Steaming coffee cup in one hand, address book in the other, she went to the study where Pop's desk sat, its top clear and uncluttered. I will not cry, she told herself as she sat in the big leather chair that still seemed to hold the warmth of his body.
Nine o'clock. Not too early to call St. Louis or Chicago. She did, and discovered the old friends she was seeking were off on vacation or had moved on to new challenges. I've lost touch. How long has it been? Three years? At least.
She dialed Dallas.
There was work out there, she discovered. Exciting work. Interesting work. The Dallas Opera was staging a new Aida, and The Daughter of the Regiment was on the schedule in Nashville.
Sometime during her second cup of coffee, she discovered she was losing her enthusiasm. Finding a job, going through all the rigmarole of submitting designs, changing them, working with the director, the set designer, trying to please everyone—maybe she'd be happier staying here and volunteering in the high school drama departments in Vale and Ontario. It wasn't as if she had to work. Pop's estate would keep her in comfort the rest of her life.
...a nasty little tendency to self-pity...
"Damn it, no! I've made such a big deal of going back to work. How would I ever explain...?" She reached for the phone again. Dialed a Portland number.
After the third ring, someone picked up. "...finished, email Vincent. Sorry. Distracted. This is T.J. Smithfield."
"Hi, T.J.. Sally Carruthers. Remember me?"
"Sally?" Her college roommate's shriek nearly deafened her. "Oh, God, girl! I was just thinking about you! Where have you been? How are you? Are you busy?"
"Whoa!" Sally felt herself on the edge of a laugh. T.J. always made her feel better than anybody else in the whole world. "Let me get a word in edgewise."
"Well, hurry. I can't believe this. Just when I was...So, say something!"
"I've been here, in Whiterock. My father... Pop died last week."
"Oh, Sally, I'm so sorry—"
Sally stopped her before she could say more. Sympathy still broke down her fragile defenses.
"Believe me, it was a blessing," she said. "And I'm fine. Tired, and out of touch, but fine. The reason I called..." She wondered if T.J. would be insulted if she went right to the point. After all, she hadn't called the woman who'd once been her best friend for far too long.
"This is the most wonderful coincidence," T.J. said before she could go on. "I was wondering how to get hold of you. I need you, girl. Yesterday."
Hope germinated, fragile, tentative.
"You were?"
"I was about to start calling around, see if anyone knew where you were. I had no idea you were still at home."
Sally heard the sound of voices in the background. They were muted, and then she heard T.J. say, "I'll be there in a minute. This is important. I've found us a costume designer."
The hope burst into full flower.
"Okay, I'm back. Now, listen. There's this new production company in Portland, they call themselves Broadway Reprise, and they want to do a modern version of Carousel. You know, with contemporary clothes and maybe an urban setting? And they've asked me to give them a proposal for costume and set design—all integrated—and I can't think of anyone who I'd like better to work with, so say you will. Please?"
If she hadn't been sitting down, she would have collapsed. Sally pinched her thigh, certain she was caught in a particularly cruel dream.
"Sally? Sally, are you still there?" The voice in her ear was anxious.
"Yes. Oh, yes, T.J., I'm still here. Look...I don't know...this is so sudden."
"You have been away too long. It's always so sudden. Now, can you be here tomorrow? You'll need to get some preliminary sketches together, so they'll see what we're doing; then we'll have a few weeks to finalize everything. But I don't want to stay in Portland for longer than I have to—Jason hates it when I'm away—so you can go back to Timbuktu, Oregon, until time for the presentation."
"Aren't you living in Portland anymore?"
"Heavens, no. I'm in Denver, and I'll be flying back day after tomorrow. So, you've got to be here tomorrow."
It took a while, but she finally got everything sorted out. T.J. was part of a group of freelancers who'd teamed up to submit a concept for the innovative production. They'd had a costume designer, but he'd been called away on a family emergency and they were desperate.
"You will come, won't you?" T.J. said, sounding uncharacteristically sober.
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," Sally promised, while mentally cataloguing all she had to do. She hung up, her head spinning.
While she was packing and getting the house ready to be closed up for a while, she taped both of Pop's recordings of Carousel. After checking to make sure her credit card and gas cards were in her purse, she locked the house up. There was nothing in the refrigerator that could spoil, and the hot water heater was turned off.
She was thirty-five miles from Whiterock by noon.
She made a gas stop in Burns. That was when she realized she'd told no one she was going. Not even Gus.
Say goodbye before you run away.
And she had promised.
She finally found a pay phone at the library—I have to get a cell phone, now that I'll be where there's decent coverage—dug out her phone card and started dialing. Gus wasn't at the shop, so she called his apartment. An explanation would take forever, so she just left a brief message. "I'm going to Portland for a few days. I'll call you when I get back."
There was a lot more she'd like to say, but she felt inexplicably shy about doing so. They'd agreed that they were together for sex. Nothing else.
So I don't owe him anything.
She also called the Post Office. After asking Wilma to hold her mail and have the newspaper delivery discontinued, she said, "And would you ask Lyle to check the house occasionally? Just to make sure nobody breaks in or anything. Mrs. Alpin should still have a key."
"What about that young man of yours?"
"He's not my... I called him."
She meant to call Gus when she got to Portland. She really did. But once there she was so busy. And so happy.
Besides, she didn't know what to say to him.
* * * *
When Gus got home that night, he saw the light on his answering machine, but he was too damn tired to care. He'd spent the day in the field, replacing the rings and bearings on the engine of Jock McEwen's baler. It had been an ugly job, and he was covered with grease and hay dust.
Every inch of his skin itched like the devil. He dropped his clothing just inside the door and strode naked to the shower. Once clean, he ate spaghetti cold, right out of the can, washed it down with a beer and fell into bed.
The next morning he was on his second cup of coffee before he saw the light and remembered it had been blinking the night before. He poked the PLAY button.
"Gus, this is Sally. I...ah...well, I'm in Burns. On my way to Portland. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I've got a job. I think. So I may not be back for a while. I'll call you."
A long silence. Then, "Well...uh...goodbye." A click and the hiss of an open line.
He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.
Breathless. Stunned.
Numb, he replayed the message.
"...may not be back for a while. I'll call..."
That was all. She'd call him.
When she got around to it.
Read: never.
INTERVAL
Carruthers escapes. Astonishment!
Loring energy less obtainable.
Consequence hazardous.
Desperation...
TWENTY
Gus saw Sally when she picked up her mail the Thursday after Labor Day. He just happened to be looking out the front window, the one facing the Post Office, when she walked out.
He dropped the carton of oil filters he'd been about to set on the shelf. She hadn't taken more than four steps before he was blocking her path. He wa
sn't sure whether he wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled or kiss her until she melted in his embrace.
"Where the hell have you been?"
She looked up at him, her eyes lighting in unmistakable joy. "Oh, Gus, it was marvelous. And it means I can have it all."
He pulled her into his arms, ignoring the bundle of mail she held, only wanting her close and safe.
"You've been gone for three weeks. Not a word. For all anybody knew, you'd dropped off the edge of the earth. Damn it, woman, what got into you?"
Three weeks of hell, wondering what had happened to her. Wondering if he'd ever see her again.
"Let me go, Gus." Her voice was muffled, and he became aware he was holding her tight against his chest. Her arms, with the bundle of mail, were wedged between them.
He released her, but immediately captured her elbow. He wasn't going to let her get away until she explained.
"I'm glad to see you, too," she said, and her smile just a tad uncertain. "Buy me some coffee?"
"I want to talk to you, but I don't want to do it in front of the whole town," he growled.
"Then you'll have to take your turn. I promised Georgina I'd stop and tell her about my adventures on my way home."
Stifling his impatience, he said, "I'll go with you."
They took the back booth in the Bite-A-Wee Cafe, the one where he'd sat with her before. Georgina poured them both steaming coffee, and then slipped into the booth beside Sally.
Gus doctored his coffee and waited impatiently while Georgina caught Sally up on all the local news.
"Now it's your turn. You've obviously had a pretty exciting time. Tell us all about it," Georgina propped her chin on both fists.
He had to admit he'd have demanded the same, but not nearly so diplomatically.
"I have a job." Sally's smile was as wide as forever and as bright as the sun. "That's why I went to Portland." She told them of the phone call, her hurried preparation to depart. "I know I should have called someone, but I was so excited I never even thought about it."
The look she gave him asked him to forgive and forget. He wasn't sure he could, but he'd listen. Once upon a time he'd been this enthusiastic about his work. He'd be a real jerk to rain on her parade.
"I've always done my best thinking when I was driving."
She sipped her coffee, and he wondered if she even knew how she grimaced at the taste. Like everyone else, Sally drank Georgina's vitriol without complaint.
"Well, anyway, I listened to Carousel four or five times on the way. And I stopped to sketch—oh, at least a dozen times. So, by the time I got there it was almost midnight, but I had concepts for every scene."
Lyle Curran slid into the seat beside Gus.
"Good to see you back, Sally," he said. "Next time, let me know you're leavin' town, will you?"
She had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry, Lyle. I was so excited I didn't even stop to think. Did Wilma tell you I called from Burns?"
"Ayup." He nodded his thanks for the coffee cup Georgina had fetched. "Guess it didn't occur to you we'd be a little worried when we didn't hear another word from you. Not even where you were staying. I was all set to put out a missing person report."
"Sure you were." Sally clearly did not believe him.
Gus had had enough of her blithe disregard for the feelings of all the people who'd worried about her. "Damn it, Sally, didn't you give even one thought to the fact we might have been concerned when you disappeared like that?"
"No, I didn't, Gus, and I'm sorry." She didn't look sorry. She looked about ten years old and in possession of her heart's desire. "Anyway, T.J. and I worked like beavers—all day and all night, it seemed like—for days and days. Finally, we had everything together, and we took it to Broadway Reprise's Board of Directors. And guess what?"
Georgina said, "Well, don't keep us in suspense. Did they like your ideas?"
"They loved them! They had planned on looking at several concepts before making a decision, but they took ours on first sight. We'll do the detail drawings, and start production in November."
"So, I guess you'll be movin' to Portland," Georgina said.
Gus echoed the thought but found he had no voice to say the words.
"Well..." Sally looked directly at him. "That depends. I don't have to, although it might be easier if I did."
He found his voice. "Depends on what?" Even to his ears, his voice was harsh and labored.
"On you," she said. "It depends on you, Gus."
Her words echoed in his ears, along with the muted conversation of the café's denizens, the rumble of a truck on the street outside and the amplified beat of his heart. He stared across the table.
"I guess you two have a little talkin' to do." Georgina picked up her carafe. "I'll see you later."
"Me, too," Lyle said. "Later."
Sally enclosed her coffee cup in her hands and looked over it at him. "I guess I shouldn't have said that, not right here in front of everybody." Her tone was thin and hesitant.
Shaking his head, as if that would put his brain back into working order, Gus took the cup from her and set it on the table. "Let's go. Georgina's right. We need to talk."
He pulled her to her feet easily, but quickly dropped her hand when she seemed inclined to follow him. They left the café amid friendly comments and farewells from everyone. For once, he didn't feel the comfortable sense of belonging that had been growing on him these past weeks.
Sally turned east. "Let's go to the park. I've been cooped up in hotel rooms and meetings for days."
He walked alongside her, not letting his shoulder touch hers. His senses were dulled, as if he were wearing a veil of some thin black fabric that shut out sound as well as light. The empty storefronts seemed shabby, with crumbling brick and peeling paint. Litter drifted along the cracked sidewalk, swept by the hot, dry wind that had been blowing for what seemed like forever.
Or was he just now seeing Whiterock for the dying town it had always been?
"Oh, no!" Sally stopped at the curb in front of the library, looking across Main Street.
"What?" He couldn't see anything different.
"The elk," she said, almost tearfully. "Someone's vandalized it again."
Sure enough, the bronze statue had lost its antlers; he tried to remember when he'd last seen them. Although he'd come past here just yesterday, he hadn't really noticed the condition of the elk—or the park, for that matter
It was time for a work party again. The rain in July had caused everything to grow faster than usual, and the whole place looked shabby and unkempt. And they were going to have to put a temporary fence around the damned bandshell before some kid climbed up into it and got hurt—the storm the other night must have been worse than he'd realized. There were shingles missing, and new holes in the stucco facade.
Sally was wringing her hands. He guided her to a bench, brushing it off and spreading his handkerchief before letting her sit on it in her white jeans. She said nothing after she'd seated herself, simply stared across the park at the willows bordering Hackberry Creek.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Why does whether you move to Portland or not depend on me?"
"Do you love me?" Her words were slow and almost dreamy.
"I told you—"
"So did I."
"Damn it, Sally, if I could love anybody, it would be you. But I can't."
He had made a vow three years ago, and nothing had convinced him to break it, not even the big hole Sally had left in his life when she'd disappeared.
"Why?"
God! Couldn't she just let him alone? He stood up and walked away from her, stopping a few feet from the bandshell. While he stared at the crumbling stucco, he wondered if he owed her the truth.
He decided he did.
"Remember I told you I killed my wife? You didn't believe me."
"No one who knows you would believe it."
He glanced over his shoulder and saw she was still sitting on the be
nch. Good. As long as she kept her distance, he could think straight.
"Then they're all wrong." He swung around but stayed where he was. "Damn it, Sally! I killed her!"
"If you shout a little louder, the whole town might hear you." She patted the bench. "Why don't you come here and tell me about it?"
"I don't want to talk about it," he grumbled, but he did go back and sit beside her.
"Fine. So, tell me about her."
"Who?"
"Your wife. You know. The woman you claim you killed." Sally figured if she could get him talking, he would tell her. She knew he loved her—he'd shown it in countless ways—but he wouldn't admit it even to himself at this point.
And if he couldn't admit he loved her, she would be leaving Whiterock.
"Her name was Marilyn," she prompted. "Was she blond?" Was she beautiful? was what she really wanted to know. She almost hated Marilyn—for having had Gus's love, for having shared his life with no strings attached.
"No, her hair was sort of brown," he said, while staring off into space. "And her eyes were brown, too."
"Tall? Slim?" Sally would hate being a physical carbon copy of Marilyn.
"No. No, she was short—five-one, I think—and she fought her weight all the time." His mouth twisted in a grimace.
"And how long were you married?" This was like pulling teeth.
"Seven ye— Damn it, Sally! None of this matters."
"Gus," she said, and held him beside her with a light touch on his forearm, "everything about you matters to me."
It had taken her about three days to learn that—once she was away from Whiterock and the sorrowful memories it held for her. In clearing her mind for work, she had also cleared it of a lot of emotional baggage.
"You know, I miss Pop something awful," she said. Even virtually mindless, Pop had at least been a presence in a house that now held only ghosts. "I don't think I can stay alone in the house. It's too empty now."
"So you are leaving." Not a question. A statement.
"I don't want to." She had realized that within a day of her arrival in Portland. She enjoyed the excitement, the vitality, the tempo of life in the city, but she knew now she had never been comfortable there. Portland—any city, she presumed—was the proverbial nice place to visit. "I want to live here."
Improbable Solution Page 19