Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  Belle came back to the table. “More and more, Fern radiates negativity. I absorb it, and it’s ruining my life. I refuse to suffer anymore.”

  I leaned forward on my elbows. “But on the other hand?”

  Belle’s chin dipped. She stared at the table.

  “What?”

  “She saved me.”

  I waited.

  “I was living in Rapid City at the time. My daughter had just died, and my husband left me. I was depleted, emotionally and financially. I applied for a job at Fern’s dealership. I could barely drag myself through the door, but when she interviewed me, I felt so comfortable, as if I didn’t have to pretend. She asked me about Doug, and I told her everything. We hit it off like we’d known each other for years. There was such chemistry. She hired me on the spot, as assistant to the office manager.”

  As she talked, Belle’s smile returned for the first time in days, and her face regained color. The people at the dealership had welcomed her, and the camaraderie was genuine, for the most part.

  “A couple months after I started, I discovered my supervisor was running an auto parts theft ring. I gave Fern my evidence along with my letter of resignation,” Belle said. “Fern tore up my letter, fired everyone involved, and promoted me.

  “We began going to lunch every day to discuss work issues. That turned into something more.” She swiped at her eyes. “When I met Fern, I felt alive again. It was even better than my marriage. Our time together was good.”

  “Isn’t it worth trying to save? How can you give it up?”

  Belle reached for a box of tissues. “It’s not within my power to fix it. To fix her. There is no change possible.”

  “Could you be wrong?”

  Belle shook her head. “Fern grew up in a family business, first selling farm equipment, then cars. Her father was not much of a businessman. Fern worked part-time and put herself through college, and after she graduated, she guided her father back to prosperity. For a few years, everyone was happy, but when the family discovered she was gay, they disowned her. Her father had the security guard escort her off the premises. Her assets disappeared from the books. She was penniless.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Oh, but this is Fern we’re talking about,” said Belle. “She took them to court, won a huge settlement, and bought a used-car business. She made it into a multi-million-dollar new-car operation with a dozen showrooms. She is a force of nature.”

  “You sound proud,” I said.

  “I am proud. Was.” Belle fiddled with the diamond solitaire on her left hand.

  “Would you mind if I asked why you two never married?”

  She put her hands in her lap. “For a long time, we couldn’t. Legally, I mean. Oh, we did a little ceremony on the beach at Jenny Lake in the Tetons—just the two of us. When the laws changed, I dropped a lot of hints, and I waited. But Fern is untrusting, after what her family did to her. She has always said a piece of paper couldn’t make us love each other any more than we do.”

  “It’s not about love. What about health care and such? What about inheritance? Or—” Your assets, I almost blurted. How would they split their property after twenty years together? “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing.” She stood, hugged me, and went back to her packing.

  “But I—”

  “Karen.” She shook her head.

  “All right.” I gave up trying to figure things out. For the moment, at least. We worked in silence for an hour, speaking only about what went where. When she had her stuff out of the trailer—six medium-sized cartons’ worth—we drove back to the house.

  That evening, Rita and I went to dinner and a movie to allow Belle and Fern the space to talk, if they were going to. I desperately hoped they would.

  While Rita was at the snack bar buying candy, I found a relatively quiet corner of the lobby and called Curt. Hearing his deep, gentle voice settled me. He knew I’d met Fern and Belle at a campground in Utah, next to the Colorado River. I was on a camping trip with my elderly friend and surrogate mother, Frieda. When Frieda died, they rescued me from my grief. They were the nucleus holding the CRS Ladies together. Without them, I feared the pack would dissolve. Selfishly, I wanted Belle and Fern to stay together. Childishly, I assumed they were too old to split up.

  My sweet husband listened, and then he lightened my mood with happy news. Looney Tunes had delivered a beautiful colt. I couldn’t wait to see my mean old, bad-ass Looney in her new role as mother. I missed my life in North Dakota with a fierce ache.

  The movie that night was some dystopian young-girl coming-of-age flick that Rita chose. I guess with her background teaching at juvenile court schools, she thought it would be interesting, but I would have been happier with something more uplifting. I went along, lacking the brainpower to make a different choice. Mainly, it allowed us a couple more hours in which we could avoid Fern and Belle. I wondered what it was like back at the house.

  When the movie ended, Rita and I walked out to the car in silence. Why anybody would want to imagine the future as an incinerated planet inhabited by brutal anarchists, I couldn’t guess. I put the key in the ignition, dreading our own potential nuclear calamity at home. “I hope they’re not yelling at each other when we get there.”

  “If they are, you can just turn around and drop me at my truck.” Rita was sleeping on the couch, but the Peterbilt was fully equipped with a bed, fridge, microwave, and other amenities. She had parked it a few miles away in a commercial yard.

  At one time, I would have envied her the freedom to drive around the country. I’d even experimented with life on the road. Towing my own fifth-wheel to Key Largo, I’d half-planned to live in the trailer for a year or two, but on a long-term basis, I was happier in a stick house. For all my career-girl, workaholic history, the domestic life in North Dakota had seduced me. My future looked bucolic, living in my husband’s farmhouse, tending my garden, and riding horses.

  I wanted everyone to be as happy as I was. The prospect of Fern and Belle’s divorce—before they’d even had a proper wedding—made me incredibly sad.

  We drove back to Rita’s house on an empty highway that divided the city from the open desert. A front was moving in from the west, and sand blew across the roadway, illuminated by our headlights. I battled the wind and dodged tumbleweeds all the way to the entry gates of Desert Crest.

  When we arrived, the house was dark. We let ourselves in the front door.

  “They must have gone to bed,” I whispered.

  “Wait a second.” Rita peeked out the window at the driveway. “Where’s the pickup?”

  We looked at each other.

  “Crap.” I turned on a light. The walker was still in the living room.

  So was Fern.

  Chapter 6

  FERN SAT LIKE A STATUE, her dark blue eyes staring straight ahead.

  I sat down beside her. “Where is Belle?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “She moved out. She’s staying in a hotel tonight. Tomorrow she’s flying to Monterey to live with her sister.”

  “Permanently?”

  Fern leaned back against the sofa, covering her face with both hands.

  I looked at Rita. She looked at me.

  “Where? What hotel?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Fern spoke from behind her hands.

  I shook my phone at Rita. She nodded and sat down next to Fern. I went outside. Walking down the street, I phoned Belle. She didn’t answer. It was near midnight in Colorado, but I texted Jessie anyway.

  Belle left.

  Where?

  She’s at a hotel. I can’t find her. Fern’s wrecked.

  Crap.

  Exactly, I typed back.

  Jessie didn’t text me back for a few minutes, but I knew I could trust her methodical, reliable way of working. I walked to the clubhouse, to the darkness of the putting green, and sat on the old-fashioned bench. Ten minute
s went by as I fidgeted, but the night was warm—by my North Dakota standards—and I definitely did not want to hurry back to Fern.

  My phone beeped, and the display lit up. Call her now. She’ll talk to you.

  I sent Jessie three heart emojis and called Belle.

  “Yes, dear.” Her voice was as ragged as Fern’s had been.

  “Belle, you can’t leave. We’re all so worried. Jessie was even going to fly in to talk to you.”

  “She told me that, but I said there’s no point. I’ll be busy in the morning, shipping my belongings and taking care of other business. My flight leaves in the afternoon.”

  I closed my eyes. I was too late. “Where are you right now?”

  “At the Ritz in Rancho Mirage.”

  If nothing else good came of this debacle, at least Belle was experimenting with how to treat herself better. That room would set them back five hundred bucks, minimum. “Maybe you should stay a few days and indulge.”

  “Oh, Karen. Why are you trying to trick me? I’ve made up my mind. I’m happy to be free.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I wondered how long she’d been unhappy, and what it took to have hidden that truth from all of us. Or maybe she hadn’t known. Maybe the deal with Fern was the tipping point. We sat in silence for a moment. The neighborhood was quiet, everyone in bed except a few night owls. I saw the erratic flash of light from a TV in a dark living room across the fairway.

  “Listen to me.” There was a rustling as Belle moved. “I have lived on this earth for seventy-six years, long enough to have learned a few things. One thing I know is that we have to accept people for who they are. And Fern is not going to change.”

  “It can’t be that hopeless.”

  “Karen, my people live a long time,” said Belle. “I probably have another fifteen years. Every one of them will be lived in the manner I choose. As of this moment—and I need you to hear me—I will never again say yes when I want to say no. Do you understand?”

  I had never heard such force in Belle’s voice, and I knew she was trying out her speech, using me as a stand-in for the person who really needed to hear it.

  She had made up her mind. There was no going back. I was sad, yet proud of her. I said so.

  “Thank you, dear heart. That means everything.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, neither of us wanting to end the call.

  At last, Belle spoke. “There is one thing you could do for me, if you would.”

  “Anything.”

  “I told Fern I’d leave the Silverado at the airport tomorrow, with the keys locked inside. Would you make sure she gets it back?”

  “Can I see you before you go through security?”

  She sighed. “It would be better not to.”

  This was it, then. Belle was leaving, and I couldn’t change her mind. “I’ll get the truck back to Fern, and I’ll visit you soon in Monterey.”

  “Thank you, dear. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I hung up, stuck the phone in my pocket, and took the long way back to the house.

  Desert Crest was a classy senior community—good address, nice amenities. Many of the residents were snowbirds, wealthy enough to have a second home in a cooler climate. It was early January, and they’d started to return to the desert. Wind chimes and patio furniture were coming out of storage. I saw reflecting spheres, metal sculptures, and statues of animals and kids. Some gardens had miniaturized water features, quiet now in the nighttime.

  These homes, due to their vacation atmosphere and the benevolent environment of the desert winter, reflected a sense of playfulness, of celebration. The timeline might be short, but the inmates were joyful. Looking at all the signs of happiness, I felt sad for Belle and Fern. If only they could work through their differences, they could have such a good life. Maybe not in this kind of wealth, but if they downsized the truck and RV and bought, or rented, a modest home, the years ahead could be rich.

  But no. They were too bullheaded. Instead of treasuring the time they had left, they were acting like a couple of millennials with decades ahead of them.

  I stuck my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. It seemed so clear to me: at a certain point in life, you had to stop pissing and moaning about the small stuff. “Life is too short,” Mom always used to say. It certainly was, and at almost eighty, my elder friends should be smart enough not to waste it.

  But to Belle, leaving Fern was the Big Stuff—her declaration of independence. Freedom would arrive tomorrow in the form of a 737, ready to spirit her off to her new life in which she would no longer be a minion. A lot of women in relationships have dreamed of such freedom. Men, too.

  I knew from my own experience that freedom could be scary, especially if you were strapped financially. I admired Belle for seeking her path, and for having the guts to take it.

  When I got back, Rita was sitting at the kitchen table in the dim light of the stove hood, an amber glass of whiskey in her hands. Fern was still sitting on the couch in the living room. She hadn’t moved. They weren’t talking.

  I pulled out the chair opposite Rita. “I didn’t know you drank that stuff.”

  “Me either.” She took a slug and handed the glass to me.

  I swallowed, gasped, and blinked. My eyes watered and my gullet burned, but when everything settled down again, I had a nice warm glow in my belly. “Thanks.” I looked over at Fern. “Want me to pour you some?”

  “Yeah.”

  I went to the kitchen cupboard, filled two glasses, and handed one to Fern. She threw her head back and downed the whole thing. Her silver-gray hair was disheveled. The skin around her mouth sagged. She grimaced as the alcohol hit her, and set the empty glass on the coffee table next to a business card. I picked it up and squinted at it.

  “Her attorney,” said Fern.

  “She’s serious.” I felt deflated.

  “She’s a grown woman. She can make up her own mind.” Fern scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion and hauled herself up, using her walker. “I’m tired.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  She didn’t answer. Rita and I watched her shuffle down the hall.

  When the bedroom door clicked shut, I slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. “I can’t believe they’re actually splitting up.”

  Rita took another sip of whiskey, got it down, and set the glass back on the table, holding it with both hands. She stared at the glass.

  I rolled my glass back and forth between my hands, my wedding ring clicking. “It’s like she doesn’t even care.”

  “She said she doesn’t,” said Rita. “She said the world wasn’t going to stop turning.”

  “That’s what she thinks.” I took a slug of whiskey, and it made me cough, and that made my eyes water. Hard liquor wasn’t my thing, but tonight it seemed appropriate. I hoped Fern regretted this decision. I hoped she lost her appetite and her ability to sleep. I wanted her to come to her senses and beg for forgiveness, and for Belle to slam the door in her face. God help me, I wanted Fern to suffer.

  From down the hall, we heard snoring.

  “Híjole. Nothing bothers her.” Rita rubbed her forehead. “Did you reach Belle? What did she say?”

  I told her. She listened, nodding sadly. “So, Belle is leaving, and Jessie isn’t coming.”

  “Right.” I blinked. My vision was beginning to blur. It was almost one. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Me, too. I’ve got an early run tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving? You barely got here.”

  “I know, but dispatch just called me.”

  I suspected she had called them, but whatever.

  Rita stood and pushed in her chair. “Can you drop me at the truck in the morning?” She had parked it in a commercial yard a short distance from the community.

  “What time?”

  “Six.”

  “Sure,” I said listlessly. I went to my room and set the alarm. For all my brav
ado, I didn’t want to be left alone with Fern, but now I was stuck.

  Tomorrow would be a long day. And after that? Hard to say what would happen.

  The next morning, I dropped Rita at the semi. We hugged, and she wished me well. I wished I were leaving with her. In fact, I wished I were boarding a plane back to North Dakota, to see Curt and the new foal and be free of this whole sad business.

  But Fern couldn’t drive yet, and Belle had left her to fend for herself. Somebody had to help. I would hang around and make myself useful for a little while and decide further after her next doctor appointment.

  Which was in two weeks.

  Back at the house, Fern stood at the sink, her weight on one foot as she washed our breakfast dishes by hand.

  “Should you be doing that?” I asked.

  She didn’t respond.

  I assumed she needed time to process things, and I needed breathing space, so I changed into golf clothes and got my clubs out of the rental car. I strapped the bag on the back of Rita’s cart and checked in at the pro shop. Fortunately, the course was wide open on this midweek morning, so the starter sent me out by myself. I wasn’t feeling very social.

  Naturally, when you play alone, you get miraculous shots and no witnesses. I birdied the first hole and parred the second. As I drove to the third tee box, the beauty of the course began to work on me. The fairways were lined with grand old eucalyptus and untrimmed palms. Birds sang me along the course. What a beautiful respite.

  If somebody had told me golf was simply an excuse to drive through a park in a little car with toys, I would have learned to play much earlier. As it was, I took it up in my mid-thirties, and only because I got tired of the suits leaving the office without me. So I held my nose and signed up for lessons. Who would have guessed I’d enjoy the game so much?

  But there was another benefit.

  I believed that nothing in my life was wasted. Whatever I learned in the present tended to come into play somehow in the future. In this case, golf had brought me back together with Curt after thirty years apart, a fact that bordered on miraculous.

  Playing now, I missed him even more.