I listened with the knuckles of one hand pressed hard to my lips. In law school I had been presented with all manner of depositions, statements, testimonies, all for the purpose of study and speculation, the building of imaginary cases. I had been privy to information that would make anyone curl up with horror. And yet nothing had ever affected me this way, as though I’d been slammed in the gut with a baseball bat.
“I could have kicked myself in the head for not acting sooner. I rode over to their place and made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that if Owen ever laid a hand on the boys again, I would shoot him.”
“You did?” I whispered, suddenly hard-pressed to recall that this was 2013, well into the twenty-first century. People didn’t behave this way any longer. Yet here sat proof that they did, indeed.
“I did. And I don’t regret it a minute. Long story short, Owen cleaned up a little after that. Never heard about him beating on the boys again, but I would imagine he still did. Case is a great one for keeping secrets. He and Gus very nearly lived here most of their teenage years. Faye adored them. My boys and them may as well be actual brothers.” He looked my way and said, “I don’t tell you any of this lightly, honey. I just want you to have a little insight. See, Case won’t admit to anything anymore, won’t admit that he feels a thing for you. But I know him well enough to see the hope in him, now that you’re here for the summer. Making excuses to be near you. Thinking it might be different this time.”
“What about his ex-wife?” I asked, and my throat belied my unwitting emotion, as it was raspy and hoarse.
“Lynnette,” Clark affirmed. “They wed in 2009. Lynnette claimed to be pregnant, that’s what sparked the whole thing, ironically, just like Melinda back when. But Case is nothing like his pa. He did right by Lynn and married her without a word of protest. Then she claimed a miscarriage a month or so later. I don’t know. Never felt right to me. They fought a great deal. She hated that he worked late nights, performing. They split about a year and a half ago.”
“He was married that summer you came to visit Landon?” I asked. When Clark told Marshall he’d break bones if any of them tried anything with me.
“That’s the only reason he didn’t join us,” Clark said. “He wanted to come, something fierce, but Lynn said no sir.”
“Where is she now?” I asked, I hoped casually.
“Remarried, actually, and living in Idaho, last I heard,” Clark said, and my shoulders relaxed a little; I hadn’t even realized they were hunched with tension.
“Clark, I don’t know what to say,” I admitted then. A furtive emptiness had been stalking me and I shivered as it seemed to pounce.
“Honey, you don’t have to say a thing,” Clark said, kindly. “I just worry about my boys. Be his friend, if you want, but that’s where it has to end. He can’t have false hope, I can’t watch him go through that.”
I said softly, “I think he’s beyond all of that, I do. It’s been a long time, and we’re older now. And I’ll be so busy while I’m here, we probably won’t see much of each other at all.”
“Dad! You and Tish still out here?” Wy yodeled from the house. I looked over my shoulder to see him silhouetted in the open door.
“We are,” Clark called back, teasing his youngest. “You can see us, can’t you, fool boy?”
“It’s late,” I noted. “Thank you for supper, and for telling me everything.”
Clark rose as I did, cupping my upper arm for a moment, before holding out a polite hand, allowing me to walk first. He said, “I’d like it very much indeed if you’d come back on Fridays as a matter of habit. And any other night you’d like.”
“I’d like that too,” I said.
In my car, heading home a minute later, I felt as tiny as an ant crawling along on the ground, and just as significant. All of the information I’d just absorbed was swirling around my brain, certain words and images standing out from others. I pictured Case as he’d looked last night on stage, and as he’d looked tonight, grinning as he’d stroked his horse’s neck, introducing me to her. I thought of him as a vulnerable little boy, shooting a dog, hiding out in a cave and nearly starving to death. Marrying a woman he believed carried his child.
He’s a passionate man.
That’s abundantly clear.
And if Clark’s right, you can’t encourage any sort of attention.
Even if you want his attention, really badly.
Something caught my eye right then, a road meandering to the left, and I braked fast enough that my car squealed and fishtailed in the gravel. I told myself this was why I was a little shaky, clutching the wheel, holding down the brake, as I read the words on the road sign again. Ridge Road. The Spicer place was just down this road, Clark had said.
What are you doing?
Are you a fucking moron?
It’s late. He’s in bed.
I just want to see his place, that’s all. Just see it.
I turned left, driving slowly and carefully along this new gravel road.
You thought it was bad Google-searching him on Monday! What is this?
Are you a stalker now?
Tish. Seriously.
There was nothing but empty land for a mile or so, stretching to the mountains on the horizon. Dark as hell, nothing to illuminate the black except for my headlights. Then I saw a structure looming on the left side of the road and slowed down just a fraction. A barn, huge and imposing. And then, my heart feeling like someone with a heavy boot had stepped down upon it, I spied a trailer, tucked into the side of a small ridge, south of the barn. White and green, shitty-looking, spared total desolation by two strings of red chili-pepper lights glinting a warm scarlet welcome, stretched above the door.
As though to highlight the fact that I was indeed staring at Case’s house, my headlights picked out a mailbox just to the right, silver and faded, the word Spicer stenciled in black upon it; somehow I knew, I knew, that Melinda Spicer had been the one to put that word there, long ago. I wasn’t considering how conspicuous I was, in a car out here on what was clearly not a well-traveled road, and my heart went shooting right through my ribcage as a light towards the back of the trailer, perhaps a bedside lamp, clicked out.
Shit! Go! I felt low and despicable and criminal, and didn’t exactly stomp on the accelerator, but came pretty damn close. The barn and the chili-pepper lights and the stenciled mailbox were receding before I could think twice.
Now you’re going to get lost! I thought frantically. You have to turn around. You have to go back that way or you’ll never find your way to town.
Shit, shit, shit.
Perhaps a half-mile from his front yard, I stopped the car, though I was unable to likewise stop my frantically-pounding heart. I pulled to the side of the road, killed the headlights but left the engine running, and climbed out. I felt amped up like I couldn’t believe and paced a little, as the dark Montana night engulfed me in a way that was exactly what my soul needed, whether I could articulate this to myself at present or not. After a few minutes I was calm enough to lean against the warm hood of my car, tipping my chin to the stars.
God, it’s beautiful out here. Like Landon, but wilder somehow. The air smells wild, if that makes sense. It could be any year right now, hundreds of years ago. Montana doesn’t realize or care what year it actually is, I get that now.
I cupped both hands around my temples and studied the sky, the way I used to as a little girl when we’d just visited Landon in the summers, before we’d moved there for good. Shutting out the world this way for a moment, I could pretend that I was able to lift from earth and fly up to the stars. This sensation was both heady and slightly terrifying.
What if you can’t fly back to earth?
What then?
I could hear the sounds of the night all about me, most unrecognizable, though that was surely a hawk somewhere in the foothills. The scrub brush on the edge of the road appeared wizened, pagan and enchanting and wholly mysterious. There was a particular ro
ck formation to the east, visible and magnificent even in the darkness, shaped distinctly like an uppercase T. It reminded me of a wizard with arms outstretched, casting. I let this feeling overtake my senses and would have remained here all night, leaning against my car and staring at the landscape if not for the hordes of mosquitoes I could hear beginning to gather near me, as though for a feast.
I breathed deeply and at last admitted defeat; I turned to reenter my car when something hooked my senses. A flicker of a voice, the sounds of passage, somewhere out there in the foothills. Without questioning my actions, I leaned and instantly killed the engine. Motionless, nearly silent darkness encased me as thoroughly as a cloak, almost as tangible. I crouched near my car and peered towards the faint hint of distant activity; I wasn’t sure if I was still on Case’s family’s acreage or not, and these sounds were drifting to my ears from the opposite direction in any case. I slapped at a mosquito, their insistent whine growing ever more threatening, but I remained still and silent, watching the distance.
What in the hell?
What are you doing? Are you insane?
Something’s happening out there. Out by the wizard rock. I know it.
I watched and waited, the bugs attacking my legs through my stupid, thin sundress. At least Clark had let me keep the sweatshirt, which kept me from outright freezing (it was cold as shit out here at night) and prevented my arms from being entirely devoured.
Men, I discerned after a moment, straining to listen.
Voices carried fairly well out here in the open, much like they did across the lake, back home. Though not quite enough for me to make out actual words.
At least two, I decided.
Hunters, maybe?
Why else would a couple of men be out here at this time of night?
I’ll have to ask Case –
I cut myself short, realizing abruptly that I could do no such thing. What would I say? Would I openly admit to having been skulking about his property like a stalker? Looking for trouble? Hadn’t Clark just told me a cautionary tale involving that very notion? Looking for trouble only led you to it that much faster.
But there’s something not right about what’s going on out there, I can tell.
I felt this strongly. I longed for Aunt Jilly, whose extrasensory perception was strong, who could maybe get a read on the men in the distance. I jumped a little, startled at the sound of a vehicle firing to life about two football fields from where I currently crouched, on a road not visible to me from this vantage point. It was pointed in the exact opposite direction as my car, back towards Case’s house.
Follow them!
I leaped into my car, turning the key and leaving the headlights out. There wasn’t another moving vehicle for miles anyway, I was sure. A tiny, immature part of me thrilled at what appeared to be a real-life mystery, the kind Camille and I longed for as kids, when we’d been into Scooby Doo.
Hurry!
I cranked my car around and drove forward, not so much following as driving parallel to their vehicle. The car jounced beneath me and I drove as best I could, keeping one eye on the road and the other on them. Case’s yard appeared on the right, the chili-pepper lights still glowing, all other lights extinguished.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out, I told him silently as I drove past.
Case.
Charles Shea Spicer.
For whatever reason, I liked the sound of his full name.
My window was down and the scent of sagebrush strong in my nose. The car to my left was moving fairly slowly, surely passing over tougher ground than I was at present. I watched them, again like a spider in a web, observing from a distance and not about to let them get away. They reached the main road, the one that led into Jalesville, not five miles away. I stepped on it a little and turned after them, keeping my distance.
Shit, you better turn on the headlights.
Not yet.
You’ll get a ticket! Worse, you could hurt someone.
I clicked the button on the dash and immediately the vehicle I was following braked. They were a good deal ahead of me, but I interpreted this action as their suspicion. I braked too, instantly, letting the distance between us increase. It was only when there was a chance that they were about to disappear over the horizon that I dared to speed up, pursuing their taillights.
They drove into Jalesville ahead of me; there wasn’t a hint of additional traffic on the road, which made the stoplight seem completely unnecessary. But it was my luck, as I pulled directly behind them, much like I’d pulled up behind Case’s truck, and I studied every detail of the 4x4 in front of my bumper.
Black GMC, Colorado plates. Interesting. The windows had a light tint so I couldn’t exactly tell how many bodies were inside. I mentally jotted down the license plate, though, and realized I could not tail them any longer; it would be as obvious as a noisy fart in a classroom full of students taking a test. I giggled at my thought, way more than a little overtired.
Probably none of this means a damn thing anyway, I thought.
The light changed to green and the GMC pulled forward. I turned left, back towards my apartment, deciding that I needed a good night’s sleep more than anything else.
Chapter Seven
Morning sunlight, warm and golden, soft as a mother’s hand on my cheek. I stretched, not quite fully awake, and my first thought was to go and tell my sisters and Clinty what I had done last night. But they were in Minnesota. And I had work to do today, intent on living up to my growing (and at this point, thoroughly undeserved) reputation as the hero of Jalesville.
You have a real complex, I told myself.
I brewed coffee, munching a banana as I reworded my argument for Tuesday night. As much as I was trying not to acknowledge it, a great deal of my attention kept getting swept into the notion that Case would be there, listening. Not to mention about half the town. But his opinion, as I was quickly discovering, mattered a great deal to me. I moved out to the porch, hoping the sunny day would distract me, but no good. I only found myself thinking about how the sun would play over his red-gold hair.
I want to see another picture of him, I thought then, peering back over my shoulder at my laptop, lying forlorn on the sofa.
No. Tish, no.
Stop it.
I turned resolutely back to my work.
Around five in the afternoon, Clark called to tell me that they were having a bonfire at their place in a few hours, waking me from where I had dozed off on the porch chair.
“Supper, too, hon, if you haven’t eaten yet,” Clark added, and I laughed at that.
“You spoil me,” I told him.
“I’m happy to,” Clark replied.
I dressed in jeans and my tennis shoes, a light gray cotton t-shirt, and brought along my brown leather jacket for when it got cold later, embarrassed that I had gone too far with the sundress yesterday. I felt small and petty, wanting to attract attention that I had no business attracting. I left my hair loose and held off on the make-up, only dashing some gloss over my lips.
Will he be there? I wondered as I drove through town and then out to the Rawleys’. I was not yet pathetic enough to have questioned Clark about this, though I had wanted to, very much.
He might not even be there.
He will, I assured myself. He’ll ride Cider.
I gripped the steering wheel in both fists as I was suddenly overwhelmed with a vision, intense and immediate, of riding Cider along with Case, sitting in front of him, his chest bracketing my shoulders, his thighs aligned with mine, his kisses on my neck, from behind.
Oh God.
Oh my God.
I shuddered hard then and mentally banged my forehead on the steering wheel as I turned into the driveway.
His truck isn’t here…
I parked and climbed out of the Honda, trying to appear casual as I went straight to the corral fence, peering at the barn doors, open to the evening. I could see the edge of a stall, and
the Rawleys’ horses were all in there, as I could hear, but I could not discern if a certain sorrel with a white spot between her nostrils was also among them. I pretended that Cider would come clomping outside, knowing I was here, to greet me.
It was just Clark, Wy, Marshall and me for dinner; I ate as much as I was able to with a ball of disappointment sitting heavily in my gut, though we talked easily and I truly enjoyed their company. When the sound of a truck entering the yard came rolling through the open windows, I almost jumped out of my seat to run to the door – but it was just Sean and Quinn, returning from a roofing job, dirty and starving. I was debating which excuse I could use to beg off and leave early, go home and curl up on my bed, when Clark said from the kitchen, where he was refilling his wine glass, “I told the boys eight-thirty. Wonder where they are?”
He means Case and Gus.
My eyes flew to the grandfather clock in the living room; it was quarter to nine, and we were lingering around the table as Sean and Quinn finished up their supper. At Clark’s words my energy was all at once restored, my heart alive and fluttering around as though it had sprouted a pair of little feathery wings.
“Gus’s got dinner at Lacy’s folks tonight,” Sean said around a huge mouthful of cornbread. The Rawley boys had accepted me as a sister; I knew this because they acted just like brothers around me. I might as well have been a boy for the level of comfort they displayed in my presence, belching and telling off-color jokes, unconcerned if their hair was messy or their clothes were stained with a day’s work. Instead of repelling me, I only felt the warmth of acceptance. At the same time, I knew I was completely safe with all of them, that they wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for me, if occasion ever required.
The First Law of Love Page 11