by Judy Clemens
He was silent for a moment, his face tight. “Yeah. Me neither.”
He pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to the wall, where I had some family pictures.
“You think it’s true about Bobby?” I asked. “That he ran off with the money?”
He sighed and turned around. “Probably. It’s been a long time coming.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at the long fingernails on his right hand, just right for plucking guitar strings, and used a nail from his other hand to clean one out. “Gary and Bobby have been together for years. Business partners, I mean. They first met up in college, where they started a band. Called themselves The Fever. They had a good run of it, but Mann quit when they were done with school. Said they didn’t have enough talent between them to make it big. Decided he’d rather be involved by helping better bands build their careers. Opened his first club and started hiring in local talent.”
“Was he right?”
“About The Fever?” He winced. “Having heard a recording from back then, I’d have to say yes. But Mann is a hell of a club owner. Gave lots of us our start way back when.”
“At The Bar?”
He blinked. “You know about it?”
“It’s on your web site.”
“Oh. Right. I keep forgetting all that information is out there.”
“So you think Baronne’s been holding a grudge all these years?”
“A torch, maybe. He’s always thought he could become the next Stevie Ray Vaughn.”
“In his dreams, I’m assuming.”
“Definitely.”
“So you think he’s run off to pursue these fantasies?”
He dropped back into the chair and ran his hand over his goatee. “There’s no telling. But I wouldn’t doubt it. I just feel bad for Gary.”
“I take it you know Mann pretty well, having been around him all this time.”
“I guess. He’s helped us out a lot.” He stopped, but looked like he had more to say. I waited. “He’s made us an offer.”
“Your band?”
“Yeah.”
“A good one?”
He nodded. “I think so. He wants to make us regulars. Every Friday and Saturday night, with traveling gigs coming in during the week.”
“You up for that?”
A flash of worry crossed his face. “I don’t know. It’s a big change. The other guys aren’t sure we’d bring in enough money without the touring. I sometimes think—”
A burst of giggling came from the hallway, and the door opened, revealing Tess and a milk-splattered Tonya.
“What happened?” Tom asked.
Tonya laughed. “An overly enthusiastic calf. I couldn’t keep the bottle in her mouth.”
“It slipped out!” Tess said. “The milk sprayed all over her!”
Tom laughed, too, and got up from the chair.
“We’ve got some rags in the parlor,” I said. “Or you can go in the house and use the bathroom.”
Tonya looked down at her shirt and arms. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not a problem. Tess, why don’t you show her inside?”
“Sure. C’mon, Tonya!” And dragging the woman by the arm, Tess took her away.
Tom watched them go. “Well, thanks for the excitement.”
“Any time.”
He glanced at his watch and the door.
“What were you saying?” I asked. “About what you sometimes think?”
A flurry of expressions flashed across his face. “Can’t remember.”
“About Mann’s offer?”
“Oh. Nothing. It’s no big deal.”
Uh-huh. “All right. I’ll walk you out.”
We headed toward the front of the barn, and Tom stopped in the hallway. “Jordan going to be okay?”
I shook my head. “Don’t know. I think so.”
He sighed. “I figured he and Genna were going to end up together sooner or later. At least that’s what Tonya was hoping.”
He waited, as if expecting me to continue with the idea.
“I guess there’s no telling now, is there?” I said, and walked outside.
Tonya came out to the Jeep a minute or so later, her face and arms clean, but her shirt still sporting dark splotches of wetness.
She ruffled Tess’ hair. “Thanks for the fun.”
Tess smiled. “You’ll be there Saturday?”
“I will.”
I stood on the walk with Tess and watched the couple clamber into the Jeep. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Tom waved. “See you this weekend.”
I held up a hand as they made a slow U-turn and headed out.
“That was fun,” Tess said. “Except she doesn’t know anything about cows.”
Somehow I wasn’t surprised.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I helped Lucy finish up the milking, wondering all the while why exactly Tom Copper had come to my farm. Thinking back on our conversation, it seemed the only thing he had initiated was the question of whether or not I thought Ricky had killed Genna. Tom agreed that he wanted it to be the band’s new drummer, but never actually said he thought Ricky did it. Which made me wonder—which one of his friends did Tom Copper think murdered Genna?
“You done there?” Lucy stood at the barn door, one foot in, one foot out.
I set the pitchfork against the wall and looked over the newly limed aisles. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“Then come on in for supper. I’ve got that cheesy tuna casserole that you like in the oven.”
I wouldn’t say no to that.
I had just heaped seconds onto my plate when lights flashed into the kitchen window and across the cupboards.
“That’s Lenny,” Lucy said, jumping up from her seat. “You go ahead and finish.”
“I’m done,” Tess said. “Can I come, too?”
Lucy looked at me, and I waved my fork. “That’s fine. I can eat by myself.”
I had to get used to it again, anyway.
They left, and I got up to pour myself another glass of milk. Glancing out the window at Lenny’s truck, it seemed like there were more people than just him climbing out. There was a woman and…a wheelchair?
I stuck the milk back in the fridge and went to the door, where I looked out through the screen while a man lowered himself from the cab into the chair. I squinted, trying to see in the fading light outside. My head snapped upward when I realized who the man was. It was the guy from the concert. What was his name? I couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember his wife’s name, either.
The screen door slapped shut after I pushed my way through.
“You done with supper already?” Lucy asked, her head jerking my way.
“No. But I see we have more visitors than just Lenny.”
Her eyes darted toward the couple, and she put her hands first on her hips, then in her pockets, and finally clasped them together in front of her stomach.
“What’s going on, Lucy?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing.”
“Howdy, Stella,” Lenny said. He stepped toward me and blocked the dusk-to-dawn light, casting his face in shadows. “I’m sorry to hear—”
He grunted as Lucy elbowed him.
“All right,” I said. “I was going to finish my supper, but now I want to know what’s happening.”
Lucy’s jaw tightened, and she looked at the ground.
“Stella?” The man in the wheelchair called me from the driveway. His wife stood behind him, trying to maneuver his wheelchair onto the walk.
I stepped forward. “That’s me. Sorry I can’t remember your names.”
“Norm,” the man said. “And Cindy.”
“From the concert.”
“Yeah. You saved our butts.”
“Well, Lenny did.”
Cindy cast a grateful glance toward our lumbering friend, but Norm tapped my arm. “Fro
m what I hear you helped clear the chair from the scene. So thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. This the same one?”
“It is. We stopped in at the club on Monday and were able to pick it up. Just had to have a few repairs made and it was good to go.”
“I’m glad. I was sure we’d wrecked it.”
“Nah. These things are like tanks. At least the good ones are.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re all right. Now I’m headed back in to finish my supper. It’s nice you came to see Lucy.”
His face registered surprise, and Cindy made an “oh” kind of sound.
“What?” I said.
Lenny cleared his throat. “Norm and Cindy actually came to visit you.”
“Me? Why?” I looked at the four of them, their faces showing concern and—God help me—pity. And it struck me.
“You have MS,” I said to Norm.
“Last I checked.”
I glared at Lenny. “Bart told you.”
“Well. Yeah.”
I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing through my nose.
“We thought it might help for you to talk to Norm and Cindy,” Lucy said. Her voice sounded tentative. Almost frightened. Which well it should.
“Oh, you thought so, did you?”
I turned to leave, but Norm clamped an iron hand on my arm.
“C’mon, darlin’. What would it hurt to talk to a poor old guy for a few minutes?”
I swallowed.
“One minute?” he said.
I shook my arm out of his grasp, but didn’t move away.
“Good,” Lucy said. “Why don’t we go inside?”
Norm and Cindy looked up the walk toward the side steps.
“Why don’t we just sit out here?” Norm said, a smile tickling his mouth. “It’s a nice night, and I don’t want to give my lovely wife—or Lenny here—a hernia trying to get me up there.”
“I’ll grab some lawn chairs,” Lucy said. She scurried away toward the garage.
I stood silently, thinking with annoyance about my congealing tuna casserole, until she came back and unfolded a chair behind me. I felt like ignoring it, but decided that would just be stupid.
When I was settled, Cindy beside me and Norm at an angle to my left, I heard the screen door close. A twist of my head confirmed that Lucy and Lenny had gone inside.
“It’s a bugger, huh?” Norm said.
I sat stiffly, my fingers clenched over the chair’s metal arms.
“Not something you really want to hear about someone you love. That he has this disease.”
“Not something you really want to talk about, either,” Cindy said. “At least not at first.”
My teeth remained clenched together, my throat tight.
“When we found out, we’d only been married a year,” Norm said. “Were trying to get pregnant, too, while I worked at the Radnor Library. Custodian. And we were renovating an old house.” He shifted slightly in the chair. “It started slowly. I’d get tingling in my fingers and toes, kept dropping stuff. Was tired all the time. Thought it was just I was working too hard. I finally went to the doctor when I went numb on my whole left side.”
Cindy put her hand on Norm’s, and he grasped her fingers.
“Didn’t take the doctors too long to figure out what was going on. I thought at first I was going to die. You know, real quick. Took all kinds of tests. Was at the hospital all the time. But we got some good advice, and that kept us going.”
He looked at me, waiting, I suppose, for a response.
“Docs told us I wouldn’t die from MS. I’d just have to learn to live with it. Cindy, too. And they told us not to rush out and join a support group. Last thing we needed was a bunch of people boo-hooing about their disease and carrying on like they were gonna die tomorrow. So we waited on that. Finally did find a good group. More an informational group than anything. We compared medicines, had speakers, educated each other. Worked out well. We made some good friends there.”
I took a deep breath and let it out through my mouth. I wondered where Jordan was. I really ought to check up on him and see how he was doing, make sure he wasn’t falling apart.
“There are a lot of worries,” Norm said. “Don’t get me wrong. You worry your employer will find out and fire you and you’ll lose your insurance. Course that’s not really legal, but you never know. You worry about the tests. You worry about what people will think. You worry about having kids. So, you know, you don’t make a general announcement about it, but people do hear. You find out who your true friends are. Lot of the morons act like they’ll get it from you or something. The good ones ask questions and learn how to support you.”
Jordan probably was at his house. Or he could be taking stuff over to the German-Hungarian club to get ready for Saturday. I hoped to God he wasn’t down in Philly again, trying to get into Ricky’s place.
“There are things you have to change. Like staying away from sick people. The meds you take lower your immune system. And of course there are the meds themselves you have to take. And the fall weather change is difficult. Makes your joints hurt, could bring on an episode. But really, there’s not much you can’t do, at least at first. You can exercise, long as you don’t overdo it. You might want to avoid whitewater rafting, that kind of stuff. You can drive, except when you’re seeing double, but that’s just common sense. You can have kids, that’s for sure. There’s no chance of passing it on to them. We’ve got two in college, and they’re doing just great.”
I wondered if Jordan had talked to Ma yet. I hoped so, for her sake. Or at least let her know he was all right. She’d go nuts pretty soon if he didn’t at least leave her a message.
“The biggest fear,” Norm said, “is that you’ll end up in a wheelchair, like me. But you know, I lived with it for a long time before ending up in my little vehicle, here. And medicine’s a lot more advanced now. Drugs are better, doctors know more. Especially when it’s caught early. And we’ve done okay, Cindy and me, even with the chair. Haven’t we, honey?”
Cindy made an affirming sound, and patted their clasped hands with her other one.
“You know,” Norm said, “they used to say you could live twenty-five years past your diagnosis. But anymore that’s just not true. It’s already been twenty-eight for me and I don’t plan on passing away anytime soon.”
I swiveled my head to the left in time to catch an intense look of love passing between Norm and Cindy, their faces tender and soft.
I unclenched my hands from the chair’s arms, gave what might’ve resembled a smile, and stood up. I walked away and didn’t stop until I’d reached the very middle of my property.
On my back between two rows of corn, I lay looking at the emerging stars and waited for tears to come.
But my eyes were as dry as the field around me.
And there was no telling the extended forecast.
Chapter Twenty-Five
By the time I got back to the house Lenny and the other two were gone. The house was dark, and I held the screen door so it wouldn’t bang shut and wake Tess. She wouldn’t be getting up early for the bus, since she was taking the day off to be at the wedding rehearsal, but there was no doubt she’d need her sleep to get through the stress of the next couple days.
I left my boots at the door and was tiptoeing through the living room when a movement on the sofa made me jump.
“Sorry,” Lucy said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Why are you sitting here in the dark? Lenny’s not here, is he?”
“No. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You can’t do that with the light on?”
“It was peaceful.”
I grunted and forgot about tiptoeing on my way to the upstairs door.
“Stella,” Lucy said.
I paused, my hand on the doorknob.
“I’m sorry about Nick.”
“Yeah,”
I said. “So am I.”
I opened the door and went upstairs.
***
As soon as milking was done in the morning I went into the house to grab something to eat. The kitchen smelled of eggs and sausage, and I raised my eyebrows at the feast on the counter.
“Thought you’d enjoy a hearty breakfast,” Lucy said. From the way she was looking at me, I could tell she wasn’t sure how I’d be feeling toward her after the visitors the night before.
I sat down. “I am hungry.”
She plunked a carton of orange juice onto the table and sat down across from me, bringing the food platters with her.
“You’re gonna eat with me, too?” I asked.
She tried out a smile. “I need my strength today.”
“Yeah. You excited?”
She paused, her fork in the air. “Excited. Nervous. Terrified.” She took a bite of eggs and spoke around it. “But mostly just happy.”
“And Tess?”
“Not up yet. Guess those school mornings really are too early for her.”
We ate for a few minutes.
“Everything ready for the milk truck?” Lucy asked.
“Doug’ll be fine. He’s done it before.”
We ate some more.
“You coming to the church with me, or driving separately?” Lucy asked.
“I’ll go myself, since you probably want to go early and stay late.”
“But you’ll come in time to help with details?”
I looked her in the eye. “I’ll be there, Lucy. Everything will be fine.”
She set down her fork and lined it up with her napkin. “Yeah. I know.”
The door to the stairs slammed and Tess came running into the kitchen, dressed in a cute purple outfit, her church sandals slapping on the hardwood floor. Only her hair had been forgotten, still a bed-mussed mess.
“We ready to go, Mom?”
Lucy held out her arms for a hug. “Just about. Want some breakfast?”
Tess gave her mom a quick squeeze. “Nope. We’re having lunch at the church, right?”
“Well, yes, but not for a while.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Lucy turned to me for help, but I leaned back. “Oh, no. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” I pushed my chair away from the table and got up.