Just Being Friendly

It's a romance; it just took me a while to get it there. My list of thanks are always to those friends of mine who share so much time and their expertise with me. To Hal1 who started the ball rolling and the rest of you who helped get it to print. Thank you.

*******

With the sun at its highest, the back of my hand wiped away the sweat from my forehead. I looked at the For Sale sign once again and sighed. I missed Barney. When his wife Cheryl passed, we both knew he would be under pressure from his two boys to move in with one of them. He felt he didn't want to alienate either family and choose, so he always put it off. That was until the wives and grandchildren came down to visit and eased his worries.

The house went up for sale two weeks later and so far there had been no interest. I phoned Barney and told him that, since I had my mower out, I would keep the grass down on his property, both front and back. A couple of days later the realtor came by and thanked me. She was a sweet lady and I personally thought she was looking on Barney's house as an albatross.

Before the wives took action, Barney and I had worked out a schedule to modernize the house before he left, but his boys wanted to get him out of there in case he changed his mind. Don't get me wrong, it just needed dragging into the twenty first century; everything in that house worked.

All the gas and electric had up to date inspection certificates, but the house was to Cheryl's taste. Although she could sure cook one heck of a Sunday roast and an apple pie to just die for, she could also hold her own in any argument and scream as loudly as both Barney and I did when it came to sitting down to watch the Sunday night football game. But given her taste in furnishings and décor, I often thought her middle name may have started with "eccentric."

Over the spring and into the summer I kept up the mowing and watched that For Sale sign sit and do little else. On one of my phone conversations with Barney, he told me that the realtor had asked him to consider dropping the asking price. We both knew he could. But Barney knew the value of things and the house was valued at what he wanted for it.

*******

Towards the end of summer, I got the phone call I would have traded anything I owned not to have received. I guess Barney couldn't live without Cheryl after all. His boys asked me if I wanted to attend his funeral. After thanking them for thinking of me and asking, they told me the date and I circled it on my calendar and my heart.

It was a closed family affair which made me both proud and humbled that they thought to invite me. Barney took Cheryl's ashes with him when he moved. His boys respected his wishes and when he was cremated, they placed both urns side by side in a small alcove in the cemetery. The plaque said it all really: "Here lies Cheryl and Barney Thomson, they loved in life and will continue to love in death."

I'm not proud, but after reading that, my feelings of losing two very good friends of mine in such a short space of time made me cry and more than once. When I interacted with these two people I had to wonder if I could find that deeper love. His boys insisted I stay for a few days, I protested but they played dirty and got the wives involved, so there was little choice but to cave. My week with these people was nothing short of heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time, the wives may not have been Cheryl clones, but they both knew family values and stuck to them like glue.

My week flew by and even at the airport I was forced to promise not to lose touch with any of them. The flight home was more autopilot to be honest and left me time to think about my life. I was a true "born on the wrong side of the tracks kid" my folks may have been poor but they pushed me really hard to get a decent education. That decent education got me into the Army and caused the only rift I ever had with my folks. I came home in uniform and spent a week with them: we healed the rift and I will forever be grateful for that week.

A year into my enlistment I got a letter that nearly killed me. A fire had broken out in the trailer park, and went rampant. Six people died before the fire department got it under control. I was allowed compassionate leave to bury my folks. The funeral director told me that the damage to both my folks meant it would be a closed casket ceremony.

My decision was based on that conversation and I cremated both my folks. I scattered their ashes along the path of the woods out back of the trailer park that they would both spend so much time holding hands and walking over during the spring, summer and autumn months. After saying goodbye to my folks, I said the same to the town that had been my home for all of my eighteen years. The Army was my home now and I owed it all my effort and enthusiasm.

After nine years and three failed relationships that only ever got as far as engagements, I had reached the rank of lieutenant and had the trust of every soldier that worked and fought under me. It was also the morning that I woke up and decided it was time to leave the service, and that scared me, because I wanted this to be my home. Yet something inside of me said I had given enough, to my country, my unit, and everyone under me. It was time to move on.

It made no sense to me: this was my home, the Army was my family and, yet, when I woke that morning, I just knew.

Part of me looked on my actions as a moment of madness and yet a stronger part of me stood fast.

*******

It took six months of drifting before I came to Maple Grove. As I pulled my truck up alongside the diner, I sure got a lot of looks: that small town mentality was sure strong in these folks. The sheriff was the first to park himself across from me at my table. His name badge on his chest had Sheriff Becks on it. Now this was going to get interesting, but since this was the closest to a home cooked meal I had tasted, I kept right on eating.

"Howdy Mister. Just passing through are we?"

"I'm only stopping long enough to marry the cook and take her with me, Sheriff."

Sheriff Becks roared with laughter. The cook came out about halfway through our general conversation and sat on the Sheriff's lap.

"Allow me to introduce the cook, Joan Becks, my wife"

The sheriff allowed me to wallow in my embarrassment for a moment before he once again roared with laughter. I saw the look of total love they had for each other. Seeing that love in my own folk's eyes as I grew up, I recognized it instantly. It was perhaps right then I got that feeling that I could well have found home.

Joan gave her husband a kiss and told him she had work to do and to play nice with the stranger. He watched her walk back to the kitchen. She instinctively knew he was watching and gave him a wave as she opened the kitchen's swing door. When the sheriff looked back at the table I had placed my DD 214 discharge papers on the table and went back to eating my dinner. He was still reading them when I had finished and slid my plate to the edge of the table, a moment later the plate disappeared and a pie appeared.

I looked up at the waitress and she said. "On the house mister, Joan says you're looking a little too skinny to blend in around these parts."

The sheriff chuckled before saying. "That's high praise indeed, mister, I suggest you take the cook's advice. She likes you and I've learned over the years to say, 'Yes dear,' to all her suggestions."

Shrugging my shoulders was easy to do; taking a fork to that creation was another matter. It was well worth it though. That woman could sure cook. It took another few minutes for the sheriff to ask his next question. The stare gave him away. Once in a while his eyebrows creased as he tried so hard to seek peace with his own thoughts. In the end curiosity got the better of him.

"Can I ask, son, why did yuh quit the Army?"

I was just in the process of biting down on the last piece of pie, so the sheriff understood why I didn't answer him right away. The problem was I didn't have an answer for him when the pie was done with. The plate was moved to the edge of the table so that the waitress could clear it away as she replenished our coffees. Honesty seemed my only friend right about then, so I leant back against the seat with my coffee cup in my hand and told him that the story about leaving.

"Even now, Sheriff, the only way I can honestly answer that question, is that I just don't know."

The sheriff placed his hands together and watched me closely as I explained waking that morning and the internal struggle I had with myself, starting in the early hours of the morning, most of the day and even at the steps to the admin building and the office that was to finally be the place I either continued my career, or ended it.

Yet all the while, the sheriff just leaned back in his chair and watched me.

I only noticed his nod because I was watching him closely. "So, now what?" He asked.

I drank the last of my coffee, placed the cup back on the table and rested once again on my chair.

It was the culmination of that conversation and indeed that one question from Sheriff Lionel Becks that changed my life. I stayed as a guest of Joan and Lionel Becks that evening; the next day I was introduced to the mayor. By the end of the month I became a deputy for the Maple Grove Police Force. Three months later I found the perfect house, although when I took Joan to see it, she took one look and told me it would be less expensive to pull it down and start again.

Yet to me it had character, and in my down time I set to work making it livable. That's when I really met my neighbors, Barney and his wife Cheryl. When Cheryl found out I had no intention of pulling the house down and starting again, she sent Barney over to give me a hand and we became firm friends, as we have been ever since. Eighteen months later Lionel told me he planned to retire and urged me to take his job. I actually thought he was joking and laughed all the way to my cruiser and left the station.

Lionel must have phoned his wife because Joan was waiting for me when I came in for my take-out coffee. With the mayor and his wife pushing it, and Lionel and Joan's backing, I became the sheriff of Maple Grove. That day I found a quiet corner away from the celebrations and finally realized I was home.

*******

Once in a while, the government would hold seminars for us local law enforcement folks. Most towns sent a representative and the whole thing would be over in a day or two, sometimes a week at best. The mayor came into my office and asked me if I would go to this one since some of the seminars were going to be more technically minded, cyber-crime all the way through to recorded interviews with school shooters.

I could see where the mayor was going with this one, so I agreed. Hell, in a rural area like ours, it sometimes felt that even the cats and dogs had a license to carry a firearm. The mayor wanted our town to remain just the way it was and that was sunk into the back of beyond, not splashed across the evening news.

The first week I phoned back to town and talked again with the mayor. I had the schedule in my hand and to be honest, a week wasn't going to cut it. He did what he's been doing since Lionel Becks was the sheriff, he told me to get on with it and not bother him with the details. So, after two weeks I spent another two weeks at the area F.B.I building. With some major notes that were going to take some time to get into proper order, I thanked everyone and left to head back home.

By the time I had checked in with the mayor and then the office it was close to four o'clock and time to head on home. The sun had started to lose its heat and, out of habit, I pulled the mower out of the garage. I always started with Barney's place first, stopped for a drink, and then did mine. With the front done I took the mower out back and started on that. It took me about half the lawn to notice her leaning up against the back door.

She was cute and young: I figured about ten years old. An older version of her came out next and judging by the look on her face, trouble was brewing.

"You're on my property. Get off now before I call the sheriff and I may even consider not pressing charges. Stay longer than it takes for me to finish talking, then I'm all for putting you in jail."

Still trying hard to get over the shock of anyone actually being in Barney's place I guess she thought I was calling her bluff.

The woman pulled out her cell phone.

"Ma'am, this is Barney's house, I've been cutting his grass since he left."

She paused, her cell about half way to the side of her head.

"NO, it's my house. MINE, so get the fuck off it."

The little girl placed her hand on her mother's arm. The "screaming banshee" she was turning into slowly evaporated. Figuring that the only way to defuse the situation was to leave, I turned my mower around and did just that. It took me sometime to clean the mower. I still had my back to the road when I heard the cruiser slow and stop at the edge of my drive.

Deputy Connors, or to me just plain Bernadette, got out and rested her ass against the hood of the cruiser and I joined her. It was then that she informed me that I had a new neighbor. I instinctively cast a glance at the front lawn and realized that the For Sale sign was gone. I realized that I'd gotten so used to seeing it that I just assumed it was still there.

"Your neighbor phoned the station, said she had a trespasser on her property, described you to a tee."

Bernadette held back the laugh for as long as she could, and then folded in half while I stood on the sidewalk looking really embarrassed. The bitch even pulled her cuffs out and let them dangle between her fingers.

"If I offer to come quietly, deputy, do you promise not to use the rubber hose on me when you take me to jail?"

That set Bernadette off again. As she was finally coming up for air, my new neighbor joined us.

Her eyes were glued to the cuffs dangling from Bernadette's finger. "Deputy, I'm not pressing charges. Just warn him to stay off my property."

Bernadette put her cuffs back and nodded to my new neighbor. She stood up straight, pulled her uniform jacket tight and looked me in the eyes. "Sheriff Mitchell Carter, I hereby warn you of your behavior towards your neighbor." The bitch hid her smile from my neighbor when she turned towards me, and then continued. "I will personally log this complaint against you, and if you repeat it then I'm going to have to tell the mayor."

By now my neighbor caught on, her face twisted with anger.

"Now wait a Goddamn minute." She pointed to me. "That's the sheriff?"

Bernadette turned to the woman, who was barely holding it together-I'm not sure how, pure will power I suspect.

"Yes ma'am, been the sheriff these past two years." Bernadette looked back at me and winked before looking again at my neighbor. "He's a bit rough around the edges but he's getting there, in another few years he may even be marriage material."

The only thing missing was the smoke coming out of my new neighbor's ears. She stomped her foot, turned and walked back to her house. Bernadette simply shrugged her shoulders, turned and winked at me before getting back into her cruiser and heading, I suspect, towards the diner, no doubt to grab a coffee and to have a gossip while she's there. As for me, I went back to cleaning my mower and still in wonder why I didn't notice the For Sale sign missing from the front lawn.

*******

The next few days were a mixed routine. I would come home from work and paint the garage door, or measure up the internal wall of the garage for more shelves. That's when I got that nagging feeling I was being watched. It was only on the third evening that I noticed her. My mind did that internal evaluation as she simply stood in the middle of my drive, kind of doing a very nervous side-to-side shuffle with her feet. The jeans were fashionably faded; she would have stood about four-feet to maybe four-feet two; brown eyes, the cutest freckles across her nose and brown hair that parted at the back into two braids that dangled down her back.

Freckles found the courage to take another couple of steps towards me, before saying. "Whatcha doin', mister?"

I put the hammer down on the bench and looked at her.

"I'm stopping to make myself a cold drink. If you want one then pull up a bucket and use it as a seat until I get back."

Five minutes later I came back out and she was sitting in the shade on the upturned bucket. Being the gentleman, I held out my hand and introduced myself. Casey then did the same. Her mom must have told her who I was because she even smiled when she called me Sheriff once. When she spoke, I paid attention. Something about her raised an alarm bell in my head. Casey did well in hiding it but her eyes gave her away: I had seen that look of fear in children before, on another continent.

We passed pleasantries for another ten minutes before her mom's car drove onto her drive. Casey skipped out the back of my garage and made it look like she had come from the direction of her own back yard. As for me, well, I got the evil stare from my new neighbor as they both went into the house.

When I got to my office the next morning that uneasy feeling still seemed to be following me around. Every time I thought I was close to an answer, that prize would move agonizingly further away. I picked up the phone and called Lionel, even offered to buy him a coffee and a chance to see his wife at work. When we went in, I asked for a table by the back. The waitress looked at me and then Lionel and nodded before turning around and leading us both to a corner table. She had to replace the knives and forks since the table wasn't used all that often.

We passed a few words back and forth. Eventually Lionel got bored and asked me what had gotten under my skin and when was I going to spit it out. This time the smile was genuine. Even at my age, I seemed to look on this man and Joan as family.

"I'm not sure what to do; I had a conversation with Casey, the little girl that lives with the screaming banshee."

Lionel couldn't hide his smile at my remark, he roared with laughter when I first called her "the screaming banshee". From then on, the flood gates just opened. My memory being what it was, I could recite word for word what was said. I added some things I greatly suspected and yet had done nothing to prove as yet.

"Then do something about it," was his only conclusion.

The smile was still on my lips when I told him I didn't have probable cause.

Lionel pulled his chair closer to the table and rested his elbows on it before looking directly at me.

"Son, the only probable cause I had for you was that you were a stranger sitting in the town's only diner. I knew everything about you that day, before I even sat my ass down."

Our waitress came back then and we both sat for a moment sipping coffee.

"Have you ever thought about using the old fashion method?" He could clearly see me confused, so he added, "Go talk to her dummy. Actually get to know her."

I once again pointed out why I called her a screaming banshee. Lionel in return just called me a coward and asked me if all those medals I got were store bought.

This time he got up from his seat. "I'm going to kiss the wife and go back to painting my fence. God, I love retirement."

After getting stuck with the bill I did get a kiss on the cheek from Joan before I went back to the office. I sat in front of that computer screen and three times I typed in her name and all three times I deleted it. Lionel was right, I just couldn't do this. A shiver went down my spine when my mind finally came to the same conclusion: the old fashion method had won out.