With this dilemma running through her head, was it any wonder that she couldn't respond to Adam's kiss or his plea for reason?
"I'll see that this is cleaned up," Adam was saying, but his voice seemed to batter at Sage from far away. "I'll ask the cleanup crew from the Wilpacko plant to come over and do it. If the floor needs sanding and refinishing, I'll get that done, too." Adam's eyes were pools of concern, but Sage didn't want concern. She wanted to be left alone while she decided what to do about Jim. The paint fumes, which usually didn't affect her, made her feel even more nauseated than she already was.
She nodded abruptly, and clutching her wet raincoat around her, she worked her way back through the globs of paint and paste and wallpaper to the door. When she left, marching heedlessly into the rain and wind, she didn't look back.
In those moments Adam knew for a certainty that she didn't love him. At one time he would have felt relieved. He didn't now.
Adam Hracek knew people. But at that moment, he didn't feel as though he knew Sage McKenna at all. Or himself either, for that matter.
* * *
At home, Hayley was the first one to turn against her.
"Jim didn't do it," Hayley insisted tearfully when Sage came in that evening from the house on Beauregard Street, where she had sanded the kitchen cabinets in an attempt to banish the destruction at Kalmia Hill from her thoughts.
"Oh, Hayley, I know how you feel about Jim," Sage said wearily, hanging her raincoat on one of the hooks beside the back door. "I don't want to hear protestations of his innocence. I practically caught him in the act."
"What happened?" asked Irma, who walked in on the tail end of the conversation. So Hayley, alternating between tears and coherence, told the story as Sage, heavyhearted, went into the den to greet Joy.
Before dinner was served, the whole family knew the story.
"I don't think he did it!" said Greg with stubborn loyalty to his idol Jim, who had fascinated him with stories of his exploits on the high school football field.
"He might have," Poppy said thoughtfully. "These young lads today, you never know what they're going to do next."
The silence at dinner was strained, the food tasting like so much sawdust, and afterward Ralph took Sage aside and tried to give her advice.
"Tread easily, Sage," he counseled, puffing slowly on the pipe Adam had given him for Christmas. "Adam's doing his best with that boy, and maybe you should give Jim the benefit of a doubt." Ralph believed in moderation in all things.
"I practically caught him in the act," she repeated stonily, and then, unable to take any more, she went to her room and threw herself across her bed. From the dark silent haven of her room, she heard Greg and Poppy arguing heatedly downstairs.
"He didn't!"
"Now, Greg, don't be so hasty," Poppy warned.
"He couldn't have. Jim wouldn't do something like that!"
"He might. We don't know what was going through his head at the time, Gregory." Poppy sounded as stern as she'd ever heard him.
"No, no, I hate you!" She heard Gregory's feet pounding upstairs and his bedroom door slamming, leaving the house echoing in resounding quiet. In all the time they'd been together, Sage had never witnessed a fight between Gregory and Poppy before. She had never heard mild-mannered Poppy argue with anyone over anything.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the pillow. Not only had Jim's actions desecrated her beautiful Kalmia Hill, but they'd alienated her from Adam and divided her family. How could she ever forgive him?
* * *
Sage turned her cell phone off for the weekend, but she missed reading Adam's texts and taking his calls. Still, she didn't want to communicate with him. She needed time to recover from Jim's heinous act.
On Sunday morning, in search of comfort and consolation, she took Joy to Sunday school and church, and Hayley, for the first time ever, refused to accompany her. On Sunday afternoon, Sage, her dispirited mood having made it impossible to be uplifted by either the minister's sermon or the church service, put on her work clothes and drove to the Beauregard Street house, where she finished sanding the kitchen cabinets. This demanding job, along with the angry buzz of the electric sander, helped her work out her frustrations. She felt a little better when she went home that evening, but not much.
When she entered her room, she noticed that someone had left a note on her bed. She picked it up and saw that it was written in Hayley's neat round handwriting:
"Adam says to tell you that he will have the foyer at Kalmia Hill cleaned up by Wednesday at the very latest, including the scraping and sanding of the floor."
It was signed simply "H."
Hayley had probably been over there to see Jim. Well, there was no law against that. Sage still didn't know what she was going to do about Jim. She supposed she could press criminal charges, but she didn't have the heart for it. She wished Jim would just leave, that Adam would have the good sense to send him back to his mother or to boarding school or—but what was the use? Adam would never send Jim to boarding school. Adam himself had suffered too much loneliness in such a place.
She ate a lonely supper in the kitchen with only Joy; Sage had missed the family's usual convivial Sunday supper because she had stayed too late at Beauregard Street.
After dinner Sage carted Joy upstairs for an early bedtime. She would have liked to fall asleep as soon as she laid her own head on the pillow. But instead of sleeping, she tossed and turned for hours.
Sage missed Adam terribly. She wanted the warmth of his comforting arms around her, wanted to savor the passion-blurred outlines of his face above her as they made love. She desperately longed for things to be the way they'd been, and she was afraid they would never be that way again. She pictured Adam in her mind, so suave and handsome and charming and dear. When she thought about him, she felt as though her heart was having withdrawal pains.
How was she ever, she wondered in despair, going to learn to get along without him?
If it comes to that, she told herself. But maybe it already had.
* * *
By Monday morning it was raining again. Sage dressed in her usual overalls and readied Joy for school.
Today Joy insisted on taking to school the stuffed unicorn Adam had given her for Christmas. Joy had named the unicorn Pink, although it wasn't pink at all. Sage figured she'd chosen that name because she associated the word with Adam, as she did the unicorn.
"No, sweetheart," said Sage, who didn't think this was a good idea. "Pink wants to stay home today."
"He says he wants to go with me."
"No, Joy," Sage said again. Once Joy had taken Watson to Sunday school and had forgotten and left him in the classroom. That night at bedtime she had cried inconsolably for the old teddy bear, and the church had been locked and the caretaker out of town. Joy couldn't understand that Watson was unavailable until morning. After that, Sage had enforced a strict ban on taking Watson to church or anyplace else where Sage couldn't pick him up when Joy had momentarily forgotten about him. She'd decided to follow the same policy for Pink, to whom Joy had become almost fanatically attached.
"Mommy, I want Pink!" said Joy, and she began to sob pitifully.
Sage sighed. "Joy, we'll set Pink right here on your dresser until you come home. Won't he be glad to see you!" She propped the unicorn against the mirror, where his neck arched engagingly and one forefoot was lifted as if to paw the air.
Nevertheless Joy continued to sob, and Sage anxiously felt her daughter's forehead for any sign of fever. Joy didn't usually act this way unless she wasn't feeling well. Her skin felt warm and moist, but Sage judiciously decided that it felt that way because Joy was crying, not because she was sick. She proceeded to bundle Joy into her warm winter coat.
"No," sobbed Joy. "I want my jacket."
Thoroughly exasperated by this time, Sage peered out through the sheer curtains of Joy's room at the rain. Normally she'd insist that Joy wear her waterproof coat with the zip-in pile liner, b
ut maybe it would be well to give in to her about the jacket. You can't win 'em all, she thought wryly as she tugged the lightweight windbreaker over Joy's arms and zipped it to her neck.
Joy cheered up now that she was wearing her windbreaker, and sat happily in the back seat of the pickup on the way to school. Sage tuned the radio to a country music station, and Joy wiggled her fit in time to the music.
As she braked at a stop sign, Sage glanced over at her daughter. Joy looked so pretty today in her blue jacket with the hood, a few wisps of red-gold hair escaping to curve around her cheeks and enclose her round face in parentheses. When Sage unbuckled her from her car seat, Joy hugged Sage tightly.
"'Bye, Mommy," she said, and she walked happily into the school with the other children. At the door she turned and waved, a little pixie in her peaked hood, before Sage drove away. Sage was pleased that Joy had adjusted so well to the school and to being with other children all morning.
The windshield wipers slapped monotonously back and forth in front of her, and Sage fought their hypnotic sweep to plan her work for the day. Work, she knew, was the best way to keep thoughts of Adam and Jim and Kalmia Hill at bay. Today she'd brush the first coat of varnish on the kitchen cabinets at the Beauregard Street house.
Ben was waiting for her when she arrived, and she put him to work painting one of the bedrooms. The morning went fast, too fast. She was not quite through varnishing the cabinets when she realized that it was almost time to pick up Joy at school.
"Good heavens," she said out loud. "I'll have to ask Irma to pick up Joy at twelve." Sage knew Irma wouldn't mind.
At home, Poppy answered the phone. "Is Irma there?" she asked him.
"She took some of the kids' outgrown clothes over to the Strayhorns," Poppy told her. "She said she'd be right back."
"When Irma comes in, Poppy, ask her to pick up Joy at school, will you, please?" They'd followed this procedure several times before when Sage couldn't stop working before noon.
"Okay. I see Irma coming through the hedge now."
"I'll call her in a little while to check on Joy," said Sage.
An hour later Sage heaved a sigh as she capped the can of varnish. Finished at last, she thought. She clicked on her phone and called home.
"Oh, Sage," Irma said with relief. "I'm glad it's you. I was about to phone you if I didn't hear from you soon."
"Why? What's wrong?" Something in Irma's tone of voice set off an alarm in Sage's head.
"It's Joy. She's got the sniffles, and she went to bed for her nap without any lunch."
"Oh, no. Does she have a temperature?"
"She seems a bit feverish," Irma admitted reluctantly.
"I'm through working here," said Sage. "I'm going to come home."
"She's asleep now," said Irma. "It's probably not necessary."
"Never mind. I'm coming home, anyway," Sage told her firmly.
She rocketed home in her pickup and tiptoed into Joy's room. Joy lay sleeping, but her breathing was labored. She sounded as though her nasal passages were congested.
Sage met Irma in the hall.
"I hated to worry you," said Irma, "but—"
"You did the right thing."
"Got time for a cup of coffee?" asked Irma. "There's something else I think you ought to know."
Sage preceded Irma downstairs. She cast a concerned glance back at her. Irma's mind was on something other than Joy's sniffles, she could tell.
"What is it?" she asked with a feeling of apprehension, and she sat at the kitchen table while Irma poured them each a cup of her steaming hot brew.
"I just wanted to tell you," said Irma carefully, "that I've been seeing a green Toyota parked across the street from Joy's school. I saw it again today."
A green Toyota. A green Toyota meant Karen McKenna. Sage set her cup very precisely on its saucer and closed her eyes for a moment.
"Gary's wife," she said, her throat tightening.
"It looks like her. You know, stringy blond hair. I only got a glimpse of her that day she came here, but I'm pretty sure that's who it was. Why would she be parked across the street, watching the children coming out of the school as they're getting into the cars?"
"I don't know. I don't know," said Sage, trying to think. She had a sudden memory of Karen's pathetic face and her piteous admission that she couldn't bear a child of her own.
"I'm going to call Donald Tate," said Sage decisively. The local police officer was a friend of Ralph's. "Donald should know about this. What if... what if Karen wants to take Joy?" The possibility was too awful to think about.
"Maybe calling Donald is a good idea," Irma said slowly. "Just in case. If that woman has no business there, Donald could ask her to move on."
"Of course she doesn't belong here. She lives forty miles away. It worries me that you've spotted her at the school."
Sage shoved her chair away from the table. She was looking up the number of the police station when the vibration of her cell phone interrupted her.
She didn't check to see who was calling before answering impatiently. "Hello?"
"Sage, this is Adam," said the voice, and it was so totally unexpected that she braced herself against the wall for support.
"A—Adam?" Why, why had he called now, when of necessity her mind was on other things?
"I have to see you, Sage," he said. "May I come over? It's important. Jim's with me."
"Jim? Isn't he supposed to be in school?"
"He took the day off. Sage, we'll be there in ten minutes." Before she could utter another syllable, he hung up.
"Adam's coming over," she said helplessly to Irma.
Irma gathered up their cups and saucers and spoons with a great clatter. "In that case, I'll clear out," she said understandingly. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." She rested a gentle hand on Sage's shoulder before leaving the room.
Adam's call had so interrupted her train of thought that Sage had to calm herself before she looked up the police station number again. She had no way of knowing that at the exact moment the phone rang at the police station, Adam was striding in the door there to check on the progress of the vandalism report he'd filed about the damage at Kalmia Hill.
Donald Tate's eyes welcomed Adam. "Be with you in a minute," he mouthed, his hand over the telephone mouthpiece. Then Donald returned his attention to Sage.
"Karen McKenna?" Donald asked in puzzlement after Sage poured out Irma's story. Like everyone else in Willoree, Donald knew the situation between Sage and Gary. "Why would Karen McKenna be harassing you?"
Briefly Sage filled in Donald on what had happened when Karen begged to see Joy on weekends. Donald emitted a long, low whistle.
"Sounds like Karen McKenna's bent on making some sort of trouble, doesn't it?" he said.
"I don't know," replied Sage, distraught at the very idea. "I really don't know."
"Well, don't you worry, Sage. I'll keep an eye on the school, and if I see anybody hanging around there who shouldn't be, I'll send them packing no matter who it is. Don't need troublemakers around here, no way."
"Thanks, Donald." Sage ended the call, feeling relieved. Donald took seriously his responsibility for keeping the peace in this town of eight hundred souls. She knew he'd take a personal interest in her concern.
"I couldn't help overhearing," Adam said after Donald hung up. He had known as soon as Donald uttered Karen's name that it was Sage on the telephone. "Did Sage mention that we both saw Karen McKenna's car cruising by Sage's house around Christmas?"
Donald Tate rocked back in his squeaking chair. "Nope," he said slowly. "Nope, she must of forgot about it. Said Irma had spotted Karen's car at the preschool, though."
"During the holidays, we saw Karen ride slowly past. Two or three times, I think. I don't like any of this, Donald. I hope you can send Karen McKenna back where she belongs."
"Like I told Sage, Adam. Don't worry. I'll stay on it."
Adam nodded abruptly. "Good," he said before turning on his he
el and walking out of the police station. With the unsettling news about Karen McKenna's presence in Willoree, Adam wanted to see Sage as soon as possible. If Sage was worried enough to call Donald Tate, she must be upset, very upset indeed.
He wouldn't remember until later that he had forgotten his original purpose in stopping to see Donald Tate.
Meanwhile, Donald Tate shook his head and settled back in his chair to chew on a frayed toothpick. The ways of Northerners were passing strange, he thought.
Now you take a native-born Southerner, for instance. He'd sit a spell, pass a few stories back and forth, maybe bring some boiled peanuts along to shell and eat with him. Northerners were always in so much of a hurry, and this Hracek was no exception. Hracek, what a name—it sounded like a sneeze. Nice fellow, though. But Donald wished he'd lingered a while to keep him company. He hadn't even had a chance to tell Adam that Stanley Garth was sleeping off a big one back in the lone jail cell, and Donald considered him a suspect—in fact the only suspect—in the vandalism at Kalmia Hill.
* * *
Sage had barely enough time to peek in on Joy and make sure she was still sleeping before she heard car doors slam outside. Sage ran quickly down the stairs. She smoothed her hair in a slapdash way wondering, what does Adam want, before throwing the door open to greet Adam and Jim.
They stood there, father and son, so alike. Her heart turned over as she looked into Adam's eyes for the first time in days.
First things first, Adam thought. Better to get Jim's part of the conversation over with before he tackled the other.
"I had to talk to you, Sage," Adam said as soon as he was inside the door. "Or rather, we had to talk to you."
"Shh," she said, hiding her conflicting emotions as best she could. "Joy's taking a nap. Come into the living room."
She led the way, then turned and faced the two of them with a sense of reluctance. It was Jim, not Adam, who arrested her attention now. The boy anxiously twisted the cap he carried in his hands, and he looked scared to death. As much as she hated what he'd done to Kalmia Hill, she felt a tiny shred of compassion for the boy now.
Handyman Special Page 20