by Kym Roberts
“I’d like to say you forget. Some you do … others live on…” Feeling the dead dragging her down, Betty turned toward the shelf, our brief embrace ending with a squeeze. “Do you make things on commission?”
Thankful for the change in conversation, we discussed rates and time frames and the object of her desire, which I wasn’t even going to begin to talk about. We were interrupted a few times as we discussed the piece she wanted, and I finally excused myself to ring up sales. Luckily, my week’s profits soared beyond my hopes.
The redhead followed Myrtle and her new beau out the door and toward the bus, but Betty stopped by the register. Picking up my business card, she said, “I overheard you tell that nice young man that your father is teaching a woodcarving class this Friday?”
Lord, this could not be happening.
“Yes, he’s quite the drill instructor, and we meet twice a week. If you miss a class, you can get totally behind.” Not really, my dad was a marshmallow, and he always helped anyone who missed a session, but adding bold Betty and a strip bar bouncer to the mix of my sedate carving class seemed daunting.
“Wonderful. I love a man who takes charge and knows how to work his tool.” Betty’s eyes twinkled. “Sign me up, along with Myrtle. We’ll bring the treats. And then I’ll give you the specs for my special order.”
With the combustible trio of Tommy, Betty and Myrtle joining the group, our class was headed for a mix of sexual innuendo and emergency medic calls. Dad would probably be the first to drop from a heart attack.
“Wonderful. Here’s the brochure listing the supplies, but we sell everything you need if you want to wait and make your purchases on Friday.” As much as I liked spunky Betty, my smile quivered with the thought of what she’d bring to class, and I swear my fear added an extra sway to her hips as she turned away from the register.
At the door, Betty paused for a couple to come through the doorway, and I knew instantly it was the woman I didn’t want to meet. Her familiar, silky blond hair flowed like sheets of snow; her posture held the poised and straight lines of a European princess entering a ballroom. Ryan’s bride stopped in front of Betty, who said something I couldn’t hear, and then they clasped hands. I wasn’t sure how Betty recognized her; maybe she’d seen Missy on the news, but after a few unintelligible words passed between them, they parted ways, and Missy approached the counter where I stood like a toad.
She was gorgeous: a trim-fit light blue skirt matched the color of her eyes, and a lacy shawl hugging her feminine figure. White cowboy boots completed the ensemble with a very down to earth, yet chic style. But the princess had lost her sparkle and no longer resembled the carefree spirit I’d made into a figurine for her wedding cake.
Steve, however, gave a repeat performance, tagging along for no particular reason. Only this time his face was riddled with guilt and anguish, not trouble and adventure. I found myself missing the old Steve.
I walked around the counter and greeted Missy in the same manner Betty had just taught me. Despite the rather randy aspects of her personality, the older woman’s ability to comfort a perfect stranger had taught me a valuable life skill. Now I knew how to approach the widow in front of me.
“Missy?” I asked. She nodded and held on tightly. “I’m sorry about Ryan’s death.” My nose tingled with the emotion I struggled to hold back, as a tear tracked the length of her left cheek.
“Thank you, Ms. Dust.” She released my hands and reached in her purse for a tissue. “I can’t seem to stop crying.”
“It’s only been a couple days. It will take a lot longer than that.” Steve chimed in, with a hand on her shoulder.
Although his words held an edge, they rang true.
“Let me just lock up the store real quick.”
Missy nodded and I excused myself to secure the door and turn the sign over to Closed. Then I invited Missy and Steve to follow me into my residence. Steve’s hand went to the small of Missy’s back, guiding, protecting, loving — like it belonged there.
And I wondered what Ryan was thinking as he looked down from heaven and watched his best friend touch the woman they both loved.
Chapter Eight
He really is a good guy. We just fell in love with the same woman.
Ryan’s haunting voice in my head was broken up by Bogart’s thundering entrance in the hallway. Bulldozing me with his head between my legs, I scrambled to maintain my balance.
“Bogart!” I lifted my leg in a klutzy dismount and Bogart hung his head in shame. “Go lay down, boy.” Once again he listened like we’d worked on the command for years, not days.
The corner of Missy’s mouth rose in what would have been a full-blown grin, if grief hadn’t knocked it down to a twitch.
“Please have a seat on my couch and I’ll get us some coffee.”
Retreating to the kitchen, my hands trembled with dread as I poured the hot brew I’d started right before the tour group arrived at the shop. When I returned to the living room, Bogart sat in between the couple on my couch, his head rested on Missy’s shoulder while his bottom pushed against Steve’s leg like the jaws-of-life at an accident scene. He was NOT going to let them touch.
“Bogart.” I warned.
He hunkered down and sulked with my tone. Hind legs kicking, Bogart pushed Steve even farther away from the woman he loved. The woman who’d just lost her would-be husband.
“I’m sorry…” I put the drinks on the coffee table, ready to pull Bogart from the couch. But Missy scratched his head, and the corners of her mouth did that twitch thing again. If Ryan were here, alive and well, I’d put money on her being down on the floor laughing and playing with my new family member.
“He’s fine. My parents had a boxer, they’re great dogs.”
I glanced at Steve, who didn’t seem to agree with Missy’s assessment or with her allowing Bogart to stay on the couch. Especially since he subtly fought for room to sit. I could have told him he’d lose, but I wasn’t feeling very charitable.
The bizarre set of circumstances left me at a loss. This woman’s parents died on Mt. Hood. My husband died on Mt. Hood, trying to save them. We’d never met face to face, and now another set of tragic events had cruelly brought us together to share our grief. A grief neither of us wanted or deserved. Still, as I watched her thoughtfully from my chair, I knew I was infinitely more blessed. I still had my father to turn to, and she had no one.
“Her parents died in a fire on Mt. Hood three years ago.” Steve interjected, not knowing my background.
But he was wrong. It was two years, nine months and twenty-one days ago, and I wondered if Missy was also silently correcting Steve in her head as she scratched my dog’s ears.
“I’m sorry.” That was an understatement.
“I forgot how much boxers shed…” voice trailing off with her muse, Missy seemed unaware of our existence as her mind wandered to the past. “Ryan and I were planning on getting a dog. We debated getting a boxer like my parents.”
The parallels in our lives soured my stomach. I no longer felt compelled to listen. I didn’t want to face this shell of a woman any longer. Her pain was insurmountable — like mine to the hundredth power.
“Missy, you’re getting hair all over you.”
Leave it to Steve to bring us both out of our funk by making us feel self-conscious. Ryan had said he was a good guy. Was he? Or did his own grief bring out the worst in him?
“I’m sorry.” Clapping my hands, I gestured for Bogart to get down and he reluctantly descended, slowly unwrapping his long legs, followed by stretching and finally climbing down off the couch. “I thought he was just losing his winter coat. Is he always going to shed like that?” I looked warily at Bogart, who’d plopped down at her feet and rolled over for a belly scratch, simultaneously leaving little brown hairs everywhere.
“Yeah, but they’re worth the extra trouble, just like a hus...” Missy stopped herself.
“Missy had some questions for you about Ryan’s death.�
�� Steve got another kick from Bogart and I was beginning to wonder if the dog had a hidden talent for putting people in their place when they committed social missteps. Steve’s glance to Bogart mirrored my irritation with the best man.
“I’m sure I don’t know much more than you do ... but if I can help in any way—”
“Were you having an affair with Ryan?”
Dumbstruck, I blinked. Then repeated the question in my head, but still couldn’t get it to compute. Even Steve seemed to be tongue tied as he stared at Missy with disbelief.
Finally, I blurted, “Excuse me?”
“I’m not saying you knew about me before yesterday, but...” A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Stop it, Missy.” Steve scolded. “Ryan was totally faithful to you. There was no one else. Least of all, Rilee.”
“But...” Most of Missy wanted to believe Steve, but a tiny bit of doubt remained.
Steve grabbed her shoulders and made her look him in the eye. The loyal best friend appeared. “No buts. Ryan loved you.” As much as he wanted to take Ryan’s place in her heart, Steve wasn’t about to let anyone think badly of his friend. Especially not Missy.
I admired that. I would have felt a whole lot better if he hadn’t dismissed me like chopped liver, but I respected his loyalty.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment. I think I have something that will ease your mind.” They both nodded and I retreated to the store. Under the front counter, I found what I was looking for and returned to my living room.
“I always take a picture of my clients with the art they commission.” I opened up my iPad to the last picture I’d taken and handed it to the grieving stranger on my couch.
Ryan smiled up at his bride, his eyes glistening with life as he held up the bride and groom I’d made for their wedding day. The set had been designed as mementos to be placed on their bookshelf in memory of a wonderful day. Not chew toys that led me to Ryan’s body.
“I ... I didn’t know.” Missy lovingly caressed Ryan’s face, a pain-filled smile spreading across her cheeks even as tears dampened them once again. “Do you still have them?”
I looked at Steve for direction, but his eyes skittered away. What I could only name as shame, shut him down. As if he was hiding from some truth I didn’t know.
Guessing the visit to Woody’s had him riddled with guilt, I proceeded cautiously. “Ryan picked up the figurines for your cake ... the day he died.”
“I don’t understand. He picked up the set ... and then took a walk in the woods?”
Steve stepped to the plate and took the pitch. “We bought the figurines and ...” he shuffled in his seat, sweat breaking out on his forehead.”... then I convinced him to follow me into, uhm, Woody’s.”
I waited for the ball to drop. No one breathed. Even Bogart seemed tense, as he sat up and let his head cover Missy’s lap, his sorrowful eyes looking toward her face.
“Ryan went to a strip club?” Her voice was so soft, I wondered if I imagined her response.
“It wasn’t like that, Missy. We unwrapped the set to take a picture for my sister.” Steve looked at me. “She’s was making their cake.” When I nodded, Steve continued. “I took the ... the bride Rilee carved and ... and his keys. Ryan had no choice but to follow me if he wanted to get her back.”
Missy let the scene sink in before asking. “I don’t understand. Ryan trusted you with his life, why wouldn’t he trust you with a sculpture?” She wanted to believe him, but that age-old feminine doubt — do I really know how my man will act when he’s out with the guys — was creeping into her head.
Steve’s gaze fell to my dog. Seeking any kind of comfort he could get, he began stroking Bogart’s head. Bogart returned the affection by flinching, then moved to the other side of Missy’s legs.
“I ... I...” Steve gulped and spit out the truth. “I kind of told him I would take a picture of the bride tucked in a stripper’s G-string if he didn’t come in and get it.”
Again the room stilled. Missy continued to stroke Bogart. Steve peeked at her through his bangs in between staring at his hands and his feet. And I wondered for the ten millionth time how the hell I got in the middle of this painful conversation.
“That doesn’t explain how he ended up in the woods.” Her face dry of tears, Missy accepted Steve’s answer without judgment, but still wanted answers.
“I ordered a beer for both of us but he still refused to join in the ... the fun, and he sat with his back to the girls. I...”
I had to give Steve credit. While defending Ryan’s honor, he was throwing himself under the bus. Not that he didn’t deserve to be a speed hump.
Steve ignored the bump and finished his painful confession in record time. “He told me he’d been wrong to ask me to be his best man and I gave him back the bride and his keys. He walked out the door and that’s the last time I saw him.”
Steve’s guilt hung in the air almost as thick as his pain. His grief-stained gaze unable to focus on either of us.
I’d said good-bye to my hubby with a kiss before sending him off, only to never see him again. I suspected Missy had had a similar send off with Ryan. But Steve had argued with his best friend and tried to destroy the man’s marriage before it began. That was the worst kind of send-off a person could have.
Ryan’s bride rested her hand on Steve’s forearm. “He loved you like a brother.”
Steve’s returned the gesture and covered hers in a consolidation of grief and comfort. But the whole scene seemed a little too intimate as they looked into each other’s eyes.
After seeing the two men jostling each other around in my parking lot, I had no doubt Steve was telling the truth. He’d held Missy hostage and her groom had come to the rescue. And now she was rescuing her offender without judgment for his sordid offenses.
What an incredible couple Ryan and Missy would have made.
Chapter Nine
Steve completed his confession. “I left the strip club several hours after Ryan, expecting to get a cab back to Sandy. But I found his SUV in the parking lot with the tires slashed and went over to check it out. The doors were unlocked so I decided to stay there and make sure nothing else happened to it. It was my fault it got damaged … if we’d left after we bought the carvings like Ryan wanted to…” Clearing his throat, Steve struggled to continue. “I wanted to apologize but...”
He never got the chance. Missy’s hand still rested on Steve’s forearm and a tear slipped down her cheek. Not for her own pain, but for Steve’s.
The slashed tires had been the life-altering event in Steve and Ryan’s path — more so than the immature antics of a jealous best man. And the knowledge that they weren’t the first guys to have their tires slashed while parked outside Woody’s weighed heavily on my shoulders. If the tires hadn’t been ruined, would Ryan be alive today?
Suddenly I remembered the evasive look on Mayor Bob’s face that morning. I knew the rumor mill placed suspicion on him; everyone knew he was frustrated by his inability to get rid of the establishment. He’d tasted victory a couple years back when the old bar owner died of a heart attack. But instead of closing, the business had doubled in size under the ownership of an undisclosed relative. At that time, many people thought Bob had turned his efforts toward scaring Woody’s customers out of town. Had I caught him returning to the scene of his crime the morning I’d found Ryan’s body?
Tires slashed, windows shattered, threatening notes left on windshields. I’d seen the evidence of the crimes in the past, but had written it off as the price of having a wild clientele, not our mayor. Now, I wasn’t so sure. And that made my stomach churn. My mind whirled with uncertainty.
Could property damage lead to death? Had my mayor — my friend, actually committed murder? Suspicion began to build inside me as I recalled Bob’s anger, and I felt sick with the possibilities.
Missy looked at the iPad image of Ryan, still resting on her thighs. “Did Ryan have the carvings on him when he died?” Her voice soun
ded hopeful.
Steve snorted. “He was hit by a train, Missy. Of course there wouldn’t be anything left.”
Struck with the brutal image Steve had unthinkingly conjured, Missy’s eyes fluttered with the gruesome implications as she rushed to her feet and put the iPad on the table.
Even Steve cringed, hand raking through his hair, when he realized what he’d done. We joined her. Standing in the middle of my family room, the walls closing in around us. I chose to hide behind the gore Steve had conjured and didn’t answer the question. I couldn’t tell Missy about the teeth marks and blood covering the wooden groom. Life imitated art too closely.
I stood as Missy held out her delicate hand with manicured nails painted in bright, happy pink. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Dust."
With an extended hand, I clasped hers tightly. “Please, call me Rilee.” Attempting to ease her pain, I added, “I lost my husband…” I struggled to admit the truth, “…my fiancé, to a fire. I know what you’re going through. If you ever need to talk—”
Missy’s hand tensed in mine. “A fire?”
I’d said too much.
She knew.
Deep down she knew there was a link she had been missing all along. A connection I hadn’t shared. I could see it in her eyes. And no matter what I said, Missy knew the truth. But my verbalizing it would connect us for life. I hesitated, then confessed the truth I’d withheld. “He was a forest ranger. He died a month before our wedding.”
“Oh my G—” still clasping my hand Missy glanced around my home for a picture of my husband.
“But you said you were married.” Steve accused while staring at me like I was becoming a driving wedge between he and his best friend’s bride.