by Robyn Carr
“You’re awful quiet this morning, Harry,” George observed. “You still worrying yourself about that family member in trouble?”
Harry stirred his coffee. “I guess I am, George.”
“Are you sure there isn’t some way I can help out?”
“I’m afraid not.” He tried not to say any more, but he was helpless. “It just gets so expensive, running down to San Francisco so often….”
“And you, on a fixed income,” George said, reaching into his pocket. He peeled off two twenties. “Things’ll turn around for you, Harry. You’ll see,” he said, slapping the money on the counter.
Despite his best effort to resist, he took it.
Tom Toopeek was the next patron to arrive and the sun still wasn’t up on the day. “Morning,” he said. “George, I don’t think you’re going to take this as good news. It wasn’t Conrad Davis who robbed the café.”
“No?”
Tom shook his head. “Turns out he was in jail in Humboldt County on a possession charge. He couldn’t make bail so he served just under a month. They got crowded and let him out early because he’d behaved himself. He was locked up when you got robbed.”
George just scratched his head. “Then for the life of me, I can’t imagine who’d of done it.”
“Don’t you have a whole mountaintop full of drug farmers just east of town?” Harry asked.
“True,” Tom said. “But it’s doubtful any of them would break in and steal money.”
“Why’s that?” Harry asked.
“They don’t exactly need money,” Tom said. “They’re busy making money illegally, and drawing even more attention to themselves is not what they’re looking to do. And there’re others back there, too. Mountain people, dropouts, the like. But if they were to break into the café, it would more likely be for food.” Tom looked around, as if taking inventory, but no one else was there. “Only regulars know George keeps a couple hundred dollars in the cash drawer at night.”
“I hate to think about that,” George said. “If it’s a regular, then it’s a friend.”
“Dear God,” Harry said.
Nancy Forrest looked out the kitchen window and saw Jim’s truck outside the detached garage. And Chris’s car was still parked out front. He wasn’t going to the office again today. She began to wonder if he even had an office anymore.
As much as everyone in Grace Valley seemed to know everyone’s business, there was one thing that no one seemed to know. Chris just didn’t work very hard. When he did work, he didn’t make much money. He always had an excuse, either he was just getting started or the economy wasn’t good or he’d just moved. The reality was that he didn’t have many skills, and he did have a few handicaps.
In the years they had lived in San Diego, Nancy had been the primary breadwinner. She’d worked her way up from a secretary to an administrative assistant, working for the senior vice president of a brokerage firm. Her salary and benefits were enviable. Chris, on the other hand, was an independent insurance agent in a little neighborhood office. He had a few good clients and the occasional new one would stumble in off the street. His schedule was spare, leaving time for things like tennis and golf, and general goofing off. Nancy had never caught him in actual affairs, but she’d caught him in a few flirtations. And he had an endless knack for puttering.
When they had separated some months ago and Chris came back to Grace Valley, he found an independent insurance agent in Rockport who offered him a little space in his office. He very generously gave it to him cheap for the first six months while Chris settled in and built his clientele. But, as usual, the clientele didn’t build, the rent went up, Nancy left her job to return to Grace Valley to care for the boys after their accident, and now they were just about out of savings. Still, Chris was out in the garage instead of trying to find work. He was building some kind of table for an old school chum, Greg Silva, while he simultaneously helped Jim fashion a cradle as a surprise for June. If it weren’t for that cradle, she would dump all these woes on June, like girlfriends do.
Having this sense of community again gave Nancy a feeling of optimism, a hope that they might actually belong here once more. But they couldn’t do it without income, and Chris didn’t seem in any hurry to find a job with benefits. Nancy had wisely taken a leave from her job in San Diego, which kept their benefits intact and gave her something she could go back to, because there wasn’t work here for an office administrator.
She hated to think about it, but she’d probably have to go back to San Diego with the boys as soon as they could travel.
This wasn’t entirely Chris’s fault. He wasn’t lazy. He had dyslexia and paperwork was hard for him. And there weren’t many things he was trained to do; his education had been spotty at best. He would get easily frustrated, and rather than have a temper over it, he would just drift on to something else and lose interest.
As she looked around the house she was reminded that one of the few things Chris didn’t lose interest in was building. Well, that and gardening and sports. He might not be any great shakes as a breadwinner, but he was good around the house. And though he hadn’t been real attentive to discipline, while the boys had been laid up with their injuries, Chris had been a good companion to watch football with.
It was just too bad they had to eat.
She poured two cups of steaming coffee, told the boys she was stepping out back for a minute and went to the garage. She knocked on the door with her foot. “It’s me,” she said.
The air was cloudy with sawdust when she entered. Chris was standing over an eight-foot-long pine table that was sanded down to a satiny finish. Jim hovered over a maple cradle that rocked slightly on its base as he buffed the top.
She handed each a cup of coffee. “Thanks, honey,” Chris said hopefully, as if to say “You’re not mad anymore?”
“That’s really beautiful, Jim,” she said. “Are you sure it’s your first piece?”
“I never did anything like this until I helped Chris with the house. I think I’ve caught the bug.”
To Chris she said, “You’re not going to the office today?”
“Not today. I’m just going to see if I can get the first coat of stain on this table. Don’t worry, honey. Greg’s going to give me three-fifty in labor.”
She smiled a wan smile. He’d spent the better part of a week getting to this point. It didn’t take a math whiz to know that, even if he could find constant work in the field of furniture building or house refurbishing, at that rate of pay they’d starve to death.
“I’ll try not to spend it all in one place,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Nancy, I’m going to be done with this pretty soon, but can I leave it here? To hide it from June until the right moment?”
“Of course, Jim,” she said, running a hand over the smooth side. She remembered that she and Chris had been their happiest when they were waiting for the babies to come. They’d been married awhile, had already suffered a miscarriage, and had had some serious ups and downs. But when the twins were about to be born they were filled with hope and optimism and love.
It had been a long time since she’d felt that way.
The rain came down in steady sheets all day. On the coast of northern California there were reports of mud slides and a couple of houses were lost, but in Grace Valley it was just one big soggy valley.
Rainstorms in that part of the world were like sheer-descent waterfalls. The mountains and tall trees kept the winds to a minimum and there was very little cloud-to-ground lightning. An identical weather system on the East Coast or in Texas would blow and billow and crash and boom, making itself felt in a major way. Around Grace Valley the water just kept running out of the sky in a constant flow, quietly soaking the ground and filling up the rivers, ponds and ravines. But just because it was relatively quiet and still, it was no less dangerous. When the groundswell reached critical mass, there could be landslides and floods. Roads could wash out, b
ridges could collapse and low areas could fill up and trap unsuspecting motorists.
The inclement weather kept the patients in the clinic to a minimum, and during a lull in the action, June and Susan dashed across the street for a coffee break. They found the usual suspects—Elmer, Sam and, of course, Leah and George. Elmer was talking about driving out to Hudson House to check on Myrna and Morton. Hudson House was on high ground, but the grounds were still a disgraceful mess of mud left by the sheriff’s department. “I want to make sure neither of them is thinking of driving and that no one is bailing out there.”
“You sure you aren’t going there to make sure Morton isn’t missing again?” George asked.
“Last I heard, they were getting along just fine,” Elmer said.
“Call and ask her if she needs anything before you drive all the way over there,” June advised him. “When I last talked to her, she said she’d told the Barstows to stay home and stay dry. I don’t think anyone is shopping from Myrna’s household.”
“Good idea,” he said.
George was the only one who noticed the car that drove slowly down the street in front of the café, but his staring caused the others to turn. It was a nice car, a fairly new BMW. Inside a woman hunched over the wheel and peered left, then right, then crept along down the road. Leah went to the front window to see where the car went. She turned and reported to the group, “She parked at the church and got out. Anybody know that car?”
“I never saw it before,” Sam said. He’d be the most likely to know a car from the valley.
“She’s gone into the church. Maybe someone from the Presbyterian office? Up here on church business?”
Silence prevailed while everyone waited.
“She’s still in there,” Leah said, leaving the window. “She must have some business with Harry.”
Conversation slowly went back to the weather, to Myrna and Morton’s shaky reunion. George whipped up some hot chocolate for June and Susan. Before long the door to the café opened and the woman from the BMW came in, shaking off her umbrella outside the door. She went to the counter to order a cup of coffee, but she didn’t sit.
“If you’d like to find a table or booth, I’ll be glad to bring it to you,” Leah said.
“Thank you,” she said. She found a booth near the front of the café where she could look out the window toward the church. When Leah brought the coffee, the stranger had shrugged out of her coat and fluffed the thick white cowl of her cashmere sweater, which set off the sheen of her coal-black hair.
Leah put down the coffee and added a slice of apple pie. “George says it’s so cold, no one’s come in to eat his pie. Have a piece so it won’t go stale.”
“Tell George thank you,” she said, smiling, taking the pie.
She was an attractive woman of perhaps thirty-five. She had a scrubbed, wholesome look about her and her clothes were of very fine quality, but not fussy. She took a sip of her coffee, gazing out the window at the rain. She took a bite of the pie and turned to look into the café. She was a little startled to find everyone staring at her. They didn’t just look, they stared. June and Susan had actually turned in their chairs. The woman looked at the front of her sweater to see if perhaps she had spilled something on herself.
Elmer cleared his throat and everyone recovered. June laughed softly and said to the woman, “Our apologies! We all belong to the Presbyterian Church and noticed you went there first. That makes you a curiosity.”
She smiled at them. “I can understand. I grew up in a small town. I was hoping to find the minister at the church, but he doesn’t seem to be in.”
“Are you from the church office?” June asked.
“No. Actually… Well, Harry and I are friends,” she said, and seemed somewhat uncomfortable. “I just wanted to drop in and say…hello.”
A quiet moment passed while she looked into her coffee cup. Then June got up, crossed the floor with her hot chocolate in hand and, without asking permission, sat across from her in the booth. “Where are you dropping in from?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” she said, but of course she had heard the question.
“I asked where you’re from.”
The woman’s eyes were dark and very round, lined by heavy black lashes the same color as her hair. Her skin, by contrast, was ivory. She was extraordinarily beautiful. “I drove up from Sebastapol. My name is Brianna Shipton,” she said. “I’m Harry’s ex-wife.”
“Oh!” June said. She stuck her hand over the tabletop. “June Hudson. I’m one of the town’s doctors. And that’s my nurse, Susan. My father, Elmer, or Doc, if you like. He’s another of the town’s doctors, mostly retired. And Sam Cussler, owner of the gas station you passed coming into town.” As each person was introduced, they stood and came over to Brianna, offering a handshake. “Susan’s husband John is another of the town’s doctors. It might seem we have an awful lot of them, but it’s not true. My dad is trying to retire and I’ve gone to part-time because of the baby. And, well, that’s the clinic over there, which is why we eat here. You’ve already met Leah, and that’s George back there.” He waved. “I don’t know where Harry is, but it’s a safe bet you’ll run into him here at mealtimes. As far as I know, he doesn’t cook for himself much, especially with the café right next door.”
“Harry’s very special to us, Mrs…. um, is it all right to just call you Brianna?” Susan asked. She squished into the booth beside June.
“Of course. Yes, of course. And despite our divorce, he’s special to me, too.”
“He’s mentioned that you remained good friends. Was he expecting you today or is this a surprise?” June asked.
“Oh, I didn’t tell him I was coming,” she said. Again she looked into her coffee cup, gripping it with both hands. “I was hoping he’d be here.”
“I saw him at both breakfast and lunch,” George called from the grill. “I saw that old station wagon of his drive by after lunch. He might be visiting someone from the congregation.”
“He’s been called to San Francisco a lot lately,” Elmer said.
“Seems some family member is having trouble of some kind,” Sam informed her. Then, as if he wanted to suck back the words, he said, “I hope I didn’t talk out of school, ma’am. You know small towns. We all know too damned much about one another’s lives.”
“I understand,” she said, smiling. “So you think he’ll be back this afternoon?”
“Depends on if he went all the way to the Bay Area again,” Elmer said. “That’s quite a drive.”
“So, he has a family member there?” she asked.
“Would that be you, Brianna?” Susan asked. “Sebastapol’s close to—”
“No, I haven’t seen Harry in a long while. But I’ve talked to him. And…well…I’ve been a little worried about him. Does he seem all right to you?” she asked, looking around at the faces that now surrounded her.
Elmer pulled a chair from one of the tables and sat beside the booth. “Tell the truth, young woman, we’ve been a mite worried ourselves. Me and Sam here, we play poker with Harry and—” He stopped when he noticed that shock penetrated her eyes, causing them to grow astonished for a second before she could recover herself. “I think you’re looking at Harry’s closest friends, Brianna, and yes, we’ve been concerned, too.”
“Have you noticed anything odd about him lately?”
“Well, other than the fact that he seems distracted. Sad about something…”
“Has he been borrowing money? Because that’s why I’m here. He asked me for a loan,” she said. “And I’m about the last person Harry would ask for a loan.”
“Preachers never did get paid right well,” Sam said, hoisting a hip on a nearby table.
“His pay is not the problem,” Brianna said. “I don’t know how close you all are to Harry, but I don’t have many options. The roads aren’t good and I have a long way to go. I don’t think I should stay till after dark. There have been flash floods south of here. But Ha
rry’s in trouble and someone has to do something.”
“What is it?” Elmer said.
“Are you sure you don’t know? You play poker with him.”
“He hardly ever wins,” Elmer said with a shrug. “My sister has almost always won, since we set up our table years ago.”
“Well, there you go. If you care anything about Harry, don’t give him any more loans. Believe me, it does him more harm than good.”
They looked at one another, still confounded. “Miss, we don’t play much poker around here these days. If we make it regular, it’s only once a week, and it’s penny ante.”
“Poker’s not his only game,” she said. She slipped her arm into one sleeve. “And I don’t know of any family members in the Bay Area, but there’s a track.” She slipped her arm into the other sleeve. “I love Harry very much, I always have. There just isn’t a more wonderful man alive. But Harry has a problem. Harry gambles…and he rarely wins.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was frozen in their places.
“I wasn’t sure what I was going to do,” she said. “I thought about calling the church office and telling them that it’s gotten bad again. They’ve gone around with Harry on this before. I thought maybe I’d beg him to get help. Now I’m going to go back home. I took the afternoon off to drive up here and I have to get back. I have papers to grade.”
She looked as sad as Harry had. Resigned. Angry, too.
“I thought he had trouble balancing his checkbook or managing his charge account,” June said. “Gambling never occurred to me.”
“Oh, you know. The minute I told you I saw the dawning in all your eyes. You know it’s true, you’ve all been loaning him money. And I’ll bet his poker mates see a rather unnatural gleam of excitement in his eyes when the cards are cut.” She fished around in her purse for a couple of bills, leaving them on the table. “I just hope you’re really his friends and not a bunch of folks from town who are going to rake him over the coals.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “He really is the most wonderful, loving, giving man I’ve ever known. He just thinks one of these days he’s going to win big.”
