by Jodi Thomas
“Morning, Mr. Wright. You lost?”
Tyler Wright climbed out of the long black hearse and walked up to the porch. “No, I’m on my way to Tulsa to pick up someone.”
He didn’t need to tell Gabe the someone came boxed.
“I just stopped by because Jeremiah Truman called me and said he wants to give his niece Reagan a party Sunday night. Said she’s already started inviting. Wanted to include you since you were the one who saved her life, but didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”
“So you’re delivering the message.” Gabe tried to smile. Mr. Wright had taken care of pretty much everything when his father died, including bringing along a wheelchair so Gabe could attend the graveside. They could have skipped the service—Gabe, Wright, and Old Man Truman were the only ones watching the casket being lowered into the ground—but Gabe still appreciated the effort.
“I don’t ...”
“It’s going to be a real sit-down dinner. First one I ever heard of at the Truman place. Seems Reagan is not only happy to be alive, thanks to you, but she’s turned eighteen and you know that’s a big birthday.”
“I can’t . . .” Gabe began to shake his head. “I can’t go.”
Denver stepped out to help. “He’d love to come, Mr. Wright, but as you see, he’s got company.” Denver offered his hand. “I’m Denver Sims, an old army buddy of Gabe’s. I’m sure you’ve heard him talk about me.”
“No.” Wright grinned. “But, to tell the truth, I’ve rarely heard Gabe talk at all.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call Truman. I don’t think he’d mind one more guest.”
Denver had the nerve to wink at Gabe while Tyler dialed. “While you’re asking, suggest that he should invite Liz Matheson since she’s Gabe’s lawyer, and so she doesn’t have to come alone, maybe her sister could come too.”
Wright turned away toward his car when he said hello as if worried that the uninvited guest might invite more uninvited guests.
Gabe elbowed Denver hard in the chest. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.
“It’s food,” Denver whispered back. “Real food. You know, that strange stuff you never seem to eat. All you’ve got in your cabinets are cereal boxes and cans.”
“No.” He’d survived the meal at Elizabeth’s house because she was next to him and Denver drew most of the attention. “I can’t go.”
“Don’t worry,” Denver teased. “I’ll teach you to eat with a fork before Sunday.”
“No. I’m not going. What if trouble comes?”
“If it comes, it’ll find us wherever we are. My guess is whoever shot Pirate doesn’t want any witnesses around. We’re probably safe at Truman’s. Maybe I should suggest the old man invite the sheriff and her boyfriend. I kind of liked talking to them.”
“Why don’t you just plan the whole damn party?” Gabe said between clenched teeth.
“I wouldn’t mind. Does this old guy have money for steaks?”
Wright walked back from his car. “I couldn’t get Truman, but I got Reagan. She was all excited at the idea of having more guests. Laughed and said to tell everyone to bring presents.”
Gabe was too shocked at the idea of going to an eighteen-year-old’s birthday party to answer. He’d never attended any party, or had one.
Tyler Wright waved and climbed back into his car.
Gabe looked at Denver, smiling like some kind of rabid wolf. “I didn’t want to go,” he started, “and now I have to bring a gift. I have no idea what to give a girl that age.”
Denver frowned but seemed to go with his first guess. “Ammo?”
Gabe swung, but Denver was too fast for him.
Chapter 32
FEBRUARY 15, 2008
WRIGHT FUNERAL HOME
Drove the back roads to Tulsa this morning. Thought of you. Thinking you might join me one night for a glass of wine again.
TYLER STARED AT THE SCREEN AND THE WORDS HE’D JUST written. He sounded pitiful. Maybe writing Kate had become a habit. Maybe that’s all it was. They’d met once—no, twice. The first time they’d shared dinner at a lonely lodge in Oklahoma. The second time she’d seen him at his worst. In between they’d sent e-mails. Not even romantic notes, just funny little things, things people pass the time talking about.
But once, he remembered in the time between their meetings, she’d called him dear one, like he was someone who mattered to her.
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I’m going to Reagan Truman’s birthday party Sunday. Do you remember her? She’s the girl who fought so hard two years ago to save her uncle’s farm from fire. It was in the paper. She’s turning eighteen. Wish I had an idea what to buy her. Any suggestions?
Her uncle came by to make sure all the arrangements are made for his funeral. He’s a hard old guy, but he loves her dearly. I’ve seen it before. He knows his time is close. I’ll walk him through all I can, then I’ll stand next to her and see she gets through the rest.
I’ve always felt I was helping people, but sometimes I wish it would get easier.
Good night, Kate.
Ty
Tyler read it through before he clicked Send. Tonight’s note had been depressing. He’d been in a down mood for days. Maybe it was the weather: cold, windy, threats of snow. Maybe it was watching Mrs. Biggs at the cemetery grieving for a family she’d lost years ago.
He glanced at the flyer he’d picked up at the bookstore. Saturday morning palm reading and coffee.
Why not? He turned off the screen. With no funerals in sight, going to the bookstore tomorrow was as good a way to waste time as any. He went to bed thinking, if he could know one thing about his future, what would it be? After two hours worrying about it, he took a sleeping pill and decided there was nothing he’d want to know ahead of time. If it was something good, it would spoil the surprise. If it was something bad, it would haunt his future.
The next morning he dressed and arrived at exactly nine o’clock thinking there might be a crowd. His was the only car except for the bookstore owner’s, which was always in the same spot. So much for a crowd.
He waited in his car with the window down until he saw Martha Q pull up and climb out carrying what looked and smelled like apple turnovers.
Tyler got out to help her with her load, thinking that turnovers would go perfect with coffee and palm reading.
“Morning, Mr. Wright. You come for the palm reading?”
“It sounded interesting. Do you believe in such things?”
“I certainly do. When I was young, a palm reader took one look at my hand and told me I’d meet a handsome man and fall madly in love. It’s happened several times.”
Tyler smiled. “Maybe there’s a stutter in your lifeline.”
Martha Q laughed. “You better watch your heart, Mr. Wright, or I may decide you’re the next in line.”
He knew she was kidding, or at least he hoped she was.
Inside, the bookstore owner, George Hatcher, had set up a circle of eight chairs. He appeared to be expecting a crowd. Tyler recognized Dallas Logan and her daughter Ronelle. They were a pair. Dallas never stopped talking and Ronelle never said a word. Martha Q might have been hated in town years ago for all the wild things she did, but Dallas was generally hated for no particular reason and that seemed far worse. Tyler remembered something his grandfather used to say and thought it would apply to Dallas Logan. She’d complain even if she was hanged with a new rope.
He nodded at both women as he took his seat as far away from them as possible.
A girl from the bank named Mary also came in and sat down. Tyler wouldn’t have remembered her name, only she had her nametag pinned to her sweater. She looked nervous, and he almost told her that as far as he knew palm readings were not painful.
Bob McNabb was already in the store looking at the books in the fishing section, but when he heard there was free coffee, he took a seat too and helped himself to a turnover. Bob’s wife was probably at the funeral home working. They were one of the n
icest couples in town. Still married after more than forty years.
They all waited.
George went to the windows and turned the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. From his frown everyone knew there was no fortune-teller in sight. Tyler and Bob helped themselves to more coffee while Dallas lectured her grown daughter on not biting her nails. Martha Q told the girl from the bank that her shoes were “to die for,” and they began talking about nothing, as women who are complete strangers sometimes do.
About the time Tyler was getting uncomfortable, Bob McNabb leaned over and said. “I like your shoes. Where’d you get them?”
They both burst out laughing, making all the women look at them as if insanity had invaded the bookstore.
A half hour later, the group broke up and wandered out depressed.
On the way back to the funeral home, Tyler smiled. Tonight he’d have something funny to tell Kate. The others in the circle might not see it, but Tyler saw humor in wasting even a small part of your life trying to see your future.
He might even tell her about the laugh he and Bob had over shoes.
Chapter 33
SUNDAY, 3:00 P.M.
FEBRUARY 17, 2008
TRUMAN FARM
REAGAN WATCHED FROM HER BED IN THE SUNNY FRONT parlor as three women dusted and polished everything in the house. She knew her uncle had left because he couldn’t stand the thought of them touching his stuff, and in truth she felt the same way. The nurse he’d hired insisted he call in help to clean because she feared Reagan would be hobbling around on her crutches trying to get ready for her own party.
Reagan would have too. What had started as an invitation for Brandon to come over had quickly grown to a full party. She guessed if Jeremiah was going to allow one person in for dinner, he thought he might as well invite everyone.
If she could have, she would have felt his forehead for he was certainly acting strange. He’d ordered barbecue to be delivered an hour before the party and asked them to bring along the bakery cake decorated with rainbow icing.
Just before he’d left, he’d ordered her to stay in bed. It was too soon, he claimed, for her to be doing anything but the necessities.
Reagan was about to explode with excitement. She’d invited Brandon and Noah first, then decided she should invite Gabe Leary for saving her life and his lawyer for helping him get out of jail. Then there was Leary’s houseguest and Elizabeth’s sister who had to come along. Reagan didn’t want to leave anyone out so she invited Noah’s sister, the sheriff, and Hank because he was her fiancé and Tyler because he was everyone’s friend. Uncle Jeremiah said they might as well invite all the Mathesons if three were already coming as well as all the McAllens. So Noah’s parents were called, as was Hank’s mother, who was told to bring her two aunts who lived with them and little Saralynn.
Fifteen people were coming to dinner. The only salvation seemed to be to take the furniture out of the country kitchen and set up plywood on sawhorses to make a long table that ran from the kitchen counter to the far end, where a TV had been. Reagan knew her uncle would never be able to handle the details, but her nurse turned into a fairy godmother, calling friends to bring over a long tablecloth from the Methodist church and the community china a Bible study class had bought fifty years ago.
At six o’clock, the table was set, the food was on long trays around the counters, and candles glowed in the wide kitchen.
When her phone trilled Reagan answered it on the first ring.
“Hi, Noah,” she said, recognizing his number.
“Happy Birthday, Rea,” he said. “How you feeling?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been eighteen long enough to get used to it, but I’ll still take the party. I asked for strawberry cake ’cause I know it’s your favorite.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
She grinned. “You’re my best friend, Preacher. I even said to order food for twenty so you wouldn’t go away hungry. What time did you think you’ll make it in from Dallas?”
There was a silence on the phone, then he said, “I didn’t. I’m still here. I got invited to stay with some friends of my dad’s for dinner. They got this grand ranch just east of Denton. He and Mom are going to be at your party, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to miss it.”
Reagan couldn’t speak. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d start crying.
“Don’t be mad, Rea. I got you a present. Dad’s bringing it tonight. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. I just couldn’t turn down a chance to see a ranch like I want to have someday. You understand, don’t you?”
She knew he was waiting for her to tell him it was all right. They were friends, best buddies. But he didn’t understand. This was not just any birthday, this was her eighteenth birthday. This was her first ever real party.
She wasn’t old enough, or wise enough, to say anything. She just closed the phone and turned off the ringer.
All at once her world didn’t seem so sunny.
Chapter 34
SUNDAY NIGHT
FEBRUARY 17, 2008
TRUMAN FARM
SUNDAY HAD TURNED SUNNY WITH ONLY THE HINT OF chill in the air, but by midafternoon the clouds foretold another storm. For a farmer, it would have been a good day to be outside, brisk air with little wind. Only Gabe had never considered himself a farmer even in his early years when his father tried to make the farm pay and used Gabe every day as free labor. Some men are born to love the land, but not Gabe. The only thing he loved about his land was its isolation from everyone else, and tonight the distance between him and humanity seemed to be corroding away. He was about to attend his second dinner party in a week.
He parked his Land Rover at the edge of where someone had planted grass in Truman’s yard and walked toward a wide porch painted blue against the gray brick of the house. Truman’s old home was a huge two-story built with window boxes and gingerbread trim. The walls were brick on the first floor, wood on the second, and river rock along the north wall to hold back wind.
When he’d seen the place four years ago, most of the windows were boarded up and the homestead looked to be on its last leg. Now there was even a brick patio off one side that updated the place at least into the present century.
Denver walked a few feet behind him, carrying their gift for Reagan’s birthday. They’d thought long and hard about what to buy her and finally settled on a quality shotgun. With a half load it wouldn’t knock her down when she fired it, probably wouldn’t kill anything when she did, but the noise would scare the hell out of anything or anyone coming around her place uninvited.
Denver caught up to him and slapped Gabe on the back. “You know, if you keep coming up with friends, we could eat good. I don’t want to wear out my welcome, but maybe I should spend all my leave with you. I could always catch a flight to Dallas, rent a car, and drive up. But no more Mustangs in winter. I thought we’d never get that little car out of the mud.”
“You didn’t have a welcome to wear out.” Gabe frowned at his friend as they stepped onto the porch of the Truman place. After four days he was starting to get used to the lieutenant. Denver had a sense of humor about life. Gabe would miss him when he left, but he’d never let him know it.
The old man met them at the door. “Gabriel, about time you boys got here.”
Gabe shook hands and introduced Denver while thinking Truman had finally gotten so old that his wrinkles had wrinkles.
As soon as Gabe said “an old army buddy of mine,” Truman seemed to warm to the guy.
“Welcome,” he said simply, and showed them into what was obviously the dining room of a house. The entire place was sliced into little rooms, most packed with twice the furniture needed. It reminded Gabe of a time when people used to ask each other, How many rooms you got in this place?
The dining room didn’t look like it had been updated since Little Women hit the presses.
The oak dining table that might hold eight thin people around it was set with appetizers of
pigs in a blanket with mustard on the side, salsa with chips, and a square of cream cheese with some kind of jelly dripped on top.
“Appetizers,” Denver pointed.
“I know,” Gabe snapped as he picked up a plate. “They look great.” He could figure out that the sausages wrapped in bread were finger foods, and the dip and chips made sense, but he had no idea what to do about the cheese and jelly.
Denver cut his gaze to Gabe as if he were questioning the man’s sanity but said only, “Yeah, great.”
The chairs had been pushed to the walls, forming two long rows. Aunt Pat and Aunt Fat were already planted on two of the chairs with an empty chair between them for their plates. “Hello, gentlemen,” Aunt Pat said as if she were talking to children. “We were told to help ourselves. Reagan made these herself.”
At the mention of her name, Reagan appeared on her crutches. Gabe introduced her to Denver, who quickly told her the appetizers were the best he’d ever seen and if everyone else didn’t get here fast he planned to eat them all.
Reagan giggled, but her eyes were on Gabe. Somehow by just trying to help her, he’d become her own private guardian angel. He had the feeling he’d always be there for her if he could. She had the kind of eyes that really saw people, not for what they looked like, but for what they were.
“You all right, kid?” he asked, noticing the trails of tear stains washing away the makeup she’d probably been experimenting with.
“I’m okay.” She smiled. “How about you? All these people going to bother you?”
She was reading him loud and clear. “Mind if I eat on the porch?”
“I’ll make you a plate.” She grinned, the light back in her eyes. “Takeout.”