Because of Jane. Lenora Worth
her guilt about that aside, she rushed around stripping off her business clothes with one hand while she talked into the tiny machine which she held in her other hand.
“Subject seems unwilling to try therapy. Concerned that he might be hostile toward working through his problems. (Big surprise, that!) Note: He did make me some food and he can be very pleasant when he sets his mind to it. But it’s all an act, I think. He needs to clean up his clutter, both emotionally and in his physical residence. Messy and overstuffed in both areas! Subject seems extremely attached to his grandmother’s possessions. Refusal to maintain contact with friends and coworkers indicates a deep-seated need to connect with something from his past—something he has lost.” She stopped, took a long breath. “Saw a bit of hope when he turned soft and told me I should leave. It wasn’t a threat. It was more of a plea. I think I’ve made a hint of progress. And for that reason, I think I need to stay.”
A paradox, Jane thought as she shut off the tape machine then put it on the old walnut chest of drawers. Lenny looked so out of place in this bulging antique-filled house. And yet, he seemed right at home here, too.
“I think he has a heart,” Jane said as she pulled on an old pink T-shirt she’d brought to sleep in. “I intend to find that heart and get it back into shape. And I also intend to find out why Lenny refuses to get back into action. Does he truly want to retire from all public life, or is he just scared of failing? Does this cluttered house bring him comfort, or keep him from going through his real feelings? He’s stuck in the past so he can’t commit to the future.”
No way was she leaving now. This challenge was too important, for her career and also…for Lenny.
Suddenly excited about the prospect of helping Lenny to deal with his problems, Jane delved into her findings with renewed energy. She quickly plugged in her 3G Internet card and pulled up information on hog farms, scribbling notes and making faces about what the poor animals had to endure. Soon, she had information on peewee football, too. She might be a fish out of water, but she could swim upstream if need be.
A loud knock followed by Lenny’s bellowing voice brought her head up. “How long does it take to put on a pair of pants, Coach?”
“Oh, I’m almost ready,” Jane said, grabbing the jeans she’d tossed on the bed. He’d called her Coach—a term of acceptance if she’d ever heard one. That was a good sign, a very good sign.
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, Jane wondered if she’d died and gone down below. It was that hot and miserable and stinky in the pigpen. And these animals—brutes, all of them! They snorted and pushed and gobbled and drooled in such disgusting, sickening ways. And the stench! Wishing she had on a protective face mask, Jane tried not to inhale too deeply as she distributed grain, old fruit and wilted vegetables to a passel of grunting, rooting animals.
This was not exactly the industrial-sized operation of a real pig farm; it was more like a few sows and one very-pleased-with-himself, ton-sized boar hog who’d obviously sired the twenty or so squeaking, squealing piglets of various sizes and shapes. No, this was more like an old-fashioned pigsty.
And it smelled worse than anything Jane had ever sniffed in her life.
Reminding herself that she had to get through this first test in order to show Lenny she had staying power, Jane tossed more pig feed into a dirty metal trough and waited for the onslaught of muddy sows and squealing older piglets. Gingerly stepping out of the way, she turned to survey the round pigpen. This was the last of the feed and every trough had been filled. Her work here was done.
Turning with a satisfied smile on her face, she saw Lenny sitting on the wood-and-wire fence, grinning at her, the smirk of his trickery evident on his face.
“How’s it going out there, Coach?”
Jane held her pristine smile in place, in spite of the thumping beat of elevated blood pressure in her temples. “Just dandy.” She sneezed. “These piglets are so adorable.” Then she added a few choice suggestions. “Tell me, though, have you ever considered using sow stalls or gestation crates to lower your birth production costs? And what about iron? Are these piglets getting daily doses? You know, you could probably produce a better pig if you take my advice.”
The proud smirk left Lenny’s face as he hopped off the fence and came stomping through the mud toward her. “This isn’t some mass market pig farm, Ms. Harper. This is just me—trying to do what my granddaddy always did—raise a few animals for meat.”
Jane gasped. “For meat? You mean you’re going to send all of these cute little pink pigs to the slaughterhouse.”
His laugh was as coarse as a hog’s snort. “Of course. That’s what the fancy farms do. Or did you think I was raising them for pets?”
Jane glanced around, eyeing one particular little runt who couldn’t seem to get anywhere with either the grain or his mama sow’s offers of dinner. “But, Lenny, look at him. He’s so precious. You can’t mean to send him into such a horrible death.”
“Now don’t go all PETA on me,” Lenny said, reaching out to take the empty grain bucket from her. “This is just a way of life on the farm. Always has been.”
“But Precious there shouldn’t have to give his life just so you can have bacon for breakfast.”
He glared at her then frowned at the struggling little piggy. “That pig’s getting all he needs from his mother. He’s growing up just fine. I let him out of the stall last week. He’ll be all right until he’s full grown. So stop worrying over him like an old mother hen. Besides, that sow isn’t exactly fawning all over the little runt.”
“You obviously know nothing about a mother’s love for her child,” Jane said, trying to find his sensitive side.
That tack didn’t work.
His glare changed into a look Jane would never forget. He stepped toward her, then stepped back, his face red with anger, his eyes igniting in a blue-colored flame. “You have no idea what I know about that,” he said as he reached to yank the bucket from her.
Jane held it back, realizing she’d stumbled onto something that Lenny had buried deep inside himself. “I’d like to know all about you.”
“I’m warning you to stop,” Lenny said. “Don’t ask me another question. I don’t want you picking my brain.”
She had one more question that needed to be asked. “About clutter or your mother?”
That did it. He grabbed for the bucket while Jane stepped backward to keep it from him. Just as he caught at the old, dirty bucket, his foot slipped in the slimy mud. He moved in slow motion toward Jane, his hand reaching for her arm. Then she started slipping with him, right into the middle of all the piglets.
Jane tried to stop the fall, but it was too late. And Lenny, realizing what was about to happen, tried to keep them both balanced. But his efforts were in vain. All he could do was hold on as they both slid with a sickening thud right into the dirty wallow of pig heaven.
“Oh, no,” Jane screamed as the bucket went in one direction and her legs went in the other. “Lenny!”
He held her close enough to manage to take the brunt of the fall, but before it was over they were tangled together in wet, coffee-colored mud. With squealing, pushing hogs and pigs all around them.
Jane looked up to find Lenny’s eyes on her, his expression bordering on confused and contrite. “Are you all right?” he asked, huffing as he tried to sit up.
But he kept slipping back down and taking her with him. Jane screamed then tried to stand. She felt as if she were caught in quicksand. “Uh, oh. I can’t—”
Then they heard a deep-bellied grunt, followed by the sound of agitated boar flesh heading in their direction.
“Lenny?” Jane managed to point with one mud-caked finger toward the boar. “Is he mad?”
Lenny glanced over his shoulder then said something