A Burned House Saved My Life

"That's too bad, but let me ask if you would consider selling the land? My grandchildren and the rest of the neighborhood kids love playing there. If you sell it to me, my wife and I will put up some playground equipment and make it a park."

An hour later, we had struck a deal.

I liked that city, but no longer had much of a reason to stay. I went back to my motel and was packing my stuff in preparation for leaving in the morning. I called my boss and told him I'd be back in three days and ready to work.

We all have favorite places to do things; eat, shop, vacation, etc. My favorite place in town to eat was a little bar that served food not normally associated with bars: Osso Buco, for example. Not that I was a big fan of Osso Buco specifically, but I was of good food. One of my favorites at that bar was a dish I had never seen on any other bar's menu: Chicken Marbella. I had just ordered it and sensed someone towering over me. I thought the server had come back for something. I looked up and Cheryl stood there.

"You're an asshole," she said.

"And you're a slut," I countered. "I hope you don't plan on standing there while I eat because I certainly don't intend to invite you to sit. That would ruin an otherwise perfectly good meal."

"How could you do it, Jason? How could you just walk away and leave me without a place to live?"

"Just exactly what do you think you did to me? I was kicked out of MY house and left with no place to live because you and another asshole thought you were in love so you fucked up my life and stole my house. Stole it, Cheryl. Flat out fucking stole something that you had no right to. I know, the court did it officially, but you started it."

"It was mine, too, Jason."

"It was never yours. It was MY HOME for most of my life. You never lived there long enough to change the sheets on the bed. Then you met an old flame and convinced the court that we had irreconcilable differences. Exactly what does that mean, anyway? You couldn't define it much less name one."

"The court saw it differently."

"Only because of the fucked up laws that were designed to screw husbands like me who never did anything wrong except marry cheating sluts."

"That's not my fault. The law said it was mine, so I took it."

"Fine. It's yours. Enjoy what's left of it."

"Fuck you."

"You already did. Now go away."

She sat. No, actually, she plopped. "You owe me and I want it."

"I don't owe you shit. I did EXACTLY what the divorce decree ordered me to do. Nothing more. Nothing less. If you don't like it, take it up with the court. Oh, that's right. You already did and lost. It's not my fault your 'forever love' tripped over his own footprint and burned the house to the ground. Now just go away."

"Not until I get what I deserve."

I started laughing and pointed to the big window at the front of the bar. "If you got what you really deserve, a big truck would come crashing through that window and knock you into the middle of next week." I almost said coach instead of truck, but I didn't want to soil their image.

She changed her tack. "Jason, I have nothing. Richard left me after the fire and I have been living with my parents. I need help."

"I couldn't care less what you need. Get another job. Go to school. Find another forever love, but you're getting nothing from me." I stood. "Now thanks to you I don't feel like eating. Once again you've fucked up my life. Stay away from me, Cheryl. Life is too short to be ruined by the likes of you." I went to my server, handed him enough money to cover the cost of my meal. "This should be enough to cover my tab. I don't have an appetite anymore."

He laughed and pushed my hand away ignoring the money. "Keep it," he said. "I should pay you for the entertainment you just provided." I walked out to the sound of applause which, I assumed, came from men who had been screwed by ex-wives and the courts.

I'm normally relatively calm and stay pretty much on an even, rational, keel. I don't yell, scream, throw things, or wish physical harm to anyone, but until that evening, I had not really had an opportunity to express my feelings to Cheryl. Most people who know me would be shocked at the way I talked to her that time. To be frank, I was pretty shocked at myself, but even after I had time to reflect on it, I didn't regret it. It was cathartic.

My first delivery after getting back to work took me to Seattle. I had been there several times delivering coaches and my initial instincts were confirmed. I liked the area as much, if not better, than any other part of the country I'd been to; and I'd been to most of them with the job.

The Service Manager of the dealership was going over the coach I had driven in. He was the one who had to inspect it and sign the documentation of acceptance. I couldn't leave without that. While he was conducting his inspection, I was looking at a coach with the fanciest paint job I had seen in my history of coach association. Paint jobs for these coaches can reach upwards of $100,000, but I was willing to bet that the paint on that coach was much more.

"Do you think it would be okay if I looked inside?" I asked the Service Manager.

"Sure. The owner won't mind. He's a nice old guy."

"Old? Did you just call me old?" Said the gentleman who was laughing as he approached. "One of these days Sammy, you're going to go too far and I'm going to be pissed."

"And one of these days, Mr. Ferguson, you're going to learn to stop calling me Sammy. AND you're going to remember that you aren't allowed back here in the service area."

"The minute I can't come back here to watch how you mistreat my overgrown SUV is the day I sell it back to you and go live in a home for old people... and don't you dare say that I'm already old... Sammy!"

Their banter was obviously that of friends who felt comfortable with each other. Mr. Ferguson came to me and stuck out his hand. "Jacob Ferguson, but my friends call me Jake. That gentleman," he said pointing at Sammy, "calls me Mr. Ferguson, because he never learned to respect his betters." He smiled broadly as we shook hands.

"Jason Truesdell. Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Don't call me sir. Only people like Sammy have to do that."

"It'll be a cold day in hell when I call you sir."

"You'll have to excuse him, Jason. He's both uncouth and uneducated and the management of this establishment has to keep him back here and away from the public otherwise he'd chase all their business away." He paused. "Did I hear you ask if you could look inside my overgrown SUV?"

"You did." I smiled. I'd never heard any of our coaches referred to as an overgrown SUV before.

"Do you have one of your own?"

"Oh, no... I just deliver them."

"Deliver them?" So I told him what I did. "Sounds like a fun job. Well, come on. Let's peek inside." He was obviously very proud as he showed me around. I had seen several coaches at the factory in the million dollar range, and, of course, I had driven Regan's. I had also seen several that were close to two million, but they were rare. Mr. Ferguson's had to have been in that price range and it was at least two years old because I had never seen it. There were lots of curvy cabinets made of rare, exotic woods and the floor was real marble as were the counter tops, bathroom walls, and showers. Yes. Showers. There were two of them; one in each of the two bathrooms. Coaches with two bathrooms were also rare. "My wife and I hate to share bathrooms; even with our children and grandchildren, so we have ours and everybody else has theirs."

The engine was one of the biggest we put in our coaches. While 500HP was pretty much the standard engine for coaches, This was a 605HP monster and as Mr. Ferguson proudly proclaimed was a "triple digit" coach. Triple digit meant it would go over 100 MPH. I had frequently driven 80 and 85, and had one time gone 100.

That was the time I found myself with several NASCAR trucks carrying the race cars and coaches carrying the crews and drivers. They were on their way to another race venue. I looked in my outside mirror and saw them coming in the hammer (left) lane. As the first one passed me, I accelerated. By the time the last one passed, I was up to speed with them and I fell in line at the rear and found myself being the back door for them. In a convoy of vehicles, usually big trucks, the person in the lead is called the front door, the person at the rear is the back door. Everyone between those two is considered to be in the "rocking chair" because the front and back doors are responsible for looking for any law enforcement. Those in the rocking chair can just cruise along.

We must have gone 75 miles at 100MPH almost bumper to bumper like the cars did during the races and seemingly without fear of the law. In fact, we passed two Highway Patrol cars going in the opposite direction. They both hit their blue lights for a couple of seconds as if to warn us, but the front door never slowed down and we just kept hauling ass. That was exciting and a hell of a lot of fun.

Mr. Ferguson and I had been in his coach about 15 minutes when "Sammy" brought my paperwork. "Tell me when you're ready to go and we'll get you a ride to the airport," he said. "Mr. Ferguson, if you leave my mechanics alone, you'll be ready to go in about an hour."

"Thank you, Sammy," he said smiling.

Sammy just shook his head and left. "What am I missing with the 'Sammy' thing?" I asked.

He laughed again. He seemed to enjoy laughing. "Our families go back a long way. He and my son, Mark, are best friends and he spent a lot of time in our house while he was growing up. His name is Samuel, but prefers being called Sam. He hates Sammy and I'm the only one who gets by with calling him that. He calls me Mr. Ferguson because that's all he's ever called me and I can't convince him to call me Jake. Mark calls Sam's parents by their first names, but Sam just can't seem to do it.

"When Sam and Mark graduated from high school they joined the Army. Neither of them wanted college, and that was okay because neither family could afford it anyway. They stayed together and were in the same unit in Afghanistan. They had been there just a couple of months and got hit. They were both wounded and spent a month in hospital in Germany. For over two weeks we didn't know if they were going to live or die. Sam's parents, my wife, and I spent a whole month in Germany by their beds. While at the hospital, we did a lot of crying and praying... usually at the same time. When the boys recovered, they were medically discharged from the service and decided to share an apartment; they still do."

We both thought our own thoughts for a minute or so before I continued. "Without being too personal, you said neither family could afford college, but you have a high dollar coach. What did you do? Win the lottery?"

"No. I had an uncle in Louisiana and a few years ago they found gas on his property. A little ole hundred acre piece of swamp land and all of a sudden he had more money than God. He died before he ever knew how much it was worth. Hell, they still don't know! My father and I were the only blood relatives he had so he left everything to us. I'd always wanted a camper so saw my chance and bought this."

"Good for you, but this is a step or two higher than just a camper."

"I got a bit carried away. It's a lot more than we'll ever need, but it was available and I was in the mood. My wife and I are still living in our same old house and are happy with it, but this damn thing was like a magnet. We saw it and wanted it. We bought the house next to ours, demolished it and built a garage for it. The cost of the coach, the house we tore down and the new garage cost about eight times what our house is worth. Nobody ever accused us of being smart."

We talked for another few minutes in the coach then went to the showroom where they had drinks and refreshments. I had coffee and he had a Cappuccino and we talked some more. I learned that both he and Sam's father, Pete, were carpenters. Pete still was. Jake played a lot of golf, fished, and traveled.

I told him my story and he laughed his ass off about the house and insurance. He asked what I did before the divorce and I told him I was an electrician. I also told him that I was on my way to the Seattle area when I when I met Tim Ryan at the motel and detoured to deliver coaches.

"Are you going to do this forever," he asked.

"Actually, I've sort of given myself another year or so before I find a place to settle."

"Still thinking about this area?"

"Probably. I've been all over the country with this job, and haven't found any place I like better."

Shortly after that, Sam came and announced that the "overgrown SUV" was ready, so Mr. Ferguson got ready to leave. "Did Sammy say you were going to the airport?"

"Yes, but I won't fly out until tomorrow. I'm having dinner with friends then going to a concert tonight."

"What concert is that?"

"Regan Thompson. He's a......."

"Hell, I know who he is. My wife and daughter love him. We tried to get tickets, but they're sold out. She is pissed."

"You really like him?"

"Hell, yes. We once drove 400 miles to see him. She's still trying to find tickets for tonight, but even the scalpers are sold out."

"How many tickets do you need?"

"Why? Do you have extras? You'd make me a hero if you do."

"How many?"

"Four. Me, my wife, daughter and son. My daughter's birthday is next week and we wanted to take her."

I smiled and took out my phone. Mr. Ferguson just looked at me as I punched in some numbers.

"Hello, Jason. What's up?"

"Hello, Regan. A friend of mine has been trying to get tickets for your show tonight and hasn't been able to. Any chance you might have an extra four lying around? It's for his daughter's birthday."

"We might be able to come up with four. How old is his daughter and what's her name?"

"I'll find out. What's your daughter's name, Mr. Ferguson and how old is she?"

"It's Cathy and she's 30. Who're you talking to?"

"Her name is Cathy and she's 30." I repeated into the phone.

He laughed. "I thought she might be younger. It's pretty unusual for a father to take his 30-year-old daughter anyplace, much less one of my shows. Shouldn't be a problem. Let me check with Kelley and she'll get back to you in a few minutes. How about you meeting us in the green room before the show instead of us going out to dinner. The caterer is putting on a big spread and we've invited some local bigwigs. Everyone would like to see you. Bring your friends by. I'd like to say hi to them."

I smiled. "We'll be there."

"Oh, hey, if there aren't any seats, your friends can watch from backstage. There's always a gaggle of folks back there anyway."

"I'll tell them. Thank you and we'll see you tonight." I ended the call, looked at Mr. Ferguson and smiled. "How would you and your family like to meet Regan Thompson?"

"Are you shitting me?"

"No sir." He had heard my side of the conversation so I filled him in on Regan's side.

"Just like that? One little phone call and we're having dinner with Regan Thompson? I can't believe it."

"Well, let's wait a few minutes and see what Kelley has to say and I don't know that a buffet in an arena green room would qualify as dinner,"

"And who's Kelley?"

"His sister. You'll like her."

Turns out he more than liked her; so did his son, Mark.

The Ferguson's picked me up at the hotel and we went to the Arena. Scotty, Regan's security man, met us at the entrance to the reserved parking area and let us in. The first thing Jake (I was calling him Jake by then) saw was Regan's coach.

When I introduced Kelley to the family, I could almost feel sparks flying between her and Mark. It was like they had known each other all their lives. My meeting Cathy Ferguson wasn't anywhere near that, but we seemed to take to each other as well. She was a police officer in their town which was east of Seattle and spent eight hours a day patrolling the city streets.

To say the evening went well would be a huge understatement. It ended with all of us sitting in Regan's coach after the show: Mark and Kelley on the sofa, Cathy and me at the dining room table and Jake in the driver's seat with Regan in the passenger seat. Pat and Grace, Jake's wife, were standing over their husbands listening to them talk about coaches and looking really bored. Regan, Pat, and Kelley were scheduled to leave the next morning, but decided they were going to stop by Jake and Grace's place before leaving town to look at their coach.

The Ferguson's dropped me off at the airport hotel and Cathy and I took our time saying goodbye.

The next few months were interesting. Every time I took off, I went to Seattle to be with Cathy. Mark was spending time on the road with Kelley, Regan, and Pat. In fact, he had all but taken over the job of driving their coach; a coach which, incidentally, was for sale because after seeing Jake's, Regan ordered a new one.

I quit my job, and moved my stuff to be near Cathy. As in my home state, I needed a license to work as an electrician. That meant getting a letter from the company where I worked as an electrician and a copy of my license from that state. I also had to take a test. All that took a little time; time I used to buy a house and furnishings. I bought my house in the same town Cathy and her family lived in. Cathy did most of the furnishing selection. I enjoyed being able to stretch out, as it were, and live in something larger than a motel or hotel room.

The dealership I delivered to in Seattle had a driving program for new R/V and coach owners. They, or more specifically, Sam, (Sammy) the Service Manager, asked if I would be interested in teaching new owners how to drive until I got my electrician's license; and even after if it worked out. I thought it was a good idea so started doing it and enjoyed it.

I had looked at the study guide for the electrical test and decided it was basically the same as the one I had taken and passed in my home state and wasn't too concerned about it, so was taking my time, but when Cathy said she would move in with me when I passed, my review of the study guide took on an urgency in a personal, erotic, self-centered way.

Three weeks later, I had a roommate and was never happier.

My life was perfect. Mark and Kelley got married and settled in Nashville. Regan found someone else to take care of his public relations and schedule. He also got his new coach, and he and Jake argue about which was nicer. Jake is trying to convince Grace they need a newer, nicer one. That would be okay with Cathy and me because we could take that one on trips like we take the current one.

I am busy with my small three-man company and Cathy still patrols the city streets. She will do that for another couple of weeks before she takes a hiatus to get married and have a baby.