What Was Left
Doug and Charlotte assess the damage, and encounter a surprise
The day after the storm, Doug and Charlotte stepped outside to assess the real damage.
The property was littered with bits of tree branches, torn roof shingles, and paper ripped from their recycling bin. On a second, calmer examination – after Doug’s hasty one when the winds first died down – the barn and the shop were indeed intact. And by now Doug had nailed plywood over the broken kitchen window and was expecting replacement glass later that day, or the next. The glass guys were busy.
He knew one of his Fuji apple trees had taken a hit. Walking the line, he discovered a second one had as well. “What a shame,” Charlotte said. “I loved those apples.”
Doug kicked a torn stump. “Well, we can plant new ones. Besides, the wood will be great for the smoker.”
“Thank heaven for small favors.”
Aside from grass blown flat against the ground and patches of standing water, that seemed to be the worst of it. Charlotte stopped to look back at the house, recalling her terror as the storm had approached, roaring like a freight train from hell. “I’m so thankful the house survived.”
Doug looked too. Something about seeing the house from this distance made his chest tight. He loved the place. Its simple square profile, the neat gables over the second-story windows, the unfussy clapboard siding. Only some new gaps in the roof shingles were visible from his position. Easily fixed.
“Me too.”
He wrapped her with both arms and squeezed. “But even better, you’re OK. Christ, you scared me.”
Charlotte placed her uninjured hand on his forearm and leaned back into him. There was nothing else to say.
They stood that way for a long minute.
A neighbor
By now they were at the edge of their 10 acres and coming up on the much larger property of Doug’s neighbor, Jim Baker. From behind the broad trunk of a Southern live oak, Baker himself appeared, 50 yards distant.
“Jim!” Doug yelled, waving.
Jim waved back and walked toward them. As he approached, Doug thought that he would fit effortlessly into a Larry McMurtry novel: Sweat-stained hat, frayed jeans, silver belt buckle. But the details overturned any idea he was a caricature. The wire-nicked hands were real, as were the deep crow’s feet around his gray eyes, and the way he moved as if to minimize wasted energy.
“Doug, Charlotte,” he said, unselfconsciously tipping his hat a fraction. “Morning.”
“Morning, Jim.” Charlotte said to him. She had met Jim only twice but somehow had come to feel maternally protective of the older man. “How did you manage in the storm?”
“Oh, not bad,” Baker replied. “Lost some trees. Part of the barn.”
“The barn?” Doug asked, concerned. “Animals OK?”
“Oh yeah. Horses got spooked but they’re OK.”
“That is so good to hear,” said Charlotte, remembering a horse of his she particularly liked, an Appaloosa mare named Winnie.
“Jim, do you need any help?” Doug asked. “I can come by this afternoon with my Stihl.”
Jim nodded slowly. “I’d be grateful. The two of us should make short work of it.”
“OK then. Look for me around 2.”
Jim nodded again. “Appreciate it.” He sauntered off as slowly as he had approached.
Back at the house, Doug decided to drive to Tractor Supply for some bar oil. “Wanna come?” he asked Charlotte. “We can get a sandwich.”
“You got it, mister.”
Some two miles from the house they encountered two pickups – a battered Chevy and a clean newer Ram – parked along a stretch of storm-flattened fence.
A woman with curly dark hair was kneeling over something. Next to her, Doug realized with a start, was his friend Adam. He had another start when he fathomed that the woman was Margaret Prentice.
“Interesting,” he said to Charlotte.
“Fascinating,” she echoed.
Doug pulled off the highway. They hopped out of the Ford.
“Margaret. Adam.” Doug took in the fence. “What happened?”
Margaret looked up. “The fence caught a calf,” she said. “Killed it.” Then Doug saw the tawny, inert figure.
“Awwww…” said Charlotte. “I’m so sorry.”
Doug looked at Adam. “I’ll help you load it in your truck. While I’m here we can get this fence back upright too, if not totally nailed down.”
Doug went back to his Ford to get some gloves. Adam followed.
“What brings you out here?” Doug asked.
“I was just driving by and saw her. Stopped to help.”
Doug smiled at him. “Such a good neighbor,” he said.
“That’s me,” replied Adam, smiling back.
A conversation
Doug looked at the women and saw Charlotte now crouching next to Margaret, picking up shattered bits of fence. Margaret looked tired, a man’s Carhartt work coat swallowing her slender frame.
As Doug and Adam began to wrestle a fence post, out of earshot, Charlotte spoke to Margaret.
“It’s kind of you both to take care of things out here,” Charlotte said. “We’ve seen enough tragedy already with this storm.”
Margaret noticed the bandage. “What happened to your arm?” she asked.
“A cut,” Charlotte replied. “A branch took out a kitchen window and I managed to catch my arm on broken glass.”
Margaret nodded. “It’s OK?”
“Five stitches. Doug had already patched me up. But it hurt like hell.”
Charlotte lowered her voice. She watched Margaret’s hands for a moment as they worked at the splintered rail.
“Tell me something… how did Adam happen to stop by?”
“I…well…it’s complicated. He’s been coming by lately, offering to help with things.”
“Is that all it is? I remember seeing you dance at our party. What about Barrett?”
Margaret picked up a length of blown-off cedar trim, pretending to examine it. “Barrett has been gone a lot. Business, hunting. Adam does things that Barrett hasn’t had time for.” She paused. “Or interest in.”
“I see,” Charlotte said. “That must be difficult for you, Margaret. Having to deal with such a heavy workload alone.”
“It has been challenging, yes. But having Adam around… it’s been nice. He listens, and he cares. More than Barrett ever has.”
Charlotte paused, considering her next words. “I understand that feeling all too well, Margaret. Sometimes we find support in unexpected places.”
Margaret looked at her. “You’re right, Charlotte. Sometimes life surprises us.”
Margaret went on, quietly. “You know,” she said, “sometimes I wonder what might have been different if I hadn’t married so young. If I’d taken more time for myself before settling down.”
Charlotte picked a length of broken fence rail out of the grass. “I don’t think that’s an unreasonable thing to wonder. Especially on a day when the whole place looks different.”
Down the road, Doug twisted a wire tight and looked at Adam. “Is there something going on with you two?” he asked, more bluntly than he intended.
“Of course not,” Adam said. “But…” He glanced toward Margaret. “She’s lonely, Doug. You can feel it from fifty yards away.”
Doug looked along the fence line. “Lonely doesn’t always mean reckless.”
They stomped dirt around the post and walked back to the vehicles. Charlotte saw them coming and fell quiet.
“Here,” Doug said to Adam. “Let’s get this calf in the back of your truck.”
With a mutual grunt, they hoisted the dead animal over the tailgate of Adam’s Chevy. Margaret turned away, unable to watch.
Doug took off his gloves. “Anything else we can help with?”
“No,” said Margaret. “I appreciate your help.”
She took a step towards Charlotte and gave her a side-hug. “Thank you,” Margaret said, softly.
Doug and Charlotte got back in the Ford. Doug turned the ignition and put the truck in gear.
“Well,” he said as he accelerated onto the highway. “That was interesting. What did you learn? I saw you two talking.”
“I learned that Margaret is lonesome, Douglas,” Charlotte said. “And that Adam has helped fill a hole.”
“It may be mutual. Adam hasn’t been quite himself since he and Peggy split up.”
Charlotte nodded thoughtfully. “It seems there’s a lot more going on than meets the eye.”
“I guess so,” Doug said. “I just hope Adam knows Barrett keeps guns in the house. Lots of them.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. That’s worrying. Do you think there will be trouble?”
“God, I hope not. But this is Texas.”
They drove on for a minute. Doug spoke first.
“I’m starved.”