Darlene and Kathy resumed preparing the family meal. Cornbread baked in the oven and fresh snapped beans steamed on the stove.
“He sure is cute momma.” Kathy chided herself for being so straightforward, but she sensed that her mother noticed it too.
“I noticed. Go get fixed up and we’ll see if he eyeballs you any over dinner.”
“What should I wear?”
“I don't know, honey; nothing too revealing. You don't want him thinking you’re a tramp from the wrong side of town.”
“I didn’t know this town even had sides, mom.” Kathy replied with a smile and hurried out of the kitchen through the living room.
Ransom cocked his head over the sofa as she passed, but turned back again when he saw that she noticed him watching her.
“You have a lovely family, Mr. Barton.”
“Please, for God’s sakes, call me ‘Paul.’ Mr. Barton is an old fart we put in the ground about six years ago. I believe it was six years ago.”
Barton yelled to the kitchen, “Baby doll, how along ago was it we buried dad, six years ago?”
Darlene didn’t emerge from the kitchen, she merely shouted back at her husband. “It was seven years ago, dear. Kathy just turned eleven. You remember, Doc said she had "post traumatic death syndrome" or something like that.”
“Yeah, it was real hard on Kathy. She was papa’s little girl. She spent the next six months thinking she was going to die young. Only the good die young though!” Mayor Barton ended with a deep laugh that Ransom found to be out of place and discomforting.
Darlene popped her head out from the kitchen to let Paul know that dinner was about ready.
“We ain’t got much time honey, hope you didn't go to much trouble.” Paul winked at Ransom and struck him in the ribs with a firm elbow.
“Hey, if you need to wash up the bathroom is the second door on the left down the hall.” Barton pointed the way.
Happy to excuse himself, Ransom said thank you and headed down the hallway. When he passed the first door on the right, he inadvertently glanced inside just in time to see Kathy pulling a top over her head. Her black bra screamed back at him and though every instinct in him said to keep on walking, he couldn’t help but stop a moment. As Kathy’s head emerged from beneath the fabric, she looked over to see Ransom unable to peel his eyes away. Instead of lowering her shirt quickly, she smiled nonchalantly at him.
Completely embarrassed, Ransom continued down the hall toward the bathroom. He slipped past the door and shut it firmly in place, letting out a wanton sigh of both relief and angst. As Ransom washed his hands, he noticed a framed newspaper article hanging on the wall directly above the sink.
“Barton's 23 Tackles lead BHS in Championship Game." The headline read. Paul really was a football hero, he thought to himself.
Returning down the hall, Ransom found Kathy leaning in the doorway to her bedroom. She was smirking, obviously waiting to see the look on face as he returned.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“A little.” Ransom said.
“You know I really love meatloaf.” Kathy said seductively.
Ransom turned away to continue down the hall and muttered under his breath, “Only the good die young.” Apparently, he was louder than he thought.
“Dying on your mind, Mr. Ransom?” Kathy spoke from down the hall. He decided to stop rather than risk having this conversation flow all the way into the living room.
“Hardly.”
“Me either. I just turned 18 you know.”
“And I'm about to turn 31.” Ransom said abruptly, feeling like he was being pulled in, lassoed by a girl on a mission.
“I could show you around the town later tonight...”
“That shouldn't take long.” He was trying to end the conversation abruptly before it was too late.
“It's not New York I'm sure. But I bet I could show you a thing or two.” Kathy winked and Ransom winced. This could prove to be more dangerous than he imagined: a crazed mayor’s daughter in a small town latching on to a young reporter from miles away. It had all the makings of a tragedy.
Luckily, from the distance Mayor Barton’s voice issued a call that the table was set and ready.
A novel, presented in chapters.
A small town high school football team has gone largely unrecognized after forty years of consecutive wins and a young, ambitious reporter uncovers a stunning secret—behind the small town values and string of impressive athletic victories hides a bizarre pre-game ritual: each player must rub the bulging tumor of their school janitor for good luck. As the janitor's health begins to fade, the town unites around the local body politic to push for the world's first ever tumor transplant in a crazed attempt to save their winning streak. The transplant fails, creating even more fevered desperation to win at least one more game. The town’s proposed solution is both as sickening as it is outrageous: players will consume the tumor during a special called Eucharist served up by the town minister, thereby demonstrating just how far a group will go to stay on top in the ‘dog eat dog’ world of high school athletics.
This book is in no way meant to make light of the terrible disease of cancer, which took my grandfather and many others I have loved. It's a metaphor for a different kind of illness.
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