Chapter 27: Friends, acquaintances, and lovers

Before leaving for the homeless shelter, I accessed the checking account I'd set up for Heather. To my surprise, the balance was only one hundred and seventy-two dollars. According to my calculations, she should have five hundred in the account after taking care of the start-up essentials I'd outlined. As I perused the amounts, it appeared that they conformed to the estimates I'd made, except one.

I had several questions: What the fuck was the expenditure of four hundred and twenty-two dollars to a sign company? Had Heather defied Zack by replacing the sign that read 'Marie's' with one that read 'Heather's'? How long had she been open? Why were there no deposits to the account? And finally, did she know that she was in danger of overdrawing the account?

I told myself not to act hastily. If I called Heather with these questions, she would know that I was spying on her. Perhaps there was a logical explanation for the sign and the lack of deposits. I would wait a few days before taking action. At least the bookkeeper was paying the bills promptly.

In the meantime, I sent another check to the bank, which I mailed on my way to the shelter, along with a note to Ms. Bunting, asking her to open a backup account.

The questions regarding the checking account were already gnawing at me. Finding a strange van backed into my parking place really set me off. I pulled in behind the van, blocking it from exiting until I found out who the idiot was that had taken my space.

"Hi, Sammy, want to give me a hand with this oven?" Roland Wood asked. That's when I saw the name on the side of the van, 'Kenwood Restaurant Supply' and recalled that Roland had hosted the last meeting of the Reapers.

We carried the oven inside, and then went back out to the van to carry in boxes of breadstuffs that, according to Roland, were ready to be baked in the oven. He was explaining the operation of the oven to Floyd when I decided to lock the gate. Roland stopped me.

"Wait up, Sammy; I'll be leaving as soon as I show Floyd how the oven works."

When I looked at Roland, I saw a rich kid who had been pampered all his life. I also saw an opportunist. He'd seen the publicity the Reapers had received recently, and joined for the same reasons as many of the other members. If that was the case, I had a real problem with him.

"It doesn't work that way. You can't just make a donation and take off. We're committed to becoming involved, and that means devoting your time and talent. Stick around; maybe you'll see some things you can share with your rich friends."

Roland was about the same height and weight as me, with dark curly hair, eyes to match, and a baby face. In that brief time that we stared into each other's eyes, I would have guessed that he had soft hands, had never pulled weeds or worked in the mailroom at his family's company.

From the way Floyd was looking at us, first me, then Roland, I could see that I was making him nervous.

Roland's grin caught me off guard. "Okay, I'll be glad to stay," he said, still grinning as he went back to showing Floyd how the oven worked. They soon had it loaded with loaves of French bread and the aroma brought occupants from the second floor.

Floyd put me to work ladling turkey soup into bowls, which we served with thick slices of warm bread. There was plenty of soup to give second helpings to anyone that wanted one, and Roland kept the bread coming.

I was helping a little girl spread butter on her bread when Roland came into the dining room carrying a tray with two bowls of soup and a half loaf of bread.

"It's time to take a break, Sammy," he said, motioning to one of the tables.

I sat across the table and watched him slice the bread. We ate the soup and bread for a few minutes before he spoke. "I heard you attended Cromwell. I'm a Dearborn man myself."

This was a surprise. I couldn't picture him wearing a uniform and conforming to the strict demands of a military academy. He was too mild mannered to fit the mold.

"Don't tell me you were in the band that played Waltzing Matilda every time your team scored?"

He laughed and shook his head. "I was on the wrestling team, but I remember how you guys hated hearing that song."

"We didn't have wrestling at C.M.A. If you didn't play football you were in the band and..." I paused to make sure the ladies and children were out of earshot. "I still get pissed when I hear that fucking song."

He laughed again. We finished our soup and continued to talk about the rivalry between the two schools, the post game dances, and some of the funny things we remembered. Roland was two years ahead of me, and like me, had been the executive officer his senior year.

I was curious about his family's business, and he didn't mind sharing his father's philosophy. "He believes in owning a share of our suppliers. That way, we get the best pricing and priority service. For instance, we have a stake in the company that manufactures the oven and the bakery that supplies the baked goods. Same goes for our meat and produce suppliers."

Roland stopped talking when a young girl dropped her baby in my lap. "Make yourself useful, Mr. Oldham."

I didn't know the young lady, nor could I remember seeing her before. She couldn't have weighed over one hundred pounds, and looked too young to have a baby. "We're cleaning the tables," she said, as she joined another lady who was wiping down one of the tables.

Roland was as stunned as the baby and me. All three of us watched the two women work to get the dining room ready for the breakfast meal.

"Have you ever held a baby?" I asked, hoping he could give me a hint as to what I should do.

He shook his head, like he was afraid that the sound of his voice would frighten the child. The baby seemed satisfied to sit in my lap and watch its mother. Once I was sure the kid wasn't going

to cry, I began telling Roland about my family's business. He listened intently, but didn't ask questions.

The baby's mother took our dishes to the kitchen and came back to collect her baby. "Thank you, Mr. Oldham. Her name is Missy and she's six months old."

"Missy is a well mannered young lady," I commented as I relinquished Missy to her mother.

"Do you know if Ms. Macon is coming tonight?" she asked.

I drew a blank. Why would Stephanie Macon come to the shelter on Friday night?

"Sorry, I don't know Ms. Macon's schedule," I said, smiling at her and the baby.

"She's helping me find a place to live. I got kicked out of my parents' home when I was six months pregnant. I've been clean and sober seven months now," she explained.

Roland waited until the girl started up the stairs before he volunteered to help with the toy drive.

"Any night or Saturday morning would be the best for me. We can use one of the company vans. Call me," he said, sliding a business card across the table.

I was about the give him one of my cards when I noticed that he had written his cell and home numbers on the back of the card.

"That's great," I said, adding my cell and home numbers to my card. I guess I was warming to Roland. At least I liked his attitude.

Ruth came into the dining room, remarking how much everyone had enjoyed the bread. I asked her about the girl with the baby.

"Her name is Beth. Our confidentially rule restricts me from saying more, except to tell you that she's gone through a rough time."

"Is Stephanie Macon really helping her find a place to live?"

"She's helping several of the ladies find their way," Ruth answered without being specific as to the help Stephanie was providing.

Ruth commented again about the bread, and Roland promised to add their cookie and brownie mix the next time he brought bread to be baked. We said goodnight to Floyd and Ruth and walked out together.

Roland's handshake was firm as we said goodbye, making me cancel the thought that he had soft hands.

Karen called to tell me about having Thanksgiving dinner with Gary and his kids.

"His sister was there. She says she knows you."

"Half sister," I corrected her. "We're members of a group that does charity work. That's how I know her."

"We talked about getting together for dinner. Would Friday be convenient for you?"

"You must remember that Friday is my night at the shelter, and besides, what does getting together for dinner have to do with me?"

"You know, you bring Stephanie and I'll be with Gary. I'd like for you to see how attentive he is to me. I think he's on the verge of proposing."

"Karen, you've been seeing him on Friday nights for a few months. No guy, especially a thirty-eight year old lawyer, decides that he wants to remarry that fast."

"Saturday night would be okay. Will you do it?"

"I would prefer to do you. How about picking me up? You can play my piccolo."

"Sammy, you're impossible. I'm still feeling the effects of Wednesday night. Your piccolo felt more like a French horn."

I laughed, and heard her say goodbye without making definite arrangements to have dinner.

On Sunday, I told Marcie about Roland being a Dearborn graduate. "He's easy going; I wish I could let things slide off my back the way he does."

"Maybe his trait will rub off on you," she suggested.

"Not me, I could never do that."

"I'm glad you've found a guy friend. It sounds like you have a lot in common."

"Not so fast. We have very little in common. He was a wrestler and I suspect he's a virgin."

"Oldham, what made you jump to that conclusion?"

"He was outgoing and at ease when he was telling me about his family's business, but the mere appearance of a young lady and her baby completely unnerved him. He fell silent from the time the girl dumped her kid in my lap until she left the dining room. I think he's..."

"Wait! Dumped her kid in your lap? Tell me about that."

"It was nothing. She was helping to clean the tables, and my lap was free at the time. Don't read more into it."

Marcie gave up trying to learn more about the baby being dumped in my lap, but I was sure she would want to hear more the next time we talked.

The travelers didn't return from Florida until Monday night, which left me in charge of the company for another day. Wanda and I worked on the announcement to the investors regarding the Chicago building, but we didn't mail it because I wanted John to see it first.

On Tuesday, I got a call from the pre-school, wanting me to stop by for a meeting.

Well, Shit! What had the kid done? Was it because he was absent on Monday? No, that was not the case. They would want to see Ned or Penelope too, because Samantha hadn't attended class either.

I met with the owner and she called Kay Dotson in, explaining that Kay had the most contact with my nephew.

"K.O. will be five years old soon and he's advancing beyond expectations," the school's owner began.

"I've noticed. You've done a splendid job with him," I said, glancing at Kay Dotson, hoping that she would see that I was giving her credit. Was the engagement ring missing from her finger?

"We think he's ready to enter kindergarten, and since the public school has open enrollment for the beginning of January, we will be happy to recommend that he be accepted."

"This is good news, not what I expected at all. Are you sure you're not getting rid of him because he's been unruly?" I asked, and was pleased when Kay responded.

"Not at all, I've enjoyed having K.O. in my class, and I wouldn't recommend that he advance if it were not..."

The owner spoke up. "We think it's a detriment to both K.O. and Samantha for them to be in the same class. You must have noticed how they defer to one another, Mr. Oldham?"

I had to agree that I'd noticed how they consulted the other before answering a simple question. "They get along very well."

"We feel, that in their best interest, they be separated while in school. If you're in agreement, we'll proceed to have K.O. admitted to the public kindergarten. Of course, you'll need to furnish proof that you're his legal guardian."

"That could ... is there a private kindergarten that will accept him?"

"There may be, but the ones we know of do not accept new students at midterm. In any case, they would need the parents' consent for you to enter K.O. in their program. Is that a problem, Mr. Oldham?"

"No, I'll get the proper documentation from my sister. It just seems ... how was I able to enroll K.O. in your class without furnishing such proof that I have the legal right?"

"We're ... let's just say that we are familiar with your father's status in the community. We know that he would not knowingly break the law. Unfortunately, the public schools abide by a stricter set of rules."

I checked Kay's ring finger again before nodding that I understood what I had to do.

Shit! Getting Heather to sign a piece of paper would open up a new set of conditions for her to take advantage of. I called Alice and she said she'd look into the school's requirements for such a situation. When she called back the next day, she had the answer, but she said I would need to have a lawyer in my home state draw it up. I was thanking her when she reminded me that I'd promised to take Brenda on a date.

I took Brenda to the ice cream shop, and it soon became clear that she was prepared to challenge me with some difficult questions.

"You look very nice. I like the way the knee socks accent the pleated skirt," I said, as soon as our hot chocolate arrived.

Brenda scoffed and told me she was wearing the same clothes she'd worn to school. "Do you think I look like my mom or my dad?"

"I've never met your dad, but you have some of your mother's features."

"Ha, you mean I have long legs and tiny boobs, don't you?"

"I wasn't thinking..."

"That's okay, Sammy. Mom told me that you like small boobs."

"She didn't tell you any such thing."

Brenda nodded, knowingly. "She told me everything. She still wears the shirt you gave her."

"If you're talking about the yellow jersey, she gave it to me and I gave it back after I'd worn it a few times."

"I knew that. She gave you the shirt when she was teaching you how to dance; only you didn't dance after you started doing it."

Surely, Alice hadn't told her daughter about those Saturday afternoons when we met in the center cottage on the pretense of her teaching me how to dance. We'd slowly progressed into her teaching me how to treat a woman, and about sex. Brenda was making me uncomfortable, and I was having trouble pretending otherwise.

"I think you've developed a wild imagination since our last date."

Brenda's sinister smile told me that she was wise beyond her years. "I'm going to be a writer. A wild imagination is one of the requirements for a writer," she said, dismissively.

"If you ever write about the yellow shirt, I hope you'll let me see the story before you publish it."

She was too busy finding something in her purse to hear me. "My friends don't believe that I know you. Will you write something so they'll believe me?" she asked, handing me a copy of the photo and newspaper column announcing the Reapers' commitment to help the homeless shelter.

"How's this?," I asked, showing her what I'd written: 'To my friend Brenda, the budding writer, Love, Sammy.'

She thanked me and thanked me again when I took her home. "Don't tell mom about you know what," she said as I hugged her. I could only assume that she'd made up the part about Alice and me 'doing it, ' at least I hoped so.

There were two telephone messages when I got home. I returned Gary's call first.

"Karen said she talked to you about our having dinner," he began.

"That's right, but we didn't make definite plans."

"Do you have Steph's number?"

"Yes, she gave me her business card."

"Call her at home," he said, and proceeded to give me her home number.

What the hell? She was his sister. Why didn't he call her if he wanted her to come to dinner and watch him fawn over Karen? I agreed to call her and we said goodbye.

The other call was from Roland.

"I was going to invite you to see a movie, but it's too late now. How about tomorrow night?" he asked. I agreed to meet him at the ice cream shop at nine, an hour before the last movie was to start.

Sandra Lynch called, wanting to know what was holding up the final agreement on the Chicago building. I told her that I was waiting for approval from the investors, which was fairly close to the truth. All but one, Cynthia Collingsworth, had called or e-mailed to say they were in agreement for me to move ahead with the purchase.

Wanda wanted to know what movie I was going to see and I had to confess that I didn't know. Suzanne was also skeptical about me going out so late on a Thursday night.

"Are you sure you're not meeting that woman someplace?" she asked.

"No, Suz, Roland is a male. I'll have him come in and meet you the next time he invites me to go to a movie."

Roland was already there, parked down the street from the ice cream shop. He got out of an Audi. It was black and looked new. I had to ask the model.

"It's a ninety-four Cabriolet 90 CS," he said, matter-of-factly.

The waitress did a double take when she saw me enter the ice cream shop for the second night in a row. I quickly quelled the comment she was about to make with, "That was only our second date. Her mother makes me bring her home at a respectable hour."