Huckleberry Lake
Page 43
“It’s good to see you,” Tanner told him. “When your place went up for sale, I tried to call you several times and left you voice mails. Then I couldn’t get through anymore. I figured you’d passed away and your phone had been retired to a drawer.”
“Hell, no. I’m too ornery to kick the bucket just yet. Not to say it’s an outlandish thing for you to think. At eighty, I don’t buy green bananas anymore. They’re a risky investment.”
Tanner laughed. Tuck bent to open the box, plucked a can of beer from one six-pack yoke, and offered it up. With regret, Tanner declined. “I can’t stay, Tuck. My kids will be getting home in a couple of hours.”
Tuck straightened slowly, as if stiffness had settled into his spine. On his right arm he wore a red elbow-high cast that extended down over the back of his hand to his knuckles and encircled his thumb. “That’s a shame. I miss our bullshit sessions.”
“Me, too,” Tanner confessed. “I’ll try to come back for a visit when I have more time.” He bent to lift the six-packs from the box. “Where you planning to hide these?”
“In my boots and coat pockets. My beer’ll be warm, but that’s better’n nothin’.”
Tanner carried the twelve-ounce containers to the closet, opened the doors, and began slipping cans into the old man’s footwear. Tuck hobbled in with the roll of Copenhagen, which Tanner broke open before stuffing the rounds into shirt and jacket pockets. He couldn’t help but grin when everything was hidden. With a wink at Tuck, he whispered, “They’ll never know.”
“Damn, I hope not,” Tuck said. “My Pabst Blue Ribbon helps me relax at night. Without it I toss and turn. When I complain, the damned administrator just scowls at me and says to ask my doctor for sleeping pills. Like that’d be any better for my health? Hell, no. I like my beer.”
Tanner stared at him. “What are you going to do with the empties?”
Tuck winked. “They got a resident laundry room down the hall with two tall trash cans. I’ll sneak ’em down there and bury ’em real deep under other garbage.”
“I see no harm in you enjoying your beer of an evening unless your doctor has forbidden it,” Tanner said. “You’d tell me if that were the case. Right?”
“Wouldn’t have asked you if he had. I don’t have a death wish. I just want my damn beers and chew. The doc knows I have three beers a night and he never said nothin’. Of course, it’s a different fella here. Their Dr. Fancy Pants might not make allowances for a man’s personal pleasures.”
“That sucks.” Tanner had never stopped to consider how many liberties people could lose when they grew old. “But it’s temporary. Right? Once you’ve healed, you can live somewhere else again.” Tanner remembered the real estate sign on Tuck’s front gate. “You do get to leave here, I hope.”
“The doctors are sayin’ that I shouldn’t live alone again.” He shrugged. “At my age, that’s how it goes, with other people decidin’ what’s best for you.”
“I’m sorry to hear you can’t live alone anymore.” Tanner sincerely meant that. “Maybe you can make arrangements for some kind of in-home care. If you can afford that, of course.”
“I’m workin’ on it. I got plenty of money saved back, so I had Crystal get me another house here in Mystic Creek. She found a nice little place on ten acres just outside town. It’s a short drive from her salon, and she’s already livin’ there. The house was made over for an old lady in a wheelchair, but she passed away. Crystal thinks it’ll suit my needs, and she’s willin’ to stay there to look after me.”
Tanner nodded. “That sounds ideal. Ten acres isn’t quite as much land as you had in Crystal Falls, but at least you’ll still have elbow room.” For most of his life, Tuck had been a rancher. Tanner doubted he would be happy living inside the city limits on a small lot. “You’re blessed to have a granddaughter who loves you so much.”
“I am, for certain. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Where’s Bolt? At the new place?”
“Nope. Crystal has enough to do without fussin’ over a horse. I had her find a place to board him. When I’m able, I’ll bring him home and take care of him.”
Tanner walked back into the living room, stabbing his fingers under his belt to neaten the tuck of his brown uniform shirt. “I sure wish I could stay for a while, but I’ve got to run.”
“I understand. It’ll soon be suppertime, and you’ve got kiddos to feed. Next time we’ll enjoy a beer together and get caught up. You drive safe on that curlicue high-way gettin’ home. You’re all your kids have left.”
Tanner paused at the door. An urge came over him to hug the old fart goodbye. He wasn’t sure when he’d come to care so much about Tuck, but after believing him to be dead for nearly a month, he found the feelings were there inside him. The old man had some crazy notions that Tanner didn’t agree with, and sometimes he told stories so far-fetched that no sane person could believe them. But he also had a big heart, an indomitable spirit, and a way of looking at life that brought everything into perspective for Tanner sometimes. Still, Tanner wasn’t sure the older man would appreciate being hugged.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he said.
Then he let himself out and softly closed the door.
About the Author
Catherine Anderson is the author of more than thirty New York Times bestselling and award-winning historical and contemporary romances, including Spring Forward, The Christmas Room, and Mulberry Moon.
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