Revenge of Mary Jo Bilke

 

Revenge of Mary Jo Bilke
by Dave Wright

This story is dedicated to the many women
who have joined the ‘Me Too’ Movement.

This is a work of fiction. Although some places may be real, all characters and events are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

[1993]
Mary Jo Bilke arrived at the Phantom Hills Ranch a half-hour early. A dose of Special K, something she had purchased on a street corner earlier in the week was tucked into her purse. She wore a loose white silk blouse, a tight navy-blue skirt, and red pumps. She sat at the oak dining room table to wait. A trickle of sweat made its way between her tan breasts as she placed a new bottle of Glenlivet next to her purse on the table. A picture window commanded a view of the ranch’s long driveway and a blue Montana sky. Heat waves radiated off the late-afternoon desert floor. A small cloud of dust appeared on the horizon followed by Raymond’s Ford Mustang.

Raymond McDougal rattled the key in the lock, but the door was already ajar. He stepped onto the hardwood floor and looked up, somewhat startled.

“I didn’t see your car,” said Raymond.

“I parked behind the house by the barn and let myself in,” said Mary Jo.

“I’m surprised you still have the key.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t change the locks.” She stood up from the table. “You’re getting more trusting as you age, but you’re still looking good.”

“Thank you, Mary Jo.” Raymond gazed at her for a long moment. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

Mary Jo stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek, then stepped back to appraise his rugged appearance—angular face, thinning auburn hair, and a complexion predisposed to burning. He was wearing designer jeans, polished cowboy boots, a belt with a monogramed silver buckle, and a red bandana that had been upgraded from cotton to silk. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

She gestured to the bottle of scotch. “I brought you something for our reunion.”

Raymond smiled broadly. “Your taste must be getting more refined.”

She laughed. “Yes. I guess you could say that.”

She sat again at the table, opened the bottle, and poured two healthy shots. “I’m afraid I prefer it with ice. Can you get some from the fridge?”

“Love to,” said Raymond as he retreated to the kitchen.

Mary Jo slipped a drop of liquid into Raymond’s drink, then removed her purse from the table and set it on the chair next to her.

“You’ve made some great improvements since I was here last,” said Mary Jo. “The house looks wonderful. I love the leather furniture—and that beautiful Mexican sarape.”

Raymond beamed his appreciation. She pointed to a painting above the mantle. “Are you still into quarter horses?”

“It’s the only breed for a ranch,” said Raymond proudly. “But it doesn’t look like you’re dressed for a riding lesson.”

“Maybe later, Ray. Let’s celebrate first.” She plunked a couple of ice cubes into her glass and slid his across the table. “Remember all those Friday nights when we used to get together here? I was becoming a pretty good rider.”

“You were a quick study,” said Raymond as he settled into the chair across from her.

She gave him an easy smile. “That’s what they’ve been telling me at my law firm. I made partner and I wanted you to be the first to know.” She raised her glass in a toast.

“Congratulations,” said Raymond who took the glass in his hand. “I never expected you would become a lawyer.”

“Here’s to new experiences,” said Mary Jo as she downed her drink in one gulp.

“To new experiences,” agreed Raymond.

Mary Jo poured them each another drink, this time sipping more deliberately. “Remember how you always wanted me to stay the night?” she asked.

Raymond delivered a rueful smile and looked at his glass. “You always politely refused.” He downed his drink and leaned back in his chair with his feet outstretched. “Lots of lonely evenings.”

Mary Jo got up from her chair, walked around the table and stood next to him. Her legs, the color and warmth of the desert floor, were inches from his lap.

Raymond sat up with widening eyes and reached out to touch her skirt.

“Does the skirt look familiar?” she asked as she stared down and into his blue eyes.

She allowed him a momentary frown of confusion, then a flicker of panic before she unbuttoned her blouse revealing a lace brassier the color of the approaching sunset.

“Your luck may have changed, Ray,” she said quietly as she sat on his lap and put her arms around his shoulders. She kissed him on the mouth, and whispered, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

Raymond began to twitch and shiver. He placed his hand on her thigh. “No…stockings…either,” he said with a slur.

“You’re sounding a little tipsy,” said Mary Jo. “That’s not like you. You always used to be able to hold your drink.”

Raymond shook his head. “No. It’s not…like me…at all.”

“Let’s go into the bedroom, Ray.”

She removed her blouse and left it on the table with her unfinished drink. Ray looked at her as if he were hypnotized. She took him by the hand. “We’ll be more comfortable in there.” She led him across the dining room and into the master bedroom. Raymond sat unsteadily on the edge of the king-sized bed.

“Let’s help you off with those jeans,” suggested Mary Jo as she unbuckled his belt. The monogram on the buckle read, Phantom Hills. “I’ll keep this as a memento of the occasion,” she said as she lifted Raymond’s pale bare legs onto the bed.

Raymond raised one arm as if to protest. Mary Jo crawled next to him and placed his wandering hand on her breast. His eyes began to flutter.

In her free hand she held a pair of panties. “How about these?” she said as she dangled them in front of his bewildered expression. “Do they look familiar? You should have kept them as a memento of the evening.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh yes you do, Raymond.” She spoke to him in a firm, loud voice. “The stains confirmed that you are Carter’s father. Yours was the only DNA they found.”

Raymond’s eyes closed to a squint, his body quivered, and he fell into a stupor.

He won’t remember much about this evening, thought Mary Jo, but I wanted to make damn sure he remembered that much.

Mary Jo pulled herself away from Raymond’s clutch. She removed his briefs, left them at the foot of the bed, took a parting glance and chuckled. Not much there, really.

She left him passed out on the bed and returned to the dining room to retrieve her blouse. She placed the crumpled panties on the table next to a thick envelope. On top of the envelope was a cover letter.

Dear Mr. McDougal:
           I regret to inform you that we have discovered a number of mistakes in the title transfer for the Phantom Hills Ranch. It appears that your realtor, in his haste to consummate the deal, neglected to conduct a legitimate appraisal, nor did he complete a proper title examination. The documents enclosed explain that the ownership of the Phantom Hills Ranch will revert to Stanley Martin.
           Enjoy your last carefree weekend at the ranch.
Sincerely,
Mary Jo Bilke,
Attorney at law
Bilke and Associates

She stuck a post-it note to the bottle of Glenlivet.
Never did develop a taste for the stuff, but it seems to pair well with the date rape drug. MJ

****

[1983]
Raymond McDougal was a high achiever. He was lucky. He was used to getting what he wanted. He used his family connections and business savvy to climb the corporate ladder at the refinery in Billings, Montana. He began in the accounting department, managing the distribution of gas, diesel and aviation fuel that was processed from Canadian crude. He soon moved to middle-management overseeing a team of twenty employees, then fifty, then a hundred—nearly a fourth of the employees in the plant.

Raymond had more difficulty mustering the family of four that he had promised his wife, Rose. He and Rose worked diligently to achieve a pregnancy. Rose was aware of every moment of her monthly cycle and when she was supposed to be most fertile. She took her temperature twice a day. When she called the office to say, “It’s time,” Raymond canceled his next appointment and dutifully arrived more than willing to do his part—no performance anxiety for Raymond. After a couple of years, they endured batteries of infertility tests, only to be told that there was nothing wrong with either of them. They discussed invitro fertilization, but it wasn’t covered by insurance. Rose suggested adoption, but the idea of raising a child with someone else’s genes did not appeal to Raymond. “He wouldn’t really be our child, Rose,” he had said.

They had nearly forgotten about their desire for children when, at the age of thirty-three, Rose came to the breakfast table after a long session in the bathroom. She poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from Raymond. “It’s been two months since my last period, hon.” She beamed at him and continued in her southern drawl, “I think I’m finally pregnant.”

Raymond looked as though someone had shined a big-beam flashlight in his face in a dark room. “That’s…That’s wonderful, Rose,” he stammered.

Rose frowned. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“No. No. I’m thrilled.” He cradled the mug of coffee between his hands and smiled weakly. “It’s just that I thought we had given up hope for a family. I…we’ve been talking more about the ranch than we have about a family.”

Rose’s eyes moistened as she stared down at her cup. “Who have you been talking with? About the ranch, I mean.” She looked up. “You know, there was a time that I wanted a ranch as much as you did, but I haven’t heard much about those plans since shortly after we were married.”

She paused again to watch for a change in his expression. He remained deadpan but pulled the knot of his bandana away from his Adam’s apple and cleared his throat. “We’ve been saving for a down payment on a ranch for years.”

Rose interrupted him. “I haven’t even been on a horse for the past ten years. You wouldn’t allow it. You didn’t want me on a horse. You were afraid I’d lose a baby.”

“Rose,” Raymond countered, “you know that a ranch has always been part of our plans. I’ve been looking at a spread west of town,” he said with more enthusiasm. “I think we can get it cheap. The recession has hurt a lot of people, but we’re in a position to take advantage of it.”

“What about this baby?” she said, holding a trembling hand over her belly. “Is that still in your…our plans?”

“Of course, Rose. Of course, it is.” He got up from his chair and walked over to put an arm around Rose’s shoulder. He smiled, stooped, and pecked her on the cheek. “We’ve got a little cowboy brewing in there.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll see you after work.”

Rose sat motionless in the chair as he left the room. “Y’all have a good day,” she whispered to herself.

****

[1970]
Rose met Raymond at the Drowsy Dixie Dude Ranch when she was twenty. Each summer after she had turned sixteen, as soon as school got out, Rose boarded a bus from her home in Amarillo to Austin. Desperate to leave the flatlands of the panhandle and hoping to ride horses, she found a job as a maid at the Drowsy Dixie, a dude ranch that catered to wannabe cowboys. She said goodbye to her aging parents and watched out the window as the monotony of the panhandle gave way to the hill country of southern Texas.

By the time she had graduated from high school, she had been promoted from dish washer and bed maker to full-time stable manager. It was there that she met Raymond McDougal, the tall and handsome young man from Billings. His parents had given him a summer at the ranch as a graduation gift from Montana State University.

Rose greeted him as he stepped of out of the air-conditioned Greyhound and into the glaring heat. He was decked out in tight-fitting blue jeans, a western-cut tapered shirt with three open snaps at the top, and what would become his trademark—a red paisley print bandana tied around his neck.

“Howdy, partner,” she had teased. She extended her hand and smiled. “I’m Rose. I’m in charge of the horses.”

He had been holding a cowboy hat without so much as a speck of lint marring its black felt. He placed it on his head to shield the sun and shook Rose’s hand. “Howdy, yourself. Looks like I picked the right ranch to spend the summer.”

By the end of the first week, Raymond’s jeans were splattered with mud and his hat had taken on the dun color of Gandy Dancer, the horse he had been assigned. Gandy Dancer and he had not gotten along well. Raymond had spent most of the week mounting—and unintentionally dismounting his new steed.

Rose smiled as she leaned against the corral and watched while Raymond wore himself out. She was well aware that Gandy Dancer could sense Raymond’s inability as a rider. As soon as Raymond put his foot in the stirrup, Gandy started off at a trot. When he threw his leg over the saddle, the cantankerous gelding sped into a gallop. He ran so close to the railing that Raymond had to lift his leg like a peeing dog to keep from scraping it on the fence.

Raymond needs to learn a little humility, thought Rose as she heard another curse from him. You’d think he’d ask for help.

After several weeks of tenderfoot orientation Rose approached Raymond in the stable. “You and Gandy seem to have a personality clash. How ‘bout trying out a horse that is not as stubborn as you are?”

Raymond frowned and placed his hat firmly on his head. “That horse needs a lesson in obedience.”

“There’ve been others who’ve tried that,” said Rose. “What Gandy Dancer needs is someone who knows how to ride.”

With that, she walked to the end of the stable and pulled a bay gelding out of his stall. “Here you go,” she said as she handed him the lead rope. “We call him GoJo. You’ll get along fine with him.”

Rose hoisted the saddle over GoJo’s back and tightened the cinch. “Mount up, Raymond,” she said. “I’ll take you on a private tour of the trails around the Drowsy Dixie Ranch.”

Raymond, stiff from his earlier work out, accepted his new mount reluctantly. He approached GoJo from the left as he had been taught, rubbed his muzzle, and climbed into the saddle. “Who are you going to ride?” he asked.

“I’ll take Gandy Dancer,” she chuckled. “I’m the only one who’s been able to ride him since he came as a rescue last fall.”

“You set me up!” exclaimed Raymond with the first smile she had seen since he was on a horse.

“Guess you could say that,” said Rose as she winked at him with her crystal blue eyes. She placed her cowboy hat over her tawny hair and shook her ponytail free. “But you were obviously a city slicker when you stepped off the bus. Now, at least, you look the part.”

Rose and Raymond spent the summer exploring the area on horseback during the day and rocking in wicker chairs on the mess hall veranda in the evenings. They discovered they were both only-children—Raymond from a prominent family in Billings, Rose from a couple who recently retired from teaching in the public schools of Amarillo. Rose told Raymond of the boring life she led in Amarillo, her parents’ failing health, and her hopes for living on a ranch in the mountains someday. Raymond told Rose of his college days as a business major, his plans to apply for a job at the Billings Refinery in the fall, and his hopes for owning a spread in the foothills near Billings. They imagined a life together with two children.

Raymond got the job at the refinery and Rose spent a final winter at the Drowsy Dixie. They were married the following year and moved to Billings shortly after Rose’s twenty-first birthday.

****

[1983]
The day Rose told Raymond that she was pregnant, Raymond called the office to tell them he’d be a couple hours late. He swung by Triumph Realty to check on the three-hundred-acre ranch that was threatened with foreclosure. The sign on the door read:

Triumph Realty
List with us. We triumph when others fail.

“What do you think, Billy?” Raymond asked the oversized realtor sitting at the desk across from him. “Can we still get it for fifty cents on the dollar? Is the bank willing to let it go for a loss?”

Billy Parker leaned back in his chair, carefully removed the cigar from between his teeth, and smiled broadly. “You bet your cowboy boots, it is,” he exclaimed. “If you’ll leave me a check with the earnest money, I’ll get it to the bank this afternoon. You’ll be the proud owner of the Phantom Hills Ranch by the end of the week.”

“What about the former owner?” asked Raymond. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“Stanley?” laughed the realtor. “It’s not really your concern, but he’s a survivor. The bank has already evicted him. I heard he found a place on the other side of town. He’ll be fine.”

Raymond pulled a leather-bound checkbook from his rear pocket. With a flourish, he signed a check and pushed it across the desk.

Billy squinted at the check, slipped it into his breast pocket, and reached across the desk with his pudgy hand. “Congratulations, Raymond. You’re now officially a rancher.”

Raymond took a light lunch at his favorite pub and toasted himself to an extra double-shot, then returned to the Billings Refinery by mid-afternoon. He rode the elevator to the third floor, stepped into his office, and pressed the intercom. “Mary Jo?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come into my office. I want you to be the first to know that I am the proud owner of a ranch west of town. We need to celebrate.”

“Congratulations, sir. I’ll be right in.”

****

[1983]
Mary Jo Bilke was a dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty who had accepted a summer internship at the Billings Refinery. As with most of the women who worked at the plant, she began as an assistant whose main duty was to have fresh coffee available at all times, to make sure the copy machine was in working order, and to guide the elderly statesmen who were her superiors through the challenges of new technology. Raymond McDougal was her primary supervisor.

“Have a seat, Mary Jo,” said Raymond as his assistant entered the room. “Close the door behind you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she said as she found her place in a stenographer’s chair across from Raymond’s desk. She straightened her blazer, smoothed her bright blue skirt, and crossed her legs. “How can I help you sir?”

“You can start by not calling me ‘sir.’ My name is Raymond, but I’d prefer that you call me Ray.”

“Okay, sir…Ray—if you’d be more comfortable with that…Ray, it is. But won’t the other staff feel that ‘Ray’ is too casual? We have all been trained to call you Mr. McDougal or sir.”

“Oh, forget all that nonsense,” said Raymond. “If you want to keep up the pretense outside this office, that’s fine with me. But in here, it’s Ray.” He reached into his lower desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet scotch and set it on the desk. “Do you like scotch whisky?” he asked as he pulled two glasses from the same drawer.

“I’m afraid I can’t say, sir. Sorry, Ray. I’ve never had it before.”

“Well, if you’re going to develop a taste for the stuff, you may as well begin at the top.” He poured a splash into one glass and poised the bottle over the second.

“Okay. Just a drop if you please,” she said, looking over her shoulder to the door. “I am expected at another meeting in a half-hour.”

He slipped a small dollop of the premium scotch into her glass. “Do you like horses?” he asked as he as handed her the glass.

“I don’t really know,” she said with some embarrassment. “I’ve never ridden a horse before either.”

“Well, then,” said Raymond raising his glass. “Here’s to new experiences.”

****

[1983]
Mary Jo approached the horse and ran her hands through its red mane. She wore a cotton plaid blouse with the shirttails tied above the waist. Her blue jeans fit neatly over the curves of her trim figure and her cowboy boots had begun to accumulate a few scuff marks. Raymond stood behind her and inhaled sage, perfume, and the satisfying odor of horse. He put his hands on Mary Jo’s waist. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

Raymond lifted as she put her left foot in the stirrup and slid her right leg over the saddle of the sorrel mare. “Thanks, Ray,” she said as she patted the horse’s neck. “Good boy.” She pulled the reins to the right. “I’ll wait for you at the gate.”

A clear Montana sky gleamed brilliant against the Absarokee Mountain Range. Miles of dusty paths wound through the foothills. “This is a beautiful place you have here, Ray,” said Mary Jo as Raymond swung himself onto a bay gelding. “How were you able to buy it?”

Raymond walked his quarter horse next to hers. “Haven’t I told you that story?” He clicked his tongue and the two horses ambled forward side by side. “I know the president of Edgewood Bank. He knew I’d been looking for a ranch, you see, and when the place became available, he called me right away.”

Raymond leaned over as if to share a secret. “He says to me, ‘Raymond, we have a bank examiner coming soon and the bank is heavy on real estate and low on cash. I’ve got this piece of land that would be perfect for you. The fellow who owns it has missed a few payments—claims he had to pay the doctors’ bills for his ailing mother—or some such excuse. Anyway, we’re ready to foreclose on him and I’m looking for a ready buyer.”

Mary Jo flashed Raymond a charming smile. “You’re a shrewd businessman, Raymond,” she said. “That’s why you’re moving up in the company.”

Raymond sat up in his saddle. “Thank you, Mary Jo. I’d been saving up and had the cash ready for the down payment. It’s all about being ready when opportunity knocks.”

“Sounds like Edgewood was in a bit of a bind,” said Mary Jo.

“Aw, they’ll be fine,” said Raymond. “Business is business.”

“I feel a little sorry for the previous owner,” said Mary Jo as she moved ahead of Raymond and turned up a switchback in the trail.

“Don’t feel sorry for that dumb schmuck,” called Raymond, who trailed a few yards behind. “Stanley Martin made his own future. He should have advised his mother to ignore her medical bills and declare bankruptcy. She would have been taken care of by the county.”

Mary Jo said nothing but urged her horse to move along faster.

Raymond watched Mary Jo lean forward in the stirrups as they climbed. “You’ve come a long way in the last several months,” he said. “You’re turning into an expert rider.”

“Thanks to having a good teacher,” she said as she turned around in the saddle. “How long can we stay out today?”

“Long as you like,” said Raymond. “Let’s take the horses up the trail to our left. It leads to a great view of Custer National Forest.”

“Perfect,” said Mary Jo. She encouraged the mare with a gentle kick.

They spent the afternoon, as they had many Friday afternoons. They wandered among the scrub brush in the lowlands, then climbed to the higher elevations where the trail became a maze of junipers. Finally, a glen of Douglas firs opened to a field of grass where they dismounted at the top to give the horses a rest.

“You’re married, aren’t you Ray?” asked Mary Jo. “What does your wife think about you being up here every weekend.”

“Rose? Oh, she knows I’m out here working on the ranch. She’s got her own life in Billings—quilting, bridge club, ladies aid—that sort of thing. I’ve taken her out here a few times and she’s always anxious to get back to the city.”

“Too bad,” said Mary Jo. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

“Let’s head back to the ranch for dinner,” said Raymond. “I brought prime rib steaks for the grill.”

The horses plodded down the winding path. When they were in sight of the ranch, they broke into a trot. When they spotted the barn, they cantered the rest of the way. As Raymond and Mary Jo pulled off the saddles and curried the horses, Raymond said, “I hope you can stay the night sometime.”

Mary Jo smiled. “I’m here for riding lessons, Ray.”

****

[1984]
A year after Mary Jo Bilke had started as a summer intern at the Billings Refinery, she graduated from Montana State University with a bachelor’s degree in information technology and landed a full-time position at the plant. She soon became the newest member of the Billings Refinery IT department.

Sylvester Greig, Mary Jo’s manager tapped his fingers on his desk in a four-beat roll. “The company’s sponsoring a welcoming party on your behalf,” he said. “It’s at the downtown Sheraton. Should be quite a shindig.”

Mary Jo looked at the portly man with nervous fingers. “That sounds like fun,” she replied, “but I thought we should be celebrating you. I heard you might be up for a promotion.”

Sylvester shrugged. “That’s still up in the air. I think they’re deciding between me and Raymond.”

“Raymond’s been teaching me how to ride horses out at his ranch,” said Mary Jo. “He’s pretty ambitious, but I think you’d be a better pick.”

“Thanks, Mary Jo, but this night’s for you,” said Sylvester. “It’s pretty special—you being the first and only woman on the team. We want to do it up right for you.”

When she arrived at the hotel, Mary Jo was greeted by the entire IT department. “Let me get you a drink,” said Sylvester.

“I’ll get the next,” said Raymond. “Congratulations on moving up to IT. I miss you.”

“Miss you too, Ray, but I like my new team.”

Mary Jo sipped her drink and picked through the hors d'oeuvre table. She looked at her watch. Close to eleven. I’m feeling kind of woozy, she thought. That’s not like me.

Then someone said, “You can’t go home like this, Mary Jo. Let me help you to a room.” That was the last she heard.

Mary Jo opened her eyes in the strange hotel room. Where am I? How did I get here? She gazed at the ceiling and watched the fan spin in lazy circles above her. Oh yes. It was my office party. She sat up in the bed, feeling dizzy. I don’t remember drinking that much. The room spun. I never drink much. She put her feet on the floor. She looked at her wrinkled skirt. Did I fall asleep in my clothes? I would never do that either. I had planned to go home after the party. She shook her head trying to clear the fog. Then she felt the stickiness between her legs.

“Oh my god!” she screamed. “This can’t be.”

Her head cleared but the pain between her legs throbbed. Who brought me here? I remember I was surrounded by men who were toasting me. Raymond McDougal was there. Sylvester Grieg was there, and so was the entire IT department. Someone handed me a rum and Coke. I heard cheers and laughter. I’ve got to get to a doctor.

****

[1984]
The night of Mary Jo’s welcoming party, Rose McDougal labored in the Billings hospital. “Where the hell is Raymond?” she muttered to herself as another cramp seized her abdomen.

Rose gasped, “Is this normal? I’ve been pushing, cursing, and sweating here for hours.”

“The pain is normal,” said the nurse, “but let me check again to see if you have made any progress.”

The nurse felt of Rose’s tense belly and completed a vaginal exam. She knitted her brow. “Oh dear. Something has changed. I think I feel a hand—and a big head. I’ve got to call the surgeon.”

Shortly before dawn a pompous gentleman with greying temples arrived. He looked at her chart and said, “My god. I can’t believe they waited this long to call me.”

Rose groaned as another cramp sent her into a full-body spasm. “Will everything be okay? Is the baby still alive?”

The surgeon said nothing as he completed his exam. He looked at the monitor. “The baby’s still alive, but we’re going to have to do a C-section.” He stepped out of Rose’s room and into the hallway. “Nurse! Prepare this woman for surgery. Now!”

An hour later Rose lay exhausted in the recovery room, a nurse at her side and several machines beeping above her head.

“You’ve got a strapping young son,” said the doctor. “You’re lucky I was still at home. An hour later and I’d have been on the golf course.”

Rose barely had the strength to roll her eyes. “Yes. Lucky me,” she said. “How long can I stay in the hospital before I have to go home?”

“Oh,” said the surgeon brightly, “we’ll have you out of here in no time—maybe in two or three days. Then, no lifting of more than five pounds for at least two weeks.”

“Good god,” said Rose. “How much did you say the baby weighed?”

“He tipped the scale at ten,” said the surgeon. “You’ll need some help at home.”

“Is Raymond here?” she asked. “He was at an office party when my water broke. I tried to call him, but he didn’t call back. I had to get a neighbor to drive me here.”

“My nurse called him a few minutes ago to tell him the good news. I overheard her calling him a few names I hadn’t heard since I was a medic in the army.” The surgeon laughed again. “I’ll check in later. I’m going to catch up with my foursome. They’ve only made it to the third green.”

Raymond arrived at the hospital a half-hour later in an unusual state of disarray. His shirt was wrinkled, bags drooped below his eyes, and he had forgotten his bandana.

“Where the devil have you been?” said Rose.

“Sorry, Rose. I didn’t get your message ‘til this morning.” He sat on the edge of her bed and reached for her hand. “I’m not much good at this sort of thing. It was better that I left you in the hands of professionals.”

“The professionals you were talking about put me through hell for hours before that surgeon finally showed up,” said Rose. “While I was attempting to deliver a bowling ball, you were nowhere to be found.” She pulled her hand away and looked at him closely. “Did you go to the ranch after the office party?”

“No, of course not,” said Raymond, “but the ranch is almost ready for you—just like I promised.”

“I would hope so,” said Rose. “You’ve spent every weekend out there and you told me you’d have it ready by the time the baby arrived.”

A nurse came in carrying a bundle and handed it to Raymond. He accepted it as if it were a delicate piece of glassware. “I’ve never held a baby before,” he said.

“Well, get used to it,” said Rose. “I can’t lift more than five pounds, and this kid is already twice that amount.”

“I don’t know how much time I’ll have,” said Raymond as he stared at the child. “I’ve used most of my vacation to work on the ranch.” He looked again at Rose. “But you know how anxious I’ve been to meet our son.”

“Well, here he is,” said Rose. “His name is Charlie, after my granddad.”

“Didn’t you think to ask me what name I’d like?” he said.

“You weren’t around. Maybe next time.”

“Yes. Maybe next time,” said Raymond. He placed Charlie in the bed next to Rose. “Give me a call when they’re ready to discharge you.”

The door to the hospital room closed. Rose looked at Charlie and said, “Looks like it’s you and me, buddy.”

****

[1984]
Mary Jo Bilke sat in front of Raymond McDougal’s desk. It had been three months since the party that had been held in her honor. “I’m pregnant, Ray,” she said, “and according to the doctor, I was raped—at that office party you and your cronies threw for me.”

Raymond looked up from the papers on his desk. The color drained from his face. “No. That couldn’t have happened. Not here.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Raymond. You were there—you and the whole department. Somebody slipped me a mickey. I don’t remember a lot after that.”

“I left the party early, Mary Jo,” said Raymond. “Rose was due to deliver at any minute.” Raymond shifted in his seat. “As I recall, you appeared to be having a good time. I noticed you had a drink in your hand most of the evening.”

“Having a drink in my hand is not the same as overdoing it,” said Mary Jo. “Somebody gave me a rum and Coke. I remember that much. The next thing I knew I woke up in a strange hotel room with my panties in a corner and a fire between my legs.”

“I don’t know anybody in our office who would have done something like that,” said Raymond. He paused. “Unless…I suppose Sylvester Grieg—that worthless sonofabitch—he might have stooped that low.”

“It may have been more than one person, Raymond. My doctor collected samples, but he said it’s very expensive to run the tests—and my insurance won’t cover it.”

“A gang rape? No. I don’t believe it. You admitted your memory was fuzzy.”

Raymond looked at her with an expression of pity. “I’ll see if the company can help you out. I know a place where you can go. It’s a pretty place in the mountains for unwed mothers. It’s run by the Sisters of Affection who live in a convent next door.”

“It doesn’t sound like my idea of a mountain retreat,” said Mary Jo, “but what choice do I have? My parents would never forgive me if they learned I had an abortion.”

[1985]
Six months later Mary Jo delivered a baby boy at Sisters of Affection. A midwife had been in attendance and placed the baby in her arms. An hour later a nun came in. “Okay, Sweetie,” she said reaching for the child. “It’s time to say goodbye.”

Mary Jo clung to the bundle next to her chest. “Am I making the right decision?”

The nun looked at her with a sad expression, “Remember why you came here in the first place?” she said. “You felt you were too young and not ready to be a mother. Considering all the circumstances, I think you’re making the right decision.”

Mary Jo looked into the boy’s brown eyes and wispy hair.

“All the girls who come here feel the same way,” said the nun. “Besides, he’s already been placed in a good home. It’s for the best.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Mary Jo as she handed the bundle to the nun. “Goodbye, my boy.”

Mary Jo collected her suitcase of clothes that no longer fit and thanked the nuns for their care. While she waited in the reception room for a car to drive her back to Billings, she retrieved a piece of stationary from her purse. On it she wrote her resignation letter to the Billings Refinery. She put it the mail with her application to law school.

****

[1985]
One-year-old Charlie McDougal had taken his first steps when his father burst into the living room full of excitement.

“We always wanted a family with two boys, didn’t we, Rose?” exclaimed Raymond after seating himself next to her on the sofa.

“Yes. I guess we did,” said Rose tentatively.

Raymond took her hands in his and said, “The most amazing thing has happened at work.”

“Oh? What now? Did you get a promotion?”

“No. Not yet, but that’s coming.”

“What, then?”

“One of the girls at the office got herself into trouble—in the family way, you know. The bigwigs at the plant arranged to send her to a home for unwed mothers up in the mountains while she was pregnant.”

Rose said nothing but reached for Charlie who was balancing next to an end table and was on the verge of falling.

“Saved her reputation,” continued Raymond in a nervous staccato. “Very discreet. She just had a little boy. She is unmarried. Unable to keep the child.”

Rose was on her knees holding both of Charlie’s hands and was guiding him to Raymond, who was still sitting on the couch. “That’s too bad,” she said. “I’d hate to give up a child. Look. Charlie is taking a few steps. He wants to walk to you.”

Raymond stood up, took Charlie’s hands, and turned him back to Rose. “I arranged for us to take the boy,” he said.

“You’re kidding, I hope,” said Rose. “You once told me that you didn’t want a child who wasn’t our own. What’s changed?”

“That was before we had Charlie. He could use a brother.”

“I don’t know, Raymond,” said Rose. She stood up still holding one of Charlie’s chubby hands. “Things have not been going as well for us lately—and it seems I’ve been getting more forgetful. Maybe it’s post-partum hormones or something. I can’t handle another child right now.”

“Nonsense, Rose. You are a wonderful mother. He’s only a few days old, so you can bond with him just like you did with Charlie. You’ll see. He’s in the car now.”

Rose stared at Raymond in disbelief. “He’s ours already? You brought home a child without talking to me first?”

“I’ll bring him in,” he said. “He’s a swell kid.”

“They don’t just let somebody walk into a hospital and take a child from an unwed mother.”

“It wasn’t a hospital,” said Raymond. “The mother gave up custody and I just signed a couple of papers. Nothing to it. Let me get him.”

Raymond returned from the car with a black-haired, brown-eyed bundle of anger.

“What should we name him?” said Rose wearily.

“I named him Carter, after my granddad.” said Raymond.

“I’m not sure I like that name,” said Rose.

“It’s ‘next time’ Rose,” said Raymond as he handed her the baby and turned to leave.

Carter cried the moment Raymond placed him in her lap.

The last thing Rose heard was, “I’m sure he’ll settle down once he gets used to you.” The car door slammed, and Rose was alone with two children.

Rose paced the house holding the screaming newborn the entire afternoon. She offered him a pacifier and he spit it back in her face. She changed his diaper while he churned, twisted, and nearly fell off the table. She laid him in Charlie’s crib, igniting another burst of anger.

Only when Rose put Charlie in the crib with him did Carter stop his wailing.

****

[1989]
Carter’s first memory was when he was four years old, and Charlie was five. He and Charlie had been in their bedroom playing with a set of wooden blocks. “If we stack them up,” said Charlie, “we can make a fort.” Charlie set one block on top of the other, making a wall. Carter placed a block off-center on the edge of the wall. When it fell to the floor Carter picked it up and threw it against a bookcase.

“That’s okay,” said Charlie. “Try again.” He handed Carter another block.

The wall of blocks had grown three courses high. Charlie had one last block in his hand. Carter slammed his hand into the wall and sent the blocks flying.

“No, Carter. You can’t play like that!” shouted Charlie.

Carter picked up one of the blocks, flung it at a window, and charged from the room. “Mom!” he yelled. “Charlie won’t let me play with him.”

“Ma’s not here,” called Charlie as he chased after Carter. “Remember? Pa’s taking care of us while Mom is running errands.”

“Pa!” yelled Carter. “Charlie won’t let me play with him.”

“Don’t, Carter,” said Charlie as he followed Carter down the hall. “Pa will get mad. We were supposed to stay in our room.”

Carter ignored him and pounded on the door to his father’s home office.

A voice from behind the door yelled, “I told you boys not to bother me. I’m working. Go back to your room.”

Carter turned the doorknob. The door was unlocked. He heard something clink across the floor. He peeked into the office.

There was his father leaning over his desk, wearing nothing but a pair of cowboy boots, silver spurs, and a red bandana.

Charlie, who was looking over Carter’s shoulder, pulled the office door closed and took Carter’s hand. They raced back down the hall, slipped into the bathroom, slammed the door behind them, and locked the door. Carter looked at Charlie with his eyes wide. “Did you see that?” he said. “There’s a girl in there—a fat girl. She wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

“I saw her too,” said Charlie. “She didn’t look very happy.”

A hard wrap on the door silenced the boys. “Open the door.” The doorknob rattled. “I swear. One word of this to your mother and I’ll kill you both.”

The boys clung to one another as they huddled behind the door.

“Can he?” stuttered Carter. “Can he get in here?”

Another voice called from the foot of the stairs. “Hello! I’m home.”

****

[1989]
“The shit I put up with around here,” said the young woman as Raymond ran into his home office, kicked off his cowboy boots and slipped on his boxers.

“Sorry, Linda,” gasped Raymond as he pulled on his jeans. “She’s home early.”

Raymond’s latest intern squeezed into her pale maroon skirt. “You told me she’d be gone all day,” she said. “You promised me you’d get me a promotion. All I had to do was work at home with you this morning.” The young woman buttoned her teal blouse over her ample bosom. “What you did not tell me was that I would have to spend the morning sitting bare-assed behind your desk watching you prance around in spurs.” She picked up her purse. “You sick bastard.”

Linda opened the door from the office and stepped into the hall. A slender woman with blond hair met her at the top of the stairs wearing a startled expression. “Who are you? And where’s Raymond?” she said. “He was supposed to be babysitting.”

“I’m Linda Rivett,” said the young woman. “I work for him at the refinery. Raymond asked me to come over to assist him with a special project.”

“I’m Rose,” said the startled woman. She looked around the stranger to the end of the hall. “Where are the boys?”

“You’ll have to ask Raymond,” said Linda. “I believe they’ve been playing in their room all morning. Haven’t heard a peep from them.” She looked at her watch. “Afraid I have to be off. I was hoping to meet them, but I have a lunch appointment. So nice to meet you, Rose.” Linda hung her purse on her arm and hurried down the stairs.

As she reached the front door, she heard two boys shout, “Mommy!” followed by, “Rose. I can explain.”

****

[1990]
Charlie listened to the argument that followed and many more like it over the course of the next year. One afternoon, shortly after his sixth birthday, Charlie heard his father’s prized Ford Mustang pull into the driveway. When the car door slammed hard, Charlie knew there was more trouble ahead. He slipped into the small closet off the kitchen and crouched between the broom and the mop bucket. A 22-calibur rifle leaned against the back corner next to the shelves of canned goods. Charlie heard the screen door open and close. Then his father’s alligator boots clicked across the kitchen floor. Charlie cracked the pantry door. His father’s face was as red as the bandana he wore tied around his neck.

“Rose! Get in here,” shouted Raymond.

Charlie’s mother stepped gingerly into the kitchen carrying a couple of checkered dishtowels. Carter clung to her apron. “What’s wrong, Ray?” said Rose.

“It’s all over town.”

“What’s all over town?”

“That affair you had with Sylvester! That’s what.”

“What? My affair?” said Rose. “You’re the one running around town with every new babe from the office.”

“Sylvester Grieg says the two of you did more than sit together at my party—the party celebrating my promotion.”

“Affair?” stammered Rose. “I didn’t have any affair. I only met him that night.”

“That’s not the story around the office,” said Raymond.

Rose lowered her voice and tried to calm him. “Mr. Grieg sat at our table at the office party. You introduced us and left. What was I supposed to do? Sit there the whole night and not talk to the man?”

“I thought I could trust you, Rose,” shouted Raymond. “I see now that was a mistake.”

Carter cried as he let go of Rose’s skirt and clutched his father’s leg.

Raymond shook him off. “Shut up, Carter. Go to your room. Can’t you see that I’m talking to your mother?”

Carter fled the room in a full-throated wail.

Raymond grabbed Rose’s wrist and pushed her against the avocado refrigerator, forcing her to drop the dishtowels and shield her face with her other arm.

Charlie took hold of the .22 rifle and pointed it through the crack in the door.

“I saw you makin’ eyes at him all evening,” snarled Raymond. “It was supposed to be my party—honoring me. Now, all they can talk about at the office is how you and Sylvester snuck off by yourselves. I’m the laughingstock of the Billings Refinery.”

“Let me go,” pleaded Rose. “Nothing happened. Sylvester complained all night about how you got the promotion instead of him. He kept leaning closer to me. When he put his hand on my knee, I pushed him away and said I should go. I tried to get your attention, but you were schmoozing with everyone at the bar. I thought about walking home and went to the coat room. Sylvester followed me and told me he’d walk with me. I told him no.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Rose,” shouted Raymond. “Sylvester’s been telling everyone that he shagged you in the coat room that night. He said you loved it.”

Raymond slapped her face hard. Rose slumped to the floor.

“That’s not true,” cried Rose. “I never…”

“You never what, Rose?” said Raymond as he stood over her. “I’ll tell you what—you and those two brats of yours are moving out. You’ve got a week. I’m staying at the ranch until then. When I return, I want you gone. You and your slutty behavior are not going to ruin my reputation.”

A lump of rage formed in Charlie’s throat. The rifle shook in his hands. Tears filled his eyes. Charlie squeezed the trigger. Click.

The rifle fell to the floor as Raymond stomped out of the house.

Charlie stepped out of the closet and put his arm around his mother. Her cheek was beginning to swell.

“Sorry, Ma,” Charlie whispered. “Next time I’ll make sure it’s loaded.”

****

[1990]
The following week, Rose and her two boys moved from their three-bedroom two-story home in middle-class Billings to Pompeys Pillar, a small town thirty miles east—inconvenient, but spitting distance in Montana. It was more like a cemetery for broken-down mobile homes and rusting automobiles than it was a town.

The town of Pompeys Pillar had no resemblance to the National Monument it was named for. The stone outcropping and visitor center was located west of the town on the shores of the Yellowstone River. It was once known as a trading center, and as a landmark for Plains Indians and frontier travelers. It had been named after “Pomp,” a pet name given to Sacajawea’s son by William Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition.

Rose turned off the freeway and then right onto Custer Frontage Road instead of left to the National Monument. A mile later she turned right again into the town of Pompeys Pillar. Once under the freeway she approached a faded clapboard building with a ramshackle shed attached to it. A sign above the shed’s chipped windows and screen door advertised SPOTTED ASS HONEY. A dog growled in the distance. Rose continued past a trailer house. The remnants of a flatbed trailer with flat tires served as its front porch. A woven wire fence enclosed the yard where three sheep competed for sparse sprigs of grass. Beyond the mobile home stood a corrugated-metal garage surrounded by an assortment of heavily used furniture that had been ignored by shoppers at a garage sale.

The faded blue trailer house that Rose had rented was on Dale Street, several blocks beyond the aborted yard sale. It was surrounded by a picket fence that hadn’t felt a paintbrush since Carter was president. A disabled Nash station wagon with wood-grained panels and flat tires stood guard at the front gate. Traffic from I-94 roared in the background.

Rose had taken their second car, a 1980 Chevrolet Malibu that once was a bright flecked brown, but it had faded to the color of dust. It fit well with its new neighborhood.

The day before they left Billings, Rose told Charlie and Carter, “Go pack your things. You can take anything you can fit in the back seat of the Malibu. I need the trunk for my things and some pots and pans.”

“Why are we leaving?” complained Carter. “Is Pa coming?”

“No, hon,” Rose had replied in her thick southern accent. “Daddy has to stay here and work. We get to move into the country. Won’t that be excitin’?”

Charlie went to the closet and pulled the .22 from its corner. He dug behind the Del Monte fruit cans to find several boxes of shells that had been tucked there in a feeble attempt to hide them. He laid the rifle in the back seat and emptied the drawers from his bedroom on top of it: jeans, flannel shirts, socks, and underwear. Then he threw the empty drawers on the lawn. “I’m packed, Ma’,” he called.

“Thank you, Charlie,” his mother replied, ignoring the mess in the front yard. “Remember your sheets and blankets. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

“The sooner, the better,” said Charlie. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Go help your brother,” said Rose. “He never listens to me, and he blames me for leaving his friends. Maybe you can make him feel better.”

“I’ll try, Ma’.”

Shortly after they arrived in Pompeys Pillar, their landlord arrived at their gate. He was a chubby man wearing a smile and a straw cowboy hat. The hat had sweat stains around the band and a hole at its crown where the man doffed it in Rose’s direction. “Welcome, Mrs. Rose. My name’s Marty.” He opened his arms expansively. “It ain’t much, but I been perty happy here. Hope you will too.”

Rose looked around dejectedly and sighed. “Nice to meet you, Marty. We’ll try to make the best of it.” The battered steps leading to the front door caught her attention. “Can you please replace that missing board?” she asked…“and I expect it will be Miss Rose soon.”

Marty nodded in agreement. “Sure thing, Miss Rose.”

“You from the south?” he asked.

“Texas originally, but Billings most recently.”

“I like the way you talk,” said Marty, giving her an encouraging smile. “I’ll be back soon’s I can. I’m just a couple doors down. Le’ me know if you’s need anything more.”

Marty returned a few hours later, having given Rose enough time to sweep the mouse turds from every kitchen cupboard and move their few belongings into the house. Marty carried a board and hammer in one hand and a grey and white mottled puppy with ears as long as its legs in the other.

“What’s that?” asked Rose.

“It’s a Bluetick Coonhound,” said Marty. “I have a bitch that’s weaning a new litter. Thought your boys might like a puppy to keep ‘em company.”

“I don’t know,” said Rose.

Charlie had seen Marty approaching with the puppy the moment Marty had stepped out of his mobile home a block away. “Can I have the dog, Mom?” pleaded Charlie. “Can I? I promise to take care of him. I’ll feed him and train him not to go in the house. I promise.”

“Oh, Charlie hon,” replied his mother. “He’ll just be another mouth to feed, and we don’t need one more thing to worry about.”

“Tell you what,” interrupted Marty. “I’ll throw in a fifty-pound bag of puppy chow.” He turned to Rose. “Around here, might be good to have a guard dog—and I bet this dog’ll let you know if there’s a stranger prowling about.” Rose hesitated long enough for Marty to hand the dog to Charlie. “Looks like you got a summer project, young man,” he said as he winked at Charlie and began to repair the steps.

“I’ll name him Sport,” said Charlie.

Charlie dug around in a pile of rubbish in the vacant lot next door and found a piece of twine. He fashioned a leash around Sport’s neck and set the dog in the dusty street.

“Can I come?” hollered Carter, who had appeared at the doorway.

“Oh, alright,” shouted Charlie, looking over his shoulder. “Hurry up. Sport’s gonna show us around the place.”

Rose took a long look at her sons. Charlie pulled Sport down the street, its ears dragging in the dust. Carter straggled behind.

Rose stood in her new living room. She considered the life she had left behind and compared it to her prospects in Pompeys Pillar: the new couch and color television in Billings; the empty living room and scratched paneling in Pompeys Pillar; the thick piling of her carpet in Billings; the stained shag carpet in the trailer house; her circle of friends in her old neighborhood; her isolation in the sorry outpost of Pompeys Pillar. Rose leaned against a corner of the living room, slid to the floor, and wept.

****

[1992]
Mary Jo had been practicing family law for the past four years after having graduated from law school in 1988. Her small practice had grown as she made a name for herself settling divorce cases, writing wills, and defending clients in small claims court.

She continued to be troubled by her decision to let her son go immediately after he was born. Did I do the right thing? I wonder how the little guy is doing now. The nun at Sisters of Affection told me he had been placed in a good home. Is it still a good home?

The fact that she had been raped also weighed heavily on her. I didn’t have the money at the time to pursue it, she thought, but I could probably swing the lab costs now that I’ve whittled down my school loan debt. They can perform forensic DNA testing now. It’s expensive, but they could tell who the father is. What good would it do anyway? Rape victims rarely get any kind of justice. I don’t remember much of that night, anyway. Let’s see…who was there? I know Raymond was there, but his wife was expecting a baby. I remember Sylvester Grieg was there. So was the whole damn department. It would be hard to testify, and it would just bring up more terrifying memories. Maybe I’ll talk to the hospital and have them run the DNA tests. If that shows anything conclusive, I can decide where to go from there.

Employees at the Billings Refinery used the local hospital for their medical care. Mary Jo checked with a friend at the lab and found out that blood and tissue samples were kept for years. Armed with this information, Mary Jo presented her concerns to a sympathetic judge who ordered the hospital to release samples from Raymond, Sylvester, and every man in the IT department to a forensic lab for DNA comparison.

A month later the tests came back. The hospital had collected samples from her after the attack, and she had saved the panties she had used to clean herself. The lab had been able to identify DNA that matched the DNA of Raymond McDougal in both samples. That bastard, thought Mary Jo.

She presented the lab report to the front desk at Sisters of Affection.

“I have identified the father of the child that I delivered here seven years ago,” she said as she dropped the papers on the Mother Superior’s desk. “I need to know where he is now and if he is okay.”

****

[1993]
The trailer house had been Charlie’s home for the past three years. The front door opened onto a small patch of yellow print linoleum that was stained with a perpetual swirl of mud. The living room, which occupied a third of the trailer to the right of the door was covered with a light green shag carpet. A small dining room and kitchen opened to the left of the living room. Its floor was covered with the same cracked linoleum as the entry. The back door led from the dining room to a dirt-packed back yard strewn with Sport’s dried turds. Beyond the dining room and kitchen were the two bedrooms. Rose had given Charlie and Carter the bigger bedroom at the end of the trailer. Rose had taken the smaller one between the bathroom and the kitchen.

The trailer was hot in summer and cold in winter, but their landlord had done his best to keep the wind from seeping in through the floor. Each October Marty packed a load of straw around the foundation. With the fresh straw came a fresh supply of mice that were eager to mate with the local population. They left a legacy of crossbreds that scratched in the walls and scurried through the kitchen shelves. One of Charlie’s evening chores was to bait an arsenal of mousetraps. He often fell asleep to the sound of snapping.

“Did you remember the peanut butter, Ma?” asked Charlie, who was now nine. “I can’t find it in the grocery bag.”

“You sure it’s not there?” said Rose, looking embarrassed. “I know I bought a big jar of it.”

Rose returned to the kitchen in the mobile home and surveyed the pile of canned peaches, Spam, and Cheerios that Charlie had unpacked. She looked into the last grocery bag that was still on the counter.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought it was in there when I checked out.” She looked at her oldest son whose birthday they had celebrated earlier in the week. “Can you get by until next week when I go to town again?”

“I don’t know who will miss it most,” said Charlie, “the mice or Carter. You know how particular Carter is about his eating. If it ain’t peanut butter and jelly, it ain’t a meal.”

Rose gave Charlie a momentary vacant stare, then smiled. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Carter has always been a picky eater—even when he was a baby. Your father used to shake me awake in the middle of the night. ‘Can’t you hear that child screaming?’ he’d say. Then I’d crawl out of bed, turn on some ancient rerun on TV and rock Carter ‘til morning. It was exhausting.”

At the mention of his father, Charlie scowled and said, “He missed my birthday again. He promised to take me to the movies. We were going to see Grumpy Old Men. Remember? I waited around all day. He never showed. He didn’t even call.”

“I don’t know what your father thinks anymore,” said Rose. “His child support payment is late again. My part-time job at the national monument is not helping enough. I’m plum tuckered out. Can you make me a cup of coffee, Charlie?”

“Sure, Ma.” Charlie lit the gas burner and put a pot of water on the stove. “Did you remember the coffee?”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. Didn’t you find that either?”

“That’s okay,” said Charlie as he stuck his nose in the Folger’s can. “Looks like we’ve got enough for another week.”

“I’ll try to do better next time, Charlie.”

Charlie removed three scoops of Folgers from the can and added it to the coffee pot. “Can you talk to Carter about his problems at school?”

“Why? What happened now?”

“He’s been fightin’ again,” said Charlie, “Next year he’s gonna have to be a little more careful on the playground. I’m gonna be in a different school and won’t be able to break up every fight he starts.”

“I’m sure Carter can take care of himself,” said Rose.

“I’ve never seen him lose a fight,” said Charlie, “but I know he woulda been sent to detention—or maybe even expelled if I hadn’t been there to bail him out.”

“All right, Charlie. I’ll have a word with him.”

“Sorry, Ma. You don’t need more to worry about—with Pa never showin’ his face.”

Carter burst in the door. “Charlie!” he said excitedly. “I heard the trout are running at the river. Let’s go down and catch us some supper.”

Charlie looked at his mother. She nodded her assent. “Off with you both—and take Sport along, too. Otherwise, he’ll bark his head off.”

“Remember to turn down the stove when the coffee starts to perc, Ma’,” said Charlie. Then he called to Carter. “Let me grab my .22 first. Maybe I can get a jackrabbit.”

On the way out the door, he turned back to Rose and yelled, “Got company, Ma.”

****

[1993]
Two young boys rushed out of a trailer house as Mary Jo parked next to a rusty Nash. She stepped out of the car and waved to them.

“Who are you?” asked the older boy.

“My name is Mary Jo Bilke. Does Rose McDougal live here?”

“Yes…” said the older boy tentatively. “What do you want.”

Mary Jo looked at the boy. He looks like Raymond, she thought—long, gangly legs, auburn hair, and blue eyes—wary eyes, sparing in trust, but kinder than Raymond’s.

“I’m here to see Rose,” said Mary Jo. “Is she your mother?”

“Yes. My name’s Charlie.”

“And who is this?” asked Mary Jo pointing to the shorter boy with black curly hair, a tan complexion, and an oval face with a determined expression.

“This is my brother, Carter,” said Charlie.

Carter looked at her briefly and turned away. “C’mon, Charlie. Let’s go,” he said. “The trout are runnin’.”

Carter, thought Mary Jo. So that’s his name. I wonder if he noticed how much he looks like me. She turned to Charlie again. “Is your mom at home?”

“She’s home,” said Charlie. “Are we in some kind a trouble?”

Mary Jo laughed. “No. Not at all…but please be careful with that gun.”

“I’ll be careful,” said Charlie as he joined his brother at the end of the driveway.

Mary Jo mounted the steps to the fading mobile home and knocked on the door. A middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes and ropey blond hair parted in the middle answered but did not open the screen door. “Hello,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Mary Jo Bilke. Are you Rose?”

“Yes…”

“I am a lawyer from Billings,” said Mary Jo, “and I was hoping to have a few minutes of your time.”

Rose frowned and the crinkles in her eyes deepened. “Are you from the school? Is Carter in trouble?”

“No. You’re not in trouble, but I am here to talk to you about Carter.”

“Are you from social services?” demanded Rose. “I’m taking good care of my boys.”

“I’m sure you are, Miss McDougal—It is Miss? Correct?”

“Yes. My husband and I are divorced.”

“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about. I know your ex-husband, and I’m concerned that you have not been treated fairly. May I come in?”

“Okay,” said Rose. “Come in. Charlie just brewed some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Thank you. Black, please.”

Rose padded to the kitchen. “Why don’t we sit at the table. What was your name again?”

“Bilke. Mary Jo Bilke.” She handed Rose a card and sat down on one of the vinyl-covered chairs.

“How do you know Raymond?” asked Rose as she set a steaming mug on the table.

“I used to work for him,” said Mary Jo, “but I didn’t like the way I was treated.”

Rose sat down across from her and took a sip of coffee. “I guess that makes two of us. I was just complaining to Charlie that our child support payment is late again.”

“I’ve done a little investigating,” said Mary Jo, “and I think I can help you get more of what you deserve.”

“We barely have enough to pay the rent and buy groceries,” said Rose. “We don’t have the money to hire a lawyer.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Jo. “I want to offer my services for free—pro bono.”

Rose looked surprised. “Why would you do that? Nobody does anything without expecting something in return.”

Mary Jo paused and bit her lower lip. “You see, Rose—Can I call you Rose?”

Rose nodded and Mary Jo continued. “I recently found out that I have a special connection to your family.”

“How’s that?”

Mary Jo swallowed hard and said, “I found out that I’m Carter’s biological mother.”

Rose jumped up from the table. “So you’re here to take Carter away from me?” she shouted. “Carter has been a difficult child, but he’s mine. He’s my boy.”

Mary Jo remained seated. “Calm down, Rose. I have no intention of taking Carter away from you.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I think it’s important that you know who Carter’s father is,” said Mary Jo.

“Why? Who’s the father?”

“That’s where things get even more complicated.” Mary Jo put both hands around her mug and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I was raped—at a party in Billings.”

Rose put her hand over her mouth and sat down hard. “Oh, no,” she gasped. “You poor thing.”

“It was an office party,” continued Mary Jo. “I was drugged. I had just become a member of the IT department at the refinery. They threw a party for me.” Her voice cracked. “I had a DNA test done. Raymond is Carter’s father.”

Rose gaped at her. “Are you sure?”

Mary Jo nodded, a tear in her eye.

“That bastard!” said Rose. “I wondered how he could have adopted Carter so quickly.”

“I took the DNA tests to Sisters of Affection—That’s where Carter was born,” said Mary Jo. “The Mother Superior told me Raymond McDougal signed an affidavit saying he was the father. That’s why they allowed Carter to be released to him so quickly.”

The two women sat quietly for several minutes.

“You said you worked with Raymond?” said Rose.

“Yes. Before I went to law school, I interned there. Raymond was my supervisor. I liked him.”

“Raymond can be very sweet,” said Rose. “We met at a dude ranch. I taught him how to ride.”

“You’re kidding,” said Mary Jo. “Raymond told me you weren’t interested in horses or the ranch.”

“That’s a lie,” said Rose. “I’ve always loved horses…and I’ve always wanted a ranch. Raymond bought the ranch, but I’ve only been there a couple of times.”  

Rose knit her brow and looked at Mary Jo. “You must have gotten to know him pretty well.”

“Back when we were still friends,” said Mary Jo, “Raymond invited me to that ranch—and taught me how to ride a horse.” Mary Jo snickered. “He told me you were happy and busy with your life in Billings—preoccupied with quilting, bridge club, and ladies aid—things like that.”

“Ha,” scoffed Rose. “Happy enough with the kids—but I only had time for a handful of friends. One night a month a few of us women got together for a several hands of 500—never played bridge.” She chewed on a fingernail. “Never made a quilt. The only thing I sewed was a dress or two for myself—and ladies aid? We never even joined a church.”

“Pretty much a single parent, huh?” said Mary Jo.

“Always been a single parent,” said Rose, “even before the divorce.”

“Then I think you deserve more,” said Mary Jo. “As long as you’ve been a single parent anyway, I think you should have full custody of both boys. That would give you a lot of advantages.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door. “Who can that be?” said Rose. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

Another knock. “Do you want me to get it?” asked Mary Jo.

“No. I’ll get it.”

“The boys stopped by on their way to the river,” said a man’s voice to Rose. “Charlie said you had a visitor, and he was worried. He asked me to check in on you.”

“Come in,” said Rose. “I’m glad you came. I’ve been visiting with a lawyer.” Rose walked to the kitchen and introduced him to Mary Jo. “This is Marty, my neighbor and landlord.”

Marty brushed his hands on his trousers and extended his hand. “My friends call me Marty, but my real name is Stanley Martin. How do ya’ do?”

Rose looked at Marty, startled. “Your full name is Stanley Martin? I didn’t know that…That name rings a bell.”

Mary Jo stood up to shake hands with Marty. “Nice to meet you, Marty. It just so happens that I had hoped to visit with Stanley Martin next. I found out that both of you lived in Pompeys Pillar.”

“That right?” said Marty. “Why’d you want to see me?”

“I’ve been investigating Raymond McDougal, Rose’s ex-husband,” said Mary Jo. “As I was digging into his past, I was reminded of a conversation I had while I was horseback riding with him at the Phantom Hills Ranch.”

“You’ve been to the Phantom Hills Ranch?” said Marty.

“Yes,” said Mary Jo. “Raymond told me you were the previous owner.”

Rose looked closely at Marty. “Did you know that my husband bought your ranch?”

“I knew you were divorced, Rose,” said Marty, “but I didn’t know your ex was Raymond. He never showed up ‘round here. Ain’t none of my business, anyway.”

Marty turned to Mary Jo and shook his head. “I loved that place, but I couldn’t keep up with the payments. Mother was sick, and I felt responsible for her medical bills.”

“Wouldn’t it have been smarter to let her declare bankruptcy?” asked Mary Jo. “Sounds like she didn’t have that much money anyway. You would have been off the hook for the medical bills.”

Marty turned to Mary Jo with a look of compassion. “That wouldn’t a been right,” he said. “Besides, I was worried she wouldn’t a got good care if I didn’t pay the bills.”

“What happened to your mother?” said Mary Jo. “Is she all right now?”

“Died six months after I lost the ranch,” said Marty, “but it was easier to take knowing I had done everything I could for her. Never woulda forgiven myself if she died and I hadn’t given her the best.”

Mary Jo sat silently with Rose and Marty considering how to proceed. After a few moments she said, “I’ve looked into that real estate transaction, Stanley—Marty, if you prefer. There was something fishy going on at the time, and I think I can use it to help both of you.”

Mary Jo stood to leave and looked at a shelf in the corner of the kitchen. “Would you mind letting me have that picture of Carter, Rose? It will remind me of why I became a lawyer.”

****

[1993]
After Raymond McDougal recovered from his drug-induced stupor at the Phantom Hills Ranch, he rallied a posse of lawyers to defend his claim.

He first stop was Triumph Realty.

Raymond found Billy Parker leaning back on his wooden office chair chewing on a cigar.

“Hey there, Tex,” said Billy as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. “How’s life on the ranch?”

“Not good at all,” said Raymond. “I’ve been notified that you fucked up. There’s a problem with the title and the appraisal.” Raymond raised a fist in the air. “I’m gonna’ sue your ass.”

“Now just one minute, Raymond,” said Billy. He clasped his hands together and rubbed them as if he was scratching an itchy palm. “You were in a hurry to finish the deal. I sent the paperwork over to Edgewood Bank for them to review. The pudgy agent unfolded his hands and pulled on his suspenders. He shrugged and said, “You signed the papers. Have you talked to Edgewood? After all, they owned the place.”

“The damn bank went under,” groused Raymond. “Something about failing a federal audit.”

“Huh,” said Billy. “Long time ago. Too bad. Afraid I can’t help you.”

****

[1993]
A month later Raymond and a tall, serious-looking man in a pinstriped suit wound their way through an old industrial district of Billings. They found a brownstone apartment building bearing the address of Bilke and Associates. They mounted the steps to the second floor and pounded on the door.

Mary Jo answered. “Raymond,” she said. “I see you found my office.” She invited them into the cramped room and turned to the pinstripe. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Adam Recksler, My lawyer.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Recksler.” She waved her arm at the two metal folding chairs facing her desk. “Have a seat.”

“You can sit, Adam.” Said Raymond. “I prefer to stand.”

Mary Jo walked behind her desk, a metal relic she had rescued from a used office-supply store and sat down in a creaking swivel chair. A framed picture of a dark-haired boy wearing a serious expression watched her from the corner of the desk. A lone window without the benefit of blinds opened behind her. Her diploma hung on one side of the window and a four-drawer file cabinet was on the other. A sparsely filled bookcase occupied the wall to her left. A door to another small room was on her right.

“I was hoping you’d come,” said Mary Jo as she folded her arms. “What can I do for you?”

A severe afternoon sun glared at Raymond. He paced behind his lawyer and squinted at Mary Jo. “We’ve reviewed your claim stating that the real estate transaction on the Phantom Hills Ranch was filed improperly,” he said, “and we agree that there were some discrepancies.”

“I’m happy that we have come to the same conclusion,” said Mary Jo.

The long-faced lawyer cleared his throat, opened his polished brief case, and dropped a sheaf of papers on her desk. “However, you must realize,” he said, “that the statute of limitations has long since expired.” He shuffled through the documents and produced a page that met his approval. “See for yourself.”

The metal chair creaked as he sat back in his seat. Wearing a satisfied expression, he said, “We feel your claim is irrelevant.”

Mary Jo glanced at the document. “I’m well aware of the statute of limitations,” she said coolly, “but the reason I am happy to see you is this.”

She opened a drawer and produced another set of documents.

“You’ve saved me the bother of hiring an officer to deliver this summons.” She leaned across her desk and handed Raymond the documents and a piercing stare. “Consider yourself served. I am accusing you of rape.”

She paused to let this news sink in. “The statute of limitations for rape is ten years—in case you weren’t aware.”

Raymond stopped his pacing. “You can’t prove rape,” he said. “It’ll be your word against mine. Tell her, Adam.”

Adam looked at Raymond whose face had started to color. Then he turned back to Mary Jo. “Raymond is right. I don’t believe there’s ever been a conviction for rape in this county.”

“There’s always a first,” said Mary Jo as she pointed to her desk drawer and looked at Adam. “I think a grand jury would find the evidence to indict Raymond quite compelling: His DNA was found in the panties I was wearing the night of my welcoming party. A sample from the child I delivered was taken by the Sisters of Affection. It identifies Raymond as the father. A trace of Ketamine that was still in my blood stream the following morning indicates that I was drugged at the party. And the video camera at the Sheraton shows Raymond signing for the room—”

“You’d have to prove that it was not consensual,” interrupted Adam.

“If a man needs a date rape drug to obtain consent,” said Mary Jo, “he is one sorry sonofabitch.” She raised her dark eyebrows and looked at Raymond. “You were right about one thing, though. It was not a gang rape. Yours was the only DNA they found. I had the lab compare it to everyone else in the department.”

She paused a moment and looked at the door to her right. “I’d also like to have you meet my assistant...Mr. Grieg, will you come in here?”

The door to Mary Jo’s right opened and a balding, middle-aged man wearing a three-piece suit stepped into the office. Mary Jo said, “Raymond, meet my associate.”

“Sylvester, you horse’s ass,” blurted Raymond. “You’re as guilty as I am!”

Sylvester beamed. “That’s not what I remember, Raymond.” He looked at the lawyer seated in front of Mary Jo’s desk. “I’m also very familiar with the inner workings of Billings Refinery. I doubt that a jury—or the local newspaper—would look kindly on what happened during some of those board meetings.”

“You’re just jealous because I got the promotion instead of you,” shouted Raymond. “And you were screwing my wife. You said so yourself!”

“I didn’t make it to first base with your wife, Raymond,” said Sylvester. “She didn’t even give me the pleasure of a full conversation. I spread that rumor around the office to irritate you.” He offered a condescending smile and said, “Your ego is your Achille’s Heel. It’ll get the best of you yet.”

Mary Jo interrupted the argument. “Now boys,” she said, “I believe this has been a very productive meeting.” She nodded to Raymond. “Thank you for confessing, Raymond. Now might be a good time to review my expectations.”

“Confessed? Confessed to what?” demanded Raymond.

“Everyone in this room heard you say, ‘You’re as guilty as I am.’ I believe that constitutes a confession.”

Raymond’s lawyer sighed in exasperation, “What expectations are you talking about?” he said. “You can see that the real estate issue is moot. Is it not?”

Mary Jo smiled at the men in her office. “One thing I learned—even before I entered law school—is that you can’t always count on a jury to deliver justice.” Mary Jo stood to indicate the meeting was about to end. “However, a verdict rendered by public opinion will supersede any court.”

She walked around her desk to face the men. “I’ve approached the editors of our local newspapers with a story that every one of them would like to run on the front page if given the chance.” She folded her arms and continued. “You have admitted that there were, as you say, ‘discrepancies in the transaction’ so even though you might be able to slip out of legal responsibility, you will never evade the moral responsibility.

“I’m a lawyer,” said Adam, who stood and straightened his tie. “I understand the difference between moral and legal responsibility, and I am obligated to provide legal defense to my client.”

“We’ll see how the jury of public opinion weighs in on your choice,” said Mary Jo. “If the Phantom Hills Ranch is returned to Stanley Martin, that story will be buried where no one will ever hear of it again—either in the news or in the courtroom.”

“Why are you so interested in Stanley Martin?” asked Adam.

“Stanley Martin is Rose McDougal’s landlord,” said Mary Jo. “I paid a visit to Rose and her family after I found out who was the father of my son and where he was living.” She returned to her desk and held up another document that was lying on her desk. “This is an affidavit from Sisters of Affection signed by Raymond McDougal. It says that he is Carter’s father.”

Mary Jo threw the document in front of Adam. “I recently saw Carter for the first time since I handed him over to that nun eight years ago. Rose is doing her best, but I don’t think it’s good enough—and neither does she.”

Mary Jo put her hands on the desk and leaned toward Adam and Raymond. “I have spoken with Rose, Charlie, and Carter. I have reviewed their financial records and I have reviewed the court records,” she said. “You have been delinquent on your child support payments, and according to Rose and the kids, you have been delinquent in your responsibility as a father.”

“What do you want?” demanded Raymond.

Mary Jo looked directly at Adam. “In addition to turning over the deed of the Phantom Hills Ranch to Stanley Martin,” she said, “Raymond McDougal must pay all of the delinquent alimony and child support payments that are due his ex-wife, Rose McDougal.”

Raymond burst out, “Rose has gotten every cent that is due to her…and you can’t be her lawyer. Rose doesn’t have the money to hire a lawyer.”

Mary Jo collected another document from her desk. “I am her lawyer, Raymond.” She waived the paper in his face. “I take an occasional pro bono case, and I feel that the mother of my child certainly qualifies.” She returned the paper to her desk. “Furthermore,” looking again at Adam, “Raymond will pay Rose an additional fifty-thousand dollars and will turn over full custody of both children to Rose.”

“You can’t do that,” screamed Raymond. “It’s extortion. Come on, Adam. This is ridiculous.”

****

[1993]
Raymond took the exit to Pompeys Pillar, found Dale Street and parked next to the blue mobile home. He climbed the wooden stairs and pushed the doorbell. Hearing no ring, he knocked firmly on the door.

Rose answered the door wearing an old terrycloth robe.

“Hello, Rose.”

Rose blinked at the figure she had not seen for several years. “Raymond? What do you want? I hope you’re here to drop off a child support payment. You’re late again.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” he said. “May I come in?”

“I…suppose.” Rose opened the door and invited him into the living room.

“I see you still have the robe I gave you when we first met,” said Raymond.

Rose lifted the sleeve of the tattered robe. “I still like the robe, but the boys want me to get rid of it. They say it reminds them of you.” She put her arm down. “About the payment?”

“I understand you’ve hired a lawyer,” said Raymond. “Is that really necessary? I know I’ve been a little late on a couple occasions, but I’ve always been good for it. You know that.”

“My lawyer—Mary Jo Bilke is her name—has looked at my bank statements. She says that you have missed about two payments a year.”

“There has to be some mistake, Rose. I know you’ve been getting a little forgetful. Maybe you forgot to make the deposit.”

“I don’t think so,” said Rose as she wrapped her arms around her chest.

“I’ve done some checking,” said Raymond. “Both your mother and your father suffered from early onset dementia. Did you know that?”

“I know. I feel terrible that I wasn’t able to help them more in those last years.”

“Tell you what, Rose. I think I can make things right.” Raymond pulled out his leather check book and scrawled a number onto a check, then handed it to Rose. “What do you think? You take this check and call off your lawyer.”

Rose squinted at the figure. “That’s very generous, but I better talk to Mary Jo first.”

Raymond pulled the checkbook from her hands and wrote a second check for twice the amount. “Here,” he said, and he produced a single-page document from behind the checks. “Just take the check and sign the document. We’ll call it square.”

“I…I don’t think so, Raymond.”

Raymond exploded. “This is more than fair, Rose. I’m bending over backward to make this right.” He grabbed Rose by her shoulder. “We are going to the kitchen table right now—and you are going to do as I say.” Raymond threw the checkbook and document on the table.

“Don’t, Raymond. Don’t do this to me.”

A car pulled into the driveway.

“Who’s that?” demanded Raymond.

“I don’t know.”

Raymond pushed Rose by the arm through the hall into the back bedroom and eased the door shut. “Not a word,” he hissed. “Whoever is there will go away.”

A dog barked. “Hey, Sport. You been visiting your lady friend again?” came a young voice from the front yard.

“Is that Charlie?” said Raymond. “The kid is supposed to be in school.”

Raymond heard the door to the living room open. “Ma? You home?”

“Shhh,” whispered Raymond as he placed a hand over Rose’s mouth.

A dog growled and scratched at the bedroom door. Raymond jiggled the doorknob trying to lock it.

“The lock’s broken,” said Rose. “It’s been that way since we moved in.”

“I said, shut up.” He slapped her on the face. The blow sent her sprawling across Charlie’s bed.

“Ma. You in there? What’s the problem? Open up.”

****

[1993]
Charlie grabbed his twenty-two and rushed to the back of the trailer where Sport was attacking the door to his bedroom. He heard Rose groan. Charlie didn’t bother to turn the knob but gave the door a violent kick. He held the rifle at his hip. “What’s going on?” he shouted as he stood in the doorway.

Rose was sitting on Charlie’s bed with her hand covering her face. Her bathrobe was partially open and hanging on one shoulder. Raymond was standing next to her, his face the color of rage.

Sport lunged past Charlie, dove for Raymond’s left leg, and plunged his teeth into his ankle.

Raymond howled, “Get that goddamn dog off my leg.” He shook his leg free and with his right foot booted the dog across the room. Sport wheezed and collapsed in the corner.

Charlie looked at his dog, then at his mother cowering on the bed. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at Raymond. “Get…out…of…here.”

“Now just a minute,” said Raymond, trying to regain a sense of calm. “Your mother invited me in. I wanted to leave her a check.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me,” said Charlie as he sighted down the barrel and walked into the room. “Get out.”

“Now, Charlie.  Don’t do anything stupid.” Raymond limped slowly past the end of the gun and backed into the hallway with his hands above his head.

“Run, you bastard!” cried Charlie. “I never want to see you again.”

Charlie followed Raymond to the living room and watched as Raymond hurried out of the house and jumped into his Mustang. On the way back to the bedroom Charlie picked up the checkbook and piece of paper that had been lying on the table.

“Are you okay, Ma’?” he asked as he returned to the bedroom. Rose was shaking and still sitting on the edge of the bed. Charlie set the gun in the corner, sat down next to her, and pulled her robe onto her shoulder.

“Yeah, I think I’m okay, Charlie.” She put her arm around her son. “Why are you home? You’re supposed to be in school.”

“It’s early dismissal. I got a ride. Don’t you remember? Carter had to stay late. He’s takin’ the bus.”

“Oh. I forgot,” said Rose, “but I’m glad you came when you did.”

“Do you need this?” asked Charlie as he handed the paper and check book to Rose.

“Yes. Thank you, Charlie,” she said as she folded the paper she had been asked to sign and tucked it into the checkbook. “They’re important documents.”

She slipped them into the pocket of her robe and said, “I know someone who needs to see this.”

Charlie left his mother and crouched next to Sport who had been whimpering in the corner. The dog looked at him with sad eyes and licked his hand. Charlie stroked his head. “C’m on, boy,” he said. “Can you get up?”

The dog struggled to his feet. “Atta boy,” said Charlie. “You sure showed him.”

“And I’m gonna show Raymond,” said Rose.

****

[1994]
“I have something to tell you, Charlie,” said Rose as they sat at Marty’s kitchen table a year later.

“What is it?” said Charlie. “Sounds serious.”

“Remember that woman who visited us about a year ago?” said Rose. “The pretty one with the dark curly hair. You thought we might be in trouble.”

“Yeah. I remember her,” said Charlie. He looked at Marty. “Me and Carter were goin’ fishing. We stopped by to ask you to make sure everything was okay.”

“That’s right,” said Marty. “The woman’s a lawyer. Name’s Mary Jo Bilke.”

“Well,” continued Rose, “it turns out…” She paused to clear her throat. “She is Carter’s biological mother.”

Charlie’s eyes opened wide. “That can’t be,” said Charlie. “You’re his mother.”

Rose dropped her eyes to the table and said quietly, “Yes, I am Carter’s mother, Charlie, but he’s not my biological son. After you were born, the doctor said I could not have any more children.”

“Well, how did Carter get here then,” demanded Charlie.

Rose looked up to explain. “Your father said there was a young woman at the office who had a child out of wedlock.” She glanced in Charlie’s direction. “That means she was not married when she had the baby.”

“I know what it means, Ma.”

“Anyway, your father agreed to adopt this little boy. That little boy was Carter.” She shook her head. “Your father and I had always talked about having two kids, but after it took so long to get pregnant with you, I didn’t think it was possible.”

“You mean he cheated on you with this Mary Jo woman?” exploded Charlie. “Got her pregnant with Carter and then adopted him?”

Rose swallowed hard. “You get the picture, Charlie.”

Charlie’s face turned sour. “Did Pa want either of us, Ma?”

“I think your father liked the idea of being a parent,” said Rose, “but I’m not sure he liked being a parent.”

“He’s sure doing a horse shit job of it, if you ask me,” said Charlie.

“Please don’t curse, Charlie.”

“Sorry Ma. This Mary Jo—you said she’s a lawyer. Did you tell her that Pa’s check is usually late? Did you tell her that when it comes, it barely covers our expenses? Did you tell her how you have to borrow from Marty when we’re short? Did you tell her that he never picks us up when it’s his turn to take us for the weekend?”

“Yes,” said Rose. “I told her all that.”

Rose reached over to squeeze Marty’s hand. “Can you get me a cup of coffee, Marty? I was about to put the pot on.”

“Sure, Rose.” Marty got up from the table and plugged in his percolator. “Keep on with your story.”

“She asked a lot of questions about Carter. I told her that he’d been having a lot of problems at school, but that the summer was usually good for him.”

“Carter likes to go huntin’ and fishin’ with me. That’s for sure,” said Charlie. “What did she want?”

“She asked if I felt that it was fair that I was always waiting on Raymond’s late payment and that he wasn’t pulling his weight for you kids,” said Rose. She shook her head. “I told her, ‘It’s just the way things are.’”

Rose straightened in her chair and looked at Charlie with more confidence than she felt. “Mary Jo said she used to think that way, but since she got out of law school, she has changed her mind. She thought she might be able to help us get what we deserved.”

At that moment, Carter pushed the door open and burst into the living room.

“Hello Carter,” said Rose. “I thought you were fishing.”

“Fish weren’t bitin’. I been listenin’ under the window.” He delivered Rose a hateful stare. “You’re tellin’ Charlie all this. When were you gonna tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Carter. I wanted to wait ‘til the time was right.”

“Lucky the fish weren’t bitin’. I might never a found out.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” said Rose. A tear welled up in her eye. “I guess you know now,” she said, “but it doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Rose got up from the table and walked over to Carter. “Are you okay?” She put her arm out to give him a hug.

Carter pulled away from her and backed into the living room. “You never loved me,” he said. “Now I know why.”

“You know that’s not true,” said Marty who had returned with the coffee. He set the pot on the table and turned to Carter. “Your mother’s done everything she can for you—and this woman we’re talkin’ about—Miss Bilke. She’s a good person. She said she might be able to help me get my ranch back too.”

“How’s that?” asked Charlie.

“Raymond was the one who took the Phantom Hills Ranch,” said Marty. “He’s the one who stole it from me—gave the bank fifty cents on a dollar for it.”

“You never told us that,” said Charlie. “That why you’ve been so nice to us all these years?”

“One reason,” he replied, “but mostly, I like you guys—both a you.” He gave Carter a wink. “You taught me a thing or two ‘bout catchin’ trout.”

Charlie shook his head in confusion. “Did this Mary Jo who claims to be Carter’s real mother want Carter back? Did she want to meet him? What?”

“She didn’t demand anything, Charlie,” said Rose. “She just offered to give us legal help—if we wanted it.”

“Did ya’ ask for the help?” asked Charlie.

“Ya mean she didn’t want me either?” interrupted Carter.

“One at a time, boys,” said Rose. To Carter she said, “You know we love you. We’ve always wanted you.” said Rose who managed to give him a hug.

“Mis Bilke only seemed to want what’s best for you—for all of us,” said Marty. “Come. Have your coffee, Rose.” He looked at his watch, then at Charlie. “We’re expectin’ her any time.”

“You mean she’s coming here?” asked Charlie. “Now?”

“She’s been working on the case for about a year,” said Marty.

Carter made a move for the door. “I’m leavin’,” he shouted. “I don’t wanna see her.”

The doorbell rang as Carter opened the door.

“Hello…Carter?” said the young, dark-haired woman.

Carter glared at the woman. “You ain’t my mother,” he shouted and was about to run past her out the door.

The woman smiled. “Of course not,” she said. “Who told you that I was?

“Ma just told Charlie that you’re my bi’logic mother.”

“Oh, I see,” said the woman. “I can see why you’re confused. May I come in?”

She held out her hand. “I’m impressed that you remembered me. I’m Mary Jo Bilke. Maybe if I explain some things, we can be friends.”

Carter looked at the floor and accepted her handshake reluctantly.

“Can you invite her in?” called Rose.

Mary Jo stooped to look Carter in the eye. “I’m here to talk to your mother and Marty about some work that I have been doing. Is that okay?”

“I guess,” said Carter. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Carter.” Mary Jo joined the others in the kitchen.

“Please sit down,” said Marty, offering her his seat. “Can I pour you a cup a coffee? It’s fresh.”

“Boys,” said Rose. “Why don’t you go outside and play. I’ll explain all this later.”

“C’mon, Carter,” said Charlie. “Show me your new slingshot.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” said Rose. “When we’re finished, I’m sure Miss Bilke will be happy to answer any of your questions.”

The boys slumped out the door.

Marty poured Mary Jo a cup of coffee and said, “So, what’s the latest?”

Mary Jo beamed as she sat down at the kitchen table. “It took a little doing,” she said as she took a sip, “but Raymond agreed to our demands.”

“You mean, the Phantom Hills Ranch is mine again?” said Marty. He stood behind Rose and rubbed her shoulders. “And how about the kids? Does Rose get full custody of Charlie and Carter?”

“That’s right,” said Mary Jo with a big grin. “Here is the deed to the ranch,” she said passing the paper to Marty, “and here is the paperwork that gives you full custody of Charlie and Carter.” Mary Jo handed a pen to each of her clients. “Just sign and date.” Then she also handed Rose a cashier’s check. “This includes Raymond’s past due child support and a bit extra.”

Rose looked at the check and gasped. “How did you do it?” she said holding the pen in the air. “Raymond is usually so bull-headed—I’ve never known him to agree to anything without a fight.”

“Raymond put up a fight, alright,” said Mary Jo. Then she chuckled and said, “Let’s just say, I found out some things about him that he did not want to get into the newspapers.”

“You mean you blackmailed him?” asked Rose.

“Not exactly,” said Mary Jo. “Raymond is a proud man, and he wants to keep his job. It helped our case when you agreed to drop the assault charges in return for our demands.”

Rose raised her hand to the cheek that Raymond had struck. “I’m still surprised,” she said.

“Do you remember Linda Rivett?’ asked Mary Jo. “She said you met her in your home one day about five years ago.”

Rose knit her brow. “You mean Raymond’s chubby assistant? The one who was at our house when he was supposed to be taking care of the kids?”

“That’s the one,” said Mary Jo. “When Linda heard that I had also worked for Raymond and left to become a lawyer, she paid me a visit. Turns out, there was more going on in Raymond’s home office than taking dictation.”

“I remember the boys were pretty upset that day,” said Rose. “They didn’t say much about it, but after that, they never wanted to be alone with Raymond.”

“Thank God you got that restraining order,” said Marty. “I never want to see that man again.”

“How can we ever repay you?” said Rose.

“I told you that I’m waving my fees for you. Why don’t we invite the boys in,” said Mary Jo. “I’m sure they have some questions.”

“I’ll call them,” said Marty.

The boys returned to the kitchen. Charlie asked, “You mean Pa’ is no longer our father?”

Mary Jo said, “No. Charlie. Raymond is still your father—yours too, Carter, but he can only see you if your mother allows you to.”

“I don’t wanna see him,” said Charlie. “He never wants to see us anyway.”

“Me neither,” said Carter.

“But what about you bein’ Carter’s biological mother?” said Charlie to Mary Jo.

Carter stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned.

Mary Jo looked in Carter’s direction. “That makes me very interested in your well-being,” she said, “but it doesn’t change who your parents are.” Then she turned to Rose and Marty. “But maybe your mom would let me send you birthday cards—and maybe a Christmas gift.” She looked at Rose. “Would that be okay?”

“What do you think, boys?” said Rose.

The boys replied with a sheepish grin.

“I think we can do better than that,” said Rose. “We can invite you to their birthday parties.”

Marty had been shuffling through his papers and signed where he was supposed to. “When do I take possession?”

Mary Jo reached into her purse. “Here are the keys,” she said. “I have a spare set. The place is yours as of Saturday morning. There are two horses that were thrown in on the deal. Raymond agreed to have them taken care of until then.”

Marty gave Rose a hug. “How would you like to get on a horse again, Rose?”

“I’d like that, Marty.”

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