Musings – on the editor’s mind

McCoy could not wait for happy hour at the Tav – and the bar did not have reduced prices anyway. Though he almost never called his friend, he did now. Hatfield had not gotten through hello when McCoy jumped in.

“That Bubba Smith, you won't believe it. I don't believe it. He won't get away with it. No one's going to accept his cockamamie story.”

This was McCoy red hot upset. Hatfield tried to get him to start at the beginning.

“Bubba Smith. Your pappy's friend? You haven't mentioned him in decades, back to the 1980s. Where did he come from?”

“It is a letter, Hat. Sent certified mail. But worse, my papa's signature is at the bottom. And the damn thing is notarized.”

Hatfield sought clarity. “Alright, your dad signed a letter, but what's with the notary? And what does the letter say?”

“Well, it's not a letter, actually. It is an agreement. And it is worse.“You won't believe this. Pap borrowed $10,000 from Bubba in 1986. That must be how we got out here. Pap went to Bubba to stake the family's move. The agreement has terms but Pappy died without paying him back. Now Bubba is sending the agreement to me and wants me to execute it. There's a word. I am done for.”

Hatfield paused, trying to help with a plan. “Jeez, that was over 35 years ago. Tell him it isn't valid. Tell him that was between him and your parents and that it died when your momma passed away. What do you think? Can you tell him that and get out of it?”

Now McCoy was silent. He looked out his window, out past the fields and road and haystack hills and sought the future. He took a breath, straightened from his slouch and spoke deliberately.

“Hat,” he said and repeated that, as if steadying himself. “Hat, I can't do that. My dad signed it. He used a notary for a reason. He signed it and took Bubba's money for a reason, to ensure the family's future. He did what he meant to do. I don't ever recall him talking about it, saying he made that agreement, but it is real.” McCoy went quiet.

“McCoy,” Hatfield ventured. “What are you going to do?”

“Hat, sure as last spring's rain, I am going to pay it back. That is a McCoy signature. I am a McCoy. Whether my pap told me about it or not, he made an agreement. I am his son. Blood is blood and time doesn't fade or wash it away. Pap made a deal in the family name. He did it for a reason and had a purpose. I am family. It is up to me to followthrough. I am going to follow through.”

Hatfield snorted, blew his nose and whistled through his teeth. “You know, McCoy, that is just what your pap would expect. You got it right, blood is blood and a signature on the paper doesn't fade away. Your kids and your friends will stand with you on this. How can I help?