The Prospect, Eliot Parker [free ebooks for android .TXT] 📗

Bud Parker on behalf of Shane Triplet and Jason Rowan made front page news. Phil told Shane earlier that morning that many people in town figured that Walter Mann was resting Shane and Biggie for the championship game, in case the Loggers made it to the championship series. Instead, from what Phil heard from the locals in town, the news of two suspensions was something that did not sit well with many fans.
Sheaville was a community where everyone depended on each other for all types of support. That support included backing the Loggers team and its players. The thought of two players being suspended for conduct detrimental to the team was in essence, a proverbial scarlet letter on the town. One ideology remained true over time: if anyone in Sheaville disapproved of something someone else did or said that guilty person was sure to hear about it. That is what made the seclusion of Phil Rodney’s back room that much more appealing for Shane.
With the phone receiver draped over his shoulder, all Shane could do was agitate his face with his fingers. Listening to a doctor dictate the mingled, mirthless intricacies of borderline personality disorder made the small, musty back room expand under the emotion of the conversation.
“Mr. Triplet, most personality stricken adults move back and forth between depressions and highs in cycles that can stretch over months. During the depressive phase, they experience hopelessness, loss of interest in work and family, and loss of libido-the same symptoms as in major depression, with which bipolar is often confused.”
The terms were flowing through the receiver from Dr. Robert Caliban, a clinical psychiatrist at CAMC General Hospital in Charleston, like rushing river water. For his part, Dr. Caliban was very knowledgeable about all aspects of mental illness, and he relished the chance to prattle his scholarship to patients. The doctor came highly recommended from Frank Miller. Frank met Dr. Calibran during those days when his wife was sick, often doing mental health screenings on her to make sure she was emotionally strong enough to handle the rigorous of chemotherapy and surgery. So far, Shane was pleased with the doctor’s treatment of his Mamma, but the dreaded progress report phone calls had become burdensome.
Shane was reduced to occasional groaning. At least the doctor would no that he was still alive and listening.
“The depressive curtain can descend with no apparent cause or can be triggered by a traumatic event such as an accident, illness, or the loss of a job. But in borderline personality disorder, there is also a manic phase. It usually begins with a sort of caffeinated, can-do buzz. As the emotional engine revs higher, however, that energy can become too much. The individual quickly grows aggressive and impulsive. The patient becomes grandiose, picking fights, driving too fast, engaging in indiscriminate sex, spending money wildly. They may ultimately become delusional and mad.”
“Sounds rather bleak to me,” Shane interrupted.
“Mr. Triplet, your mother has a very serious illness. It is important for you to makes sure she is receiving treatment.” The doctor’s inquisition suggested that Shane was somehow responsible for his mother digression.
“Sir, I cannot make her take the medicine. I do my best to make sure she does, but when I am playing baseball or I am out of town, there is nobody to watch her.”
Dr. Caliban paused. “Is there anyone who can check on her?”
Shane, in turn, paused and was reminded of Phil and Frank’s generosity in watching and checking on Joann, with no questions asked, anytime he asked them to do it. But Shane was reserved in making more than sporadic requests, because Shane did not have any money to amply compensate them for their time. As a result, Shane placed a sizable amount of good faith in his mother’s ability to treat herself, regardless of how irresponsible that decision might be.
“No sir, it is pretty much up to me.”
“Well, you can bring your mother in anytime for treatment. We can give the medicine intravenously and monitor her condition.”
“Getting her to voluntarily come could be a problem,” Shane reminded the doctor.
“You have my number, Mr. Triplet. I am available anytime, day or night. Why don’t you see if her condition improves, and if it continues to worsen, then bring her to us, okay?”
The offer sounded sensible, it least in the short term. “Okay, Dr. Caliban.”
“Good,” he responded. Shane could sense the doctor preparing to hang up the telephone receiver. Before he did, Shane asked one more question.
“Doctor, I need one more thing.”
Dr. Caliban seemed bothered by the request. “Yes, Mr. Triplet?”
“My, um…girlfriend and I are having a baby…”
“Congratulations!” the doctor replied feigning excitement
“Thanks. I was wondering about the facilities there for child care. I mean, in case we need to come to Charleston for treatment.
“We have one of the best neo-natal units in the state of West Virginia, Mr. Triplet,” the doctor said, proudly.
“Uh, okay. Thanks doctor.” The last thought on Shane’s mind was Olivia and fatherhood but he knew eventually the thought would become a harsh reality. Amidst those thoughts were his feelings for Olivia. Why did his feelings for her change so much so often over time? Then there was Morton Mitchell. Dealing with him was going to make the pregnancy ordeal much more tenuous.
Phil Rodney popped his head around the door of the back room. “Shane, we are ready for you and the guys to go with us to the mill.”
“Okay, Mr. Rodney, I will be right there.
Shane reached for a cigarette and a lighter. For a hot, lazy Wednesday afternoon, life in Sheaville was becoming more exciting by the minute.

XXXI
Frank Miller packaged two bottles of pills and wrapped them in a white plastic bag. Frank’ hair was slick and rigid, although his sun visor briefly distorted the face across the counter. Olivia was looking angelic with her soft hair sprightly dangling below her shoulders emanating a sweet, fragrant perfume that enhanced the smell of the entire drugstore.
“There you go my dear. That will be $22.77.”
Olivia stuck both hands in her pockets, feverishly looking for cash. “You know Mr. Miller, daddy would not have to take these pills he would not eat so much.” She passed thirty dollars across the counter.
“We all get into trouble because of our mouths. Just think, because of our lips and our mouths, we do more harm than good. We eat too much of that unhealthy food, we smoke too much, we say nasty words back and forth. Yes indeedy. Too much bad comes from the mouth.”
Olivia smiled at Frank’s good nature. No matter the situation, Frank Miller always could see both sides of an issue. Deep down, Olivia new that Frank probably was glad her father ate too much. After all, the drugstore depends on dozens of people like Morton Mitchell each day.
“So, how have you been Olivia? I know that college is right around the corner for you. Use going to Marshall too. That is a big step. Huntington is the big city you know… lots of people and lots of things to do.”
“I am looking forward to it though.” Olivia’s reply was slightly disingenuous and Frank picked up on it.
He leaned over the counter and swiped her round chin with his finger. “So why you so drab about it, kiddo.”
Olivia hesitated. She desperately wanted to tell someone about the pregnancy but she was afraid of defying her father. The consequences could be exorbitant. Yet so far, she had kept it a secret. Nobody knew, as far as she knew. Olivia was confident that Shane remained silent on the issue as well. But in the next few months, her stomach would expand and the secret would be exposed.
“I will just miss being here. I have always spent my time here. And I will miss the people. You know you, and Mr. Rodney and Jack Busby and…”
“Shane.” Frank knew the pitcher’s name was on that list somewhere.
“Yes, even Shane.” Olivia blushed just from mentioning him. “I just feel so good when I am around Shane. I just cannot explain it. I mean, I’ve had crushes on other people in school and things. Johnny Gunnoe is an example, even though he ended up being a real creep. But with Shane, it’s different. It just feels right.”
Frank’s eyes softened while he wetted his lips. “Sounds like true romance to me.”
The drugstore owner reached for his keys. “Well, if you will excuse me Olivia, I have to go to the saw mill.”
“Why are you going to the saw mill?”
“We have some cleaning to do for the Fall Festival dance. You know how it is in Sheaville, the Fall Festival is important for the town.”

********
This Thursday afternoon was going to be busy for the town of Sheaville and her residents. It was also a momentous day for the Sheaville Loggers, who were eager to improve their image following the public disclosure of Shane and Biggie Rowan’s suspensions. The Loggers players would be helping the Fall Festival Committee clean and prepare the saw mill storage warehouse for the Fall Festival dance and then they were going to participate in the afternoon auction to raise money for the rest of the event.
Armed with mops, buckets, sponges, and gloves, a team of Loggers players along with the Fall Festival Committee rode in Phil Rodney’s pickup truck along Central Avenue through the heart of town. The early afternoon sun had crept from behind thin cloud cover, further blanketing the earth and evaporating the dew drops on the blades of grass. Most of the stores in Sheaville featured sweating windows; an indication that the scorching heat and relatively dry conditions were too much for air conditioned panes of glass.
The road to the saw mill was seldom traveled. Although the road itself was paved, years of changing seasonal climates and human neglect left the thin and narrow concrete strip cracked and crumbling. Phil’s truck bobbed and weaved on the road as the town of Sheaville grew smaller as the men climbed the ridge under the thick umbrella of the forest. Some trees managed to grow back following the closure of the mill, but the forest floor was covered with flat, round stumps. Years of deforestation had turned the once deciduous woodland into a desolate space.
Harlan Shea’s sawmill was laid out in a triangular formation, with three large, obtusely shaped buildings dotting the landscape. Each building was ostensibly hoary and unilluminated. The warehouse, where the festival dance was to be held next month, was located to the right of the entrance.
The outstretched building was wedged next to a lifeless maple tree and four small loading dock doors were covered with steel plates and padlocked. The brick exterior superceded authority to cloves of ivy which ran down the length on the building. Once the men were inside, the building revealed its true character and ominous past.
“Ah yes,” inhaled Frank Miller. “This place brings back memories.”
The rest of the group, consisting of Ryan, Shane, Morton, Harry, and Phil were befuddled at the pronouncement.
“Edgers, trim saws, conveyors, greenchains, this place use to have it all,” Frank elaborated. “All of the machine integration and lumber and log handling equipment, and waste disposal systems were placed here in this here building. Seems like only yesterday to me.”
Shane could hear Harry swallow hard and felt Ryan breathing heavily down his neck as the men stood packed tightly in a group, each one hesitant to take a first step.
“L…l…lets get to work,” Ryan suggested, a suggestion nobody was willing to disagree with.
For the next three hours, the men washed, scrubbed, moped, and cleaned every square inch of the warehouse. It had been one