“So far, I’ve been working with two guidelines. If it’s trash, throw it away. If it’s too heavy to move, leave it alone.”
“All of it looks like trash,” one boy muttered.
It only took five minutes for Drew to notice his visitors. Funny, Vince had grown up in a world where cursing was the rule not the exception. Never had he noticed just how bad it sounded, at least in front of kids. It made him wish more than ever that Miles and his sons would leave and let Vince work in peace.
Instead, Miles sang while he loaded old pieces of wood, broken buckets, all kinds of signs, cans of paint and smelly tarps into the back of Vince’s truck. He started with tunes from the Beatles, switched to James Taylor and, by the time the sun started to descend, he’d worked his way to gospel songs. Some Vince knew; others he did not.
In between songs Miles invited Drew and Vince to attend church on Sunday. Drew had two words for the invitation; the second word was no. Vince also shook his head. His mother had gone to church a time or two. She’d never felt welcome. He doubted he’d feel much different.
“I can even offer Drew a ride,” Miles offered.
The teenage boys gave each other the guarded look that all teenagers share when it comes to the actions of their parents. Vince couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“We all appreciate you cleaning up his yard,” Miles said. “He scares most of the neighbors. Some complain just because they hope it will somehow cause him to move.”
“That’s not going to happen. The more people complain, the more he’ll dig his feet in,” Vince commented.
Miles nodded. “What happened to your uncle, Vince, to make him like this? Such an empty life.”
“My mom says he’s always been like this. My father blamed Drew’s time in the military. Drew spent time in Alaska and then Vietnam, but he was over in Vietnam in the early sixties before anything really happened.” Vince thought about it for a moment. “Except maybe drugs.”
They worked silently for a moment. Then Vince asked, “Hey, Miles, do you know Tamara Jacoby?”
“I’ve met her a few times. Why?”
Vince waited a moment, hoping the minister would say more. When he didn’t, Vince continued, “Did Alex and Lisa fill you in on what happened back in Phoenix with Tamara?”
Miles stopped working. “They did.”
Vince checked to make sure the boys couldn’t hear. “She bought the old Amhurst Church. I stopped by there last night when I saw her standing on the sidewalk. Someone had painted ‘you’re not wanted here’ on the door. Then, she found a dead mouse inside.”
“Think it’s Massey?”
That the preacher remembered the stalker’s name told Vince how much the family had confided in their minister.
“She called someone she knows who told her that Massey’s still in prison. It gets worse. While she and I were both inside, someone left a threatening note on the door.”
“You tell Alex?”
“No. It didn’t seem my place. I was there when she called the police. This morning she went by the police station and filed a report.”
“That young lady’s been through enough,” Miles said.
“Can you talk to her?” Vince asked. “Maybe get her to stay with Lisa and Alex for a while.”
“I’ll try. She’s only been to church once since she’s been here. I started to welcome her, but she ducked away. Maybe you could bring her?”
“Nice try,” Vince declined.
The door to the trailer opened. Drew hobbled out and crawled into his old truck, muttering, “Miserable excuses for human beings,” before driving toward town.
“Must be grocery day,” Vince said.
“No,” Miles answered. “Grocery day is Monday. He’d never go to the grocery store on a Saturday, too crowded.”
They watched the ancient Ford truck disappear from sight.
For the past half hour, Miles sang a few more gospel songs. His voice was low, and the songs were poignant. They fit the mood. Vince had no doubt the minister would talk to Tamara, offer assistance and even maybe counsel. Problem was, Miles Pynchon was in charge of a whole congregation. Vince wasn’t sure of the number, but based by the size of the church building, Vince figured more than two hundred members. There was only so much time Miles could give to Tamara, especially if she wasn’t asking for help.
At just after five o’clock, the Pynchon boys followed their dad to his truck. They took enough parts to make either a lawn mower that ran like a motorcycle or a motorcycle that also functioned as a lawn mower. Either way, the boys looked intrigued. The minister took home a wooden cross, splintered in places, and a Bible so old its leather binding was all but in shreds.
One man’s junk was another man’s treasure.
As Vince headed for his truck, he took one last look at his uncle’s property. Thanks to his efforts and that of the Pynchons, the yard had a few clear areas and even something of a path. Not that Drew needed a path. Vince doubted the old man cared to walk in his backyard or even knew what all was in it.
Drew’s backyard was quite a bit like Drew’s life—filled with a lot of junk that no one really cared about.
Vince paused.
His own backyard consisted of sheds and tools and toys. Things that right now, during his prime, seemed important. It all could count as clutter; it could all eventually turn to junk.
Funny how thinking about Uncle Drew and then thinking about Tamara really made a man think about what should be important.
THREE
As Vince drove the streets of Sherman, he pondered just exactly what he was doing.
Adding one more worry to his life, he realized.
Worrying about and taking care of his family had been a full-time job since he was ten.
He didn’t want to feel responsible for even one more person.
Which, he told himself, was why he shouldn’t be thinking about Tamara Jacoby. Thing was, he couldn’t seem to stop.
All because she was a redhead with haunted green eyes, a quick tongue and a killer smile.
He parked in front of her house and knocked on her door a few moments later, trying to think of just what he’d say.
He’d never been at a loss for words with a female. He was the prankster, the stud, the man of the moment. Everyone’s friend, no one’s confidant. He’d never thought about what to say to a woman because he’d never had to. He’d never really cared much one way or the other. If he started thinking about a woman too much, he stopped—stopped thinking, stopped calling, stopped taking them out. He didn’t want to let any woman too close. He already had too many responsibilities to his family.
No one answered his knock.
He hurried down the stairs, trying to tell himself he was glad she wasn’t home. His steps slowed when he got to her car.
It didn’t matter how tired he was. Unless he found out she was okay, he wasn’t going to get any rest tonight. He took out his cell phone and called her brother-in-law, Alex. No answer. So, he tried Alex’s wife, Lisa. Surely, if anyone knew what Tamara was up to, it would be her sister.
As Lisa’s cell phone rang he tried to think of the best scenario. Maybe the reason Alex hadn’t answered and now Lisa wasn’t answering was because Lisa had gone into labor. Of course if that was true, maybe Tamara had run from the apartment, zoomed right past her own car,