Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  I looked from one to the other. “Belle is?”

  “Fern, don’t.” Belle’s mouth formed a straight line, and she shook her head.

  “Yeah, she was the dummy who stuck around. Now she’s tired all the time, doesn’t eat. Drops things, forgets things. It’s because of me,” Fern said. “I don’t sleep that great because I can’t get comfortable. So this one,” she gestured at Belle, “is up all night, too.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Belle.

  “And after staying awake all night, she takes care of everything else during the day. It’s not what she signed up for.”

  “So get help,” I said. “Hire somebody for a few hours a day to come in and lighten your load.”

  “She doesn’t want strangers around,” said Belle.

  Fern glared at her. “I didn’t say that. I said you need to stop fussing so much.”

  “I want you to heal. I’m worried about you. You don’t listen to the doctor...”

  They went back and forth, hauling out their respective arguments as if I were there to choose a winner. After a few minutes, I couldn’t take it. Someday when we woke up from this bad dream, they’d remember I’d been a witness, and I’d be associated with this sad time. The nasty memories would stick to me. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Do you want company?” asked Belle.

  “I thought I’d call Curt and let him know I arrived safely.” It was a gentle way of getting out of the house alone, and Belle didn’t insist. I put on a coat and pulled the door closed behind me. An elderly man was walking his sweater-clad Chihuahua, but otherwise, I was alone. Christmas lights twinkled through the palm trees and around the clubhouse, and subtle spotlights illuminated the walkways. Down a broad set of stairs, a tennis court stood waiting for daylight. To my right lay a practice putting green. Wooden benches stood along the edges for those watching. The light fragrance of jasmine and alyssum would strengthen in the warmth of the coming day. What a sweet place to live, but instead of enjoying their visit, Fern and Belle were twisting in the wind.

  I didn’t understand them. I’d seen old couples deal with life-changing illness and injury, both in my extended family and in my HR work. Most of the time, humans buckled down and adapted, learning to deal with the new set of circumstances. Plus the fact that Fern had always been crabby. Belle had to be used to it by now. So why would the broken ankle cause such havoc?

  I set it aside and pressed Curt’s number.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hey, babe. How’s sunny Palm Springs?”

  “Cold and dark. Wish you were here to warm me up.” I filled him in, trying to minimize my concerns. “I’ll probably stay a few days, get caught up, maybe do a little sightseeing.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “I think it will be,” I lied, “but I wish we could be here together.”

  “Take care of your friends,” he said. “We’ll make it up to each other when you get home.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I hung up, feeling out of place. I’d looked forward to being in California again, and hoped when the sun rose, I’d be able to regain that feeling of familiarity. After all, I’d spent almost thirty years in Newport Beach, a couple hours west of here. The Golden State was my second home, yet at the moment it felt like a foreign country.

  I kept walking, wishing I could call Jessie, but she’d be busy getting the kids ready for bed. I wandered around for a few more minutes, trying to figure out why Fern was reacting so badly. Sure, she didn’t like being dependent, but this went beyond that. I felt sure something else was bubbling under the surface.

  Tomorrow I would dig deeper.

  Chapter 3

  THE NEXT MORNING, BELLE drove Fern to a doctor appointment. I was relieved to have the place to myself, and had breakfast on the patio, watching golfers play on the emerald fairway in front of me. Hot pink bougainvillea and yellow hibiscus splashed the patio with color. I closed my eyes and tilted my face to the sun, imagining Curt in the chair next to me, the two of us on a romantic desert vacation.

  My daydream was interrupted by the sound of the Silverado pulling into the driveway. I went to the front door, intending to help Fern out of the truck and into the house. Instead, my hand froze on the screen door handle.

  They were sitting in the front seat, yelling at each other.

  I had never seen this side of them. Some couples were cool with fighting—they stomped around and yammered at each other, and nobody thought anything of it. But Fern and Belle were always good to one another, and Belle wasn’t a fighter. She was quiet and soft-spoken.

  The passenger door opened, and Fern started to step out, her sneaker touching the cement first, followed by the black canvas boot. I didn’t want to get in the middle of their argument, but if I didn’t hurry, she might fall again and make things worse. Halfway to the truck, I could hear them yelling.

  “Doctors don’t know shit!” Fern stood on her good leg, leaning into the crew cab’s back seat and hauling out her crutches. She jammed one under her arm.

  “They know more than we do!” Belle shouted back. She saw me and ducked her head as if embarrassed. I hated putting her in that position.

  Fern’s denim skirt was hung up on one of her crutches. As she struggled to unhook it, she saw me.

  “And you.” She straightened up. “Thank you very much for coming, but we’re fine now.”

  “Sure, you are.” I folded my arms.

  Belle’s face was red. “I’m sorry, Karen.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I gave her the most comforting smile I could conjure up.

  At the approaching low rumble of a heavy vehicle, Belle groaned.

  “Great,” said Fern. “It’s a goddamned party.”

  The neighborhood seemed to vibrate as the vehicle came closer. A man, stooping in his driveway for the morning paper, straightened up and craned his neck to see.

  Down at the end of the street, towering over the low rooftops, a gleaming silver set of twin smokestacks appeared, and the giant-anteater snout of a red Peterbilt.

  Rita.

  She must have landed a local hauling job and decided to stop by and check up on Belle and Fern. The big tractor turned the corner and rolled toward us, stopping at the curb. The logo on the door was a Latina version of Rosie the Riveter, with Rita’s face in the iconic World War II picture. Underneath, it said “Lopez Transport” in cursive.

  When she turned off the motor, the silence was deafening. The door opened and slammed. Rita rounded the front of the tractor.

  A lot of long-haul truckers weren’t in the greatest shape, but Rita was trim and petite, and always wore a bit of bling no matter where she was on the road. Plus, she had a blinding smile. She flashed it now, standing in the front yard.

  “Hey, everybody.” She pushed rhinestone-studded aviators off her face and up into her hair, holding back the strands of her gray shoulder-length cut. She grinned at Fern and Belle. Then she noticed me. “Karen!”

  We hadn’t seen each other in two years, so I got a super-long hug before she went over to see Fern’s boot. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Fine.” Fern glared at us, eyes blazing, face flushed.

  “Is it healing okay?”

  “I said, it’s fine.” Fern pulled away from Rita, planted her crutches, and tottered toward the house.

  Rita looked at me.

  I shook my head. Don’t ask. I’ll tell you later.

  Crutches or not, Fern was in the house and halfway down the hall before the rest of us were inside. Her bedroom door slammed, and the windows rattled.

  Rita went in the kitchen and got Belle a glass of water. The three of us sat in the living room.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Belle took a couple of swallows, then held the cold glass to her forehead, her eyes closed. Rita and I glanced at each other, worried.

  “As far as the break,” Belle said, “Fern is healing as well as can be expected. Bu
t oh, you should have seen her. She hates being limited. Her blood pressure was sky high. I thought the doctor was going to admit her to the hospital. He lectured her about taking better care of herself, which, of course, made her even madder.”

  “And she took it out on you.”

  “I’m getting used to her yelling.” Belle shrugged. “I don’t take it personally.”

  “I would,” said Rita.

  “She’s just very angry. Some people are bad patients,” said Belle.

  I reached over and rubbed Belle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to say it, but this seems worse than that. I think something else is bothering her.”

  “Nothing else is bothering her.” Belle wouldn’t look at me.

  “I’ve never seen her like this,” said Rita. “She’s going to blow a gasket.”

  At the sound of Fern’s door opening, we all shut up. The bathroom door slammed.

  Rita flinched. “Ai yai yai.”

  I had an idea. “Does the golf cart work? Why don’t you two go for a ride?”

  “Good thinking,” Rita said. “Belle, honey, come on.”

  “But I just got home.”

  “Let’s do a little cruise around the neighborhood,” Rita said, “while Karen talks to Fern.”

  “What about? What are you going to talk about?” Belle glanced from one of us to the other.

  “No big deal,” I said. “I’ll ask what’s bothering her, and see if I can get her to vent a little. Let off some of that pressure.”

  “I think instead you should leave her alone. Let her take a nap,” said Belle.

  I shot a pleading look at Rita.

  “Hey, Belle, have you checked out the clubhouse yet? And there’s a ton of pools in the community. I’ll bet you haven’t seen any of them.”

  “Well, with Fern—”

  “We’ll be gone an hour.” Rita hustled Belle out the door.

  The red golf cart backed out of the driveway and turned toward the clubhouse. As they departed, my courage threatened to do the same. I took Belle’s glass into the kitchen, thinking about what to say. Now it was just Fern and me.

  Down the hall, the toilet flushed. The faucets ran. The door opened.

  I took a calming breath. “Fern,” I called out.

  The walker scuffed on the carpet as she made her way down the hall. She stood at the edge of the living room, looking around. “Where’d they go?”

  I pointed at her chair. “Come and sit with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to talk.”

  “No offense, Karen, but this is none of your effing business.”

  “I know, but still.”

  “No ‘still.’ Let it drop.” She stood there glaring at me, hanging onto her walker. Her arms were shaking with the exertion.

  I didn’t know what came over me right then, but staring back into Fern’s intense blue eyes, I believed I saw fear. It made sense. More often than not, fear drove bad behavior. I knew that from my dad.

  As soon as he came into my mind, I got this overwhelming feeling that, if he were alive today, standing right there in front of me, right where Fern was, I wouldn’t care what kind of bastard he’d been. I’d just want to put my arms around him and hold on.

  So I did. I got up and went over to Fern and wrapped her in a hug. And, wonder of wonders, she let me. She didn’t hug me back, but she didn’t resist. We stood there for a minute, not saying anything. I was blinking hard.

  She broke the clinch, shuffled over to the recliner, set the walker aside, and eased into the chair. “If you want to start your interrogation, go ahead.”

  I sat on the sofa a few feet away, wanting to be close but not make her feel trapped. “It’s natural that you’d be feeling uncomfortable and pissed off. Frustrated, perhaps even a little bit scared—”

  “What is this, the Dr. Phil routine?” Fern said. “I am not scared.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I’m old and crabby. You will be one day, too.” Fern flexed and massaged her wrists and palms as if they hurt. “Why don’t you talk to Belle? She’s the one with the problem. She wants everything to be perfect all the time. Well, life isn’t perfect, and I’m getting damned tired of her princess routine.”

  I had to stop myself from snapping at her. “You know better than anybody she’s got steel inside her,” I said. “Remember, in Key Largo, how she tried to run over Jessie’s boyfriend with the pickup? She was going to kill him.”

  One side of Fern’s lip twitched, as if fighting a smile.

  “Belle’s tough when she needs to be. So your ankle shouldn’t be such a big problem. The two of you are acting like the world is coming to an end. It’s not like you, and I’m wondering what’s going on.”

  Fern tapped her fingertips on the arm of the recliner. “She didn’t sign on for this.”

  “You’re dinged up. It’s only temporary.”

  “Nobody knows for sure.”

  “It’s just an ankle. The doctor expects you to heal one hundred percent.”

  “Sure, this. What about next time?” Fern looked out the sliding glass door. On the other side of the patio, a golfer was hunting for her ball. “Belle should head out before things get worse.”

  “What do you mean, worse? Are you ill?” I leaned forward. “Do you have something else to tell me?”

  “No, damn it. I’m just saying it’s not going to get any better. We’re old and more stuff’s gonna happen. So I want her to go.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why on earth should she leave you? Belle loves you.”

  “People change.” Fern’s fingers were drumming now.

  “Belle won’t.”

  “She did before.”

  Fern had trusted me this far, and I didn’t want to blow it, but I had to take it further. “Changed how? What do you mean?”

  “She was married to a guy, okay?”

  “So?”

  “When they split up, she walked into my dealership and asked for a job. I not only hired her, I went after her intensively.” Fern gripped the armrests. “Didn’t give her any time to think, or resist. But she was still upset about her divorce.”

  “Fern, you were a comfort to her,” I said. “You made her happy.”

  “I tell myself that, but she couldn’t have been thinking clearly, and the truth is, I took advantage. Well, now I’m paying for it. She finally knows what she wants, and it’s not me.”

  “Come on, you’re just a bad patient, and you’re wearing on her nerves. It’s nothing more than that.”

  “How would you know? Why don’t you ask her about Vic?” Fern struggled to her feet. “I’m done talking. She needs to leave.”

  She shuffled back to her room, leaving me stunned. I’d never heard the name. Who was Vic? Could Belle be cheating on Fern? And with a guy? I can appreciate that people might change as they age, but the potential in this situation had me dumbfounded.

  I was staring out the window when Rita and Belle drove up. They’d only been gone about forty minutes. Belle walked past me, straight down the hall to Fern’s room.

  When the door closed, Rita said, “What the hell is going on with them? The whole time we were driving around, she wanted me to bring her back. She’s really upset.”

  From down the hall came the sounds of angry voices. “Fern thinks Belle is cheating on her,” I said.

  “That’s crazy,” said Rita. “She’s totally loyal.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But maybe we’re wrong.”

  The voices stopped. Rita and I shut up until we heard the bathroom door close.

  “Did they ever get married?” Rita whispered.

  “I don’t know. I doubt it.” I’d never noticed either of them wearing rings. “Fern says it’s a guy.”

  “Guy or not, Belle would never cheat.”

  I shrugged. Thirty years in human resources had shown me that people were endlessly surprising.

  “I have to leave tomorrow,” Rita said. “I’ve got
a run from Indio to Atlanta. I hope they resolve this, or I’ll be worried the whole time I’m gone.”

  “But is it any of our business? Maybe we should bow out and let them settle it.”

  Without warning, Belle appeared behind Rita. “Settle what?”

  Chapter 4

  BELLE’S VOICE WAS HOARSE. Her hair hung loosely around her face. Her eyes were red and swollen.

  The time had come to talk, but not here. I picked up my purse and keys. “Let’s go to the park.”

  “I’ll tell Fern.” Belle turned toward the hallway.

  I reached for her arm. “Please don’t.”

  For a moment Belle stood rigid, but then she nodded.

  By taking side-streets to avoid traffic, we were there in five minutes. I found a parking space near the pond. A picnic table stood under a shade tree, right next to the water. It was midweek, early afternoon, so we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

  I took a bench on one side; Rita sat next to Belle on the other. Ducks waddled over, quacking and wiggling their tail feathers, but they meandered off when no bread was forthcoming.

  Belle watched, her face streaked with dried tears. We sat for a few minutes without speaking.

  “Belle.” My voice was raspy with emotion. “We’re sorry you and Fern are having problems. Can you tell us what’s really going on?”

  Rita put her arm around Belle’s shoulders. “We might be able to help.”

  Belle was as still as a statue, her face impassive as she watched the ducks.

  I waited, thinking this trip might have been in vain. As much as we cared for each other, some things were held so deeply a person couldn’t let others in. At a certain point, you had to leave it alone.

  “Fern has been living under a gray cloud for months now,” Belle said.

  Eager to hear the story, Rita and I leaned closer.

  “It may even be longer. I think she is depressed, but she goes for regular physicals and isn’t hesitant to speak with our doctor, so I don’t think it’s that.”

  “Why would she be so unhappy?”

  Belle shrugged. “There isn’t any reason as far as I know. Nothing has happened. She was healthy until the accident. It’s just that, right after her seventy-fifth birthday, she kind of went downhill, attitude-wise. I asked her about it many times. She says she’s getting old and this is what happens.”