Redneck Rich

As we mingled, I came face to face with my ex. She seemed a little startled but when I didn't try to decapitate her on the spot she relaxed. It was actually a pretty civil conversation and we talked about safe subjects. She showed me her engagement ring.

"He's a good man, Miles, pretty successful, and I know without a doubt he loves me."

She waited me to say something so I congratulated her. Then I grinned. "Got him to sign the prenup yet?"

She laughed. "He's a lawyer in his fathers' firm, so a prenup is a given, more to protect him than me. I met him when I had to get rid of Boytoy."

I remembered reading about it in the local paper. She'd lived with the guy for two years when she caught him with someone else and had thrown him out. He tried to beg his way to forgiveness but when she refused the lawsuit happened. He was suing her for alimony, saying she needed to keep him in the lifestyle he'd become accustomed to.

The whole thing was hilarious. His lawyer told him he had no chance, but he persevered, and when they appeared before an old-style law and order judge, he was eviscerated. After hearing the evidence, the Judge didn't even go to chambers to deliberate. He rapped his gavel, hard.

"The suit is dismissed for among other things, lack of legal standing. Sir, you have to cohabitate with someone for seven years as man and wife to qualify, and you lived with her for 26 months. You didn't work the whole time you were together and she supported you, so I consider any debt she had to you paid in full. You're young, healthy, and have a college education, and with the labor market like it is now you should have no trouble finding gainful employment. Case dismissed."

Her lawyer stopped the Judge. "Your Honor, my client would like her property returned to her. The man is driving a vehicle she paid for, and it's in her name."

Her ex had a fit. "She gave me that car! It's mine!"

The Judge looked at Darla. She grinned, enjoying the whole thing immensely. "Your honor, I bought the car because he needed transportation. I paid for it, it's in my name, and I never once said it was his. But he can have it if it means that much to him. He just has to put it in his name and make the last seventeen payments."

"So ordered. I understand it's a convertible Camaro and cost over seventy grand new, so you're getting a hell of a deal. Have the paperwork finished in no more than two weeks, and if you can't find financing it goes back to her immediately. Understood?"

His lawyer spoke up before he could mouth off. "Understood, your honor."

The lawyer told him he'd help and paid off the loan, and as soon as it was transferred into his name the lawyer took it for not paying his bill.

I was grinning about it when Darla had a thought. "Don't you dare put that in a book!"

"It's already half written. You'll be pleased to know your character came out smelling like a rose, met her Prince Charming, and lives happily ever after. It would seem life is mirroring fiction."

She got really quiet for a minute. "I let it get to me, you know? Living tight for all those years and then having all that money warped my reality. What was it your uncle used to say at tax time when all those people got earned income credit? That they all got Redneck Rich? Well, that was me. I just took it to extremes. If it means anything I'll regret it to my dying day, but I know you'll never forgive me so I've been forced to move on. For what it's worth now, I'm really sorry."

Before I could respond her new man walked up. I took in the suit, the perfect haircut and gleaming teeth, the hint of the God complex so common in doctors and lawyers in his eyes, and wondered if she was making a mistake. Then he looked at her and got all tongue-tied when she pulled him down for a kiss, so I knew she'd be all right.

We spoke for a few minutes and I got the feeling I made him nervous, so I moved on. I shook the Commodore's hand, and told him not to forget me because when I ran into a subject that I needed expert advice on, he'd be the first I'd call, even after he moved back to Scotland. He really appreciated the gift and told me what his retirement present to himself was.

"I'm joining a crew that's going to retrace Admiral Franklin's route, and with global warming taking such a toll on the Artic, we could very well get through the fabled passage."

I wished him well, told him to keep a video log and post it for the world to see. The idea pleased him.

Just as I turned to leave, he put a hand on my arm. "Let me introduce you to my granddaughter. She flew over to help me close out my life here, something I never knew I needed so badly. Miles Molson, I'd like to introduce you to Fiona Wallace, my second oldest granddaughter."

If I'd been expecting a flame haired Scottish sprite with green eyes and a galaxy of freckles, I'd have been badly disappointed. Fiona had naturally light blond hair, blue eyes, and stood just over six feet tall. She looked like a Nordic princess, maybe Freya of Viking mythology. Her eyes bubbled with mirth as she shook my hand. "Not what you were expecting?"

"I wasn't expecting anything, but if I had you wouldn't be it. I have a feeling there may be Viking ancestry in your bloodline."

"There is, but it's not ancient. My father is Swedish and I definitely got his looks."

"Your father must be a very pretty man, then."

As soon as it left my mouth, I realized what I'd said. She burst out laughing and the Commodore tried mightily to hide his smile. "Not how I'd describe him, son. She got his physical traits, but the beauty comes straight from her mother."

"Well then, they must make a very striking couple. I'd like to meet them sometime."

We talked for a few minutes before someone led the Commodore off for yet another round of goodbye toasts. I was captivated by the woman, but she lived on a different continent, so I wrote it off as a pleasant experience. She was definitely showing up in a book somewhere down the line.

After a few minutes, I made my exit. "It's been a pleasure, but I have to go. I'm off to Chile tomorrow, for some research. Tell your grandfather I'll call him when he's settled in."

"If you're looking for your wife, she's over there."

I looked in the direction she'd indicated, to see Darla staring at us and she didn't look happy. "That's not my wife, at least not anymore. We've been divorced for over four years now."

"Does she know that?"

"See that handsome man coming towards her? They're to be married in four months."

She shrugged. "I give it maybe a year. I know his type, and they love themselves far more than they could love anyone else, and it makes them feel entitled."

"You're very astute. He's a lawyer."

"Ah." The way she uttered the single syllable spoke volumes.

"Well, let's hope for the best."

"That's very generous considering who you're talking about. Still carrying a bit of a flame?"

"NO. I mean I remember what we had sometimes and it makes me sad, but not enough to go back to her. In case you're wondering, she's the one who cheated. I'm a bit rigid about some things and fidelity is at the top of the list. You either are faithful, or you're not. And if you're not, as far as I'm concerned, we're not. That simple."

She sighed. "It's interesting to see someone who views life in such a black and white frame. No shades of gray in your life?"

"Not that I can remember. Well, as enlightening as this conversation is, I need to go. Early flight tomorrow. It has been a pleasure talking to you. Give the Commodore my best."

To quote the British, the Commodore was 'in his cups.' It was a good thing Fiona was a large woman, I had a feeling she might have to use some of those muscles before the night was out. She surprised me with a hug, and I found her card when I removed my jacket. Well now.

...........................................................................................................................

I spent a couple of very relaxing and interesting weeks down in South America. I was researching privateering along the coast, and it had a rich history going all the way back to the 1500's. I hired a local professor to guide me, and we went places I'm sure the tourists never saw. Most of the people were open and friendly, but we did go to one remote village that could only be reached by foot or muleback, and to say they were suspicious of strangers would have been an understatement. They kind of warmed up after the second day, especially after I got drunk on their style of beer and sang them songs as we danced in a circle. I played my harmonica for them and the head man liked it so much I gave it to him as a parting gift.

The professor was amazed when they showed us a few of their treasures, coins from Portugal, Spain, and Britain, most all in gold. We talked on the way back down the mountain and he swore me to secrecy. I agreed, knowing the horde of treasure hunters such news would unleash. I never told him about the Spanish doubloon in my pocket, a gift from the family I stayed with. I had found that in remote areas, candy was worth more than money, especially if you gave it to the children. I handed the bag to the wife, telling her to dole it out wisely. They smiled like mad and I wondered as we negotiated the steep trail if it would be shared.

I emailed the Commodore, but Fiona answered and said he was off to find the Northwest Passage and wasn't expected back for several months. I hoped he enjoyed his adventure and would be sure to contact him when he got back. He was a walking encyclopedia (what an antiquated term, I reflected) of British sea lore going back to the Middle Ages. I introduced him to a film crew and they ended up using him as an historical consultant, going as far as giving him a mention in the credits. Word got out and he often gave advice, advice film companies were willing to pay for. It was a very profitable sideline. I wondered what he would think when he found out the BBC/Netflix documentary of his expedition was funded by me, through my shiny new production company. Both my agent and my lawyer had been pushing me to start it, saying it would give me even more control over my work. And bigger fees for them.

I rested for a week, then locked myself in my office and started working. I had to stop from time to time to make notes, to give to the Commodore for verification. It wasn't necessary, but when I wrote about a certain time period I wanted to be as accurate as possible.

Two months later Fiona called. "Grandfather is back, but his adventure took a toll on him." I could hear her as she moved, until she thought she was safe from being overheard. "He looks bad, Miles. I think he should never have gone, but it was his lifelong dream and he got to realize it. There aren't a lot of people walking the planet who can say that. The first thing I made him do when he returned home was to see a doctor. He's on bed rest right now, going stir crazy, and if you can give him something to do, it might help."

I had her put him on, and after a few pleasantries and a brief description of his voyage I asked him to verify my research and offer ideas to make the work more accurate. He brightened up considerably and made me promise to send him my notes, saying he would get back to me as soon as possible.

"Don't rush it, Commodore. I have a feeling this will be my best in a while and I want it as close to perfect as possible." He laughed, knowing firsthand how anal retentive I could be at times, and we rang off. I stared at the phone for a second and decided to go see him as soon as possible.

I grinned, thinking about the anal-retentive part. I was known to get obsessive from time to time. I had a writer friend I would visit whenever I was in her town, most always dinner with her family although we did go out once in a while. Her husband was big, moved with the grace of a cat, and had eyes that roved constantly. Constance saw me watching him one night and grinned. "I know it's killing you, but don't ask. He wouldn't tell you anything anyway. Let's just say he works for the government and leave it there. And don't you dare try to mind mine him, where do you think I get a lot of my storylines?"

I didn't realize how sharp he was until we were sitting around after dinner, drinking a glass of wine, when he looked at me and grinned. "Mozart!"

"What?"

"You're like Mozart. Everyone was amazed at the way he could pen a piece of music without revisions, when the fact was he'd written and rewritten it in his head so many times that when it was put down it was almost perfect. Connie told me how you once wrote a whole novel on a book signing tour with her and how it seemed effortless for you. You know she struggles with everything she writes and second guesses everything, while you just let it out and do minor revisions. Tell me, how long has your latest been written in your head before you touched a keyboard?"

Grinning, I told him it was at least nine months. "It's not always like that. Sometimes when I sit down, I have no idea what a character will say next and it leads me down all kinds of rabbit holes. The end product sometimes isn't anywhere near how I envisioned it would go."

"How many are rattling around in your head now?"

"Five. Two are almost ready to put to paper so to speak. Another should take no more than two months."

Connie rolled her eyes. "Aargh! I hate you."

"No, you don't. You just hate my method. Yours works well for you; you have the most well thought out plotlines I've ever seen. Your vision of where a book should go is usually spot on, yet you manage to surprise the reader along the way."

We often thought about writing together but I think we both knew our styles would never mesh. Still fun to talk about, and we did sometimes bounce ideas off each other. They usually spent a week with me every summer. She had a minor meltdown when Grant and I hid her laptop after the first day, but then she relaxed and had a great time. Her boys were nine and eleven, and we spent a lot of time out on the lake. It made me miss kids but I had come to the conclusion my future may not include a happily ever after with the kids and the picket fence.

.....................................................................

A month later I was on the coast of Scotland, in a place of rolling hills and little bays. Smuggling had been a big business in the area going back a thousand years, and still sometimes happened. Unfortunately, the contraband now was mostly drugs.

The Commodore had a small estate that had been in his family for generations. The death of his wife had hit him hard and he'd relocated to America so there wouldn't be constant reminders of her everywhere. Fiona and her husband had used it while he lived in the states, and right before he returned home, they separated for unspecified reasons, leaving her with her son while he moved to Portugal.

Ian was twelve, a flame haired bundle of energy that never seemed to unwind. He'd take me for walks on the ridges overlooking the ocean in between sessions with his grandfather, and for his age he knew a lot of the history of the area. In fact, he gave me the nucleus for my next novel.

"There," he said, pointing down to a small bay. "That's where the Vikings landed in 940. They sacked the local village and carried most of the women away. Three years later a flotilla was launched against them in retaliation and they brought back the women willing, as well as a lot of Viking girls. I think they thought it was some sort of payback. That led to raids and small wars, and now most of the locals have at least some Viking DNA in them, and red hair became common in parts of Scandinavia."

Ian was pretty sharp for a twelve-year-old and Fiona encouraged him at every turn. One night we were sitting on their patio, using the brand new firepit the Commodore had installed, just talking. I complimented her on her son. She beamed. "Aye, he's a likely lad, sharp as a tack in my opinion. He really likes you."

"I like him as well. Sometimes when we talk, I almost forget he's a child."

"If he'd been born two centuries back, he'd have been a corsair. I suspect the Commodore had a great deal to do with that."

"The Commodore would have made a great privateer."

"I have no doubt. His military career gave him lots of chances to pretend to be one, I'm sure. He usually doesn't talk about it much, but sometimes, if he's mellow enough and had a few, he'll tell stories that make the hairs on your neck stand on end."

I knew. Many times when I 'consulted' with him, it was just a chance to have a few drinks and hang out with him. I'm pretty sure he's told me stories no one else had ever heard, after giving me strong warnings not to use any of them until after he'd passed.

Shifting the conversation, she talked a bit about her ex. "Gustav hated the sea, surprising for a Norwegian raised on the coast. I'm sure Viking blood ran thick in his veins."

"Are you a sailor?"

"I sail when I can. We have a small boat and if it was up to my son, we'd live on it. There's nothing like being on the open ocean, living by the wind and currents."

"I fear I'd never make a good sailor; I get a little queasy out of the sight of land. My ancestry leans more towards mountains and prairies."

She commented on my ex, so I took a chance and asked about her marriage. She sighed.

"I know it sounds trite to say it, but we just drifted apart. He gradually became less and less interested in his family, and became obsessive over his career. There at the end, he practically lived at his office, when he wasn't sharing his not-so-secret apartment with his companion of the month. I finally grew tired of the farce and confronted him. When I offered a way out, he was almost pathetic in his haste to agree. I was given a lump sum that would ensure I could live comfortably for the rest of my life, and Ian's education is assured all the way to grad school."

She looked into the fire, lost for a minute. Then she continued. "I know it sounds civilized and emotionless, but it hurt. I never let anyone see it, but there were many nights when I cried myself to sleep. Not so much over him, but over what we had lost."

"How did Ian take it?"

"I don't think it hurt him as much as it did me. His father was always a bit distant and spent hardly any time at all with him, so when he left it barely registered. I think perhaps that was a good thing."

I took a chance and leaned over, hugging her. To my surprise she returned it so strongly we almost fell out of our chairs. "Come," she said, rising and guiding me to the wicker settee.

She snuggled against me, murmuring into my chest. "There, doesn't that feel better?"

"It feels better than better. It feels... spectacular."

She giggled, still not letting go. After about twenty minutes she pushed away and stood. "Thank you, Miles. It's been a really long time since I've been in the arms of a man I could trust."

"No, don't thank me. It's been a very long time when I felt this happy holding a woman. Maybe we should snuggle together tomorrow, just to make sure this isn't a one off."

Her laugh was deep and rich. "I'll take that under consideration. Now, it's off to bed, separately. I'll see you in the morning."

She turned to leave, then whirled around and plopped into my lap, kissing me with passion and abandon. It probably lasted two minutes or less before she jumped up and fled into the house, her giggle hanging in the air.

She barely spoke to me the next morning, and I spent five hours with the Commodore, recording exploits of a long and varied career in the service of Her Majesty. We finally broke when he said he was tired, and I wandered out on the deck, pondering the things he had told me.

I looked up to see Ian grinning at me. "Come with me. Mum has something she wants to show you."