Chasing Shadows

There was too much time to contemplate the heat. The heat in New York had been bearable, courtesy of heavily plumbed air conditioning in any building Symonds would ever frequent. He wasn’t sure of his decision to trade it for the Southern sun. Barry Symonds undid another button of his shirt. His hands were damp with perspiration, impeding the navigation of his phone’s touchscreen.

Sure, feel free to visit sometime. There’s no other ranch in this town so you’ll find it fine, read the message Georgia Granville had sent him a month ago. It had sparked a text conversation he could now remember by heart, including the latest exchange. It was an apology that the stable hand sent to collect him had had to take care of a horse with a broken leg.

This was an inconvenience, for sure, but he had marvelled at his ability to solve yet another problem. He hadn’t even needed his phone.

Of course this could all have been avoided if he hadn’t caved to Georgia’s advice. He could have been in an air conditioned chauffeured car, like the one that had taken him from Manhattan to JKF. Sure it would have cost a pretty buck to be ferried this far from the airport in St. Louis to Granville ranch but Symonds would have relished how little that sum would have meant to him. Instead, Symonds had taken a train from the airport to a small town in Missouri on Georgia’s assurances that is was quicker. Quicker in transport time, perhaps, but not once you took into account that this tiny station with two tracks and a single hut had no further destinations. Damn him for following her advice.

Beads of sweat rolled down his arm and dripped onto his Rolex whose needles were converging at 3pm. Another couple of hours still to wait and then who knows how much longer. Symonds kicked the dust, not caring it it left marks on his patent leather shoes. He was due to be back at work on Monday and had already wasted enough time. Would there still be enough to move things forwards with Georgia?

At first, he had not dared cross the naked tracks but it was soon apparent that his fear was imagined. There would not be another train for hours so he had chosen a spot on the other side in the weak shade of a lone oak tree. Somehow that was still cooler or, rather, less unbearable than inside the station hut.

Indeed, the lack of air conditioning and a broken down ceiling fan had turned the building into a sauna. Symonds had no idea how the station manager could bear it. Yet, the sun worn man of about fifty with perceptive pale blue eyes seemed not to mind. Symonds took that to be a bad sign for him. This man would wait until the closing minutes of his shift before leaving and Symonds would have needed him to leave early to get to Georgia on time.

He was unsure how to much to read into her not offering to fetch him herself. Especially since a stranger had required only the slightest persuasion to drive Symonds himself.

Stan, the station manager, drove an orange pickup truck that might have been red in another life. Its windows were open or, rather, they didn’t exist. Though this was far from an issue. As the car’s speedometer stuttered to 60, Symonds experienced the closest thing to a refreshing breeze.

“If I knew y’all liked the wind so much, I’d had offered to ferry you in the trunk, son.”

The man had to shout to make himself heard over the draft. Even more so since Symonds was sticking his head out of the passenger window breathing in the flowing air.

“Call me Barry,” Symonds shouted back. “Is that even safe? I mean, the police might object if they came across that.”

Stan laughed. It was a wheezy sound and Symonds was unsure whether he needed to thump the other man on his back.

“I ain’t never heard of nobody getting done by a sheriff for having people in the trunk. This must be your first time in Missouri, Barry.”

“First time this far West, actually,” said Symonds.

“You don’t say,” Stan whistled. “Why, welcome then.”

They were travelling on a straight road. At times it undulated out of sight but would invariably reappear again, looking much the same. Other times Symonds would see far into the distance and a haze of heat would shimmer above a puddle on the road, though they never encountered any water. It didn’t matter how long they drove for, the scenery didn’t change. Even the car’s shadow was anchored stubbornly in place.

Stan leaned forward to give the impression he was focusing on the road but both men knew there was nothing to concentrate on. Symonds could feel the corners of the other man’s pale blue eyes trained on him and Stan dismissed the silence with a clearing of his his throat.

“Out here we don’t pry. It ain’t in our manners but what I wouldn’t give to hear what brought y’all the way out here.”

The silence returned but Stan no longer feigned to be looking at the road. The draft no longer produced the relief it once did.

“I’m visiting a friend,” said Symonds. “Someone from long ago.”

The old man spun towards him.

“That be some lady friend. An “old friend” is a someone you’ve seen much of but who remains a friend. First time in Missouri, too. That be some lady friend.”

Stan paused to see if Symonds would tell him more. He didn’t so Stan took it upon himself to fill the gaps.

“You seem a fine man, Barry. Don’t seem to be struggling either if you catch my gist.”

Symonds doubted that the old man would be able to tell his suit was tailored but he supposed that didn’t matter. A suit out here would be rare enough, especially in this heat.

“If you don’t mind my askin’, Barry, what’s special about this woman?”

Stan wasn’t even bothering with the road at all anymore. He had turned fully to face Symonds.

“Watch the road, Stan.”

“Don’t need to. Done this trip more times than a stallion’s swatted a fly. I’m just curious about this woman, is all. To drag a man like you all the way out here she must be pretty special. You sure she’s real.”

Stan slapped his knees at his joke and his wheezing laugh returned. Symonds decided he found it utterly intolerable. In response, he yanked the lever to recline his seat. It flattened him further than he’d hoped for. The wheezing sound grew even louder under it turned into coughing. Symonds happily let the other man struggle and began to daydream.

He had been students in law school with Georgia. From the start, he’d liked the way her red hair blended into her freckled, tanned skin. Later, he would tease her about the way her freckles spanned all the way down her back, stopping just beyond her waist. Then she had missed her family ranch during the internship summer together, with its fields of horses and fabled double-decker porch. She had not shared his enthusiasm for the tall Manhattan buildings and her tan faded to grey. When they both received full time employment offers, he accepted but Georgia chose one from a more coveted law firm. They had fought that night. She had hurt him by applying there without telling him. More still, it stung his own application to the same place had only just been rejected.

Stan slowed down so that he could talk more comfortably over the windowless draft.

“Barry boy, you still there? You told me you were heading to the Granville ranch. That so?”

It was.

“You still alright with what you said about gas money?” Stan gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly as he said this.

“Sure, Stan.”

A collection of buildings lay ahead of them. In front of one was a neatly arranged row of battered cars. Stan turned in and pulled up in front of a gas pump. The old man got out to feed his car, leaving Symonds to wonder exactly when he had become “Barry boy”.

They could pay in the other building which doubled as a diner. A row of men lined up on the counter by the far wall. They were drinking and some were eating grilled burgers. Barry recoiled at the scent of burnt grease. The sooner they paid the better. A waitress appeared at their side.

“Pump five, Stan? I could see you truck through the window.”

“Thanks, Macy. Bring us a couple beers too, would ya.”

She glanced at the counter. All the swivel stools were taken.

“Do you want your usual spot?” she asked, nervously. “I’d have to ask Bill to move.”

“No need, Macy. I’ll take a booth. I have fine company.” Stan winked at her and she looked at Symonds approvingly before leaving to get their drinks.

“Stan, we don’t have time for this. I need to get to Granville ranch.”

The old man waved back at the counter of men greeting him.

“Hey, I said I don’t have time for this.”

Stan had walked off; Symonds followed him.

“I heard ya. Now slide in.”

“What the hell, Stan? I have to get to Granville. We have an agreement.”

“Why that we do,” said the older man. “And I still intend to honour my side. But before that I need to clear my conscience. Impart some knowledge, as they say.”

He sat down and bounced playfully on the seats. They were worn but the old man grinned at their remaining spring.

“Stan, I have an appointment at that ranch. I’ve been held up long enough at your train station and any hold up here is going to be completely unacceptable. I have your licence plate number. I can get your full name and address from that and I can bury you in litigation.”

Macy appeared with a tray sporting two frosted bottles.

“Have a seat, dear,” she said to Symonds.

Stan glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows. Caught between the two, Symonds sighed and slumped into the booth. Macy propped both bottles on the table with a thump and left again.

“What were you saying hotshot? Bury me in litigation? Is that the threat they use where y’all from? It works better if you don’t bother with the in litigation part.”

There was a smirk beneath the pale blue eyes. It made Symonds regret his whole godforsaken trip. Why had he come? What a waste of a Friday off. He should be having a Happy Hour cocktail on some rooftop somewhere downtown, not sharing a beer with this man. To hell with him. And to hell with Georgia Granville and her half baked text messages. In fact, to hell with this whole damn situation! If they thought Symonds was just going to roll over, they had another thing coming. Symonds leaned in thrusting his face into Stan’s space.

“Listen here, there’s about a dozen men at the bar. If you don’t start walking back to the car I am going to go over there and offer five hundred dollars to the first person who will take me to Granville ranch.”

Stan cocked his head to better contemplate him and whistled.

“I daresay, Barry boy, I might have underestimated you. There is more desperation about you than I thought.”

“I don’t have to take this.”

Symonds jumped up.

“Sit down your ass back down, son,” said Stan, slamming his fist hard enough into the table to make the bottles jump. “You need some sense knocked into ya. Tell me, when was the last time you saw this lady friend of yours?”

“I never said she was a lady friend, as you seem so keen to put it.”

“Fine. This friend of yours. When was the last time you saw her? More than five years?”

“This is a farce,” said Symonds.

Stan waved the waitress over.

“Two more beers, Macy. Oh and tell Bill to ring the fences in, please.”

Then he turned back to Barry.

“So it’s been more than five. What about ten?”

Symonds stayed silent so Stan whistled again.

“That’s a long time Barry boy. Especially for someone your age. You’re telling me you haven’t seen this non-lady friend in over ten years but you’ve been married in between. When did that end?”

But Symonds wasn’t listening. He had left the table. None of the men at the counter turned towards him as he approached but their conversations slowed.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Who wants to earn the easiest five hundred bucks of his life.”

He saw them glance at the man seated in the middle, who stayed very still. Symonds produced five crisp bills.

“I take it you’ve all heard of Granville ranch. I just need to be driven there. First one of you who starts their car will get five hundred bona fide US dollars.”

They had stopped pretending to ignore him now and the swivel stools turned around.

“That’s a lot of money for a half an hour drive,” said the man on the end.

“It sure is. Do you know what you would do with it?”

“I sure do. I would-”

“He would throw it straight back to you, that’s what.”

It was the man in the middle who spoke, the one they were all looking at.

“Seriously, Bill?” said the other man.

“Boys, Stan has told us to hang tight so that’s exactly what we’re going to do. If anyone goes against that, I will personally make sure the bastard never so much as spends a single dime of that money.”

The man on the end sighed.

“Sorry, bud. My hands are tied.”

There was a collective grumble of agreement.

A fresh beer was waiting for Symonds when he slid back into the booth.

“Any luck?” asked Stan.

Symonds scowled at him.

“Look buddy, this is the South. Not some high flying financial district in Chicago or wherever you’ve come from. We might not have money but we sure do have loyalty. You’ll do well to remember that if you ever come back. No, let me finish.”

Stan raised his hand to quell Symonds’ interruption. From the corner of his own eyes Symonds registered that all the men at the counter had turned back around as if nothing had happened.

“Now pay attention. I’ve said I would still take you to lady Georgia’s ranch so I will if that’s what you want. But something isn’t adding up here and you need to make sense of it. Is that clear, Barry boy?”

The pale blue eyes pierced his own, searching.

“Good. Now, was I wrong?” asked Stan. “About the ten years and the former marriage.”

Symonds could only hold the man’s gaze for a few seconds.

“Fine. I’ll answer. Then you drive me. It’s been seventeen years, if you must know. My divorce was finalised last year.”

The old man nodded.

“And then you get some message from someone on Granville ranch. Now, I’m not gonna speculate too hard on who that might be, but know that that ranch is made up of the Granvilles and an army of stable hands who have never left the county. Out of the Granville family, only Georgia is about your age and unmarried. It also doesn’t take any smarts to figure out you’ve never so much as set foot into anywhere remotely rural. This means,” Stan raised a finger, evidently pleased with his deductions. “This means, you’ve never actually seen this lady friend in her natural habitat. You following so far?”

Outside the sun was starting to set.

“So what?”

“So this,” said Stan. “You’re chasing shadows, son. You weren’t able to find what you needed in the woman you married and you won’t be able to find it in a woman you haven’t seen for seventeen years. Think it through, son. You’re going to what, settle here? Convince her to come back with you? That won’t change a dime. You think your life will be different in Missouri? No, and it’ll be even worse if she comes with you. If that happens you’ll realise you have the exact same life you had with the woman you married. The awareness of that will kill you. Son, people’s shadows always follow them.”

The bottle in Symonds’ hand grew heavy and he found he had to let it rest on the table. Outside some of the men from the counter were leaving. They had to turn on their car’s headlights in the falling darkness.

“Finish your beer, Barry, and then I’ll take you to back to the train station.”