All The Pleasures We've Had

By Wayne Bethard

All the Pleasures is a Contemporary Novel that sweeps you casually into the lives of two lonely people. It is a love story about two older, young lovers who find each other and come of age in a struggling modern day rancher's society. The narrative begins in the late nineteen nineties and progresses through the middle of twenty thirteen. Ellen is twenty-four, Bill is thirty-six at the time they meet. The story deals with their lives and rites of passage through this time period living in a ranching/farming society, a society taken for granted and on which this great nation was built. Modern ranchers face a dilemma that threatens the whole of the rancher/farmer industry. All the Pleasures doesn't focus on tragedy as much as the wonderful times they experience and all the pleasures they have getting to this tragic summit of their lives. The story opens with Bill in his hospice bed writing a letter to his wife, and ends with the contents of that letter. The story deals with the couple's and their daughter's rite of passage and a whispered voice that seeks the real meaning of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Bethard
• Release date: Jan 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311430205

Wayne Bethard

A pharmacist by trade, Wayne Bethard is the truest of drugstore cowboys. A graduate of the University of Texas, he resides, practices, and writes out of his home in Longview, Texas.

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All The Pleasures We’ve Had

By

Wayne Bethard

Our time is our life. —Alexander the Great:

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 by Wayne Bethard

All Rights Reserved

All The Pleasures We’ve Had is a work of fiction. All portrayed characters and events are pure products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

Other books by Wayne Bethard

Non fiction:

Lotions Potions and Deadly Elixirs, Roman and Littlefield

The Human Side of Heartbreak-Undertaker Tales

Fiction:

A Hoot Owl Moon

The Moon Wolf Legend

Proud Flesh

The Warren City Renegade

The Valley of Two Moons

This story is dedicated to all the ranchers in this great country of ours, the hard working men and women who spend their lives putting meat on our tables. A special thanks goes out to my wife, Wanda, my sister in law, Judi Bethard and Yvonne Blevins who spent many hours proof reading and helping edit this piece.

Prologue

Bill Wilson raised his gaze to the hallway. He'd done it, spent over an hour, re-written it four times. He got inspiration from a song he heard. He could picture her sitting on the sofa reading it, her Pixie style bangs, see her move her brown hair over an ear, an ear with a sterling silver stud in it, see an aqueous blink as her eyes dart down the page. He folded the letter with the precision of a surgeon, divided the single page into three equal parts, tucked it into the envelope, and with great effort licked and sealed it. He wrote in shaky cursive, From: Bill in the upper left corner and To: Ellen in the middle. He sighed. Sometimes hurting someone doesn't leave as deep a scar if it’s done in the name of love.

Chapter 1

With cautious apprehension Ellen came in through the back door at Sally’s home. BFFs earn that rite. She placed the dip on the cabinet along with a gallon of sweet tea she promised to bring earlier and a batch of brownies she’d made. She hated coming tonight, knew Sally had invited yet another man she wanted her to meet. That was Sally, always trying to arranged dates for her, get her married off so they would have more in common. Four times in six months Sally had set Ellen up with a hopeful. It was always the same, no love connection, no stars, no feeling that this is the one she wanted to spend eternity with. She vividly remembered that pharmacist the last time she was here. He dressed immaculately, his shirt, slacks, tennis shoes; everything bore a tag of affluence; his watch cost more than her net worth, the car he drove, a Mercedes, had a fold down top. He wore his brown hair short, parted on the left side, wavy on the ends and it stuck up in places.

Ellen, I want you to meet Pete Russell, Pete, Ellen Sadberry. Sally had said. Ellen guessed him to be about her age. She'd never met a prospective husband so short. She towered over him a good six inches. He's a pharmacist, Adam had said. He and his dad own the Commerce Drug Store chain over in Tyler.

We're thinking about opening a store or two in Westview, the pharmacist burbled, We've done quite well in Tyler. My brother and me we own three Minit-Rite stores in Tyler too. Make it any way we can, drugs, groceries, gas, you name it. Do you play golf? I'd be glad to have you come to the country club and play with us if you'd like. We play a couple's match every Tuesday. How about ole Tiger? Didn't he do good last weekend at the AT&T. I met him once. He's a really nice guy. You ever meet Tiger Woods? She had a hard time getting a word in edgewise to answer. Not that she cared. She wouldn't lose a penny's worth of sleep worrying about what he thought of her. For sure there wasn't room enough on his bench of self-indulgence for her to sit at his side in life. He seemed more interested in Sally. Twice, or was it three times he continued speaking letting his eyes follow her BFF around the room. He was about to look her clothes off. Ellen felt like telling him to close his mouth. That night went so wonderfully she drank a Margarita, and another when Adam offered.

Here she was again. If anyone but her best friend had asked her to meet these guys she would have made some excuse not to show. She about wished she'd done that tonight, called and cancelled, gotten a headache or something, anything to get out of it. At least she brought something chocolate. The night wouldn't be a total loss.

There she is, Sally called out. And she hurried to greet her. Sally’s husband, Adam, stood beside a man wearing a loose fitting long sleeve shirt, the kind with pearl snaps instead of buttons. His blue eyes looked like stars with black dots in the middle; he had a face chiseled out of a slab of solid manhood. A faint beard shown on his clean-shaven face like a shiny shadow---nice, ruggedly nice. Ellen guessed him mid-to-middle thirties. That would put him twelve or so years older than she was. In high school that big an age difference would have mattered. Not so much any more. By the time you reach twenty-four, age matters less. Most of the guys her age were too immature anyway. That pharmacist was a joke.

Bill Wilson, Sally offered, This is Ellen Sadberry, Ellen, Bill.

Bill’s hand wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold either. His calloused palm felt like he was wearing a leather glove. This was the hand of man who worked outside, a construction worker or a lineman who climbed telephone poles. Ellen had gone out with a lawyer, that arrogant pharmacist and a varied assortment of professionals, but never a common laborer. Here we go again.

Bill Wilson’s smile and cheeks were tanned to a leathery texture that gave him an even more hunky status and would corroborate her guess as to his working outside. The skin on the back of his neck gave the faint impression of dried mud.

Ellen commonly exhausted her conversational reserves listening to men like Pete whatever his name was brag about how much money they made last year or did she see the football game between so forth and so on, wasn’t that great? She didn't have the slightest idea who that Tiger person was. In contrast, Bill’s conversations consisted mostly of questions, questions about her; comfortable questions, more important questions than any of the other men had asked her altogether. Bill was easy to talk to and easy to listen to. She didn’t feel like she had to say something just to be friendly. If she spoke he gave her his undivided attention. His tongue didn't drag the floor every time Sally walked by either. What Ellen didn’t say seemed just as important to Bill as what she did say. Such comfort was hard to explain. She’d never met a man like him. The worst thing in this world of modern dating was being able to excel in small talk, particularly in the company of men who did excel in small talk and put themselves at the forefront of importance. Ellen had entertained a plethora of highly boring men here in Sally's den. Tonight though her smile wasn't forced or pain ridden. She caught her BFF smiling at her from the kitchen. Sally raised a thumb’s up. Ellen winked and grinned back.

Sally and Adam Wainwright were the perfect couple. Sally, a long legged beauty---border line too skinny, with hair like Farah Faucet. If Ellen were built like Sally her shorts would fit without the pockets bulging. Sally Wainwright was considered by many, if not all men, to be hot. Ellen put herself more in the tepid range, a 6 verses Sally’s 10, maybe a 7 slicked out and mascaraed up. Sally had the kind of body men would kill for. In a tank top they stared at perfection and she knew the impact those personalities had on the opposite sex.

In Ellen's presence Sally morphed into her true self, sweet, caring and concerned, like the sister she never had. Their conversations ran the gamut of fashion trends to bedtime endeavors. Two-way honesty had significance in their relationship.

The shelves of Sally and Adam's family room sagged with books. Sally read to habituation, sometimes a book a day.

Adam, an ex-baseball pitcher who played for the University of Texas, pitched in the College World Series, got a degree in business administration and forwent a professional career in baseball. Too much pressure he said. Tommy-John surgery, a baseball that hit him in the nose after he’d thrown a seemingly perfect slider, and a bum knee changed his mind. He spent a week in the hospital with that nose. The ball broke it. Concussion between the eyes doctors said. He looked like a beaten up boxer when Ellen went to see him in the hospital. She’d never seen bruises turn yellow and green like that on a person's face. His nose still bore a slight bend at the base today because of it. His job with a local Petroleum Company had been a lucrative endeavor, maybe not as much as pro baseball contract, but divvy the money out over a thirty-year period he said and it would be almost as good. Sally worked as a legal secretary for a local lawyer. They lived in a moderately upper-middle class community, in a nearly new home. Adam drove a year-old loaded Silverado pickup, Sally a Tahoe and got a new one every year.

A week later they met again at Sally and Adam’s house with two other couples, and Bill Wilson. Well, hello again. He appeared from behind Ellen. She and Edith Lindsey, a secretary for the Byrnes, Barnhart and Beckham law firm and Sally’s co-worker were discussing Ellen’s recipe for the brownies she brought to the last gathering. She turned and smiled a genuine smile. Hey. She’d missed her guess as his being a common laborer. After the last get-together she inquired, as inquiring and curious minds do. He did toil, but he did it on his ranch.

Ellen wasn’t a total stranger to a rancher’s way of life. But hers was actually more a farmer’s life than a rancher’s. Her dad owned two mules and two horses; the mules he plowed with. He farmed, small time. His main work was a mechanic at Sears where he repaired lawnmowers and small engines. Farming was more a hobby. He sold some stuff to a local mom and pop grocery store, tomatoes, squash and such. He raised the sweetest cantaloupes she'd ever eaten.Ellen rode the horses to the creek to water, fed and combed them. Her dad traded a used plow for an old saddle and she used it to gallop across nearby fields with the wind in her face. She didn’t grow up with horsehair in her belly button lint like Bill did, but she appreciated a good piece of horseflesh. Her mother taught her how to ride before she died, died in an automobile accident ten years ago. Her dad passed away just last October. Smoked. The bad kind. With no filters. Lucky Strike. Not so lucky as it turned out.

Where is your ranch? Ellen asked. Bill Wilson eagerly went about telling her, giving directions and then asked her to come visit. It wasn’t that far, about a forty-minute drive he’d said. She gave him her best ‘maybe’ smile. When he prepared to leave that evening she walked with Sally and Adam and him to his Dooley. Surprise me. Okay? he said through an open window as he drove away.

What was that all about? Sally asked.

He wants me to drive out for a visit.

Sally squeezed her arm. Eh eh eh. You better do it.

I don’t know. Maybe, and she bit her bottom lip into a slanted smile.

~~~~~

A day passed, a week, a fortnight. In the meantime Sally and Adam continued scheming to get Bill and Ellen together again. Adam Wainwright and Bill Wilson were members of the Westview Masonic Lodge. During a regular stated Tuesday dinner meeting after they’d conferred a Master's degree, Bill sat across the table from Adam and they talked.

Adam came home to find his wife kicked back in his recliner and reading. I think you might have done good by getting Bill and Ellen together. He had her undivided attention. Bill asked a lot of questions about her tonight.

She smiled, Well, go on.

Wanted to know how long we'd known her, had she ever been married and did she have any kids. He smiled inwardly. He didn't tell her he asked jokingly if Adam knew if she had herpes or anything like that. Some guy things are best kept between guys he figured. I told him everything I knew about her.

You didn't tell him about her having lived with that loser James did you?

Didn't appear to bother him. He seemed more concerned if she smoked and drank on a regular basis.

I'll call her tomorrow and feel her pulse again. This is great. She deserves a good man.

He asked why she wasn't married.

What did you tell him?

Same thing she told that pharmacist at a party one night here, that she'd rather go through life wanting something she didn't have than having something she didn't want.

You are so good Adam Wainwright. Sally said.

I know, and he chuckled.

The romance novel she was reading had a love scene on a beach. Adam had always stirred something inside her the same way the protagonist had the hunk in the novel…her skin seemed oily and hot. He felt the slight rising of her hips as she…

Come here big boy and show me just how good you really are. And she giggled.

Chapter 2

She wished she had the self-control to stay as slim as Sally did. But, chocolate was Ellen's Kryptonite. She fought the demons of craving by avoiding the nectar of the cocoa bean altogether, or tried to. Those brownies with pecans and chocolate icing she made for the gathering the last time were still showing up on her waist this morning. She never understood how you could eat eight ounces of something and gain two pounds overnight. She’d drunk diet colas, ate diet this and low calorie that for the past two weeks but it hadn’t seemed to help. She’d have to resort now to the old sweat, pound the pavement and jar the trees in passing thing again. Jogging did make her feel better, but it took more miles to sweat away cellulite than it used to. Cellulite, that creepy demon that runs down your