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Settling Down, Part 5
Al wasn't sure how she made it through the interviews, but she managed. She was somehow able to disconnect the part of her brain that was worried about Tim and their relationship and just go through her list of questions and take notes. It became a routine and she followed it letter-perfect, even while a background process in her brain was wishing she could find Tim and explain everything to him.
Her interviews lasted until five o'clock, at which point she figured the garage would be closed and Tim would be at home. She gathered up her papers and headed to their house, surprised to find Bruno waiting there for her, even though there was no sign of Tim or George. She walked through the house, nervously taking an inventory. Two duffle bags, most of his clothes, his toothbrush and razor, the dog's crate and food. It looked like Tim had planned on an extended stay away from home.
Billy and Mindy's was the obvious choice, so Al grabbed her backpack, got in her truck, and headed over there. She didn't call because she thought Tim would simply dodge her call and leave before she arrived. Her heart sank when she arrived at Billy's house to find only his Trans-Am in the driveway.
She knocked on the door and opened it when Billy hollered out a distracted “Yeah? Come in.” She stepped into the living room hesitantly. Billy was laying on the couch with a beer in his hand, watching ESPN.
“Al. Didn't expect to see you tonight. How did those interview things go? Please don't tell me you came over here to talk about them now.”
Al shook her head. “No, they were fine. I'm looking for Tim.”
Billy frowned. “What you mean you're looking for Tim? He went home with the dogs at lunch – said he was feeling sick or something.”
Al wanted to ask if Billy was serious, but she couldn't get her voice to work. Instead, she walked over to the kitchen counter, set her backpack down, and sat a stool, facing into the kitchen so she could put her head down on the counter. Then, she just held on and tried not to cry.
Billy jumped off the couch and walked over, his eyes growing more concerned. He went to the fridge, got out a beer, and handed it to Al. Then he sat down at the other stool, facing into the living room as he leaned back and rested his elbows on the counter. It felt both incredibly weird and perfectly natural to be sitting this way with his future sister-in-law, since this was how he and Timmy sat whenever they had something important and personal to discuss.
“I screwed up, Billy. Big time. And now Timmy's gone.”
“What happened?”
“I did something without talking to him about it and he found out. He didn't give me a chance to explain – he just left.”
Billy shook his head sadly. “You got an abortion.”
Al's head snapped up, a look of shock on her face. “No! I'd never do something like that to Tim. Jesus, it would be his kid too – he'd get a say in that.”
Billy breathed a sigh of relief and struggled to switch gears to stay with Al.
“So if it's not that, what did you do?”
Al reached into her backpack and pulled out a stack of papers. “This isn't how I wanted to do this.”
She shuffled through the papers and handed several pages over to Billy. He flipped through them, his eyes trying to comprehend all of the cramped lines of legalese in tiny print. He caught a phrase here and there, things like “hereby relinquish all claim”, “property located at”, “forego further contact”, “in consideration for $50,000”, their father's name and signature.
“What is all this?” Billy looked up at her, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
She sighed. “I know I probably should have discussed this with both of you, but I was trying to protect Timmy. Your dad started calling the garage, I guess he figured I was a way to get to Tim and that Tim would be more receptive to him, eventually. I don't know. Anyway, he started making threats about taking you to court to get this house back. That his name was on the deed.”
“I've made about 10 years of mortgage payments on this place. And the last one will be next year. No way this is still his house.”
“Stephen, my ex-husband, was a lawyer and I helped him study in law school, so I know a thing or two about legal matters involving property disputes. I explained to Walt why he wouldn't have a claim and gave him an alternate offer.”
Billy shook the papers. “This alternate offer here?”
“Yeah. Basically, Walt promised to give up all claim on this house and to not contact any of you again, in exchange for $50,000. 5k in cash, the rest wired into a bank account, if you want the details.”
“You're kidding? You paid our father to go away?”
Al nodded. “I'm sorry, I probably should have talked to you both first. I wanted to get it done as painlessly as possible and then I was just going to leave the quit claim deed in your mailbox. Make it look like Walt had decided to do the right thing.”
“Al, this is a lot of money. It's too much. Mindy and I'll pay you back somehow.” His voice cracked.
“No way. I didn't even want you to know I did this.”
“But how? Where did you get the money?”
Al's lips twisted into a small, regretful smile. “I worked in Iraq for three years and made a truckload of money without much tax and with pretty much nothing to spend it on because all my expenses were taken care of. That lets a person build up quite a nest egg, especially, if the person is so depressed that she doesn't care about anything.”
“Don't worry about Timmy. He'll call or come around and I'll talk some sense into him. He's probably just at some dive bar or hitting beer cans off the dunes. He'll come crawling either here or home, probably as soon as tomorrow.”
Al slid her half-full bottle of beer over to Billy. “No, I don't think so. He took almost all his clothes. And he also took George, the crate, and at least a month's supply of dog food.”
Billy stood up and put his arm around Al's shoulders. “It'll be okay, Al. One way or another, we'll find him and talk some sense into him. I promise,” he said, trying to sound more convincing than he felt.
*** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** ****
Al woke up early on Monday morning. In truth, she hadn't slept much since Friday. Tim hadn't called or texted either her or Billy all weekend. On Sunday evening, she called Jason, but he also hadn't heard from Tim.
She forced herself to feel hopeful. Tim might be angry and he might be hurt, but he had never been irresponsible about work. In the last two and a half years, he'd only missed three days when he got the flu last year. However Tim might feel about Al right now, he would never let Billy down.
At work, she was grateful when the first customer dropped off his car, a Toyota that just needed a general service. She got straight to work, relieved to have something to do that required only a little focus and not much thought. She worked and kept half an eye on the door, hoping that Tim would arrive soon.
Around 7.30, the door swung open and Bruno jumped to his feet and raced toward the door. Al looked up, but from her vantage point, all she could see was Bruno. She knew from the way the dog's tail swept back and forth, that it wasn't Tim. If it had been Tim, the dog's tail would have swung in great, happy loops – Helicopter Tail. She sighed and stood up, expecting to see another customer.
“D'Andre? What are you doing here?”
“Tim called me on Friday night. Said he had to go away for a bit and asked if I would cover this week for him.”
“The whole week?”
He nodded. “Yeah, he didn't know how long he'd be gone. Where is he, anyway?”
“Well, thank you for filling in for him. Can you pick up here for me – I'm just letting the oil drain now.” Al gave him a tight smile and went into Billy's office before D'Andre had a chance to answer.
She sat at Billy's desk and went through the interview notes from last week, narrowing down the applicants to seven. She'd have second interviews with them this week and then Billy could do the final approval interviews. He was happy to mostly leave the hiring decisions to her, as long as he could veto if he didn't agree with her.
She thought about calling Principal Taylor but realized it would be better if she went in. She knew D'Andre was skipping school to cover for Tim and she wanted to talk to Tami about that. Tim had been trying to be responsible, but he didn't see how asking interns to skip school could endanger the internship program.
She put her head down on Billy's desk and tried to keep it together. She'd floated through the weekend in a daze of worry and regret, but she really had expected Tim to at least come to work. That he'd found a temporary replacement seemed to indicate that he planned to stay gone for a while.
The sounds of someone clearing his throat caused her to look up. Billy was standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“You okay, Al?”
She shook her head.
“He's not here?”
Al stood up and headed for the door. “No – he sent D'Andre in to cover for him. I have to go up to the school to talk to Principal Taylor. Be back in about an hour, I'd guess.”
Billy stepped out of the doorway to let Al pass, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder but saying nothing. She looked up and tried to smile, but had to look away before she cried. She decided her only goal was to get through this day without falling apart. She could fall apart when she got home.
She got in her truck and headed over to the high school, where classes had just started. A few stragglers remained in the hallway. Al walked briskly to the main office and asked to talk to the principal. The secretary disappeared into the back hallway and then came back minutes later, motioning for Al to come in.
Al greeted Tami as she took a seat across the narrow desk from her.
“Al, nice to see you. Isn't this a pleasant surprise? What can I do for you today?” Tami smiled and Al tried to relax.
“Couple of things, first, here's a list of the students we want to have second interviews with,” Al said as she handed over a sheet of paper. “I'll contact them and set up interviews for Wednesday, if we could do them like last time, here at the school during school hours. Say about a half hour each?”
Tami nodded. “Of course, no problem. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Final interviews then will be Friday, with Billy at the garage after school.”
“Sounds good.” Tami's tone was level but her face was questioning. She knew Al wouldn't come all the way over to the school just to discuss routine administrative matters.
“Second thing, D'Andre isn't in school today because he's working at the garage to cover for Tim. I realize this is completely unacceptable and inappropriate. Won't happen again but we really kind of need him today. I'll reschedule the rest of our appointments for this week so he won't need to skip school to help Tim out.”
Tami's mouth seemed to be wanting to ask different questions than her brain. She stumbled over her words a little as she tried to nod reassuringly. “Well, thanks for letting me know.”
“And last, I guess, if you could pass a message onto Coach. Tim might call him, but then again, he might not think of it, so if you could just tell Coach not to expect Tim for golf on Saturday...” Al's voice grew softer and more strained until her sentenced just trailed off.
“Al, honey, is everything, well clearly, everything is not okay....anything you want to talk about?”
Al shook her head sadly. “I did something with the best intentions, but I didn't discuss it with Tim first. Now....now he's just gone. Been gone since Friday and I don't know where he is and when....or even if....he's coming back.”
“Oh hon. Let me tell you something. Over the years I've gotten to watch him grow up. Tim Riggins, he might be a lot of things but one of the things I know for sure is that he's loyal to the ones he loves. And he loves you.”
Al looked up, fearing that she wasn't going to get through this conversation without crying.
“You have faith in that man, he'll be back. And he will give you a chance to work things out.”
Al nodded and stood up. “Thank you.”
She stood there uncertainly for a few beats, wanting to say more but not knowing what to say. Finally she gave Tami a small wave and left to return to the garage to wait for Tim.
*** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** ****
Starting Monday afternoon, Tim dialed the drinking down a bit. He didn't want to make himself totally sick, but he wanted to stay within the zone where his life was a distant memory. His plan was working great – drinking, hanging out with George, watching movies on the cable, taking only brief forays into the outside world – until Wednesday evening when he landed on a Nicholas Cage film: Leaving Las Vegas. Given the actor and the title, Tim was hoping for some sort of action movie involving casinos.
What he got was a guy trying to drink himself to death in a motel room. Struck a little close to home and shook him up enough that he decided it was time to check his voicemail. He'd left his cell phone on the nightstand plugged into its charger, with the ringer turned off. Every so often, he'd catch a flash on the display and know that someone was trying to get in touch with him. But he'd refused to look at it or listen to his messages until that damn film came onto his television.
Six had called a few times on Sunday, and then once a day since then. His messages swung between angry and concerned. Billy's messages were a lot like Six's, only Billy's started with “Hey, Dumbass”, had a lot more swearing, and ended with “Timmy, please. Call me. Or Al. Soon, Timmy, soon.”
The two biggest surprises were a single message each from Tyra and Coach Taylor. Tyra's message started with a big, exasperated sigh and then she just said “Tim, you're not this kind of douchebag anymore, so quit acting like one and get your ass home. That girl loves you, Tim. For real.”
Coach Taylor's message mentioned that Tami had told him that Tim was unexpectedly out of town and Coach wanted Tim to know that he wouldn't expect him for golf that weekend, but hoped he'd be back soon. Then there was a pause during which Tim could picture Coach's jaw muscles working overtime while he decided whether or not to continue In the end, he did, giving Tim a bit of unsolicited advice: “I don't know what's going on, but I'll tell you what I do know. Son, sometimes how you handle a problem is more important than the problem itself. And once you've found the right woman, there's no problem you can't handle together.”
Then there were the twice daily messages from Al. From the time stamps, he reckoned it was the first thing she did when she woke up and the last thing she did at night. Her message was always the same: “Tim, this is Al. Call me please.”
The fact that she identified herself by name every time nearly made him smile. Like he wouldn't recognize that husky voice. He listened to each message multiple times, scrutinizing her voice and tone for clues. It was like sifting through the wreckage of a train crash and made him indescribably sad.
He heard fear, concern and worry in the first few messages. Then anger steeled her voice in the next two. The subsequent few just sounded hurt and confused.
But today's message....today's message scared him. She sounded resigned, like whatever was going to happen would happen. Like it was out of her hands He didn't feel like she'd given up on him, exactly. It was more like she'd given up on her own ability to bring him back.
He nearly called her back. He found the number in his phone and was ready to press the green call button, but he just couldn't do it.
He looked at George, who seemed to be growing before his eyes, and remembered what Al said to him on Christmas Eve. How she told him that George was going to be massive. That she knew because she'd seen his parents. He didn't know why the memory came back to him in that motel room, except that now that Al had his father, she likely had figured out that Tim's chances of ending up like Walt were pretty damn high. Particularly when his first instinct when faced with trouble was to leave on a bender.
The walls of the motel room felt like they were closing in on him and he had the overwhelming need for fresh air and a change of scenery.
“C'mon, George, time for a walk,” he said as he clipped a leash on the puppy's collar. The sun was setting and the beach was nearly deserted. Tim walked for about a half hour, enjoying watching George trying to figure out how he felt about the water as the waves came in gently around their feet. The waves made Tim feel more at peace than he had in a long time, like the water could just wash away all of his troubling thoughts.
One of the hotels a short distance from his motel had a beach-side bar, a typical tourist trap with tiki torches and wooden huts. He decided to stop in there for a Scotch before returning to his room. At the bar, he grinned ruefully when he saw that his only choices were Dewars or Cutty Sark, both of which would have made Al roll her eyes and ask for a beer instead.
He changed his mind on the Scotch and ordered a lemon drop, then sat down at a table near the edge of the bar, so he could look out at the water. George curled up on the ground and rested his head on Tim's feet.
Tim was only dimly aware of the other people in the bar. He could hear some giggling from a table somewhere behind him, then the sound of footsteps on the wooden planked floor.
“Hi there.”
Tim looked up and found a smiling face looking down at him. The woman was probably in her mid-twenties and his first thought was that she had on way too much make up. Like she'd put it on with a paint roller or something.
Tim mumbled a greeting and the woman leaned forward, lightly touching his arm with one hand.
“My girlfriends and I think it's a damn shame that you're sitting all alone on this beautiful night. Would you like to join us?”
Tim looked up to where she was pointing, to a table full of women who looked just like her. He dropped his eyes to his hands, which were turning his glass in small circles.
“That's kind of you, but I'm fine here.”
“Oh come on, you'll have a good time. Better time with us than you would just sittin' here alone.”
Tim looked up at her and was surprised by the way she was looking at him. It reminded him of high school, of rally girls and parties and easy, meaningless sex. And it was tempting, for sure, but he shook his head.
“Sorry. Just having a quick drink here before I head back to my room.”
“Oh right, well, sorry to bother you.” The girl might have been blushing under all that make up, but Tim wasn't sure. He was relieved when she went away. He finished his drink quickly and returned to his room.
*** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** ****
Late Thursday afternoon at the garage, Billy and D'Andre were at the hydraulic lift, replacing the brakes on a minivan. Kevin was entering invoices on the computer at the front desk while trying to have a bantering conversation with Al, who was replacing the starter motor on a Suburban. She wasn't talking much though, hadn't been ever since Tim disappeared.
The door of the garage swung open and Walt walked in, heading straight for the front desk and asking for Al. When she heard her name, her head snapped up and she walked over toward, a bitter little smile settling onto her lips.
“You're not supposed to be here,” she said.
“What are you going to do? Sue me? There's a problem with the wire transfer.”
“Bullshit, I checked it myself. It's all set up.” Even from two feet away, Al could smell stale beer.
“It's set up, but it hasn't gone through,” said Walt, his eyes scanning the garage. Billy and D'Andre were watching the conversation from their spot at the lift.
“Yeah, you get five grand every six months, provided you don't contact Tim or Billy or anyone close to them. That's the deal. That's what you signed. Didn't you read the contract?”
Walt's face flushed red and he took a step toward Al. “You little....”
“Honestly, you've got about thirty seconds to get of here before you lose your next payment.”
“I didn't know what I was signing.” He was spitting-mad now and Al could see his fists clenching.
“Not my problem. You should have gotten a lawyer to look at it.”
Walt drew himself up to his full height and advanced on Al quickly. He got right up into her personal space, but she didn't back down.
“You need to walk on out of here before I call the cops and you get arrested and don't get your next payment.”
Walt shook his head and took aim with his words. “Hey where's Timmy? You two able to patch things up? I sure hope so.”
He put his hand on Al's shoulder in a fake gesture comfort. Kevin would later say that Al actually smiled and mouthed the words “Thank you,” but no one would ever be sure if he was telling the truth or embellishing.
What was certain was that before Walt could say anything else, Al gave him a solid left to the gut that caused him to double over in pain and shock. She followed it up with a hard right hook into his mouth that split his lip, cut her knuckles, and knocked out at least one bottom tooth and cracked several others.
Billy had no intention of breaking up the fight so long as Al wasn't getting hurt. Kevin was frozen in place, watching the whole spectacle with a look of fascinated horror. That left D'Andre to lumber over and try to put a stop to things.
Walt swung out blindly but Al just stepped to the side and unleashed a flurry of punches into Walt's side. D'Andre had finally gotten over to her and it took nearly all his considerable weight and strength to pull her away. He had to lift her up and carry her half-way across the garage.
Walt pressed a hand up to his bleeding lip, then pointed at Kevin. “I want you to call the police. Now.”
Billy walked over, his arms swinging casually at his side, a wrench in one hand.
“You want to tell the cops a little girl beat you up? Fine. But they're going to laugh at you.”
Walt blinked, hesitation replacing the anger on his face.
“You know what though? They ain't going to be laughing when they got three witnesses that say you threw the first punch and it just happened that you picked the wrong woman to hit this time.”
Walt's mouth moved a few times but no words came out. He took a couple of steps backwards, then turned and walked out the door.
“You two,” said Billy, pointing at the interns. “Back to work. Al, come with me.”
He waited until she passed him then walked along with her, steering her into the break room.
“Sit down,” he said as he pulled out a chair. Then he went to the cupboards and came back with a first aid kit.
“Sorry, Billy, that wasn't very professional.” Her head was down and she looked a bit dazed.
“Screw professional. He more than had it coming.”
She flinched as Billy took her hand and cleaned out the cuts with hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball.
“Al, when you told me about your deal, you didn't mention the time thing.”
She looked up and shrugged. “You know, all those details. It's hard to keep 'em straight, don't you think?”
Billy clapped her on the shoulder as he got up to get some ice from the freezer. “Al, you're a smart girl. Smarter than me, that's for sure. Was this all part of your plan?”
“What? You mean mislead your father so he comes back here all angry and then beat the crap out of him?” Her ponytail had come loose, but she couldn't tighten it with just one hand so she pulled the rubber band out, blonde curls falling onto her shoulders.
“Yeah. That's what I mean,” said Billy, handing her a plastic bag filled with ice.
“No. I wouldn't have touched him except for what he said about Tim. That just plain pissed me off because A.) he didn't mean it – he doesn't care and B.) even if he did mean it, he doesn't get the right to care anymore. I'd do anything for Tim, Billy. Anything.” Her voice was soft but her face had hardened into a determined stare, like she was daring the world to mess with her.
“I don't doubt that, Al. I don't doubt that at all,” said Billy, wishing that he could drag Tim back to Dillon so that he and Al could work things out. Timmy wasn't ever going to find a better woman for him than Al. Of that, Billy was certain.