“I don’t know why you keep this thing.”
Alan Taylor wiggled the trailer wiring connector, muttered to himself, and a coffee mug appeared beside his face.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” He took a sip, stood up, and smiled at his wife, “Because it’s the first brand-new thing I ever bought with my own money.”
“I know,” Betsy was still in her robe, looking mussed from bed, “But if you absolutely need a truck, you can afford something modern, with a warranty, that won’t leave you stranded on a highway somewhere.”
Alan straightened up, patted the tailgate of the 1996 Ford Bronco affectionately, “It only happened that one time.”
He took another sip, watching Betsy chew her bottom lip. He wondered if she realized how much she looked like their daughter when she did that.
“If you give her money, you won’t be doing her any favors,” she looked him in the eye, “The longer she persists in this fantasy of hers, the more it will hurt when it fails.”
“They won’t take money, love,” He took another sip, “I tried.”
“Why, Alan?”
“Because she’s my daughter, sweetheart.”
“She can’t keep grubbing in the dirt, Alan. That’s no place for your daughter.”
Alan set the coffee mug on the trailer, settled his hands on Betsy’s waist, “I did my fair share of grubbing in the dirt, honey.”
She sighed, trying to make him understand, “You’re a man, husband. Noelle is not.”
She settled her hands on his forearms, “The world is not kind to girls of her station. Common men are not kind to girls like her. That man --”
He set a gentle finger on her lips, “Remy.”
She frowned, sighed, “-- Remy is a common man. He will leave her broken-hearted, pregnant, and ruined. That’s what common men do.”
Alan, smiled softly, brushed a lock of her hair out of her face, “I’m a common man, darling.”
“Alan Michael Taylor, you are no such thing! You are not common now, nor have you ever been!”
He touched his forehead to hers, huffed fondly, “I grew up in a trailer park, sweetheart. I was roustabouting in the oil patch at 15. Navy enlisted. Roughnecked my way through college. You don’t get much more common than that.”
She pulled back, looked him fiercely in the eye, “You built Taylor Oil and Gas from nothing to an industry power. You rub shoulders with Senators and Congressmen. You have had international movers and shakers sitting at our dinner table. A common man didn’t do that.”
“Yes,” he kissed her, gently, “But I wasn’t doing any of that when I was 26.”
She sighed, frustrated, and stepped back, waved at the trailer hitched to the Bronco, “So, tell me about this thing.”
“This,” he twanged the tie-down strap, “Is a two-seat 4x4 UTV.”
He smiled at Betsy’s Interested Wife Expression.
“Did you know that our daughter hunts?”
Betsy looked at him, puzzled, “Hunts what?”
He smiled, proud, “Feral hogs, mostly. They’re tearing up the south part of the ranch. And, I suspect, padding out their freezer.”
Her hand came up, covering her mouth, eyes wide in shock, “Alan, no!”
“The deck on this thing will haul a dead hog with ease. And hay, feed sacks, calves, and a whole bunch of things a small ranch needs.”
He looked her in the eye, “So I’m going to take my daughter hunting in it, and then I’m going to forget to bring it home.”
She took a deep breath, paused, chewed on her lip. Alan walked to her and put his hands on her waist again. She looked up at him, trying to get him to understand, “Alan, that man – Remy – he doesn’t love her.”
Alan rubbed his face gently in her hair. “Betsy, did you know that they have a goat that spends most of the time on top of their roof?”
He looked at her, “Remy doesn’t like Roof Goat, so every morning he stands in the front yard and cusses Roof Goat – but he does it quietly, so Ellie doesn’t hear him.”
Alan smiled, gently, “But she does, and she giggles.”
Betsy looked at him, “If he doesn’t like it why doesn’t he just get rid of the filthy thing?”
Alan brushed her cheek with his thumb, “Because Ellie likes Roof Goat.”
“I … I don’t understand.”
Alan sighed, softly, sadly, “I know you don’t, sweetheart.” He kissed her. “I love you. I’ll give Ellie your love. See you Tuesday afternoon.”
Wrote a scene yesterday that I’m not happy with. I badly explained something that seems integral to the plot and to Ellie, so I need to work on it a bit. In lieu of that one here’s something I threw together this morning.
And, yes, I’m already getting cussed for making Elizabeth complicated. You’re welcome!
Ian
Like I said, write it all out, put it together, and then what needs to be fixed or massaged will be obvious. :-)
Write more, worry less. Worry is for when you're writing the second draft!
I have a book titled Everything Men Know About Women. It’s 209 blank pages and I’m sure it could be longer if the author put some effort into it