by Susan Dunlap
“I know.”
In his sleep, Felton was butting against her stomach. She looked down at his black and white head, scratched behind his little ears and shifted him to the left. Outside now, dark shapes of eucalyptus wove and snapped in the wind. There might have been houses behind them along the two-lane road, but Liza couldn’t make them out. She leaned her head back against the seat, on the flat part, not allowing herself to ease it into the curve where sleep would be too great a temptation. Gwen reached over and gave Felton another tickle. “If you want to sleep, hon, I can hold him on my lap. He’ll be safe with me.”
Liza had to jam her teeth together to keep from sobbing at the sweetness of it, of being safe, of Gwen. Sweet, innocent Gwen who she had let into this car and who knew what. She swallowed, breathed and swallowed again. “Gwen?”
“Yeah, hon?”
“Will you be all right when we drop you?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I didn’t know how Gil—”
“Gil? Oh. You thought…No, see, Gil’s going to be pissed and pissed royally, but that’s no matter anyway because you’re not dropping me at home. I’m headed to my RV. I won’t see Gil for a week. By that time he’d better have calmed himself down.”
“You’re going to drive around for a week?”
“Not ‘around,’ to Kennewick, up in Washington state. I’m off to my Roving Women’s Convergence. Women driving motor homes, you know. They converge every couple months. But I only converge once a year.” She grinned just the way Liza remembered Ellen’s mom doing when she held out second helpings of the godawful creamed corn from the St. Enid’s cafeteria. “The way Gil carries on, it’s like as if I was about to converge with Robert Redford, instead of a thousand women on wheels.”
Liza looked at Gwen anew. “You just decided to get yourself a trailer and drive north?”
“Not ‘just.’ I’ve been thinking about it for years. Gil’d know that if he’d paid any attention. Gil thinks of me as his wife, part of the town like he is. His family’s been there three generations. It never occurred to Gil to go anywhere else. But me, I was passing through. It was the Sixties then, lot of stuff going on. Free love and a lot of weed. And, well, you know how it goes. I figured I’d spend the summer there and move on. By the time I realized it was winter it was already February. I was thinking winter, like in Vermont, waiting for the snow. I was coasting. And then I coasted into being pregnant. I got into the whole thing of having kids, doing co-op nursery, raising vegetables, making macramé, whatever, the whole hippie thing. Time passed. Kids grew up, got jobs, had kids of their own. And there I was a grandmother, and that’s fine with me. I love those little ones. But, see, I always wanted to travel. Gil never understood that. I don’t mean going on vacation and ending up with things the same as at home, just in a different place. I wanted to travel. And I wanted to do it by myself with no one to answer to. I want to step off the end of the world and see what happens. Scares Gil to death.”
“How’d you come by the trailer?”
“Waitressed in town. Saved my tips for five years. And I’ll tell you, that pisses Gil off about as much as the trailer itself. He can’t stand the idea that I had that secret. Not that it was such a secret. I would have told him if he’d thought to ask.”
“So you just decided and then you did it.” Liza couldn’t keep the awe out of her voice.
“Yeah, hon. It’s not such a big thing. Only Gil thinks it is. And it won’t kill him to be on his own for a week. The boys’ll take pity on Dad and get their wives to invite him to dinner. He’ll hold forth bitching about me and they won’t stop him like they mostly do. So he’ll get it out of his system. And me, I’m going to settle in at the Convergence, take some classes, maybe, but mostly just be a woman among women, you know?”
“Right,” Liza lied. If there was one thing she did not know it was how to be a woman among women. She didn’t even know how to be a decent friend. And the idea of stepping off the edge of the world terrified her. She felt as if she’d spent her life clinging to that edge, trying to get a foot up onto solid ground. She turned the radio on low, shifted and watched Gwen out of the corner of her eyes.
“So you’re headed to Portland,” Gwen said after a while. “What’s in Portland?”
“I don’t know. It was Ellen’s choice. She used to live in Portland.”
“She have a guy up here?”
“She didn’t mention anyone.”
Gwen was silent. Liza let her head slip back against the seat; she shifted Felton on her lap, and looked out through the waving branches. She felt herself jerk awake when Gwen said, “I guess you girls don’t know each other too well.”
“Why do you say that?” She could hear the edge in her voice.
“The guy in Portland. That’s what girlfriends tell each other. Maybe there was no guy, but from the little bit I saw of your friend she looks like a girl who’d have a guy. My sons’ wives are like that, nice, reliable girls. Not as pretty as her, but nice.”
“She didn’t mention anyone in Portland.”
“Course, I could be wrong,” Gwen said quickly. “What do I know about Portland, huh?”
Ellen started. “Portland,” Gwen was saying. Half-awake, she strained to make out what Liza was revealing about Portland. But Liza doesn’t know anything, Ellen reminded herself.
There was nothing Liza could reveal about Portland or Wes Jacobsen. Even half-asleep, Ellen was certain she hadn’t mentioned Wes, much less why she hadn’t seen him in three years, hadn’t spoken of him in two, and hadn’t allowed herself a thought of him since she agreed to move to Kansas City. She shifted minutely on the cold, too-short seat, moving slowly, quietly, offering no opening for talk. And just in case, she pulled her jacket over her head.
Not a single thought of Wes Jacobsen, she silently intoned. She hadn’t allowed herself one in Kansas City: she’d made that unspoken commitment to Harry. It was her only commitment to him, and how great a sacrifice he’d never know.
When she’d made the No Speak rule the year before, it had been hard, but she was a self-contained woman and she still had the warm refuge of her memories. Then not so much time had passed. Then she could still feel a tingle on her thigh at the spot Wes’s hand first lingered over as they lay in the half-zipped sleeping bags with the pine branches holding back the stars. She had allowed herself whiffs of Pinesol that first year of Not Speaking. And she lay in the dark conjuring up the pines they lay in after a day of biking and the musky-sweaty smell of him.
It had been the reverse that first night with him. She could almost smell the odor of the pines and then the smell of him next to her, strong and wild, pulling her into the wild world where past and future vanished and only the scent of him, the feel of his thick curly hair between her fingers, his surprisingly soft beard creeping in around her chin, tickling her lips, tantalizing her. Then his soft, moist lips caressed her till she felt nothing but them, them and the pricking of his tongue creating cravings she’d never had before. Her feet planted against his, her legs taut, her groin sucking up so hard she felt like she would implode. Then the rush up her spine and the frantic meshing rhythm faster, faster till she was one with him and the pines and the stars.
In that year of No Speaking, she rationed that night so she could smell the scents anew, feel his callused palms pulling her butt hard against him. So it wouldn’t dull to mere thoughts, to sequential memory. She teased herself then, with earlier bike rides when she and Wes pretended they were focused on mapping terrain for the mountain bike meets. She let her thoughts linger on the afternoon they’d both misjudged a turn, slid down the muddy embankment half-on half-off the bikes and lay in an intimate heap, slowly becoming aware of arms and legs, breasts and breathing, lying unmoving till the other riders clambered down to separate legs from spokes. It had been too soon then, she knew, and he knew well enough that she hadn’t had to mention it. Too soon in the Oregonian spring of the serious cyclist. She’d felt like a teenager
then, filled with the yearning fantasies, the panting closeness, the sudden pulling away, throbbing from crotch to breasts, face hot with longing, face hot with frustration.
Later, when the year of No Speaking had been replaced by the Edict of No Thinking, she had told herself that their passion had been nothing so special as she’d let herself believe, that she wouldn’t have assumed it was unique without the long slow build-up and the certainty that once they made love it would be the beginning of a new grand level of passion that would take them over.
She wouldn’t have assumed it without the sudden end.
She wasn’t in Kansas City now. She deserved a respite. It would be okay to “see” Wes and—
That was missing the point.
She’d managed to keep him out of her mind for three full months; she had lain in bed at night and read book after book till the letters blurred and there was no opportunity for any thoughts between closing the book and sleep. It was just beginning to get easier. Letting the memories, grown stronger in their exile, take her over again would be disaster. Particularly so close to Portland.
And unfair to Harry. She had tried so hard for Harry; she couldn’t give in now. Particularly so close to Portland. The jacket lay on her face, half-blocking her nose; she wanted to move it but didn’t dare.
A minute later, or was it an hour, she jerked awake. The car was stopped. Gwen was opening her door.
“Where are we?”
“Oh, Ellen, you’re awake.” Liza stepped outside.
“Welcome to the Last Ditch Trailer Park, girls.”
Ellen pushed herself up and looked outside at varying shades of dark. “Why?”
“Why the name? Some say ’cause it’s at the bottom of a slope where it floods every spring. That’s how you can tell how fast your trailer will move. But I’ll tell you, you look around this place and you won’t ask the question twice.” She stood, one hand on the top of the door, the other on the roof. “I’d ask you girls in, but truth is, I better get going and so should you.”
“ ‘So should we?’ ” Ellen shifted out of the car and stood beside her. It was lighter than she’d expected and she could see the quiver of the woman’s jaw.
Gwen’s hand was on the edge of the door and she swung it back and forth, as if it were pacing for her. She looked not at Ellen, but across the roof at Liza. Slowly, she said, “It’s none of my business, but you girls did me a big favor and so, well, I’ve seen enough or life to know you aren’t just two friends driving around for the weekend. Something’s troubling you two. I don’t want to know what it is, but as tired and frazzled as the two of you are, I’d say you need to get yourselves a decent meal, and this time eat some of it, and then figure out what you’re doing. There’s a café a friend of mine works up this road about an hour, in a hamlet called Max. There’s not much on this road most of the way. You go through two little towns—you can miss them if you’re not paying attention in the dark like this. Then the road widens to three lanes and the café’s about a mile after that, on the left—Café Max. Good food, pay phone, and best of all for you, there’s parking behind it so you can get this car out of sight. Like I say, I don’t want to know what you’re doing, but this boy car you’re driving may not have been a problem down in Marin County where people’ve got plenty of money for hot cars for their kids, but the farther north you get the more of a magnet this car’s going to be. Come light, every kid you pass is going to be drawn to it.”
Liza came around the car and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re okay, Gwen. It’s just been a long time since we travelled together. But listen, thanks for your advice. And you take care, yourself. Get your trailer out of here before Gil and your sons and their friends come looking for you.”
Gwen took a breath and gave a little exasperated sigh. “They won’t be looking for me in the trailer, hon, they’ll be looking for me and two pretty girls in a Camaro. That’s what I’m telling you. It’s Sunday morning and they’ve got all day for a ‘fox hunt.’ You’ll get guys all over the county eager to run you to ground. They won’t do you any harm, but if they find you they’ll sure slow you up, what with them calling all the other guys to crow about it and those guys hightailing it over and all. You could end up with a parade following you.”
Ellen could see Liza twitching to move. “We’ll be okay.” She gave Gwen a quick hug. “You got everything, Gwen?”
“My purse. In the car.” Liza reached back in the car, and yanked out a tangle of cloth and leather. More than one purse, Ellen realized as Liza began untwisting them.
Something fell on the ground.
In the dark, she didn’t realize till Gwen stooped down and picked it up that it was a gun. A huge handgun. She slumped back against the car, looking from Liza’s frightened face to Gwen’s, which revealed nothing.
Gwen stared down at the gun. She was holding it by the butt, looking at the barrel. The light from the car door glistened on the gun and outlined the creases in her face. Her hand, Ellen realized, was shaking.
Gwen looked up, eyeing Liza anew. “Don’t you use this gun on my boys.”
“What? We’re not going to,” Liza held out her hand for the gun. “We’re not about to shoot anyone. But, you know what would solve that problem, Gwen? Call Gil, leave him a message that you’re heading south or east.”
It was a moment before Gwen said, “No, hon, better I don’t suggest travelling to him at all. That would just get him and the boys chewing over it. Trust me on that, I know my boys.”
“Okay. And you won’t mention us, right?”
“Course not. But about the gun, you promise you won’t use it on my boys? Even if they’re being snotty, even if you don’t intend to shoot.”
“Promise,” Liza said and slipped the huge handgun back into her purse.
As Gwen walked into the trailer court, Liza pulled Ellen closer. “Come on, let’s move before she has second thoughts.”
Twenty-Five
FRANK BENTEC SETTLED IN his loden-green office chair, lifted a report out of his box. His jaw pouched out at the sides from clenching his teeth and he swung it back and forth as he opened the envelope with the print report. He scanned down over the mandated descriptions: address, time, those present at the crime scene (whose prints had been taken and checked against the latents). Under findings, only two matches were listed. Silvestri was one. The thugs he’d expected to be gloved, but he’d been a cop too long to assume anything so obvious.
The second match was to Liza Silvestri. He lifted the phone and dialed.
The man who answered on the fourth ring was not pleased.
“Martin, Frank Bentec here. Sorry to be playing reveille so early. I haven’t interrupted anything more important, have I?” He offered a muted chuckle and hurried on so the old fart didn’t have to come up with a lie. “You know I wouldn’t have called so early if this wasn’t vital. Wouldn’t be back down here at the department if it could have waited.”
“You’re after a warrant, I assume.” None of Bentec’s banter was reflected in the judge’s voice.
“Right. Maybe you saw the TV report on this case yesterday. Victim’s Jay Silvestri. Blown away in his love nest downtown.”
“The loft love-nest guy?”
“You got it, Martin. The love nest’s in an industrial area; not a place you’d spend the night. Silvestri had a house in Malibu, on the ocean.”
“Malibu wasn’t good enough for nooky?”
Bentec smiled. Now the judge was getting into it. “Not with his wife living there.”
“She didn’t know about the love nest?”
“That’s what Silvestri figured. But nothing’s forever, eh, Martin?”
“Apparently not Silvestri.”
“Right. And not his secret. His wife found him out. We’ve got her prints all over the place there. Her prints in his blood. You can’t get better than that.”
“So, Bentec, then what do you need from me at six in the morning?”
“Taps on
Silvestri’s phone.”
“Done.”
“Thanks. I’ll have the papers in your office when you get there.” Bentec pushed Off, left his thumb on the key for just a moment before shifting the phone and punching in another number and listening to the second sleepy voice of his morning. This time the mention of his name was like a steak bone to a dog. But then that’s what cops were to reporters.
“Hey, Frank, what’re you up to this hour o’ morning? The Silvestri case, huh? You got a break in it?”
“Silvestri’s wife’s prints are in the blood in his love nest.”
“No shit! Thanks, Frank.”
“Hey, wait a minute. You didn’t think that was free, did you?”
“Guy can always hope.”
“This is close as you’ll get. It’s almost free. But in case you don’t know, Silvestri’s wife is quite a number. Why don’t you lead with her picture? She’s on the lam.”
“Armed and dangerous?”
“Silvestri was shot in the back.”
Twenty-Six
ELLEN BRACED HER FEET under the dash and clutched the pig on her lap. Liza was driving like a maniac. She pulled back on the road so fast she nearly clipped the trailer park sign pulling out.
“Headlights! Liza, you don’t have any lights!”
Speeding through the dark, Liza twisted one knob after another.