Consequences, Sandy

"Have them meet you at the diner and buy you dinner." Sandy offered.

"Great idea." I ate the wonderful breakfast and was amazed at what it was. Karen had started crumbled sausage in a skillet, when they were mostly done she broke eggs over them and then poured pancake batter all around the mix. Somehow she turned all that over and when it was cooked it filled a platter. She served it with two forks and both coffee and juice. It was great.

When we were finished eating Sandy took Janice up to see our bedroom. When they opened the door Janice said, "Whew! Open the windows! Smells like sex in here!" All three women laughed.

I laughed too then I called up to them and said, "Leave the windows closed. I like that smell."

Fifteen minutes later we were all on our way to work.

At about lunch time I had Janice call Mr. Wilkins and when he answered she said, "Quick, what's your favorite sandwich?"

He answered, "Turkey pastrami on rye with lots of brown mustard."

"Then don't eat lunch... Your sandwich is on it's way!" She hung up. I called the diner and Beth said she'd have three sandwiches ready in ten minutes. I picked them up and drove out to the Wilkins place. After the call he made iced tea and put a table cloth on their outside table.

When I got out of my truck he met me and took the bag of sandwiches to the table. As he walked he said, "You didn't need to bring sandwiches."

"You're right. I wanted to bring sandwiches. I want to thank you. Our home is beautiful!"

"When I left your store I was so angry at you I could have spit nails. What you said ate at me. I acted like I did because I didn't know how to be a friend. Until we came here we lived in a big city. I'd never had a friend. You showed me what was missing. When I went back to tell you Thanks I discovered you and Sandy were on your honeymoon. I just did what I thought a friend would do."

"I would be proud to call you a friend." We shook hands and sat down to eat. When he pulled three sandwiches out of the bag he looked up at me.

"Does your wife eat?"

He nodded. Then he called her and she joined us. A woman who could easily have been pretty, she was unkempt. Her dress was baggy and her hair unbrushed. She was barefoot.

"This is Kathleen. Kathleen this is Mr. Peterson. He owns the Builder's Center in town. He brought you a sandwich."

She shook my hand and sat down. When she opened the wrapper to her sandwich she said, "Thank you Mr. Peterson."

We turned our focus to lunch and when the edge was off the hunger the conversation began. We talked about how they could enjoy being involved in the small town activities. They thought that high school football was for the kids and their families. They thought little league was that way too. I promised to get them a list of activities they would be welcome to attend.

As soon as Kathleen finished half her sandwich she rewrapped the rest and went inside. Five minutes later she was back, hair brushed, dress straightened and sandals on. She looked nice. I said so.

As I drove away Mr. Wilkins stood next to his wife with his arm around her.

When I walked into the BC Sandy met me and said, "You got a phone call while you were gone. She sounded upset. I think you should call her back."

"Who?"

"A Mrs. Collard from over in Ong. I don't know her."

"And she sounded upset?"

Sandy nodded. I went into my office and dialed the number Sandy had written. A woman answered. I said, "This is Nick Peterson at the Builder's Center. May I help you?"

"Nick Peterson? Are you related to the owner?"

"Yes. I'm his son. May I help you?"

"I need to speak to your father."

"I'm sorry, that isn't possible."

"Just please have him call me when he gets back."

"He's not coming back, ma'am. He died on the tenth of April."

"Oh!" There was a long pause.

"Are you still there ma'am?"

"I'm sorry. I was digesting what you said. I called because he was supposed to have dinner with me last Friday night and he didn't come and he didn't call. I was angry with him. He was called home. I'm so sorry. I'll miss him. Your father was a very good man."

"Thank you, I agree."

"Good bye."

"Good-bye."

Sandy heard or saw me hang up and she came in.

"Who is she?"

"Dad was supposed to have dinner with her last Friday night. He didn't show and didn't call."

"Oh. How did she take the news?"

"She said, "He was called home."

"A nice way of saying it."

Over the next month there were three more calls from women who hadn't heard that Dad died. On May tenth, exactly a month after he died, a 1960 Chevy Bel-Air pulled into our driveway and a woman old enough to have purchased the car new got out. She was dressed up, all the way to gloves and a hat. I met her at the door.

"Good evening. Would you like to come in?"

"Are you Nick?"

"I am. I don't know who you are, but please come in. I like your car. If my memory serves me well we had a 61. I like the 60 even better."

She came in and sat on the couch. She looked up at me and said, "Aren't you going to tell your father I'm here?"

"I cannot. My father was called home one month ago today. I'm sorry you didn't hear about it."

She opened her purse and got a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Sandy came in with more tissues and a glass of water. She sat next to the mystery woman and waited.

"I went to visit my grandchildren on the first of April. I got back last night. There was no way anyone could have let me know. How did he die?"

"Doctor Hoag said he had a heart attack in his sleep. He didn't even wake up." Sandy said.

"Oh. You must be the young woman who was his boarder. Sandy, is it?"

Sandy nodded.

"I'm Martha Carter. Mr. Peterson and I usually had dinner once a month, at my place. I'm sorry I just barged in this way but I'd been missing Mr. Peterson."

"We all miss him. By the way, Sandy is no longer a boarder. She is my wife now."

She beamed at Sandy and said, "If young Mr. Peterson is anything like his father you are very blessed. I've lived a long time and known two fine men. I married the first one and about eight years ago I met Mr. Peterson. Finest men I ever knew."

"Thank you. I think he is a lot like his Dad."

We walked her out to her car and watched her drive away. She was the last one. My father and I had done a lot together and the thing we hadn't done was to communicate very well. I think a lot about how Sandy and I could have been married before we were thirty. I think about all I might have learned from Dad if I'd come home right after I got the MBA. More than those thoughts I think about the legacy he left for me. He was a man people liked. They trust me because I am his son. He was a good businessman. Not the kind of good measured in how much money her made but good in how he deserved the trust and friendship her gave.

I want to be like my Dad. Of all the people who knew him I married the one who knew him best at the end. She has promised to gently make me aware if I do something my Dad wouldn't do.

That's a story for another time, I think.