Page 89 of Head Room

As Victor said, it could stand for Finance Management Technician.Also Field Maintenance Team.Or Federal Medication Terminology.Or Family Member Travel.Or about a dozen other things, including Fort McHenry Tunnel, which I knew from my years in Washington, D.C., was where I-95 went under the Patapsco River in Baltimore.

In other words, FMT could mean almost anything unless you knew a context.

With the context Victor gave, it got me in the financial neighborhood.But the Army information on the job came nowhere near providing a street address.Lots of terms like budgeting, processing, disbursing, accounting.And a few phrases about Financial Management Technicians technically working with the management of finances.

Yeah, real helpful.

It said math skills were required.Made sense.

It also included Nance would have been enlisted, since officers were FMOs — Financial Management Officers.Funny how that works.

Jobs it might translate to as a civilian were listed as bookkeeping, accounting, billing, payroll, budget analysts, and up to treasurer or comptroller.

Didn’t sound like Nance reached that level.None of those jobs matched with the concept of being a free agent who came and went.

“Tom, do you know a vet they call Nance?”

“Met him.No more.Why?”

“He’s not around.He had some connection to the sergeant, was curious about that land deal they’re trying to do with the museum.What else do you know about that?”

He glanced at me a moment before the road recalled his attention.“Like I told you, they’re negotiating with the museum for acres on the west end of their holdings, up against national forest lands.The parcel would border on the Circle B some, but it’s back where we don’t run cattle.I should have asked you—”

“No, you shouldn’t.And that’s not why I asked.Who are they dealing with?The museum board?Or...?”

“Clara and Mrs.Parens are handling negotiations, with final approval by the board.I don’t know the ins and outs.I understand James is involved, a facilitator, getting them past bumps.”

James Longbaugh was Cottonwood County’s most eminent member of the bar.

Don’t get too excited.There are only a handful of them.And he had absolutely no competition from Jay Haus.

James also was terminally discreet.Not quite to Mrs.P’s level, but close.

My first stop would be Clara Atwood, the museum curator.She had buttons I could push to possibly get more information.

I must have been silent for a while, because Tom cleared his throat to get my attention.

“Something else on your mind, Elizabeth?”

“Yeah.The younger guy — Zeke — said Nance is a friend of his brother’s.Then he said his brother wasright.Do you know what that means?”

“Can’t tell you what he meant byright.But his brother’s married, has a family, good job in Madison, Wisconsin.”

We looked at each other for a long moment.

I swallowed.“One brother comes backrightand another...”

“It’s not a life like his brother’s, but these guys have found a place and a life and a set of comrades who leave them the space they need.They’re a lot better off than some others.”

“I know.”And I did.It still hurt my heart.

****

My parents arrivetomorrow.

Caller ID on the incoming call brought the phrase from the background to the forefront of my mind.

“Can you look at the spreadsheet I just sent?”Mom asked without saying hello.