Chapter 2: Getting Settled

Things went along just fine for the first five months. When I looked at my paycheck with all the overtime I was willing to work, I would make over $70K my first year, more than I'd been making in my home town. That gave me a lot of freedom and I kind of hoped I wouldn't have to move if Sharise or the courts didn't find out where I was.

They don't have much of a winter out here in Oregon compared to Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Oh, it got cold and a bit of snow and some wind, but it was a piece of cake compared to anywhere near Lake Michigan. The boys and I kept in touch, and so far they were getting along okay with their mother. It was coming up to the end of the school year and Chuck had his job full-time for the summer as vacation relief. That along with the money I was putting in his account was looking after him and Larry just fine.

In the meantime, Sharise was working full-time at the box plant and was now getting a month of afternoon shifts every second month, from three to midnight. That put a crimp in her social life and the boys said she was forever moaning about not having a personal life any more. There was no sign of the guy Chuck had seen her with.

Along about May, Sharise started putting the squeeze on Chuck about where the money was coming from. I knew that was going to happen sooner or later. The fact that the boys were buying their own clothes and school supplies must have finally clued her in. She's a bit slow on the uptake I figure. Anyway, Chuck had been prepared with the standard answer: Pop was sending them money directly since he didn't trust Sharise not to spend it on herself.

Well, that went over like a turd in a punch bowl. She first off started to try and get them paying room and board. When they refused, she tried to get the bank to put the money in her account, but naturally, they refused. Then she went to a lawyer to see if he could do anything about it, and sure enough, no dice! Now she was really pissed and began to take it out on the boys.

I figured this might happen, so I bought one of those throwaway phones and called her one night.

"Sharise, if you're going to treat the boys bad, I'm going to call social services on you. You won't like that one little bit. You treat them right or I'll scoop them right out from under you. You don't want to hurt your own children. That ain't going to fly with me. You hear me?"

"Go ahead, you asshole. You haven't sent me a single dime in alimony or child support since you left. There's a court order out there on you and when they find you, you're going to jail."

"They aren't going to waste their time trying to find me. In the meantime, I can prove I've been putting more than the court ordered amount of child support in their account so you can't get your thieving hands on it. How do you think the court will take that when it comes out? There's no way in hell I'm going to reward your cheating ass with alimony so long as you can get a job."

"You're just another criminal, Carl. Don't matter what I did, the courts say you gotta pay, so you gotta pay. You want to be on the run for the rest of your life?"

"Here's the bad news, Sharise. I don't give a shit what the court says. I'm not paying you dime one, and if you try and squeeze it out of the boys, I'll use that same court system on you. You think they'll take money away from the boys to give it to you? No chance in hell, woman. No chance at all."

"They're going to catch up to you one day, Carl. Then you'll be sorry. You can't hide forever."

"We'll see about that. In the meantime, you lay off Chuck and Larry or I'll fix it so you're the one that's going to be sorry. All it takes is an anonymous phone call to Family Services and you'll be getting the word real quick."

I'd had about enough of her threats and I hung up without saying anything. She'd been warned and I'd be checking with the boys to make sure she quit giving them a hard time. I figured I had the upper hand, so I wasn't too worried. I was about a month away from earning some vacation time, so if worse came to worst, I could go rescue them using the plan we had talked about when I set up my escape.

I guess Sharise wasn't paying attention when I told her what I'd do if she caused the boys any more trouble. She was trying every trick in the book to get some money out of them, taking to stealing it out of their wallets at night when they were sleeping. It didn't take long for Chuck to let me know what she was doing, even though they had a plan to hide their "walking around money" from her.

I'd had about enough, so I called a lady friend of mine and asked her for a favor. She was worried she might get in trouble, but when I explained that there was a hundred bucks in it for her, she went along with it. She phoned Child Protective Services and said she knew of a family that wasn't treating their children right and then told them what I told her to say. Naturally, she didn't give her name for fear she would get in trouble with the mother, so she hung up as soon as she finished her little talk.

I waited a week before I called Chuck and he said he was glad I called because Sharise was really pissed with them, figuring they told me what she was doing stealing their money and I called CPS and ratted her out. I told Chuck and then Larry that they were to hang tough for another two weeks and if she didn't calm down then I'd come and get them. I worried that she might do something stupid, but I wasn't able to get away right then, so it was necessary they delay her.

As it turned out, their mother did calm down a bit after she convinced the CPS that she was a fit mother and would no longer take money from them. Chuck had provided the case worker with a complete bank statement to show that I was living up to the court-ordered amount of child support. I just wasn't giving it to their mother to squander on herself.

All this plus receipts for clothing, food, and school items that I told Chuck to keep were enough to convince the authorities that they weren't spending the money on unnecessary things either. In fact, when Sharise was on afternoon shift, Chuck often did the shopping, paying for it out of the money I sent. Naturally, he shopped at his own place of employment.

When the dust settled, it seemed like a truce had been declared between the boys and their mother. Both Chuck and Larry said she had calmed down and was almost nice to them. I wondered if she wasn't just scheming for another way to get at the money, but that's just me not trusting her. Can you blame me?

After two weeks we decided to leave things as they were. Chuck was busy with his summer job, and Larry was working around the neighborhood doing odd jobs like cutting lawns and trimming hedges, cleaning up garages, and moving things for some of the older folks. I was proud of my boys. They didn't sit on their asses and play Nintendo.

Larry was going to be sixteen this summer and was anxious to get his conditional drivers license. State laws were getting tougher and tougher for teens, with all the horrible accidents and deaths that had taken place over the years. He would have to wait until he was sixteen years and nine months before he could get his license, and only then if he had passed the school sponsored program and stuck with it. Otherwise, he'd have to wait until he was eighteen.

I wish I could have been there for them at this time. I was hoping Sharise would find somebody to look after her and keep her from hassling the boys. It wouldn't be that long before our sons were adults in the eyes of the law and they could make their own decisions. I'd talked to them about this a number of times.

I know Larry wanted to go on to college and if there was any way I could help him I would. He was a smart kid and always did really well in school, so maybe he could apply for a scholarship or some kind of financial assistance. I'd hate to think money would keep him from getting a good education.

Chuck had been offered a management training course by the grocery chain he worked for. I guess they really liked his attitude and hard work, so that would give him a leg up on a career. I felt good about that. Both the boys were like me in that respect. They were willing to work for what they got. That's what made their mother's dumping me so hard on all of us. She wanted something for nothing, and I wasn't going to let that happen.

Things settled down over the summer both at my old home and my new one. My divorce was final, so the only issue really was back alimony, and they could go piss up a rope before I'd pay that woman anything. Mind you, there hadn't been any hint that anyone was looking for me, so I just quit worrying about it.

Almost every weekend I would take the Airstream and head for some interesting place that wasn't too far away. On the Memorial Day long weekend, I drove up to Wenatchee and stayed in the town of Leavenworth for two days. It was like a little Swiss alpine town, except it was in the middle of Washington. I got a crash course in driving two lane mountain highways and it was good to know I could manage it without getting myself or anyone else in danger.

On the July 4^th weekend, I headed out for Portland. There was a blues festival I wanted to see, so I took advantage of the early start and hit the I-84 and pushed the Airstream all the way to the big city. I was getting more and more comfortable driving that machine. It handled great and the turbo diesel gave it plenty of power over the mountain passes. It was over 33 feet long counting the bike carrier. Oh yeah, I bought a 125 Yamaha for getting around on. I got it for next to nothing because it wasn't running. A few dollars and a couple of parts and I had it running like a charm. But then, that's what I do for a living.

The thing about my job that always is noticeable is that I have a hell of a time getting the oil and grime out of my hands. It's kind of like a coal miner has a hard time getting rid of the dust from the skin on his face. It looks like he never washes. Well, in one way, that's the kind of problem I have with my hands. I've tried every known brand of industrial hand cleaner, but none of them will remove all the residue without taking some of my skin with it.

Yeah, I've tried gloves, but that doesn't work either. I have to have "feel" in my hands to do my job properly, especially when I'm working with smaller parts in tricky spots. Some of the cleaners are pretty good, but they leave my hands in bad shape, dry and red. My doctor says I just have to keep trying to find the right combination of cleaner and something that won't damage my skin. Thanks a lot, doc.

It's really only a big deal if I'm out on the prowl, looking for some female company. No woman wants to be pawed by a guy with dirty, rough hands. So, for the last while I hadn't had even a thought about finding myself a friendly lady. Not that I wasn't ready, willing, and able, you know.

So when this fellow comes around to our shop with a new hand-cleaner product that he says will leave my skin as soft as a baby's ass and cleaner than new, well I was paying close attention. Now mind you, I'd heard these claims before, but when you've tried as many as I have, you don't stop looking for that silver bullet that will do the job.

The stuff was called Loving Hands, if you can imagine it. Now, I almost didn't bother with the free trial jar on account of that name, but I figured sooner or later somebody was going to come up with a cleaner that would work and I wanted to be at the head of the line when it showed up. This funny looking old geezer was the representative and had a case of the stuff, handing it out to all the mechanics and guys who, like me, spent most of their days with their hands in grease, dirt, and oil. Apparently, we were the first people to use this stuff.

I waited until my shift ended and then opened the jar and scooped some of this yellowy goop out with my fingers. I rubbed it all around and made sure it hit all the grimy skin, let it set for a couple of minutes like the instructions recommended, then washed it off in the clean-up trough like usual.

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I looked at my hands as close as I could, and there wasn't any sign of dirt anywhere, including under my fingernails. It was amazing. And what was even more amazing, they were soft as a baby's ass, just like he said they would be. Now, they did have a peculiar smell that I didn't recognize. It wasn't a bad smell, or a chemical kind of smell, but it wasn't like a flower either. Anyway, if that was the only thing about this stuff that was unusual, I could live with it.

I walked into the foreman's office quick as I could.

"Say, Marvin, did that fellow with the hand cleaner leave a card where we could get ahold of him?"

"Sure, he left a bunch, but you better hurry callin' him. Just about every guy who tried that stuff wants some more. Looks like he's got hisself a winner."

"Damn sure he has," I said.

I picked up the business card and headed out the door to my truck. Oh yeah, I bought a '78 Ford pick-up from a local fellow who was fed up trying to fix it. It took me one weekend to get it running good and I had cheap transportation for next to nothing. Between the Yamaha, the truck, and the Airstream, I was well fixed for vehicles.

Anyway, I looked at the card and the guys name was Merlin Wiseman. I kid you not, as old Jack Parr would say. Well, maybe it was a phony name and maybe it wasn't, but one thing for sure, that goopy stuff of his worked like a hot damn. I gave him a call as soon as I got back to the Airstream.

"Say there, Mr. Wiseman, my name's Carl McCormick. I work over at the UP yards here in Hermiston. I tried that new cleaner of yours and it worked better than anything I've ever used. I'd like to buy some more."