Day 857: 5 Minute Freewrite CONTINUATION: Monday - Prompt: you need help

For Mrs. Selene Slocum-Lofton, the mood of the day was book-ended between two phone calls.

The first was a courtesy, a conference call with her nephews about what was to be done with all of “their” property on Cedar Court up in Big Loft's once-elite Blue Ridge neighborhood.

Once elite, because a big enough fire does not distinguish between a cardboard box, a shotgun shack, or an opulent mansion. The Ridgeline Fire had burned the Blue Ridge, Starview, and Skyview neighborhoods to the ground, so hot as to even destroy the infrastructure just below the ground.

Still, Mrs. Slocum-Lofton was actually grieved – grieved, ashamed, and actually hurt – at the predictable result when she said that she was going to open up Cedar Court for the families who had lost their relatives who had worked for the Slocum-Loftons' neighbors.

The responses were predictable:

“Well, we didn't lose any of our servants!”

“All those people who don't own a thing up there – why do it for them?”

“They're going to mess things up that we need to rebuild!”

“You know stuff is going to go missing if we do that, right?”

“Please don't go getting sloppy and sentimental on this thing, Auntie – you've always been so strong!”

“Give these n****s and s***s an inch and they'll take a mile – give 'em some rope, though, and let us tie the ends, and we'll get somewhere!”

Mrs. Slocum-Lofton let them go on, and after putting the phone on mute, wept instead of tongue-lashing them back into “their proper place.” She had done that for decades, and this was the result: men in their 50s and 60s, all of whom had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, fussing with a woman in her mid-80s over control of the ashes of their summer homes and the ruined land underneath.

Bonus points for them arguing with the deedholder to ALL of Cedar Court. It was only a courtesy call for information purposes, but they were arguing like they had skin in the game over ashes … after having spent a lifetime not having built anything for themselves.

By the time Mrs. Slocum-Lofton had recovered herself, her nephews and their wives were still going. She let them go, and then spoke very quietly.

“I called you to let you all know what I have decided to do. You all know that every inch of the property there is mine, but I was hoping that we could have an adult conversation. However, I cannot be angry or disappointed with you without admitting my own guilt in this matter … I have been encouraging you to stay weak and petty all your lives so I would not have to give you respect, so I accept that in return you fear but do not love or respect me, or even understand how I have made and remade the fortunes we enjoy.”

Dead silence. Nobody in the family expected that. Into the silence, Mrs. Slocum-Lofton did a little teaching … the advantage of going along with the families of the servants was to assure their continued loyal service to their branch of the Slocum-Loftons, and also position their projects as worthy of the support of the Black and Latino communities in the future.

“An olive branch today gives them respect and closure now, and clears the way for us to rebuild and profit without resistance from them in the future.”

Tentatively, Mrs. Slocum-Lofton's nephews rejoined the conversation … although they were weak, and petty, they did understand quid pro quo, and, grudgingly, they admired their aunt's skills and wanted to learn them if she was willing to teach … and she was, all of the sudden. The conversation ended amicably.

Afterward, Mrs. Slocum-Lofton made her real phone call – to the mayor, to gift him a key piece of his work in getting the rebuild of the neighborhoods in question by letting him know her property was available to the families to come have the memorial they wanted. Mayor Garner was appreciative and fortunately had too much to do to stay on the phone long – all that was done, and the rest of the day belonged to Mrs. Slocum-Lofton.

Out she went, down to the end of the hall and the elevator, only to have the wheel on her rolling briefcase break all of the sudden.

“They just don't make good quality any more,” she gritted as she struggled to dead-lift the briefcase backwards out of the elevator entry back into the hall as she scampered backward.

“Do you need help, ma'am?”

“Yes, please – thank you, sir.”

His drawl was all Deep South – probably Georgia. He was a very tall man, silver-haired, around 75, with a slight stoop, but he steadied her and picked up that briefcase like it was nothing.

“John Worley – your neighbor in #421, ma'am, at your service.”

“Mr. Worley, sir, thank you. Mrs. Selene-Slocum Lofton, very much obliged.”

“Here's the screw to it – just looks like it worked its way loose, but I think I can fix it if you like.”

“Mr. Worley, much obliged, and thank you.”

“It'll just be a few minutes – I can bring it to your room if you like.”

“If you would, I'd appreciate it very much.”

Mr. Worley walked Mrs. Selene Slocum-Lofton back to her door, and then took the bag down to his room. He returned with the bag working like new, and Mrs. Selene Slocum-Lofton handed him half a dozen oatmeal cookies from her favorite spot, Cake-er-Doodle.

“Why, much obliged, neighbor,” he purred. “This is just so charming!”

“Glad you like oatmeal cookies.”

“Glad you like Cake-er-Doodle, which I own.”

“What? You're the one of the W's in WW Delicious Delights?”

“Worley's Wonderful Delicious Delights is all me, ma'am – I buy up shops like Cake-er-Doodle up and down the East Coast, invest in fix-ups and marketing and advertising and other things they can do, and let 'em run.”

Mrs. Selene Slocum-Lofton grinned from ear to ear, which dazzled Mr. Worley.

“I already thought you were a mighty cute silver stunner,” he said. “Don't overwhelm me!”

Mrs. Slocum-Lofton felt herself blushing, but powered forward because of the real attraction.

“Sir, I own nine banks and three insurance companies! We've been needing to meet for decades!”

Mr. Worley cracked up laughing.

“Oh, you need help – help in investing your abundant capital in things that will be immune from the madness of this locale!”

“Yes! Don't stop being charming and chivalrous now! If you think I am cute now, wait until you see my investment portfolio!”

Mr. Worley checked his watch.

“Well, I don't have anything on the calendar for this late afternoon. You like dessert and so do I. How about we walk over to Cake-er-Doodle and get some coffee to go with these cookies, and see what we can cook up?”

“I have to make a meeting at 3:00 and I'm running late, but I'll meet you at 4:30.”

“Come on – we'll take my car and you'll make it on time.”

And so it was that the rumors would fly – Mrs. Slocum-Lofton and her bosom friend Mrs. York would laugh until they cried about it – that Mrs. Slocum-Lofton had two new men: one her age, and one the age of her grandson! Never mind that one of them was her grandson, and the other just a kind neighbor … who was, maybe, just a little extra interested … .

“Mr. Worley is a widower – he and his wife used to live here on the avenue, and they were such a loving couple,” Mrs. York said from the house she and Mrs. Slocum-Lofton shared on the weekends on Jonathan Lofton Avenue. “He's from Georgia, but settled here for retirement because she was from here … she had cancer, so he retired early to maximize all the time they had left. It was so sad when she died – he grieved for years, and then finally sold the house and moved. He said he just couldn't take it any more … the house just wasn't home without her in it. I thought he had gone back to Georgia, but he's up there in the Rosewood Apartments? It's got to mean something!”

“Mildred, what it means is that the Rosewood Apartments lost a lot of tenants last year during the long renovations, meaning they are offering excellent rents for downtown in order to get full again. It also means Big Loft and Lofton County are in trouble, and investors like Mr. Worley and I who get bored sitting around on piles of money and see big opportunity coming in Big Loft's comeback are getting positioned.”

“Selene, I know how much you loved Aaron, but if the right man came along …?”

“He hasn't come along in 47 years, so I hardly expect what's left of 2019 and 2020 to come through even if I were looking – which I'm not. I'm too old for all that nonsense.”

“Okay, so we're old, but, if love were to decide to bother you even at 84 years old, why would you turn it away? I'm not talking about nonsense. I'm talking about love. Mr. Worley knows about love. Mrs. Worley suffered a lot, but she was never unhappy that I saw … he was always with her and loving on her … there was so much love and respect between them that a lot of people said it would be worth going through what they were going through if only they could have had what the Worleys had. He's a big-time investor like you, but he's got a big heart... he's never been involved in any kind of thing that would hurt anybody for a dime, either.”

“Then he isn't our type, Mildred.”

“Well, we weren't his type last year – but remember, we divested of our bonds in Pendleton Prison and are working the money into the communities that prison targeted.”

“We did that to get ahead of the scandal – it just wasn't a good investment any more.”

“Yeah, but, giving the money away from it was your idea.”

Mrs. Slocum-Lofton considered this … it was indeed more than business decision. Something about watching the power and generosity of her grandson, Captain H.F. Lee, as he explained the Soames case and spared those who had not been aware of the criminality involved had touched her. He had every reason to drag his mother's family and their entire circle down, given the occasion to do so by their bad behavior toward him … but his forbearance, and thus his merciful goodness, had touched her.

Since then, in person, grandson Henry had shown a level of forgiveness and love that his grandmother could scarcely believe … and, dimly, she was beginning to see through him to a Love far greater, still reaching out for her.

Ever since then … as it had been when she was married … the love coming to her was flowing out … love had already found her again, and, even if in just little ways, she was expressing it to others again, and making amends.

Meanwhile, down the hall and around the corner, Captain H.F. Lee of the Big Loft police force was in shock after getting home from his therapy appointment – he learned from the evening news that his cousin the mayor had broken the logjam over the fire site through the generous loan to the city of the Cedar Court property for the families of the 12,020 Black and Latino servants who had perished to have a week of memorial.

Captain Lee of course knew who owned all that property – the same person, 27 years earlier, who had held a party for family and friends over the death of his Black wife and son.

The cognitive dissonance was too much. Captain Lee was an exceedingly strong man, quietly weathering nearly 24 years of army service and the last year in the Reserve running parallel with all the upheaval in Big Loft's police force as he served there as its newest police captain. He was high-functioning with severe and heavily compounded PTSD – as high-functioning as he was severe, and day in and day out showed no sign to the people around him.

However, when one ran so close to the edge, it didn't take much to push you over. The physical strain on Captain Lee's body that it took to stay calm and functional day in and day out was immense. With all the faithful attention he gave to his medical and physical regimen, it was still always at the edge.

Downstairs, in #313, Maggie Thornton also was reading the news when she heard the sound of something heavy – very heavy – falling to the floor.

Mrs. Thornton had her own flashback: the crunch of one car hitting another, and of her whole life with Greg Thornton and their beautiful new baby Georgia coming to an end just like that. The widow didn't even stop to think – she ran up the stairs. She already had the spare key – until they could wear engagement rings in public, Mrs. Thornton had known that Captain Lee's giving her that key was the expression of his commitment and trust in her, for he was too private a person to give access to himself lightly.

Into Captain Lee's apartment, and there he was, on the floor of his kitchenette – sitting up, and shaking his head.

“I'm so sorry to have worried you,” he said. “I was reading this news and tripped and fell I was so shocked.”

“Oh, no you don't – it's triage time!” Mrs. Thornton said. “Look at me! Smile! Stick out your tongue! Lift up your arms!”

And so forth, through the stroke regimen … looking for blown pupils, drooping facial muscles, tongue crookedness, weak muscles on one side, the whole nine yards … no such symptoms, but Mrs. Thornton insisted on taking Captain Lee to the hospital and having them check anyway, because she knew about how he was managing his blood pressure at the limits.

“Yes, ma'am, General Thornton,” he teased, but, secretly, he was deeply moved. Captain Lee had not had a stroke – his systems failure was reading and walking at the same time, and he had made a sloppy turn at his kitchenette counter and then tripped and fell. Yet if it had been a stroke, he still would have had the absolute best chance to survive, because she had not hesitated. She was doing everything she was supposed to do … everything he had known she would do when he gave her that spare key, because he knew she loved him as devotedly as he loved her, and would sacrifice even as he would if the situation were reversed.

Earlier that evening, Captain Josiah Thompson, Captain Lee's therapist at VA Hospital in Roanoke, had said something very interesting.

“So, Colonel” – for that was the police captain's army rank, “I want you to think about something. You basically have 24 Good Years – by mathematics, you're there. You only needed 20 years for full retirement anyhow. You've got this plan to start a business to support yourself and your new wife … but you don't need to do that, because you have not only lived like a Spartan for almost 28 years and invested well, but also the Mortons gave the money you invested in them back with interest! You need help, Colonel Lee!”

Colonel Lee remembered laughing.

“Why you think I come here?” he said.

“Yes, but you need help I can't give you, Colonel! But let me tell you how you get it, though – you go retire from the Army, put that business plan in a drawer somewhere, and go get married and let that woman you love so much just love on you!

“I get it, Colonel Lee, I do – there was just so much anguish in losing your wife like you did, and so much trauma, and so much trust broken, and then there's this whole military life that has nothing to do with loving a woman. I get that you're afraid you don't know how any more. I get that you're afraid to invest in it because you might lose it, and so you're secretly dating a woman that you can't be with openly yet because of X, Y, and Z, and she's fine with that because she's a widow too and may have similar fears. I get all of that. She's following your lead, so she must really love you … but that just means y'all could waste years on not getting fully invested.

“Y'all drag out this work situation another year, when you make enough to support both of you and her job is disappearing imminently … y'all get engaged and even married, but you find reasons to stay gone building a business division for your brother-in-law Victor Morton – a man whose company is doing so well that he repaid you your initial investment back with interest, over and above the dividends you get from your massive stock investments! Do you see how you have set yourself up to avoid what you really want, and are using everyone else as the excuse?”

That had rattled Colonel Lee, badly – and then, while already rattled, he had seen what his grandmother had done in the news. But then Mrs. Thornton had arrived while he needed help, and swung into loving action … the whole idea of making up reasons to avoid giving and receiving such actions every day was foolish … but, people often found ways to resist what they needed.

But if Grandmother Selene, not even knowing how God is moving on her, is no longer resisting doing good, I surely can stop resisting love too – God, please help me!

Mrs. Thornton waited at the emergency room and drove Captain Lee back to their apartment building.

“Is your cousin going to be staying with you this evening, Henry? I'd really feel more comfortable if you weren't up there alone.”

“Donald is probably there already, wondering where I am.”

Captain Lee took a deep breath.

“I don't want to be up there alone any more, Maggie. I don't want to be alone, period. I am a loner at heart, and I'm so used to being by myself and doing this life as a solo mission after … after losing Vanessa and our son the way it happened … but I'm doing the work to heal and all that … so, I want you to know that I am serious about us, and … .”

He choked up … but it felt good when Mrs. Thornton touched his shoulder gently.

“I know it's hard to transition back from being alone for so long,” she said. “I'm in no hurry, because I know you're not dumb enough to draw this out too long! My last day at work, if Commissioner Scott can't get HR to show some Christmas spirit, is November 29 – I'll be paid for Thanksgiving and the next day, but Officer Brandt takes over as the commissioner's secretary on Monday, December 2!”

“I have two more Reserve Weekends before the end of the year,” Captain Lee said, “and then I shall retire with full retirement and honors, as a colonel. In reality, I don't need to start a business right away … my retirement check plus my Spartan nest egg plus my investments are more than enough for us to live on, even if we were to take a year's honeymoon.”

“Oooooh,” Mrs. Thornton cooed. “I'd love to see spring in the mountains, and summer, and fall … you've told me so much about it all … Hoppy has been taking Margie up on the regular to y'all family businesses up there … I'd have to get a little ready for the winters, being a city girl and all, but, I'd love to … .”

Captain Lee hadn't heard anything since the coo … that she would even want to spend a year, anywhere, just being with him … to be alone with her, anywhere … now he was having the blood pressure spike in attempting to control his desire to whisk her away that instant.

“Henry – what in the world happened!” his cousin Mayor Garner asked him when he at last bid Mrs. Thornton good night and got inside the door. “I got the note about you going to the emergency room – oh, you look like you need help!”

“I'll be fine, D.L. … just go run me a cold shower, and I'll be fine.”