by Mary Logue
She needed to stop thinking about him. He had to come to matter less than nothing to her. In a few days, he would be miles away from her, getting farther away all the time. Maybe she’d move to China. Whatever was the total opposite place on Earth—as far away as one could possibly get—that’s where she’d go.
She washed her face and got out a bottle of Cover Girl makeup that one of the nurses had picked up for her from the drugstore down the street. Stephanie called it Cover-Up makeup. She put a blob under each eye and let it soak in, then rubbed it carefully to smooth it out. Her face looked much less scary. She could almost pass on the street for a normal woman, not one that was battered all the time.
Then a nurse came walking in, bringing a bouquet of flowers. “Lookit what you got.”
Stephanie looked at the flowers—pink and red carnations—and felt like throwing up. She saw the card sitting nestled in among the blossoms and didn’t dare open it. But maybe they weren’t from him.
The red-haired nurse set the flowers down on the rolling table and smiled as if she were responsible for them being there.
Stephanie made herself walk over and smell the flowers. Carnations had such a good smell—clean and sweet at the same time. She picked up the card and opened it.
“Sorry to hear about your troubles. Hope you get better. Your ex, Tommy.” Shit.
In front of the nurse’s astonished eyes, she dropped the bouquet in the wastebasket with a good thud. The nurse left without saying anything.
Stephanie sat down and ate her breakfast. She forced herself to eat every last bite. Even the oatmeal, which reminded her of gruel she had read about as a kid in books where children were left alone in the woods and found by witches.
Then she dressed. Another nurse bustled in and took her vitals, telling her everything looked fine.
“Are you leaving us?” the nurse asked.
“I think so.”
“Your face looks so much better today”
“I helped it along.”
“Don’t we all, sweetie.”
Stephanie liked it that the woman had called her sweetie. Her mother had never been one for endearments, and Jack had called her “bitch” and “babe” more than he’d said her name. If she ever had kids, she would kiss them every day and tell them how much she loved them. Buck had called her “Stuff.” It was cute the way he said it. Sometimes he called her “Hot Stuff.” She wished he were still around. If she had told him about Jack, maybe he would have been more prepared and could have protected himself. Maybe he would have protected her.
She felt herself starting to cry. She had to stop that. But any way she looked at it, Buck’s death was her fault. She had almost called him “honey” once. But she had been scared to get close to him. There were lots of things she wished she would have said to him, but it was all gone now.
Snooper wasn’t gone. She could hardly wait to see him again. He was her little Poopla, her Gentleman.
When Sven walked in her room, she was all ready to go, sitting on the edge of her bed.
She could tell he was afraid to look at her. But when he finally did, he smiled and said, “Hey, you look pretty good.”
“Not too bad.”
They made her ride in a wheelchair, and a big black guy pushed her out the door with Sven carrying a bag that held her washbasin and other accoutrements. As the nurse said to her, she had paid for them, she might as well take them.
Sven made sure she was warm and comfortable in the car. He waited while she put her seat belt on. He drove slow and careful as they left Durand and headed down toward the lake on Highway 35. It was about half an hour to home. She couldn’t wait to see Snooper. They were going to stop on their way and pick him up. She had called Rich Haggard, and he said he’d be there all morning. He said Snooper had been a good dog, but was waiting for her. When she asked how he knew the dog was waiting for her, he said, “Because he often sits facing the door, waiting for someone to come in. I think it’s you.”
Sven cleared his throat.
She turned and looked at him, knowing he wanted to say something.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Better.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Claire, the deputy, came and asked me if I knew anything about what went on that day, but I didn’t. I just found you, and I thought you might be dead. I hate to say it, but you looked so bad.”
“Sven, you’ve been a good friend to me. Thanks for taking care of everything.”
“I didn’t do much. The dog wouldn’t let me near. I just called Claire. I have to tell you, I was scared for you.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Don’t mind that.” He puffed out his breath. “But she made it sound like you hadn’t told her who did it. Don’t you know who did it? We have to find that guy. I’d wring his neck myself.”
“He’s not worth it, Sven. The best thing to do with him is ignore him.” She had to tell him something.
“I don’t believe that, Stephanie. He needs to be put away. He’s a menace out in society. Have you told Claire who it is?”
“Not yet.”
“But you will?”
“If I have to.”
“I hope you do.”
Snooper was standing on his back legs on a footstool that Rich had placed by the window for him. Somehow the dog knew that Stephanie was coming and he was hard at work, waiting for her.
Rich didn’t question this knowledge. He had worked with animals for too long to doubt their abilities to discern things that humans could not notice.
He realized he would miss the little dog when he left, even though Snooper had made it clear that he was only a guest and that his true home was with another. Maybe he should get a dog. He had been thinking about it for a few years and had been almost to the point of buying one when he met Claire.
It sounded stupid but he could admit to himself that he hadn’t bought a dog because of her. He wanted to know what their living arrangement would be before he brought a dog into his life. If they were going to live together in the near future, he would rather wait and buy a dog with Claire and Meg, a dog that would be all of theirs, a dog that would begin to make them a family.
But he hadn’t brought up marriage yet with Claire. He was giving her time to recover from the death of her husband and the other tragedies in her life. And there was his own slight indecision. Sometimes she seemed like a lot to take on. But usually he saw that he did not want to live without her.
Sven’s old Valiant pulled up in front of the house. Snooper’s tail was going as fast as an eggbeater. The little dog jumped down off the stool when he saw Stephanie step out of the car. Rich opened the door for Snooper, and he bounded down the steps and scampered across the driveway, flinging himself at Stephanie’s legs. But only for a moment. Then the blond woman bent down and scooped him up.
Rich turned away for a moment and put some water on the stove to heat up. He had felt tears rise to his eyes and didn’t like the feeling of crying so easily. He set out a couple coffee mugs.
Sven came tromping up the stairs.
“Cup of coffee?” Rich asked.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Rich figured as much. Sven was sometimes a little hard pressed to find things to keep himself busy. He and Rich had joined an informal group of men who gathered once a week to work on wood. Some carved bird whistles, some carved spoons, some made small boxes. They talked about the weather and a little about politics, but gently. They didn’t want any rancor in their midst. Sven had been making wooden flowers but was starting to branch out into bird-houses, painting them some wild colors. He was talking about selling them at the garden store in the spring.
Stephanie came up the steps but stopped at the door.
“Come on in,” Rich told her.
“I should get home.”
“Stop for a moment. I’ve got coffee on.”
She looked ready to resist, and then Snooper licked her right on the lips, and she laughed. “Okay. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Snooper.”
“Yes, you can. One thanks is enough. That’s one smart dog you got there. He was a perfect guest.”
“He was my boyfriend’s.”
“So I heard.” Rich had decided that he wasn’t going to press Stephanie for any information. He knew, from talking to Claire, that she was being closemouthed about who had beaten her up. But he figured she’d tell when she was ready. She just needed people close around her who she could trust. By taking care of her dog, he figured he had shown her where he stood. She could tell him whatever she wanted to. He was there.
“It’s strong coffee,” he told her. “So there’s cream and sugar if you need to tone it down.”
“It’s so strong, it’ll put hair on your chest,” Sven told her.
She sat down at the table and held the mug in her hand as if she were gathering warmth from it. Snooper curled up in her lap.
“Another storm’s coming in,” Sven said.
Stephanie’s head jerked up. “When?” she asked.
“They say soon. What’d they know? They thought the last one would be worse than it was. But we’re having a real, true winter this year. Just like we used to have when I was a kid.”
Stephanie doctored up her coffee with both cream and sugar. Rich took the opportunity to look her over. She was a pretty woman, but she did look a little damaged at the moment. It wasn’t just the bruises under her eyes. It was the way she held herself, pulled in, shoulders hunched, arms over chest, head tucked down. She took a sip of her coffee as if someone might grab it away from her. He thought of reaching out and patting her arm, but didn’t think she was ready for any man to touch her. He thought of asking her to stay with him—even though he knew that would be totally inappropriate, as they said these days. But he hated the thought of her going back to her house on her own.
“I thought you were going to go stay with your brother,” he said.
Her head lifted like a deer hearing a noise in a meadow. “Never.”
When Claire walked out into the cold, she felt her shoulders automatically rise against it. Living with this intense cold must be like living with constant battering. You cringe. It made you fear the assault of the outdoors. But there was always the promise that it would eventually be over. Right now, she didn’t dare think of spring. It would make her yearn for warmth that was still too far off.
When she got into her car, she questioned what she was doing—driving all the way back down to Winona—but she had called Mrs. Klaus and told her she would be there in the early afternoon. The weather was threatening them with another big storm: over a foot of snow and gusts of wind up to fifty miles an hour. Those gusts meant that drifts would form across roads that vehicles couldn’t drive through. But the weather wasn’t predicted to come in until after nightfall. That was five hours away. Time enough for her to scoot down to Winona and back.
The river was still open below Lake Pepin, and the water steamed as it meandered through the locks of the small river towns: Alma, Fountain City, then Winona. It took her only an hour because the roads were good.
The Klaus house was an old Victorian, but fully restored in excellent shape with a new paint job—dark green siding with a deep maroon trim. Handsome. Fifteen years ago, they were giving these houses away. Now this one would bring in a bundle.
When Claire rang the doorbell, no one answered right away. She knocked once more, and then, as she was about to turn away, the door creaked open.
A tall, thin brown-haired woman answered it. She was probably around twenty-five, wearing a turtleneck and jeans with the grace of a model. She was dressed neatly, but there was something unkempt about her. Then Claire saw that it was her hands. The nails were bitten down to the quick, and the knuckles looked raw and worried.
Claire showed the young woman her ID and asked, “Mrs. Klaus? I called you earlier.”
“Yes, I know. I told John you were coming. He said to let him know when you arrived. Please call me Eugenia.”
“May I come in?” Claire suggested, as Mrs. Klaus made no move to usher her in.
“Excuse me while I call my husband.” The woman left Claire standing in the entryway. A large stairway curled around to the second floor. It was all open, and the bannister was a lovely dark wood, polished to a glow.
In the living room, a dark oriental rug lay in front of the fireplace; a bay window overlooked the street. The house was immaculate and could have served as a movie setting for a turn-of-the-century drama.
Eugenia walked back in. “He said to show you in. Hell be here in a few minutes. It’s time for him to come home for lunch, so this works out well.”
“That really wasn’t necessary. I’ve actually come to talk to you.”
“Oh.” Eugenia led the way into the living room. It looked more like what used to be called a parlor. Thick red curtains hung in the windows, giving a sense of richness and elegance to the dark room. Eugenia offered her a chair. It was a big brown leather chair that smelled of cigar smoke when Claire sank into it. Opposite her, Eugenia stretched out on a dark green velvet couch.
“You have a lovely home.”
“We’re very proud of it. John bought it before we were married. He’s done most of the work on it. I believe Stephanie lived here for a while.” She twisted the ring on her hand. “You know, John and I have only been married a year, so the house is really his doing.”
Claire hadn’t realized that the siblings were that close. “Did she live here after her divorce?”
“I believe so. John doesn’t talk about it much. He was building up his practice. He’s a lawyer. He did some work for my father. That’s how we met.”
“What do you do?”
Eugenia brought her hands back up to her chest, folding them as if in prayer. “I keep the house. I’m an old-fashioned wife. That’s the way John likes it. There is so much work to do around here. He is very particular.”
“You’re doing a great job. I can imagine what a lot of work a house like this might be.”
Eugenia brought her hands down to her lap. “Thank you. I do my best.”
“I’d like to ask you about Stephanie.”
Eugenia started and looked as if she had heard something other than the question Claire had just asked her. “What?” she asked.
“Stephanie. How well do you know her?”
“Hardly at all. If you want to know the truth, I don’t think she likes me. We haven’t seen her at all for quite a few months. John says she’s jealous. I don’t know what it is. I’ve tried to be nice to her. She is so pretty.”
“Has he told you what has happened to Stephanie?”
“Only that she got hurt. He said that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to her.”
“He said that? Did he mention who had done it to her before?”
Suddenly the door opened, and John Klaus walked in, dressed in the full uniform of the professional working man—three-piece suit and a dark wool gabardine coat. Eugenia stood up and went to him, taking his coat to hang up in the closet. As they stood next to each other for a moment, Claire was struck by what a handsome couple they made. Then John walked into the living room and stood over her.
He asked immediately, sounding a little worried, “Deputy, what brings you here again? Nothing has happened to Stephanie, has it? I tried to call her a few minutes ago, and they tell me she’s left the hospital.”
“Really? I think she’s fine. She was when I saw her last night. I thought she wasn’t leaving until tomorrow.”
His face darkened. “That is quite like Stephanie. She changes her mind. But I don’t like the thought of her being on her own. I had hoped she’d stay with us.”
“No. I agree that she shouldn’t be on her own. I suggested the shelter in Durand, but she resisted it, I think because of the dog. But I live in Fort St. Antoine close
by her. I will drive by and see her when I get off work. Maybe I can persuade her to come and stay with you for a while at least.”
“Officer, you’ve done enough. I can take care of this. I’ll check in on her this afternoon. Don’t worry.” He looked back at his wife. She was standing in the doorway, hovering.
Claire remained seated even though her two hosts were standing. “I’ve actually come to talk to your wife. I had thought I’d made that clear. I’m sorry if there’s been a confusion.”
“Talk to her about what?”
“Well, Stephanie. Sometimes women confide in other women. I’m getting nothing out of Stephanie, and I felt it was worth a try. They are sisters-in-law.”
He turned quickly toward his wife, and her hands flew to her face. “My wife barely knows my sister. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Stephanie cares for her. I’d be very surprised if she would tell her anything. Isn’t that right, Genie?”
Eugenia nodded and lowered her hands. Watching her husband’s face, she said, “I don’t think I can tell you anything about her. I really don’t know her at all.”
John Klaus inclined his head like the gracious host, fitting into the setting as if he had been born to it. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way for nothing.”
21
SVEN walked around the side of the car and opened the door for Stephanie. She set Snooper down on the ground, and he scampered up the path to the house. As she stood up, Sven took her arm so she wouldn’t slip on the packed snow.
She pulled away. “I’m okay.”
“Let me help you,” Sven said as they walked up to the door of her house. He stayed a careful yard away from her.
“You’ve done enough.” Stephanie looked around. Snooper was at the door already, lifting one paw up, then the other, prancing in the cold. “You cleared off my whole driveway.”
“I used the snowblower.”
Stephanie smiled at him. She had such a sweet smile. It reminded him of no one else. She always looked like she was smiling only for him.
“You dug out my car.”
“It wasn’t in very deep,” he protested, even though the car had taken him three hours of slow, careful work, checking his pulse as he went.