by Robyn Carr
June got a faraway look. “His clothes are still hanging in the closet he used. I wouldn’t be surprised if the newspaper he was reading the last evening she saw him is still folded on the table by his chair in that third-floor study—the only place she’d let him take his pipe.”
Tom frowned. “Don’t the Barstow twins cook and clean for Myrna?” he asked, perplexed.
“Sort of. They’re all just a bunch of eccentric old women who barely keep the dust off the mantel, but they do for each other pretty well. Without Myrna, the Barstows would starve to death, and without the Barstows, Myrna would be in far worse shape than she is. That house is huge. It’s like a castle, filled to the brim with junk. When she goes, I think Dad and I will just light a match to it.”
“That’s good then,” he said. “It’s all still the way it was when he left.”
John walked down to the Flower Shoppe very slowly, his hands plunged into his pockets. He paused in thought outside the door, and looked inside. Justine was not in view; she must be in the back, designing, he decided. When he finally entered, the bell tinkled his arrival, but he was alone in the shop. He leisurely looked at the displays of Justine’s floral arrangements, both dried and fresh. Having grown up around flowers, she was an artistic genius when working with them. If her business were in a larger city, likely she’d have grown and expanded.
“Well, Dr. Stone,” she greeted, coming from the back. She wore a stained bib apron, and was wiping her hands on a towel. She rubbed at fingers that were stained brown, red and green. “As long as Mrs. Stone stays annoyed with you, I can save for my retirement! Haven’t you two made up yet?”
“There are days I think we have,” he said. He shrugged lamely. “And days no amount of floral art can help.”
She laughed at him. “If you men would give more flowers on occasions when your wives are happy, you’d save money. What do you feel like today?”
“I feel like talking,” he said.
By her expression, she knew at once why he was there. Her eyes first registered shock, then her gaze was downcast, possibly in shame in being caught.
“I gave Dr. Worth a call. He says you’ve stopped the chemo.”
“Well…I…”
“He said you only had one treatment. Justine, why didn’t you talk to me about this? Why didn’t you talk to June?”
Her head snapped up. “Because I knew what you would say! You would say I had to have chemo. You’d say there was no discussion! Why discuss something that has no discussion?”
“It’s a time bomb. A killer. Ovarian cancer is the worst. And you won’t even know it’s getting you until it’s too late.”
“I want a baby!”
He shook his head sadly. “Your odds are so bad, I’d almost go with hopeless.”
“Of conceiving? Hah! Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m—
“Of surviving,” he said somberly.
“But the baby…?”
He shook his head. “A baby takes nine months, Justine. Seven at the very least. Ovarian cancer doesn’t need that much time.”
She bit her lower lip and looked away from him. She was pale; there were dark rings under her eyes. She wore a ball cap with her brown ponytail sticking out the back, probably because she hadn’t fixed her hair. Probably because she didn’t have much energy.
Tears gathered in her eyes and she looked back at him. “I just want a chance to be normal. To have a baby and be normal.”
“You’re not abnormal. You’ve got a disease. We thought we had a good chance, but every day you ignore treatment, that chance slips farther away. Please, Justine. Come to the clinic. Let’s at least see what we have. Let’s at least confirm the pregnancy.”
“I don’t want to get in your clutches,” she said pathetically. “You’ll get rid of the baby.”
“Don’t be crazy. No one does anything to you that you don’t agree to, you know that.”
“You’ll talk me into it! I know how you doctors work! You take over a person’s body and that’s it. You—”
John was suddenly smiling, but there was sadness in his smile. He thought, she must be pregnant. She’s gone over the edge emotionally. “You’ll do what you want to do, Justine. Let me help as much as I can.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, blowing her nose loudly.
“You must be scared to death,” he suggested.
“Hah. You can’t imagine.”
“How’s Sam dealing with this?”
“Not well.” With a hiccup of emotion that was halfway between a laugh and a cry, she said, “I think he’s pissed.”
John chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I can understand that. You can’t really blame him, can you? He loves you, after all.”
“Some way to show love, being all cranky and pissy.”
“You held out on him,” John argued, shrugging.
“No, I never. He knew I wanted a baby. All along.”
“After getting through chemo successfully. After being healthy and strong and ready.”
“He’s seventy! He doesn’t have all that much time!”
John was quiet for a moment, speechless at the irony. Very probably Sam had more time than Justine. Acting against medical advice as she had, she was virtually committing suicide. And if she truly was pregnant, she’d be taking the baby with her. He wondered how Sam would get through that.
“This is going to be rough for Sam,” John said. “He’s so devoted to you. Just look at him. When you married him, he dropped twenty-five years, but lately he’s got it back and gained some. If you aren’t going to worry about yourself and the baby, could you at least consider Sam? Justine, this is just plain cruel!”
She sobbed softly into her tissue. John walked around the corner and took her into his arms. He comforted by instinct, holding her while she got his shoulder all wet. And then he thought, what’s the matter with me? I don’t screw up with female patients! I know what to say and when to say it. I’m good with them and they feel safe and protected and respected. How could I have erred so badly with my own wife?
When Justine’s tears abated, he pulled back from her and asked, “Will you come to the clinic?”
She nodded in defeat. “When?”
“Whenever you like. Just call Jessie. She’ll fix it so you don’t have to wait.”
Trembling, she leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, John.”
“Hey, you’d do the same for a friend. Anybody would.”
“You’ll see,” she said, her smile tremulous. “I’m going to live.”
The bus dropped Johnny Toopeek at the crossroads about a half mile from his house. Most days he was with his sister, Tanya, but she had a baby-sitting job after school this particular day. The other Toopeek children were in junior high and elementary school, and since Ursula taught middle school, Jenn and Sonja got rides. Bobby, or Baby as they often called him to make him absolutely crazed with anger, was in the first grade.
So Johnny, alone, cut across the hill behind his house. At the top of the hill he encountered the twins, Brent and Brad. They were not in a friendly mood. “Hey, Tonto,” Brent said. “You cop us out to your Chief-daddy?”
“What?” Johnny asked, perplexed.
“We’re busted,” Brad said, sauntering forward toward Johnny. “Since it was, like, the middle of the night, we figured you for the deal. You told the big Indian cop, huh, Redman.” It was not a question.
Johnny shook his head, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Get real,” he said, attempting to shoulder through them.
Brent pushed the shoulder back. “Not so fast. You gonna own up to it, snitch?”
“Me?” Johnny asked, again dumbfounded. “Don’t be stupid.”
Brad shoved forward beside his twin, backing Johnny down the path. “How’d he know?”
Now Johnny’s mirth was for real. Could these two really be so dense? “He’s a cop,” he said in disbelief. “It’s his job to
know. He doesn’t need his kids to tell him anything. Jeez.” Again he tried to get by them and again they held him back. Johnny was thicker than the twins and probably stronger, but he was shorter. And, of course, there were two of them. “Don’t start anything. It won’t go the way you want it to.”
“Oh yeah? How’s it gonna go, Tonto?”
“Let me give you some free advice, asshole,” Johnny said. “There are lots of Indians around here. Native Americans. And none of us likes to be called names. Okay?”
“What are you gonna do about it? Tell the big Tonto?”
Johnny knew they wanted him to throw the first punch so bad they could taste it, and there was no way he’d do that. He backed up slowly, mindful of the turns in the path, the rocks underfoot. But he simply smiled at them.
“You coming through or not?” Brad said, still facing him down, forcing him backward.
“I’d say not,” Brent said, walking. “The Injun’s chicken.”
Johnny realized that being a twin must be a kind of adrenaline-producing thing. He was in football practice with these two, and though they were swift and dextrous, they weren’t hard hitters. They were just starting to develop some good muscles, but they were still a good two, maybe three, years and a bunch of testosterone away from manly. They were spindly. They both were going for quarterback slots, and they couldn’t take a hit.
Stupid. He almost laughed out loud.
“I think you ratted us out,” Brad said. “And you should learn a lesson.”
He wouldn’t respond, though it was tempting. But provoking them was almost as bad as throwing the first punch, and it was important to Johnny that his response be clean. Lily white. He would only do what he absolutely had to do…and he couldn’t wait.
Brent gave a hard shove. “You gonna admit it, Redman?”
“We have to beat it out of you?”
Oh, he couldn’t help himself. He spread his hands wide as if helpless, but the half smile on his lips was cynical.
Brad caved first, drawing back a fist and slamming it into Johnny’s jaw, causing him to reel backward and do a backward somersault on the path. He hadn’t given the twin enough credit—that was a darn good hit. Johnny’s jaw was temporarily numb and there was the unmistakable metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Plus, Brent was on him before he could get to his feet. These two weren’t going to tag team; they were going to pound him together.
They got in a few more licks than Johnny had intended, mostly because he couldn’t get up with the two of them on him. But then he rolled and rolled fast, grabbing the hair of one and the shirtfront of the other, sending them off him in separate directions. His vision was a little blurred, which meant he’d taken one in the eye, so he was through screwing with these two assholes. The closest was Brent and he pummeled his face one-two-three-four before Brad grabbed him from behind and locked his arms down. Johnny bent at the waist and threw Brad over his shoulders, flipping him right into Brent. Both of them landed with a loud thump and multiple groans. Johnny pulled Brad to his feet, spun him around, punched him right in the nose and sent him sailing again into his brother. He was going to regret that one, he realized, shaking his hand. He hoped to God he hadn’t broken it because he didn’t want to miss any football.
It took almost no time at all to leave a couple of bruised and bloody idiots on the trail. Johnny was feeling some pain, but he was hardly out of breath.
“I don’t snitch,” he said to the twins. “And I also don’t do the shit you do. And don’t come at me again or you’ll really be sorry. You got that, Whiteman?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He went home.
His grandmother had raised four sons, so the look on her face was one of disgusted acceptance of his weakness. Then she brought an ice bag and poultice to the room he shared with Bobby. The other kids all did their homework at the big oak table in the dining room, but Johnny thought it smarter to stay in his room until his grandma could soften up his mom and dad.
He heard his father come home, and it seemed only seconds before the door to his room opened. Tom leaned in the frame, looking tall and formidable. The uniform and gun still had an effect, even if you were used to them.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I fell off my bike,” Johnny said.
Tom’s eyebrows immediately rose in surprise; that was a good one. He glanced at Johnny’s red and swollen hand. “Fall on the hand?” he asked.
Johnny nodded, feeling stupid. Right or wrong, his dad would grudgingly admire him for not snitching. They had these talks all the time, about when it was absolutely necessary, when someone could really get hurt. There hadn’t occurred such a time that one of the Toopeek kids held back in a dangerous situation, and Johnny prayed that day would never come. Having a police chief for a dad could be a real drag.
Tom sort of smiled. “How’s the bike look?” He wanted to know.
Johnny almost smiled back, but held it in check. “It took a few pretty bad dings, Dad. Sorry.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Tom said. “Let’s eat. Maybe we’ll have June look at that hand, if the swelling doesn’t go down.”
“You mad?”
“You do something wrong?”
“No, Dad. Honest.”
“Then I’m not mad. Honest.”
Thirteen
The day held a feeling of futility for June. She hadn’t connected with either Birdie or Judge, so getting some sort of legal advice for Myrna hadn’t been resolved. She was going to have to be patient with regard to the age and origin of the bones found on Hudson land, although the suspense was killing her. And Elmer had found that the Sandfield Office Supplier had gone out of business fifteen years ago. Whether there were any remaining employee records was going to take a while to uncover. Morton seemed to be missing more each moment. Myrna seemed to be getting deeper into trouble by the second.
June was discouraged.
In an effort to salvage something of the day, she did an impetuous, perhaps dangerous, thing. She went out to Shell Mountain in search of Jurea. And she didn’t tell anyone that that’s where she was going because anyone she told—John, Tom, Elmer—would have advised her against it and attempted to talk her out of going.
The shanty sat back in the trees and a curl of smoke wound upward from the chimney. Well, that was a good sign. There was human activity; hopefully a cook fire. Clarence’s truck was there, but that didn’t mean he was at home. The entire forest was his backyard.
“Hello?” she called. Though she approached the shack slowly, she was encouraged by the lack of hostile action from within. Better still, Jurea opened the door before she even had a chance to knock.
“I figured you’d be coming. You or Chief Toopeek or maybe that Charlie MacNeil from the VA. But someone would come,” she said.
June smiled with awe. “I just can’t get over the change, Jurea. Your face, it’s so remarkable.”
“Ain’t it, though?” she replied, laying a palm against her new cheek. “Don’t have much feeling here. I have a little mirror, and whenever I see it, I can’t believe it all over again.” She stood aside, opening the door wider so June could enter. “Are you coming in?”
“I’d like to. Is Clarence at home?”
“Oh, he’s never very far away. I can offer you some coffee. It’s not the best, but it’s hot.”
June went in and sat at the table. Jurea poured a cup from the pot on their woodstove, and once it was in front of June, she turned up the oil lamp, illuminating the room.
A change had come over the little hovel. June looked around in appreciation, noting that Jurea had brought back to the woods some items to make the place more comfortable. There were a couple of quilts folded at the foot of two cots, cups, plates, utensils and pots. There were also candles, towels and store-bought supplies like soap, sugar, flour, coffee, lard, salt and pepper.
June knew that Jurea didn’t drive and had only one way to get back and forth to Grace Valley. “I visit
ed your children,” June said, and Jurea’s eyes brightened, perhaps with tears. “They’re doing very well. They love going to school.”
“They understand about this,” she said. “They want me to see about their daddy.”
“But you can’t leave them alone for long. It will appear you’ve abandoned them.”
Jurea looked shocked. “But isn’t Clinton of an age to live away from his parents?”
“Yes, I think so, but just barely. And Wanda isn’t. She’s only fourteen. The county could decide to put her in a foster home. Jurea, it would be good if you went back to them…continued with the doctor.”
“I can’t leave Clarence, Doc. You know he wouldn’t leave me.”
“But he did,” June said pleadingly. “He ran right out of the hospital and fled for his life.”
“He was only afraid. That’s how our life has been. When we’re afraid, we at least have each other.”
“I know. I’m sympathetic to that. But now there’s more at stake.”
“No more’n usual. This plastic surgery is wonderful, and I’m grateful, but it ain’t more important than Clarence’s peace of mind.”
“That’s not what I mean, Jurea. Try to understand. The kids are in school now and an education is the single thing that can change their lives, assure them a place to live and food to eat so they aren’t forced to forage the forest. It’s important that they continue going.”
“And so, are they?”
“Yes, but leaving them there alone and coming out here to the mountain makes it easier for Clarence to choose this, to withdraw again and live with his fears, away from people. Maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t come back here to be with him, he’d miss you and the children enough to try the town again. To take his medicine again.”
Jurea frowned. “You don’t mean to say this could be my fault?”
June shrugged. “You’ve made this choice a little easier for him. And I know you know, it’s better that he see the doctor, take his medicine and try living among people. For his own sake and that of the children.”