She Had it All

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Dinsmore
Dinsmore
1,890 Followers

It was while waiting at the paint counter at the local big box home improvement store a few days later that she ran into Jake again. He was loading several five gallon pails of paint on a low boy; he was dressed not unlike he had been on their first meeting and also wore a healthy dose of white paint spatter. They chatted as she waited for her purchase to be mixed. Taylor brought him up to speed on her home purchase.

"We always seem to meet when I'm covered with some foreign substance; at least this time it doesn't stink---or rub off."

He was friendly, only mildly flirting and certainly not threatening. She assumed that he was a typical local handy man who made a living doing myriad semi-skilled things which obviously included painting. Regardless of the demons inside the man she felt something, maybe even some sense of responsibility. Typical of needy people, she mused; find someone more needy than you are and try to take care of them. Therapy or denial? She wasn't sure which.

"So you're a painter, too?"

"Hardly---certainly not interior work. I've got twenty acres of four foot high split rail horse fence to do---and I underestimated how much I'd need. I think I probably wasted a few gallons at first as I was getting used to the sprayer rig."

"The place I just bought has a couple of acres of fence; is there any chance you might be interested?"

Jake was pensive for a moment, then replied. "Sure! Why not. When do you want to do it?"

"When are you available?"

"Well, two acres shouldn't take more than a day---but it'll probably need a second coat---and I've got a rental on the sprayer for another couple of days---cheaper by the week. I'll finish up what I'm working on this afternoon. I think I'm familiar with the place you bought. I can come by in the morning and take a look at it. If it's in good repair and clean, we can come back and pick up the paint. If you don't mind helping, we can knock it out pretty quick---although it's almost sure to need two coats so overnight would be better."

Taylor confirmed the directions and they agreed that he would come by her place early the next morning. She hadn't thought to ask him what he charged. She called a couple of painting contractors she found in the phonebook and determined that the price for fence painting in the area was pretty standard and was by the eight foot section.

Taylor saw Jake for the first time the next morning without paint or manure and instantly decided that he cleaned up pretty well. He had a rugged look, of Swedish origin she thought. His eyes were kind and his smile was warm. She assumed he was forty give or take a year. She wondered what his story was. He was articulate and handsome, certainly not uneducated. Why was he mired in a life of manual labor? Certainly the alcohol... drugs? Psychological issues? Something related to his war experience? Was he married---had he been? Was he some day destined to be one of those poor, lonely, forgotten men at the hospital---abandoned by family and society?

She unquestionably found him physically attractive although he was certainly unlike any man she had ever dated or had a relationship with. She tended toward the cultured types, although she had come to realize that most of them had been poseurs. At that moment the last thing Taylor was looking for was another man or another relationship and certainly not with a man of his station who almost certainly came with his own bag of troubles. Still, he was confident...seemed comfortable in his own suit of clothes...strong, at least physically...manly without being macho.

Jake determined that the fence was in a surprisingly good state of repair.

"Taylor, the right way to do this is pressure clean the whole thing, wait a day and then paint but no one in their right mind does that outside of suburbia---too damn much fence! Repainting these horse fences every three to five years is just a way of life in this part of the country. We need to clean off the bird shit under those trees but other than that it's ready to paint. We can knock that out pretty quick. It's still early---we might be able to get the store to deliver this morning rather than have to go pick it up. This truck isn't mine---I rented the whole rig as I think I told you but it has a water tank and a pressure washer on it. Have you ever used a pressure washer?"

"No."

"No big deal. I'll get you started after we call the store. While you're doing that, I'll go around and add a nail here and there."

Taylor was surprised at how much work the pressure washing was but enjoyed the physical endeavor. By the time she finished up, Jake had completed his minor repairs and the delivery truck arrived and off loaded a pallet loaded with five gallon buckets of paint. The next task involved dumping the pails into the tank on the sprayer truck; fortunately there was a mixing apparatus which meant they didn't have to mix each pail of paint.

The paint came out far quicker than she had expected.

"Now you know why I wasted a few gallons the first time I used this rig. This thing was designed and built to paint horse fence or barns and to do so quickly. It takes a little getting used to and a lot of moving of the truck but if we work together we can knock it out in no time."

The first coat was completed by early afternoon. Taylor had pulled her own weight, alternately moving the truck, adding more pails of paint and manning the sprayer. As Jake ran fresh water and cleaning solution through the sprayer, Taylor sat on the tailgate admiring their work.

"Are you hungry? I think we're way past lunch. We can't really do anything more here until tomorrow morning." Jake asked.

"I could definitely eat but not unlike you I'm covered in paint---and I don't have much of anything in the fridge. I don't think I can wait to clean up before I get some food."

"Well, there is a little place not five minutes from here which will take us the way we are. I'd just as soon leave the truck here if you don't mind driving."

The place in question was a combination bar and restaurant that also seemed to provide evening entertainment based on the small dance floor and bandstand. Everyone in the place seemed to know Jake and he quickly made introductions. The afternoon menu consisted of homemade sandwiches, ribs and chicken. Taylor chose a decidedly West Coast sandwich; Jake chose a burger. They each ordered a beer. Taylor insisted on paying.

"This is really good, Jake! I had no idea..."

"That good food can be found outside of California?"

"Something like that, although this is hardly Midwestern fare."

"Well, the avocados are imported but the bread is made on the premises---as is the beer."

"So, what's on your agenda for the rest of the day, Jake?"

"Get cleaned up, take a short nap and get ready for my next job."

"Next job?"

"No rest for the weary."

Taylor decided not to intrude; the man deserves his privacy...as do I, she thought to herself.

"If you could drop me off, I'd really appreciate it. I'll get a ride over or whatever in the morning. I actually don't live five minutes from where you do---it's on the way."

A few minutes after leaving the bar, Jake indicated where Taylor should pull off, at the entrance to a small dirt road. No house was in sight.

"This is fine; I'll walk the rest of the way. After wrestling with that paint sprayer all day the walk will be refreshing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive! I'll see you bright and early in the morning."

Was he embarrassed about where he lived? Didn't want her to see it? The man has secrets; so do I. Respect the man's privacy, Taylor, as he is respecting yours.

Taylor had enjoyed her day with Jake; he had made her smile and made her laugh. He treated her like a normal person. There was something delightfully comfortable about being around him. She decided she liked him; she hoped they would be friends. Maybe she could help him in some way. She felt more at ease than she had felt in longer than she could remember.

They finished the second coat by noon of the following day. Jake indicated that he needed to get the paint sprayer back to the rental company. He left before she had paid him for his services. To her dismay she realized that she had no phone number for him; he had a cell phone---she had seen it---but she didn't know how to contact him. She assumed he would call her; he didn't. Another day passed.

She thought about calling the sheriff's office and asking Mike how to get in touch with him. On impulse, in the middle of the afternoon, she drove the short distance to the bar where they had shared a meal. She couldn't remember the name or she would have called first. Everyone there seemed to have known him. Someone would know how to get in touch with him.

He didn't see her come in. Jake was there, a bar mop in hand wiping off a table down near the dance floor. So this was his other job. A very pretty young girl came up to him...flirting...too young for him...definite intimacy...more than a friendly embrace. Before he turned and saw Taylor, she ducked back outside.

He was dressed differently today, in Wranglers and a nice shirt. If the young girl he had his arms around was indeed some sort of romantic interest, Taylor didn't want to complicate things or have her relationship with Jake misconstrued. What relationship? She owed him money, that was all. She sat in her car, dialed information and decided to call the bar.

"City Limits Tavern, this is Jenny; how can I help you?"

"Hi---Jenny? My name is Taylor. I'm trying to get in touch with Jake Martin, I..."

"He's standing not ten feet away from me. Hold on. Daddy! It's for you."

Daddy?

"This is Jake."

"Jake, this is Taylor, I..."

"Taylor! It's nice to hear your voice."

"Jake, I'm glad I found you. I wasn't sure how to get in touch with you and I was out driving around and realized I never paid you for the work you did for me."

"No real rush, Taylor. Listen I can stop by later; I'm a little tied up right now but if you are out and about---do you remember the place we had lunch that first day?"

"Sure."

"I'll be here for the rest of the afternoon---how far away are you?"

"Well...actually...I'm sitting in the parking lot."

"Well...come on in, then!"

***

"Taylor! Good to see you. If you still have nothing to eat in that fridge of yours I'm sure we can find something back in the kitchen."

"Yes, well, no...I'm fine on that count. I was just looking for you; I never paid you for the work you did and I feel awful about it."

"Hmmmm, we never really even discussed a price," he said, leading her over to the bar. "I'll tell you what. I've got the receipts for the paint rig rental and the paint somewhere. Hold on. I think they're still in my wallet. Yep! Here they are! I rented the truck for a week, divide by seven times two days for your project plus the paint---how's this sound?" Jake said, pushing a piece of paper in front of her which indicated an amount roughly half of what she had been quoted by other contractors.

"That's not right, Jake---it's not enough. I checked with some other contractors and it should easily be twice that amount."

"You helped! I enjoyed doing it. That's what friends are for---isn't it?"

"Jake, you can't make a living selling at cost, you. . ."

"I'm not a painting contractor, Taylor; it's not how I make a living."

"But I thought..."

"I know, you saw me at the store, covered in paint and you assumed...and I didn't do anything to change your opinion."

"Now I'm really embarrassed."

"Don't be. Write me a check for that amount and we're even. If you're still embarrassed, come back for dinner and we'll call it a wash."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. It's a week night and we need every paying customer we can drag in off the street."

"And I suppose you don't haul manure for a living either?"

"No. I'm putting in a massive vegetable garden and my soil needed some help. I just like to do things like that myself---makes it more personal---same with painting my own fence. We're not that different, Taylor---as I recall you just helped paint your own fence when I have the sense that you could easily have hired someone to do it without getting your hands dirty."

"The sense? And wait---your twenty acres of fence?"

"Well, let's see, you drive into town, run out of gas and a week later you buy the old Reynolds place---which is none of my business in any event. And yes---my twenty acres of fence."

"Oh."

"Oh? So how long are you planning to stay?"

"Stay?"

"In town, I mean."

"I don't know. Jake, what kind of music do you have here?"

"Decidedly country, with a little folk and always a little rock and a little blues---why?"

"No pop?"

"I despise modern pop music. Every now and again I try to listen to it but it all sounds the same---heartless and soulless."

"So you don't follow the pop scene?"

"Hardly."

"TV?"

"Yes, I own a TV, well, more than one actually. I enjoy sports and several dramas and the news."

"Reality TV?"

"Oh, please!"

"Who plays here?"

"We have a house band on weekends—and Thursday. I play a little...sing. We also have open mic night, which is---tonight."

"You play...and sing?"

"Marginally. I'm also a song writer---actually I'm far more a song writer than a singer--- although I'm a damn decent guitar picker and a passable pianist."

"And that's how you make a living?"

"Not really...sort of. Look! I'll fill you in if you come back for dinner. I've got a delivery of fresh fish on the dock and it's going to rot if I don't get it moved in to the cooler. We're a little understaffed today. Fair enough?"

"Sure. Six?"

"That'll work."

This time Jake did not remotely resemble a man who did manual labor at minimum wage for a living. She was very confused. She stopped by the hospital on her way home in spite of the fact that it wasn't her regular day and sought out the director.

"Mary, I'm prying and if it is inappropriate, just tell me. There was a man tending the rose garden the first time I came by..."

"Jake Martin? He's pretty much a fixture here. He planted---and contributed---every one of those magnificent roses. It's a memorial garden; did you happen to read the marker?"

"No, I..."

"Let's walk outside."

In loving memory...Clarisse Martin, beloved wife, mother and friend.

"Jake started this about six years ago...right after his wife died...was killed. I guess I've known Jake for at least ten years---knew his wife too...she and I were very good friends. No man has ever loved a woman they way he loved Clarisse; they'd been together since high school. They were a very special couple; it was a marriage made in heaven. Many people---most men---would have completely fallen apart. Clarisse was his life...one of the kindest most caring human beings I've ever known. She was driving home from here the day it happened. She was on staff...a physician. A drunk driver crossed into her lane---head on."

"How awful!"

"Jake is a very special part of this community; he has a lot of friends here. Do you have time?"

"Sure!"

"Jake is not from here; he grew up a couple of states to the East and North. Jake served in the Army a few wars back. He was a helicopter pilot. There used to be a small reserve base here---an infantry unit---it's long gone now. Many of the men who served in that unit still live here...those who survived that awful war. Jake was active Army; he commanded a small helicopter detachment which flew in support of our guys when they got called up and sent overseas.

"His unit re-supplied them daily with food, water and ammo, delivered their mail, extracted their dead and took their wounded to the nearest aid station or hospital. Our unit had a pretty rough go of it. There are at least a couple of hundred men who still live in this little city who flew with Captain Martin and his flight crews...and too many in our local cemeteries who made their final flight with them.

"There was an unusual closeness between Jake Martin's unit and the men on the ground. There are literally dozens alive today because of their fearlessness and devotion to duty and their fellow man. After our reserve unit returned home, Jake took personal leave time to come here and visit each and every one of them. He left, finished his Army hitch, went back to school and ended up coming back here a few years later with his bride and settled."

"How did the war affect him? Does he have any...issues?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Jake Martin will never be a lonely man; there are literally hundreds of people living here who would risk their lives for him...he is beloved...cherished. Still, it's always saddened me that after Clarisse died he never...he's still a young man...he doesn't have anyone in his life...a woman. Sure, raising a teenager alone can be a full time job but, still... And I've probably said more than it was my place to say! You should get to know him, Taylor. He's a very special man."

"I saw him walking into the mission a while back..."

"He fills in for Frank Connors who runs the mission now and again; Frank's been having a bout with cancer and has been going through chemo for several months."

"Oh. So, as far as you know, Jake doesn't have any issues with...alcohol?"

"Oh, heavens, no! Frank's certainly not a teetotaller but I don't think I've ever seen him consume more than two beers, a couple of glasses of wine or the occasional martini at any one time. Jake's just Jake; always a smile and a kind word. Generous with his time and money. Rock solid...dependable...loving and caring. There's more---lots more...all good! Get to know him; you will not regret it."

Taylor drove home more than a little confused. She showered and changed into jeans and a simple blouse. She arrived back at the bar an hour early. Jake was writing something down behind the bar.

"Did you get the fish taken care of?"

"That I did! You're early! Not that I'm complaining."

"Nancy Drew here just got the first few chapters of the Jake Martin story---over at the VA. Do you have time to add the ensuing chapters or am I catching you at a bad time?"

"Your timing is perfect! The blue hair crowd won't slip in for another hour and the regulars sometime after that. Where should I begin?"

"Do you work here?"

"More than I should---since it's not the most profitable thing I've ever tried. I own the place."

"You own this place? But you don't earn a living here..."

"Okay. I've written a few songs that bring in a few bucks. I have savings...my wife..."

"You were married; I heard. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Widowed as of six years ago. I was about to say that in addition to savings there was some insurance and a respectable settlement. My wife died in an auto accident...drunk driver...although you already seem to know that."

"I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that was like...the loss of a loved one..."

"That little slice of heaven standing over by the bar is Jenny---our only child. She's going to be a grad student---at State. She is helping out here over the summer. Come on! I'll introduce you."

The phone rang and Jake went to the other end of the bar to answer it just as the introductions had been made, leaving Taylor and Jenny alone.

"So, Taylor, where do you know my dad from?" inquired Jenny, certainly not with any hint of hostility, but Taylor knew she was being checked out.

"I seem to keep running into him all over town. He helped me get my car started the first day I was here. Then one thing led to another. He helped me paint my fence and..."

"Taylor, you definitely remind me of someone---I just can't place it." She paused, in anticipation of a question that didn't come. "Not my mother, if that's what you were thinking. I look a lot like her, or so I'm often told."

Dinsmore
Dinsmore
1,890 Followers