"Is that why you haven’t worked at the store since Donald took over?"
Before I could answer, a commotion erupted below.
*****
Sheriff Hays and I entered the living room in time to see Momma throw her ashtray at Johnny’s head. She missed, but not by much.
"Deputy Santo, what’s going on here?" The sheriff’s voice boomed across the room.
Helen pointed a crimson-painted nail at Johnny. "I want this man out of my house. Now!" Her cheeks glowed firebrick red. Her green eyes—squinted slits at first—began to widen, like a female vampire getting ready to chomp down on the jugular of her victim.
Hays frowned. "I think you’d better wait outside, Deputy."
"No," I shouted. The thought of Johnny leaving so soon was unbearable. "You . . . you can’t go without your hat. You left it in the kitchen. Let’s get it."
Johnny looked to his boss for an okay. The older man gave a curt nod and Johnny headed for the kitchen. I followed.
Once in the kitchen, I asked, "What did you say to Momma to get her so riled up?"
"I told her she was a bigger bitch now than she was before."
"You didn’t say that."
"The hell I didn’t." He gripped the back of one of the dinette chairs. "She started talking about how I ruined your life and hers too. She went on and on, but I held my tongue. Then she accused my mother of stealing from her. I had to speak up."
"I see." The scorched pie pan was still in the sink. I picked it up, carried it to the trashcan, and scrapped the crust into the garbage.
"You don’t seem surprised."
I put the stopper in the sink, squirted some dishwashing liquid in it, and turned on the faucet. "I’ve heard it all before."
"Has Helen been spreading lies about my family?"
I glanced at Johnny. He stood there, arms crossed, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. In the sink, a cloud of bubbles was cascading over the sides of the pie pan. The foam spread across the bottom of the sink and started sneaking up the sides of the porcelain basin. I had to stop the source feeding the rising tide before it spilled over and ruined everything.
I cut off the water and twisted to look at him. "You know Momma. She hasn’t changed. She still talks about everybody." Johnny’s mouth relaxed a bit, but his body remained tense. "According to her, your mother is a thief, Frank married her to get her property, you’re a born troublemaker, and I’m . . . I’m nothing."
I turned back to the sink, scooped up a fist full of suds. One by one, the bubbles disappeared from my hand. Just like the years of my life, they vanished, leaving nothing behind to indicate they’d ever existed. I felt Johnny’s hands on my shoulders.
"That’s not true, Rebecca."
He spun me around to face him. His eyes were softer now. Placing my hand on his chest, directly over his heart, I found the courage to ask the ultimate question. "Why didn’t you come back for me?"
Johnny licked his lips as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. His pulse quickened.
The door swung open. "John, I think we need to be going." Sheriff Hays stopped in the middle of the doorway. He stepped out of the way of the swinging door at the same time Johnny pulled away from me. The two men almost collided.
The sheriff walked over to the Hoosier. Johnny stepped back next to the stove. I stayed by the sink. No one uttered a word. We watched the door swing back and forth, getting ever slower before finally coming to a complete stop.
Johnny cleared his throat. "Rebecca . . . Miss Cooper and I were discussing the case."
"Really?" Hays asked, lifting a brow.
Johnny and I exchanged glances.
The sheriff extended his right hand. "Thank you, Miss Cooper, for your cooperation. I’ll get back to you as soon as we know something."
I shook his hand and apologized for Momma’s behavior.
"Don’t worry about it. I’ve been dealing with people like her all my life."
Johnny snorted. "There is nobody like Helen Wooten. Thank God."
His boss cast him a firm look. "I’ll wait for you in the car, Deputy."
"He’s mad at you, Johnny," I whispered, as the door closed behind Johnny’s boss. "He’s mad at you and it’s my fault."
Johnny laughed. "Nathan’s not mad. A little ticked off maybe. He wasn’t sure I should come, given my history with your family."
"Why did you come?"
"Because I wanted to see you, Twig." He reached down and gave my nose a little tweak the way he often did when we were children.
I smiled, pleased to discover he remembered the nickname he and Papa had given me.
"Mrs. Treadwell said she heard a rumor you were back, but I didn’t believe her. At her age, she tends to get things mixed up. Besides, I knew if you were here, you’d come by or at least call. How long have you been back, Johnny?"
"A little while."
"How long is a little while?"
"It’s been crazy at the station. Half the deputies either quit because they didn’t want to work for a black man or were fired by Nathan for being corrupt."
"How long have you been back?"
"I started right after Labor Day," he said, averting his eyes from mine.
"Labor Day was over a month ago. You’ve been here a month and haven’t called?"
He reached for the Stetson, smoothed back his hair, slipped on his hat. "Between work and trying to get the old Baxter place livable, I haven’t had any free time."
"The old Baxter place? You’re living at the old Baxter place?"
"I made a deal with Mr. Baxter. I’d fix the place up in exchange for free rent."
"Damn you, Johnny. The Baxter house is only three miles from here." I spun around, grabbed a SOS pad and started scrubbing the pan.
"I’ve been meaning to stop by, Twig."
"Meaning to stop by. What the hell does that mean?" I asked without turning around.
"I know I should’ve come by sooner, but I wanted to get settled first. I thought I’d run into you in town. Nathan insisted all his deputies go through an orientation program. That kept me busy the first two weeks."
The more excuses Johnny offered, the harder I scrubbed.
"Please say something, Rebecca," he pleaded in a small voice.
I rinsed off the pan, placed it in the dish drainer, and started scrubbing the sink. "You need to leave now, Deputy Santo. Sheriff Hays is waiting for you."
"Rebecca," Johnny whispered.
His hand brushed the back of my head. "Don’t touch me," I said, irritated at the quiver in my voice. All motion ceased.
"May I come back, Twig? We need to talk."
I wanted to say, "Yes." Wanted to scream, "Yes." But my wounded pride was on a rampage. Keeping my back to him, I said, "I’ll check my calendar. Maybe I can squeeze you in sometime next month."
Johnny’s boots clicked across the linoleum. The door banged the back wall.
I glanced around the kitchen. The swinging door and the flattened aloe vera leaves were proof that his visit had been real and not a daydream. "Wait, Johnny," I yelled.
Helen stood at the front door, screaming at Johnny, warning him not to come back. I tried to squeeze past her, but she blocked me.
"You’re not running after that Mexican boy again, Becky Leigh."
"I’m not sixteen anymore. You can’t tell me what to do."
She grabbed my arm. "You’d best remember all the trouble he caused you."
I jerked my arm free and pushed her hard. She stumbled back and hit the wall. She almost fell, but Momma has too much cat in her not to land on her feet.
"I’m warning you, Becky, that boy’s trouble."
"He’s not a boy, Momma. He’s a man. A lawman." I stepped closer to her. "And you arranged for the death of his unborn child. You’d do well to remember that."
The gleam in her eyes turned from hate to fear. "You can’t tell him that."
"Then stay out of my way." I pushed open the screen door.
Johnny opened the door to the police
car. I yelled for him to stop. He turned, tramped back up the sidewalk, and met me halfway between the street and the house.
"Momma goes to bed downstairs after the late night news. Frank built some stairs from the backyard up to the veranda. Come by around eleven."
"I’m busy tonight."
"Busy?"
"Yeah, busy."
"I thought you wanted to talk."
"I do. How about tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at half past seven and we can go to my place." He looked over my shoulder. "We won’t be interrupted by Queen Bitch."
I knew Momma was watching us, straining her ears to hear our conversation. "Okay. I’ll be outside so you won’t have to come to the door."
"Great. I’ll fix supper, unless you want to go out to eat."
"No, but . . . but . . ."
"But what, Twig?"
"I heard you got married. Your wife might not appreciate you asking me to supper."
Johnny sighed. "She’s in Texas. We’re divorced."
"I’m sorry to hear that," I said, trying not to sound too cheerful. I reckon there’s some of Momma in me after all.
Johnny pointed at the car. "I’d better go. See you tomorrow." He walked back to the patrol car, got in, and waved once before they drove off.
I practically skipped back to the house.
Helen was in the front hall smoking a cigarette. She didn’t say anything until I started upstairs. "What do you think happened to Donald? Do you think he’s dead?"
"Why ask me?"
"I wondered if you’d killed him."
"That’s funny. I thought about asking you the same question." At the top of the stairs, I looked down. She stood there, staring up at me. "Did you, Momma? Did you kill Donald?"
She shrugged, flashed a little grin, and walked back into the living room.
CHAPTER 31
I sat in the front porch swing waiting for Johnny to pick me up for our...our whatever. Reunion? Dinner with a friend? Under no circumstances would I allow myself to think of the evening’s activity as a date. We were two friends getting together for supper and a chance to catch up after being parted for five years. There would be no romance tonight. None. There couldn’t be. There shouldn’t be. Johnny was fresh from a divorce, and I couldn’t make any sense out of my mixed feelings for Frank. Still, I’d changed my clothes four times, brushed my teeth twice, and gone through half a pack of Dentyne gum. I needed to focus on what had occurred today instead of brooding over what was not going to happen tonight.
Upon receiving the message that Donald was missing, Charlotte, accompanied by her father, returned to Sugardale. The girls stayed in Athens with their grandmother. Charlotte and Mr. Welch stopped by our house around noon to ask if Momma or I had any new information on Donald’s whereabouts. We didn’t at the time, but a couple of hours later Sheriff Hays came by to let us know that both Gordon Zagat and Frank’s truck had been located.
The Zagats were in Mississippi as I suggested. Upset about being fired, Gordon had fled to his wife’s relatives to visit and to look for a new job. The entire family, including Josh and his wife had accompanied Gordon in a show of solidarity.
Donald—or what the authorities suspected were his charred remains—had been found in the cab of a burned-out Ford truck at the bottom of Cascade Canyon. A startled fisherman, intent on trying his luck at Lazy Rock Creek, made the gruesome discovery shortly after sunrise and called the county sheriff’s office. A license plate found in the surrounding rocks proved the vehicle was Frank’s Ranchero.
The body was burned beyond recognition so they couldn’t be sure the deceased was Donald until an autopsy was done. Sheriff Hays cautioned us against being optimistic that the body wasn’t Donald. Obviously, Johnny hadn’t informed his boss of the true nature of our feelings toward my stepbrother.
As soon as the sheriff left, Momma decided we should go comfort Charlotte. I reminded her I’d been invited to Johnny’s for supper. She threw a hissy fit when I refused to change my plans.
Momma’s reasons for visiting Charlotte were three-fold. First, if Donald was dead, then Charlotte could end up owning our home. As far as I knew, my mother had no spicy tidbits that she could use to blackmail Charlotte. Thus, she’d have to charm her step-daughter-in-law into letting us keep our house.
Then there was the matter of Mr. Welch. A short, wiry man with thinning hair and a bald spot the size of a silver dollar, Ben Welch wasn’t Momma’s type at all. But he had three qualities my mother admired. He was rich, powerful, and could exert considerable influence over his daughter. So before going over to comfort poor Charlotte, Momma fixed her hair, polished her nails, and cracked open a fresh bottle of White Shoulders. Whenever my mother splashed on White Shoulders, she had some man in her sights.
"Men hate heavy perfumes," Helen said. "They like a delicate scent. Something sweet, yet enticing to arouse their interest. Something like White Shoulders."
Helen regarded Ben Welch as a potential ally, a man she could use to get what she wanted. He was also a man in some emotional turmoil due to his worry over Charlotte, and a man whose wife was miles away—two factors that could help render him easy pickin’s for Momma.
I saw Charlotte’s father as a painful memory. I’d watched Mr. Welch’s attempts to comfort his daughter. His soft voice, the reassuring pats on her back, and the spontaneous hugs reminded me of Papa and reminded me of how much I missed him. I preferred not to have my feelings of loss rekindled again tonight. I certainly didn’t want to watch Momma use Mr. Welch’s fatherly concern as a tool to help her play him as she’d done so many times to Papa.
The third reason Momma wanted me to accompany her was easy to figure. If I were with her, I wouldn’t be with Johnny.
I checked my watch: 7:43. Johnny had said he’d pick me up at half past seven. No need to worry yet. Johnny had been habitually late when he was a kid. No reason to figure he’d changed. Still, if I’d been smart enough to get his phone number, I could’ve called him to make sure everything was okay. There it was again, that infuriating two-letter word—if.
*****
Johnny rinsed off the head of lettuce, plunked it down on the stained pine table.
"Why don’t you let me fix the salad, Johnny? You watch the pizza."
"Okay."
"How’s Anna doing?" I asked. "I lost track of her when she moved to Texas."
"Mother’s fine. She remarried in’68." Johnny handed me two fat tomatoes, a cucumber, and a red bell pepper. "Rueben, the man she married, invented this gasket for appliances. Two years ago, this big company paid him three million dollars for the patent."
I dropped the tomato. "Three million dollars?"
Johnny laughed. "Yeah. Mother and Rueben bought a Winnebago. They spend half the year touring the country. They’re in New England now on one of those fall foliage tours, but they’ll be here for Thanksgiving. Then, they’ll head back to Texas for the winter."
"Three million dollars," I repeated. "You should’ve told Momma that when she accused Anna of stealing from her. That would’ve shut her up."
We both laughed. It felt good. It felt like old times.
When Johnny first picked me up, it’d been a bit awkward between us. He spent the entire ride to his house apologizing for the frozen pizza he bought for our supper. After a couple glasses of wine, we loosened up enough to give each other a brief rundown of the past five years.
I lied to Johnny, telling him I’d moved to Alabama for sixteen months to care for Frank’s ailing sister. That’s what everybody in Sugardale believed, and I’d told the story so many times it seemed like the truth, except at night. At night, in the darkness of the bedroom, I’d remember Havenwood. Sometimes the creaks and moans whispered by the old house startled me awake and for a long moment, I’d think the Pickers-in-white were coming for me again. When Frank was alive, he’d hold me close, tell me it was only a bad dream, and promise me he’d never let anyone or anything hurt me ever again. He lied to me. I lied to Johnny
. Everybody lies to everybody.
Johnny’s career in the military had gotten off to a rocky start. "I was so damn angry about being forced to leave you and join the Army, I got into a lot of fights and spent a good deal of time in the brig." He explained how his commanding officer had suggested that since Johnny enjoyed fighting and seemed determined to homestead the brig, he should join the military police. That’s how he’d ended up in law enforcement.
When Johnny told me he was wounded in Vietnam, I cringed, imagining the enemy ambushing him. Then he described how he’d been shot while trying to break up a fight in a Saigon bar. A Marine and a sailor were at odds over which man would spend the evening with a certain Asian beauty. According to Johnny, the most embarrassing part of the whole scenario was that, while he was struggling with the servicemen, the prostitute wrestled his own gun out of his holster and shot him in the leg for interfering in her business transactions. We laughed until our sides ached.
After the laughter, I found the courage to ask Johnny about his marriage. He’d been sent to Tripler Army Hospital in Honolulu for surgery on his leg. That’s where he’d met Justine. They married three months later. Johnny accepted an offer to get out of the service early and he and his wife moved to Austin, Texas to be near Anna and the rest of his family. He worked nights and weekends as a part-time deputy sheriff while getting a degree in criminology. Before his divorce, he’d planned to go to law school. Now, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
Justine. Her name sounded clean, honorable, and full of truth. I drew a fork down the sides of the cucumber so when I sliced it, the cucumber would have pretty serrated edges. Anna had taught me that.
"Why did you move back here, Johnny?" I asked, knowing it had nothing to do with me. Still, a girl could hope.
"I came to Sugardale last May for my cousin’s wedding and met Nathan at the reception. He’d just been elected sheriff and I’d gotten my degree and my divorce from Justine the week before." Johnny opened the oven and checked the pizza. "I needed a change. Needed to get out of Texas. Nathan told me if I decided to move back to Cascade County, I should see him about a job. In August, I called to see if he was serious about his offer. He was and so here I am." Johnny checked the pizza again. "It’s ready."
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