Chapter 33
"On the Road Again"
HAVE YOU HEARD THE EXPRESSION: "ALL DRESSED UP WITH NO PLACE TO GO"?
THAT'S ME.
MY LAST STOP IN LEXINGTON WAS TO THE OFFICES OF FINN, GLADSBURG, STEIN AND LOFTUS. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN PRETTY DAMN CALLUS OF ME TO FLY THE COOP WITHOUT LETTING LUTHER KNOW HOW MUCH I APPRECIATED EVERYTHING HE HAD DONE FOR ME. I NO LONGER THOUGHT OF HIM AS 'WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT'.
BY THE TIME I NEEDED TO TAKE MY LEAVE OF THIS MAN, I WAS READY TO HANG UP THE SILLY NICKNAME AND AFFORD HIM THE ESTEEM HE SO RIGHTLY DESERVED. HE HAD TREATED ME WITH RESPECT AND DECENCY. HE HAD NOT BEEN GIVEN TO TOO MUCH OVER-SOLICITOUSNESS BECAUSE OF MY DISABILITY, AND FOR THIS I WAS INDEBTED. HE HAD GUIDED THIS CLUELESS IDIOT ALONG THE PATH OF A SON-AND-HEIR'S LAST FAMILIAL OBLIGATIONS IN A SKILLFUL MANNER. HE HAD GIVEN ME THE REGARD OF A FELLOW PROFESSIONAL, WHICH I HAD COME TO APPRECIATE AS A SINCERE GIFT FROM ONE ADULT TO ANOTHER.
(YES, I CAN BE A REAL ADULT WHEN I WANT TO BE! DON'T PUSH IT!)
A YEAR AND A HALF AGO I WOULD HAVE PAID ANY OUTSTANDING BILLS OUT OF MY INHERITANCE AND BEEN DONE WITH IT, AND THEN GOT THE HELL OUT OF DODGE. BUT THINGS ARE A LITTLE DIFFERENT NOW. AT LEAST, I HOPE THEY ARE. IT'S SUDDENLY BECOME IMPORTANT TO GIVE A DAMN ABOUT WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF ME … PEOPLE LIKE LUTHER AND WILLY ORTIZ.
I RODE THE ELEVATOR UP TO THE FIRM'S SUITE, FEELING WASHED OUT; STIFF AND SORE FROM THE WEEKEND. IT WAS EARLY, BUT THE WOMAN AT THE FRONT DESK SAID LUTHER WAS ALREADY IN HIS OFFICE AND IT WAS OKAY TO GO IN. SO I MANEUVERED ACROSS THE RECEPTION AREA AND KNOCKED ON HIS DOOR.
LUTHER CALLED OUT: "COME RIGHT IN, MY BOY …"
(HOW THE HELL DOES HE ALWAYS KNOW … ?)
I OPENED THE DOOR AND STEP-HOPPED INSIDE, CLOSING IT BEHIND ME. I COULD SEE HIM WATCHING ME OVER THE TOPS OF HIS GLASSES, AND THE OBSERVATION WASN'T LONG IN COMING. HE ALWAYS KNEW. "I SEE YOU GOT BACK OKAY FROM YOUR LONG WEEKEND, BUT I ALSO SEE YOU'RE A LITTLE SORE TODAY."
I GAVE HIM A SCOWL-GRUNT-GRIN COMBINATION AS I LOWERED CAREFULLY INTO ONE OF HIS CLIENT CHAIRS. "YEAH, I AM. I GOT A LITTLE HAMMERED THE OTHER NIGHT, AND IT TOOK ME ALL DAY YESTERDAY AND ALL NIGHT LAST NIGHT TO SLEEP IT OFF AT A CHEAP HOTEL DOWNTOWN. I'M NOT AS YOUNG AS I USED TO BE."
I COULDN'T BELIEVE I'D JUST SAID THAT.
He smiled smugly, but did not comment further. He pushed a stack of legal papers across his desk toward me. "Did you stop by the house on your way over here?" He asked.
"Yeah … passed by yesterday. Didn't stop. Don't have a key anymore. The place looks a little 'dead-in-the-water' …"
"Well, it won't be for long. You might be pleased to know that a family from Delaware bought it. Man-and-wife team of Cardiac Specialists … opening a new clinic downtown. They have three kids, a Mother-in-law and a Golden Retriever. The house will be ideal for them. Lots of space to stretch out. They'll be moving sometime in September … get the kids settled into school as soon as possible."
I pretended interest. In all honesty, I couldn't have cared less if Santa and Missus Claus opened an auxiliary toy factory there. "Good to hear," I said. "The place is certainly big enough …"
Luther smiled in that savvy way he has. "You don't really give a damn, do you?" He said in a whisper.
"No. I don't. It's just another big, empty house now ... nothing to me anymore … if it ever was …"
He looked at me strangely, but did not comment further. I knew he saw my regret, my pain, and the loneliness that radiated from me in waves. He tapped the pile of papers on his desk, effectively changing the subject. "We need to go over these, Greg. One final time before we pack things up for good. If that's all right with you."
"Of course." I adjusted my crutches and stood, preparing to move closer to the desk.
Luther raised his hand. I paused.
"However … I was thinking of having a croissant and coffee before we get started." He continued to look at me warily, and I decided he thought I must really look like hell this morning. "Would you join me?"
I nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks." I lowered myself down again, my breath whooshing between my teeth. The air around us was crowded with the things I wouldn't say and he wouldn't ask.
Luther poured the coffee and set a tall ceramic mug on the table between the two client chairs. It smelled really good. The croissants were cheese and honey; the aroma decadent and delicious. He placed the other steaming mug on the table between us and stopped to look at me a moment, watching me knead my aching thigh gently. I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since "The Howling Wolf." Had he figured that out too?
"I don't mean to be presumptuous, my boy … but if I may … there is a small upholstered stool in the supply closet …"
I paused in the rubbing, long enough to look up at him and nod. "Yeah … get it, please."
I let him lift my foot and place it across the stool. The ache lessened a tad. "Thank you."
We ate the croissants, drank the coffee almost in silence. He did not ask questions, but the air still sizzled with his real concern for me.
Finally I assured him. "I'm all right, Luther. Honest."
A soft rap at the door a half hour later revealed Willy Ortiz, back from an errand and checking in while Luther and I were going over the paperwork from the estate sale.
During the course of the conversation, Willy asked casually where I was heading when I left Lexington.
I stared at him, pole-axed. Where indeed? I shrugged, determined to keep my meanderings private.
I thought fast and lied through my teeth. "Well, for now, probably back to Princeton to figure out what to do with my life. After that, I have to track down a specialist to take a long, hard look at my leg."
Willy walked over next to me and stuck out his hand. "Well, Greg, I wish you the best, and I'm glad to hear that you'll look for someone qualified to evaluate your condition. It's making your life hell, and when you hurt, I hurt with you. Wherever you go, whatever you do, rest assured that being associated with you has been a real adventure for me. Good luck and Godspeed …"
Taken aback, I hardly knew how to reply, so I spoke the truth. "Thank you Willy. Sincerely. The feeling is mutual for sure. Goodbye."
He nodded, turned and said something to Luther, then out the door again and gone.
Luther's eyebrows rose. "For Willy," he said with a sigh, "what he just said to you amounted to the Gettysburg Address. I think you must have really impressed him."
Embarrassed, I didn't know what to say. So I just nodded once. "He impressed me too."
We returned to the papers from the sale after that. Both of us silent and retrospective. I'm not good with compliments. I don't know how to say "thank you" and then shut up. The discomfort I felt at Willy's comments left a lingering appreciation that I could barely mask. I felt the heat radiating off the top of my head, and my ears buzzed painfully.
The bill of sale for the house was $850,000, plus closing costs. I swallowed hard.
The three remaining vehicles, Dad's collection of tools and guns and the household furnishings went for a total of $98,000. The old Jeep alone caused a bidding war that finally reached almost $30,000. Mom's jewelry brought another $123,000. I had requested and kept hers and Dad's wedding rings, and Luther gave them to me now, together, in a small wooden box.
The final bill for expenses and incidentals came to just over $100,000. Current taxes, utilities paid and shut off; the funeral and cemetery bills, and the firm's final bill. Most reasonable. Luther had a bank check for $565,000 to be added to the inheritance, bringing the total to about a million and a half after all the other shit ….
The IRAs and pension funds that we'd found in the last safe deposit box cost a bundle in taxes, but I left them where they were, untouched ... for a rainy day someday, maybe. I'd almost soiled my tighty-whities when the totals were added up.
I signed my name the requisite number of times in the required spaces, swallowed the boulder in my throat and laid the pen down. Luther printed copies on his printer and handed me a fat envelope full of legal information I would probably never touch.
As in: Finished! Over and done with. I was a free man.
Luther and I made a toast with the dregs in our coffee cups and lifted them in celebration.
I lowered my foot from the stool carefully and gathered the crutches. It was time to go, and I needed to do that before I started to tear up … damn this business of trying to crunch down on difficult emotions …
I wasn't fast enough. Luther took my shoulders into his big paws as I regained my stance and my balance. I could not get away from him. He drew me into an embrace and held me quietly for a few brief seconds, as though I were made of bone China. Then he released me and stepped back. I was smiling in embarrassed torture.
"Your parents," he said suddenly, "would be very proud of you, Greg. I knew them well, and you have the same loyalty and decency they had. It's been a pleasure working for and with you."
*Oh dammit, Luther … you sentimental old fool … you big fat Pooh Bear of a man … I love you too. You are a Hoot!*
Out loud, I said: "The pleasure was mine, Luther. I'll remember you with laughter and respect. You are one hell of a lawyer. Goodbye, and thank you."
I left him then. I still had a reputation to uphold, after all …
Today I was going out into the world of the living to find a place to call my own. I did not want advice or wise suggestions or words of caution. I just wanted to point the Dynasty's headlights toward the setting sun and keep going until the road ran out, or the hand of Providence bade me stop.
When I finally did stop, wherever that might be, I wondered if maybe there might be a few friends waiting to greet me, and shelter for the night.
I shook my head to clear the daydreams and lifted the Dynasty's trunk lid to slide the ring box and the big envelope of paperwork into the backpak.
I pulled a steep breath when I saw the wheelchair, folded and placed carefully inside for me as a parting gift. All I could do was shake my head in wonder. Willy must have loaded it when he reinstalled my hand controls on the steering column.
I stuffed the envelope and ring box into the already overstuffed old backpak, and I looked at the battered cane, no longer sticking out the top, but tossed aside next to the spare tire. It was time to face the fact that I would probably never use it again. I sighed. Reality was a bitch.
I would head east, then north, until I found a place that looked like home. I would feather a small nest and settle in to write a few more articles as the mystery doctor, Kyle Calloway. Try one more time to lure Wilson in. Maybe I'd become a real doctor again someday … check the ranks of local sawbones and find someone who knew what they were doing concerning my damned useless leg.
Six months from now, my car would probably be wearing a handicap license plate from another state. I would likely be living somewhere to the north, minus a right leg, but pain-free. A couple of very ambitious undertakings still lay ahead of me. I hoped I was up to it.
I settled in, started the car's engine, fastened the seat belt with a sense of finality and pulled away from the curb.
Nightfall found me near the town of Grayson, close to the West Virginia border. I was tired and sore and hungry and thirsty. The Dynasty was running on fumes and my bladder was about to bust. It had been just too much trouble to stop earlier, and I had pressed on until there was no other choice. My leg would hurt like hell when I finally disembarked for the night, but it was now or never. I patted my front pocket to make sure I'd stuffed a couple of Immitrax in there. I had.
I located a nice little motel-restaurant on the outskirts of town and pulled in at the front where about a dozen other cars and trucks were already parked. I unlatched the glove compartment for my Handicap sign to hang from the rearview mirror. I didn't want to have to move the car again tonight. My leg already hurt with a vengeance and I knew I must give it a rest.
I took a minute or two to unfold myself from the seat and stand beside the car to get my bearings. I opened the trunk to grab the backpak and stumbled over to the motel's front door with a sign that read: "OFFICE".
I reached out to turn the knob, and saw someone inside making haste in my direction. I hesitated, watching, as a lady in a flowered housedress pulled the door open from the inside and stood back for me to enter. "It sticks," she said as I limped inside and maneuvered over to the front counter. "I didn't want you t'get hurt with the darn thing."
I nodded my appreciation and waited for her to scurry behind the counter and walk over to the register. "Are you lookin' for a room for the night?"
I nodded. "Yeah, please."
"Our rooms are sixty dollars a night, single occupancy."
I nodded and reached for my wallet. Pulled out a hundred and handed it over to her. "Will this pay for the room, plus supper and breakfast?"
She nodded. "Yessir, it certainly will." She handed me a key on a paddle and nodded. The number on the paddle was "4".
The outside of the building was well lit, and the sidewalk smooth enough that the crutch tips didn't catch on anything. I walked to the car and opened the trunk, intending to remove fresh clothing from one of my suitcases and stuff it in the top of the backpak.
I stared into the yawning mouth of the trunk. There were no suitcases. With the wheelchair lying on top of everything in there, I had not even realized they were missing. My mind tumbled backward in time to the night I visited the "Howling Wolf" and came back to Lexington after the sale was over.
Inadvertently I had left everything in the cluttered housekeeper's quarters when I departed for the weekend. I'd never given it a thought after that. Whoever arranged the room for the estate sale, assumed the suitcases were part of the sale items. Willy would laugh like hell if he knew. Even Luther would smile.
My suitcases had not been loaded into the car, and had probably been purchased by someone who wore size 42-long blue jeans, size-large boxer briefs, and size 3X tee shirts. My shaving kit, toiletries, beard trimmer and Sony radio were gone. I wondered what the buyer thought when he pulled out one size-12-1/2 right sneaker … and couldn't find the other …
I stood looking into the trunk, biting the inside of my cheek, thinking:
*House … you asshole!*
Now I would have to stop somewhere to buy replacement clothing to get me wherever-the-hell I was going, or else get there in my dirty underwear. I would have to pull the wheelchair out of the trunk and use it inside a store so I could use both hands to pile a load of new stuff into my lap. What a hell of a way to start a new life in New England …
Yeah, New England. It had been only a dream before, but the reality of the situation was fast approaching. It was time to fish or cut bait … time to shit or get off the pot. I couldn't daydream forever.
*Do it!*
I did laugh then. Almost peed myself. I'd forgotten my bladder was full-to-overflowing. I was Clark Gable in "It Happened One Night". Only thing missing was Claudette Colbert. I closed the trunk lid, picked up the backpak and clomped back to my motel room.
Somewhat different attitude from the Gregory House of a year or so before. I should find some solace in that.
I unlocked the door and flipped on the light. The room was spacious and well appointed; the full-size bed very inviting. I flopped the backpak in the middle of it and took myself to the bathroom where I took a five-minute piss and heaved a massive sigh after the meagre little squirt at the end.
*Oh God!*
I undressed and stood in the shower, running the water as hot as I could stand it, across my shoulders, down my backside and letting it cascade over me until the skin of my emaciated thigh turned a bright pink. It felt so good.
I trimmed my beard down to my PPTH scruff with a cheap house razor and called it good enough. Once I found a stopping-off place I would buy a new trimmer and sculpt it. I rolled my dirty clothing into a ball and placed it on a chair beside the door. I dressed in my last clean outfit … blue tee shirt, blue jeans, gray boxer briefs and grey rag socks. One sneaker, whose mate could be a thousand miles away by now.
I pushed the backpak under the bed and left the table lamp on low, locked the door behind me and headed back to the restaurant. I was tired and achy, but the Immitrax had helped reduce the volume of the ache. Now it was time to fill my belly.
That night I slept the sleep of the dead. In the morning I had bacon and eggs. I turned in my key to the young guy at the counter and was on my way by 10:00 a.m. I found a full-service gas station and filled up. Hard north, then east again.
I could probably run a zig-zag course all the way up to Pohenegambok …
214