Protector

by Laurel Dewey

  “Thank you, Kathy,” Jane said, subdued.

  “I’ve brought you a little welcome casserole.”

  “You made us a casserole!” Emily exclaimed as she rounded the Subaru.

  “Look at her!” Kathy exclaimed. “You’d think she’d never seen a home cooked meal before!” Jane took Kathy’s gibe as it was intended and tried to remain calm.

  “Thank you!” Emily said ecstatically.

  “You are very welcome, sweetheart!” Kathy handed the dish to Jane. “There’s enough in there for four meals.” Kathy took the big basket from Heather. “And here’s a little welcome basket from our family to yours! There’s tea, cookies and preserves, some nuts, spices, fancy cocoa mix, assorted fruits and lots of other goodies for you two!”

  Jane set the casserole on the hood of the Subaru and took the basket. “Do you give every newcomer this kind of attention?”

  “Just the special ones,” Kathy said, directing her comment to Emily. Kathy bent down to be on eye-level with the child. “How’s that head feeling today, sweetie?”

  Emily brushed her hand against her bandage. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Oh, you poor little thing,” Kathy said, softly touching Emily’s cheek with her hand. “Heather, why don’t you show Patty your snazzy new line dancing outfit?”

  “Why?” Heather said in a snotty tone.

  “Because I’m sure she’d love to see it!”

  Emily looked at Jane, not sure what to do. “It’s okay. Go on,” Jane said.

  Emily crossed over to Kathy’s car with Heather. “She’s a very well behaved little girl,” Kathy said, observing Emily. “The way she looked up at you for permission before going over to the car. Most kids would just skip away without a thought.”

  “Most kids are rude, too,” Jane said with a forced smile on her face, alluding to Kathy’s bratty daughter.

  “Oh, pish-tosh! Kids have to express themselves! They need to push the boundaries and find out what’s what!”

  “That’s assuming there’s boundaries to begin with,” Jane said without flinching.

  Kathy caught Jane’s drift. Her pasted smile lost a hint of its phony glimmer. “I don’t mean to be forward, but I sense lots of stress in your voice.”

  “Do you?”

  “It must be dreadful to lose a husband in such an awful way. It’s only normal to feel angry. It’s part of the grieving process. You will see the light at the end of the tunnel.” Jane hated being placated but she hated it even more when the homilies were in response to an undercover ruse. “Oprah did a show on young mothers who tragically lost their spouses. It was so eye-opening for me to see these brave women carrying on with such a dreadful burden. I cried at least twice during that show. Twice! One of the experts talked about how important it is to feel the anger but to not take out the aggression on the ones who are closest to you. The ones who are so innocent.”

  “Mom!” Heather yelled in a shrieking, bitchy voice. “When are we leaving?”

  Kathy turned to her daughter with her jaw clenched. “In a minute, darling!”

  “You said we could go to Montrose and buy those country dance CDs!”

  “And we will. Mom just needs one more minute with Mrs. Calver!”

  “If they’re sold out when we get there, it’s all your fault!” Heather screamed.

  Kathy turned back to Jane. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I understand what you’re going through.” Kathy grasped Jane’s arm. “I feel your pain.”

  “You feel my pain because you lost a husband or because you watched Oprah?”

  Kathy didn’t know what to say. “I’ll let you go.” She turned and then spun back around. “The gals and I are getting together for our Wednesday gab fest two weeks from today. It’s going to be at my house and I’d love it if you and Patty would come! That’s our cherry night. We’ll be up to our elbows in pits, making preserves and juice! Patty’s should have her stitches out and, that reminds me, did you call Dr. Armstrong?”

  “No. It’s been a busy twenty-four hours for us.”

  “I’d be happy to call him for you—”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Kathy took a step back, sizing up Jane’s comment. “Well, okay. See you ’round the campus!” She got in her car, quickly followed by her very impatient daughter. “Oh, by the way!” Kathy yelled across the yard. “I love your ‘I Brake For Butterflies’ bumper sticker! You simply must let me know where you got that sweet thing!”

  Jane and Emily watched as Kathy made a wide U-turn on Main Street, beeped her car horn and took off toward the highway.

  “Can I take the basket in the house and look inside?” Emily said excitedly.

  “Sure. I’ll be in right after I scrape that goddamn bumper sticker off our car.”

  Chapter 19

  Eight uneventful days passed. Jane wondered when the proverbial shoe would drop. Emily had stopped sleeping in her own bed, preferring to stay with Jane. For the entire eight days, Emily hadn’t experienced any flashbacks and was peacefully resting through the thunderous passings of the nightly coal train. On the surface, everything looked serene, but Jane knew that something boiled under that tenuous facade.

  During those eight tedious days, Jane estimated that she saw Kathy at least three times each day. It was as though the woman was on the warpath, following them and keeping mental notes. She let it slip one day about her husband, Kent. “Kent and Kathy!” Kathy proudly exclaimed, continually amused by the fact that she and her husband were a human alliteration. Kent was a land developer who, according to Kathy, had “made super land investments” in the early 1980s and was reaping the benefits with the newcomers to Colorado. When she wasn’t bragging about Kent’s sale of land to “those nasty Californians,” Kathy was forever reminding Jane about her big Wednesday night “Cherry Jubilee” gathering that was only six days away.

  Jane and Emily had only seen Dan in fleeting moments when he was racing to an important maintenance call. It seemed that Dan was a man of many talents. During one conversation with Kathy, she mentioned that Dan had won the county swing and line dancing championship. He was also an expert fly fisherman, a whiz with an ax and could recite the names of all 50 states in less than thirty seconds. When Jane sarcastically remarked that Dan was a true Renaissance man, Kathy insisted that Dan was not familiar with that period of history.

  And then there was Sheriff George. Fortunately, Jane had hardly run into the portly fellow. She’d heard through the grapevine that due to summer road repair on the highway, the Sheriff and his deputies were racking up overtime as they kept the traffic moving and the public out of harm’s way. Jane prayed each night for rocks to slide and cause further road damage so the sheriff would stay occupied and out of her face.

  As the days blended into each other, Jane checked her pager once every hour. She had it set to vibrate so nobody would hear the telltale beep and have more fodder for gossip. But the damn thing didn’t vibrate once. Weyler said he would only contact her if absolutely necessary, but she wanted to hear from him, if only to know that everything was status quo. Jane was still not sure if Weyler had nefarious intentions. And yet, she yearned to hear a familiar voice besides Emily’s.

  She also yearned to hear intelligent conversation and news. The Peachville Gazette, which came out weekly and still only printed a miserable 14 pages, was filled to the gills with advertisements and stories that had to do with farm prices, who was sponsoring the weekly “fruit affair” and updates on highway projects. Clearly, the isolation of the town was getting to Jane. However, Emily seemed to truly love the provincial surroundings. She lit up whenever she caught a glimpse of Dan “the 24-hour man,” which became more amusing than annoying to Jane. Unlike Jane, Emily liked Kathy and always remarked how pretty she looked. It didn’t hurt that Kathy continued to drop off homemade dishes. Emily even tolerated bellicose Heather, although Jane couldn’t understand how anyone could suffer the brat’s behavior.

  When
June 10th rolled around, Jane awoke realizing that she would finally have something new to occupy herself with on that day. It was twelve days since Emily fell from her roof. After examining the wound, Jane knew it was time to remove the kid’s stitches. After a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs—which was intended to be soft-boiled—and burnt toast, Jane looked at Emily across the breakfast table with eager anticipation.

  “You know what?” Jane said, damn near giddy with expectation. “It’s time to get your stitches out!” She crossed to the kitchen drawer.

  “I think we should wait a couple more days. Maybe five more days. Or ten—”

  “If we wait any longer, the stitches are going to be embedded in your skull,” Jane said as she brought out a pair of small scissors.

  Emily stood up. “Maybe you should sew something for me and then take it apart so you could practice—”

  “Sit up here on the counter,” Jane said, patting her hand on the counter.

  “How come you’re so peppy?”

  “Peppy? I’m not peppy,” Jane replied, a tad too eager. Emily looked dubiously at her and Jane realized the kid was scared. “I tell you what. If I hurt you, you can eat a banana split for breakfast for an entire week.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Real bananas?”

  “No. Plastic bananas. Of course, real bananas! Is it a deal?” Emily hesitated before giving in. She hoisted herself onto the counter. Jane grabbed a copy of The Peachville Gazette and handed it to Emily. “This’ll give you something to concentrate on.” Jane carefully removed Emily’s bandage to reveal the stitches.

  “Hey,” Emily said, glancing at the front page of the newspaper, “did you know that today is the 72nd anniversary of the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous.” Jane remained silent, her eyes on Emily’s stitches. However, the kid’s leading tone irritated her. “Over seventy years,” Emily stressed, “of millions of people getting sober . . .”

  Jane pulled away. “Is this going somewhere?”

  “It’s just that,” Emily stumbled around for the right words, “that’s a lot of years, don’t you think? I just think it’s really cool.”

  “Fair enough,” Jane said, resuming her examination of Emily’s head.

  After a few more seconds, Emily spoke up. “How many years is it going to take before my scar stops hurting?”

  “It won’t take years. Where’d you get that idea?”

  “From you.”

  “I never told you that.”

  “It’s not what you said. It’s what you do.” Emily reached up and pulled Jane’s hair away from her right temple to reveal her old scar. “I see you rubbing it a lot, like you’re trying to rub away the pain.”

  Jane moved Emily’s hand away from her head. “I don’t . . . It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Then how come you rub it?”

  “It’s a nervous habit. Some people bite their nails, some people crack their knuckles and I, apparently, rub my scar.”

  “You didn’t know you did it?”

  “Not really, no,” Jane said defensively. “I’ll make a point of curbing that tendency!” Jane felt totally exposed. It was one thing for her to be the observant one but quite another for someone else—especially a child—to be the one observing her.

  “How come you’re mad?”

  “Do you want your stitches out or not?” Jane’s tone was abrupt. Emily stared at her, not sure what to make of her pointed response. Jane let out a tired breath. “Close your eyes and think of a beautiful forest with soft rain falling.”

  Emily closed her eyes. “A beautiful forest . . . Soft rain . . .”

  Jane clipped one side of the stitches. Emily didn’t flinch. “Describe it to me.”

  “It’s really green. So green that the leaves look like they’re hiding emeralds.”

  “Hiding emeralds? I like that.”

  “And the rain . . . It’s more like a mist. It’s like a big humidifier spewing—”

  “Spewing is not poetic. Use another word.”

  “It’s like a big humidifier washing the forest with a thick mist. When are you gonna take the stitches out?” Emily said, her eyes closed.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Emily opened her eyes. Jane held the stitches in the palm of her hand. The kid was shocked. “How’d you do that?”

  “Like I said. I’ve watched people sew,” Jane replied with a wry grin.

  Emily threw her arms around Jane’s neck. “You’re great!”

  Emily hung on to Jane’s neck as Jane stood still, not sure what to do. She softly patted Emily’s arm and pulled the child off of her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Emily touched the top of her head. “Hey! I just felt a drop of water.”

  Jane looked up to see a crack in the kitchen ceiling and droplets of water slowly forming across it. She located a bucket under the sink and positioned it under the leak. On her initial examination of the house, she’d discovered a pull-drop ladder in the ceiling of the hallway that led to the attic crawl space. Jane climbed up the wooden ladder, flashlight in hand, and stood in the musty, cobweb-filled attic. “You oughta check this out, Emily,” she said, looking down through the large opening at the kid. Emily examined the ladder and the short distance she would have to climb. “You really should come up here.” Jane poked her head through the opening and stretched her hand out to Emily. “I’ll hold your hand the whole way up.” Emily considered the offer and started up the ladder. Without much fear, Emily safely made it into the crawl space. “You’ll be climbing that water tower in no time!”

  The two scoped out the attic, dimly lit by vertical shafts of light that shot up through a series of ceiling vents. Jane shone her flashlight around the area and illuminated an old metal pipe that issued a slow leak through a disintegrating bond. Emily’s eyes lit up like two cherry bombs. “I know just the man who can fix this!”

  “Maybe we can put some duct tape around the pipe—”

  “Duct tape? That’s not safe!” Emily said with a dramatic sweep of her arms. As she swept them through the air, she toppled two fishing poles and a well-worn creel.

  “After I put duct tape on that pipe, I’m going to teach you how to fish.”

  Jane wrapped the pipe with several layers of duct tape that she found wedged in one of the kitchen drawers. After securing the Glock pistol in her new fanny pack, the two set off through the tall grass with fishing poles and creel in hand. Situating themselves at the edge of the large lake that held the massive water tower in its reflection, Jane showed Emily the perfect location for digging earthworms. Once they had enough worms, Jane demonstrated the proper technique of scooping the fishhook under the darkened band that encircled the worm. After that came the lesson on proper casting. Emily was captivated by Jane’s knowledge and proved to be an excellent student. With their lines in the water, Jane sat back and lit a cigarette.

  “That duct tape isn’t safe,” Emily avowed.

  “I told you I don’t want people in our house—”

  “But this is an emergency!”

  Jane smiled at Emily’s obvious crush on Dan. The two of them sat quietly on the edge of the lake. After an hour of not even a nibble from the occasional circling trout, they pulled in their lines, returned the remaining earthworms to their dirt homes and started back to the house. The sound of a vehicle drew their attention toward the water tower. A white truck came to a halt by the lake’s edge and a man got out, fishing pole in hand.

  Emily squinted her eyes against the noonday sun and the glinting reflection off the tower. “Dan!” Emily screamed across the lake.

  “Emily!” Jane said quietly, irritated.

  Dan looked up and waved. “How ya doin’? Are the fish bitin?’” he yelled across the lake, his voice echoing for several seconds.

  “No!” Emily yelled. “Don’t waste your time! Come fix our pipe!”

  Jane knelt down toward the child. “Emily, this is not a game we’re playing.”

  “So, you really are my mom?
”

  “You know what I mean. I don’t know anything about this guy—”

  “He’s got good eyes. He doesn’t look to the left and down. He doesn’t cover his mouth when he talks or lick his lips. Isn’t that what you said you look for in a liar?”

  “It’s more complicated than that—”

  “You talk about feeling stuff in your gut. Well, I got a gut, too, and it tells me that Dan is okay.” Dan suddenly emerged from thicket of red willows. Jane quickly stood up and held her hand against the Glock pistol in her fanny pack. It was an automatic knee-jerk, cop reaction for her whenever someone suddenly approached. Emily greeted Dan with a big smile. “Dan! How’s it goin’?”

  Dan tipped his baseball cap up several inches. “Well, it’s goin’ even better since I get to see you two!” Dan looked over at Jane. “What’s this about a pipe?”

  “It’s leaking through the ceiling in the kitchen!” Emily dramatically insisted. “Mom put duct tape around it but I don’t think it’s safe. You really need to come—”

  “Patty, I don’t want to bother Dan—”

  “Aw, it ain’t no bother a’tall!” Dan said. “Like your daughter said, the fish ain’t bitin’ so I might as well come on over and get to fixin’ that leak. Be over in two shakes!”

  Emily snatched her fishing pole and took off through the tall grass toward the house. Jane grabbed her pole and the creel and followed the kid, cussing a blue streak under her breath the whole way home. The second she entered the house, Jane did a quick search to make sure everything appeared normal. The only room that held suspicious items was her bedroom and those items were safely tucked away in Jane’s leather satchel. Dan called out as he approached the house. Emily raced to the front door and opened it with a flourish.

  Jane led Dan to the kitchen, where he set his toolbox on the counter and surveyed the ceiling. He noticed Emily’s Starlight Starbright projector on the kitchen table. “You a fan of the stars, Patty?”

  “Yes. I can point out the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper and Orion’s belt.”

  “Well, I’m a real star enthusiast myself,” Dan said, smiling down at Emily.