Free Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors by Sr. David O. Dyer Page B

furniture stored in the barn you could use?” Sandra asked.
    “Too nice for Bobby,” was the reply.
    “We're not going to use it. If it's in good condition it's a shame to let it just sit there."
    Bobby returned to his one nod reply. “Clean now,” he said. He turned towards the door as Tim stood up, then turned back and extended his hand to Tim. “Like,” was his final comment.
    When Bobby closed the door behind him, Tim turned to Sandra and said, “I thought you were going to sort clothes today."
    “I'm pouting,” she pretended through puckered lips. “You barely know Bobby, but you just committed over $75,000 to him. You haven't offered me anything."
    “I barely know you either, and besides, I need Bobby.” The implication clearly was that he didn't need her. “I knew that Bobby wanted to continue working here. Remember the night we met him he mentioned twice that Mr. Coan had told him he would have to move out when I arrived?"
    “So?"
    “I need Bobby and I knew what his basic plan was. I now know what my basic plan is. I have no idea what is going on in your pretty little brain. You come up with a plan for yourself and we'll talk about it."
    Her tears surprised Sandra and she burst from the room.
    “Damn,” Tim exclaimed, but the sound of the slamming door kept her from hearing.
    Tim slumped to his desk and put a big check mark beside “Work out agreement with Bobby."
* * * *
    Sandra initially worked furiously, dumping out dresser drawers onto the bed, sorting the contents into a “possibly” stack and a “no way” stack. “Wants a plan, does he,” she muttered, not aware she was speaking aloud. “I'm gonna steal his ass blind and get the hell out of Dodge. That's my fucking plan, Tim Dollar.” Visions of Silas Marner bathing his hands in gold danced in her mind. “Told me there was only enough money to get by on. Crap. He has a damn fortune. I'm gonna get my share, damn it. He owes me."
    She sat on the bed and burst into tears again. No he doesn't, she argued with herself. What would have happened to me if Tim had not come along? He sure as hell enjoyed me last night, though. The internal debate continued. So he ejaculated. He could have done that with his hand—without me. I'm the one who enjoyed it. How did that happen? Hank was so big. Tim's is so small. Must be the way he used it. Damn, he just lay there. Must be the way I used it—I used him. Damn. That's it. He wants to use Bobby and is willing to pay for it. He has no use for me.
    She stretched out on the bed. Visions of Silas Marner returned. Wait a minute, she thought. Do I want to be Silas, earning and enjoying my gold, or do I want to be Dunstan, stealing and enjoying the gold? Old Silas worked his ass off and now is crying in his beer. Dunstan never worked a day in his life, and now he is off somewhere having the time of his life with Silas’ gold. But is he truly enjoying it? The whole time I was with the Van Fans I lived on other people's money and I enjoyed it. “The hell I did. Screwing fat old men and rolling drunks is hard work. Dunstan just waltzed in, found the gold and slipped out into the night. I'll bet he's having a great time.” She was again talking aloud.
    Bobby slipped back down the hall. This time when he approached, he made some noise with the vacuum cleaner. “Sortin’ clothes? Clean room Friday,” he said.
    “I have made a mess, haven't I?” Sandra replied, trying to hide her tear-stained face. “I'm not making much progress. I think I'll read for a while and try again after lunch."
    “What you do with old clothes?"
    “Some of them ... most of them I can use I think. The rest we are going to throw away or give to Goodwill or something."
    “Mr. Harlow clothes?"
    “Tim wanted me to just dump his uncle's clothes in a bedroom until we have time to haul off..."
    “I do Mr. Harlow."
    “Great,” Sandra said, and then realized Bobby had something else in mind. “Bobby, I'll bet you could wear Tim's