Scandal

by Patsy Brookshire

  I commented on the increase of buildings and people.

  Sam said, "Nothing new about that. Everybody wants to come here. That's how Sue and I made a living, and how we...well, Dave and Teri still bring in a few bucks. Have to admit, I don't quite get it. I'd rather go up the coast to a town that doesn't have hundreds of people trying to get into the same restaurant that I am."

  "Maybe it's Ecola Park and Haystack Rock? Lewis and Clark walked here. Indian people fished and hunted here. Sam, it's a beautiful place. You're jaded, living in paradise your whole life."

  "It was paradise when I was a kid, but in case you've not noticed, that was a long time ago. One of the good things about this place, I met Magda here among the thousands. She is special."

  That made me wonder a bit but I knew that Sam and Sue had been a solid team, with no hint ever of the what he called, "Sheenagans," his rare reference to the situation of his birth. Of his father, David, impregnating a woman, Sophie, who wasn't his wife. Of Sophie and Sam, living with them, here, before she moved away, leaving Sam behind. His childhood had been different, that I had to give him.

  He carried on a running commentary on the town as we drove through, remarking on what was new, which often meant it had come in thirty years ago. When locals hollered at him, "'Bout time you got back!" he waved back. I could tell he liked the attention.

  We arrived at the old family house around noon. Teri had a lunch of tacos and salad ready. We hugged and she told me to make myself at home. "You'll be upstairs, in the guest room. Sophie's room." They had added a master bedroom and bath to the bottom floor and put a bathroom upstairs, with a railing by the steps, the only clue of changes needed for Sam. His room was now what had originally been David and Amy's bedroom. I settled into the room next door. It had wide board walls with simple hooks in a corner instead of a closet.

  I opened my suitcase to retrieve the lightweight wool Pendleton shirt that I'd use for a jacket while I was here. Even though the days are still warm, the nights cool rapidly, a taste of the coming winter. The soft wind carries a bite.

  I hung my jacket from one of the hooks. With that I felt at home looking out the same window that Sophie had over eighty years ago, onto the beach and Haystack Rock with its two sentinels. Her original cabin, down the slope, is still there, but so remodeled that it is nearly new. Right beside it are the five cabins that Sam and Sue built. Small cabins, each with a living room window view of the Rock. "Dramatic" they called it in their brochures.

  After lunch Teri refused my help to clean up. "You go on down. The tide is perfect, still going out. When you get back you can take a nap." In my room I put on my jacket, dumped my binoculars into my small backpack and shrugged it on.

  The path to the beach was straight on down the wooden steps David had built to accommodate the pitch of the short bluff. My feet hit the sand and I was in my own world. I sat on a log to take off my shoes and socks, and snugged them up to the driftwood, trusting that no one would steal my stuff here. They never have. I sat for a couple of minutes, squinching my toes in the dry sand, breathing in the air that is different, tangy with salt and the smell of sea creatures. I thrust myself off the log, trudging through the dry sand until finally it became damp and firm, much easier to walk on. My destination: The Rock. It was, as always, farther out than it looks.

  Slick, lichen-covered rocks dotted the water. A family was spread out around the tide pools that encircled the base, mom and dad with their pants legs rolled up, two girls and a boy in shorts. The children were playing in the tide pools, splashing warm water at each other. They bent to the anemones that look like pretty purple flowers, touching the soft tubes that surround their mouths. When the tubes closed on their fingers, they pulled their hands away, and then poked them again, their mother admonishing them to, "Be careful. Remember, they're alive."

  A perfect photo. I zoomed onto the face of one of the boys, showing his eyes round with wonder. I also caught the look of irritation as his mother cautioned him.

  "Okay, okay."

  Sharp barks came from a black and white Border Collie busy trying to round up the gulls. He was jumping as they flew just ahead of him, landing far enough away for safety but close enough to tease. The dog's pleasure made me temporarily long for a dog. Maybe a red setter running down the beach, fur flowing gracefully. Nothing like a dog at the beach. Now there'd be a business to have: Rent a Dog For a Day.

  Shuffling my toes through the pools, I walked south to where the waves washed the shore along the tide line, the edge of the water curling into lacy patterns. Len crowded out all other thoughts from my mind, and I felt my internal body temp rising. The lace broke into ripples over my ankles, cooling me down. At the same time I relished my amorous feelings. I'd wondered if I was dead to love, if it was behind me.

  The farther down the beach I went, the fewer people there were. I released myself to the happiness of this heaven, this perfect weather. When I looked down and saw a complete sand dollar, I picked it up, wrapped it in a hankie and put it in my backpack.

  In the distance I heard yips from the dog and was startled to feel tears rolling down my cheeks.

  What the heck?

  Mom and Dad. Kids. A dog.

  Yes, I'd wanted that. For myself, to be The Mom. For Roger to be The Dad.

  I let myself swim in self-pity for a few steps, and then shook it off, pulled off the pack and rummaged for the binoculars. I lifted the glasses to my eyes and searched for Tillamook Rock Lighthouse--Aunt Sophie knew it as Terrible Tillie--just about two miles out. The rock is still there, with the building, but the light that Aunt Sophie took comfort from, no longer shines.

  Thinking of Aunt Sophie and her lesson to me to enjoy life as it is and not waste time agonizing over unfilled desire, calmed me.

  With the back of my sandy hand I wiped my tears, wishing I'd not used the hankie on the shell, and did the old trick of listing ten benefits in my life, The Gratitude List. My health, my eyesight, my fingers & toes--was I going to count them as ten, or one? That I can feel the water on my toes. That I'm at the beach. That I have Sam and Dave and Teri, and that they love me. And that I can love them. That's eight. That I have a house and that I have a place I can go take a nap, now, and be with family.

  Enough. I turned around, taking into myself the roll of sea onto the sand, gulls hopping and squalling. Haystack Rock. A glorious place and a glorious day. The walk back was over too quick. A light fog was moving in, bringing that feeling of enclosure, with it the small damp. I found the log and shoes and socks where I'd expected them to be. I brushed my sandy feet, cleaned the grit from between my toes. The pleasure of the warm, dry socks comforted my cold feet.

  Grateful for more than ten. I laughed to myself. More than eleven!

  My nap that afternoon righted me, as did the evening meal of spaghetti and meatballs with salad and garlic bread. When we were all satisfyingly well fed, Teri stood and said, "Connor, help me with this. Hand me the dishes, I'll load the dishwasher and you can set out the cobbler."

  Pleased to see how quick he was to help his mom, as if the promise of cobbler inspired him, I asked Connor how his bugs were doing. He was good at talking while moving, a family trait. "Everybody liked 'em. That picture you took with the cages shut tight, it was in our paper. It helped. They put my blue ribbon in the case at school, where the trophies are for the football guys."

  Sam broke into a 1930's song. "We're in the money..."

  Connor looked annoyed but laughed. "My little hisser guys are small but just as mighty as line backers when it comes to moving people. Wow, that was a tromp, wasn't it!?" When he had the table cleared, Teri handed him a casserole dish of blackberry cobbler, still warm, and me a spatula and a pile of bowls. Dave got a container of vanilla ice cream and a scooper. Connor handed spoons and forks around.

  Sam sat waiting, spoon in one hand, fork in the other, anticipation deepening the wrinkles in his face. I ladled the cobbler into the bowls and Dave piled on the ice cream.
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br />   I said, "Sammy, you don't have to do anything but eat, huh?"

  "Just who do you think picked these berries while you were messing around on the beach?"

  "The family that works together stays together." Dave scooped ice cream on cobbler for Teri. Nobody commented on me calling him "Sammy". Maybe that was common here.

  "Gramps, you did a good job. Man, oh man, this is good! Mom, you make the best cobbler."

  Sam sang out, "We're in the money..." drawing out the final word, "nowwwww," to which Conner nodded in agreement.

  "Tell her about the aftermath of the bug stomp," said Teri.

  "Oh, yeah! A couple days later that guy from the Salem paper came over, you know, the guy who took that photo. Said he knew you, that you guys are old friends. Fishing for info about you. Dad didn't tell him much."

  Dave was nearing the end of his cobbler. "He talked about Grandma Sophie like you all was good friends. Said he was going to meet up with you. Has he done that yet?" His left eyebrow lifted in a question.

  "Oh, yeah. He's sniffing around," Sam said. "She went to his house to meet up with him when I stopped in to see Kit."

  "Sam! If Annie wants to see him you don't need to be saying stuff."

  I knew my face was warming up. The memory of our hour set me into motion. I started taking dishes into the kitchen. With my back to them I could talk.

  "His name is Len." All I could think was, just pass this off like it's nothing. "He's coming for dinner this week." Sam already knew that so it was better to get it out before he put his spin on it. Bad enough to have the family discussing my potential love life. "We were an item, once, but now we're just old friends."

  I rinsed the bowls before putting them in the dishwasher. Boy, I bet Sam's other mom, Amy, would have liked this feature. To change subject I said to Connor, "Say, don't you have a board for Chinese Checkers around here somewhere? I think I won the last time we all played. Bet I can still beat you."

  That did the trick. Dave cleared the table, Connor found the board, and Teri pulled the old box of marbles out from where she'd kept them hidden from Connor and his friends when they were little and where it was still her secret.

  The games came out even. We all won one, Connor two. We ended the evening with everybody happy. As I undressed for bed that night, I realized I'd decided. Len was back in my life for some reason. It was time I let loose of the chains I'd wrapped so tight around my heart, time to take a chance with feelings. I could always put my guard back up if it didn't work. The decision, along with the joy of family, led to an easy sleep.

  I enjoyed my solitary ride back to the valley, though I dreaded returning to the heat. I used the time to think about the changes in my life over the last two weeks.

  Quilting?

  A romance?

  Sam and Magda?

  The Willamina show?

  My life had been slow before the fair. Since the Bug Disaster it felt out of control.

  At home I emptied my back pack, shook the sand from the shell, and set it on the windowsill in the kitchen.

  Chapter 17

  I Make a Move

  Tuesday morning: I sat at my kitchen table, with early dawn outlining the bushes beyond the window. The sun was just coming up. I watched it through the trees, backlighting the far side of the river. The wind was gentle but with enough lift to raise branches of the maples. The early light cast shadows on the buttercup yellow of the kitchen wall. I thought about Len. I'd promised him dinner, and something more. The thought of more made me sit straighter in my chair.

  The routine of making coffee soothed me. From the shelf above the sink I pulled down my favorite cookbook, a church cookbook. Some pages were spotty with grease. The book opened automatically to those recipes. Coffee ready I filled a mug, took it and the book to the table. The shadows had moved higher on the wall and continued to be tossed about.

  I wanted to make something simple that I could pull from the oven, that would fill the house with good cooking smells. Not fish. Some onions, carrots, celery, potatoes, maybe a beet for more color. I had enough of the root veggies from my garden. A sponge cake with raspberry sauce I made from my patch. I looked at the photos of a lovely pot roast, thought about stuffed zucchini, and decided on simple. Steak. Baked potatoes. Asparagus. He would bring the drinks.

  I rummaged in the bread bin, pulled out the leftover top and bottom heels of a loaf I bought last week before I took Sam home. I made toast, took it and peanut butter to the table.

  Why Len, now? Was I looking forward to reuniting with a lost love?

  Len had never been a true love to me, he had been more of a fascination. His moves had charmed me, but Aunt Sophie had thought he was dangerous. She had told me the story of her love affair to warn me of the dangers of fascination.

  Perhaps fascination is just lust dressed up.

  I finished up breakfast with a banana, cleaned up the crumbs from my peanut butter and toast, gulped the last of my coffee. I had shopping to do. And a phone call to make.

  Chapter 18

  Back at the Quilt Studio

  I called Len and told him we were on for dinner Wednesday evening, early if he didn't mind. My plan was to have leisurely time to watch the sun go down while we ate, et cetera. He was quite agreeable, teasing again about the wine, "Are you sure you want sparkling cider?"

  I went shopping, found a couple of nice steaks, had the cookbook out, reconsidered making a sponge cake from scratch, and was checking my linen closet when my cell rang.

  What happened next made me think that Willamina has some similarities to Mayberry, both being small towns with bare-boned law enforcement systems.

  I expected the call to be Len with more of his joshing, but Magda wailed into my ear, "Oh, Annie! It's awful! Please, can you come?"

  "What? Magda, what's the matter?"

  "Tommy! He's been here all the time. Come, please!" Her voice escalated in volume, causing my cell to vibrate. She sounded desperate.

  I held it from my ear. "Tommy? Come where?"

  "To my place. To the studio. Oh, God. The bear. We thought he was here to scarf up apples."

  She gasped. I heard another woman say, "Take a breath, ma'am."

  Which I heard Magda do, while I went through a mental checklist. I'd need gas. I'd not unpacked from the Cannon Beach trip. Just throw the bag in the car, get gas, and go. Why not ask Sausage Roll Lena for help, I wondered.

  As if she was listening to me think Magda said, "They took Lena to the hospital. She was having trouble breathing. One of the deputies said something about jail." This last bit came out again in the wail.

  "Jail? Lena? Why would Lena go to jail?" While I was asking questions, I was dragging my bag from where I'd plunked it down when I came home. I put my cell on speaker phone while I took out the dirties, replaced them with clean underwear, socks and a couple t-shirts.

  Magda kept talking while I moved around the room. "Lena. Me. I don't know. And Tommy's here. Uggghh!" This last sounded as if she had dropped the phone and was retching.

  A man came on the line. "Ma'am, if you're a friend of hers you should come right away. We need help here. The body in the backyard has got to be taken care of. The dead bear, too."

  Oh, my.

  "I'll be there as soon as I can." For a millisecond I thought to get Roger, but then I remembered and damned him for not being here. I told the man--a cop?--to tell Magda I'd be there as soon as I could, and hung up.

  Sam. I sat down on the bed and called him. He answered within a couple rings. Irrationally I thanked Roger for helping me. Who knows?

  "Sam, Magda needs you." I gave him a quick rundown on what I knew--not much--and what I planned to do. "When I get there I'll call you on my cell and you can talk to her. By then I'll know what's going on."

  "Damn! I wish I had a car!"

  I reminded him that he doesn't have a license anymore.

  "So?"

  I have to laugh. "Okay, Sam. I'll call you in a couple hours, maybe sooner
."

  "Thanks for letting me know. I'll wait a few minutes and call her myself. I want to know what's happened."

  About to hang up I added, "Thanks, Sam." And felt another tiny pang for thanking him while resenting Roger for dying early. I get so tired of these conflicting feelings.

  "Think nothing of it."

  The trip seemed to take forever, but really took only about two hours. I spent the time re-running our conversation, trying to come up with a reasonable scenario to explain Magda's frantic call.

  When I arrived I had to park alongside the road because the driveway was full of police cars, one that had Sheriff marked on the side. An ambulance was close in to the side yard.

  Magda burst out of the house, followed by a policewoman with her arms out, like she had been restraining her and Magda had broken free. Her hair was sticking up all over, her eyes were wide and wild.

  I was barely out of the car when she threw her arms around me.

  "A-a-a-nnie, Tommy's here, been here all the time. In the backyard. Bear found him. They think I killed him. Please help me!" Her shriek scaled down to a whisper and I felt her grip lessening as she began to slip to the ground.

  The woman, whose name tag identified her as Deputy Sheriff Avis Bybee, stepped forward and the two of us half walked, half carried Magda into the front room couch. With her head in her hands, she gave way to sobs. I put my arm around her and the deputy supported her on the other side. She said, "Mrs. Buler was just fine until you drove up, when she went crazy again. Maybe too fine."

  A man in uniform came in and handed Magda a cup of water. She seemed barely aware as she sipped at it, but slowly her sobs stopped and she took several deep breaths.

  She looked up. "Wish, you know I didn't do this." Apparently she knew this man whose name tag identified him as Sheriff Aloysius Kelly.

  "Magda, there are certain procedures we must follow. It would be helpful to me if Deputy Bybee goes through what she knows. I'm sorry I couldn't get here before now. Take another drink there, Mag."