In Search Of Dreams

Episode 8

Lori watches the musicians drive away and is
about to turn back into the house when she
sees a large, young, white man standing
hesitantly at the edge of her yard, clutching a
hat in his hands.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asks, stepping over.

“Are you Lori Thompson?” he asks. His
northern-accented voice is vaguely familiar.

“Yes,” she says carefully. The man is gigantic,
six and a half feet tall, and he appears to be
carved out of solid muscle. But his face is
gentle and open. And sad.

“We spoke on the phone a few days ago, miss.
I’m Percy Andersen. I just wanted to come and
say I’m sorry in person.”

“Oh… thank you,” she says. “Would you like
something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m just on my way home, and…”
he turns, hearing voices approaching. “Guys,” he
nods at about a dozen men, mostly black, a few
white, in work clothes, as they approach.

“Mr. Andersen,” a few of them say. They stop
near him. “See you had the same idea, boss.”

Percy nods. “I wanted to come pay my respects,
same as you.”

“Please, come in, folks. I’m sure there’s still
some food left.”

They file through, coming into the backyard,
stopping to hug Lori or offer their condolences
or both before a few of them go up into the
back door of the house.

“Elliot inside?” one asks.

“I reckon so,” Lori nods. She notices that
Percy is still standing to the side, as if he
wasn’t finished with their conversation. Two
others, Duncan and another man she think is
named Ezra, hover nearby as well, talking to
each other quietly. They glance at Percy
questioningly, and he nods, his face tight.

“Lori,” Duncan steps forward. “We got
somethin’ on our minds we wanna share with
ya.” He glances at the other two, and they nod
encouragingly.

“Okay,” she says, wondering what this is about.

The three men step fully into the yard now,
even Percy, and they usher Lori a short
distance from the house, away from other ears.

“Lori, this is Ezra Johnson,” Duncan introduces
the other man.

“Miss,” he nods sadly. He looks like he has the
weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Ezra was…” Duncan starts, glancing at his
friend.

“I was the one drivin’ the truck,” he says softly.

“I can’t even say…”

“It’s all right, Ezra. It was an accident,” Lori
says, touching the man’s arm as he fights with
tears.

“That’s what we want to tell you, miss,” Percy
says quietly. “Your father’s death was an
accident that could have been prevented.

Should have been prevented.”

“What?”

“That fool truck was in no shape to be drove,”
Duncan states, his face clouding. “We tole all
the right people. Mr. Andersen here put in the
paperwork for the repairs.”

Percy nods. “I did. I swear on my grandmother’s
life that I did.”

“We knew it was in no shape to be drove. But
we had to drive it ’cause we can’t work with
one fork truck,” Duncan says. “The brakes was
bad, the steering was off, the tires was old.”

“Could hardly control the thing,” Ezra adds
quietly, wiping his haunted face.

Lori is dumbstruck, listening to all this. What
do I do? Can I do anything? “What are y’all
saying?”

“Lori, do you know any lawyers?” Percy asks.

Lori’s mind drifts to her nightstand and its top
drawer. Tucked inside is a pristine white
handkerchief, pressed and folded carefully.

Sitting on top of it is a business card.

“Yes, I think I do,” she answers quietly.