by Ann Minnett
"They're all Forever stamps now." She dropped the change in his hand without looking up or touching him.
Rob hadn't touched a human in months and missed it. Yes, his new life surprised him daily.
“Say, when did Whitefish stop using those old mail boxes?” He gestured toward the bank of antique mail boxes under the wall clock, numbered from 101 to 239 with polished brass fittings.
The clerk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, like she’d forgotten they were there. “Right,” she said. “When this new building went up in 1973. Next.”
One of the elderly ladies in line told him, “That’s all we had in town for years before they’d do home delivery.” She smiled. “My family had box 303, and it’s sitting on my book shelf at home as we speak.”
Rob didn’t know what to say to her. He was saved by the woman’s friend who bustled him out of the way at the clerk’s counter. “I must send this to my son, certified mail,” she said.
He ducked out.
Raven barked at his approach to the truck. Both packages fit easily in the cab's back seat, but he wondered if his dog would chew through the packaging to get to his new gloves. He’d have to risk it.
"Hey." A woman's voice made him twist around. "I like your dog."
He backed out of the cab, and Raven hopped out as if she understood the compliment.
Long blond hair, tights and a short skirt. "You won't remember me, but my friend and I skied up Star Meadow and stopped to talk to you a while back."
"Lulu, right?" She was so damn cute, hat pulled to her dark eyebrows, breath puffing the chilly air. "Where's your dog?" He thought about his screen saver, featuring Lulu, hair flying, golden lab jumping at her lifted ski. He spent time with her image every day.
"Maggie’s with Jordy,” she said without further explanation. “And who is this darling girl?"
"Raven."
"Aw, Raven, you're beautiful." Lulu entered his personal space, brushing his sleeve in the process.
"You know," he managed to say with limited breath, "meeting you and Maggie on the road that day inspired me to adopt her."
"How cool is that!" She grabbed his arm through heavy fleece.
His knees gave way at her casual touch. He had taken too many small acts for granted. He wanted to be left alone… until he didn’t. "We've been together a few days now. I finally have someone to talk to." Women liked his grin, so he laid it on her.
"I know just what you mean." A breeze whipped the spike ends of her hair, and a strand caught in her mouth. She wiped the strand away. "I did a silent retreat once for a Saturday, and it liked to kill me." Hazel eyes dazzled. She flirted with confidence and knew full well he'd remember her. No man would forget her.
He glanced away for composure, then looked back for more.
Lulu went on, "We weren't allowed to read or write or speak. All meditation."
He took it all in while Lulu told the story in words and facial expressions and looping arm gestures. She even raised up on tiptoes for emphasis. He leaned back against his truck to allow her room and to watch. She was a lot to look at and trendy—the clothes, attitude, unbelievably sexy boots that slouched above her ankles.
Rob’s head chatter told him the one-sided conversation bored her and that he was too old for this gorgeous girl. Thirty-eight wore like seventy-five next to her shining youth. When she stopped talking, he motioned Raven back into the cab. The dog ignored him and rubbed against Lulu's calf.
"C'mon Raven." Lulu snapped her fingers, shooing the dog up and in. "Pretty girl." She pivoted to walk into the post office building. She beamed a smile at Rob and caught him staring.
"Say,” he said. “Where can a guy get a good hamburger and beer?"
She pranced back. "Are you buying?"
"Why, yes I am."
"Well, everyone knows about Rafferty's, but since you're a local now," Lulu poked his jacket zipper, "you should know about McCord’s. Down three blocks on Central on the right. I'll meet you there in five minutes." She whirled her short skirt that about covered her butt and disappeared into the post office.
That skirt fascinated him.
"Well, all right," he said to Raven in the back seat. "Maybe I haven't lost my touch."
At the stoplight, he casually glanced at the top half of his face reflected in the rear-view mirror. "Jesus. Sasquatch visits civilization. Oh well."
A blue-painted metal kick plate bolted onto McCord’s swinging door made him wonder if he might be the victim of a practical joke. Lulu would never show up in this shit hole to meet him. But then the hamburger grease, bar food, and yeasty beer aromas enveloped him. Whether or not Lulu showed up, he'd have a good meal. The place was half-filled with people who resembled the grizzled man he'd seen in his mirror.
"Where you from?" the female bartender said. Her face had weathered about the same as the bar.
"I live up Star Meadow."
"You must be new. Year round?"
Probably ninety percent of people who learned where he lived asked him that question. Locals with resources wintered in Arizona. Tourists and part-timers ventured to the great Northwest during ski season or for glorious summer.
"Yup." He wanted to be local, to fit in. "I'll have whatever’s on tap."
The door flew open, and Lulu's silhouette, hair flying, stormed in. They all knew her, what with the hey you’s and the number of open arms ready to hug her. When she joined him… well, Rob knew he was golden.
She loosened her jacket, let it drop off-shoulder to her elbows, and unwound a knitted scarf. The bartender set two beer bottles on coasters at their table.
"Burgers and fries all around." He raised an eyebrow to Lulu.
"With everything," Lulu added.
"You got it." The old woman slid her pencil into tightly frizzed hair and left them.
"They buy their buns from a local baker, and then fry them on the grill for the burgers. So, so good." Lulu spoke in exclamations.
"I'm surprised they didn't card you."
"Oh, they know I'm twenty-two. I'm in here all the time. Say…"
And Lulu was off and running. He hardly had to speak while they waited for their food. She continued to talk nonstop through an excellent hamburger, mouth full or not.
Rob finally said, "I haven't concentrated on this much conversation in weeks."
Lulu nodded agreement, appeared to inhale ketchup-dipped French fries and started up again.
At one break, he interjected, "You talk enough for the both of us."
"You got that right." She didn't miss a beat. "My brother calls me high maintenance, just for the listening."
He finished his lunch long before she did and watched her movements until his eyes glazed over.
"I'd better get back to Raven. Never left her in the truck this long."
"Okay, then. Thanks for lunch." Lulu stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek above the beard line.
Three times she had touched him, and this time he touched her, his hand pressing the small of her back. He didn't let go. “How about a game of pool?”
“I’ll rack them up, while you go see to Raven.”
“You read my mind.” He stepped outside hoping his dog hadn’t chewed up the gloves.
CHAPTER 7
When Zane flung the door open, it bounced against the hall tree, jolting Lark from the couch where she rested.
He shouted at someone outside, "Man, you're not supposed to be here."
"What?” Lark shook her head to clear the fog. “You aren’t making sense.”
From outside, Mason’s voice said, "My brother just wants to talk to you."
Lark sat up quickly and pushed with both hands to stand. Exquisite pain shot up her right arm and penetrated her shoulder. She fell back and lofted her injured hand in the air. She prepared to throw up.
"C'mon, man."
She struggled to stand. "Is that Mason?"
"Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Thompsons canceled. Who's out there?" she a
sked, walking toward the open door. Mason fidgeted on the porch, his hands in his sweatshirt pouch mimicking The Alien’s struggle to escape from his belly. "Go away, Mason." Lark slammed the door shut with her foot and turned toward Zane's misshapen face. "Does it still hurt?" Her mismatched thoughts and words confused even her.
"A little." His fingertips touched the bandage on his forehead. He reached for the door knob. "We can't just leave him out there."
"We have to. Alice says you can't have anything to do with him because he's putting all the blame on you."
"Alice?"
"Alice Stanhope is your new attorney. I talked to her today, and we have an appointment with her at four-thirty." The clock on the stove showed three-forty-five.
"Mason wouldn't do that to me."
"He told the police that you gave him the sword. That you broke in alone and stole everything."
The boyhood earnestness vanished from Zane's face, replaced by testosterone-pumped anger. He puffed up and clenched his fists. The transformation both frightened and amazed her.
Pounding on the door made them both jump. Lark squinted through the peep hole, expecting Mason's long face and narrow set eyes to be gaping in the bubble. Not so.
She opened the door cautiously, and a heavier male in a bright green hoodie turned to face her. Mick Eidsvoldt, the slightly older, stockier brother of Mason crooked his thick arms like sugar bowl handles, but his menace projected pure cage fighter. She had seen Mick from a distance before. Short like Mason, but jittery, explosive. She involuntarily stepped backwards, bumping into Zane who loomed behind her.
"Go away," she said, feeling more vulnerable than she hoped she sounded.
Mick pointed over her shoulder at Zane. "I’ve got to talk to you."
"Like hell,” she said. “Our attorney advised us not to talk to you or Mason."
Mick ignored her. "What did you tell the cops?" He jabbed fat fingers toward her son.
Zane cleared his throat. Mick scared him. He rarely went to Mason's house because Mick was mean like their dad.
"Go home or I'll call the police." She shoved the door, but Mick’s boot blocked it.
Zane elbowed Lark aside to jam his fist into Mick’s chest.
Still woozy from pain killers, she toppled to the floor, losing her vision for a few seconds with the pain. When she refocused, both Zane and Mick had landed outside rolling on a patch of snowy lawn. They tumbled, hands at each other’s throats. Mason circled them, yelling for Mick to stop.
"I'm calling the cops!" Lark yanked her purse off the coat hook. She fumbled blindly in its depths while watching her son give as much as he got. "I'm calling the police!"
Mick straddled Zane’s chest and slugged him, but Mason grabbed Mick’s hood and yanked him off Zane and onto the icy ground.
Lark stood on the wet porch, moisture soaking through her socks. She shouted into the phone, "This is Lark Horne at 122 Denver, Number 1."
Mick rolled out of Mason's feeble grasp and sprung to his feet. Blood smeared Zane’s cheek.
"Hello? I want to report an assault on my fifteen-year-old son."
Mick pointed at Zane. "Don't fuck with me." He straightened his hoodie and sauntered backward toward his car. His foot slipped on the ice, taking him down to one knee. Mick's ugly face flushed at the indignity.
"That’s right. Mick Eidsvoldt attacked my son, and he's about to escape in a black Camaro."
Mason tugged at his brother's sleeve. "Let's go."
"Now! It's happening now. But they're about to drive away." She tiptoed through the snow in stocking feet. Zane grunted upright. The stitches in his forehead had broken and bled through the torn bandage and down his nose.
"Horne, keep your fucking mouth shut." Mick's parting words roared over the loud engine. “Or else.” Tires spun on the ice as the car sped toward the railroad tracks.
"Mom, are you all right?" His sweatshirt sleeve staunched blood from his nose.
She smiled and hugged him hard. "I'm good, Boss."
"Don't call me that." He hated his little boy's nickname because fellow first graders had called him Boss Hogg when Dukes of Hazzard reruns were the rage.
"Only when no one else can hear."
She kissed his sopping hair on the cowlick as a cop car pulled up.
Her high school friend, John, killed the lights and stepped out of the silver SUV cruiser. "We're seeing entirely too much of each other, Lark."
Now that the violent confrontation sunk in, she trembled. “John, thank God it’s you.”
"Let's go inside." John extended a hand.
"Aren't you going after him?"
"We know where he lives." John grasped her good elbow.
Zane bunched his sweat shirt onto his bloody nose and led the way. An ambulance pulled up next to John's patrol car as the three stepped inside.
Lark made a pot of coffee, her hands shaking so violently that coffee grounds sprinkled the counter and floor. A paramedic sat Zane at the table to stop his nosebleed and proclaimed it not broken. He advised Zane to see a doctor just in case, but he didn't need transportation.
Meanwhile, Lark waved off the paramedics’ attention to her injuries and telephoned Alice. "We'll be very late, if at all." The explanation of what had just happened took longer than the incident itself.
"Come sit down, Lark." John indicated a seat next to Zane who now balanced an ice pack on the bridge of his nose. Another officer arrived, crowding the condo’s tiny breakfast area. They asked questions and took notes, both all too familiar with Mr. Mick Eidsvoldt.
Before leaving, John advised her to take photos of Zane’s face and the scrapes on his body as proof of the assault. She had snapped several shots with her cell phone when Alice strutted into the condo, briefcase in hand.
"I came to see for myself." She introduced herself to Zane and shook hands. "You don't happen to have a Dr. Pepper, do you?"
Zane's grin broadened, making blood trickle from a nostril.
"Two for me, Mom."
"Now." Alice opened her briefcase. "Let's order a pizza, lots of greasy sausage for me please, and start at the beginning." She pushed up her sleeves, poked her round specs into place, and stared at Zane like this happened every day.
Lark chewed Tums and let the two meat-lovers eat it all.
Two hours later, Alice wadded her paper towel and piled three crusts into the extra-large pizza box. She downed the dregs of her Dr. Pepper and said, “Email me if you think of anything I haven’t asked.”
Her brusque, business-like manner had comforted both mother and son, leading them to believe their situation was less hopeless under her guidance. She had spoken with Zane as she would an adult, and he had responded with crisp, respectful answers. Alice succeeded where Patty's sage smoke purification rituals, crystals, and tarot cards had failed.
Surprised by her comparison, Lark wondered, succeeded and failed in what? Taking some of the load. Yes, Lark had a full partner in Alice. She was so tired of being in charge and lately falling short.
"Zane, you screwed up." Alice shoved her legal pad into the briefcase. "It's up to you to make it right, and I'll help, so long as you don't screw up again."
"Yes, ma'am." He shook her hand. Alice used it to pull him in for a hug and left.
The door closed and they burst into tired giggles until tears streamed down Lark's cheeks and Zane flopped onto the couch. He yelped in pain. His nose resembled a #303 can of beans—equally broad at the base and the bridge.
"We should take you to the hospital again."
He shook his head, wincing to a seated position. "We're already on a first-name basis over there. It's embarrassing. Besides, I think it’s sexy."
And they broke up again.
"We'll see how you feel tomorrow." Lark carefully encircled his shoulders and hugged for as long as he'd take it. When he squirmed, she kissed him on his luxuriant head of hair. "You exhaust me, kiddo."
"Sometimes I exhaust myself, Mom."
Her bandag
ed hand bumped against the lampshade. She cursed and lifted her arm above her shoulders. They broke into giggles again.
"This isn't funny." She wiped her eyes and sighed, still tickled. "Homework? We'll decide about the hospital in the morning."
* * *
Zane swore he'd finished his homework, which was more than she could say. He took two ibuprofen and went to bed before ten, but Lark stayed awake, drifting in and out from prescribed hydrocodone. She texted slowly and confirmed her Thursday and Friday clients. Yay, both responded and still expected her, and since she’d already decided to skip her two classes, she had one day of rest to boot. Shit. She had to clean two houses one-handed this week.
She texted Lulu, Dee, Nora, and Sky. Her two best friends were at McCord’s and wanted details about the fight. Rather than conveying what had happened via left-handed texting, she wrote:
B there in 15
She sent it to all, even Sky who went to bed by 9:00 p.m. and to Lulu who usually didn’t care. Her phone rang immediately. Nora's round face snuggling Kirk's gray chest hairs appeared on caller ID.
"Hey." Lark struggled to standing, got dizzy and abruptly sat. "On my way."
"You're in no shape to get out. We'll be right over." The phone went dead.
Nora had a point.
A knock on the door a few minutes later coincided with Lark swallowing two more pills. She wondered how many she’d taken.
Nora and Kirk, Dee, and another couple filed into the living room. Arm throbbing and head spinning with a possible overdose of painkillers, Lark flashed back to the man's Science Club exploits in high school. "Nerd," she said softly. His wife, the name escaped Lark, had lost a ton of weight.
Lark sang out, “Wooooo, it’s getting crowded in here.”
She dumbly observed a flurry of shoe removal by the door. They milled for seats. Nerd-man, who everyone thought would never find a girlfriend, moved the dining room chairs into the gap between her rocker and the couch. His svelte wife rearranged them in an arc. Lark thought they made a nice couple.
"Thank heavens for life after high school," Lark announced.
Dee sat Lark gently on the couch. "You look a little shaky. I'll make coffee."