Evening in the Yellow Wood

by Laura Kemp

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You won’t be alone if you take care of the people who love you.”

  He didn’t answer, just waited until I chose to break contact and then stood looking at me, stunned.

  “What did you do?”

  I shook my head. “What you couldn’t.”

  “I need to get home,” he paused, swept his face with a shaking hand. “I need to see my wife and boys.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He turned on his heel, made for the door and stopped just short of it.

  “Is this it?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “I think so, too.”

  How many times in life did something end so definitively? So abruptly?

  “Take care of yourself,” he said, and I couldn’t speak, couldn’t lay eyes on the face of the man I once thought could make me happy. I only knew that he was there one moment and that the next moment he wouldn’t be. And I wondered if after enough time had passed it would seem as though he’d never been, as though we’d never been.

  Our footprints washed smooth by the sea.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mallard Brauski was not one to offer unsolicited fashion advice, and still, he found a way to insult me.

  “I wouldn’t go with green if I were you,” he offered while lighting up. “Locke ‘n Load’ll think you puked on yourself.”

  “Aw, geez,” I fretted, trying to remember what lay in my clothes hamper. “I don’t think I have anything else that looks dressy casual.”

  “Dressy what?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Forget it.”

  “He spring this on you sudden-like?”

  I nodded. Dylan had hinted that he wanted me to meet his folks, but only yesterday had he given me a definitive timeline: six o’clock tonight to watch his sister play softball down by the bandshell.

  And I was a nervous wreck.

  “His Mom’s got a stick shoved so far up her ass you’d think she was a popsicle,”

  I tensed, “Umm…that sucks.”

  Mallard laughed, put a hand to the back of his head and gave a good scratch. “Got loads of money an’ always spreadin’ it around like it was fertilizer or something.”

  I didn’t answer and he prattled on. “She’s a looker, too. Took a run at her once when I caught her slumming down at the Cat Scratch Tavern but she didn’t bite.”

  “Slumming?” I asked, my interest piqued. “Cat Scratch?”

  “Some of the girls from her office took her to the bar in Posen for New Year’s. Had one too many is all. Nothing wrong with it ‘cept when the odds ain’t in my favor.”

  I put my hands up, covered my ears. “In case you forgot I have to make a good impression on them tonight.”

  “Fuck that! You gettin’ serious or something?”

  “Like I’d tell you,” I shot back.

  He smirked, as if he knew something I didn’t and said, “Hope you like us rednecks then ‘cause Pretty Boy ain’t never leavin’ Presque Isle County.”

  I felt a smoldering ember of anxiety and fought to suppress it. Who cared if we never left Lantern Creek? I could settle down and make a career out of Three Fires, hang with my little brother and serve Polish sausage at every meal. No biggie. We could do Thanksgiving with his folks and Christmas with Mom—considering she would even speak to me again after I untangled this horrible mess I’d uncovered.

  Mallard noticed my silence, reached out to ruffle the top of my head. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”

  I didn’t have time to contemplate his sage advice as I grabbed my purse and bolted for the Jeep. One hour was not enough time to make the magic happen, not enough to put into makeup and hair and posture everything I wanted Dylan’s folks to know about me.

  Still, I wasn’t opposed to trying and started by pulling out a short-sleeved white blouse. Casual cargo pants that hung low on my hips and my ever-present necklace completed the ensemble I felt sure would amaze them with its understated elegance.

  Then there was the rest of me. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, examining my hazel eyes and wavy blonde hair. Pretty was something I could live with…but beautiful?

  Dylan had said as much but I still wasn’t sold.

  Flat iron in hand, I decided to straighten my hair. A bit of mascara and a touch of pink lip gloss completed my beauty regimen fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and so I sat and waited. And stewed, and thought about what Mallard had said and how Dylan would surely not invite me to a softball game with his parents if he wasn’t serious about our future and didn’t that include deciding on where to spend it together?

  Joey jumped into my lap and I absentmindedly stroked his orange fur.

  Footsteps on the staircase brought momentary panic, then a sense of relief as Dylan walked through the door, striking as ever in a blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. He even smelled good, like sun and sand and wind.

  “Ready?” he asked, his tone clipped, and I wondered if he was anxious, too.

  “Sure,” I stood up, smoothed my pants.

  Dylan’s gaze swept me and I felt my chest go hot. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled, wishing we had a moment to spare, a moment to tell each other what was weighing on our minds because I would start with Brad. His name lingered on my tongue, left a bad taste in my mouth as he put a hand on the small of my back and led me to the truck.

  Moments later we were inside, his favorite classic rock station playing as he reached over and took my hand.

  “Nervous?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t be.” He squeezed. “They always like my girlfriends.”

  I frowned, wondering if that was supposed to make me feel better, then turned to look out the window as we rounded the bend towards Lakefield Park, a grassy field set back from the beach with a hotdog pavilion at one end and a bandshell at the other. Metal bleachers that were already half-full reminded me of my high school days, though I never had a date as hot as Dylan back then.

  I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, tried to imagine what I would say to his mother and if I’d be able to get the picture of Mallard trying to seduce her over a chilled bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon out of my head.

  “Before we get out I need to tell you something.”

  I turned, my eyes large as though waiting for an unexpected blow and saw his face soften when he realized how worried I was.

  “I looked through the report on Suzy Marsh’s suicide.”

  “Oh?” I asked, wondering at the way people in law enforcement spent their free time.

  “No one on the scene that night believed she killed herself. None of her friends remember her ever being depressed. Flaky, yes, but not depressed.”

  I didn’t answer, just stared out the windshield at all the people who had gathered to watch the game.

  “I think they ruled it suicide because they didn’t have anything else to go on.”

  I continued to scan the crowd, caught between wondering where his parents might be and what he was getting at.

  “You were right when you said she looked like you,” he paused. “Like Karen.”

  My felt heart hitch, hating the way his fear spread to me like a contagious disease.

  “I just want you to take extra precautions until we catch the guy who did this.”

  I frowned, his words making me feel like a concerned citizen talking to a detached cop. “You think there’s a serial killer on the loose who has a thing for blondes? In that case you should arrest Jamie Stoddard, since he killed Karen, plain and simple.”

  He was silent for a moment, hurt by my words and how I’d thrown his own back at him.

  Immediately I felt ashamed, and embarrassed, realizing that the stress of the past few weeks was beginning to take a toll and I needed to come clean by confessing to the kiss.

  Right now.

  “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

  He chuckled, “Thought you were going to stop saying that.”

&n
bsp; “I thought so, too. Listen—I need to tell you something. It’s been bothering me and—”

  He held his hand up, “Can it wait? My sister’s coming over.”

  It sure as hell could, but I knew the longer I waited the more likely I would end up stalling or just hoping the whole thing would go away.

  Which could happen since Brad was currently in Webber and likely to remain there.

  Still, I needed him to trust me, and how could he if I never told him about kissing an ex-boyfriend in my apartment? But if I did tell him and he flipped out and dumped me…I looked out the window, suddenly nauseous and decided Dylan’s little sister might have just saved my ass.

  “Hey, Dyl,” I heard her voice, sweet and high and cheerful, just as I’d expected, drifting through the driver’s side door. “Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem,” he leaned out and kissed her on the cheek and I glanced at her for the first time. She looked about twenty years old and was cute as a button in a red and white uniform, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, her blue eyes sparkling when they saw me, the new girlfriend.

  “Avery, this is Justine.”

  “Hi, Justine!” she reached in and shook my hand. “So nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

  I looked at Dylan, who smiled and glanced away.

  How cute… He’d told his sister about me… Good things about me.

  “Nice to meet you, Avery,” I smiled back, hoping that we could be friends, wondering if that would be possible if things went bad in a big way.

  Cross that bridge when you come to it…

  “Mom’s running late,” Avery continued, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder while giving her brother’s arm a squeeze. “You never know who you’re going to run into on the Lakefield Park bleachers.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan chuckled. “Or the Cat Scratch Tavern.”

  Avery laughed, and I felt at ease, hoping her mother would be similar but knowing the chances were slim if she dressed to the nines for something like this.

  “Gotta go!” Avery stepped back, “Stop down at the library sometime and see me, Justine.”

  “I will,” I said quickly, realizing seconds later Dylan must have told her about the time I’d stalked him.

  At least they didn’t keep secrets.

  Which was more than I could say for myself.

  Moments later we were seated in the middle of the bleachers, Dylan’s sister planted firmly at third base. I was struck again by how cute she was, how I’d felt when I saw them together in the truck and imagined what it would be like to see him with a girl he couldn’t explain away with genetics.

  The thought was enough to make me reconsider my stance on the “Brad Debacle,” which made me feel like throwing up again.

  As if on cue, he asked, “What were you going to say before Avery came up?”

  “Hmmm,” I began, stalling. “Can’t remember.”

  “You said it was bothering you.”

  I fought frantically for a thought, any thought that would seem logical and locked in on the one thing I knew would throw him off. “When you said they liked all your girlfriends, did that mean Karen, too?”

  He looked at me like I had a flock of penguins pouring tea on top of my head. “I never told them… I mean…they knew her from school and everything but… Are you worried they won’t like you?”

  “Yes!” I said quickly. “I am. And Avery said your mom really dresses up for these things and I don’t really feel—”

  “Mom would dress up to take a shit.”

  I laughed so loud the people around me turned.

  “Don’t worry. There’s no reason she wouldn’t like you.”

  Except for the fact that I’m a liar who has paranormal visions that cause me to wander around and almost fall off breakwalls, a married ex-lover who has a tendency to show up unannounced, an absentee father who has a second family stashed away at Three Fires Lodge, and a crazy grandmother who may have lynched an innocent man. But aside from that, Mrs. Locke—I’d be a perfect candidate for your son.

  I felt another stomachache coming on, and so politely declined when Dylan asked if I wanted anything from the pavilion.

  And as I waited for him to return I scanned the faces of the people sitting nearby. No one seemed interested in me, and yet a strange, prickly feeling sent the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

  Then I saw him on the first set of risers behind home plate.

  Adam…

  Pam’s red head bobbed beside him, as did Jamie’s tousled brown one—his arm slung over my brother’s shoulder.

  I drew a sharp breath.

  YOU DON’T LIKE HIM, DO YOU?

  I didn’t know how to answer.

  HE SAVED MY LIFE ON THE BREAKWALL

  I KNOW

  BUT HE’S KEEPING SOMETHING FROM US. I SAW A PICTURE AT THE CAMP—

  OF WHAT?

  JAMIE STODDARD… I THINK HE WAS THERE ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO

  I caught sight of Dylan standing in line by the pavilion. Glancing my way, he gave a wave and I raised my hand in return.

  THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE

  I put a hand to my temple and rubbed as a headache began to build behind my eyes.

  I KNOW WHAT I SAW

  BUT THAT WOULD MEAN—

  The sights and sounds of the game seemed to still around me as I tried to come to terms with this realization.

  HE’S ALREADY DEAD

  Pam turned, saw me sitting alone and waved me over. I shook my head and pointed to Dylan, who was weaving his way through the crowd as Jamie glanced up. His eyes stopped me cold, stopped my thoughts and left me wondering at the extent of his own powers.

  Dylan was climbing the bleachers now, only feet away.

  MAYBE IT’S THE OTHER WAY AROUND?

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

  MAYBE HE NEVER DIED AT ALL

  Dylan sat down, hot dog in hand, his attention momentarily diverted by a Silver Escalade and the blonde woman stepping from it.

  His mother, dressed in a cream silk blouse and pressed khaki slacks. Dylan turned, a flustered look on his face and said, “I need to go help Mom.”

  “Sure,” I nodded. “I’ll save your seat.”

  He took off at a fast pace as I remained on the bleachers, trying not to squirm and let the world know how uncomfortable I was when I felt the familiar fullness in my ears that told me a vision was coming. I closed my eyes, hoping I didn’t stand up and take a nosedive over the bleachers and saw Butler running through the forest, Jonas Younts close behind. The next second Butler jumped over a log, stumbled and fell as Jonas Younts closed the gap between them, his face displayed plainly for the first time.

  The next instant, I was jolted back to the present as the cheers of the people nearby told me Dylan’s sister had just tagged a girl at third.

  I glanced towards Adam, my pulse catching in my throat because I’d seen the face of the man who’d been hung at Back Forty Farm, the same man who had overtaken Butler in the woods and watched as Esther Ebersole bled to death from a bullet fired by her husband.

  A bullet that was meant for him.

  I saw him leaning on an upended bucksaw, the face of the person who had saved me on the breakwall.

  Jamie Stoddard and Jonas Younts were one and the same.

  And I wasn’t sure how long Adam and I could hide.

  * * *

  “Mom, this is Justine.”

  I started, forgetting where I was for the moment, then hopped from the bleachers and extended my hand to a slim woman standing beside Dylan. Her wheat-colored hair was swept back by a pair of Gucci sunglasses as she dazzled me with a peroxide-enhanced smile.

  “So pleased to meet you.”

  I shook and didn’t let go, perhaps to keep my wits about me before another vision swept me from her good graces forever.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Locke.”

  “Call me Melinda.”

  Dylan put a hand on my shoulder, applied pressure, and I wasn’t
sure if he was trying to reassure me or get me to sit back down. I sat down.

  “Did you save a place for Dad?”

  The question held something I couldn’t distinguish until I saw a woman in nurses’ scrubs pushing a man in a wheelchair across the parking lot.

  “That’s him,” Dylan offered, his hand never leaving my shoulder and in that touch, I felt his shame and anger and uncertainty. Turning to look, I caught him gazing towards the pavilion, unable to meet my eyes.

  I couldn’t ask, couldn’t assume anyone would fill me in on why the man I’d seen standing in the photos was now unable to walk the few steps it took to reach the bleachers.

  I tried to speak, pity and compassion rendering my tongue useless before Melinda said, “You’re probably wondering what happened to my husband.”

  I nodded.

  “You didn’t tell her?” she turned to her son, readjusted her sunglasses and in that movement, I sensed her annoyance. “Michael’s been ill for some time now.” She glanced again to Dylan and I saw her lips tighten into a thin line. “He had a stroke and hasn’t bounced back like we had hoped.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling the inadequacy of my words.

  “Don’t be,” his mother patted my hand. “Dylan should have told you.”

  I looked down, not daring a glance at my boyfriend and still, something told me there was more to the story.

  “Practicing law is an impossibility for him now so we’re trying to find someone to take over at the firm,” she paused, put a finger just beneath her nose as though she might sneeze. “But we haven’t found the right person.”

  “Mom,” Dylan spoke for the first time, dropping beside me as I sat wedged between the two.

  “What did I say?” she turned to me, shrugged her shoulders in a way that made me believe they’d had this conversation before. “I’m just expressing my opinion regarding the future of the firm your father worked his whole life to build.”

  “I’m not a lawyer,” Dylan said, and I felt him pull away from me in the slightest, his whole body rigid on the metal bleachers. “Dad knew that when he hired John.”

  “John’s not family,” Melinda said quickly. “Your father—”

  “Get off my back.”