Cooper waved his hand, interrupting him, “Don’t say anything. We should have thanked you more. Without you asking for it. And, I won’t ask anything more of you. Say what you want. Just keep what I said in mind, is all.” Cooper clapped him on the shoulder, turned on his heel, and strode back towards the cabin. I need to do a better job of recognizing people for their work.
Dranko looked at him walk away, a thin, awkward smile creeping onto his face, before he lowered his eyes and kicked at the duff on the ground.
Chapter Eight
Dranko steered them down the long driveway as tires crunched gravel. Lily, wearing a bright yellow housedress, sat next to him in the front seat. She had scolded Dranko up one side and down the other for not having an iron on hand. Dranko had fired right back at her, chastising her for wasting precious cargo space on a ‘frivolous dress’ and not something more practical. The rest of the group had found their respective earnestness a source of great humor.
She fussed about her dress, trying to stretch out the numerous wrinkles. Cooper had gathered that she was fiercely proud of her son, triggering her need to dress up for the occasion. On Lily’s right was Angela, wearing hiker’s pants and a loose-fitting flannel top. Cooper and Jake occupied the rear seat. Cooper’s rifle was resting on the floor, ready at hand, but not drawing unwanted attention. Likewise, they had two M4s stashed in the cargo area, but covered with a blanket. Based on what they’d seen coming into town, they all wore their side arms holstered on their hips, save Lily.
The others who remained back at camp were engaged in various work and projects that Dranko had assigned. Meanwhile, Julianne was continuing her urgent search to learn more about the emerging conspiracy behind what had led to Brushfire Plague.
As Dranko followed the directions Lily was giving her, Cooper’s mind drifted.
The acrid smell wafting up from the large Sharpie pens made Cooper’s nose cringe up in a vain attempt to ward it off. His fingers were stained in many hues from his repeated attempts to make the perfect picket sign. He looked up when his father’s footsteps clattered on the wood floor at the bottom of the stairs.
His father’s eyes were quizzical as he surveyed the half dozen or so unfinished signs strewn about the floor.
“Whatcha doing’ son?”
Young Cooper grimaced and shook his tight fists in frustration, “I’m making a protest sign.”
A thin smile crept onto his father’s face, “What for?”
“Mrs. Small!”
His father struggled to keep a smile from showing, “And, what has Mrs. Small done to deserve your wrath?”
Cooper leapt to his feet and the Sharpie pens clattered against the floor, “She won’t let me and Brian play basketball at recess!”
His father looked confused, “Why not?”
“Because,” his son adopted the tone of someone explaining the obvious, “Samantha got hurt on Monday playing it!”
His father shook his head in exaggerated sympathy, “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”
“I know! And, you taught me to fight against things that are unfair.”
His father’s smile grew wider, “So, what’s the problem?”
The young Cooper stomped his feet, “I can’t get good words for my sign!” His voice was plagued by a plaintive whine.
His father paused for a moment, “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something good.” He tussled Cooper’s hair and moved to the living room where he sat down to read the morning newspaper.
Twenty minutes later, he looked up to find Cooper holding a sign proudly displayed for his review. The sign said, “The Ball Must Be Free to Fall!” A shaky picture of a basketball formed the bottom of the exclamation point.
Cooper’s father looked up at him, a growing smile on his face.
“It rhymes!” Cooper declared proudly.
“I see that. Very nice work.” His eyes gleamed with pride. Cooper never forgot the look he’d received that morning from his father. He also never forgot the week of detention he got from Mrs. Small when he brandished the sign when he’d arrived at school that morning. Cooper thought the look his father gave him that night was prouder still.
As Cooper mused, he was struck by how those brief moments when a son feels his father’s pride could last forever.
At Dranko’s request, they took a longer route to Lily’s son’s house so that they could avoid going through the center of town. As they approached, Lily’s excitement grew. After twenty minutes, she exclaimed, “We’re here! Just up there, take a left into that driveway!” Dranko obeyed and they were quickly past the thin screen of pine trees that shielded the house from the road.
Her son’s house was really a hobby farm, about five acres. The house was a modest one, ranch style, painted nearly as bright yellow as Lily’s dress. A neatly laid out orchard flanked the house on its right. A bright red barn and a variety of coops and fenced areas housed chickens, geese, at least two pigs, and what looked to be a dairy cow. A bevy of goats wandered about the property, grazing. Finally, stretching across the backside was a large area of at least fenced three acres in various stages of plowing and planting. In the midst of the fields, a man clutched his hat off his head and waved it at them in their approach. Cooper noted how the man’s other hand went to his waist, where a pistol likely lay.
They pulled up in front of the house. The front door flung open and a fierce woman trained a double-barreled shotgun on them, “Move slow!” She shouted at them. Dranko and Cooper exchanged the same thought, Lily can handle this.
Lily opened the door very slowly, “Dear Beth! It’s me, mama!” She climbed over Angela and stepped out, still moving tentatively until her face and what she’d said registered with Beth. The shotgun’s barrel fell to the ground, as Beth’s other hand clasped to her open mouth. Tears raced into her eyes.
“Oh my! Mama! You’re alive! We thought…” she paused. “Oh, never mind! Get over here,” she said moving down the steps of the porch. She clutched Lily in a firm embrace. Looking out past Lily, she cried, “Miles! Miles! Get over here! It’s your mama!”
Miles had been walking steadily in from the fields, hand at his waist. As he saw the scene unfold, his pace had quickened, but Beth’s words were electric. He began sprinting toward them, hat in hand, bouncing in a wide arc as he ran.
“I wish my mother-in-law had liked me as much,” Dranko deadpanned as they watched Lily and Beth’s lingering hug.
“You were married?” Angela asked, surprised.
“Hard to believe any woman could love him, isn’t it?”
Angela looked hard at Cooper, “That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t worry about him. The man who insults others just doesn’t like himself enough, you know?” Dranko mustered a dignified voice, as if he was psychologist rendering an official diagnosis.
“Thank you Dr. Know-It-All,” Cooper rebuffed.
“But, to answer your question. Yes, I was married once. When I was in the military. It burned hotter than Eva Mendes in her prime. We loved each other like in the movies. It was just like that,” Dranko’s voice quivered.