She took one last look back at her father, stirring the pot over the stove, humming some unintelligible song as he did so. “Dad?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t turn around. She remembered her earlier suspicions about her mother’s affair and wondered, for the first time, if her father had had them, too, if that had played a part in his recent actions as he struggled to deal with her death.
“I’m glad about the job,” Star said. There were those damn tears again, creeping up on her unexpected. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“Me too, Star Bear.”
“And I’m glad about you,” said Star. “I’m glad I still have you.”
Without looking back, she shut the door behind her and let the warm outdoor air hit her face.
Fifty yards out, Styx was already sniffing happily at the earth, nudging holes and trying to uncover secrets from beneath the pile of old wood stacked beside the shed. Star breathed in. The air bit at her lungs, refreshing her. For the first time all day—no, for the first time in a long time—she felt happy.
Without thinking about it, Star threw her arms out at her sides and did something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. She shut her eyes and spun, once, twice, and then a third time. When she opened them, the world spun before her, its shapes fuzzy and rocking. Star lifted her eyes toward the distance and the hills, toward the direction of Cavus, where her real friend, Mabel, lived. Mabel, who would never think of doing what Debbie had done, who probably didn’t even know what a blow job was.
“Probably thinks it’s something you do to a sucker,” said Star, and she laughed to find she’d said it out loud.
She whistled for Styx to come, and the dog bounded back past her father’s patrol car, and onto the driveway. But Star’s gaze stopped at the car.
Sitting in the backseat was a woman.
3
“Looks like you folks are stuck here.”
The cop, a rotund man with a balding head and a wrinkled shirt, leaned against his car. County Sheriff was written in bold script along the vehicle’s side.
“Yes,” said John. “I guess we are.” He was almost able to hold back the snark, was trying to, but Erma heard it just the same. She didn’t really blame him. They’d been waiting for hours, and the sheriff looked like some caricature of a small-town bumbler. He stuck out his hand.
“Name’s Riley,” he said. “Patrick Riley, Sheriff of Cavus.”
“We didn’t expect them to send out the sheriff,” Erma said, trying to lighten the mood. “Anybody would do.”
“Oh, there’s just me and my deputy, and Sam’s off on another call. Besides, I’m happy to help.”
“We called Triple A,” John said. “They couldn’t get hold of anyone around here.”
The sheriff laughed. “Now, that doesn’t surprise me a whit. We’ve got the Festival this weekend, and that’s about all anyone in these parts can think about.”
“Well, we just need a tow,” Erma said. “And a recommendation of a shop to take the car to. Can you help us out with that? I tried a few local companies, but…” She shrugged. “No answer.”
“I’m afraid you’re in a pickle.” He looked at their stalled car. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” John said.
The sheriff ambled over, and again Erma was reminded of a character of some kind, a man better suited for a family-friendly sitcom than any actual police work. The sheriff tapped once on the hood of their car, then felt underneath, releasing the latch and lifting the hood. Ttrapped smoke steamed out as he leaned over the engine.
Beside her, John was kneeling, holding tight to a trembling Maxie’s collar. She had, in some miracle, made it across the road before the semi came blaring through. When John rushed across the highway, yelling for her, she’d come trotting eagerly back to them. Whatever Erma had seen, or thought she’d seen, was gone, the field of pasture grass on the other side stretching out long and open.
“I hate to say it,” the sheriff said, “but it looks to be your radiator.”
“Okay,” said John. “What do we do about it?”
“Isn’t much you can do. Unless you know a lot about cars.”
John shrugged. He knew absolutely nothing.
“Your best bet near here would be Wiley’s.”
“Great,” said Erma, sensing the mounting tension in John. “How do we get it there?”
“I’m afraid you don’t,” Riley said. “At least not now. Wiley’s is closed for the weekend and on into Monday.”
“Fine,” said John. “Just get us a tow, then. Please. We’ll head up to the next town over.”
“That’d be Billings, and it’s an hour away. And you ain’t gonna find a tow truck until Monday either. Nor a hotel room, or even a bed and breakfast. Like I said, it’s Festival Weekend.”
“Fuck!” John’s anger exploded, and he let go of Maxie’s collar. Maxie, sensing her owner’s mood, sunk to the ground, nudging at him. “That is just fucking great. The van’s due back in two days. It’ll be an extra three hundred at least to keep it longer.”
“John…”
Her husband ran a hand through his hair, then sunk it into Maxie’s fur and rubbed it, his head slumped. Maxie’s tail thumped, happy that she could grant this small relief.
“We were on our way across the country,” Erma said. “Moving.”
“I see that,” Riley said, angling his head toward the moving van.
“It’s just not a great time to break down, is all. Money’s a little tight.”
“Tell you what,” the sheriff said, and this time when she met his eyes she saw an intelligence there that had escaped her before. “You aren’t going anywhere tonight, there’s no way around that. But why don’t you folks come on back with me. I think I might know just the people who can get you on the road by tomorrow evening, Sunday at the latest. What do you say?”
John raised his head and shot Erma a look. But she ignored it.
“That sounds great,” Erma said.
“We don’t have a lot of money,” John interjected. “Like my wife said.”
“Don’t you worry about that any,” Riley said. “The place I’m taking you, it’s cheap. Dirt cheap. And really, I don’t see that you’ve got a lot of options. You folks are in Cavus for tonight, like it or not.”
He left John and Erma to ponder this as he tied an orange flag around their car’s antenna. When he was finished, he motioned for Erma to follow. “Why don’t you ride with me, miss, and your husband and his fine furry friend can follow.”
Erma obliged, wondering just how much further this setback would drive her and John apart.
As she got into the police car, the sheriff paused before starting up his vehicle. “Listen,” he said. “You didn’t have anybody else stop and try to help you before I got there, did you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Erma. “Like another person?”
“Like another officer, maybe?”
“No,” said Erma, surprised. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” said Riley. “Just thought my deputy, Sam, might have stopped, that’s all.”
“He didn’t,” Erma said. “Just you.”
“That’s good, then,” said Riley. He started the car, then stuck a hand out the window, waving it to let John know he was going. “Now, let’s get you and your husband to Cavus. It’s a pretty little town. I think you’re both really going to enjoy your stay there.”
He flipped on his blinker, then eased onto the road, John following close behind them in the van.
Part II
Welcome to Cavus
Chapter 5
1
It was hard to see much of the town as they entered, clouds having balled up in the early evening sky, turning it dark. Erma guessed Cavus was probably pretty; it was certainly quiet, everyone already inside by eight on a summer’s night. Country folks, Erma thought. She was sure there were a few teenagers about, keeping themselves to the shadows, despite the town’s s
leepy appearance.
“It’s funny how familiar a place can be,” the sheriff said to them as he drove. “Familiar and then completely strange, too. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been away for a while. What’s that saying? You can’t ever go home again?”
“Yes,” Erma said, her voice cracking.
The sheriff had told her during their conversation on the ride over that though he’d grown up in Cavus, he’d just returned a few weeks ago to take over as sheriff.
“So why do they call it ‘Cavus’?” asked John. He was in a better mood, Erma noted. Nearly cheerful.
They’d dropped the moving van off at the police station, where Riley opened up the garage and locked the van inside, free of charge. He’d also let the couple inside the empty two-room police station and led them to his office, where he pulled a bottle of Beam from his desk drawer.
“Some kind of day, huh?” he said, pouring the three of them a finger’s worth and then knocking his back like a professional. John had warmed to him considerably after that, and now, whether because of Riley or the alcohol, he was more relaxed than Erma had seen him in days.
“If I’ve got my Latin right—”
“You’d better,” said Erma, smiling at him. “I’d hate to think all those students at Clark wasted their time on you.”
“They didn’t,” said John, drawing himself up and assuming what Erma called his “professor pose.” She thought it was cute. And thinking this, she realized how long it had been since she’d allowed herself to simply admire her husband.
“Cavus,” John said. “Latin, meaning cave. Which is why I ask, Sheriff. Why name the town that? Are there many caverns here?”
Erma studied her husband beside the portly cop, seeing the clean lines of him, the way he thrust his chin forward with each word. A ferocious man, this husband of hers. When had she stopped noticing this?
“Not many,” Riley said. “Just one, actually. There’s a big cave half a mile north of town that’s about a mile deep and half a mile wide. Supposedly. There’s so many mines down there from the old coal factory that nobody really knows where one ends and the other begins.”
“The Romans used to worship in caves, you know,” said John. “Romulus and Remus were suckled by the wolf in Lupercal, and men and women paid homage to Diana down below.”
“Is that right? Well, no worshipping in our caves. Not unless you count worship of the almighty dollar. The new factory’s built right over where the mines used to be.”
—
Sheriff Riley rounded a corner, driving easily, with the one-handed grace of people who’ve clocked a lot of time behind the wheel. “You’ll be staying at my aunt Bunny’s house. I’ve already arranged it.”
“You’ve been so kind,” said Erma. “Really, we can’t thank you enough.”
Riley waved that away. “It’s like I said, there isn’t any place with room near here. Besides, my uncle Bob’s really good with cars. Kind of a hobby of his. I’m having Sam tow your Honda to a buddy’s garage, where my uncle and all the other old-timers who like to tinker on stuff hang out. Last I heard they were trying to rebuild a pretty hopeless Karmann Ghia that somebody’d suckered one of them into buying. Bob’ll have that radiator of yours replaced in no time. He’ll only charge you for the parts.”
“I feel like we’re taking advantage of you,” John said.
“Not at all. Uncle Bob can’t find enough things to take apart and put back together. You’ll be doing him the favor, I assure you.”
Beside her, John squeezed Erma’s hand. She squeezed back, pleased by this small gesture of affection.
Riley rounded a corner and pulled up to a pink ranch house, reminiscent of something from the Beaver’s era, its outline visible because of the porch light that someone had left on for them. The house was tidy, like the rest of the houses in the town, its lawn green and well-manicured. “Honey?” John had her hand again and was pulling her out the door, then close into him so that he could whisper, “You’re sure you’re okay with this? We don’t have to stay here.”
“I’m fine,” said Erma, surprised by the concern in his question. “It might even be fun. Besides, we need my car.”
“I’m all for leaving it.”
“But then how would I get you to the fish market in the mornings?” asked Erma. She’d meant it for a joke, a way to ride the tide of good cheer and get a smile from her husband, but she saw immediately that it had backfired. He turned away from her.
“I’m sure I can hitch a ride with Uncle Frank.”
Sheriff Riley led them to the front door, and Erma was amused to see that he held his hat in his hands, twisting it like a little boy. “She was always my favorite aunt,” he said, by way of explanation, giving Erma a sheepish grin. “But she could be pretty scary, too, if you crossed her. She’s just ten years older than me but she seemed untouchably adult when I was a boy.”
Riley rang the doorbell, and Erma could hear the polite dinging of chimes inside. The door opened almost immediately. They were expected.
“Why, Patrick Riley, how long has it been?”
“Hi, Aunt Bunny.” Erma watched as Riley continued to twist the hat. “Sorry I haven’t been to visit in a while. Settling into the new job’s keeping me pretty busy.”
“Well, it’s good to see you.” The woman pulled her nephew into a hug, and then stepped back, offering her hand first to Erma and then to John. “Welcome.”
Erma took the moment to study the woman. Riley’d said his aunt was ten years older than he was, which would make her about sixty if Erma’d guessed the cop’s age right. Bunny wore her age well. Her hair was bobbed into a short silver ’do, perfectly symmetrical, and she wore a collared shirtdress, blue and crisp. Erma thought, looking at her host, that she herself would never come close to looking as pulled together as this woman in the middle of nowhere Montana. Not if she lived to be a hundred.
“Come on in,” Bunny said. “Quit standing around like deer in the headlights.”
“Uncle Bob home?” Riley asked.
“You know he’s not,” said Bunny. “Ever since he took that job with SweetHeart, I just can’t seem to keep tabs on him. They’ve got him working all hours of the day and night.”
“Uncle Bob’s an engineer,” said Riley by way of explanation. “He used to work for the army. He just switched jobs about—what now, Aunt Bunny? A month ago?”
“Two,” said Bunny. With the grace of a born hostess, she led Erma, John, and Riley to the kitchen and sat them down at a beautiful oak farm table with benches on either side. Soon, steaming mugs of coffee were in front of them. “It’s been wonderful for him. I’ve never seen him so excited.”
“Good for Cavus, too, looks like,” said Riley. “I haven’t been out there since I’ve been back, but I’ve heard the place is going great guns.”
“Yes.” Bunny nodded, looking pleased. “You know, Cavus was getting in a pretty bad way, what with all the farms being bought out and the ones left not able to keep up with the corporations. But then SweetHeart moved in and just about saved us. Why, I guess half the town has jobs with them now.”
“What do they do?” asked John. Erma watched him as he sipped his coffee, coffee that was served to him black, just the way he liked it. His face was relaxed, and Erma could see that he was having a hard time reconciling the “trash” he so enjoyed commenting on in the rest of rural middle America with this house and woman.
“Oh, no!” said Erma, jumping up and cutting Bunny off from answering John. “I forgot all about Maxie. We left the station in such a rush and I’m so used to her traveling with you…” She turned to John.
“Relax,” John said, laying a hand on her thigh.
“No need to worry, ma’am,” said Riley. “I talked to your husband about this earlier, back at the station when you were in the restroom. Right now your dog’s getting itself spoiled rotten by my secretary, Anita. I called and asked her to come in and get him for the night. She’s a bit of a soft
ie, and she just lost her schnauzer about a month back. I promise you, your dog’s in good hands.”
“But why…?” Erma stopped herself, not wanting to seem rude for asking why Maxie wasn’t being allowed to stay with them at Bunny’s house. The woman seemed to read her mind.
“I’m sorry, dear. That’s my fault. I have terrible dog allergies, so I told my nephew here that I’d love to have you, but it would need to be without your furry companion.”
“No, I’m sorry,” said Erma. “I didn’t mean to insinuate it was expected. It’s just that Maxie’s pretty much our baby.”
She saw John flinch at her choice of words and immediately regretted them.
“I understand,” said Bunny, but Erma thought she saw the woman’s face tighten, then decided she must have imagined it, as with a smile Riley’s aunt set a plate of fresh cookies down in front of them. “Butterscotch!” she said, beaming. “My dear little Patrick’s favorite. Or used to be, at least.”
“Still are,” said Riley, blushing, and helping himself to two cookies at once. “Aunt Bunny, you wouldn’t happen to have—”
“Right here,” said Bunny, cutting him off by setting a foaming glass of milk in front of him. “My secret is just a splash of vanilla. Anyone else?”
Erma and John both accepted, and Erma couldn’t help but think, as she munched her cookie, John’s hand clasped tightly in her own, there might be a chance for them after all.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about the motel room. Their angry lovemaking. The words that were left unsaid between them.
Erma let John’s hand drop, but when he looked over at her, concerned, she picked it up again. Everything would be okay. She was here with him now, and that was the main thing. They were facing a lot of challenges, a lot of transformations, but they were doing it together. That was what mattered.
Consumption Page 4