Bob gripped his knees, then sank back into the couch. Seeing the footage yet again pushed the horror and rage and confusion out of his chest. He realized he was exhausted. “I’m sorry. Exploding like that. I mean…” He looked up. “Do you have any sons, or children?”
“No. I have never married. I have no children.”
Bob turned back to the TV. “You’ll see. Someday. You’ll have kids and someday you’ll change your mind.”
Cochran nodded politely. “Other friends have said the same thing.”
Bob said, “There ya go.”
They heard the bedroom door open and shut, and Belinda appeared on the stairs. Bob turned the TV off. He didn’t want her to have to listen to any more news about the island. She’d changed her clothes, and now wore her usual sweater and jeans, and sensible gym shoes. She headed straight into the kitchen. They listened to her open and close the fridge, then heard the water splash into the sink.
Cochran didn’t say anything, just listened for a while, and turned his attention back to the papers on the desk.
Bob wanted to exhale. Thank Christ. His wife was back down where it made him comfortable. He’d listened to those sounds every night of his married life, and they put him at ease, because life was back where it should be. The money was at the bank, the corn was growing under God’s blue sky, and his wife was back in the kitchen.
He even felt a little hungry.
Soon Belinda stood in the kitchen doorway. She cleared her throat. “Dinner’s ready.”
The men stood and followed her into the dining room. She had laid out dinner, trays and trays across the table. Meatloaf. Mashed potatoes. Peas. Salad. Garlic French bread. Ice water. White wine.
“I’m sorry, it isn’t much,” Belinda said. “Probably nothing like what you are used to.” This was aimed at Cochran.
Cochran said, “It’s great. Thank you.”
Bob waited for more, because he thought his wife deserved a hell of a lot of praise from a guest for showing such hospitality just days after losing her son. When it became clear that Cochran wasn’t going to say anything else, Bob had to say, “Much obliged, dear. As always, a fantastic spread.”
She stood back, letting the men take their seats. When they were settled, she brought her own plate to the table and sat down, but made no attempt to reach for any food. She spoke, quietly, directly to Cochran. “Why? Why couldn’t you leave him alone? Why did you have to go and burn him?”
Bob closed his eyes and tried to think of something, anything, to change the subject.
His wife did not stop. “You burned him up. What happens to his soul, then? What happens then?” She started to cry. “My boy. My boy. You burnt him. Erased him. Couldn’t even leave a piece for his own mother.” Her voice rose. “Didn’t even have the decency to send him home in a box.”
Bob stood up. “Honey, please.”
She waved him off, focused on Cochran. “What is wrong with you people?”
Cochran said, “I am truly sorry for your loss.”
Bob took his wife in his arms. “Honey, you’re tired. You aren’t yourself. Time to get some rest.” He escorted her upstairs. She went agreeably, although she asked, “Why?” every so often as if she had forgotten the question.
Upstairs in the master bathroom, Bob shook out two more Xanax and gave them to his wife. She took them without hesitation and let him tuck her into bed. He turned off the light, lingered a moment, listening as she started to softly cry. He wanted to say something, but had no idea what, and closed the door on her low sobbing.
He went back down and sat at the table.
Cochran laid his fork on his plate.
Bob said, “Sorry. It’s… Thought it might do her some good to be in the kitchen. Soothe her nerves, you know? She’s just tired.”
“Of course she is,” Cochran said. “It’s okay. Truly. I understand. I am here as an Allagro employee. You and your wife are a part of the Allagro family, and my job extends to helping you as best as I can during this difficult time. Now that we have gotten through the memorial, my job here is nearly finished. I can wrap up the loose ends tomorrow, and leave you good folks in peace.”
Bob nodded. “Good. I mean, I appreciate the help, I surely do, but I think my wife and I need some time to ourselves now.”
“Of course. I understand. And even after I leave, you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Anytime. Twenty-four hours a day. Like I said, you are an important part of the Allagro family, and we are here for you.” Cochran swirled the wine around his glass and smiled.
Bob knew Cochran saw him as just some hick farmer and didn’t think he was used to a slick-talking lawyer, but enough bullshit had been shoveled his way from bankers, tractor salesman, and field owners, that he knew when someone was setting him up. He could smell the faint condescension between Cochran’s words. So he waited. He knew that the man was circling around to something, the real reason for the speech.
It didn’t take long. Cochran put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, concern in his eyes. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, you must be awfully tired yourself. How you holding up?”
Bob didn’t smile back. “I’m holding up just fine. Second time you’ve asked me how I’m feeling.”
Cochran didn’t blink. “I’m not trying to pry. Just concerned. No offense, but you really don’t look well.”
“And I already told you. I lost my son. You got a problem with that?” The rage and frustration were back, and beginning to build.
Cochran sat back in his chair and studied Bob. “Of course not. I’m just trying to help.”
“Help. How?”
“Any way I can.”
“You seem awfully preoccupied with my health.”
“Again, just trying to help. I certainly didn’t mean to cause you any offense.”
Bob forced a grin. “Sorry. Getting a little testy. You’re right. Must be tired.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “Guess I should call it a night.”
Cochran smiled right back but made no move to take Bob’s hand. “Good night, then. Hope it is peaceful for you.”
Bob let his smile die. “What’s your problem? I’m not good enough to shake your hand?”
“Of course not.”
“Then shake my hand.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Afraid of catching something?”
“No.”
“Then why not?”
Cochran sat back and studied the farmer. “Where are you going with this, Bob?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“I think you do.”
“I’m not sure I like the tone of your voice.”
“I think that you need to think very carefully about how you want to proceed.”
“I think I’m about done with your help.”
“You sure you want to do this? Think about your wife. Your farm. My employers are… quite powerful, and wield a lot of influence. I would suggest that you take this into account and don’t piss your life’s work away.”
Bob drew his hands into fists. “How dare you… how dare you sit here as a guest at my dinner table and threaten my wife and my farm? You’ve already taken my son.”
Cochran was quiet for a moment. “What exactly have you got planted out there in that two acres by the expressway, Bob?”
So that was it. They wanted his son’s last crop. “Get out of my house.”
“Again, you sure this is what you want, Bob? Think very carefully.”
“Get off my property. Now.”
Cochran drummed his fingers against the table and watched Bob for a moment. “So be it,” he said, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, threw it on the table, and stood. He left the dining room without another word.