Final Rights (23 page)

THIRTY-NINE

2004

Tate
had not been to the gym in over two weeks and as she looked outside at the
drizzling rain, she knew she would not be returning today. The past several
days with Cally and Leland had been mentally and emotionally stimulating, but
her aching body craved exercise.

She took her coffee to
the living room and sank onto the sofa, intending to read for a while. But her
mind kept returning to yesterday’s reunion between Cally and Leland. Although
it had lasted less than half an hour, it left a profound impact on everyone
involved.

Tate and Dorothy had excused themselves from
the conversation once Leland recognized Cally, so Cally brought Tate up to date
as they drove home.

Cally had chosen to
sidestep painful questions about Leland’s past, focusing instead on his daily
life in Forest Glen, his favorite foods and other neutral areas. He told her
about the peanut butter cookies Tate had made for him and Cally had promised to
bring brownies on her next visit. In return, he promised to save the prettiest
of the Christmas ornaments for her. Leland also asked after her health and her
family, unaware of the pain that particular question would cause her. She had
easily moved the conversation to another topic.

Tate had noticed that throughout the visit,
Cally kept physical contact with Leland. She patted his forearm, or held his
hand, touched his cheek, gently brushed his shoulder. Leland never took his
eyes off Cally, searching her face intently as if determined to commit every aspect
of her image to memory. They shared a hug and mutual tears when they parted.

Tate listened to Cally’s report with
interest as they drove back into town.

“It sounds like a great visit, Cally. I
assume you want to go back.”

“Absolutely. The sooner the better. Maybe we
could discuss when over dinner tonight?” Cally had turned to Tate and gazed at
her in a way that made Tate a bit uncomfortable.

“Sure, dinner would be nice. Did you have
anything particular in mind?”

“No, not really . . . other than just getting
some more time with you . . .”

Tate instantly picked up on Cally’s thinly
veiled message, and her defenses kicked into high gear. “Oh . . . well . . . I
meant any particular food, but sure. Let’s have dinner. But if you don’t mind,
can we do that tomorrow? I’ve got a bunch of things to get caught up on at
home.”

“Oh . . . sorry. I guess
I’m taking up too much of your time.”

“No! I didn’t mean that, Cally. I just have
some deadlines to meet. I can go tonight, but tomorrow would work better for
me.”

“It’s a date then!” I’ll just have to occupy
myself ‘til then with shopping and beautifying myself. Maybe a facial and a
mani-pedi. Any idea where I can find a place for that?”

“On Haywood, just down from the library, but
believe me, Cally.
You really don’t need to
be any more beautiful than you already are.” Tate gulped. Matter-of-fact
honesty came easily to her, but the spontaneous compliment had slipped by all
her filters. She feared it had revealed too much, perhaps hinted at a promise
she knew she could not keep or exposed a personal wish she herself had not
previously recognized.

“Why thank you, Tate.
That’s very nice to hear. So just drop me off on Haywood Street, okay?”

“Sure. You’re welcome.”
Tate’s pulse pounded and she knew her face was flushed. “I didn’t mean anything
by that remark about your beauty . . . I mean it sounded too personal . . .”
Tate felt Cally pull back emotionally. Her smile vanished just as they pulled
up in front of Malaprop’s. “Uh . . . okay, then. I’ll pick you up around seven
tomorrow it that works for you.

Cally opened the door,
then looked back at Tate. “Well, I’m not going to take any of that personally.”
With that, Cally jumped out of the truck and gave a cheerful wave, leaving Tate
alone to figure out the meaning of Cally’s parting remark.

I have to stop this.
Tate willed herself to quit rehashing the
conversation with Cally and turned back to the book she intended to read.
Regardless of how hard she tried, she found herself unable to settle,
especially since her body still felt so sore and tired. She rose from the couch
and looked out the back window into the empty parking area behind the house.
Good—no one home.

She switched on the boom
box which was already tuned to WOXL 96.5 and started looking through her CDs as
Bob Seger belted out the catchy lyrics to his hit “Still the Same.” The bouncy
tune filled the room and Tate sang along, humming the parts she didn’t remember
until she found her Disco CD and popped it into the slot.

The Weather Girls instantaneously replaced
Bob and started their slow build to the jumping chorus of “It’s Raining Men.”
Tate turned up the volume and started dancing, slowly at first, then with more
enthusiasm. She sang along gleefully. “You can’t carry a tune in a bushel
basket,” she chanted to herself, then raised her voice and sang even louder,
laughing as she did so.

She danced and swayed
and shook and shimmied
all the way through “It’s Raining Men,” then “YMCA” and “I
Will Survive.” By the time she was halfway through We are Family, she panted
heavily and sweat rolled down her face and back. Flushed and ready to collapse,
her body felt energized and tingly.

There had been a time in
Tate’s life when she had danced with abandon whenever the urge hit her. Now,
she allowed herself that freedom only in solitude, aware of how her aging body
no longer looked appealing gyrating across a dance floor in tight jeans and
high heels under black lights. Besides, Disco had died long ago, and other than
a cheek-to-cheek slow dance with a sexy partner, or a synchronized line dance
to twangy country music, Tate saw no sense in dancing at all if she couldn’t
dance to Disco.

The music ended and she
fell onto her couch spent and happy. Though she would have preferred to nap,
work awaited. She had to check in with Dave next door and pick up groceries for
the next few days. And she had plans to meet Cally for dinner.

Dinner. Not a trip to
the library or another visit with Leland, but dinner, just the two of them.
Tate had suggested inviting Sally, but Cally had nixed the idea quickly.
Is this a date?
The thought left Tate
with a queasy feeling which she pushed aside by heading over to see Dave.

“Yucky day to be working, isn’t it?” Tate’s greeting
caught Dave by surprise and he looked up from his work on the new windows. Still
under construction, the apartment remained unheated and drafty. The temperature
had dipped significantly, leaving the room cold and damp.

“I don’t mind. Being indoors is way better
than some of the other things I could be doing today.”

“You always have a positive attitude, Dave.
I appreciate that about you.”

“Even though I’m slow
as a snail sometimes?” Dave’s sheepish grin signaled his attempt to apologize
for the many delays in getting the job completed.

“Looks like things are moving along,
though,” Tate countered.
Why
do I do that? Always let him off the hook like that, even when he acknowledges
messing up?

“Yeah, and I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Dave motioned for Tate to follow as he headed down the hallway. “Look!”

Tate stepped into the bedroom on the left
and saw that the new half-bath had been installed in the space that used to be
a small closet.

“Wow! That’s great. When did that get done?
I thought the plumber was busy elsewhere.”

“He had an unexpected change in his
schedule, and he came over yesterday and finished it up. Thought you’d be happy
to hear it, but I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

In fact, Tate had not been around for more
than a few minutes here and there for the past week. Everything was behind
schedule, and she had postponed the carpet installation as a result.

“Yeah, I’m happy all right. Sorry I haven’t
been around as much, but I’ve been busy looking into that old house over in
Montford.”

“What old house?”

“The one with the fancy door. I told you
about it, didn’t I?”

“You mentioned a house with a door like that
one,” Dave said as he gestured toward the open entryway, “but that’s all.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t chewed your ear
off already. I’ve been obsessed with it for almost two weeks!”

“Nope. What are you obsessing about?”

“Okay.” Tate sighed.
Here I go again
. “There’s an old house
over on Chestnut. The County plans to seize it for non-payment of taxes and
they’re going to sell it on the Courthouse steps. Some developer wants to tear
it down and build a bunch of cottages. But I found the man who owns it.
Everyone thought he was dead, but he’s living out at Forest Glen and then his
granddaughter showed up a couple days ago. I met her at the library, but she
thought he was dead, too. I took her out to meet him yesterday and now I’m
still trying to figure out how to save this old house even though he doesn’t
seem to care about it.”

Dave’s puzzled look finally brought Tate’s
outburst to a halt.

“Sorry, Dave, it’s just such a long story,
and I’ve been living and breathing it for so long that I think everyone should
automatically know what I know about it. In a nutshell, this old place is going
to be torn down if I don’t figure out how to save it. And I have to save it. I
just have to!”

“I know that place—over on Chestnut, sitting
up on a hill, right? Been in the news recently?”

“Yeah, that’s the place.”

“I’ve done a lot of work on the old places
in Montford. Years back I worked on the house next door. Someone used to take
care of it. It’s only been in the past ten years, give or take, that it’s
gotten so run down.”

“Do you know who took care of it?”

“I never talked to anyone, but I’d see them
over there on occasion. I still see the guy who used to mow the lawn around
sometimes.”

“Seriously? You still see him? Where? When?”

“Well, I don’t have his schedule written
down . . .” Dave grinned and Tate couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, I know I can get intense sometimes!
Any ideas on how I might track this guy down?”

“I’ve seen him working over there at the
Black Walnut. Maybe they know something.”

“Thanks, Dave!” Tate turned to leave then
caught herself. “Wait, I almost forgot. Fill me in on what’s happening here.”

“Thought you’d never ask! The plumbing
inspector is due in this afternoon, and assuming everything is all right, I’ll
be able to start the finish work on the bathroom first thing tomorrow.”

“That’s great, Dave. Any idea when I can
start painting? I need two days and then you’ll be able to install the bathroom
fixtures and the cabinets and countertops in the kitchen . . .”

“Let’s take it a step at a time, okay? I’ll
finish the bathroom tomorrow, and that includes the laundry area on the other
side of the new wall. Next step will be the vinyl flooring, then the painting.”

“Okay. Sounds good. That gives me a couple
of days to work on a plan for saving that old house.”

Tate
took a quick shower then went directly to the Black Walnut Inn, an elegant bed
and breakfast establishment occupying a house designed by Richard Sharp Smith
and dating back to 1899. After accepting the hostess’s gracious invitation to
tour the Inn, she left not only with the name of the gardener, but also a
generous sample of the homemade pastries being prepared for that afternoon’s
tea.

She jumped into her
truck and immediately dialed the number for Scott, the gardener. He was working
only half a mile from the Black Walnut and agreed to talk to her if she had
time to stop by.
You bet I have time.
In fact, Tate could hardly wait. Minutes later, she
greeted an aging skinny man in overalls with a pronounced limp and a wad of
chewing tobacco tucked into his cheek. A blue merle Australian Shepherd trailed
along a few paces behind him.

“I’m Tate Marlowe. Thanks so much for seeing
me.”

“
Yessum.
Scott’s my name and this here is Blue.” Scott nodded at the dog and tipped his
battered cap to Tate, but he did not shake her outstretched hand. The old dog
ambled up to Tate and sniffed her carefully.

“Friendly fella, that’s for sure.” Tate
scratched behind the old dog’s ears.

“You got dogs?”

Caught off guard by Scott’s question, Tate
wondered why that was important. A test of some sort. She answered carefully.
“No, no dogs. I have an old cat, though, and I have friends with dogs.”

“Well, ain’t nothin’ like a dog.” Tate
noticed how the Shepherd leaned into Scott as the man reached down to stroke
its head.

“I can see getting a
dog. Maybe someday, if my cat approves.”

“Why you lookin’ for me?” Tate was surprised
that his directness unnerved her a bit.