The Perfect Patsy

One “NO!” I SCREAM. “THIS can’t be happening! Not again! How much can one man take in his life!” With as much drama as I can muster, I fling myself on the table and pound it with my fist as Helen says calmly, “That’ll be $1,200 dollars, darling.” “Why?” I cry. “Why?” “Because it's Park Place, and I own it.” Once again, the injustice of life mows me down as I declare bankruptcy for the third time this month. “I don’t even like this game,” I laugh. “I don’t know why we always play it.” “Hmm,” Helen says, arching one eyebrow as her lips form into a smirk. “Could it be because I like it and you love me?” I look at her and scowl. “Yes. Obviously. Why else would I subject myself to this torture?” I begin to put the game away as Helen moves from the card table to the couch, putting her stockinged feet on the coffee table and laying her head back on the couch. “I do love winning,” she sighs. “But you knew that about me.” “I just don’t know why we always have to play this game,” I say. “We have other games here in the Rectory.” “And what game would you prefer?” I have to consider her question for a moment. As a rule, I hate board games. Not because I lose—I’m not quite that immature—but because there’s something about sitting around a piece of cardboard and moving little pieces and rolling dice that just bores the heck out of me. But Helen loves board games, Monopoly in particular, and so we play board games. If I could just think of one that I was good at, that didn’t bore me to tears, and that she’d enjoy— I snap my fingers. “Risk,” I say, pointing at her for emphasis. “Risk, hmm?” she says. “Yeah,” I say. “I played that game all the time with Gus and Charlie when we were kids. I was pretty good at it, if I remember right.” “So you want to play a board game that you played with one friend who grew up to be a corrupt county sheriff, and another who grew up to become a s*x trafficker,” Helen says. “Are you sure that the game’s not cursed?” I cross my arms, c**k an eyebrow, and smile. “Are you worried, Chief Parr, that you might lose?” “Oh, you didn’t just say that,” she says, fixing me with a glare. “I know you didn’t just say that.” “So do you accept the challenge, Chief Parr?” “Oh, I welcome the challenge, Father Greer.” We shake hands, and Helen says, “Now, go get our beers. Whipping your butt again made me thirsty.” As I walk to the kitchen, I call over my shoulder, “You better be prepared for your own butt-whipping, Helen.” “Excuse me, Tom?” Anna says when she materializes in the kitchen. “Anna!” I say, startled. “Why are you coming in through the kitchen?” “I didn’t want to interrupt you and Helen,” Anna says with a grin. “But maybe it’s a good thing?” “We were talking about her beating me at Monopoly again.” “Ah,” she says, nodding her head. “Hi, Anna!” Helen calls from the living room. “Good evening, dear,” Anna responds. “How was your date with Bill?” I say, pleased that I can now ask that without hesitation. “Oh, just lovely,” Anna says with a smile. “He took me to this place that has dancing. I haven’t danced in, I don’t know, forty years, since the night of . . .” She stops herself and I notice a wistful look come into her eyes, not to mention her cheeks redden at whatever’s in her mind. “Well,” I say, “I’m glad you had fun. Going to bed?” “Yes,” she says, shaking herself out of her reverie. “I think I’ll get a basin of hot water and epsom salts and soak my feet. Good night, you two.” We wish her good night as she walks up the stairs to her room. As I walk into the living room, Helen puts her feet back up on the coffee table. I join her on the couch with our beers. “Wow. You were really enjoying Anna being out tonight, weren’t you?” “Yes,” she sighs. “Nothing says our chaperone is out on her own date like being able to prop my feet on this nasty old coffee table.” I sit down beside her and slip my arm around her. “Well, my darling, it's just going to have to be enough for another few months.” “I know,” she says, snuggling down into my shoulder. “And it is, for a few more months.” I am about to turn on the TV and look for something to watch when Helen’s phone rings. “Oh, da—rn,” she says as she reaches for her phone. “Are you going to need to go out?” I ask. Looking at the number, Helen shakes her head. “I don’t know. This isn’t the station.” She answers it, saying, “Chief Helen Parr. . . Oh, hi, Herman . . . Oh, that’s terrible. Is he going to be OK?” She listens as Herman answers her question, then says, “Sure, I can do that . . . No, not at all. I’ll be glad to. Yes, I can be there by lunchtime tomorrow.” She continues her conversation for a few more moments before hanging up. Looking at me, she says, “Well, Tom, I’m afraid I have to head home.” “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Is someone hurt?” “Yes, but thankfully not seriously. That was the sheriff of Braxton County. There’s a little town up there with only a police chief and one patrol officer. The chief is out of the country on a cruise and the officer just got hit while directing traffic. He’ll be fine, but he’s out of commission for a while. The sheriff can have someone answer calls tonight but he’s short-staffed as well.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “But what does that have to do with you?” “Well, one thing we discussed at the Chiefs’ meeting last month was covering for each other, so I am on the Emergency Contact List. I’ll drive up tomorrow and cover things until the Chief gets back on Sunday.” Of course, I knew things like this would come up for both of us from time to time. I say with as good grace as I can muster, “I’ll miss you, but I’m glad you can help. I guess Dan will mind the store here?” “Yeah, he can handle it just fine,” Helen says, grabbing her tote bag, “and it will only be for a few days.” “So,” I say as I walk her to the door, “since I’m sending you off to parts unknown in the next county, I guess I better give you something to remember me by.” Taking her in my arms, I give her what I hope is a memorable kiss and send her on her way. ***