“I know what it’s like to be desperate.”
She gave a cynical laugh, not believing him. “My dad’s a magician. He could make you disappear. But he’s better at making himself disappear.” She pressed her lips together, horrified at her words. What possessed her to say that?
“Trust me, my father has your father beat in being the biggest jackass in the country,” Hud said. “Not that it’s a contest or anything. And it sounds like your dad is still alive, so he would have the edge. My dear daddy passed on to that great golf course down below many years ago.”
“I don’t owe anyone money,” she said, sorry she’d brought up fathers. “It’s just some guy who thinks . . .” She stopped, not wanting to reveal more. “I can handle him. It’s just a misunderstanding.”
He sat forward on the sofa. In the amber light of her single living room lamp, she caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a younger man, before time and sun had textured his face. He was still a handsome man.
“Look,” he said. “Sometimes a person who barely knows you can see a situation more clearly. Like telling your problems to someone on a plane, someone you’ll never see again. They don’t actually help you solve anything, they’re just a sounding board.”
“But you’re not an anonymous person on a plane.”
“True, but you and I are not actually friends. My opinion would be purely objective. I’m assuming it has something to do with your life back in Las Vegas. Something or someone that has come up from there.” He waited a moment. “You know, we’re both Cajuns, so we’re kind of like family.”
She stared at him. “How do you know I’m Cajun? I could be Canadian. I could be from France.”
“I just know. We can’t hide from each other. My mama’s side is Cajun, by the way. My daddy’s side is moral misfits.”
She closed her eyes, remembering her grand-mère Suzette. “Say something in Cajun.”
“I want to help. We’re pareil comme deux gouttes d’eau.”
The silky, familiar sound of the Cajun French made her think of her grandmother. And her father. Where was Varise LeBlanc? Would she ever see him again? Did she want to?
She opened her eyes. “What did you say?”
“We’re alike as two peas in a pod.” He smiled at her. “My grand-papa Iry used to call me T-Hud.” His eyes turned down when his smile faded. “Man, I miss him.”
Maybe it was the liquor still coursing through her veins like liquid truth serum or maybe it was Cy’s spirit telling her to trust this guy. Or maybe she just didn’t care about what he thought. Maybe if he saw who she really was, maybe he’d figure she was too much trouble and leave. Without looking at him once, she haltingly started to talk, telling him about Sean, about finding the money, about the investigation, what her fellow officers believed about her. She didn’t mention her father. Or her mother. Or the reason she came to Morro Bay. She told him about Patrick and his accusations. All of the information came out disjointed and out of order, mimicking her life.
“Cy gave me a job,” she said, winding down, wishing now she’d kept her mouth shut. “He never knew any of this.” Not until the end, anyway. But she wouldn’t tell Hud that. “Love doesn’t know. I don’t want her to know.”
“She wouldn’t feel any different about you. She’s not a judgmental person. And she’s your friend.”
She looked at him grimly. “If you tell her, I’ll—” She almost said kill you. But she knew that was just a phony threat. “I’ll leave Morro Bay.”
“I won’t tell her. I can talk to this Patrick. Man-to-man.”
She glared at him.
“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “That was a stupid, sexist remark. I meant I . . . shoot howdy, I don’t know what I mean.”
For a moment she was silent, then she gave a small laugh. “That’s the most honest thing you’ve said in three hours.”
“Tell me how I can help.”
She sighed. “You can’t. This is between me and Patrick. I can handle it. I don’t need some man rushing in on a white stallion.”
“Chestnut.”
“What?” He was making no sense.
“My horse, Brandy. She’s a chestnut quarter horse. And she’s a mare.”
She stood up, one hand still on the chair arm. “Look, I appreciate you listening to my tale of woe. But I’ll deal with Patrick. Thanks for the ride home.”
He stood up. “Okay, I can take a hint.” He pulled a card out of his back pocket and laid it on the coffee table. “In case you misplaced my other one. Home phone and cell phone is on the back. Call any time.”
“Thanks.” She would toss this one out too, after he left. “Have a merry Christmas.”
He walked toward the front door, turning to face her before he opened it. “You too, Melina. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not,” she said, suddenly angry.
“Call me if you need me.” He left, closing the door softly behind him.
“Never gonna happen, buddy,” she said to the wooden door. She went over and locked it, turning the dead bolt with more force than necessary.
TWENTY-THREE
Love Mercy
It was a little past noon, and Love had already put in a four-hour shift at the café. One of their new waitresses, a Cal Poly girl, had just up and quit without so much as a how-do-you-do. Oh, well, one less salary to pay, she thought, trying to look on the bright side.
“What is wrong with kids these days?” Magnolia grumbled while they refilled creamers. “Hey, how do you like that new creamer over on table six? Got it on eBay.” It was the head of a collie dog.
“We’ll have to watch that one,” Love said. “It’s so cute, it might just up and walk its way out of here.” They’d had trouble before with their creamers being stolen. Now that made Love wonder what was wrong with people more than fickle college kids who quit without warning. Honestly, people who would break a commandment for a gewgaw. Crazy.
Love had brought home some clam chowder and sourdough rolls, and she and Rett had just sat down to eat lunch when the always dependable corgi doorbell told them that someone was parking in front of the house.
“It better not be another pound of fudge,” she said to Rett. “I know people want to celebrate this time of year by reaching out to their neighbors, but I’ve already got four pounds of the stuff.”
“I’ll take it,” Rett said, smiling. “I love fudge.”
When Love opened the front door, her heart started pounding. It was Dale. Sensing her agitation, Ace started growling until she stooped down and rested her hand on the back of his neck.
“It’s okay, Ace.” She stood back up. “What are you doing here? I thought you and the judge had a deal.” Love kept her voice low, hoping Rett wouldn’t come out of the kitchen to see who it was.
Today he wore a pair of tight black jeans, a black T-shirt with Hank Williams’s face printed in silver, and those heavy black Redwing work boots that were once worn only by men for whom work meant dirt-encrusted nails and banged-up thumbs.
His face held a forced Elvis sneer. “Tell that friend of yours, that judge dude, that I thought about it and changed my mind. I don’t have time to hang around this lame-ass town. The band is leaving two days after Christmas, and I have to go with them. I want my banjo.”
“Well, now,” she said, trying to buy some time. “Let’s not—”
“Tell Rett I need . . .” The sneer faded, too difficult to maintain for longer than a minute. He swallowed hard, reminding her of a child. “I want to talk to her. To explain.”
She peered at him through the screen door. Though Love wanted to spare Rett the pain, there was no way she could keep her from eventually talking to this man. And Love had always believed you might as well get bad stuff over with right off, just take it on the chin and move on. So she grabbed Ace’s collar and opened the screen door. “She’s in the kitchen eating lunch. You may as well join us.” She stroked the dog’s head. “Ace, this boy’s a .
. . friend.” She almost choked on the word. “No bite.”
Ace gave Dale a suspicious look, then ran to the kitchen. Rett’s head was bent over petting him when Dale walked into the room. Love stood back, wondering if she should leave these two alone yet not trusting this young man enough to do that.
“Rett, baby,” he said, his voice husky in a way that told Love more than she wanted to know about their relationship.
Her head popped up, and a small animal sound escaped from the back of her throat. The stricken look on her face made Love wonder if she’d made the right decision. Then, like a lamp clicking off, Rett’s expression turned hard.
“I have nothing to say to you.” She turned back to her soup and took a sip, calm as a nun.
“Baby, we need to talk.”
She jumped out of her chair. “Don’t you call me that. Don’t you ever call me that, you big, stupid jerk. Get out of here. I said I don’t want to talk to you.” She ran out of the kitchen into her bedroom, Ace at her heels. The door slammed behind them.
Dale turned to Love, his cocky expression replaced by one of boyish panic. “Do something! Make her . . .” He stood there with his unfinished sentence, his long arms dangling at his side.
“I can’t make her do anything,” she said calmly. “I can ask her if she’ll talk to you.”
“Please, ma’am,” he said, sounding like a ten-year-old.
She inhaled deeply and said, “Go outside and sit in the backyard.”
“Thanks,” he said, relieved.
She pointed to the kitchen’s back door. “You can reach the yard through there. Stay out there until I come get you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dollars to donuts he’s his mama’s favorite, she thought. Probably an only son or the youngest—his mama’s sweet baby. He was way too willing to let someone else step in and take care of his problems.
She rapped softly on Rett’s door. “Can I come in?”
“Okay,” she said.
Love opened the door and found Rett sitting on the floor next to her bed, her arms encircling Ace’s squat body. He looked as if he were laughing to himself, which Love thought he must often do while he observed the nutty humans trying to maneuver their way-too-complicated relationships.
“Are you all right?” Love asked, sitting down on the overstuffed chair.
“I guess,” she said, burying her face in Ace’s fluffy neck. “Is he still here?”
“Yes. He’s out on the patio cooling his heels.”
“What’s that mean, anyway?”
“It means to wait for something. It originally meant to cool your feet when they became hot from too much walking. It has been in use since the sixteen hundreds when people were forced to rest after a long walk. I’m assuming they meant the peasants. Kings and queens probably had horses and carriages.”
Rett gave a small smile. “How do you know those things?”
“Google,” Love said, smiling back. “And I read a lot.”
Rett gave Ace a last hug, then stood up and went over to the window, her back to Love. “I wish I didn’t have to talk to him. I wish he’d just go away.”
“You don’t have to talk to him. But you do need to give him back his banjo. It’s stealing, Rett. No matter what he did, it’s still stealing.”
She didn’t turn around. “I know that. But . . .”
“Rett . . .”
She spun around and threw up her hands. “Okay, okay. I just wanted to mess with his head for a while. I didn’t ever plan on keeping it.” Her eyes started blinking, teenage emotional Morse code.
Love wanted so badly to go across the room and put her arms around her. But they weren’t at that point yet. She didn’t think she could have stood the pain of Rett pushing her away.
“You know,” Love said, leaning her elbow on the padded chair arm. “If you really want to start a new life, it might be better if you talked this out with him now. Yell, scream, whatever makes you feel better.” She gave a half smile. “You might want to stop at actual physical violence. But sometimes it’s better to just move on. You’ll have to eventually make your peace with him. Like it or not, he’s the father of your future niece or nephew.”
Rett sat down on the bed and looked down at her hands, studying her long fingers. It occurred to Love that she hadn’t yet heard her granddaughter play or sing. Was she any good? How much did banjos cost? Not a fancy one like Dale’s, but a good one. Magnolia would know. Maybe Love could buy Rett one for Christmas.
“But it’s not fair,” she said.
Love felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “Sweet Pea, life isn’t fair. It just . . . is. But things even out. You’ll be happy again. I promise.”
Rett looked over at Love, her eyes red-rimmed. This time Love couldn’t help herself. She went over, sat next to her granddaughter and put her arms around her. Rett laid her head on Love’s shoulder. Love could smell the flowery scent of her hair. Her heart throbbed with sadness, wishing she could take her granddaughter’s pain into her own body.
Rett pulled away. Sniffing loudly, she went over to the dresser, grabbed a wad of tissue and blew her nose. “I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him. Then I’ll give him his stupid banjo.”
“Wise plan,” Love said, standing up. “Can I say something to you as a sort of writer to another writer?”
Rett looked at her warily, then nodded.
“This hurts, I know. But suffering is often what spurs on our most creative moments. Think about the song ‘Crazy.’ I imagine Willie Nelson had to be rejected by someone he really cared about before he could write that song. And I don’t think Patsy Cline could have sung it quite the way she did without going through some real heartache of her own.”
Rett’s eyes held Love’s, then she nodded and squared her shoulders before walking out to the backyard. Love resisted spying on them and went into the kitchen to wash the lunch dishes. A little while later, they came through the back door.
“We’re going for a drive,” Rett said.
Love almost protested, not wanting to let Rett go anywhere with this irresponsible young man. But Rett was eighteen, and Love couldn’t stop her.
“No worries, Grandma,” Rett said, grabbing her backpack. “I’ll be fine. We won’t be long.”
Love looked over at Dale, standing in the doorway looking sheepish. She pointed a finger at him. “I have your number, young man. And so does my friend, the judge. So help me God, if you harm a—”
“I won’t, Mrs. Johnson. I swear, ma’am. I know you have friends who can—”
“Yes, I do,” she said, trying to sound fierce. “And they would. At the drop of a hat.” She hoped her vague warning sounded threatening rather than like dialogue from a Sopranos episode.
Without a backward glance, Rett walked away with him. Ace and Love stood on the front porch and watched them drive away.
She hadn’t been back inside the house three minutes when she heard the sound of tinkling music. Rett’s cell phone lay on the kitchen counter being recharged. Now Love was really nervous. How would Rett call for help if she needed it? Love picked it up and hit the green Answer button.
“Rett? Is that you?” a young woman asked.
“I’m sorry, Rett isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?” She should have let it go to voice mail.
“Grandma Love?”
Her heart leapt like a dancing trout. “Patsy?”
“Grandma? Is that you?” Her voice sounded like Rett’s, but didn’t. It was higher, softer, a soprano rather than the alto Love suspected Rett was.
“It is. It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” Thank goodness Rett used some of the money Love gave her yesterday to buy more minutes.
There was a moment of silence. “I’ve been . . . better.”
“I know, honey. This must be so hard for you.”
A strangled sob came over the phone. “Mom’s really mad and I don’t know where Dale is and I’m so scared.”
In the background, Love could hear music playing and the murmur of people talking.
“Are you at home?”
“No, I’m at Starbucks with my girlfriend, Liz. Mom is about to drive me insane with wanting to talk every minute about what we should do. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Love didn’t envy what Karla was going through. One heartbroken daughter on the lam with stolen goods, one daughter pregnant, with the same man responsible for both problems. Did Karla know about Dale yet? “What can I do to help you?”
She sighed. “Nothing, I guess. I mean, it’s Rett I need to talk to. If you could tell her to call me the minute she gets back, I’d sure appreciate it. Tell her . . .” There was a pause. “Tell her I know about Dale and her. Tell her we have to talk.”
“Okay,” Love said, hating that she had the information that would set Patsy’s mind at ease, at least temporarily. Knowing where Dale was and keeping it from her seemed unkind. But was it Love’s place to tell her?
She made a sudden decision that she hoped she wouldn’t regret later. “Patsy, this might not be my place to tell you . . .” She paused. “Dale is here. Rett took his banjo when she left, and he came after it. They are out talking now. I thought you should know.” Rett and Patsy would both probably hate her, but at least everything was out in the open now.
Patsy sighed again. “I figured as much when he wouldn’t answer his cell. I mean, he did once, when I texted him. He said don’t worry, that he had something to take care of, that he’d text me soon. That was two days ago, and I’ve called and texted him, like, thirty times.”
Love didn’t know what to say to Patsy. This was a horrible situation, one that would, undoubtedly, taint her and Rett’s relationship forever. She made a vow to go see Rocky. They all definitely needed a wise and impartial view on all this. “Patsy, I wish I had some advice for you, but I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to tell you. Do you love this Dale? Is there any chance for a . . .” She wanted to say marriage, but these days that wasn’t always the first thing people did when the woman became pregnant. But, shoot, that’s what Love meant. “Any chance you and this boy will get married?”
Love Mercy Page 24