by Colin Kersey
“Maybe,” she said. “What did you have in mind?” She studied the remaining wine in the light as if judging its worth, before finishing it in one large swig. “Not bad for a box wine.”
I smiled and went back to washing the pan.
“Mind washing this?” Vonda asked as she placed her now empty glass in the dishwater. She ran a soapy hand down my arm. Her fingers slid over mine.
“I like watching a man work with his hands.”
I stared at her in surprise. Was she flirting with me while her husband watched the news in the next room? It was obviously a joke, except Vonda was not laughing. She scooped up a handful of suds and dribbled them along my arm from just above my elbow to my wrist. Then she traced her fingers up along the ridge of my arm until the rolled-up sleeve of my shirt stopped her. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I suddenly felt like a kid in junior high dance class.
“I swear, you are so talkative,” she whispered. “I know you’re alive ‘cause I can hear your heart beating.”
“Vonda,” Stu’s voice called from the other room.
“Yes, sweetie?”
She pressed her breast against my arm, her pelvis against my hip, and I backed away. Since Heide had died, a Novocain-like numbness had suffused my brain. It was as if Heide had taken a part of me with her, leaving behind a refugee incapable of thinking beyond the most basic and immediate needs for survival. Now, the smell of Vonda’s perfume and her sexual teasing brought back the horror of watching my wife die while choking on her own blood.
“Where the hell did you disappear to?” Stu called.
“Just getting a refill,” she called back. “Can I get you anything? Another beer?” She dried her hands on the front of my shirt. “What’s the matter, Gray?” she whispered, “No desire?”
“You’re drunk.”
“Being drunk doesn’t even begin to acknowledge my problems.” She retrieved another glass from a cabinet and poured wine from a box in the fridge.
Stu appeared in the doorway. “What is taking you so long?” His eyes swung from Vonda to me.
“I was just asking Gray why he bothers to wash dishes. I don’t recall it being part of his job description.”
“I don’t care what extra chores he does,” Stu replied. “As long as he gets his maintenance work done, it’s fine by me.”
“Then so be it,” Vonda said. “We got ourselves a Jack-of-all-trades. Goodnight, Gray.” She took Stu’s arm with her free hand and they disappeared into the living room.
The next thing I knew, Valerie was standing beside me dressed in a shabby chenille robe, her hair still wet and uncombed.
“What was Vonda doing here?”
“Just getting more wine. Are she and Stu not getting along?”
“Not since he graduated from being a part-time prick to full-time.” Her eyes were closed, but she was facing me as if watching my mouth and listening to every syllable. “Did she say anything about me?”
“Why would she?”
“She likes to make snide comments about me like the one last night about not being able to see the conductor. I can hear the conductor tapping the baton before starting. That is all that matters. I know the music as well or better than he does.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
She reached out and touched my face with her fingers. Her fingers traced my cheek, then lingered on my lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For letting me ‘see’ you.”
On the way down to the cabin, I considered the obvious competitiveness between the sisters. I also thought about Vonda’s question. There wasn’t a simple answer why I appreciated helping Valerie with the dishes at night. How could I explain my gratitude for hiring me and giving me a place to stay without giving up my identity and the danger I was putting them in? Or, how a simple, mindless task like washing dishes could help prevent the howling of my heart from drowning me in despair.
***
Any idiot can make a sandwich. Even someone who is blind.
It is just about the most stupid, simple, boring thing there is. I always try to add something different—maybe even unique—for Gray. I want him to know he is special to me, more than Stu, Vonda, or even Daddy. I can only do so much since Vonda buys the groceries. Even if I print out a list from my computer with its Braille keyboard, she often does not pay attention to it. Consequently, we are always running out of things like coffee or toilet paper. Then I need to have the missing supplies delivered which is costly, seeing as how far out we live.
Going from cooking for Gray to doing his laundry was the most natural thing in the world. I enjoy making his things clean for him. Before I wash them, I like to breathe in the smell of his clothes. I already feel like he is my mate. He just does not know it yet. But he will soon if I have my way. And if Vonda doesn’t manage to fuck it up somehow.
“Whose clothes are those?” she asked when I was folding his laundry to take to him.
“They’re Gray’s. I washed them for him.”
“Jesus, Valerie,” she said. “Stu and Daddy know about this? Gray has not even been here a week and you are already making his lunches and washing his clothes. What’s next? Making his bed? Or was you thinking of maybe sleeping in it, too?”
“Don’t be silly.” I felt the heat spreading on my face and neck. “I’m just helping him out while he’s getting settled.”
“Well, a word of advice, dear sister. Don’t be counting your chickens before they hatch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She did not answer. I heard her footsteps as she left.
It was only later when I went to carry Gray’s clean clothes down to him that I realized she had taken them. “You fucking bitch!”
***
I woke to a clamor, a noise so raucous that further sleep was impossible. It sounded as if the cabin were surrounded by an army of frogs. How on earth had I missed this racket before? Then I recalled how quickly I had dropped off to sleep on my first few nights in the cabin, too exhausted to notice the late-night cacophony.
I got up and reached for a pair of jeans, wincing from the lingering pain in my ribs as I tugged them on and pulled the wool blanket over my shoulders. An abrupt silence fell over the amphibious assemblage as I stepped out onto the porch. There was a brief interlude and then the concert resumed, fortissimo.
A solitary star flickered among the clouds in the moonless sky before it winked out. I turned my attention to the hill where indistinct black shapes marked the house, barn, and trees. I touched my arm beneath the blanket where Vonda’s breast had rested earlier. I could still smell the Angel perfume and feel the heat of her breath against my throat. I wondered if her husband, Stu, was among the “problems” that she referred to. Vonda was just drunk and playing around, I decided, and I would do well to avoid her. The last thing I needed at this precarious time in my life was to get mixed up with a married woman, especially a woman married to Stu.
I wondered what the cartel killers were doing. Had they forgotten all about me? Or were they even now somehow piecing together where I had gone? I recalled the camera chip with the photo of whatever it was that Heide had not wanted me to see. Valerie had washed my jeans. Nervously, I reached a finger into the change pocket and determined that the chip was still there. I looked again at the starless night sky, then let out a long sigh.
Back under the covers, I shivered uncontrollably while waiting for the bedding to warm up and sleep to return. Bone-tired as I was, it was not a long wait.
At breakfast the next morning, I mentioned the frogs.
“Frogs?” Virgil halted a waffle-loaded fork midway to his mouth. “What frogs?”
I waited for a moment to make sure I was not being made sport of. “You haven’t heard them?”
“Not me. You hear ‘em, Val?”
“Sure.”
“Really? What about you, Stu?”
“I can barely hear anything what with Vonda’s snoring,” Stu said.
“Very many?” Virgil asked.
“You’ve got your own amphibian choir.”
Vonda walked in, dressed for work in a blouse, jacket, and short skirt, her high heels clicking on the linoleum floor. Stu turned in his chair as he made an obvious point of noticing her legs.
“What was that about a choir?” she asked.
“Dude says he heard a few frogs last night,” Stu said.
“Couple of glasses of wine in the evening and I wouldn’t know if there were a hundred yodelers and clog dancers next to the bed.” She smiled at me. “You ought to try it.”
“Couple of glasses?” Stu said. “More like a quart, I’d say. While you are passed out, I cannot sleep, thanks to all the thrashing around and snoring. Where did you get the skirt?”
“It’s an old one. Like it?” She made a pose that displayed her legs. They were nice legs.
“Kind of short for work, ain’t it?”
Vonda sat down and straightened her skirt with her hands. “This ain’t nothing. You should see what the other girls wear.”
“I don’t care what the other girls wear,” Stu said. “I didn’t marry them.”
“Oh, don’t be so picky.” She nudged him playfully.
Stu kept his head down as he continued to eat.
“I’ll change if it really bothers you.”
“What do you want to eat, Miss Universe? We ran out of caviar,” Valerie said.
I looked up from my scrambled eggs, but Vonda appeared either not to notice her sister’s sarcasm, or not to care. “Just toast and coffee, thanks.”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Valerie said, “I’ve been up since five making breakfast while you slept in.”
“You’re lucky you don’t have to work for a living,” Vonda said.
“Yeah, lucky me,” Valerie replied.
“Have you tried the blueberry preserves, Gray?” Vonda stuck her finger in the jar and licked it. “Positively yummy.”
“In case nobody noticed, we got a weekend coming up,” Virgil announced. “Opening Day is just six weeks away.”
Virgil’s revelation rechanneled my attention. Since Heide’s death, without a computer or cell phone to refer to, I could never remember what day it was. The truth was when you finally stripped life down to its most basic ingredients, coping became as simple—or as complicated—as surviving the next twenty-four hours.
“That means we need to gather up all the grass clippings, so they don’t lie there too long and kill the grass,” Virgil continued. “Stu will show you where we dump the sweeper. After we open, weekends will be our two busiest days, so Mondays and Tuesdays will be your days off, unless there is a holiday. Then it’ll be Tuesday and Wednesday.”
He turned his attention to Stu. “Monday, if the weather holds up, we ought to see about getting some fertilizer on the grass.”
Stu nodded. “I was planning to use a little ammonium nitrate on it as soon as we get all the grass clippings picked up.”
Virgil pointed a finger at me. “Remember to stay away from the uphill side of the ponds, Gray. If it rains and that stuff gets into the water, we could lose all our fish. Fertilizer is deadly.”
“Don’t you go killing off our fish, Gray,” Vonda said with a wink. “Save them for our guests.”
Virgil started to say something but was cut off by a scream. All heads including Patsy’s turned toward the kitchen. There was a sob followed by a gasp of pain. Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone rose from the table. Valerie appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, her face even more pale than normal.
“My hand.” She held up her right hand with her left. The slender blade of a fillet knife protruded from both sides. Blood ran in a rivulet down her arm.
“Lord have mercy,” Virgil said.
“I’m going to puke,” Vonda said.
Stu reached her first. “Hold still,” he ordered. He gripped her hand with one of his own and pulled the knife free. Blood filled her palm and dripped onto the floor.
I caught Valerie as her knees buckled and she slid to the floor. Blood darkened the front of her overalls where she clutched her wounded hand in her good one.
Flash. Boom.
I recalled Heide’s face as the blood sprayed from her mouth. I shook my head to prevent the horrific memory from overwhelming it.
“Here’s a towel for the blood,” Vonda said. She tried putting her arm around her sister, but Valerie shrunk from her touch as if scalded.
“I’ll get the car,” Virgil said. “Someone get her bandaged up so she don’t bleed on everything, and we’ll make a quick run to the ER.”
I squatted by Valerie with a dish towel and began to wrap her hand. “What happened?”
Valerie’s eyelids fluttered. “I was in a hurry,” she said. “Damn that hurts,” she added, a note of surprise in her voice. “I was reaching for a spoon and jammed the blade of the knife into my hand. Someone must have put it in the dishwasher the wrong way.”
Stu looked at me. “You loaded it. I saw you.”
His accusing tone stung me to the quick. “I didn’t put that knife in there.”
“Like hell you didn’t,” Stu said.
“Ease up,” Vonda said. “You don’t know for sure it was Gray,”
We heard the Cadillac come up the drive, engine roaring.
“Let’s get her in the car,” Stu said.
I scooped Valerie up, ignoring the stabbing pain in my ribs, and carried her out the door. Although she weighed less than Heide had by at least thirty or forty pounds, I was breathing hard by the time I reached the car. Virgil held the rear passenger door open and I set her carefully on the seat.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice ragged from exertion and pain. “I swear I don’t remember putting that knife in there.”
Her upper lip trembled as a single large tear plummeted down her cheek.
“Stay here,” Virgil said. “We’ll talk about this later.”
As I watched them drive away, the last thing I saw was Valerie’s pale face in the rear passenger window.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It did not take long to figure out how to hook up the large sweeper behind the Bull. Once it was full, however, I did not have a clue where to empty the grass clippings. I tried to ignore the tumult in my brain from Virgil’s parting words, Valerie’s accident, and Heide’s death to focus on where the obvious location for a compost heap would be. I remembered the pile of gravel Virgil had mentioned. It seemed like a good place to begin looking.
To the rear of the barn was a much smaller metal building with a double-wide garage door as well as a regular door. Both were locked. Around back, I found the gravel and a couple of old tires, also a small window with security bars. Curiosity aroused, I tried peeking inside, but plywood had been nailed over the inside of the glass.
A brief search turned up a neglected driveway overgrown with what I recognized from my previous landscaping job as thistle, timothy, and bromegrass, which quickly disappeared into a tangle of trees and dense, shrubby undergrowth. Lacking better options, I followed it.
The further I progressed into the damp and shady forest, the less promising the trail became. A pair of chickadees called back and forth and then fell silent as I approached. Ancient tire tracks were littered with fallen tree branches and the rotting trunk of a downed tree whose bark had long since fallen off, exposing the inner wood now infested with grubs. I was about to retrace my route back the way I had come when I spotted a large shape stored beneath a blue canvas tarpaulin.
On closer inspection, I learned that it was a wooden cabin cruiser. It appeared to have once been a well-made boat with attractive lines and a roomy cabin. Now, green mold discolored the peeling white paint and blackberry brambles had overgrown the stern on one side of the land-locked derelict. The tarpaulin cover was bleached almost white and the seams were splitting. I pulled a thorny cane back carefully from the stern until I was able to read the name printed in faded red script: Lucky
Lady, Anacortes.
I rested a hand on the boat as I pondered my current prospect. Above the canopy of tree branches, multi-storied clouds floated among a pale blue sky. I was no closer to finding the compost pile, not that it really mattered anymore. I was not looking forward to the meeting with Virgil.
Under normal conditions, I knew I was not stupid enough to put a carving knife in the dishwasher blade up. But my mind was still operating at half-power and subject to brownouts when overloaded so that I could not be sure that I had not done it.
“Neither of us appears to be very lucky right now,” I said to the abandoned cruiser.
Stu was waiting for me back at his desk in the barn.
“Where you been?” he asked. “Taking a nap?”
“I was looking for the compost pile to dump the clippings. How’s Valerie?”
“A couple of stitches and a fair amount of pain but missed the tendon. Won’t be able to use that hand for a month though, so we will get a little break from the viola playing. Can’t say as I mind.”
He shook his head, smiling to himself. “I knew you were a fuck-up from the first day I saw you, but that upside-down knife in the dishwasher took the cake. That was a nasty thing to do.”
Same old Stu.
“Where’s Virgil?” I figured I might as well get this over.
Virgil chose that moment to appear at the door to the barn.
“What’s going on here?” he asked. “You show Gray where to dump the grass yet?”
“Not yet,” Stu said.
“Then maybe I better. I expect you have got more important things to do. C’mon son. Let’s take a walk.”
We walked in silence past the large pond and the cabin toward the northeast corner of the property.
“You and Stu getting along?” Virgil asked.
I shrugged. “We disagree about a few things.”
“The accident being one of them, I suppose,” Virgil said. “I’ll be honest, young man. When I left home this morning, I was going to fire you. Not a doubt in my mind. Sitting in the hospital waiting room, I had time to calm down and think a little.”
He looked over at me. “Doesn’t mean I ain’t going to fire you. Just means I am willing to talk, maybe ask a few questions. That sound fair enough?”