Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  “If it were me, I’d have been on Craigslist ten minutes after he told me. I’d sell everything and get the hell out of town.” She fingered the tubing of the stethoscope around her neck.

  “Are you burning out?” As the clinic director, Glenda worked fulltime and often more, driving around the county with her black bag, like doctors a century ago. She not only ran the clinic, but she also did hands-on medicine. So many farm families depended on her. It was a big responsibility.

  “I’m not burned out. I’m frustrated. I love my patients, but every year, it’s more bureaucracy and less medicine. I’m starting to wonder if this is all there is.” She shrugged. “Luckily, I can retire this year.”

  “Yay, you.”

  She made a face. “What’ll I do then?”

  “Work on your garden, hang out with the grandkids, travel with Dale. Whatever you’ve been dreaming of, that you couldn’t do because of work.”

  A pheasant had lighted on the top rail of a wooden fence. His red and green head flashed like a jewel as his eyes darted here and there, alert for danger. The distant sound of a car on the highway disappeared in a Doppler fade. A phone rang inside the building, then stopped.

  The sun warmed my face, and the silence of midmorning settled on me, drugging me.

  “Denise moved to Minneapolis,” said Glenda.

  “Is she still doing photography?” Denise and I went to high school together. Since I’d returned to North Dakota, we’d hung out. I liked her. She was bubbly and creative.

  “More than ever. That’s why she moved—to be closer to a couple of big-time clients. Her new condo’s beautiful. It’s right downtown. Twelfth floor. Incredible view. Three bedrooms, two baths. Coffee shop in the lobby. She’s looking for somebody to move in and help with the rent.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What about—are you thinking of leaving Dale?”

  “I always wanted to live in a big city,” she said. “Smack in the middle of town. Walk everywhere. See museums, hear music, go to restaurants. I love living in the country, but it’s all I’ve ever done. Imagine being able to go to a play or a concert or an art exhibit without having to drive a hundred miles and spend the night in a hotel.” She held out her hands, fingers splayed. On her left hand, her wedding band looked scuffed and dull. “If I don’t do something, this’ll be it. My whole life, right here in Regent. I need a change, and I’m not getting any younger.”

  “But Dale.”

  “He’s turning into a scared old man.” Glenda and I locked eyes, both of us afraid to say the next thing.

  “Oh, don’t listen to me,” she said. “I’m just daydreaming out loud.” She pushed off the bench. “I need to get back to work. Let me know what you decide.”

  We hugged goodbye, and I drove back home through farm country, more conflicted than ever. Glenda’s perspective shed light on Aunt Marie’s situation. I had no way of knowing what would happen. Was it a good idea to hunker down on what amounted to a deathwatch? What if she did live another couple years, and Curt missed out on his dream because of my fears?

  Or what if he went without me?

  MY PHONE RANG AS I was unlocking my front door. I dropped my coat and purse and answered. “Hey, Cuz.”

  “Did you think you were trying to help?” asked Lorraine.

  My pulse leaped, and not in a good way. “Pardon?”

  “So I get home from work, and there’s a car out in front of Mom’s house, so I go over to see who’s there, and it’s these ladies from church, and one of them said how glad they were to come by and spend time with Mom. They all glared at me like I’d committed a crime, and Mom didn’t say anything. She just sat there and drank her tea like no big deal.”

  “The church sent visitors?”

  “I’m sure you know about this since you seem to have arranged it.”

  “My friend and I talked about it at the church office. They do this for less-mobile parishioners.”

  “Mom has a phone. She’s capable of asking for what she needs.”

  “Aunt Marie told me she hadn’t left the house in three weeks and was lonely.”

  “How can she be lonely? We’re right next door. Now all the old biddies will be saying I’m a bad daughter. The partners will hear about it tonight at dinner, and I’ll hear about it tomorrow at work.”

  “What can they say? It’s your business.”

  “Don’t be naïve.”

  Lorraine was right. Dickinson, for all its oil-boom growth in recent years, was still a small town. “I’m sorry, Cuz. I know you’re busy, and I was just trying to help.”

  “I appreciate that, but God, Karen. I’m her daughter. You don’t have to take over for me.”

  The accusation stung, but I kept thinking about the dirty stove and cobwebs. Lorraine might be mad, but I was more concerned about my aunt.

  My stomach rumbled, and I went to fix a sandwich. The house was quiet and empty. Curt had gone to the university to catch up with his former colleagues. As I ate, I wondered if he was telling them about the offer from the Nat Geo people. Of course, he would. It was an honor. Anybody would want to go.

  After lunch, I changed into my grubbies and went to the barn. Alice wasn’t available that morning to collect Looney if she got out, so I kept the horses in their stall with the top half of the Dutch door open for air.

  I let Bob out to run free into the corral but clipped a lead onto Looney’s bridle and tied her to the fence. After cleaning their stall and refreshing their water, I went back to the mare and fed her a peppermint. As she chewed, I petted and talked to her, trying to jolly her up. She ignored me in favor of Bob, who was kicking and bucking around the corral. He was so cute and funny, shaking his head and bounding around like an oversized puppy. Looney shook her mane and stomped her hooves, wanting to join him, but I knew she’d go over the fence if I let her loose.

  Standing in front of her, I stroked her nose, gazing into those liquid dark eyes and asking for her understanding. She pushed her velvety muzzle against my chest, searching for more treats. I gave her another peppermint, and while she munched happily, I untied her lead and, talking and stroking, climbed the fence rail and gently swung my leg over her side, just as I had seen Alice do.

  I was aboard. I was riding my mare. I was not a frightened old woman.

  Looney arched her neck, bunched her hindquarters, and reared. The hard earth came up to meet me as I fell on my back, the impact emptying my lungs. I rolled into a fetal position, trying to breathe. The mare circled the corral, the lead snaking along her flank. Then she picked up speed, gathered herself, and flew over the top rail, her front feet tucked so beautifully I almost didn’t want to kill her.

  Bob whinnied in frustration as his mother tore away across the fields. I stood up, hanging onto the fence, shaking. All my parts seemed operative. I was lucky nothing had broken.

  I limped into the house and called Alice.

  “I’m just pulling in,” she said. “Yep, there she is. You want her right away?”

  “At the moment, I don’t want her at all.” I massaged my left hip, which seemed to have borne the brunt of my landing. “But, yeah, when it’s convenient.” We hung up, and I drew a bath, needing a nice hot soak.

  As I settled into the suds, I closed my eyes and grinned. Overlooking my fall, and my aching body, I felt proud of myself. I had tried.

  That night at dinner, Curt was more quiet than usual. I asked him about his day, and he did the same. We were nice to each other in that way you are when you can’t be real.

  We were just getting into bed around ten when my phone rang. It was my nephew, Randy.

  Aunt Marie had been rushed to the hospital.

  Chapter 28

  WE DROVE THROUGH THE dark countryside to the hospital in town. Curt dropped me at the entrance to the ER, and I dashed inside, where I found Jim standing in front of the TV. He looked guilty when he saw me.

  “Where is she? Is she okay?” I asked.

  “Might want to hang out he
re,” he said. “Lorraine said there are too many people already, and she doesn’t want Mom to get too excited.”

  “But it’s just us two. I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” I said.

  He started for the exit. “I’m going to go have a smoke.”

  Jim didn’t smoke.

  I followed him out into the cold. “What’s going on?”

  His forehead wrinkled in three horizontal lines. Three. How did a person do that? Being married to Lorraine would do it.

  “It’s not up to me.” He patted his pockets through his heavy coat. “Looks like I left my smokes in the car.”

  I let him go. Curt walked up, joining me on the sidewalk. “Is Jim leaving?”

  “He’s going to get his cigarettes.”

  “Jim doesn’t smoke.”

  “I know. Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.” I went before Curt through the sliding doors. The waiting room was empty. We sat, not speaking, while I watched the door to the examining rooms and Curt watched a muted CNN.

  A few minutes later, one of Lorraine’s daughters arrived. “Hi, Aunt Karen, Uncle Curt.” Stella was tiny and cute with long blond hair flowing from her Russian fur-style cap. “How’s Grandma?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  We all turned as the door to the examining area unlocked with a metallic clack. Lorraine, bracing it, gestured to Stella. “Hurry up. She’s waiting for you.”

  Curt and I surged forward, but Lorraine shook her head. “I’m sorry. Too many people.”

  “But it’s just us two,” I said.

  “Sorry.” Lorraine pulled the heavy door closed behind her. It locked.

  I stared at the door in astonishment. My cousin was punishing me.

  A nurse shouldered past us, entered her code, and pulled the door open. We tried to come in with her, but she shook her head and closed it.

  I stood with my hands shoved in my pockets, looking at Curt. “Lorraine’s mad because I got the church ladies to go out and visit Aunt Marie.”

  “Why would she be mad about that?”

  “She thinks it makes her look like a bad daughter.”

  “If the shoe fits,” he mumbled, returning to the row of green vinyl seats along the far wall.

  We’d barely sat down when the exterior doors rumbled again, and two more of Lorraine’s kids came bustling in. Randy, our veterinarian, greeted us and glanced at his phone. “Mom’s going to buzz us in.”

  His sister, Briana, hugged us both. “How come you guys are out here?”

  “We’re waiting to see your grandma.”

  “Us, too. We’re so worried,” said Briana.

  The examining room door clicked and Lorraine appeared. Once more she let others in but blocked us. This time, I grabbed the doorknob and held. She planted herself in front of me, shoulders thrown back, chin in the air. Her long hair was pulled up in a clip atop her head, and her mascara had run beneath her eyes. She stared at me like an angry raccoon.

  “I want to see Aunt Marie.” I tried to edge past her.

  “She has enough people in with her already,” she said.

  “Lorraine, you’re doing this on purpose. I want to see her. Seriously.”

  She grabbed onto the door again. “You can see her tomorrow. Visiting hours are between ten and ten-thirty.”

  “Visiting hours are all day long.”

  “Not if I’m here.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Yes, I can.” She gave the door one hard tug.

  It closed and locked. I turned around, aghast, expecting Curt to be right behind me, but his eyes were glued to the TV.

  LORRAINE CALLED THE next morning while I was cleaning up our breakfast dishes. “Mom’s in the clear for now,” she said. “They’re sending her home. You could stop by later if you want.”

  I thanked her and hung up, glad for the olive branch and that my aunt was all right. Father Engel would tell me to be more understanding of my cousin, and I would try. In any case, I would have to do the political dance if I wanted to ensure Aunt Marie was properly cared for.

  Curt came up behind me, encircling me with his strong, warm arms. Surprised, I leaned back against his shoulder and closed my eyes, his body warm all along my back and legs. My eyes stung with gratitude.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Everything’s so up in the air.” We hadn’t spoken about the National Geographic offer since yesterday.

  “Have you thought any more about it?”

  “How can I not?” I turned in his arms to face him. “With what just happened to Aunt Marie, it almost seems like a sign. Don’t you think?”

  His arms released me. He reached for his Stetson and pulled on his jacket.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “For a drive.”

  “Honey, don’t. It’s ugly out there.” Snow had fallen last night, and although our truck was big and capable, a person could hit ice, or worse. Last winter, an oil tanker had jackknifed on a highway not far from here and taken out a six-passenger minivan.

  He stood in the open doorway. Frigid air circled my ankles. I reached for him, and he grabbed me and pulled me close, so close I could barely breathe.

  And then he was gone.

  Snow began falling, tiny flakes blowing in across the icy threshold of our mudroom. I shut the door against the cold.

  I DROVE OVER TO AUNT Marie’s under a clearing sky. Curt still hadn’t returned home, but he’d texted me a couple of times, so I knew he was okay. In earlier years, either one of us might have maintained radio silence to torture a spouse, but at this age, we were beyond such games. The real-life drama unfolding was enough.

  At my aunt’s, I stomped snow and dirt off my boots and let myself in, shedding my heavy coat and boots before going into the living room. There she sat in a child-sized recliner, a blanket over her knees. She smiled up at me and offered her cheek for a kiss.

  “Good to see you home.” I leaned down, smelling carnations, her favorite perfume.

  “Everybody worries too much.”

  I sat near her on the sofa. “Did you eat dinner yet?” After thirty years in California, I’d relearned the terminology pretty fast. Dinner was at noon and supper at night.

  “I think I forgot, what with everything going on.”

  I looked through her pantry and fridge, found the ingredients to throw together spaghetti, and served it in bowls. I figured she would eat lightly later in the evening, and this way I knew she had one solid meal today. We ate in the kitchen at her vintage laminate table. It, along with antique kitchen tools hung as decorations on her walls, were from the old house. Many, like the crank-handle egg beater, had belonged to my mother.

  Aunt Marie ate with enthusiasm. She finished up and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You know, daughter—” She called me that very occasionally, and I treasured each time as a jewel— “we’ve always been honest with each other.”

  I looked up at her. She was studying me, her gray eyes steady, boring into me. I feared what was coming and began gathering our dishes.

  “Those can wait.”

  “I just want to get the dishwasher started.”

  “Karen. Sit. Please.”

  I dried my hands and returned to the table.

  Her hands were folded in her lap, and she was smiling.

  “Tomorrow’s Wednesday,” I said. “The ladies from the church are coming. Do you think Lorraine will mind?”

  “Lorraine doesn’t mind. She won’t stand in their way.”

  “She might. If you want, I can—”

  “Daughter, you’re interrupting.”

  I clamped my mouth shut.

  “I will be fine.”

  “I know.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You know what I mean. I’ll be fine.”

  My head dropped. There was the scar in the laminate from where my dad had dropped the potato ricer. My mom and I had panicked, thinking he did it on purpose. I
stuck my fingertip in the half-century-old wound.

  “You need to look after yourself now. I will be fine.”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Dear girl, my life is fallow. I’m resting unto my end. Yours is still blooming. You need to tend it.”

  I swallowed around the rock.

  “Your mother would be very angry at me if you moped around here on my account. And I don’t want to answer to her for that.”

  I looked up. She was smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. My dear old aunt, with her crown of gray Heidi braids and pink cheeks, reminded me of a storybook angel from my childhood. I helped her into the living room and sat on the floor at her feet, leaning against her knee.

  Her hand settled warmly on top of my head. “Ah, child. If I were your age, I’d dance naked on the rooftop.”

  When it was time for her nap, she walked me to the door. We held each other for a long time before kissing goodbye. I headed home, but I had a stop to make first.

  Interstate 94 east was clear, and so was the Enchanted Highway going south. At Lefor, little more than a wide spot on the one-lane highway, I turned up a rutted blacktop lane and through the wrought-iron archway to the Catholic cemetery.

  I found their graves easily, although I had to clomp across frozen ground to get to the familiar spot. Their headstones were black marble, adorned with etched sheaves of wheat, the basis for life. I laid the car blanket on the frigid cement bench and sat, hoping to feel their wisdom, to perceive some shred of guidance.

  Sitting there, I was struck again by the fact that my parents lay beneath those granite markers and the brutal, awful finality of that truth. That I would never see them again, or speak to them, or hear their voices.

  Although I did have a recording of my Dad lecturing me over the phone about interest rates and loan fees. He was very old at the time, and I was living in California, and I had the presence of mind to connect my landline to a recorder while he was talking. Although it was pretty dry, I still listened to it sometimes, just to be able to hear his voice.