It's lucky for all concerned that Rhonda Attwood is an uncommonly stubborn woman.
Reading Better Off Dead is no picnic. I found myself close to tears at times as I read the last few entries and realized that Joey had not been able to live to see the fruition of some of the potential he was showing, both as a writer and as a human being.
No matter how the book is received by the public, though, Ralph Ames has managed to come up with a financial arrangement that will probably pay for Michelle Owens' education and maybe more besides.
Ralph also tells me that the Crenshaws have sold out their interest in Ironwood Ranch. I don't know where Louise and Calvin have gone, but the ranch itself has been purchased by a consortium that includes Burton Joe as the temporary executive director.
I've been in touch with Delcia. Criminal charges have been filed against the prosecutor in Maricopa County on the MIP plea-bargaining case. So far, though, Sheriff Heagerty seems to have escaped unscathed. He used his influence to keep Ironwood Ranch from getting any adverse publicity, but so far Delcia hasn't uncovered anything illegal. One can only hope, however, that the next time there's an election, the voters will speak and this cloud will come back to haunt him.
So the Crenshaws have gone to ground. They may be truly screwy people, but the program at Ironwood Ranch isn't all bad. Flawed people can still do good work. As I sit here tonight, drinking coffee instead of my former drink of choice, I know that woudln't be happening without my having gone there. I know too that if I'm going to stay sober, it's up to me and nobody else.
Ralph asked me if I wanted to invest in the consortium, but I told him I thought I'd pass. Ironwood Ranch is fine, but I don't want to have anything more to do with it. Ever.
So it would seem as though everything was coming up roses, but as I've walked around here in Seattle this past month, working again and trying to stitch my life back together one day at a time, there's been a lingering hurt, one continuing fly in my ointment, and that is Jennifer Rothman.
I've had some late-night arguments with God about her, demanding to know how come the innocent have to suffer right along with the guilty.
This morning I got my answer.
A package was delivered to me down at the department. Inside I found two things, one a matted painting-a handsome watercolor portrait of me painted from that rough sketch Rhonda did and signed by the artist herself. Ralph tells me it'll probably be valuable someday, so I'd better frame it and take care of it.
The other was a note:
Dear Beau,
Just thought I'd let you know that JoJo's attorney has been in touch asking if I would be willing to take care of Jennifer. If you've read Joey's book, and Ralph tells me you have, then you know my answer. I figure the more the merrier.
Come visit us soon.
R.
