The Gamble
Page 23
“Max, seeing as you’re a man and you brought this up then my question would be, do you have a problem with it?”
“Nope,” he replied immediately.
“Then why are we talking about this?”
We’d driven out of town and he made a turn into a residential area as he said, “You get used to that kind of life.”
“What kind of life?”
“The life you get bein’ with someone who’s loaded.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed.
“Duchess, not sure I get what’s funny,” Max said over my laughter.
I shook my head and looked out the windshield. “It isn’t exactly champagne and caviar on his yacht. He doesn’t own a yacht and I’ve never tasted caviar. Niles mostly watches TV.”
Max made another turn out of the residential area, up an incline and asked, “TV?”
“TV,” I repeated.
“Think things’ll be more excitin’ in the mountains, babe.”
He could say that again. Though I wondered why he said it at all.
After we went up a ways, he pulled into a lane that led up to a huge, nearly ostentatious, weirdly almost overbearing house that looked down on the town as I said, “Now, can I ask, why we’re talking about this?”
He stopped in front of the house, turned off the ignition, undid his seatbelt, I undid mine and Max twisted to me, draping one forearm over the steering wheel.
“Why?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why?”
He looked slightly thrown, slightly annoyed. “Are you kiddin’?”
I felt my brows draw together in puzzlement and I replied, “No, I’m not.”
“Duchess, what do you think is happenin’ here?” he asked, his hand at the steering wheel flipping out with his question, now he sounded slightly annoyed, slightly incredulous.
The claw was long gone, now my insides were seized with something else. It didn’t feel bad, entirely, but it was still downright terrifying.
“Max.”
He took his forearm from the steering wheel, reached out, hooked me at the back of my neck and leaned toward me as he pulled me toward him.
When we were close, he started talking. “You got a lot to think about but today you proved you can handle it so I’m layin’ it out. When I say I want to explore this, what happens this afternoon is half as good as the promise of you, I mean that seriously. And I sure as hell am not gonna fuck around with this over an ocean and I’m also not leavin’ my land. So that means you come here. You need to visit there, we’ll do it as often as we can but you’ll be here, with me, on my land. Yeah?”
“Sorry?” I whispered, now I was thrown, so thrown I was having trouble breathing because I was mentally trying to catch up and he shook his head impatiently.
“I’m not doin’ that long distance shit,” he explained.
“Long distance shit?” I repeated, still whispering.
“Nina, we’re as good together when we’ve actually been together as we are now, when we haven’t, I’m not havin’ you sleep in a bed half a world away from me.”
“We’re good together?” Yes, I was still whispering.
“You had better?”
“No,” I said before I thought better of it.
His face got soft and he murmured strangely, “Yeah.”
I blinked then stammered, “Are you saying you want me to… to… to move in?”
He smiled and replied, “It works out, Duchess, I don’t wanna live in the A-Frame while you take a house in town.”
“So, essentially, you’re telling me to move to Colorado?”
“Nothin’ ‘essentially’ about it.”
“But, I live in Charlie’s house,” I whispered and held my breath.
He didn’t do what I thought he’d do or was conditioned to a man doing.
Instead, his face got even softer, his smile died and muttered, “Fuck.”
“Max –”
“You don’t want to let it go,” he surmised astutely.
“It’s all I have left of him.”
Max’s eyes held mine for a long time.
Then he sighed heavily, gave my neck a squeeze and declared, “We’ll work somethin’ out.”
This surprised me so much I didn’t process what he was saying.
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ll work somethin’ out.”
“What will we work out?”
“I don’t know, somethin’.”
“Max –”
He brought me even closer and he said in a voice that was strangely fierce and vibrating, “Listen to me, Duchess, you got somethin’ good, you got somethin’ solid, you find a way to work shit out. Your brother’s place means somethin’ to you then we’ll work somethin’ out.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed which was what, I suspected, if the moment was verbalized, any woman would breathe when she figured out she was falling in love with a Colorado Mountain Man she barely knew but that knowledge hit her with the certainty a freight train.
“What?” Max asked.
“Nothing,” I said quickly to cover.
He examined my face for a moment and he did this with an intensity that made me feel more than a little exposed before he said softly, “Crack.”
“Sorry?”
He smiled, looking satisfied, and finished, “In your shield.”
Yes, I was right. Exposed but more than a little.
Before I could say a word, he brought me to him, touched his mouth to mine and then, when he pulled away, he muttered, “We’ll talk tonight.”
Then he let me go, turned and got out of the Cherokee.
I followed but I did it a lot slower, mostly because my legs were shaking.
I rounded the hood and looked up at the extravagant house. A woman in a wheelchair was sitting waiting for us just outside the front door. She was watching me as I got close to Max; he took my hand and led us up the steps.
I was a little surprised by her. She had shining, heavy hair that wasn’t light brown but wasn’t dark either and had what appeared to be natural and appealing auburn highlights. She was dressed fashionably in a lovely, soft yellow sweater, jeans and boots, all, I noticed with a practiced eye, superb quality. She didn’t look like she lived in that chair. Instead she looked like she’d just sat down in it to take a load off. As we got close I saw she had a hint of a healthy, becoming tan and she was smiling at Max and me. Her smile was small but it was also genuine and friendly.
“Nina,” she said, “’spect you know I’ve heard a lot about you,” she finished and lifted her hand toward me when Max and I made it to within a few feet of her chair.
“Yes, I figured that,” I smiled back. “And you’re Bitsy,” I greeted, taking her hand.
She gave me a firm squeeze and then dropped mine.
“Yep, that’s me, Bitsy, new widow,” she replied and I realized under her healthy tan and smiling face, she looked tired. Her words weren’t sour, just real with a hint of forlorn she didn’t try to hide, both making them heartbreaking.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.
“You, me and Shauna Fontaine are the only ones in town who are,” she responded with brutal honesty but still no bitterness, more like a sad understanding. Then she put her hands to the wheels of her chair, looked at Max and continued, “Hey Max, would you mind comin’ inside a sec before we take off?”
Without waiting for us to answer, she deftly turned her chair and wheeled herself into the house.
Max glanced at me and with a tug at my hand we followed. He let me go when we got into the massive foyer and he closed the door.
“Don’t mean to be rude, Nina,” Bitsy announced after she turned her chair toward us again, her voice was a bit hesitant. “But could you wait in the living room a minute while I talk with Max? Just need –”
I cut her off, letting her know she didn’t need to explain anything to me, she could have whatever she needed, saying, “That’s fine. I’ll wait.”
“No, thanks, I’m okay.”
She swept out a hand to the room and invited, “Make yourself at home. We won’t be long, promise.” Then her eyes went to Max before she pushed herself toward the door.
“Be back,” Max murmured, chucked me under the chin and then he went after Bitsy.
I watched them go then, in an effort not to think about what happened in the Cherokee (my habit of late, not thinking when I knew it would be far healthier, not to mention the whole bloody reason I took this adventure in the first place, to sort myself out), I walked to the floor to cathedral ceiling windows and looked at the view.
It was different than Max’s view considering it was on the opposite side of town and also on an opposite facing mountain. It was also somehow a little less spectacular, seeing as it wasn’t as far up the mountain which limited the vista.
There was something else about it that struck me as strange, so strange it made me slightly uncomfortable. In an effort to understand this bizarre feeling, I settled in and took in the view.
I could see the whole town, its short Main Street which I knew since I’d traversed it was only five blocks long, roads leading off it, more businesses on them a few doors in but houses after that.
To the left, just out of town, there was a plain covered in two baseball fields, their outfields butting against each other. I could see small stands on either side of the dugouts. Next to this two football fields running alongside each other separated by more bleachers. Small, white, concession stands at either side of the complex. Probably where little league was held in summer and Pop Warner football in the fall.
To the right, again partially out of town, the high school, not large but not small. Another football field, far more bleachers available for onlookers, lined lanes of a running track around its perimeter. A baseball field on the opposite side of the school. Both of these had lots of lights, bigger concession stands and looked more impressive.
It was clear the town liked its sport and supported its kids.
I thought about it and I knew, because I saw it on the little plastic displays on the tables, that The Dog had live music on Friday and Saturday nights. Drake’s, the bar Max took me to in town the night of Shauna, Harry and buffalo burgers, had acoustic music every Tuesday. I’d seen posters informing townsfolk of what was playing at the cinema that Becca told me was one town over. There were fliers on bulletin boards on the sides of buildings in town telling people that Oklahoma! was being performed at a dinner theatre which had to be close. Since I’d driven by it, I knew there was a mall about thirty miles out which also had a multi-screen cinema. On the website where I found Max’s house, it advertised that the town held two festivals, one a small music and arts festival in early summer, the other a larger Halloween-cum-harvest festival in the fall. There were also a number of other festivals littered throughout the region.
Restaurants, shops, cinemas, dinner theatre, sport, festivals, Denver only a two hour drive away, small and large ski resorts very close, hiking and biking trails criss-crossing the mountains, it certainly wasn’t like there was nothing to do in Gnaw Bone. In fact, it seemed a tranquil, pretty hub in the middle of it all.
I was thinking how I’d like to experience what a Halloween-cum-harvest festival was like, not to mention a music and arts festival, when it hit me what was wrong about the view.
I realized that not only could I see all of town, if I was anywhere in town, I could see this huge, grand house on its rise.
I hadn’t exactly taken a tour of the entire town but from what I’d seen the houses were smallish, some of them older, established, having been around for quite awhile. Others much newer but not that new, looking like they’d been built the last few decades, not the last few years. They could all be described as comfortable but none of them could be described as luxurious. There were a couple of small apartment and condominium complexes like Mindy’s and Becca’s which seemed much newer, but mostly the town was settled and its income bracket was clearly identifiable.
This house and where it was positioned screamed “Look at me!” in a weird way. It demanded attention, I was guessing in order to rub people’s nose in its obvious expense, constantly lord over the entire populace. You couldn’t forget it was here because you couldn’t escape it.
It wasn’t an old house and I figured Curtis Dodd built it where it was for the reasons I deduced.
I felt a chill glide over my skin at what I suspected was not a popular decision on Dodd’s part, not to mention what it said about him, and I turned away from the window and took in the enormous room. Even the furniture, decoration and fittings were obvious in their lavishness. One could buy ten of my purses and five of Max’s couches for one of Bitsy’s.
I walked to a long set of interconnecting bookshelves that ran the length of the outside wall of the room, wishing to take my mind off my thoughts by perusing the many photos displayed in frames there.
From what I saw in the photos, the house and all its contents were not Bitsy’s idea. Bitsy, it appeared as I studied the photos, decorated like me. There were tons of pictures of happy, smiling people who clearly cared about each other and who Bitsy clearly cared about. In some of them she was healthy, standing, smiling, laughing and surrounded by loved ones. Others, I was heartened to see, she was in her chair, doing the same.
I decided then that I admired her. Charlie never got to that point. Charlie would smile after he lost his legs but it was never the same. Bitsy seemed to have come to terms with her life in her chair and continued to enjoy living it. Furthermore, it was apparent she didn’t mind reminders of the life she had before she was put in it.
I stopped when I saw a photo of Bitsy with a man taken a long time ago for they both looked young and they were both standing.
It had to be her husband, the now very dead Curtis Dodd.
I was surprised at the sight of him. Somehow I expected him to be short, maybe balding, looking squirrely, his eyes mean. But he looked kind of like Max, except not nearly as handsome or tall. But he was a Mountain Man, slightly rough, his hair fair to almost gold, his face tanned. He was smiling at the camera in a weird way, though, almost self-conscious, as if he wasn’t comfortable being photographed and wanted to put his best foot forward. Bitsy, on the other hand, was smiling with abandon, clearly happy, both her arms around his neck and her cheek pressed to his. She didn’t care what anyone thought and the only thing anyone could think was she was in love with the man in her arms.
I glanced through the other pictures, trying to find him in the faces, but that was the only photo of the two of them together and the only photo of him at all.
I moved to the last shelf looking for signs of Curtis, my eyes grazing the limited books and knick knacks displayed between the photos when I stopped dead.
Three photos had their own shelf, a lower one, Bitsy’s height, and they were arranged like it was a place of honor. Unlike the others, these pictures weren’t shoved in, a jumble to exhibit as many as possible to surround Bitsy with constant reminders that she was loved and of the ones she loved. These were just those three, three different sizes in frames that clearly showed the photos were important.
I leaned down and it took everything I had not to reach out and grab one, bringing it in for closer inspection. But I couldn’t touch them, couldn’t let my fingers give the signal to my brain that they were real.
Max. Max and Anna.
In all that happened I’d forgotten what Arlene had said the other night at The Dog, it totally escaped me.
Max had a wife, her name was Anna and she was beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful. She matched him in her utter perfection.
Blonde to his dark, her hair long and wild, her complexion without flaw, her eyes gorgeous and dancing.
There was a photo,
smaller, a snapshot of Max, Anna, Curtis and Bitsy, all in a row, all with their arms around each other’s waists, all smiling into the camera. Even Curtis looked relaxed and at ease. Good friends, out of doors doing something together, a picnic, a barbeque, enjoying good times.
There was another photo, much larger, more official, sitting in the center, Max and Anna’s wedding day. He wore a tux; she had on a simple white dress that she made stunning, daisies mingled in her long, wild hair that she made look sophisticated. They were depicted full-length, standing outside, the river behind them. They were front to front, arms around each other, Max’s head tipped down, Anna’s head tipped back, broad smiles on both of their faces that you could see even in profile. Happy. Exceptionally so. They both looked young, maybe early twenties, their life spread out before them filled with love and wonder.
But it was the last that caught my heart, that claw coming back to slash at my insides. It was a close-up, Max’s arm around Anna’s shoulders, her head against one of his, both of them looking in the camera, both of them clearly laughing, both of them deliriously happy and obviously in love.
Max’s bluff was behind them.
Something blocked my throat as my eyes seemed to swell against their sockets and, suddenly frantic, I walked the length of the bookshelves examining the other photos again.
No sign of Anna. No sign of Max.
Back to the shelf of honor, I looked at the smallest photo. Bitsy, younger, standing, smiling, one arm around Curtis who was to the outside, her other arm around Anna.
Then back through the shelves, Bitsy in her chair, no Anna, no Max.
“Oh my God,” I breathed as it hit me.
Mindy telling me Max wouldn’t forget what a visit from the police felt like. Max’s fierce vow about dying in an effort to take care of someone you loved. Curtis, Bitsy, Anna and Max, all standing linked and happy, friends once, good ones. Now, Max was one of the earliest suspects questioned in Curtis’s murder.
Something had happened, something that put Bitsy in her chair and took Anna away altogether. And that something, I was sure, had to do with Curtis Dodd.
My recent conversation with Max in the Jeep came back at me, striking me, scorching, like a bolt of lightning.