Dark Coulee

by Mary Logue

  Shaking his head on his pillow, he tried to relax. The night was streaked with the rays of the full moon. He could see the lake glint in the silver light out his window. The moon floated on its surface like a coin waiting to be picked up.

  She wouldn’t stay long, Claire had decided before she even walked into the emergency room with Billy. She would take a short statement from the children and then tell them she would talk to them in the morning.

  This part of her job, which she had taken for granted in Minneapolis, felt more invasive down in the country. You were supposed to bring people hot dishes and words of consolation when a loved one was in trouble, not ask them disquieting questions. But the job must go on.

  “Why don’t we divide up?” Claire suggested to Billy as they walked in the door. “You talk to the boy, and I’ll take the girl. I think they’ll respond better that way, and it certainly will go faster. What’s the girl’s name again?”

  “I think it’s Jenny.”

  The nurse nodded them through when they mentioned Jed’s name, and they found Jenny sleeping in a chair, Brad sitting next to her reading the paper, and Lola pacing the floor. Lola was talking, but no one appeared to be listening to her.

  Billy tapped the paper that Brad was reading and sat down across from him to ask him some questions.

  Claire sat down next to Jenny and looked at her for a few moments before waking her. Passed out is really what the girl looked like. Claire guessed her age to be fifteen and wondered if Jenny would be doing better if her mom were still alive. She felt the urge to push back the girl’s tumbled straw-blond hair, to arrange it behind her ears so she could see her clear face. The girl had lovely skin. But she herself was not lovely. If she took care of herself, she would be attractive, but her fair looks could be destroyed all too easily.

  Claire put a hand on her shoulder and shook her. The girl’s eyes flew open, and her mouth rounded itself. A slight compression of breath came. Claire recognized the signs. Fear. She had been waking with the same sense of panic all summer long. Fear of what you might wake to.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry to startle you. My name is Claire Watkins. I’m a deputy sheriff here in Pepin County. I need to talk to you about what happened to your dad.”

  Jenny leaned forward, shook her hair over her face, and rubbed her hands, palms open, into her eyes. Then, just as suddenly, the girl whipped her hair back off her face, wiped her face with her hands, and said, “What do you want to know?”

  “I heard you found your father.”

  “Brad and I did.”

  “Did you see anyone with him?”

  “It wasn’t like that. We weren’t paying attention. We were actually watching the band and talking, and all of a sudden we looked down, and there was Dad.”

  “Was anyone else around?”

  “There were a lot of people, but it was dark, and no one was real close or anything. I didn’t notice anyone.”

  “What did you do?”

  Jenny thought for a moment, her sight turned inward as she recalled the scene. “I tried to figure out what was going on with Dad, why he was lying on the ground. He was making a weird noise, like a stuck pig.”

  “I don’t know what they sound like.”

  “Hope you never hear one. It isn’t really a squeal, it’s more like a moan. A high-pitched moan.” Then, for the edification of her audience, Jenny let loose with a sound that was halfway between a moan and a squeal.

  Brad looked over from his conversation with Billy and shot her a dirty look.

  Jenny clapped a hand over her mouth, then lifted it off and said, “I think he was trying to breathe.”

  “Did you see anything? A knife of any sort?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who might have done this to your father?”

  Jenny rubbed her fingers, staring at her hands. “I got blood on my hands. Brad helped me wash them off.”

  Claire repeated her question.

  This time Jenny answered it. “Not really. Dad kept to himself. I don’t think anyone knew him well enough to dislike him.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  Jenny shook her head. Then she ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at Claire. “But what if he has to stay here, in the hospital? Will they let me and Brad take care of the farm?”

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “She’s dead. Farm accident.”

  Jenny’s answer threw Claire for a moment, then she asked, “How old is Brad?”

  “Nearly eighteen.”

  “You have any family close by?”

  “Nope.”

  “I would think so. Can you manage on your own?”

  “Oh, sure. We do it all the time.”

  “Is your father gone a lot?”

  “No, he just thinks that we should be able to do most of the work on the farm. That’s all.”

  Claire stood to leave. She wanted to hear what Billy had learned from Brad, see if their two stories matched. Jenny had slumped back into her chair and would be asleep again in no time at all.

  Then a nurse walked in. In her fifties, she was dressed traditionally, all in white. Her shoulders were broad, and her face was solid. She stopped inside the doorway and looked at the two teenagers. Jenny’s eyes popped open, and Brad dropped the paper. “I’m sorry,” she started, but was interrupted by a wail from Lola, who had finally settled in a corner of the room.

  Brad stood up, and Jenny looked up at him.

  “Is he—?” Brad asked.

  The nurse nodded her head. “Yes, he died. He didn’t make it through the surgery. I think he had lost too much blood.”

  “Maybe Dad knew that would happen. Maybe that’s why he guarded his blood so carefully,” Jenny said to Brad.

  Lola slumped into a chair and cried. She was quieter, and neither of the children looked at her. Claire was surprised by how they acted as if she didn’t exist.

  “Would you like to come and see him?” the nurse asked.

  Jenny turned a panicked eye to Claire. “Do we have to?”

  Claire’s heart went out to the poor girl. “No, you don’t. But often it helps people to see someone after they have died. To get a chance to say good-bye. To know for sure that they are gone. It might be a good idea.”

  “Will you go with us?” she asked.

  Claire looked over at Billy. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, It’s your call. She decided it wouldn’t hurt her any to help out these children. “Sure, I’ll walk down with you.”

  Lola started to follow, but the nurse stepped in her way and said, “Let’s let the children go first.”

  Claire was surprised at this act of sensitivity. If Lola went with them, it would all become a scene, her scene.

  “Billy, why don’t you ask Lola a few more questions?”

  He nodded and sat down next to the crying woman.

  Claire and the children followed the nurse down the long, quiet hallway. “He’s still in the operating room. We put a sheet over him, except his face. You don’t have to be afraid of what you might see.”

  Jenny was walking with her shoulders up near her neck and her arms wrapped around her body. Brad was stiffly walking right next to her, but they weren’t touching. They seemed horribly lost to Claire. Was it any wonder? Both parents dead, and both in violent ways. What must the world seem like to them? Unstable, unpredictable, full of danger.

  Dad looked more peaceful than Jenny had ever seen him before. His head was tilted back and his eyes were shut, his lips were cracked open a bit as if he were still breathing through them, but she knew that was not so. The room seemed to shimmer with departure.

  As the nurse had promised, he was covered with a white sheet, and there was no blood to be seen.

  Jenny stood at the doorway and watched Brad go up close to their father and stand at attention near him. The good son. Doing what was expected of him. Brad’s shoulder shook, and Jenny knew he was crying. Unlike other boys, Brad wasn’t a
shamed of crying. It was one of the things she liked about him.

  Jenny could tell the Darvocet had worn off, and so had most of the beer. The world was a sharper place when she wasn’t on anything. She could see the edges to everything—doors, the sides of the gurney—even Dad’s nose came to a crisp point. Like he was made of wood. It scared her to see the world so clearly, which was one of the reasons she usually took something. To soften it all. To make the world marshmallowy.

  But Dad looked crisp and clear. She walked up and stood next to Brad and looked down at her father. She wondered where he was right now. Maybe he didn’t have to go to hell. Maybe limbo would be bad enough. She knew what that felt like. Never knowing what was to come. Waiting and waiting for it to end. Trapped in a situation. Yeah, that might be a good lesson for him.

  She reached out and touched the end of his nose. Something she would never have dreamed of doing when he was alive. She leaned down toward him and said, “Good-bye, Daddy.”

  She never called him Daddy. She did it for everyone who was watching. Give them the show of the grieving daughter. Tears squeezed out of her eyes.

  He was really dead. Gone from their lives forever. She felt incredible freedom. She could now make her father be the dad she had always wanted him to be.

  6

  YOU look good tonight, Claire.” Billy drove easily in the dark, leaning back in the worn seats of the patrol car. He knew the coulee country so well. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform. Now, don’t take no offense.”

  Claire laughed. “I won’t file a sexual harassment claim. Thank you for the compliment.”

  “That top and a little makeup really transform you.”

  “Thanks, Billy. I don’t think they had Coco Chanel design our uniforms. In fact, I know that a female body was never meant to wear them.”

  “You might be right about that.”

  They were driving upriver toward Fort St. Antoine. The moon lit the way, but Claire couldn’t help watching out for deer even though she wasn’t driving. She had had a close call one night when a herd had jumped up on the road in front of her. Somehow she had slalomed through without hitting one, but it had left her ever watchful.

  “I hate it when some of the other guys cut you down just because you’re a woman.” Billy shifted in the car seat next to her.

  Claire took his statement in the gut. She knew that went on, but she hadn’t realized it was so prevalent. “Oh, don’t pay attention. I don’t.”

  “I think most of them are just jealous. Stewy tries not to show it, but it’s clear he’s a little partial to you. You know, like when he made you investigator. But I think he should be. You’ve had more experience than the rest of us put together.”

  “Hey, you can stop a drunk like nobody’s business.”

  “You know what I mean. I dig it that you know so much. I think it’s exciting working with someone that’s done all the things you’ve done.” Billy paused for a moment, then continued. “It might be easier for me because you were already in the department when I started. First woman and all. I suppose the other guys just aren’t used to it. That’s their problem. I like working with you.”

  “I like working with you too, Billy. I feel like I can be myself with you. But don’t think you need to stick up for me with the other guys.”

  He nodded.

  Claire brought up the investigation. “Before we get to Fort St. Antoine, I want to hear what you thought of Brad. What did he tell you?”

  “Not much. He said Jenny and he were just wandering around at the dance. She was drinking a beer, even though she’s underage. He was keeping an eye on her. He said that Jenny could be a little wild.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “He said they were watching the band, and then they saw their dad on the ground. He was making noise, so they knew he was still alive. Jenny touched him, and they saw where the wound was. But he said they didn’t move him at all. They knew not to do that.”

  “What did you think of Brad?”

  “I think he’s a nice kid. A little uptight, but a straight shooter. Hard to read emotionally. But, hey, that’s not so unusual with us male types.”

  Claire laughed. They didn’t partner up in the sheriff’s office like they had in the police force in town, but if they did, she wished she could have Billy as partner. Being able to laugh with someone got you through the worst of it.

  “What about Jenny?” Billy asked.

  “She told basically the same story.” Claire thought of Jenny again. It would be a while before she would forget the look on that girl’s face when she turned and asked Claire to come with them when they went to see her dead father. So in need of rescuing. “Hard to know what goes on in that girl’s mind. She’s on her way to becoming addicted to one substance or another. She’s so uncomfortable with herself, it’s kinda painful.”

  “I know what you mean. She looks like she might break if you said the wrong thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I think she’s stronger than she looks. I don’t know how those two are going to make it through their father’s death. What a legacy that family has had.”

  They were approaching Fort St. Antoine, and she needed to tell him that she didn’t want to be dropped off at home, but rather at Rich’s house. She liked to keep her life private from her work, but often it was hard as a deputy. A small lie would have to do the trick.

  “Could you drop me at Rich Haggard’s house? I left my car there.”

  “Sure, no prob. You two dating?” He looked over at her as he asked the question, probably to see her reaction. Cops did love to ask the probing questions.

  “Yes, I would say we are.”

  “He seems nice. Don’t really know too much about him. He’s so much older than me. I think my dad went to high school with him.”

  Claire sat and waited to hear what more he had to say on the subject.

  “Dad always said that Rich could do anything he wanted to do. He figures he works with pheasants because they’re nicer than most people.”

  The first thing he felt was a hand on his forehead, cool and gentle. Then he was being kissed like a soft rain falling on his face. He basked in it and sighed. Then a whisper in his ear told him, “You don’t have to wake up. Just move over,” and she was in his arms, under the covers. His mouth full of hair, his body at the ready, and soft, warm skin all around him like he was swimming in it. It had been so long since he had been with a woman.

  Her mouth found his, and they kissed. She bit his lip, and he said, “Claire.” She rubbed against him and gave a deep throaty chuckle.

  He never opened his eyes. He didn’t have to. He knew her smell, her feel, her sounds. She sang to him, sighs and coos from the feel of his hands on her body. When his hand went between her legs, he felt how ready she was for him, and then he made her wait a little longer. He stroked her and sucked her and nipped her until her sighs became higher in pitch, until he knew she was nearly ready to ask for it.

  She was down under him, and he rested up on his arms, his legs locked around her hips. She guided him in, and then he held still. So they could both be there together. After this moment of quiet, he started rocking into her, sure and steady.

  She felt like the earth and the sea beneath him, as necessary for his life as anything else in it. For one instant the boundaries between them disappeared, and then he exploded. He was sent high, and stars danced in his head.

  When he moved off and curled around her, he was ready to fall back into sleep.

  He heard her ask, “Was that good for you?”

  What a silly question, he thought. It set him off. Instead of answering, he started to laugh. She rolled into him and laughed too. Their laughter took the last of their energy, and they fell asleep wrapped around each other, only to separate gently in the night, bodies floating loose on the bed, touching in spots.

  7

  ELLA Gunderson, retired schoolteacher, walked down the road with the use of a good sturdy wal
king stick. She knew she looked older than her sixty-eight years, but she was determined not to let that stop her from getting in her daily walk. She figured the reason she looked older was that she walked like she was ancient. Stooped over, hesitant, watching the ground as much as she could. She walked like she was eighty years old. Doddering.

  It shamed her, but she knew if she quit walking, she would start to move slower, and her life would become more limited. She walked two miles a day. Had since she retired. She didn’t care what the weather was like. If it was forty below zero, like it was a couple of winters ago, she dressed for it. Down jacket, moon boots, glove liners inside polar fleece mittens inside leather choppers. Even a mask so she could breathe the cold air without damaging her lungs.

  The cold days actually weren’t so bad. They were usually clear and bright, the sun a bright pebble in the sky. The days that were harder on her were the mid-thirties, overcast, wet. The cold penetrated her bones, and she couldn’t see worth a darn. But she still walked her two miles.

  She knew her route by heart. She never varied it, so there were no surprises. As she walked, she might have heard a cardinal calling from the trees, a hawk screeching overhead. She wouldn’t see them, but they were still in her life.

  She took the time of her walk to think of her life and organize her day. She tried to read a bit, but more and more she relied on Books on Tape. She wrote some. Before her eye problem, she had had all these plans of what she would do when she retired: write her family history, volunteer at the county historical society, take trips to various places in the world she had never been. But her life was much more circumscribed than it had ever been. Being alone had never bothered her much until she began to lose her eyesight. Being alone and sightless was scary.

  Night was the hardest time. She knocked things over, couldn’t go out, certainly couldn’t drive. So she stayed in and listened to the TV, but relied on Wisconsin Public Radio more and more for her news and entertainment. Bless them for their talk shows and their short stories and their music. What would she do without them?