Chemistry Lessons

by Rebecca H Jamison

  “To make a better memory.” He took the slingshot from her hand and stepped out his door.

  She had better things to do, but she couldn’t resist. After he opened her door, she followed him down the hill to the bank of the river. Since the flood, there had been no rain. The mud had dried to dusty pink clay. He bent to pick up a pebble. Then he enclosed it in the leather sling, stretched the tubing, and shot. They watched as it landed across the river in a puff of dust. “Your turn,” he said, handing the slingshot to Rosie.

  She copied Destry as best she could, picking up a pebble, folding the leather sling around it in a tight pinch, and holding the slingshot out with her arm straight.

  “Let me show you something,” he said. He stood behind her and reached around her to adjust her hand. “Rest this part on your forearm. Hold it straight in front of you. Pull back as hard as you can with your fingers on both sides of the leather.”

  He didn’t look that large, but his chest and arms seemed so substantial next to her.

  He carried the smell of laundry detergent—a smell she preferred over the heavy scent of men’s cologne. “You can figure out how to aim once you’ve practiced a little more,” he said.

  She released the sling and the rock shot through the air, landing with a plop in the middle of the river. “Let me try again. I think I’ve almost got the hang of it.”

  She picked up another pebble. This time she aimed, tilting the slingshot toward the horizon. When she released her grip, the pebble landed in the sand all the way across the river. It felt good to fling something that far. She tried again, aiming higher. “This one’s for the angry parent who called Principal Moore about my biology assignment.” She let go, and the rock flew to the opposite bank.

  She tried a smaller rock. “This one’s for having to leave Grandpa with only Betty to look after him. At least he has someone. I shouldn’t feel so guilty about it.” It landed with a plop in some mud on the other side.

  She tried a bigger rock. “This one’s for the fence I haven’t mended.” That one didn’t go quite as far.

  She tried another small, round one. “And this is what I think of selling five hundred acres.” She shot with all her strength, and the rock landed in the dust on the opposite bank.

  Over and over, she fought against the strength of the rubber tubing, shooting the rocks farther and farther. With each release, the worries of the day flew from her fingers.

  Destry stood beside her, handing her rocks, one by one, his smile widening with each successful launch. “Why don’t you keep this slingshot?” he said. “I have another at home.”

  “Oh, thank you, but it’s so addicting, I’d better not. I appreciate you teaching me how, though. This was just what I needed.” She handed it back to Destry. As fun as it was to be around him, it wasn’t appropriate to keep accepting his favors.

  There was something so free about him, as if he did everything for pure enjoyment. She could never be like that—not with all the things she had to do.

  “Well, come borrow it whenever you want,” he said.

  “I will.” She looked at her watch. It was 4:30. “How long have we been here?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  She slapped her hand to her mouth. What was it about being around him that made her forget all her responsibilities? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so much of your time.”

  “It’s okay. That was the most fun I’ve had since our arcade game last week.” Destry pocketed the remaining rocks.

  “Why are you saving those rocks?” She giggled. It wasn’t like Lone Spur had a shortage of rocks.

  He patted his pocket and gave her a confident grin. “For the next time we do this.”

  It was safer not to ask why he thought there would be a next time. “We better get back.” She attempted to walk back up the hill beside the river, but the dirt was so soft that her sandaled feet slipped half-way back down with each step.

  Destry stood rooted to the ground. “I bet you’re wondering about those articles Tanner found about me.” They had been having such a relaxing time. Why did he have to bring up those articles?

  Though she had read some of the articles about Destry, she hesitated to ask about them. She didn’t want to seem nosey. “I’m a little curious.” She knew he couldn’t be guilty of murder, but she still wasn’t sure about the insider trading and dishonest accounting practices.

  “As my mentor teacher, you deserve to know what really happened.” His words left little goose bumps on her skin, their softness suggesting he had a motivation beyond her being his mentor teacher.

  She shouldn’t have felt as flattered as she did, not when Tanner’s ring was on her finger, because whatever she had with Destry could go no further than friendship. Still, if she understood his side of the story, she could defend him to Tanner. They were going to be neighbors, after all, and hopefully friends. “I’d like to know what really happened.” She grabbed for a root sticking out of the dirt and used it to pull herself a few steps up the hill.

  “Hold on,” he said, scaling the hill beside her. He was wearing the same hiking boots he had worn on the day of the flood, much better for this terrain than her sandals. “I’ll help you up.” He got to a flat place and then reached his hand down for her.

  The last thing she needed was for someone passing by to see her holding Destry’s hand, but she could not get up that hill without help.

  She heard a car approaching, but Destry grabbed hold of her wrist. As he pulled her up to where he stood, her worries dissipated. The person in the car didn’t matter anymore. There was just her hand in his. He held onto her longer than necessary, or maybe she held onto him. When he did let go, it was the oddest feeling—like missing the presence of her watchband when she forgot to put it on.

  From there, they walked side by side as he spoke. “It’s not a story I’ve told many people. I’ve kept it secret to protect my family.” He kept his eyes on her, probably trying to gauge her reaction. “About a year and a half ago, my head accountant told me about some discrepancies in the books. That’s how the whole nightmare started. My brother Cody was gambling with other people’s retirement money. He lost a lot of it, and what he didn’t lose, he used to buy drugs.”

  Every time Rosie glanced Destry’s way, his eyes rested calmly on her face. She sensed his pain and heard the sincerity in his voice. She believed him. “Why didn’t the news reports say anything about Cody stealing money?” she asked.

  “I didn’t tell the reporters about Cody.”

  “Why not?”

  They reached Destry’s truck, but he didn’t open the door. “You know how it is after someone you love dies. I couldn’t let that be the thing he was remembered for. Besides, it would have killed my mom. She was already upset with me for firing him.”

  Tanner would say it was an act, that Destry had rehearsed it all, but it didn’t seem like an act to her. The lack of hesitation in his voice and the earnest expression in his eyes convinced her that he was telling the truth, but she wanted to make sure she understood all the details. “So the thing about you selling your stock—that was what you did to pay back the retirement funds?”

  “Yeah, and that was a mess too. Zelcom’s president was a friend of mine. If we hadn’t been such good friends, I wouldn’t have placed so much money in one stock. At the time, I thought selling my shares was my best option to pay back the employees’ retirement funds. The stock was at an all-time high. The company seemed healthy. I didn’t even think it could be considered insider trading.” He clicked his key fob to unlock the doors of his truck and let Rosie in the passenger-side door.

  She scooted into the truck, analyzing what Destry had said. By the time he sat down in the driver’s seat, she’d thought of another question. “Why did the reporters think it was insider trading?”

  “My friend told me that a lawsuit had been filed against his company, but he also said his lawyers assured him that it would be an easy win.” Destry pushed his
keys into the ignition but didn’t start the car. “It seemed like a minor concern compared to what I was dealing with.”

  She folded her hands in her lap, not quite comfortable discussing lawsuits and investments.

  “I didn’t consider the consequence of selling all my shares at the same time the story of the lawsuit broke.” He stared ahead down the road. “I’m not sure what I should have done about the money . . . The main thing I regret is that I didn’t get Cody into rehab.”

  Rosie fiddled with her seatbelt. She understood the guilt of not being there for a loved one. She had, after all, left her mother with a husband who beat her. Now, after seventeen years, she could finally see it was her mother’s choice, and she wanted to make sure Destry didn’t suffer the same way she had. He didn’t need to feel responsible for something he couldn’t have changed. “It sounds like you had a right to be angry. He almost ruined you.”

  He started the car. “I’ve never been so angry at anyone in my life. But I didn’t kill him.”

  “I know you didn’t.” She trembled a little as she said it, fearing others might not trust him the way she did. She had already heard from other teachers at the school that Jade had showed them the articles. She hoped the others would be more supportive.

  Chapter 20

  Destry had promised Rosie he would come up with a plan, and he had one, at least a tentative one. He was so excited about his idea that when she didn’t answer her phone, he drove down to her house. It was a Saturday, and she was probably out with her animals.

  Before he could look around, though, he saw something that disturbed him. Mr. Curtis’s can of Pepsi was spilled on the front porch, attracting flies. Beside it, the old man’s chair laid on its side.

  Something was wrong.

  He pounded on the wooden edge of the screen door. “Mr. Curtis?” he called.

  The front door stood ajar.

  No one answered.

  He remembered Rosie saying something about her grandfather’s heart trouble and that he refused to take his medicine. Holding his breath, Destry scanned the fields and what he could see of the barns.

  Then he noticed that Cheddar sat beside the porch. Surely the dog would have followed the old man out into the fields. He had to be inside.

  This was no time for hesitation. He pushed open the door. “Mr. Curtis?” he yelled. Reminding himself that the old man was nearly deaf, he stepped inside. No one sat in the armchair or the sofa. A quick glance toward the kitchen assured him that no one was there either. Worry propelled him to shout out once again. “Mr. Curtis?”

  The situation demanded that he intrude deeper into the house. With his heart racing, he walked to the hallway and peeked into the first bedroom. The bed was made, and he saw no sign of anyone. Still, he had a feeling he couldn’t ignore. Heart attack victims frequently retreated to the bathroom. He could tell the bathroom light was on, and the door stood ajar. He ventured a few steps into the bedroom, just to peek. As he did, he could make out the tip of Mr. Curtis’s black walking boot.

  “Mr. Curtis?” Destry called again, hoping the old man wasn’t sitting dead on the toilet.

  “Huh?” The old man answered in a startled voice, as if he had just woken.

  Destry let out his breath, relieved. “It’s Destry Steadman, your neighbor. I saw the chair knocked over outside, and thought you might have had some trouble.”

  “Nothing but a little heart ache,” the old man said.

  Heart ache? That didn’t sound good. Destry reached for his phone, as he peeked into the bathroom to see the old man sitting fully clothed on the toilet. “I’ll call 911.”

  Mr. Curtis held his hand up to stop him. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  “I’m not going to stand here and watch you die.” Destry punched in the numbers. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to call 911. He had called one Thanksgiving morning when Cody hurt his back playing football. That was the injury that led to Cody’s first back surgery.

  On the other end of the phone, a woman answered. “Morris County dispatch. What is your emergency?”

  “I think my friend is having a heart attack. We’re on Dry Bone Lane in Lone Spur, but I might be able to get to the hospital faster than an ambulance can get here.”

  “I’m not having a heart attack,” Mr. Curtis yelled. “I said heart ache.”

  “Hold on a second,” Destry told the dispatcher. He held the phone to his chest, looking at Mr. Curtis. “What do you mean heart ache?”

  The old man rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s my anniversary. I miss my wife.”

  Destry had been trained in CPR, and knew the signs of a heart attack. Mr. Curtis’s face was a healthy shade of pink. He wasn’t sweaty. His breathing came slow and easy. “You don’t have any indigestion?”

  Mr. Curtis shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  The only clear sign of a heart attack was that the old man sat fully clothed in the bathroom. “Then why are you in the bathroom?” Destry asked.

  “I’d like to meet a man who doesn’t go to the bathroom.” The rims around the old man’s eyes seemed redder than normal. A box of tissues sat beside him on the counter, and he still had one tissue clutched in his hand. He must have been crying and come here to get a tissue.

  Destry thought it might embarrass the old man if he mentioned the tears. It was bad enough to be standing with him in the bathroom. “I’m glad you’re okay. I thought when I saw your chair knocked over, that you might have been in pain.”

  Mr. Curtis groaned. “The biggest pain I’ve got right now is Rosie’s coyote. That creature knocks over my chair at least twice a day.” He shook his head and smiled. “Sometimes I wish you were a better shot.”

  Destry laughed. “It’s a good thing I’m not.” He took the phone from his chest. “I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake,” he told the dispatcher. “My friend told me he had a heart ache, and I misunderstood. He’s a widower, and he misses his wife.”

  The dispatcher paused a moment. “This is Ben Curtis we’re talking about?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You know what I’d do if I were you?”

  “What?”

  “Take him out to put flowers on his wife’s grave.”

  Destry had already ignored a long list of chores to come see Rosie, and he was supposed to meet Chase McFerrin in ten minutes for a riding lesson. He didn’t have time to drive Rosie’s grandpa around—not if this wasn’t an emergency. “Okay. Thanks for your help.” Destry ended the call.

  Then he noticed the old man had missed a button on his shirt. The poor guy couldn’t even dress himself properly, much less visit his wife’s grave on his own. Destry would just have to put off his riding lesson. “What do you say you show me the Lone Spur cemetery? I’ve never seen it.”

  “That’s the place I’d like to go.” Mr. Curtis pointed to the special walking boot he wore on his leg. “If it weren’t so hard to get around on this blasted thing.”

  “That’s no problem,” Destry said, helping him out of the bathroom. “My Dad was in a wheelchair for a while. I’m used to hauling one in my car.” After he got the old man into the wheelchair, Destry made a quick call to Chase, asking if they could reschedule the riding lesson until tomorrow. Once that was arranged, Destry remembered his original errand. He needed to ask Mr. Curtis about the pictures. “Before we go, do you mind if I snap a few photos of those paintings on your kitchen wall.”

  Mr. Curtis scrunched his nose. “You like paintings of naked men?”

  “No,” Destry said, figuring he should probably clarify his intention. “I think I recognized one of the artists’ names.” He pushed the wheelchair toward the kitchen, but the paintings no longer hung on the wall. “What happened to them?”

  “My daughter took them down. I think she put them in the back bedroom.”

  Destry pulled his phone from his pocket. “Do you mind?”

  “Who am I to judge?” The old man chuckled, still trying to tease him.
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br />   Destry jogged down the hall toward the back of the house, passing what must have been Rosie’s bedroom on the way—he knew because Wile E slept beside her bed. The back bedroom was at the end of the hallway, and at least twenty paintings stood in three stacks on the floor—not exactly the recommended way of storing fine art. As carefully as he could, he found the two paintings with the signatures he recognized. Then he removed the sticky notes from the paintings and snapped two photos, which he sent to his mom in separate e-mails. After those loaded, he took photos of the other paintings, just in case.

  It would take something special to bring his mom around to communicating with him again. If he heard back, he would know the paintings were worth something. Even if he didn’t hear back, he would try again with some of the other paintings. There had to be some value in there.

  After he walked back to the kitchen, Mr. Curtis pointed to a cabinet above the sink. “Do you mind getting a vase? I want to bring some flowers to put on the grave.”

  Destry did as he was asked and then eased the wheelchair out to the front porch. He was thinking he ought to call Rosie when Mr. Curtis stood up and started down the stairs, leaning on the rail for support. A pair of scissors trembled in his hands. “Now, hold on,” Destry cried, zipping around the wheelchair and grasping the old man’s arm to help him down the last few steps. What would Rosie have thought if he’d let her grandpa fall down the stairs? He was supposed to be using a walker. And when did he get those scissors?

  “I saw some yellow roses yesterday,” Mr. Curtis said, shuffling along much quicker in that black boot than Destry would have predicted.

  Betty, who usually power-walked up and down the street at this time, waved and turned down the driveway. “Good Morning!” she called. In signature style, she wore a string of pearls with her T-shirt and sweatpants.

  “Don’t tell her how I’m doing,” Mr. Curtis muttered in a voice that was loud enough for Betty to hear from where she stood ten feet away.

  Destry couldn’t help cracking a smile. “It’s nice to see you, Betty.” He craned his head back to face her as he followed the old man around the house to the rose garden.