Mentally holding fast to her initiative, she looked him straight in the eye. "I want to live here with you."
"That's not possible."
"Then tell me why it's not. Damn it, Gus! Leave me a little pride. Tell me why you'll have sex with me but you won't live with me."
Suddenly, he was holding her, his hands gripping her upper arms like manacles, his face so close to hers she could see the tiny flecks of gold in his changeable hazel eyes.
"The road to our house was a long, curving hill." He spoke rapidly, as if the words had been lodged behind a dam in his throat and were finally breaking loose. "I had noticed that the steering on her car was loose, and I mentioned it to her. But Marilyn hated having to take her car in to the shop. She didn't understand cars. She called anything to do with them 'man stuff,' and was certain that mechanics took advantage of her."
He shook her slightly, as if making sure she caught the implication. "So it was my job to see that her car stayed in good repair. But I was busy."
She heard the guilt and agony in his voice but didn't entirely understand it. "Did you think the problem was serious?"
He released her, and she rubbed her arms, sure she would show bruises tomorrow.
"I-I don't know. Any steering problem is potentially serious, but I told myself it was simply normal wear. I was under a deadline and put a lot of things off until I'd finished the project."
He sat back and closed his eyes, his face drawn and set. Obviously, he believed he should have taken time to have his wife's car repaired.
"Gus?" she said, after a long silence. "What happened?"
He took a long time answering. When he did, his tone was thoughtful. "Marilyn wasn't incompetent. She did a lot of volunteer work—Junior League, one day a week at the Children's Hospital, reading to seriously ill kids." He looked into the distance, perhaps into the past. "She was bright and talented. Everyone liked and admired her."
If she was so competent, why couldn't she take responsibility for the car she drove? Sally bit her lip, locking the words inside.
"Gus, you said you sold your business to get the money to buy Bernie out. It must have been more than a garage..."
She'd envisioned him as an auto mechanic back in Connecticut, just as he was here in Whiterock. It was clear now she had been mistaken.
"Ayup."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Tell me about your business." She reached for his hand where it lay lax upon his thigh. Just to touch him gave her a sense of security. That, and hope they could resolve his lingering guilt so he would be free to link his life with hers.
She saw that she still had battles to win before it could happen. For the time being, she would be content to learn more about him—she certainly had made a number of false assumptions.
"It was just an engineering firm in Hartford. Nothing special."
"An engineering firm? You're an engineer?"
"Ayup."
He'd been drawling to the manner born for weeks now, so why was he suddenly and stereotypically a taciturn New Englander?
"Gus! Tell me." She laid her fingers on the hard muscle just above his waist, where, she had discovered, he was extremely sensitive. "Tell me."
They had been serious too long. Perhaps if she made him laugh, he would kiss her.
"Don't you do it," he growled. He caught her hand before she even saw him move. "I'm not in the mood for games, Sally."
"Okay, let me ask you something, since you insist on being so serious. How long is it going to take you to forgive yourself for Marilyn's death? What's it going to take to convince you that she was as much at fault as you were?"
He dropped her hand and seemed to retreat from her, although physically he could have been cast in stone, so immovable was he.
"Gus?"
He stared straight ahead, though she knew he wasn't seeing the decrepit bandshell. She stood, because she could not look into his eyes otherwise.
"Gus, please talk to me."
"Talk? You want talk? A while back you said all you wanted from me was good sex!"
He thrust himself upright and brushed by her, walking toward the arched bridge across Little Hackberry Creek. Sally stood where she was for a moment, wondering whether she should just give up. If she let him go, her life would be less mercurial, more predictable. Gus was not a peaceable person, but he was a lovable one. To her, at least.
I won't let him go! I can't!
She followed him, stood beside him looking down into the dry, rocky creek bed. "That was before I knew you, Gus, before I learned what a loving, caring person you are."
He swore.
"Did that make you feel better?"
He snarled.
"I think I fell in love with you the morning you took Pop into the shower and didn't worry about your uniform, not even your shoes. But I didn't realize it until the night you let me cry all over you. Everybody else saw me as strong and dependable. You looked past that and saw how weak I really was and liked me anyway."
"Don't kid yourself. I saw the strength. If I hadn't I would have walked, no matter how great the sex was." His fingers were white where they gripped the dry, splintery bridge rail. "I told you a long time ago I didn't need anyone leaning on me."
"Because of Marilyn?"
She could understand his reluctance to get involved with a woman who might be dependent. She would never be—could never be—like his dead wife. Her need for him was not the leaning sort, but she needed him, nonetheless.
"Because you can't depend on me!"
"Gus, I can't think of anyone I can depend on more than you. You've been there whenever I needed you. Without you, I might not have survived those last few weeks before Pop—"
"Sally, you're still recovering from your father's death—it's only been a month, for God's sake!—and you're not thinking straight. Give it time. One of these days you'll look back and see that we had a great little affair, but I'm the last person you want to spend the rest of your life with."
He jerked away from her and stalked down the other side of the bridge. She followed, slipping into the shelter of the willow canopy to stand beside him. The water, scant now, slipped chuckling over the rocks left from the millpond dam.
She could not share its laughter. She was fighting for her future. "I think there's something you're not telling me, Gus. What is it?"
That was the only possible explanation—he was far too intelligent to carry a burden of guilt for what was really a minor bit of negligence, even if it had resulted in tragedy. He must realize that Marilyn had made choices, too, and hers had contributed to her death far more than his had.
"You just can't leave it alone, can you? What do you really want, Sally Carruthers?" He grabbed her again, surely adding to the bruises he had already inflicted. "You want a description of how Marilyn's head was all but cut off by the bed of the truck she swerved into? How about the stink of burned flesh?"
He shook her, so hard her head rattled.
"Let me tell you how it feels to get stopped on your way home from work. How I got out, thinking I could help. Black, oily smoke was still pouring out of both vehicles, but the flames had died down. They'd burned hot, though, so I didn't recognize Marilyn's car at first. It was a twisted mass of torn metal, even before the fire. But for some reason the front license plate was almost untouched, even though it was all but torn off the bumper."
His voice was firm now, almost impersonal. As if he was telling about something that happened to someone else.
"I saw that license plate and my mind went numb. I must have stood there staring at it for...oh, maybe a quarter of an hour. When I finally came to myself, all I could feel was relief. She must have died quickly. Nobody could have survived that collision."
Sally touched his arm, wanting to hold him as he had her, when her pain had been more than she could bear.
He jerked away, out of her reach.
"I stood there and watched the firemen, the rescue crew, becau
se I had to. I couldn't turn away. They finally got the doors open and were removing the...the body. Then one of them yelled. I didn't hear what he said at first."
Great sobs shook his body, but when she again tried to reach out to him, he slapped her hand away.
"Do you know why he yelled, Sally? What was so much more frightful than a young woman's burned body? Do you?"
She shook her head, knowing whatever it was, was horrible. She had pushed him this far, though, and she owed it to him to share his pain. She had, at last, found Gus's demon.
"Tell me." She could see him holding back the awful words. "You must tell me."
"It was a child's safety seat," he whispered finally, not sobbing now, only shedding silent tears. "And my daughter was in it."
He pushed her aside as if she were no more than one of the flexible, dangling willow branches surrounding them. Shoulders hunched, almost as if he were expecting to be flogged, he strode away from her, back toward town.
INTERVAL
Frustration!
Carruthers return producing unexpected stimulus toward permanent bonding.
Loring procrastinates, laments unchangeable events.
Human emotions inexplicable and inessential.
Restore glamour?
TWENTY-ONE
Gus had his duffel packed before the frenzy left him. He looked around his apartment, thinking that he had settled in here more than he had anywhere else. More than he should have. He unplugged the espresso machine, wrapped a T-shirt around its glass carafe. Everything went into a paper bag. He'd leave the microwave.
As he crossed the living room, he glanced out the window that overlooked Main Street. Sally was just entering the café, looking as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Damn her! Damn her to hell and back! He'd managed to wall off the pain and guilt of Emily's death almost completely until he came to Whiterock and met Sally. Since then, she had been saying and doing things that made him remember, and he would never forgive her for that.
As long as he managed to forget he'd ever had a daughter, he didn't miss the piece of his soul that had died with her.
There was a rickety outside stairway leading into the vacant lot where he parked his pickup. He had always avoided it, certain it would collapse under his weight. Today he didn't care. Going down the front stairs meant he would be in full sight of the café and anyone else on Main Street.
There wasn't anyone in Whiterock he cared enough about to tell goodbye.
He was about halfway to the highway when he remembered the shop. Crap! He pulled into the next side road and turned around.
Retracing his route, Gus thought about the first time he'd driven this route. Five months ago... It felt simultaneously like years and only days. He wished it had never happened.
Ernie Green was back on his bench, waving, as Gus passed the library. In the next block, Buster Holmes, Ben Kemp and Rhoda Garcia were hanging out in front of Lundquist's Market, eating Popsicles. Ben called out, and the other two smiled at him.
For a moment, he regretted his furious need to run again. He'd welcomed them when they'd dropped by occasionally to talk about college and careers. Now he was going to let them down.
Then he was passing the Bite-A-Wee, and Roy Gilbert was just coming out the door. He also waved. Gus ignored him, too.
He parked in front of the shop and cut through the parts department.
"Pete! Hey, Pete!"
"Yo?"
"C'mere." He looked around the shop. It was less cluttered than when Bernie had owned it. One of Gus's first projects had been to move the spare-parts-that-might-come-in-handy-someday into a sturdy shed behind the building. Now they had room to bring the larger trucks inside instead of having to work on them under the corrugated aluminum canopy next to the building.
"I'm taking off. I'll leave a letter on my desk authorizing you to sign checks. If you aren't sure of anything, ask Bernie." He turned, giving Pete no time to answer. Maybe it wasn't fair to leave the young mechanic in complete charge of the shop, but he didn't give a damn about fair. All he wanted was out.
Pete followed him to the office, demanding answers. Gus ignored him, quickly wrote a note to his bank and shoved it into Pete's grease-stained hands.
"You wanted to prove you're smart enough to be a manager, didn't you? Well, here's your chance." He shouldered his way past Pete. "See ya."
With a casual wave, he walked away from what had seemed, only days ago, his future.
The hell with it. He had no future. Only a past he would never come to terms with.
He had one foot in his pickup when he saw her. Even two blocks away, he recognized her—her walk, her shape, the sexy swing of her hips as she walked away from him, her arms no doubt full of mail. For just a moment, he hesitated.
Then he banished the tempting thought that he might still find peace in Whiterock. For him, there was no peace. Not here.
He didn't turn around again to go back toward the highway. Instead, he drove out Chalk Mine Road, knowing that eventually it would take him to Harper and, thence, back to US 20. Tom Holmes waved at him as he passed the Chalk Pit Tavern, one last reminder that in Whiterock he had, for a little while, felt as if he belonged.
The last time he'd come this way the pastures had been green and lush, the cattle fat and sleek. Now, late summer had dried the pasture grasses to tan, and the cattle were grazing in higher meadows. Even the scattered, shrubby willows along Hackberry Creek showed the effects of the long hot spell in their drab leaves, some already yellowed and dying.
Gus drove between the fences, his windows closed against the plume of dust that began under his front wheels. He should have seen this country at this time of year before investing in it. He'd have thought twice.
He should have anyway. Buying Bernie Cowles out hadn't been the smartest move he'd ever made. The only way out of this trap was going to cost him.
Still, he'd only used about half of what Roger had paid for his share in L/B Engineering, the loss wouldn't matter much. It was only money, and a worthless drifter didn't need much money.
The faded sign pointing to the Carruthers Chalk Mine invited him to turn aside. He drove on, despite his earlier intention to return and explore someday.
It's just a hole in the ground.
He turned right, toward Harper and US 20. The road to anywhere else.
It depends on you, Gus. As if Sally were sitting beside him, he heard the words again.
"Now she knows better," he muttered, remembering the expression of horror on her face when he told her of Emily's death. Of his responsibility for it.
Driving automatically, his mind churning with memories, he followed the winding road past the badlands. Not until the sun shone directly into his face did he realize he'd managed to take a wrong turn.
So what? There's a cutoff to the highway down here somewhere.
So, Sally would stay in Whiterock if he asked her to. Somehow or other, she'd seen something in him that made her think long-term, despite their mutual agreement to keep any mention of commitment out of their relationship.
"Changed her mind, didn't I."
The badlands were on his right when he discovered he'd missed the turnoff to the highway.
Damn! I'm really out of it today.
Not surprising, though. The roads between Whiterock and US 20 were like a maze, twisting and turning until you didn't know which way you were going. He slowed, watching for the next turnoff.
It shouldn't be too far now.
But he drove for quite a while without seeing it, until once again he was at the entrance to the Carruthers mine.
He pulled off the road and stopped. The map in his glove compartment wasn't any help. All it showed was the main roads.
Gus peered through the windshield. Let's see. I came in from the north, so if I go north, I should come to the junction at the west end of town. And that'll take me out to the Westfall Road.
The next thing he knew, he was driving down M
ain Street.
* * * *
Sally stared after Gus as he all but ran away from her, too stunned to think. His daughter. Gus had had a daughter, and she had been killed in the accident he blamed himself for.
No wonder he couldn't forgive himself.
She walked slowly through the park, kicking at the tall grass, picking up litter as she found it. When she reached the trash container near the elk she emptied her hands. She only wished she could empty her mind as well.
Her love for Gus had crept upon her insidiously, unnoticed. Physically attracted to him from the first, she had been too distracted to go through the usual rituals. Getting to know Gus had been of low priority compared to her life's other complications, but she had gotten to know him better for all that. Where many people might have dated before slipping into intimacy, she and Gus had chosen sex almost as a way to avoid the emotional intimacy neither of them was ready for. In doing so, they had developed a strange relationship, one she wasn't sure she could even begin to define.
It didn't matter anyhow. He was gone.
She had started up Fifth toward home before she remembered the reason she'd come to town, other than to see if Gus was still speaking to her.
She must have left the mail in the café.
Georgina never said a word to her, nor did anyone else, but their eyes asked questions she couldn't answer, not just now. Sally tried to smile, to reassure them everything was just fine. She really did.
She didn't think she'd fooled anyone.
Ernie spoke to her as she passed his bench, and she must have replied, out of habit. Grip called her attention to his roses, coming back now after the hot spell. As if she cared about flowers at a time like this.
She had so much to do if she was going to move back to Portland. She sat at the kitchen table and started a list. First, she had to tell Frank Tsugawa to pass the word to the local dry cleaners she was no longer available for mending and alterations—if he was still speaking to her after she'd taken off without notifying him. With three hems and a shirt to be tapered, too.
Improbable Solution Page 20