"Not much damage, thank goodness," Joan said, picking carpet fuzz off the turkey. "We'll just cut this drumstick off and stick this thing back in the oven for a few minutes to sterilize it."
They laughed as they finished preparing dinner, and then they laughed some more as they ate it.
"This is the best turkey you ever cooked, hon," her brother-in-law said.
Joan laughed. "Must be the little bit of dirt off the floor," she said. "Everybody has to eat a peck of dirt during their lifetime, you know, so Goldie's just making sure we get our minimum daily requirement."
Although Anne didn't eat much, she left the dinner table in a happy glow, her sides aching with laughter and her head filled with the Christmas carols they all sang around the tree before dinner. When the doorbell rang, she had almost forgotten Joe was to pick her up. Reluctantly, she opened the door.
"Merry Christmas, Annie," he said, wrapping his arms around her before she could step out of his reach. Joe came inside while Anne went to get her coat and purse. An awkward silence settled around the large foyer as Joan and her husband, Frank, stared at Joe. Agnes Mills, on the other hand, smiled broadly as they left and picked their way down the icy steps to the car.
"Look in the back seat, baby," Joe said.
At first Anne didn't know why he would make such a strange request, but then she saw a head pop up in the window, then another. "Droopy, Beauty," she screamed in delight.
"See? They're okay. I gave them to Ben Lynch, but when I told him you were coming back home, he said he couldn't rightfully keep 'em."
"Wait, I didn't say I'd come back to you. I just said I'd think about it."
"Here," he said, ignoring her as he took a small package, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a blue ribbon, from his jacket pocket.
Anne was embarrassed. "I didn't get you anything for Christmas."
"This is an early anniversary present, not a Christmas present. Go ahead, open it."
Hesitantly, she took the package. Inside the silver paper was a black velvet box that popped open when she inched a fingernail inside. The huge marquise diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band inside sparkled in the midafternoon sun.
"It's a hundred and seventy-five points . . . a carat and three quarters . . . and it's platinum. How do you like those baguettes on the sides?" he said, slipping the rings onto the ring finger of her left hand.
"Beautiful, but a little too big." The rings slid around on her finger and nearly fell off. Was it an omen? Anne put the thought in the back of her mind.
"Don't worry, I'll get them sized right after the holidays," Joe said, patting her hand. "Now let's go home and celebrate our anniversary."
"I don't care about jewelry or material things. We're both Catholic, and we have to think about our marriage and the state of our souls. But I'm a human being, and lonely. If I come back to you, things have to change. You can't just keep to yourself all the time."
She believed things really would be different.
Chapter 5
Walking into their living room, Anne noticed, to her relief, that everything had been cleaned up. She peeked into the kitchen and saw the ceiling had been repaired.
The white German shepherd was gone. "Gave him to my pal Earl," Joe said. "Damned dog was too much trouble."
That night, as she lay in the bed next to Joe, Anne wondered why she had agreed to return home with him. They made a fumbling sort of love, but it wasn't any good, merely a groping in the dark that ended in a hot rush, leaving her cold and dejected.
The hardest part was when David came back from spending the holidays in California. As she waited for him at the front door of their office building the day after New Year's, she wasn't sure how she would tell him, but she knew she had to. When she finally saw him walking toward her, though, her resolution wobbled the way her knees did.
"Anne!" he said, a grin dimpling his face.
Before he could say more, she spoke. The words tumbled out. "David, I have to tell you I went back to Joe." Her voice caught and she could barely speak.
The disappointment in his face was clear. "Oh, no. Don't you know you're just in for more of the same?"
"I've got to give it another chance," she said. "If I don't, I may regret it for the rest of my life."
With his hands in his overcoat pockets, he turned and walked away from her, taking the steps into the building two at a time.
Now she knew what it was like to die. You didn't hurt; you just quit feeling. She became a silent, numb thing, too lost even to eat.
For some reason, she stayed with Joe, but despite his high-flown promises, nothing changed. The evenings were the same; he flopped on the couch, ignoring her as he glued himself to the television. Although she tried to talk to him, he rewarded her with silence or the sight of his back as he picked up a book and headed for the bathroom.
No matter whether she suggested a movie, dancing, or dinner, he wasn't interested. His excuse was that he had worked hard all day and was tired. She worked hard all day, too, but being tired didn't make you a cripple.
Over time, David's manner with her became easier as he accepted the idea of her being with Joe again. "New rings?" he asked one day. "God, they're beautiful."
"Yes. An anniversary present." Although Joe had them cut down, the rings were once again too large, as she continued to lose weight. She spun them around. They never felt right on her finger, just as her marriage didn't feel right in her heart and never would.
That night, when she finally fell asleep, she tossed and turned, at last dreaming of David again, this time in a suit of golden armor, riding on a palomino horse.
She ran toward him, and he swept her up into the saddle in front of him. As she turned to kiss him, she found they were both nude. "David," she murmured, twisting her fingers in his thick blond hair.
Running his hands down her back, he whispered, "I adore you, my love," then took her breasts in his hands.
Their mount galloped along a beach, mane and tail flying in the breeze, pounding the surf until they came to a sheltered cove. They halted. Wordlessly, David let her down, then jumped to the ground next to her, took her in his arms and carried her to the beach.
There, in the sun and sand, he kissed her eyes, mouth, and her whole body. She shivered when he tongued a trail from her breasts to her navel, then rose again to her mouth. In an ecstasy of pleasure she felt his hardness press against her.
With a start, she awoke. She tried to stay asleep, never wanting this dream to end, but a strange feeling enveloped her, a warm tingling in her thighs. And she found herself gasping as wave after wave of sensation radiated between her legs, in the place Joe had only fumbled with. For the rest of the night, she slept peacefully.
The next day was Saturday. Joe left to go hunting with his friend Earl, and Anne was looking forward to another dull day. The doorbell rang, and she saw a new black El Dorado parked in the driveway behind her car.
When she opened the door, a man in an expensive-looking dark suit stood on her front porch.
"Joe Peterson here?" he said.
"No, he's gone hunting," she said. "What do you want to see him about?"
"A little debt of his. I'll just bet he's in there with you, so just step aside, little lady, and you won't get hurt."
Anne stuck out her fine Irish chin and drew herself up to her full five feet, eight inches, although the man towered over her. "You're not coming in my house. I told you he's not here," she said, ignoring his size.
He had his hand on the door when Mr. Blount, who lived next door, appeared in her yard. "Anne," he said. "Everything all right?"
The stranger stepped back when he heard Mr. Blount's deep voice. Bob Blount, a fullback for the University of Kansas in his youth, was the size of a well-fed grizzly bear. When he frowned, as he did now, he even looked like one.
"I'll tell Joe you were looking for him," she told the stranger, who backed down off the porch and edged toward the driveway. Anne smiled at he
r neighbor. "Come on in, Mr. Blount. I have some fresh coffee made."
"You tell your husband Tony was here," the man said, as he got into his car and backed out of the driveway.
Mr. Blount's mouth hung open. "Who was that?"
"A friend of Joe's."
It was late afternoon before Joe came home. A million questions had gone through her mind during the time she waited for him, and she needed some answers. "A man was here looking for you today," she said. "I can't think of his name."
"What'd he look like?"
"Tall, dark. Dressed real nice. And he drove a black Cadillac."
Joe turned white.
"What's this all about?" she asked. "He said you owe him money."
"Yeah. Lots of it. And they're gonna put me in the bottom of the creek—no, the Missouri River—if I don't find a way to pay it back."
At first she thought he was exaggerating. "How much?"
"Twenty thousand."
She couldn't believe it. He couldn't possibly be that deep in debt. "For what?"
Joe looked down at his feet. "Gambling. At Hillside. Last week when you thought I was working late, I was out there at the craps table."
"How could you lose that much?"
He shifted his weight and started to reach for her hand, but she dodged away. "I dunno," he said. Something comes over me, and before I know it, I'm betting more and more. It's like a feeling of power. Until I lose."
Panic was something Anne didn't have time for. In an emergency she always took charge and did what needed doing. Afterward, she fell apart, but not when it was important to act. She operated on the principle that it was better to do something, even if it was wrong, than do nothing at all.
"Look, does your aunt still want to buy this house?"
"Yeah," he said, putting his hands in his pockets.
"So that's the answer. We'll sell her the house, get your equity out of it, and pay off the goons."
He wouldn't make eye contact with her. "We can't."
Anne reached out, took him by the shoulder, and gave him a hard shake. "What do you mean we can't? Of course we can."
At first he didn't answer, so she shook him again. At last he said, "I already took out a second mortgage."
"You did what?" she said.
He put his hands over his face and moaned. "And I lost that, too."
"What about the money you inherited from your dad?"
Once again he moaned. "Gone."
"God, how can you be so stupid?" What else can we do? She thought. There has to be something. "I know! We'll use some of my savings. The money I put away for college. A partial payment ought to get them off your back until you can raise some more money."
Joe turned away from her and looked out the kitchen window.
"What is it?" she said, fear rising in her throat. "Joe, you didn't get in my money, did you?"
His silence was the only answer she needed.
"How much is left?"
Joe gulped. "About half."
"Half? You took half my tuition money? Lucky me—you didn't take it all."
How could he take her tuition money? She'd been saving since junior high school, babysitting, working as a soda jerk at the drugstore, even selling vanilla over the telephone for a charity. For years she worked after school and on weekends to add to her savings account.
After she married Joe, she kept on saving. Sometimes, her dream of going to KU was all that kept her going, all that made her want to get up in the morning. Now he had taken it from her. She was stupid to put her money in a joint account, but fool that she was, she trusted him.
"That's it. We're done," she said. "See if your rich aunt will help you, because I've had it with you. You're on your own now. I'll have a moving van come pick up my stuff. I paid for all the furniture, so I'll take that too."
She shook her fist at him. "And don't you touch another dime of my money, or I'll send Uncle Ralph and Mr. Blount over here to take it out of your sorry hide."
That day she left Joe for good, packing her clothes into her car. This time there were no tears, no threats. Just silence, which she was used to. The one thing she was thankful for was that she hadn't told her lawyer about her brief reconciliation with Joe. That meant the divorce would still be final the first of June if Joe didn't protest it.
As she pulled out of their driveway, she turned to look back one last time at their house—and the dying of her dreams. On the way to her mother's house, Anne took the dogs to her Uncle Ralph.
Agnes Mills was none too happy to see her daughter move back in, but when Anne told her about Joe's losing everything they had, including half her college money, she said she couldn't blame her.
"I'll only stay for a week, Mom, until my friend moves out of her place," Anne said. "She’s getting married, and I’ll be renting her duplex. I’ve already put a deposit on it."
At least she still had some money left, but she was spending it pretty fast. A thought flashed through her head as she felt her rings sliding around. Of course—the rings. She could sell the rings. That ought to replace some of the money Joe stole from her. He had probably used her money to buy them.
The following week she took off work and picked up the keys to her one-bedroom duplex. It was something she could afford, near the fort, and in a decent neighborhood. It was small but clean, and the owner and his wife lived right next door. Then she called the moving company. "This is Anne Peterson, and I want to make arrangements to move my furniture."
"Yes ma'am, Miz Peterson, we're picking up your furniture."
Maybe he had misunderstood her. She hadn’t made the pickup arrangements yet. "I mean I want you to pick up my furniture."
"Yes'm, we are, ma'am. At 2500 South Trailwind Drive. In about an hour."
"You're what?"
"Pickin' up . . ."
"Now you hold on a minute. Something's wrong here. I'm in the middle of a divorce, and the furniture belongs to me. I'll be at the house when your driver gets there. And I'll give you the right address to deliver my things to."
"Okay, lady."
She called Uncle Ralph. "I've got to have some help. It's an emergency. I'll be by to get you in five minutes."
She picked him up and explained on the way to Joe's.
"Sounds like he's trying to steal your furniture," he said. "Too bad I didn't bring my twelve-gauge."
"Simmer down, Uncle Ralph. We're not going to let him get away with anything."
The moving van pulled up just as they arrived at the house. Anne, with her uncle right behind her, opened the front door. "Joe? You here?"
He came out of the kitchen. "Yeah." A worried look crossed his face when he saw her uncle.
"What's the deal with the moving van?"
"Uh . . ."
Ralph Mills stepped forward. "Spit it out, boy. Tell us what you had planned for Anne's furniture."
Joe stepped back a pace, then another, as he looked up at the red-faced farmer towering over him. "Aunt Mary's going to take over the house payments and rent the place out, so I was just gonna put the furniture in storage until Anne needed it."
Ralph advanced another step, edging Joe into a corner. "That won't be necessary. We'll have this stuff delivered to her new place. Worked out right well after all, didn't it, Annie?"
Later, she glanced out the window and saw Joe talking to Scat Shafer, the fellow driving the van. The two had gone to high school together. Joe was probably telling Scat what a terrible wife she was.
That night, after all the furniture was in her duplex, and most of her boxes in the right rooms, she sank into an exhausted sleep. Although she thought she heard a noise sometime during the night, she dismissed it, too tired to move.
The next morning, she looked around at her little place, the first real home of her own she ever had. It belonged to no one else, not her mother, not her husband. This spot on the earth was hers and hers alone.
After she showered, brushed her teeth, and put on her makeup, she went to p
ut her rings in her purse. She would stop by the bank on her lunch hour and stash them in her safe-deposit box until she could sell them. She had put them on the bedside table the night before, but when she looked, they were gone.
Dropping to her knees, she shone the lamp under the bed, thinking she had knocked them off in her sleep, but instead, next to her bed she found something she would never have expected: a muddy footprint. A cleated hunting boot made this track, and the mud was yellow.
She had been robbed, and she was pretty sure who did it.
Chapter 6
She couldn't believe what Mr. Harkness, her landlord, told her.
"You mean all the front-door keys for this development are identical?" Anne said.
All it took was one key to get into every one of the twenty duplexes in her neighborhood. That's why her windows and doors hadn't been disturbed. Someone, and it could only have been Joe, had used a key.
She shivered. "Guess I'm lucky he didn't decide to do worse than just rob me. The police were puzzled to find no signs of forced entry."
"I know it's crazy," said Mr. Harkness, smoothing a strand of hair over his bald pate. "But we've never had a problem before. Fact is, most folks don't even lock their doors except at night. These prefabs were built at the end of World War II, when housing was scarce, and the developer saved a lot of money by ordering large lots of building materials, including the locks. They're identical and one key fits all of them."
Harkness wiped his red face with a bandanna, which he stuffed in his pocket. "It's a local joke, but it's not funny anymore," he said. "I'm sorry. We'll get your lock changed, and we'll do it today."
Anne nodded. "Guess I'd better get to work now."
"Don't forget to stop by and get your new key tonight," he said.
"Right."
At first her car wouldn't start, but after a couple of tries, the motor turned over. Crazy pictures played in her brain: the missing rings and the footprint by her bed. Preoccupied, she made a wrong turn and found herself taking the long way to work. At first she almost ran the stop sign at the corner but recovered and hit the brake pedal in plenty of time to stop. Fortunately, there was no traffic, because nothing happened.
Water's End Page 4