Heartbeat of the Bitterroot

  “You know I care deeply about you.” His hand balled into a fist and dropped to his knee. “But …”

  And there it was. The biggest three letter word in the English language. It fell heavily on my ears

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” he went on.

  “What isn’t a good idea?”

  “You and I. What if … ? I’m haunted by what ifs. You deserve someone who is not broken.”

  “Michael, you’re not broken! You’re amazing. A great father, a great friend. You do everything right. If anyone’s broken it’s me.” I could hear the desperation in my voice, could feel the words choking me, like a hand around my throat.

  “It’s just not fair to you. Maybe we’d better think about this.”

  “Michael …” I laid my hand on his arm but it was inert. I wanted to shake him. To make him listen.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said abruptly.

  “Sure.” I tried to reach for the door handle but my arm had turned to wood.

  “I’ll come around and let you out,” he said.

  “No.” My voice was too loud in the small space. “I mean, you’ll get wet.”

  He reached across me and helped me push the door open.

  “But Friday. The game. I can still pick you up,” he said, a thread of light in his tone.

  “I … I’ve got work late,” I stuttered. “I’ll drive down. I’ll meet you there.”

  I ran to my door and fumbled for the key. Rain coursed down my hat and drenched my hands making them stiff and cold.

  Inside, I struggled with the zipper and slipped out of my jacket. It slid to the floor. I leaned heavily against the door. How could this be happening? I pressed my hand into my chest to push away the growing fear.

  So stupid. I was so stupid to think this would work. Obviously, the stars were laughing at me. Hilarious, they were thinking. What a fool.

  Tears warmed the rain on my cheeks. I wiped them away with my sleeve.

  I shook my head and forced a deep breath. It was all right. I didn’t care.

  I went to the bathroom sink and splashed cold water on my face. I was fine alone, I didn’t need him. I had a life of my own. I was fine before he came.

  But I couldn’t talk it down, this rising flood of panic. The thought of losing him—his being torn from me—the stark fear was intolerable.

  I was in too deep.

  Chapter 37

  dc

  I thrashed my way through a restless night. The cold blue moon pierced through the window trying to force its way into my sleep. I clenched my eyes against it.

  I finally got up in the bleak dawn, thrust my feet into my Nikes, and ran. I ran in the rain, my footsteps slapping against the pavement, thrumming out a rhythm I hoped would drown out, or at least deaden my anxiety. What was inside him that tormented him so? Could he reach in and find the strength to move on?

  Risk. Risk. I was hanging out on a limb, dangling midair like a monkey reaching for sweet, ripe fruit. I had been crazy to think this might work. And if it did not? What then?

  Even if things changed for him, would I be able to stay the course? After all, my mother never had what it took to hold a family together. My father either. He had left me. Or did he?

  My phone rang and I took shelter under a blue spruce to answer it. It was Bobbie. The good cheer in her voice bore into my mind like sun, glaring blindingly across a windshield on a summer day.

  “Oh, hey, girl! I didn’t know if you’d answer your phone this early. Thought I’d just leave a message. How’s it going?”

  I struggled to catch my breath. “OK. I’m OK,” I lied unconvincingly.

  “Really? You sound a bit stressed.”

  “I’m OK. What’s up?”

  “Just hadn’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to know if you’d like to catch a movie. That is if you’re not too busy with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

  Silence.

  “Jenna? Seriously, is something going on?”

  I wanted to tell her. I couldn’t. One small crack and the dam would break. I had to be strong.

  “I just have some things on my mind. Yeah, a movie. Maybe tomorrow. Will you call me?”

  “Sure. I wanted to ask about your dad too. You find anything else out about him? Are you any closer?”

  “Actually, yes. I can tell you about it later.”

  “Well, I hope it’s good news.”

  “It’s good,” I said flatly.

  “Well you sure don’t sound like yourself, my friend. Hey, whatever it is that’s getting you down, girl, you know you can count on me, right? I’m there for you.”

  “I know. Thanks, Bobbie.”

  I stepped out onto the sidewalk again and ramped up my pace.

  My father. The guilt was accumulating like sludge on the bottom of a pond. What if I turn up on my real father’s doorstep and immediately become a divisive force in his life? Does his family know about me? Does his wife, if he has one? How welcome would I be if I represent a segment of his life that was painful, one that he had struggled for years to forget or, perhaps, even to hide? Do I have the right to turn his life upside down just to satisfy my curiosity? Or just to learn what characteristics he may have passed on to me?

  My father had probably left me. Maybe I should just leave it at that. Maybe he had his reasons.

  It was all too much to process.

  I was looking for a window—an escape. It was like my life had suddenly been set on fire—a hot suffocating blaze. My fragile hopes exploding like paper igniting under a shower of sparks. Somehow, I had to find a way out of this pain.

  And Michael. What had I done to him? His life had been stable. What right did I have to mess with the peace he and Emma had created for themselves? I had intruded into the sweetness of their lives.

  I showered, pressing my hands against the wall, the water flowing over my shoulders, washing through my tears.

  I drove to work on autopilot, hardly realizing where I was, nearly missing a stoplight. I clocked in and managed a weak smile when Brandon did a double take at my face.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said tersely. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look so fine. You look beat.”

  I went to my desk and sorted through a stack of papers, then sorted them again, the words a blur on the pages. I jumped when the phone rang.

  “Jenna?”

  The voice sounded vaguely familiar.

  “This is Calvin Reynolds. We worked together in LA.”

  Calvin. General manager at the airport in Hawaii.

  “How’s it going over there?” He asked.

  Hawaii. I saw thousands of miles of ocean, shining, shifting in the sun. A new start, I thought. Hawaii. Thousands of miles of distance from heartache.

  “Good.” I took a deep breath. “How are you, Calvin?”

  “Great. Listen, I am making some changes in the staff over here. I remember what a great job you did in LA with the scheduling and working with personnel. I really need someone with your eye for detail and your ability to relate to people. I know you haven’t been there in Missoula for too long, but I was wondering if you would consider making a change and coming over here to help us.”

  I rubbed a finger across my left temple. A drum was beating inside my head—a long slow death march that thrummed, foreboding the end of my hopes here. I was at a standstill in my efforts to find my father—that part of my family of origin.

  And Michael. The thought of him sent a sweet pang through my belly.

  “Pay would be a considerable step up. And we could help you relocate, find a place to live. What do you think?”

  “Well, that sounds very appealing, but I …” What was I hanging onto? An empty dream? “Well, yeah, sure. That sounds great.”

  “Great, I’ll have my secretary fax over an application today. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

  Maybe across those shimmering waves Michael’s face would
fade from my memory, the silken threads he’d woven around my heart would let loose.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I am getting right down to the deadline to fill this position. I’m going to need an answer pretty soon, so we’ll get that fax over to you right now. Send it back as soon as you can, OK?”

  “Sure, thanks, Calvin. I appreciate your thinking of me.”

  “I look forward to have you on my team, Jenna.”

  “Thanks.”

  The line went dead. I sat with my hand on the phone for a long moment, my head spinning, spinning until everything inside came unraveled. And then I was tired. The kind of tired that comes from wrestling unseen demons. The kind of tired that comes from the complete loss of any shred of hope, a tired that pulls the life from your bones. I slumped at my desk under the burden of it.

  I heard the fax spitting out paper in the next room. I forced myself up from my desk and found the application from Calvin on the machine. I stared at it and my mind just went empty. Almost without seeing, I found a pen and scribbled in the blanks, slammed the paper into the machine, hit send, and walked away into an uncertain future.

  Chapter 38

  dc

  Friday came. On my lunch break, I texted Elizabeth, making an excuse about the homecoming game—rough day at work, I said, but she texted me back and insisted I had to go. It was homecoming, everyone would be there. An almost morbid curiosity compelled me to commit to the trip down. I would see Michael. We would talk. Maybe he would have recovered—thought better about things. Maybe was a weak word.

  A

  On the way out of town, I followed a green Suburu with a bumper sticker that said, “Pray for me. I drive Highway 93.” Traffic was heavy and I had to force myself to stay alert. Everyone driving somewhere to celebrate Friday night. Pursuing happiness, I thought, a vague illusion.

  Just south of Florence I was startled by an ancient-looking black Mercedes that cut in front of me, changing lanes. I jerked my foot off the gas and sucked in air.

  Had I done something to make him mad? Maybe I was so absorbed in my own inner conflict that I wasn’t paying attention to the road. I couldn’t remember cutting him off. Was he drunk or high? Crazy drivers. I shook my head, but as I stared at the back end with its rusty bumper, it looked familiar to me. Hadn’t this same car cut me off before? A close call at the time?

  Strangely, the car moved back to the left lane and fell in beside me. Then suddenly his grill loomed huge in my rearview mirror. With a squeal of his tires, he gunned his motor and shot around me again, careening toward my left front fender. I jerked the wheel just in time to avoid a collision. What was he doing?

  I slowed but the car dropped to my left again and the driver extended a long finger in my direction, a foreboding gesture. I saw his face then, the cold eyes, the ragged blond goatee. It was him! The man from the river! The man we saw the night the bison was killed! Adrenaline coursed through my veins; my hands tensed on the wheel. I pumped the breaks, slowing, looking for a place to turn off.

  The Mercedes shot forward again, barely missing my front fender. I steered for the side of the highway, struggling to maintain control as my right front tire dropped into loose gravel.

  I slowed to a stop as he sped off at a high rate of speed and disappeared beyond the next curve. I sat behind the wheel for several minutes calming myself.

  What should I do? I fumbled for my cell and called 911 and reported the driver. Did I get a license plate number? I ran my hand through my hair. No, it all happened so fast. The woman on the other end of the line said she would alert officers. Was I all right? Shakily, I said I was.

  I wondered if I should continue on, but the man was speeding, driving recklessly, and I felt sure police would find him and stop him. I pulled back onto the road and drove the next thirty miles warily searching for the black car in the dimming light, checking side roads and keeping an eye on my rearview mirror in case he circled around.

  I arrived in the parking lot at the school in Hamilton and sat for a moment in my car, but I was still shaking when I walked to the bleachers. I leaned on the railing at the edge of the field just as the ball was kicked into play by the Hamilton Broncs, and the two teams sprang into action. The air rang with the crowd’s cheers, the clang of cowbells, and the sound of trumpet blasts from the band. Cheerleaders bounced at the field’s edge, infused with energy from the crowd. The wind whipped their hair around their faces and brushed color into their cheeks as they shook their burgundy-and-white pom-poms to the rhythm of their chants.

  I scanned the sea of faces for Michael, Jack, and Elizabeth, finally spotting them near the top of the stands, swathed in hats and scarves, beating their gloved hands to the rhythm of the band.

  I climbed the stairs and squeezed my way down the row to where they sat, nearly ending up in the lap of an older man as I stumbled over his cowboy boots.

  Michael stood and reached for my hand to steady me. I looked into his eyes, but his face was a closed book. He made room for me on the bench beside him. The smell of his cologne and the touch of his arm probed the tender wound in my heart.

  “Trip down, OK?” he asked, avoiding my gaze.

  “I got stuck helping with the last plane from Vegas. Sorry I’m late.”

  He nodded.

  “And I … there was a car just south of Florence. Almost hit me. Veered right at my fender and forced me off the road.”

  He looked at me quickly. “Are you OK?”

  I drew a mittened hand across my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Was it that red truck you’ve been seeing?”

  “No, an old rusty black Mercedes. But I think it was the same guy driving it.” As soon as I said it I began to doubt. I was tired. I was being irrational.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I did. They said they’d try to find him, but he was driving so fast—he was gone before I could catch a license plate.”

  “Did you tell him you’d seen the man before?”

  “No, I don’t think they would have believed me anyway. I’m starting to question my own sanity.”

  Michael looked angry. “This is getting out of hand. This guy can’t … What does he want with you anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call Grant tomorrow and tell him about it.”

  Michael balled his fists. “I should have waited and driven down with you.”

  “No. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Jack handed Michael a red plaid wool blanket and Michael spread it over our laps. He looked at me for a moment, his gaze intense, concern mixed with confusion lining his features, until the crowd yelled, springing to their feet, ecstatic over an interception.

  I leaned forward and called to Elizabeth over the noise of the crowd.

  “Where are the kids?”

  “We left them at Mom and Dad’s,” Elizabeth explained. “It’s just too cold for them and I knew Jordan wouldn’t sit still under a blanket. She’ll have more fun over there anyway.”

  “Remember crazy John Carter?” Jack shouted to me. “He was quarterback during my senior year. He took us all the way to state. This kid here is his cousin. Heck of an arm.”

  I nodded as the boy spiraled a ball thirty yards neatly into the arms of the receiver. The crowd leapt to their feet again as the player with the ball ran toward the end zone. The guard from the visiting team snagged one of the runner’s legs with an outstretched arm and the ball carrier staggered, struggled, and pinned the ball an inch over the line just before his knee hit the grass. Cheers rocked the stadium as the scoreboard marked the touchdown. The kicker made the extra point and teams trotted to the sidelines to strategize.

  I tried to follow Michael’s conversation with Jack, but I suddenly felt very tired. I kept seeing the taillights of the black car in my head, imagining what it would have been like if I had not been paying attention for that fraction of a second that it took to hit the brakes and veer. What if I had been switching a CD? Or adjusting the heat? I envisioned my
self spinning out of control, thundering into the borrow pit. The thought made me shudder.

  The crowd roared and jumped to their feet again when the Broncs intercepted a pass and carried it to the end zone.

  When everyone settled back onto the hard benches, I saw Zee and a girl with long blonde hair, clamoring up the bleachers toward us. The girl had remarkable big green eyes and a sweet smile.

  “Hi!” Zee chirped from the aisle. “Hey, this is Alex,” she yelled. “We just wanted to say hello. We’re going to sit with the pep club. So, I’ll see you later at the house.” Alex gave a little wave as they proceeded to the section down by the band and disappeared among waving pennants and burgundy caps.

  “She looks happy,” Michael observed. “Is she doing better?”

  I looked after Zee, relieved for her current peace. “I really think the volunteer work has changed everything for her. She loves the horses and the kids worship her. It’s really helped her self-esteem.”

  The game became a nail-biter with a leapfrog score, first one team taking the lead, then the other. A player dropped a pass and the ball was juggled through four pair of hands, ending up on the bottom of a pile of bodies before the whistle blew, the ball buried under a player from the opposite team.

  At halftime, Jack stood up. “You guys want some food? Oh, wait, when would you ever pass up a hot dog, Michael?”

  “About as often as you by the looks of that spare tire,” Michael retorted.

  The guys went to the concession stand and brought back hot dogs in shining foil wrappers and steaming hot cider. The homecoming king and queen and their court paraded onto the field amidst applause. The girls’ dresses ballooned out from under oversized letterman jackets and parkas as their breath clouded the crisp evening air.

  The game resumed as students hollered themselves hoarse, urging their teams on. In the last play of the game with a tied score, the Hamilton quarterback faked right and ran thirty yards for the winning touchdown. Fans thundered their approval from the stands and the game was over.

  We stood, edged our way toward the aisle, and folded ourselves into the slowly streaming crowd.

  “Jenna!” someone called from below us.