18
The Cypress Inn, in all its run-down
apocalyptic glory, was not the only hotel in Jesup. There was a Comfort Inn as well, just a half
mile before it.
That fateful afternoon was not a day that
school was in session, and Grace Scopes and her loving companion, Angela Dixon,
were there for a rare night and even rarer daytime rendezvous. What Angela must have told her husband, she
wasn’t sure. She was just grateful that
Angela was there.
She heard multiple sirens ripping down
the highway. Sleepily, Grace looked over
at the window, and saw Angela looking out it, peeking through the drapes. She was gloriously naked, as was Grace. “What’s going on? “
Angela continued looking out. “With that?
I don’t know.”
She turned towards Grace. “With me?”
She sat on the bed, caressing Grace’s thigh. “I left him.”
19
Grant looked out at his farm, the field
where he kept cattle, another where he grew hay. Later, there would be blueberries and
corn. It had been several decades since
his family grew tobacco.
The farm had been in the Steel family’s
name for six generations, going back to the Civil War. It’s true, they never had slaves. There were some sharecroppers later, but the
family treated them about as well as they could. A few even now had pieces of land that were
originally Steel property.
No, he couldn’t look back and say that
the Steel’s racial attitude had always been politically correct, certainly not
in modern terms. But there were no
acts of wonton cruelty, no association with the Klan, no harassing blacks on
buses or lunch counters.
He was proud of his ancestors, but he
was aware enough to know that not everything they did was good. Slavery and sharecroppers and Jim Crow were
nasty business, and he was glad they were through. Grant wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t
participate in some of the nasty things he heard about sometimes.
And his reverence for his ancestors did
not include displays of the Confederate flag.
That just seemed over the top and too much of a message that you really
didn’t care about what others felt.
Grant was short-handed. There were no sharecroppers now, although he
could lease some of his land, and had thought about doing that. He wasn’t thrilled about using illegals to
harvest crops, but for better or worse, there were ways to deal with that and
have plausible deniability. And his
family had scattered to the four winds.
His children had grown, and none of them were excited enough about
farming to make it their profession.
So there he was. Left with a farm that was too big for him to
handle. He sighed heavily. Like it or not, he was going to have to talk
to Amy, and soon. It was tempting to gut
it out, risk almost certain complete ruin, or get out while the property still
had some value.
Six generations. And his may be the last.
Enough reverie. The fence needed fixing.
20
It was a rare day. Houston Graves, Sr., was finally back in the
office. No one expected him to stay the
full day. The word was that the doctor
wanted him to retire, or at least cut way back.
He called Gariton into his office.
“Gariton, I appreciate you keeping this
office afloat. You and the staff have
done a good job of keeping us current, even with your own troubles. I understand why you felt it necessary to
share with the Sheriff the information you did.
It was not an easy thing, but sometimes we must comply with the
law. And I’m glad the evidence was there
to clear your name.”
Houston Graves, Sr., looked away, as if
a flash of memory of something else had come to him, some fond nostalgia that
passed by, a glimpse of another time.
“What Digger did…no one with the Compton Park Project had anything to do
with. He was following his own delusions,
and we’re all quite upset by it. I
assure you, whatever Archie and Reggie were trying to do, it was not murder and
extortion. I blame my heart attack. Otherwise I may have been better able to
check such nonsense, especially in conjunction with the other investors. You have to know that we all just wanted to
do something that would help this area grow and prosper.”
There was another pause, but Gariton
continued to listen rather than speak.
Best to let Houston, Sr. have his complete say first. “It’s no secret, Gariton. I’m tired.
Without my son to continue the business, I’ve lost heart. Accounting does not stir me like it used to. I really just want to get out and see some
things, spend more time with my family.
So I’ve approached someone about buying the firm. I have Davis Robinson’s proxy to do what I
need to. Whether who I sell to will want
to keep you and the others on, I’m afraid I don’t know.
Gariton was ready to speak. “Don’t worry.
I’ll be kept on, along with the others.”
“Because you’re going to sell the firm
to me,” Gariton said.
“What? How can you do that? You don’t have that kind of money. I mean, Christie does, but you don’t. And isn’t your marriage all but over?”
“I have my own money, thank you very
much. I had inherited my own wealth
before I met Christie. What? Do you think she was going to marry a
pauper? It may not be the same level as
Delco or Crowley
“I’m satisfied I can replace any clients
we lose. We will start looking for
clients outside of the old money base of Crowley
“Hmmm.
Let me think on it.”
“Ok, sir. Just let me know.”
One second later, “Okay, I thought about
it. Let’s get Cooper over here and see
how quick we can get this done.”
Gariton smiled. Soon a new business would grace the
Round. “Accounting for the Rest of
Us”. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
21
Albert Black had a bar, one of the few
in Dixon
Well, almost all. “I feel for you. I really do.
But now that you’re out, I just can’t take a chance. I can’t have my business turning into a gay
bar,” he said, blocking the door to what was once one of his most faithful
patrons.
Freddy looked like he was going to say
something, but he just slumped his shoulders and left.
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