by Betsy Ashton
“I didn’t realize how starved I was for an evening of conversation and good wine,” Johnny said.
“Me too. I’ve gone back to New York a couple of times, but you’ve been tied to the work site.”
“We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”
“Want to go to New York on my next trip home?” I crossed my fingers.
“I was thinking about next weekend in New Orleans.”
Phooey. Still no movement on getting Johnny to New York.
“Val and Hank are quite a pair, aren’t they?” I leaned against Johnny’s shoulder.
“No one knows who they are. What fun they’re having.” Johnny ruffled my hair.
I looked at him. “How did you know?”
“Well, pretty lady, I can use Google too. How do you think I kept track of you for years?”
For years?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mississippi, week of October 24
Two weeks later we’d finished a near-silent dinner with everyone sunk into their own black holes of need when we heard a commotion at the main gate. A dusty pickup towing an ancient, battered Airstream waited to come in. The driver opened the truck door.
“Hey, John Wayne, anyone home?”
“Charlie!”
Alex was off the bench and across the compound before anyone else could react. He wiggled around the locked gate and threw himself into Charlie’s arms.
“I presume he knows this person.” Ducks waved a match over his pipe bowl and blew a thin stream of vanilla-scented smoke upward.
Whip and Emilie ran toward the gate. Whip called to Sampson to let the new arrival in.
“That would be Charlie.”
“Somehow I figured it out all by myself. Funny. She seems to be a regular human being. Alex had me thinking she was Wonder Woman.” Ducks waved a second match over the reluctant tobacco. He puffed away until he had it lit.
“She is, in more ways than one.”
Emilie grabbed Charlie in a bear hug. Our family was complete.
I carried a load of dishes into the bus. Ducks laid his pipe aside and helped clear the table. Johnny directed Charlie to park the Airstream on the far side of the bus.
“Sure you want the Silver Slug next to your fancy digs?”
“Yup.” Whip grinned. “The family’s all over here.”
Charlie beat dust off her jeans, gave me a huge hug and accepted an icy beer.
“Whip, you beast! You never let on that Charlie was coming.” I wagged a finger at him and pretended to be angry.
“Man’s gotta have some secrets.” Whip hugged Charlie before stepping back. “Hope you have extra laborers in that antique.”
“No such luck, but I’ve got a group of guys who’ll be here tomorrow. About a dozen with enough dirt on their hands to know what hard work is.”
“Great. Gotta tell the general contractor.” Whip grabbed his cell. An ear-to-ear grin and a couple of nods from my son-in-law told us the boss was happy with the news.
I introduced Charlie to Ducks and invited everyone to gather around the table under the mosquito netting. Charlie declined anything to eat but allowed as how she might have a beer or two. I pointed toward the ice chests. She should help herself.
“What’s in the back window of your truck?” Alex was dying to grab the gun from the cab. He must have remembered the lesson on climbing into the Jag, because all he did was point. Charlie brought the shotgun to the table.
Johnny, Ducks, and Whip drooled over the high-tech twelve-gauge Kel-Tec KSG. The fourteen-shell, pump-action shotgun had enough stopping power to protect anyone.
“Kinda makes our old Mossbergs look as antique as your Airstream.” Johnny lusted over the shotgun.
“Glad you like my new toy.” Charlie laid the shotgun on the table.
“Trust this woman to outshine us men,” Whip said.
####
I stretched out on the couch in our dorm to read. Emilie had gone to bed after chattering with Charlie until both were talked out. For the moment, at least. Whip and Alex were tucked into their dorm, and Ducks’s door was shut. So was Johnny’s. Charlie had a light on in the Silver Slug. She said she had things to get ready for the morning. Our part of the camp was down for the night. Tomorrow was a school day for the kids, shopping day for me, and work day for the crew.
I stretched out on the couch and lost myself in my first grisly J.A. Konrath thriller. From the opening page, I loved his new Jack Daniels character, as flawed a female detective as I’d ever met. I turned page after page, so deep into the plot I jumped half off the couch when Emilie flopped in a chair opposite. I hadn’t heard her climb down from her bunk.
“Child, you ’bout scared the life out of me.” I affected my worst deep Southern drawl.
“I’m sorry. I can’t sleep. I’ve been super edgy for days.” Emilie nibbled on a fingernail. She must have remembered she was trying to break the habit because she folded her fingers into fists.
I closed my book and got up. “Edgy? How?”
I turned the heat on under the kettle to make cups of herbal tea, our late night we-have-to-talk beverage of choice.
“I hurt. Not from working and not from the pain caused by the hurricane. Dr. Schwartz tells me that’s cosmic pain. It’s all around us. There’s nothing we can do about it. This feels different.”
Emilie padded over and fetched cups from the cupboard. We were using her mother’s good bone china and found we liked it. I’d brought crystal glassware as well. We had it; why the heck not use it? If it broke, so what?
“As in localized? Or in one person?” I dropped bags into our cups and poured boiling water over them. I inhaled the scent of lemon grass filling the RV.
“I’m not sure. It’s like layers of pain. Not mine. Underneath the pain we know is something darker. Almost dark like Dracula was dark. I can’t find the source, but it’s centered around the Sanchezes.”
What lay below the surface of these two strangers? I told her about Ducks’s unsuccessful encounter with Mrs. Sanchez. “Can I help?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I need to get away from Mississippi for a while. You know, put space between me and what’s bothering me.”
“Do you want to go to New York with me on my next trip? Or back to Richmond with Dad to hang out with Molly and the rest of your friends?” Emilie would help me figure out what she needed.
“I need to hang out with Mollie and my friends. I’m really lonely,” said Emilie.
Texting their friends back in Virginia didn’t fill in the gap of needing a friend nearby to share secrets, to giggle away the night with on a sleepover, and to play video games with until their thumbs fell off.
“Okay, Richmond. Time with Molly and Dr. Schwartz might be what you need. I’ll talk to Dad.”
“I want to introduce Mr. Ducks to Dr. Schwartz.” She paused. “That way, he’ll be able to help more too.”
A darned good idea. With two spooky people guided by the same guru, I could feel more at ease. At least I hoped so.
Emilie crossed the narrow room and threw her arms around me. This was no stealth hug. This was a down-deep-thank-you-for-understanding hug.
“The only person we’ve met close to your age is Marianna. She’s a little young.”
“She’s part of the problem. Like I told you, her center is, like, really dark around the edges. Not as bad as Mom’s was, but darker than it should be.”
“She has secrets. So does Mrs. Sanchez. They’re both terrified of something.” I held my cup in both hands. They’d grown quite cold. I stared into the light yellow liquid for answers. “We shouldn’t poke too deeply. Like picking a scab won’t help a wound heal. Know what I mean?”
“I see what you’re saying. If we pry, we might make the situation worse, but we have to do something.” Emilie went to a cupboard. Dunking a gingersnap in the tea would be about perfect.
“I’m inclined to step back and watch for a little longer. If we need to intervene, we will. Mr.
Ducks will help.” My second spook could come in as handy as my main one did.
“It’s more than being lonely, like I am. I feel she’s in danger.”
I leaned over and gave Emilie a kiss on the cheek. When you were thirteen and had no best friend to talk to, lonely was about the worst feeling in the world. “In danger from whom or what? The boys who follow you?”
“Not the feral teens.” Emilie bit into a gingersnap.
“Are you sure?”
“Uh huh.”
I hugged Emilie until she squeaked. She went back to bed. Her breathing settled into deep sleep within minutes. After her mother died, she developed the habit of telling me what was bothering her and leaving the problems on my shoulders where they belonged. She’d done it again.
I picked up my novel, intending to figure out what Jack Daniels was going to do next. I knew what I was going to do next. I was going to visit Mrs. Sanchez. I was going to send the kids home with Whip for a long weekend. They both needed to get away.
So did I. Johnny and I would go away for a weekend to New Orleans, allergies to big cities be damned.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mississippi, week of October 24
Chilly fall weather alternated with summer, which struggled to hang on regardless of what the calendar said. I pulled out sweaters and jeans; Emilie gave up her Daisy Dukes for jeans and sweatshirts. Alex refused to acknowledge cooler temperatures. I expected him to come down with a head cold sometime soon.
“Rain, heavy at times, will overspread the region after midnight. By this time tomorrow, we should have more than three inches in the old rain gauge. Nothin’ like Katrina, but enough to cause localized flooding in low-lying areas. Watch out for ponding on roads and potholes disguised as puddles. Don’t drive into running water.”
I wanted to throttle the chirpy weathergirl who prevented me from returning to house painting. The map behind her perfectly coiffed hair was overall green, with large blobs of yellow and orange and red where she predicted higher amounts of rain and embedded thunderstorms. Pastor Taylor’s church parking lot was smack in the middle of the largest red blob.
Our first serious rain day. How would I handle cabin fever? As if living in the middle of nowhere in an RV didn’t qualify for cabin fever on a daily basis.
Since we’d gotten to Mississippi, I’d become even more addicted to exercise than I was at home because there was little else to do. Plus I’d worked out like a fiend when Whip was in jail. Like Ducks, I rode my bike or roller bladed as often as possible. Add Pilates and yoga in the dorm, and I was one fit momma. Rain would restrict my activities to indoor exercise. Or not.
Charlie, Johnny, and Whip left mid-morning for a meeting up at Pastor Taylor’s, who had offered yet another use for his multi-purpose building: community center. All the supervisors took advantage of the rain to gather. They could be gone all day.
Emilie was busy in our dorm writing an essay on the current American political system in French, iPod earphones feeding music straight into her brain; Alex was tucked away in the boys’ dorm where he was taking an algebra test. He also had to finish a novel for English, with an essay on one of the main themes in the book to follow.
Time to go visiting. I threw on a yellow slicker, pulled the hood over my hair, slipped my feet into Wellingtons and sloshed my way through puddles to the bus. I jumped in a couple, resulting in muddy splashes on the bottom of my jeans. Served me right, but it was fun to be a kid again for few seconds.
Even though the inner door was open, I knocked. The first day here, Ducks established a rule regarding the bus. If the door was open, you could enter. If it wasn’t, knock and wait. I knocked anyway.
“Come on in,” came a voice from the rear.
I hung my dripping slicker on a hook outside under the awning and slipped out of my wet boots.
“Heads up.”
Too late. A towel hit me in the chest.
“You might need this.”
“Caught me, huh?” I toweled off my jeans and tried in vain to wipe the mud from the hem of my right leg.
“I’d rather ride through puddles than jump in them.”
“Same result, though. Wet, muddy pants.” I gave up wiping. The mud would brush off better after it dried. “We’ve all done stupid pet tricks we wish no one had seen, haven’t we?”
“Indeed. Want a cuppa?”
“Please.”
Even though I wanted to tuck my legs underneath me, my pants were too wet. I stretched them out, ankles crossed.
“What have you been doing today?” Ducks busied himself with making the tea.
“Being loudly and ridiculously bored. How about you?”
“No lemons in the fridge to make lemonade on a rainy day, but I had plenty of dust and dirty clothes. I became a cleaning and washing dervish.” Ducks put the kettle on to boil. “I’m not a neat freak, but I don’t tolerate dust. It’s hard to keep it under control in a construction zone. I don’t have enough space for clutter.”
“I agree. Em and I put away everything as soon as we’re done with it. On the other hand, the boys’ dorm is messy and distinctly funky. Whip and Alex are responsible for corralling their dirty clothes and keeping the RV clean. A less-than-gentle reminder is past due.”
When the water came to a boil, Ducks set two mugs of tea and plates on the table between a pair of leather captain’s chairs. He took two steps back to the counter and produced a plate of scones.
“I’m afraid they’re from a mix.”
“I love scones. What a treat.”
“A little early for tea, but who cares.”
Ducks and I hadn’t had much time to just be friends because we talked about the kids most of the time. Our schedules were full during the day, and the extended family was always around in the evening. We chatted about the kids’ progress for a while. Ducks must have thought that was why I stopped by. It wasn’t.
“Today reminds me of being caught in a four-day deluge off the coast of South Africa.” I nibbled on one of the most delicious scones I’d ever tasted.
“Off the coast implies you were on a ship. Were you on a cruise?”
“Sailboat, actually. Reggie and I left for six months and sailed along the west coast of Africa.”
“Do you still have her?’
“I do. The Direct Deposit is in Key West. After Reggie died, I let our captain use her to run charters in the Caribbean. I haven’t been on her in a couple of years. Might be time to float around for a week or two.” I sipped Earl Grey. “Do you sail?”
“I used to race at university, but nothing bigger than a Sunfish.” Ducks bit into a scone, crumbs dropping onto his plate. None escaped to his clean floor. “Does Johnny sail?”
“You know, I’ve never asked. In fact, I’ve never seen him get in the ocean.” Did my funny man dislike water as much as he disliked large cities? “Anyway, Reggie introduced me to blue-water sailing. I love it. Watching the sun rise off Port Elizabeth on Christmas Day was a once-in-a-lifetime event.”
“Did Reggie sail the boat himself?”
“Reggie did everything himself. We kept a crew of two, a captain with all the necessary licenses and an engineer in case the emergency engine broke down. We went under wind power whenever we could and used the engine to keep from getting becalmed.” I drained my tea.
Ducks turned up the heat under the kettle for refills.
“Reggie hated anything that kept him waiting, including wind. He was the most restless soul. He hated to waste even a second of life.”
“Young souls are too often impatient. They miss much of the quiet between the noisy parts.”
“That was Reggie to a T. Even when he wasn’t talking, his mind churned with ideas to save the world.”
“And did he?” Ducks refilled our mugs.
“No, but his last project has potential.”
“What is it?”
Since Ducks told me he’d followed Reggie’s public exploits, he had to know about the crash in the
experimental plane. Papers all over the world covered his death. The propulsion system he was testing wouldn’t work for planes, but it might in cars.
“It doesn’t run on petrochemical fuels.”
“Brilliant.”
I took a break and went to the bathroom. On my way back, I stopped in front of a picture of a much younger Ducks with a child of maybe twelve fitted out in soccer gear. It hung on the wall in the short hallway between the schoolroom and bathroom.
“Who’s this lovely girl?”
“My daughter, Carole.” Ducks blinked once in what I had almost, but not quite, learned was his warning of “don’t go there.” I went anyway.
“I’d love to know more about her, if you want to talk.”
Ducks shook himself. He added two sugar cubes to his tea, along with some milk.
“I married quite young. Nicole and I met in my third year at university. Lust at first sight. When she became pregnant at the end of my final undergraduate year, we married. Same story many of us tell.”
Ducks crossed the small space to stop before the photo. “Carole came along in due course. We were happy for many years but, in the end, Nicole went her own way and Carole went with her.”
“Do you see your daughter often?”
“I haven’t seen her in almost a quarter of a century. Her choice, not mine. The divorce hit her hard, and she never forgave me for betraying her mother.”
“You had an affair?”
“Neither of us did. We grew apart. I did something Nicole could never forgive. I married her under false pretenses. She turned Carole against me.”
False pretenses? The door slammed shut. For now. I’d find out more later, I was positive.
“Where’s Carole?”
“Somewhere in Surrey. I keep track of her as best as I can through the Internet and friends. I’ve had no contact with either her or her mother since the divorce, so it’s damned hard.” Ducks rubbed his temples and tugged at this beard. Another sign of discomfort. “She’s all grown up. In her forties, married with two children. I keep hoping she’ll forgive me, but she hasn’t.”