be surprised at anything they say. Their social skills are very lacking, but their knowledge of every curse word isn’t. We have yet to determine what school, if any, they have attended. Both are very hostile most of the time. Good luck.”

Standing before the door with butterflies in my stomach, my first thought is Mrs. Granger is exaggerating, how wrong that opinion is. Knocking, I enter. Two sets of eyes look at me with fire dancing. Both are dressed in slut-like clothing that looks like it two sizes too small. One is a striking red head, the other has black hair with ghostly white skin, and my first thought is they both have dyed their hair. The red head is the first too speak.

“Who, the fuck are you? You look like some kind of freak.”

“He really looks like an asshole, doesn’t he?”

“Are you girls finished?”

“No, we just started. Are you another one of those jerk-off psychologists here to pick our brains?”

“From what I have seen and heard so far, it would only take a second to pick your tiny brains, so I really don’t think anyone is going to waste a professional’s time on you two.”

The look of shock on both of their faces is priceless. They certainly weren’t expecting anything like that from a social worker.

“If you girls are finished shooting off your filthy mouths, we can talk. Are you?”

Both nod yes. For the next few seconds, I appraise their young bodies and faces. Both are built, displaying ample breasts, shapely hips and long legs. If someone would scrap the hooker makeup from their young faces, I wouldn’t be surprised they are actually as attractive as their mother certainly was. Their long hair looks like it is home to all sorts of creepy crawlies and needs to be soaked in disinfectant and then shampooed many times. They smell rank of very cheap perfume.

“I am your uncle, Mathew Rogers.”

They look at me, then at each other. It takes a moment for this revelation to sink in. They study me like a bug. This time, the black hair one speaks.

“Bullshit, Mom told us you died years ago. You are a pervert.”

“Well, I am your uncle. After learning about your situation and that you had been placed here, I wondered if I could possible help. However, after your wondrous welcome, I can see you are happy to be a ward of the state. I certainly hope you enjoy prison.”

“Prison, what prison?”

“Your case worker advised me that you will be placed in a facility for incorrigible children, which you both certainly are. You will be released when you are eighteen. Maybe you can pick up your life and be like your mother. She really set an example. Do you really want to end up in a morgue after an overdose? If you have children, do you want them to end up like this? Think about it. I have to go now, but I will be back in two days. If your attitude hasn’t changed, I will bid you both goodbye and be on my way back to Texas.”

Before they could speak, I leave the room. Hell, it is the hardest thing I have done in my life. The problem of course is what can I actually do to help? My job certainly isn’t one that gives me an opportunity to be a substitute father, being in the oil fields for months at a time. Weekends wouldn’t be a problem as most are off days, but it wouldn’t be enough. The girls need constant supervision and lots of love. Now the love part, I could likely handle.

The motel is more than happy to extend my stay for as long as possible. There are plenty of vacancies. After buying a map of the city, I set out to find the person responsible for placing the obituaries. The address turns out to be a small apartment building on the north side. Finding Evelyn Gleason’s name on the third floor, apartment seven, I push the buzzer. The door opener zings and the latch released. The building maintenance is a far cry better then where my sister lives. The stairwells are shining, everything is clean and the halls well lit. Once on the third floor, I locate the apartment and knock. A well-groomed woman answers. She looks at me wondering.

“Can I help you?”

“I certainly hope you can. My name is Mathew Rogers.”

“You must be Dot and John’s son. Come in.”

“Thank you. I didn’t know my parents had passed away. We weren’t close and I haven’t been in Evansville for over twenty years. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the family and my nieces, Tracy and Rebecca.”

“I take it you know about Alice and Ann?”

“Yes.”

“Your sisters, Amber and Ashley, left the city nearly three years ago. All I know is they had a job offers in a small town in Maine. Riley, I think. They have never come back and your mom never mentioned anything about them. They weren’t here for your parent’s funeral.”

“Neither was I.”

“How are Alice’s girls, Tracy and Rebecca?”

“They are wards of the court; I saw them yesterday and plan to see them again tomorrow. How do you know them?”

“Well, I often babysat for your sister. Actually, I am the only one I know of they seem to respect. They are both a handful. I wish I could help. Both have had a very hard go of life so far, your sister certainly wasn’t any guiding influence on either of them.”

“Would you happen to know either of their fathers?”

“Even Alice didn’t know that, I am sorry to say.”

“You mentioned you would like to help if possible. Would you look after them?”

“In a heartbeat, if I had the room and the resources. I live on a small disability pension and just make ends meet. My husband died in an industrial accident. I can’t work myself because of my knees and have great difficulty standing or walking for any extended time. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, there might be something they can do to ease the pain and give me back some mobility.”

“Well, you have been a fountain of information. How did you know my parents?”

“Bingo. It is a passion of mine when I have a bit of extra money. Your mom and I sat together. Your Dad would pick us up after the Bingo and we often would go for coffee. I felt a great loss when you mom died.”

“Well, thank you for placing the obituaries. I will be happy to reimburse you any cost you might have incurred.”

“Oh no, it was the least I could do for a good friend.”

Before leaving, Evelyn gives me her phone number and asks me to call about the two girls. She has an honest concern about them. Maybe she can help. Money for me is no object, as I will never spend what I have accumulated at this point and it is still flowing into investments. The problem is space. I need a house or a large apartment in a good neighborhood. A call to my accountant in Texas may help. Back at the motel, I place the call. After going through his receptionist, Gary Stokes comes on the line.

“Hi stranger, where the hell are you? I have been trying to get in touch with you.”

“I am in Evansville, my home town, although it is not a town any longer.”

“Well, you have a surplus of funds from the rents collected. I wanted your permission to invest them in more real estate. Why did you call me anyway? Are you in trouble?”

“Hell no, but I wanted some advice, I need a large house or apartment in Evansville to try and help my nieces. I don’t know if this will come together, but if it does, I need someplace for them to live.”

“Where are they now?”

“Wards of the state.”

“Not nice. Hang on let me check something.”

“Ok.”

There is a delay and the noise of him shuffling files drifts into the phone line. He calls for his secretary, requesting a file he can’t put his hand on.

“Hang on Mats, I’m still checking. Shit, where is that file?”

“Ok, I am not going anywhere.”

More comment on the other end, more shuffling, and a clunk when he drops the phone.

“You did say you are in Evansville, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought the name was familiar, if you ever read any of the correspondence I have been sending you over the years, you would know that you own three apartment buildings in that town. You approved the purchase of all three of them when that new auto plant opened about three or four years ago.”

“That is why I pay you the big bucks, Gary. What type of buildings are they? What are the addresses and are there any vacancies?”

According to his information, they are all in very good neighborhoods. It seems I picked them up just at the right time. The prior owner wanted cash for all three and all the offers he had received had conditions that he did not want. Mine, through Gary, was cash. Their appreciation in value over that last three years has been over twenty percent. Not a bad return for the money. The rents produce a very good income even after maintenance. The units were in good shape when purchased and have been well maintained. Gary provides me with addresses and the name of the superintendents for all three units.

“You will surprise the shit out of them when you introduce yourself. They have documents from me stating you are the absentee owner. Let me know if I can help.”

“Good, now what do you want from me?”

Gary runs down a slew of suggestions for the excess funds in my investment account. It seems that it grows substantially every month, and if not invested properly, Uncle Sam will get most of it. I approve his suggestions, but have him keep twenty thousand in the account. After explaining the situation here, he tells me it is all write-offs, if I can arrange it.

All three properties are within three blocks of each other according to the map. The first one is an impressive building of twelve floors. The front of the building has a very large, well-maintained, green area with trees and benches for the tenants. The streets are clean and the surrounding area properties show pride of ownership.

The superintendent is a bit terse towards me after I identify myself, and after suggesting he look at who is responsible for his paycheck, he is a lot more obliging. There are two vacancies but they are only two bedroom units.

The second unit is smaller, only four floors. It is an older building, but again, well maintained. There is one vacancy on the fourth floor, a six-room apartment, three bedrooms, a kitchen and a dining room, a large living room and three bathes, just what the doctor ordered. When I tell the super not to rent it until he hears from me, he asks for a deposit. When I suggest I really don’t need a deposit for my own building, he falters and turns beet red.

“You are Mr. Mathew Rogers?”

“In the flesh.”

“I am sorry sir, but I didn’t know. I got a call from Mr. Stokes today saying you’re in the area.”

“No need to be sorry, we hadn’t met before. Now please tell me how close the amenities are to the building.”

“There is an excellent middle school you have been supporting since you bought the building two blocks from here, as well as a two year old high school three blocks to the north. There are two large malls within walking distance from the building. The bus stops on the corner.”

“Crime?”

“There is very little in this area, most residences are upper middle class. We have a security service for the building.”

“Sounds like what I am looking for.”

“Are you planning to move in?”

“No, but perhaps a relation of mine will be. I will let you know within a week.”

Back at the motel, I call Evelyn Gleason.

“Ms. Gleason, its Mats Rogers. Yesterday, you mentioned you would like to help my nieces. Did you really mean that?”

“Of course, I don’t want to see them go to waste like their mom. They are good girls underneath all that bluster.”

“Do you know if they ever went to school?”

“I know they started, but whether they went all the time is another story.”

“What if I was to arrange a large apartment for you and provide you with funds to take care of girls, could you handle that considering your physical limitations?”

“The challenge would do me good. It would give me something to focus on and give me a purpose. Here, sometimes I feel sorry for myself and that is not good.”

“Thank you. I am working on a plan. I will call you in a day or so to let you know my progress.”

Today is my second visit to the two hellions. Perhaps two days of contemplating prison has had a sobering effect on my two nieces. Mrs. Granger meets me in reception.

“It is good to see you, Mr. Rogers. I thought maybe you wouldn’t show after seeing the girls. They can be a bit overbearing.”

“They do lack discipline, that is for sure, but they are young girls and there has to be some hope for them. They are on the defensive because of the environment they have been brought up in. I may have a solution.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I have a woman that is willing to be my housekeeper and she knows the girls, actually she used to care for them for my sister.”

“You have to be talking about Mrs. Evelyn Gleason. She came forward to help when your sister died, but she doesn’t have the resources.”

“Did the agency check her background?”

“That is confidential information, Mr. Rogers.”

“Well, let me put it another way. If she had had the resources, would the agency have approved her as a caretaker for the children?”

“Yes.”

“Good. May I see the children?”

“Of course, they have been waiting for your visit. For the last two days they have been actually human. I don’t know what you said to them but they have actually been well behaved.”

Tracy and Rebecca are both sitting when I open the door. They are devoid of makeup and have very refreshing faces, beautiful actually. Their hair has been shampooed and is shining. There is no evidence of that horrible perfume they had doused themselves in prior to the last visit.

“Hello girls. Have you thought over what I said?”

Neither of them answers, they both look at me. The clothes they are wearing are of similar fashion as last time. Perhaps that is the only clothes that they own. The next few minutes will have a very big influence on the rest of their lives. Not wanting to push them, we both size up each other. Both girls are sexually appealing, their young bodies ripening to womanhood. Under better circumstances, they would be girls that I would enjoy as more than an uncle. What the hell am I thinking? Here are two young girls that apparently haven’t had a chance in life and all I think of is getting between their lovely preteen legs.

“So, what is your choice? You want to say here and be shipped off to a facility and end up like your mother or aunt or would you like to get an education and make something of yourselves? The choice is yours.”

Again, we stare at each other. The girls go into a huddle and whisper to each other. Now that their hair is clean, it flows like silk. Shit, here I go off on a tangent. Finally, Rebecca speaks.

“Just what can you do for us? Lots of foster people have talked with us and didn’t do anything.”

“Well, I have the resources to change your lives and make things a bit easier for you. If you decide to accept my offer, there will be rules to follow. The first time you break the rules, you will find yourself back here.”

“What sort of rules?”

“For starters, no drinking, smoking or drugs and you must attend school until you are eighteen or older. You must do well in school. Funds will be available to give you every opportunity to become educated and self sufficient.”