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I can’t help but glance back in my rearview mirror after I navigate my truck back down the driveway and drive away.
I see months and months of hard work growing smaller and smaller. And in the middle of it all, there’s that woman, arms still crossed, scowl still written across her beautiful face.
When we’re down the street a little, and I have better reception, I call Coral, my assistant.
“Good evening, Mr. Cornel,” she greets me, bright and cheery. I can tell by the sounds of nature and cars in the background that she isn’t in the office. But that’s fine. She had asked me if she could take on some extra side work for James Dirk, a colleague of mine, in order to afford a surgery for one of her kids, so she must be out doing that.
“Please transfer me to Ernie Cullens,” I say. It comes out a little short, but Coral’s worked with me for so long that she’s used to my moods.
“You got it,” she says.
“Hello?” the elderly gentleman says, picking up the phone after a few rings.
“Mr. Cullens?” I ask.
He coughs as if to clear his throat. “Yes.”
“This is Dean Cornel.” I wonder if he can hear my badly concealed frustration through the phone.
“Oh…” Apparently, he can. Good.
“I’m calling because I just paid a little visit to the land that I thought you’d agreed to sell to me—”
“Yes,” Ernie says, interrupting me. “I meant to give you a call about that. I’m sorry our deal fell through. But Bob Dale’s an old military friend of mine. Plus, he offered way above what I was asking.”
“So did I.” I had offered him the kind of money that changes people’s lives.
“His was higher. Plus, you have to admit that you were kind of dragging your feet. And I told you from the start that I was eager to sell. Marge and I have already moved down to Florida, and we needed the money to pay off our condominium.”
I wasn’t ‘dragging my feet’ as he accused me of doing. I was waiting on land documents before I could make an offer.
“But the plot next door’s also for sale,” Ernie adds. “Or at least it’s about to be put up on the market.”
I can feel my anger melting away from me the farther we get from the farm. Deals fall through. It sucks, but it’s all part of the job. If I didn’t know how to bounce back from a setback well, I wouldn’t be the successful businessman I am today. Still, Ernie’s words release the last of the tension from my shoulders. How can I not be happy for him and his wife, as they are financially free from their farm and able to fully enjoy their move to Florida.
“Really? How do you know that, Ernie?” I ask.
“Because Rich Dunning has been our neighbor since we bought the land, and we’ve grown close to him and his wife. I guess he was inspired by Marge and me, trading the grueling work on the farm for relaxing by the ocean every day.” I have to admit Ernie’s retirement even sounds appealing to me, I think.
“Would you mind giving me Rich’s contact information?” I ask, my heart still pounding from the loss of my original deal.
“Not at all.” He gives me the number, and after a bit of prodding and a stern look, my son takes it down on his phone.
“Thanks very much, Ernie.” Things are looking up again. I almost can’t believe it, but my gut tells me this new deal might be even better than the last.
“No problem. Sorry again.”
“Hey, it’s just business, right?” I joke, but I do sense my teeth on their way to a clench. “Okay. Have a good night, sir.”
After my initial reaction, I have to believe that Ernie and Marge are good people, and that the decision wasn’t malicious. They’re just trying to enjoy their retirement. I can’t blame them for that. I can only hope that I might be as happy when I’m their age, with grown kids and a strong marriage.
I thought that’s what my ex-wife Anna and I would have. But she destroyed all hope of that when she abandoned our family and ran away to L.A. with the pool boy. Talk about cliché! Dylan was eight and was totally devastated. He tells me that he is “okay” now, but that’s a huge blow to a child that can never really go away. I do everything I can think of to help him. Counseling helped both of us at the time, and I keep my eyes and ears open to any need like that now. With my current futile dating record, I might never achieve that kind of relationship again, so I work to keep our current situation a positive and loving one.
Wow, where did that all come from? Snapping my mind back to the present, I ask Dylan, “What is that number again?”
He sighs and grabs my phone, typing in the number so I can keep my eyes on the road.
“Hello. Mr. Richard Dunning?” I ask, when he picks up.
