The Carnation Street Life Estate

By John Ahern

John T. Ahern's award-winning debut novel "The Carnation Street Life Estate" is a suspenseful thrill ride that readers of Christian fiction will love. In this story, unintended consequences derailed Marge McAllistar's gift to Frank Wilson. The life estate she bequeathed in her Will and Trust was supposed to make his life better. The rest of her estate was supposed to make her lone heir, Bethany's life better too. But Marge could not predict how her life estate gift would lead to multiple murders and land Frank in jail. With a promise, an unlikely ally's help, and prayers a multi-layers conspiracy is unveiled, and Frank finds himself desperately asking the Lord for forgiveness.

Life is going well for Frank Wilson. He escaped his previous life as Kevin Leland and people no longer want to kill him. He has good friends, a church, a great place to live near the Pacific Ocean, and makes a good living as a finish carpenter. Little does he realize that a life estate for his apartment would upend all that.

While the life estate was meant to be Marge McAllistar's gift to Frank, it brought with it malignant side effects. Marge would never have granted Frank such a gift if she had known what fury it brought. But how could she have predicted the intense anger it would ignite in Samuel, her niece Bethany's husband. Or how he would become obsessed with driving Frank out of the now rent-free apartment his wife owns.

Frank's tolerance to Samuel's harassment tests his Christian witness. Especially as Samuel's anger and frustration escalate. Unbeknownst to Frank or Bethany is that Samuel's anger and frustration lure him into a criminal enterprise. The men Samuel brings into his and Bethany's life are more dangerous than he ever imagined – and in this Christian thrill-ride, they must face a life-threatening and faith-testing challenge like no other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667829111

John Ahern

"The Carnation Street Life Estate" is John T. Ahern's first book. His experiences as a student at the University of California, Irvine along with living in Newport Beach helped provide the setting for this book. While attending UCI, John met his future bride, Lynn. They have been married for over forty years and are now enjoying their grandsons together. After John's retirement from his thirty-five year teaching career, his life was suddenly at risk. Lurking in his house were his recliner, television and the worst of all his refrigerator. He had to escape their clutches. So, he took a part time job delivering packages for a company very similar to the one in his book. Physically, he recovered but mentally he was still at risk. Hence his first literary project. He found it to be much more labor intensive than his two articles published in The Coaches Alliance. Articles related to his cross country and track coaching career. Yes, he was a teacher/coach. But as mentioned by one of his administrators he was one of the few that was also a Teacher of the Year. During his classroom career, John repeated the oft shared advice that they should write about what they know. Now to be clear, "The Carnation Street Life Estate" is not a memoir. John is not Frank. Instead John drew upon his time as a teacher, coach and delivery driver. He also became quite familiar with life estates over the last ten years. The combination of these experiences contributed to the suspense of his first literary venture. But this venture was not merely about suspense. One needs to refer back to UCI, while competing collegiately John's spiritual awakening happened. A Christian organization called Athletes in Action trained at the school. During John's freshman year he was invited to a Bible study. Like many Catholic boys, John had been trained up but not in scripture. The Word of God was eye opening, and John accepted Christ as his savior fifty years ago. John and Lynn have been attending Calvary Church in Santa Ana for nearly forty of those years. He would be remiss not to mention his adult fellowship brothers and sisters, the Homebuilders. Hence the Christian beliefs shared by Frank mirror John's beliefs. The retirement death traps still lay in wait around John's house. But with the support of the Lord, Lynn, family, and friends he keeps physically and mentally dodging those traps.

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The Carnation Street Life Estate is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 John T. Ahern

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66782-910-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66782-911-1

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part I

Generosity

Part II

Forbearance

Part III

Revelations

Part IV

Forgiveness

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue

The well-trained hooked trigger finger peels the shirt sleeve away from the restless man’s wrist. This seventeenth view of his watch only serves to exacerbate his annoyance. "He always makes me wait; I hate it when he disrespects me this way." As his displeasure swells, Kevin hears the distinct sound of wood hitting wood. The inadvertent distancing of his leather padded armchair from the enormous oak conference room table has reached its end. There is nowhere else to go, Kevin’s back is against the wall.

The recently completed mission had problems and combined with his handler’s rude power trip has his patience razor thin. "Where the hell is he? The eighteenth glance at his watch proves futile as the conference room door remains closed. Kevin resolves, Time to break one of their cardinal rules to never let them sleep. If I pretend to be sleeping, I bet someone walks through that door. In the stillness of his plan and his head resting on the table, Kevin’s mind detours to how he joined this company, My buddy, Dill, is to blame for all this shit. He raved about all the money we could make as private contractors just before we were discharged back in ‘85, ‘Hell, the military trained us for just this type of work, Kevin. What do we have to lose? Let’s sign the contracts and work for these guys.’ Well, Dill, we had one hell of a lot to lose, this place devours your soul a little more on each murkier and darker mission. I’m supposed to be eliminating threats to America. But now, I’m not so sure that’s what I’m doing. As Kevin’s head continues resting upon the conference table, he flashes on another memory. This one is of Mr. Jim, one of his many foster parents. He repeatedly warned a teenage Kevin about taking questionable opportunities to make quick cash, If the money is too good to be true, it is too good to be true."

No one interrupts Kevin’s counterfeit sleep; his plan fails. Frustrated, Kevin moves to another chair. His slightly over six-foot frame immediately scooches it back away from the table. His on-edge temperament refuses to allow him to stay seated long. The chair and now the wood paneled conference room are too confining and the exit beckons, "I’ll just leave. If they ask, I’ll say I had to use the head. Damnit, it’s been over thirty minutes! Just as he reaches for the doorknob, he stops, Where am I going to go?" Kevin reverses direction and plops down in a different chair.

His last mission unsettles and haunts him. He and his spotter were sent to Nicaragua to eliminate a local village leader. This revolutionary was deemed a threat to America. But while setting up the operation, Kevin and his spotter, Emile Resendez, found the man busting his ass rebuilding a local Catholic church. What revolutionary rebuilds churches. Not to mention that he was evidently a well-loved leader in his small community. The night before the scheduled shooting, they argued over whether they should risk breaking standard operating procedures and contact their handler. After a long, frustrating, and fruitless debate, they decided to sleep on it until the next morning.

Unexpectedly, the next morning, Emile was hardline about not questioning the mission. Kevin can still hear his voice declaring, Far more intelligent assets than either of us vetted this mission. We have a job to do. Alone and without his partner to back up any move to question their orders, Kevin reluctantly agreed to complete the operation.

Emile won’t be at this after-action debrief. Like always each mission team member is interviewed separately. But Kevin’s biggest concern is not Emile; it is his own after-action torment, "I just don’t understand how it was determined that our target was a threat to the United States? I need to see the intelligence reports that labeled him a revolutionary, drug smuggler, or whatever!" He once more glances at his wristwatch.

Kevin’s head bangs against the wall, just as the door to his left opens. Colonel Hafemor enters with his aide, Morning, Mr. Leland. Please pull your chair up to the table, so we can begin the mission debrief.

Dragging his chair with one hand and checking for a bump on the back of his head with the other, Kevin answers, Yes, sir.

Major Young, would you please lead us through Mr. Leland’s operation. The Colonel instructs as he sits across the table in his Brooks Brothers navy flannel suit. For an older man, with salt more than pepper in his hair, the Colonel is quite fit and an imposing presence in the room. His reputation as an American hero is the underlying reason why Kevin accepted his firm’s offer of employment. But now, as Kevin looks across the table at his hero, he wonders, "What the hell have I gotten myself into, here?"

Closer to Kevin sits the Colonel’s aide Major Young, who does not remotely measure up to the Colonel, but few men do. The Major does not help his cause by his lack of fitness or sense of style. Poor-fitting plaid polyester sport coats are no match for well-tailored suits. Besides his physical appearance, Major Young’s inept leadership skills offend many of Kevin’s fellow company assets. "Why does the Colonel still keep the Major around? Surely, he could find a better aide-de-camp?"

After acknowledging Colonel Hafemor’s order, Major Young opens a rather cumbersome manila folder and begins reading every mission detail. His sleep-inducing monotone voice drones in the background to Kevin’s kill shot memory. The conditions were perfect. The Sun was behind my right shoulder as I made my final adjustments from one click out from the target. My one shot was true and entered his right eye’s orbital socket. Emile verified that the target was down, and a second shot was unnecessary; it was time to police my brass and move. But I didn’t. It was the crowd that made me stay. Instead of running for cover, they were drawn to his body. They grieved over it. This man was loved by so many. Emile pulled me away, but I still hear that crowd’s cries of anguish haunting my sleep…

Mr. Leland, is this report accurate to the best of your knowledge? Major Young asks, And if so, please sign the after-action report.

Shaken out of his thoughts, Kevin responds, Sir, before I sign, may I ask a question?

This request causes Colonel Hafemor to sit up and become more engaged in the briefing. His steely blue eyes bore across the table into Kevin’s as he interjects, You have a question, son?

Clearing his throat first, Kevin answers, Yes, sir.

You may ask it, The Colonel decrees with a strong message of his unquestionable authority.

Thank you, sir. Sir, I just wonder about the intelligence gathered prior to this mission. How was it determined that the target was a threat to our country?

Major Young’s lips tighten to a barely noticeable pink line. After Mr. Resendez’s morning after-action report, he already knows about Leland’s doubts seeping and infecting the mission. Resendez mentioned that Leland questioned its veracity, and worse became reluctant about completing it. Now it’s clear that Leland is a problem, Mr. Leland, as a soldier are you not trained to follow orders? Not waiting for an answer to his first question, he lashes out his second, You were ordered to eliminate a threat to this country, were you not?

Yes, sir, I was given an order. One that I obeyed, sir. My question is about the intelligence gathered before that order, sir?

From across the table, Colonel Hafemor holds up his hand to calm the Major, and explains, I suppose you saw a man who by all appearances did not seem a threat to our country. But what you did not see is how this man was an insidious menace. I am not at liberty to share any of the intelligence operation details. But, rest assured, I personally saw the intelligence gathered and sleep easier knowing that this threat has been neutralized. What you need to remember is that our company maintains the highest standards and serves the United States of America. If you are a true patriot, and I believe you still are, you should be proud that your actions made our country safer.

Kevin swallows and attempts to conceal his anxiety, "Oh, shit! Hafemor just used the true patriot tag in his not-so-subtle dressing down. I need to shut up. Before he yields, Yes, sir, I meant no disrespect, sir."

None taken, son, Colonel Hafemor says, with a subtle tone of insincerity, before returning to his previous hands-off position at the table. Contrary to his words, Kevin feels the Colonel’s eyes burning through him as he signs the after-action report.

Major Young retrieves the signed document before commanding, Mr. Leland, you need to report to Doctor Nagvwab. After you finish there, grab something to eat before reporting to my office at fourteen hundred hours.

Yes, sir, Kevin answers before rising out of his seat. His shirt creates a sticky damp release away from the leather as he leans forward to rise. He hopes it goes unnoticed to both the Colonel and Major, that they made him sweat. While trying to keep his back hidden, Kevin pushes his seat under the conference table. Unfortunately, the leather is wet and everyone in the room knows Hafemor crushed Leland’s manhood.

Major Young collects all the papers and closes the manila folder. He then waits for Leland to be well outside hearing proximity. Once their privacy is assured, the Major slaps the table with Leland’s folder, He is not the one! All this time and money invested in him and for what? This confirms what Resendez reported this…

Interrupting the Major’s tirade, Hafemor points out, Hold on, Ned, we shouldn’t discard him so quickly. The program is designed to slowly escalate these missions for a reason. After eighteen missions, this is the first one he has ever questioned.

But, sir, according to the program model he is never supposed to question any missions, even when their morality becomes murkier. He should simply obey…

He did obey! When all is said and done, he pulled the trigger. I know he questioned whether the target was a threat to the United States, but Leland still pulled the trigger.

I know, sir, and the target’s elimination does supposedly complete Leland’s eighteenth mission, but he still verbalized doubts to Resendez, sir. If it hadn’t been for Resendez convincing Leland to complete the mission, it wouldn’t be his eighteenth.

That’s a valid point, Hafemor nods in agreement.

The Major seizes a rare moment to exert some influence in company decisions, Sir, I know we have invested a lot of money in Leland. But Dr. Ligett’s program design is not working on him. He should be staying the course, by completing missions without any doubts or questions, sir. According to Ligett’s recommendations, when any of the subjects raises a doubt or questions a mission, they should be eliminated from the program. I recommend that Leland be eliminated, sir.

Woah, hold on, Ned. You make some excellent points; however, we have invested far too much money in this asset. Remember, he is one of the best marksmen in the program. I want to see how he reacts to the next level before we make any final decisions.

Major Young picks up his folders as if resigned to losing another argument. Then before reaching the door, he turns and makes one last proposal concerning Leland’s fate, I guess it is being prudent and cost-effective, sir. He pauses then strategically asks, Would you go along with a simulated mission test later today?

What do you have in mind?

I want to bring in a more senior asset and hold a simulated briefing, sir. Mr. Franklin has some training in the science of kinesics. I would like him to observe Leland during a briefing on another morally conflicting mission. If he concurs that Leland balks nonverbally at the mission, Franklin will terminate Leland tonight. The Major tries to appear impartial but is now doubling down on his effort to eliminate Leland.

Colonel Hafemor hesitates before asking, Remind me, who’s Franklin?

Sir, Franklin is one of our few African-Americans and one of our older assets, sir, Major Young answers. He shuffles his manila folders while waiting for the Colonel’s answer on his plan.

Colonel Hafemor stalls a little longer, Isn’t he near retirement?

I’m not sure, sir.

Unable to stall any longer, Hafemor half-heartedly approves, I’ll allow it. But nothing happens until I see the videotapes of this briefing for myself. I will make the final decision on what we do with Leland, and let me be clear, nothing happens to him on this campus, understood?

Yes, sir.

The Colonel then changes topics, Now, what can you tell me about Annie Oakley?

Major Young is confused, to which Colonel Hafemor clarifies, I think her name is Connie O’Reilly, or something similar. She is the new asset I recruited. The one with the freakish eyesight, who the Navy wanted to make a photographer.

Oh, you mean Conlon Reilly, sir. She just completed her fourth mission. She and her mentor asset should be on their way home from the Balkans, sir.

Keep me informed about her progress. I think she can become a really useful female asset.

Yes, sir, Major Young responds while thinking, "Dirty old man! I know what you’re really thinking about her, and it has nothing to do with her being an asset."

Good, anything else I need to be aware of before my meeting at The Fort later today?

No, sir, I’ll keep you informed regarding Leland.

ii

The cheap cloth-backed chairs in the anteroom of Major Young’s office provide more lack of style evidence, as Kevin takes a seat in one and waits once more today. Unfortunately, they offer a rather awkward view. From Kevin’s seat, it is virtually impossible to avoid eye contact with the Major’s secretary, Gerty. Like everyone else at the company, Gerty is retired military, and her no-nonsense approach leaves little room for socializing. She seems to not let it phase her, as Kevin repeatedly fails at avoiding eye contact. Instead, she occasionally smiles while working on her desk’s new IBM computer. These personal computers recently took over every desk at the company.

Kevin is mesmerized by the wires and cables connecting this tan contraption with the mini television-like device that Gerty looks at while typing. He wonders, "Could that gadget actually contain the intel on my last mission? While Kevin’s been trained to use a variety of weapons, no one ever mentioned computer training. His curiosity heightens as he watches Gerty work, She seems to know how to use that contraption pretty well, perhaps she could help me learn how to use it? As Kevin mulls over his tech ignorance, he realizes that Gerty has once again caught him staring. He ventures a weak smile when she says, You can go in now, Mr. Leland."

Rising from his chair before straightening his fresh shirt, Kevin says, Thank you. He enters the oversized and yet uncomfortably crowded office. "Major Young is such a pack rat. He has all these freaking file cabinets in here, but still has mountains of file folders everywhere. How is he tolerated?" Seeing a fellow asset, Lamar Franklin, sitting next to another empty seat, Kevin moves across the room and nods to him before taking a seat.

Major Young wastes little time and starts the briefing, Hope you had a good checkup and lunch, Mr. Leland.

I did, sir, thanks for asking.

I was just speaking with Mr. Franklin about his future at our firm. Like you, he has been of great service strengthening our nation.

Lamar turns to Kevin and shares, In case you hadn’t heard, I’m retiring in the next couple of months.

Congratulations, I’m sure you, Amy, and the boys are looking forward to new adventures, Kevin says while offering his hand.

Thank you, we are, Lamar accepts Kevin’s hand before uneasily remembering why he is present for this meeting.

After a brief awkward silence, the Major reaches in his desk drawer and pulls out three manila folders. He slides two across his desk before opening his own and stating, This may seem rushed, Mr. Leland, but we need to send you right back out in the field. Mr. Jackson will be joining you on this mission. The two of you will be leaving tonight for Venezuela. According to my records, you worked there together on a previous mission, am I right?

In semi-unison, both men answer, Yes, sir, we did.

Well, you’re going back, but this time to a slightly different region of the country. Why don’t you both open your folders?

Kevin nearly drops his as soon as it’s opened. He swallows hard and thinks, "You’ve got to be kidding me! My next target is a priest. He freezes as he grasps what he just did, Damnit, after questioning my last mission, here I am freaking out over my next one."

Looking up from the picture, Kevin meets Major Young’s piercing stare across the desk. It’s obvious, he arranged this and just witnessed Kevin’s shock at the picture. When Kevin turns to his right, he finds himself staring into Lamar’s eyes. He instantly comprehends, "This was planned. I was set up. They were both lying in wait to gauge my reaction to the priest’s picture. It was a fricking trap, and I stepped right into it! But why is Lamar part of the Major’s trap? What’s his role in whatever the Major’s got in mind?"

Major Young interrupts Kevin’s thoughts, Seems to me, you might be having some sort of problem with this next mission, Mr. Leland? Am I correct in assuming that?

No, sir, I was just caught off guard for a second. I’m sure there is excellent intel behind this operation, sir! Kevin bluffs.

The Major shifts to Lamar, Mr. Franklin, do you concur that Mr. Leland seems to be uncomfortable with this next mission?

I believe that Mr. Leland was caught off guard when he opened the folder. But I’m confident he’ll follow any and all orders given concerning our mission, sir.

Thank you, Mr. Franklin, and if it is okay with Mr. Leland, I would like to continue with this briefing. Is that okay with you, Mr. Leland? the Major asks.

Yes, sir.

Kevin barely listens for the next hour as Major Young explains their mission into Venezuela to eliminate the priest in the picture. "Why is Lamar here? I’m caught in the Major’s trap, but what does that mean? Why is he still talking about this damn mission, when he saw my reaction to killing a priest? If by some miracle I walk out of here today, I’m grabbing my go-bag and disappearing."

Major Young finishes and asks, Are there any questions? He sees a hint of a question from Lamar, Yes, Mr. Jackson?

Sir, what about collateral damage? What’s the SOP to follow, sir?

Only the target. Any other damage is unacceptable. Is that okay with you, Mr. Leland?

Yes, sir, it is, Kevin answers while feeling that they might not be talking about the priest anymore.

The Major remains focused on Kevin, You’re sure you don’t have any further questions, Mr. Leland? I wouldn’t want you leaving here with any doubts concerning the intel behind this mission.

No, sir, I’m good to go, sir, Kevin immediately regrets overselling his enthusiasm. Idiot, that was too gung-ho. They know I’m not good to go.

That will do for now, men. You will be departing at 03:00 hours tomorrow morning.

Clearly, whatever the Major has planned for me isn’t happening in this room, Kevin thinks before looking across at Lamar who seems to be in the middle of some non-verbal communication with Major Young.

Once they finish, Lamar declares, Yes, sir, understood. All arrangements will be complete by 03:00 hours, sir.

Major Young gestures for the return of both folders, I expect a full report upon your return. Good day, gentlemen.

Kevin spots the Major only making eye contact with Lamar. "He couldn’t be any clearer, I am not returning. Lamar is the only one expected back in this office. Holy shit! Lamar is the asset assigned to kill me."

Kevin and Lamar both stand and leave the office together. On their way out, Gerty is no longer at her desk. Both men turn right at the hall and march side by side to the elevator, sharing trigger-like tension in every step. Kevin can’t help but wonder, "Lamar’s not stupid. He has to know I know. So, what’s he going to do? His orders are to kill me sometime in the next ten hours. If it were my mission, I wouldn’t let me out of this elevator."

The elevator ride is only a couple of floors down, but it seemingly lasts forever as Kevin awaits an attack that never materializes. "He just let his best opportunity pass. I might actually make it to my car."

Their excruciating anticipatory silence continues out to the parking lot, where they begin to part company. Kevin almost counter attacks out of instinct, when Lamar pivots to face him, Well, see you in about ten hours.

Yeah, if I don’t see you first. Get some rest, you’ll need it, Kevin just can’t shut his mouth fast enough as he notices Lamar’s pensive look before walking away, "Well, if he had any doubts about me knowing his real mission; he doesn’t have them now. I’m such an idiot!"

Before Lamar gets more than a couple of steps away, Kevin’s does it again, Hey, Lamar, before you go, I’m curious about something.

Lamar stops and takes a quick glance up at where the Major’s office is located before cautiously stepping back toward Kevin, Curious about what?

Observing how Lamar took that glance and now assumes a standard unassailable stance, Kevin confirms that he is Lamar’s target and diverts to a less threatening question, How do you like your new jeep?

What?

Your brand-new ’89 Jeep Laredo, how do you like it?

Ah…well man… you know, like it’s great for camping. We’ll have to…. go sometime after this mission. Lamar’s tongue-tied answer confirms it all for Kevin. "Yeah, you know I won’t be around for that invitation. Well, screw you, Lamar; you are not killing me, tonight!"

Lamar looks back up at that same corner office, wishing he could end Kevin, right here and right now. It’s obvious that Kevin knows he is in Lamar’s cross hairs. But until Colonel Hafemor gives the final okay, Kevin is untouchable. As he walks toward his jeep, Lamar repeatedly mumbles, FUBAR.

There are no parking lot secrets anymore, as Kevin watches carefully as an angry Lamar pulls out of the parking lot. Kevin waves before walking right past his own parked car into the tree line adjacent to the lot. While out of sight, he circles back through the trees and emerges behind Major Young’s car. He stops to marvel at how such an out of touch ass like the Major could have such a fine car. Within seconds, he is behind the wheel yanking the wiring out from underneath the dash of this pampered ’68 Chevy El Camino SS-396. He locates the red and pink wires before striking the purple wire to start the car. Nice ride, Kevin smiles as he joyrides this fine piece of American workmanship out of the parking lot.

iii

Multiple green and blue variations zip past as Kevin enjoys the rush of the barely harnessed, nearly airborne muscle car down the road. Before he knows it, and somewhat sadly, Kevin reaches his first destination, and where he needs to ditch the car. "I can’t do it. This car is too incredible to torch. Instead, he locks it, pats the hood, and walks away toward the Richmond Greyhound bus station. Years ago, one of his mentors gave him unsolicited advice concerning go-bags. The man would not let up about how Kevin needed to be prepared to disappear at a moment’s notice. Thank God, for Kurek’s persistence!"

The bag was such a nuisance to keep up-to-date, prepped, and secure in one of the station’s bus lockers for just such an emergency. Today all the hassle was worth it as Kevin retrieves his escape lifeline. With the precious small black leather shoulder bag in his possession, Kevin strolls to the bus counter and improvises a diversionary plan while examining the station’s posted departure schedule. Once devised, Kevin asks the ticket agent, How much will it cost for a ticket to Savannah?

That will be forty-seven dollars, sir. But you’ll need to hurry, that bus is scheduled to depart at five-fifteen.

Kevin pays in cash and now ticketed walks toward the buses for appearance only, hoping the agent remembers the Savannah bus purchase for later interviews. Once out of the agent’s line of sight, Kevin walks right by all the busses and heads toward the main road. A quick right leads down to Broad Street, where Kevin is just in time to board an arriving municipal bus heading Northwest. Finally seated, Kevin takes a deep breath and relaxes, "Well, that should keep them busy looking for a passenger headed to Savannah. Hopefully, it gives me the big head start I need to escape from Lamar."

Unexpectedly, and not according to his recently devised plan, Kevin jumps off the bus after only a couple of stops. He reverses course and walks back to the used car lot that he spotted just minutes ago. "It’s perfect, and just what I need."

Cash and a new ID from his go-bag pay off quickly, as Tyler McGowen buys a used ‘78 silver Dodge Ram Conversion van. The ten-year-old van passes his cursory inspection and brief test drive. Tyler determines it’s in pretty good shape and even though the dealership manager reminds him of the Major, a deal is brokered. Kevin Leland is on his way to Savannah, while Tyler McGowen, better known as Tye, is headed to Decatur, Illinois in his newly purchased home on wheels.

Part I

Generosity

Chapter 1

The ear worm of Albert Hammond’s song about raining in California continues in Bethany Diak’s head as she looks out her classroom window. The campus of Ronald Reagan Charter High School is a mess because the rarely used drainage system is predictably clogged. She grabs a discarded student poster and ventures out in the rain to her meeting.

Whew, I made it, she utters while discarding the drenched decomposing poster board in the trash can outside the school’s main office back door. It did its job as her expensive blush silk blouse and chiffon skirt are still dry. The ear worm about it pouring continues as Bethany changes from her flip flops to heels for her meeting.

Come in, Mrs. Diak, and may I say you look very professional today. That is what we like to see here at Ronald Reagan, Principal Keefer moves aside to allow her entrance.

Thank you, Mr. Keefer, Bethany responds while thinking, "This is awkward. In these heels, I tower over him." She finds herself looking down several inches from her recently acquired near six-foot height.

To add to her uncomfortable entrance, Bethany is forced to slide along a narrow space to one of two measly guest chairs facing an enormous desk. The kind of desk, one might imagine more suited for a Wall Street CEO’s massive corner office, not a high school principal’s office. While her principal makes his way around to the business side of his desk, Bethany revisits the same question she has every time she sits in his office, "How did they ever get this monstrous piece of furniture in this small office? Not to mention why anyone needs such a desk. This would make for a fascinating psychology study."

Bethany’s attention is snapped back when she hears, Well, let’s get started with your yearly evaluation. Mr. Keefer seems to sit up a little taller than physically possible, as he removes a manila folder from his top right desk drawer. When he places it on the desk, Bethany notes her name along the folder’s tab, rightly assuming it holds written observations from several successful class visitations during the year.

Everything looks pretty good here. Your colleagues speak highly of your classroom management and your mentor teacher says you have shown great progress in lesson planning. My observations also concur that you are making progress and will one day be an exceptional teacher. Do you have anything you want to say regarding these evaluation areas.

I find Ronald Reagan a wonderful place to grow as a teacher and greatly appreciate the guidance of my mentor, Mrs. Bastion.

Principal Keefer does not acknowledge her response and demonstrably turns through and over several papers in her folder. He looks to be contemplative as he brushes his thinning, dyed-jet-black, comb-over hair to the side before saying, The next area relates to the students and their parents. While the student evaluations are very positive, you do not fare as well with the parents. It appears several parents have complained about the difficult work in your class. One parent, in particular, has written a complaint that you rejected his request for emailing him homework and test answers before assigning the work or test. How do you respond, Mrs. Diak?

Stunned by this unpleasant turn in her evaluation, Bethany measures her non-verbal response by counting exhales. The counting helps as she now calmly recalls the instances where a handful of parents raised concerns about their children’s grades. But her recollection is that she handled their issues appropriately. No one expressed dissatisfaction or any plans to pursue a complaint to her principal. Well, someone did, and Keefer just blindsided her. Bethany wonders how long he’s been sitting on this complaint and why is it only being brought up now?

She takes a deep breath before answering, I disagree that the work is too difficult. In fact, after that specific complaint, I asked Mrs. Bastion to evaluate whether my expectations were unreasonable. I even asked if it is customary to hand out answers to parents. To my relief, she found my work is well within expectations. She even emphasized that I should never give out answers to parents before assignments or tests. That’s why I’m surprised this parent came to you after I clearly explained why I could not give out the answers he wanted.

As Bethany finishes speaking, she immediately questions whether she is being too dismissive. Her memory of the complaining dad strengthens, "I should have expected as much, he kept pushing for more and more accommodations for his daughter. He obviously has had success getting what he wants by going to the principal." Now sitting across from Keefer, she is unsettled by his silence and the uncertainty of his response.

Yes, he did come to me! You received some reasonably good advice from your mentor, but you were not able to handle this complaint before it reached my office. This is an area you must work on in the future, whether here, or more likely, at another school. We administrators should not have to deal with your parent complaints. You must make every single parent trust that you take all their complaints and suggestions seriously. My suggestion is to always offer a compromise instead of a rejection when you deal with parents.

Bethany slows her breathing and in her self-perceived calm voice replies, Mr. Keefer, I need to better understand. Did I make a mistake in taking my mentor teacher’s advice? Are you saying I should have given this parent the answers to homework, and even tests, in advance? Lastly, did you just inform me that I will not be here next year?

Mr. Keefer waits for quite some time before he finally responds, Okay, let me be clear! He pauses and attempts to sit taller in his seat before continuing, You were not wrong in accepting Mrs. Bastion’s advice and you were correct in not giving the parent answers ahead of assignments and tests. Where you failed… he dramatically pauses and pokes at the manila folder, …is that you should have offered some type of compromise. You needed to appease the parent and put an end to his complaint before it reached my door.

Bethany is annoyed by another dramatic pause. Keefer appears to be waiting for her to respond. When she doesn’t, he offers more advice, For example, you could offer a study guide in advance of the work and tests. Perhaps you could offer to email, or post online, a thorough review for the parents and students before each test. These accommodation efforts would go a long way to stifle any furtherance of complaints to my door.

Bethany struggles, "Keep quiet. Don’t respond until he’s done. Why does it feel like he is baiting me into an argument? He knows I already offer those exact accommodations he just mentioned. What is he up to?"

Keefer eventually moves on to Bethany’s future, Now, on to your last question. That is what we are here to determine, whether or not you have a chance at returning to RRCHS next year. Hopefully, you will heed my career advice. I do not want to have any more of your parents coming to me with complaints! Then, we will see if you are offered the opportunity of returning next year. He returns to the folder as he asserts, Do we understand each other, Mrs. Diak, and can I continue with your evaluation?

Yes, sir, Bethany calmly responds while visualizing Keefer shrinking until he vanishes behind his vulgar desk.

In this last area, I am looking at extra-curricular involvement at the school. I notice you help with the Girls League and Peer Assistance League on campus during the school day.

They meet in my room during lunch, and I help the teachers that sponsor those clubs in organizing events, Bethany proudly answers. "Yes, this is one of my strengths and we’re back on track to a good evaluation."

That’s good. I am glad to hear that during the school day you are engaged on campus. Keefer slowly looks up and engages eye contact. He begins another insufferable long pause.

"Why is he pausing? Bethany then remembers, Not this again! he wants me to coach after school. He is going to pressure me again about coaching track. I can’t do it. I’m only on a three-fifths contract and I work nights and weekends to survive!"

Keefer ends his pause and searches through several more papers before saying, I seem to recall that even though you were a college athlete in cross country and track at Azusa Pacific, you did not help this year’s cross-country team. I also notice you are not presently helping this Spring’s track and field team. Would you like to explain why you’re not fully involved here at Ronald Reagan High School?

Bethany hates that her prediction is right. "He’s backing me into a corner, no coaching, no job."

Mr. Keefer, I simply cannot volunteer with these teams; I work two jobs outside of my work here at school. You know I’m only on a three-fifths contract; it doesn’t provide enough money for my husband and me to survive. With our student loan payments and rent each month, we barely put food on the table. I’m working as a waitress a couple nights a week to pay the bills. Her long-winded answer leaves her frustrated, but she knows she must maintain eye contact and not look down as if defeated.

Keefer slowly closes the folder in preparation for a final proclamation. He glares across the desk, Mrs. Diak, let me give you some career advice. When you decided to become a teacher, you made a career choice. To remain a teacher here at this school, you will need to do some soul searching and change your financial priorities. My suggestion is that you cut back on some of your expenses, such as shopping at Nordstrom’s… he gestures indicating her expensive outfit of the day before continuing, … and spend more time working with kids outside of the classroom. I expect my teachers to care about the students here at Ronald Reagan, and not be so focused on their paychecks.

With his eyes remaining intently focused on Bethany, she can tell he is confident his plan is working. He has set this agenda and confrontation with confidence that his masterful plan will work, he now fully expects her to succumb and volunteer after school as an assistant track coach.

"Damn him! Look at the tight-lipped grin. He’s enjoying this. It takes several cleansing breaths to subdue Bethany’s desire to say the hell with it and unleash her anger. I need to play this smart. If I lose it, I won’t have a job next year or maybe even tomorrow."

In her own inordinately long pause, Bethany decides to risk patronizing Keefer, I like teaching here at Ronald Reagan Charter High School and feel it is an environment where I can continue to grow as a teacher. Even though finances are extremely difficult, I will explore some budgetary changes which will allow me to help out after school a couple of days a week. As she finishes her calculated rewording of his advice, she wants to close her eyes in anticipation of him seeing through her patronizing compromise offer. Instead, she maintains eye contact across the desk in a show of firm conviction and strength during the ensuing silence.

The gambit succeeds. Keefer relishes his win. He declares, I am sure our track coach will greatly appreciate any time and help you offer in the near future. Now before we conclude our meeting, is there anything you would like to contribute to our teacher evaluation meeting. For example, do you have any suggestions on how we might improve Ronald Reagan Charter High School?

Bethany is tempted to recommend a new principal with a normal-sized desk, but self-preservation prevails, Well, on a day like this, I suggest a better drainage system. her hopes at lightening the mood fail. After Keefer’s deadpan response, she continues. I really like Ronald Reagan High School. Perhaps one day we can offer Advanced Placement courses for the students to receive college credits. I would be more than willing to teach an AP United States History course, similar to the one I took in high school.

Although Mr. Keefer does not write down her suggestion, he replies, Now that is an excellent suggestion on how we may better serve the students here at Ronald Reagan. Well, I guess that is all, unless there is something else you want to share?

No, I am sure you have work to do, and I need to grade some papers before going to work tonight.

Bethany stands and waits for Mr. Keefer to traverse around the desk. It is once again awkward and she is tempted to crouch, but that would probably be more offensive. Instead, she reaches out and down to shake his hand.

Well, good night, Mrs. Diak. I hope to continue hearing good reports about your work here at my school. He follows Bethany out of his office and asks his administrative assistant, Jan, Do I have anyone else today?

No, you are free and clear for the afternoon.

Sounds good, I am headed out to the track to talk to Coach Perget.

It does not go unnoticed to Bethany that his message is not really just to Jan. Bethany suppresses her anger once again while walking away and thinking, "What an ass!"

Leaving the office, she realizes that although she survived Keefer’s damn test, she now needs to figure out how to enact her recent offer. A multitude of questions riddle her mind, "How am I going to find the time? I probably will be expected to be out there at least two days a week for several hours each day. And what about my working at the restaurant, planning lessons, and grading papers; how will I find those extra hours? How will Samuel and I even survive if I have to give up waitressing at night?"

Chapter 2

The damp coastal air settles onto the back-patio and into Frank Wilson’s knees. He is pruning the roses surrounding the gray toned pavers he recently installed. The earlier rain is just what the roses needed before pruning. He hears the opening of the back-kitchen door and Sylvia sharing, Frank, I brought out some iced tea for you.

Thanks, you have perfect timing as usual. He drops the garden clippers and slaps off some of the mud from his gloves before removing them. This is not the best day to work in the garden as you can tell by the mess I’ve made of my pants. But the roses could do with some trimming, Frank shares as he shifts, slides, and maneuvers his body in preparation to lift himself off the ground. Getting up is getting harder and harder, he mutters in a barely audible voice.

Once in proximity to a metal-framed padded patio chair, Frank places his forearm on the chair and begins to exert pressure down to counter lift his 190-pound body off the ground. It is painfully awkward; Frank’s knees barely withstand his remaining weight while his body lifts to a semi-upright position. All the while, Sylvia watches and is torn between reaching to help Frank and fighting the urge to snicker at his multifarious effort to stand.

Eventually, snickering wins and Sylvia in her hospice nurse outfit comments, That was quite an exhibition of power, there Frank. I was torn between ‘The thrill of victory, and the agony of the knees.’ Glad that chair was strong enough to withstand such enormous pressure!

Frank stretches out to his full stature and looks down the well over half a foot at his slightly younger, dark-haired tormentor, Just a little stiff from leg day at the gym. Isn’t that what your generation uses as the excuse of the day?

My generation, Frank? I’m not exactly a millennial here! Sylvia pauses, "I can’t believe I’m disputing his youthful view of me. She looks at Frank’s short-cropped hair that is greying around the edges and guesses, At most he’s twelve years older than I am."

Frank flinches, Okay, okay, it must be your lively humor that misled me.

You know Frank, I’m sure I can get my hands on a semi-used walker for you, Sylvia winks.

Perhaps, you could add a cup holder for iced tea glasses? Frank returns her wink before Sylvia turns and walks back into the house to care for her hospice patient and Frank’s landlord, Marge McAllistar. Thanks again, Sylvia.

Once again alone, Frank drinks his tea while surveying the small garden between the three-bedroom front one-story home and the two-story garage unit, nestled between Pacific Coast Highway and Corona del Mar State Beach. He has lived up above the garage in a very comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a large garden facing balcony ever since Marge’s deceased husband, Willy, invited him home some thirty years ago. Since that invitation Frank has been treated more like family than a tenant. Currently, he is committed to keeping the patio and garden fresh and clean for Marge’s rare outdoor visits.

The dampness of living close to the ocean has little to do with his eye moisture. "It feels like just a little while ago when Marge and I would sit out here. She loved to get on me about finding a good woman and I always answered that Willy took the last one. Dear God, why did you allow her to have Alzheimer’s these last several years. She didn’t deserve this!"

He finishes his iced tea and decides it is too much trouble to get back down in the mud. The unruly roses will need to wait. He walks to the blue and white Dutch kitchen door of the front house. The top section door of crisscrossed paned glass is open, and Frank leans inside to place the empty glass on the closest kitchen counter. Sylvia is nowhere to be seen and Frank assumes she must be helping Marge get ready for dinner.

"Well, I also need to get cleaned up for dinner," Frank resolves. Before heading to his apartment for a shower, Frank collects his pruning shears, gloves, and other supplies and heads to the garage. Since Willy’s death, it has become Frank’s domain and he meticulously keeps it clean and orderly. Just before he enters the side door, Frank kicks off his muddy canvas boat shoes. Walking in his socks on the immaculate garage floor cement, he crosses to the large basin and rinses away the mud from his tools. He hangs his wet gloves to dry on the line hung over the washbasin, before taking the hand dried sheers to the garden peg wall and hanging them on their designated empty peg.

Before leaving, he takes his daily inspection tour of the garage and notices two of the nuts on the garage door are loose. With his fingers, he tests those nuts and realizes he needs a socket wrench. Once the nuts are tightened, Frank feels relieved.

After one last cursory inspection, he slips his shoes back on and locks the side door. He returns toward the patio before taking a couple of right turns around the garage to the wooden stairs leading up to his apartment. Once more he kicks off his shoes before climbing the stairs in his socks. When he reaches the top landing, he carefully double-checks that no one is watching, deposits his dirty jeans on the landing, and backward scoots into his apartment. Where he immediately strips down to his boxers before skirting the living room to his right and turning left down the hall to the bathroom.

Ahh, this is how to close out a day, Frank murmurs as he enters his shower. His day was a long one. He finished the carpentry project for a customer in the morning. Then worked out a bid for some crown molding before coming home to work in the garden.

"Good thing Sylvia isn’t here, she would give me grief about not having rails in this shower, he thinks while cautiously remembering he did almost slip in the shower a couple of times last week. It would not be a pretty sight for her to find my naked fifty-some-year-old body unconscious and sprawled out in here."

Once finished, Frank wraps the towel around his waist. The apartment’s lone bedroom is across the hall and while still wrapped in his towel he scurries across to it. After donning clean boxers, he returns to the bathroom. The still somewhat steamy image reflected in the vanity mirror is of his not too steamy upper body. It has several serious scattered scars from his shoulders to his slightly oversized abdomen, not to mention the ones on his back. They are the reason Frank never takes off his shirt in public regardless of the temperature. Too many questions that don’t offer pleasant answers would be asked.

Heading back to his closet for a pair of jeans and polo shirt, Frank stares at another personal reflection. Every piece of clothing is grouped according to type and color. Frank’s obsessive issues have worsened since first manifesting after Willy’s death. Nowadays he endures their presence only because they have yet to be debilitating.

Once dressed, Frank reaches back behind his head in the closet and turns a lever from vertical to horizontal. This opens a small panel door on the far-right side of the closet, next to where Frank keeps his three ties. He proceeds to enter a six-digit code based on the date he met Willy on the newly exposed keypad. After pressing enter, a larger panel door slides open to his left, revealing a walk-in sanctum.

To his right is a retinal scanner to verify entry. Once he is confirmed another panel opens containing a safe. There are no letters or numbers on the safe’s keypad, Frank relies on his memory of the numeric-letter combinations of touchtone phones to enter willymarge. The door opens revealing quite a stash of passports, gold, cash, and handguns. He grabs five bills from his hundred-dollar bill stack. Once assured everything is where it should be Frank closes and resets all access points to his lair. With this month’s rent in his pocket, he is picking up his dirty clothes from the porch when he hears Sylvia calling, Frank, dinner is just about ready.

Thanks, I’ll be right down.

Sylvia, Frank, and Marge eat dinner together every night. It is important that they maintain a daily routine for Marge. She is already seated when Frank enters the kitchen through the back-kitchen door and comments, Smells great!

Chicken enchiladas, just out of the oven, Sylvia answers as she lays the casserole dish on the stovetop.

Hi, Marge, you look really pretty tonight, Frank says as he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.

Marge looks up and smiles before saying, Oh, Willy, how was work today?

Work was good. I even had some time afterward to trim your roses. How was your day, sweetheart? He and Sylvia know holding a conversation with Marge is more important than correcting her. Even if she doesn’t always get things right or respond. As Sylvia places Marge’s meal on the table, she asks, Would you like some sour cream on your enchiladas? Once again, Marge doesn’t respond. But Sylvia knows Marge loves sour cream and scoops a dollop for her plate.

Before they start eating, Frank, Sylvia, and Marge hold hands while Frank prays. Dear Lord, we thank you for this food we are about to share. You provide abundantly for our needs. We also thank you, Lord, for your grace and protection. May Your will be done in our lives. Amen.

It was a short prayer, and after what Sylvia and Frank think is its conclusion, Marge begins singing, Jesus loves me. This I know, for the Bible tells me so. It is not the complete song, so Frank chimes in to help, Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me for the Bible tells me so. Once finished with their song, Marge smiles and begins eating her food. Frank looks over and catches Sylvia dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

Suddenly, Marge frantically searches all around the table for something. She is on the verge of tears when she asks, Do you know where I left my homework?

I saw it on your desk this afternoon. I will get it for you after dinner, Sylvia improvises.

Thank you, I do not want Mrs. Jenkins mad at me tomorrow. Marge is relieved and can now go back to eating.

Once dinner ends, Frank collects the dishes while Sylvia helps Marge get up from the table and retire to the living area. It takes some time, but with Sylvia’s help, Marge manages to upright herself with her walker. The two of them slowly begin making their way to Marge’s favorite living room chair.

Frank begins to fill the old porcelain sink with hot soapy water.

Before too long, Frank feels Sylvia’s presence back in the kitchen. She peers around Frank at the sink and needles him, Make sure you get those dishes good and clean for the dishwasher. I heard it complain that you missed a spot last night.

I know, you think I’m crazy. But we sure do have clean dishes in this house! is his quick justification. Unlike their routine post dinner banter, Frank is surprised when he doesn’t hear Sylvia launch another smart-ass comment at him. He shrugs and finishes loading the dishwasher with clean dishes when he hears, Frank, get in here!

Yeah, coming! he answers as he tosses the sponge in the sink and rushes to the living room. He immediately sees that Marge is in trouble. Her face is ashen gray, and Sylvia is by her side checking for a pulse. Frank moves to the phone and begins to dial 911 when Sylvia reminds him, Frank, this is why I’m here. Remember, Marge is in hospice.

I don’t know what that means? Do I still call 911? Frank agitatedly asks as he holds the phone’s receiver.

Sylvia doesn’t answer. She is busy still checking for any sign of life, as Frank stands still holding the receiver. Slowly Sylvia straightens up and leaves Marge slumped over in her chair. She walks across the room to Frank and gently takes the receiver from his hand and puts it back in its cradle.

Frank, Marge is gone. Why don’t you have a seat? Sylvia softly says as she leads Frank to a chair. Her concern shifts from Marge’s care, to how Frank is going to react to her death. Why don’t you sit down right here, while I finish with Marge. The tenderness in Sylvia’s voice is comforting, but not convincing. Frank remains standing, tilts his head, and moves slowly around Sylvia toward Marge.

What are doing Frank? Sylvia has her answer when she sees Frank lean over Marge and kiss her unresponsive cheek. He then calmly states, I’m okay, before stepping back and looking toward the antique secretary in the room. He approaches it and dispassionately declares, I need to look for the folder Marge prepped for just this situation.

Sylvia reaches for Frank’s hand and softly suggests, We don’t need to do that right now, Frank. Why don’t you take a seat for a second? But she instantly sees an expression on his face that he needs to do something.

Regrouping and redirecting, she asks, Frank can you help me move Marge out of this chair and on to her bed. Without responding, Frank with unanticipated ease picks up Marge in his arms and gently carries her across the room and down the hall. Surprised that this is the same man who could barely get off the ground earlier, Sylvia follows him down the hall. "What’s going on inside you, Frank" she thinks as she watches him lower Marge unto the bed, before stepping back and posting himself at the end of her bed.

"I know she is with you, Lord. I believe she is in a better place and