Nine Lives To Die

Charlene Vavilov was staring into space.

Charlene kept herself busy, but from time to time she’d find she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind would go blank or wander.

Fair Haristeen had stopped by the Ford dealership on his way back from a call Thursday in eastern Albemarle County.

He stood quietly outside the open door to her office, then cleared his throat.

The well-groomed middle-aged woman blinked, then forced a smile. “Fair, come in.”

He brought with him a small grooming kit for horses, a red-and-green box with a long handle. He placed it on her desk. “For Salsa.”

“Oh, he’ll love it.”

Charlene’s kind Thoroughbred Salsa was one of Fair’s patients. Charlene had grown up loving horses, but she also realized that in this part of the world, riding created opportunities. She had impressed this on her husband, Peter, but horses had scared him. Golf did not, however, and between these two sporting poles, the Vavilovs enhanced the Ford dealership. The number of F-250s and F-350s that horsemen bought to pull their rigs was the envy of the Ram and Silverado salespeople. Dodge and Chevy made good trucks, but Charlene showed up pulling her own rig with a Ford dually. And she was always ready to help another horseperson gain financing.

Peter invariably drove a Thunderbird or a new Ford SUV to the links.

Fair respected Charlene as a horsewoman and as a businesswoman. He had also respected Peter’s ad campaigns, created by Lou Higham. It was a tough business.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Salsa.” He paused. “Or you.”

She swallowed, leveled her eyes, misting over at the tall man. “Fair, I know you mean that. I wish there was something you, anyone could do. All I know to do is to keep working, keep myself occupied.”

“The showroom sparkles. And the decorations are wonderful.”

“Good people work here. I don’t know what I’d do without them. Your wife, Susan, all my friends, have been supportive. Arden has been a brick. She wanted to come into the showroom and work. I told her, ‘It’s almost Christmas. No. Go do stuff.’ And Tyler needs her. Pete did what he could to interest Tyler in sports. Lou can be hard on him. So I said, ‘Enjoy your boy while he’s still a boy.’ ” She smiled. “Alexander and Jarrad have helped, too. I told them it’s fine with me if they do things with their friends. They come here instead. Jarrad likes the accounting office.” Her voice registered her pride in her sons. “Alex likes the garage. They’ve been a big help. They are growing up so fast.”

“Charlene, you and Peter were good parents. And I don’t know how you hung on, especially during the worst of the gas crisis.” Fair prudently focused on business.

Despite the strange missing fingers, the initial autopsy report had declared Pete died of a heart attack. Happy to be able to talk about anything other than that verdict, she rose from behind the desk and sat next to Fair in an expensive Barcelona-leather-and-chrome chair.

“Ford sailed through some dreadful times,” she said. “Finally, we got farsighted, gutsy leadership, and I think we will make a decent profit this year. Not taking the bailout money, going through those hard years before GM and Chrysler Motors tanked. It paid off for Ford and for the dealers who hung on.”

“You always did have courage. Anyone that can ride Salsa when he’s having one of his bad mood days is gutsy.” Fair smiled.

She waved her hand. “Salsa’s so funny, you know.” She folded her hands, leaning toward Fair. “He knew. When I went into the stable after Peter died, he knew. He nuzzled me and put his head on my shoulder. I’ve tried to ride him a bit every day. I wouldn’t tell that to too many people. I love that horse.”

“He loves you.”

This brought tears to her eyes as she nodded. “Love is more powerful than any of us realizes.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a bit older than you, Fair. There’s a time when a woman does think about the future without her husband. Nine times out of ten, you men go first. But I never thought it would happen so soon. Peter burst with fresh ideas and good health. This came out of the blue.”

Fair reached over, taking her hand in his. “I’m sorry you have to think about it now.”

She squeezed his hand, then withdrew hers to wipe away tears. “Arden says take it a day at a time. Good advice for life, no matter when.”

“That’s the truth.” Fair’s deep voice resonated.

“I’ve been thinking so much about Silver Linings. Pete loved working with young people. You know, what he really was focusing on was finding a building that could house the group. St. Cyril’s is bursting at the seams. We have so many Hispanic members now. Pete wanted the kids to be somewhere relaxing and safe. Plus, St. Cyril’s needs the space.”

“Wonderful idea. And giving the truck for a raffle was so generous.”

“We both loved doing that. We’ve been so fortunate. So many of those boys haven’t. Pete always said, ‘Give people a chance. Don’t shut the door. Open it.’ ”

“Most people will go through the door.” Fair agreed with Pete’s philosophy.

“I’ve met so many of the new people through the church. Many are Hispanic, as I mentioned. It enrages me that the stereotype is an apple picker who can’t speak English.”

“Oh, Charlene, what would people do without stereotypes? What’s the stereotype of a car dealer?”

This brought the relief of laughter. Someone was talking to her without a long face spouting platitudes about closure.

“Think I fit it?” She smiled. “Give me a cigar, and let’s make a deal.”

“That’s not you.”

Her son Alex popped his head in. Fair stood and shook his hand.

“Good to see you, Dr. Haristeen.”

“You too, Alex. I know this is a difficult time. We’re all glad you’re working in the business over Christmas break.”

“I like learning about the dealership.” He acknowledged Fair’s sympathetic words, then lifted his eyes to his mother. “Mom, the insurance claims adjuster is here to look at Dad’s Explorer.”

“Fine.” She smiled. “If he wants it in the garage, have it towed in.”

“Okay.” Alex left.

Charlene turned to Fair. “Fixing a claim when you’re a dealer is usually simple enough. We’ve had people total cars on test drives. Still, I never look forward to it. The paperwork is almost as bad as the accident.”

“I can believe that.” Fair’s voice was soothing. “Don’t you pay interest every day on cars on the lot?”

“You bet I do.” Her eyes met his. “Owning a dealership is not for the fainthearted.”

When Fair pulled up by the barn, it was already dark at 6:30. He cut the motor, sat in the cab and looked out at the frozen pastures, the deep night sky. Then he pulled the key, dropped it in the center tray. Inside, in the kitchen, he was greeted by his wife with a hug and a kiss.

Within minutes, both had provided recaps of their days.

“Glad Charlene looked good.” Harry pulled out two cups. “Green tea?”

“No. I don’t know what I want right now.”

“While you’re thinking about it, Susan and I saw Mr. Thompson. Our solid and trig teacher. Remember him?”

“Sure. I thought he was dead.”

“Half dead. Pickled.” She tipped back her head, swallowing an imaginary drink.

“There was a rumor of that when we were in school. Sorry.”

“He has this deaf and mostly blind dog, lives alone. Has a wood-burning stove in the kitchen. All the paint’s peeled from the house. It’s funny. Our last stop, we also dropped things off to an older person, Miss Rice. House just the opposite. Neat as a pin.”

“Rice.” He pondered the name. “Little odd?”

“Odd doesn’t cover it.”

“She used to work for Diana Valencia, more money than God. Miss Rice worked in her barn office. I was starting out. She was nice, as I recall. Somewhat religious. As time went by, she rarely spoke to me anymore. Perfectly nice but introverted. I never knew how the Valencias got their money.”

“When turn signals were first invented, the problems were with the wiring. In bad weather, a lot of them didn’t work. Diana Valencia figured out how to solve the problem. This was way back when women were told they couldn’t do mechanical or engineering things.”

“Never knew that,” said Fair, before adding, “Come to think of it, Miss Rice is Esther Mercier’s older sister. I remember seeing Miss Mercier once at the barn. One thing about living in Virginia, your memory won’t go bad.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“You need to use it constantly to remember who is related to whom.” He laughed.

“Make up your mind yet?” She smiled.

“I am going to have a cup of green tea with a shot of scotch.”

“That’s original.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” He grinned.

“There were other factors.” She poured the hot water into his cup.

Listening in were the cats and dog all curled up in their kitchen beds. They had beds everywhere.

Sipping their beverages, the husband and wife reviewed tomorrow’s schedule.

“So you’re going out again?” he asked.

“The response to the need for clothing has been overwhelming. Today we delivered stuff for St. Cyril’s. St. Luke’s is overflowing. More deliveries tomorrow.”

“I thought December twentieth was supposed to be the big day.”

“There will be plenty to do on that day, but we’ve got to disburse some of the canned goods and clothing. There’s no way we can deliver everything in just one day. Also, we lost some days with Pete’s death. Most of the St. Cyril’s ladies were at the Vavilovs’. Us, too.”

“I have a couple of old but good sweaters. I could root through my drawers.”

“Honey, we have more than enough, plus all your clothing is covered in cat hair.”

“No outfit is complete without it!” Pewter loudly proclaimed.