Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  She grabbed the receiver on the third ring. Her voice was altogether too breathless when she said hello. And for an endless beat of a heart, Ramona waited for the sound of Jake’s resonant voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hi, Ramona.”

  It was the voice of a man. The voice of a man with a beautiful, deep, rich voice of his own: Dr. Richards. “John! What’s up?”

  “Well, I have some bad news. Harry Goodman, the old vet Jake Forrest was so fond of, died about half an hour ago.”

  The news was not unexpected. Ramona had lost another elderly patient to the virulent bug, but a plucking pain touched her heart anyway. She’d been very fond of Harry. “The flu, I assume?”

  “Yeah. He slipped away in his sleep. Very peaceful.” He paused. “I thought you might be the best person to break the news to Jake. He’s not going to take it well, I guarantee it.”

  “No, he won’t. Thanks, John. I’ll get in touch with him right away.”

  “Harry left him a letter. I’ll put it on your desk.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ramona hung up, feeling an uncomfortable sense of impending disaster. Not over Harry—heaven knew the man was a medical anomaly. He should have died five years ago, but somehow had managed to squeeze out an enormous number of extra days. And he had deserved a quiet, uncomplicated death.

  But Jake was devoted to the old man. She dialed Jake’s home number. It rang four times before the answering machine took over. She hung up without leaving a message and instead called Louise. No answer there, either, and as a last resort, she tried the Wild Moose. Embarrassing to have the waitress answer and sound faintly pitying. “Sorry, hon,” she said. “You just missed him. He left here with an army buddy of his not ten minutes ago. I think they were headed out to the Tick Tock.”

  Ramona thanked her and hung up. Hon. As if she were one of the dozens of women who chased Jake, only to be forgotten in the wake of the next one. She shuddered inwardly.

  Crossing her arms, she wondered what to do next. Chasing him from bar to bar around town was out of the question, but a sixth sense told her he had to hear this news gently.

  She redialed his home phone and left a simple message. “Jake, this is Ramona. It’s very important that you call me as soon as you get this, no matter what time it is.” She left her home phone and beeper numbers, just in case. It seemed odd that he’d never called her, considering everything, but he hadn’t. He might not know how to reach her.

  To be safe, she left a message on Louise’s machine, as well.

  All day long, Louise had been waiting for her family to clear out of her house. Contrarily, they lingered, playing games with the children and telling tales. Curtis begged to spend the night with her, and she was stunned to hear herself refusing. “Not tonight, sugar. Grandma’s tired.”

  Lance and Cody looked at her in astonishment. “Are you sick, Ma?” Lance asked.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m just not in the mood for company tonight.”

  “Hey, Curtis, you want to spend the night with us instead?”

  Curtis flopped down on the floor. “No. I wanna be here.”

  Annoyance pricked Louise. “Get up off that floor, boy, and quit acting like a spoiled baby.”

  His blue eyes showed astonishment. “I’m a big boy,” he protested.

  “Not when you act like that, you aren’t. If you want to spend the night with Cody, you do that, otherwise, I’m going to call your daddy to take you home in just a few minutes.”

  “Come on,” Cody said, squatting beside his cousin. “We’ll build something with Lego blocks.”

  With a last, censorious glance at his grandmother, Curtis nodded.

  It should have made her feel repentant, but it didn’t. At least not until the family had finally gone, leaving her alone in the house. Alonzo had gone to the store for her to get some coffee for breakfast.

  And only then, as she put the last bits of the feast away, did Louise realize how it all must have looked to Alonzo. Her face flamed. Did he think she expected him to come here later? And what if he did, only meaning to share a cup of late-night hot chocolate with her as he often did, and Louise acted in some way that told him what she’d really hoped for?

  It was just too humiliating. Bad enough to go through it as a young girl with something to offer. So much worse at fifty-something with a body she wouldn’t let a man see on a bet, and the smell of garlic clinging to her hands.

  The kitchen windows opened to a distant view of the valley, smoky blue today with the rain. Louise put down the bowl she was holding and looked out at it, cursing herself for her foolish hopes and shaking her head at the twittering lunacy of a middle-aged woman who had really only learned how not to ask for things for herself. Until a man with twinkling eyes and a soft, musical voice had moved into her guest house. Even then, she hadn’t allowed herself to want more than he gave so generously. His companionship and his charm at her breakfast table were more than she’d had in many years.

  A hand fell on her shoulder, and Louise started violently. She turned, knowing it had to be him, and now she had to face all the silliness she’d built up over the long hours of the afternoon.

  “So long a face!” he exclaimed. “Is there some trouble?”

  Louise shook her head and briskly reached for the bowl. “I reckon I’m just a little worn out from all this.”

  One strong hand, work gnarled and sun darkened to a rich pecan, closed on her wrist. “You have done enough.”

  Afraid he would somehow read her thoughts, Louise kept her eyes down. “I only want to wash this up right quick.”

  “No,” he said, and those hands closed around her face, cupping it tenderly and firmly. “Not today, hmm?” In the dim, quiet kitchen, his dark eyes were sober for once, sober and deep and full of meaning. “I am so glad,” he said, “that you no want to be Grandma tonight.”

  “You must think I’m—”

  “Beautiful,” he said softly, and kissed her. And this time, Louise had time to enjoy it. Time to savor the hunger that pulled her closer, that gripped her more tightly, and let him kiss her deeply in a way she only vaguely remembered. His thick mustache was a delicious counterpoint to the sensual play of his lips, and then—oh, merciful Minerva—his tongue asked admittance, and Louise gave it.

  It made her dizzy, kissing Alonzo, and she let him put his arm around her and pull her into his body, against the shape that had become so familiar and dear to her these past months.

  And finally, Louise let herself go and put her arms back around him, and let herself touch his strong back and the love handles over his belt, and when he whispered that he’d like to take her to his house, to his bed, she tripped down the hill behind him in the rain like a girl, holding his hand. The guest house had only one big room, with a kitchenette at one end and a small bathroom behind a door at the other. His bed was covered with a beautiful Mexican blanket, and his clothes were hung neatly from pegs. He turned on the radio to a Spanish station playing ballads and didn’t rush her. They danced for a long time before the fire swelled up hot enough between them that he began to take off her clothes and touch her bare flesh, and she touched him back.

  And after all her worry, there was no embarrassment when he looked at her and caressed her. It wasn’t a sober or frightening thing at all. He made love the way he did everything else, with much good humor, his musical voice teasing her and whispering, his fine mouth and strong hands chasing away her worries. Afterward, he made a cradle of his shoulder and pulled her into it and kissed her hair.

  Content in the wonder of the moment, Louise fell asleep in his arms.

  Chapter 17

  Jake and Red Dog hoofed it between a couple of honkytonks in town, but neither of them had the heart for the banter required to impress women. Still, it was after midnight before they caught a ride back to Jake’s place, making jokes about two grown men who didn’t have a car between them. It wasn’t particularly funny, and Jake suspected i
t caused Red Dog as much discomfort as it did Jake.

  Mr. E padded toward them eagerly as they came in, and Jake scooped him up. “Hey, guy. I came home just to keep you company. How about that? I also brought you something.” He laughed as the cat nosed in his pocket, where he’d tucked a plastic bag of shredded crab from the restaurant.

  In the kitchen, Jake got out a dish and put the crab down for the cat, who gulped it looking over his shoulder as if he was sure someone would take it if he didn’t eat it right away. Jake impulsively reached down and stroked his back. “You’re safe now, bud. I promise.”

  “Hey, Jake,” Red Dog said from the living room, “where are all those paintings you had? The ones with stars.”

  They’d been together in Germany before Desert Storm, and in Texas before that. Jake had forgotten Red Dog would remember. “I’ve never put them up.”

  “How come? I like those paintings.”

  Jake lifted a shoulder. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

  Red Dog paced the room, rounding the periphery as if he was on patrol. “Too bad.” He suddenly halted in the middle of the room. “Who was the woman who dropped you off today? I saw her through the windows.”

  Jake hesitated. The pinch came back to his chest, the pinch put there by her wounded eyes. “Her name is Ramona, Ramona Hardy. She’s one of the local doctors.”

  “Not your usual type.”

  He wished everyone would quit saying that. “Yeah, well, she pretty much told me to get lost this afternoon, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Women,” Red Dog commiserated, shaking his head.

  “Yeah.” Jake frowned, rubbing the weary place between his brows. “But she’s different. You ever get that feeling that you’re watching a movie? Like the whole world is going on around you and you can’t quite connect?”

  Red Dog’s face closed. “Yeah.”

  “When I’m around Ramona, it stops being a movie. She’s real.” Jake shook his head, remembering again, with a pang, how she had felt around him this morning. Flames of rage licked his gut when he thought of what had been done to her. His jaw tensed automatically and his hands itched for a gun. “She’s been through a lot. It makes me want to kill someone.”

  “That’s the part I don’t like, man.” Red Dog started pacing again. To the long glass doors at the end of the room, then back. “Wherever you look, there’s all this violence, and you can’t do anything.” He paused, his back to Jake. Quietly, he added, “I don’t like the violence in me.”

  Jake nodded.

  “Hey, your message light is flashing,” Red Dog said.

  Kind of rare these days. Jake wandered over and pushed the button. Ramona’s voice, sounding tight and worried, came on.

  “That her?” Red Dog asked.

  “Yeah.” Jake rubbed his solar plexus.

  “Sexy voice.” He finally flopped on the couch and kicked off his shoes. “I’m gonna crash, man. It’s been a long day.”

  “Take the bed upstairs.” Jake could tell he wouldn’t sleep. Not tonight. “I’m going to stay up awhile.”

  “I don’t want to kick you outta your bed. I’ll be all right here. You know me. Close my eyes and I’m out.”

  Jake envied him. “You won’t be kicking me out. I’m wired.”

  “It’s your house,” his friend said, and ambled up the stairs.

  Alone, Jake stared at the phone, wondering what it was that Ramona wanted. Wondered if he wanted to hear it tonight. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d use that kind of message to get him to call, just so they could hash things out some more. But you never knew.

  He played the message again. Call her, whatever time it was. Important. Could someone be sick or something? He picked up the phone. Put it back down.

  The bar scene had depressed him tonight. Noisy and tinsel bright, hollow as a drum, it had made him feel lonely and out of step. The women were too young for him and had no frame of reference for his life—why hadn’t he seen that before? He didn’t want to talk about rock bands and concerts and trips to Saint Petersburg.

  Women old enough for him had no use for such a scene. They had lives, had made connections to the community and with loved ones. They had realized life was finite and not to be wasted.

  Like Ramona.

  Jake leaned back in his recliner and turned off the lamp. Mr. E, spying the open lap, immediately filled it with soft fur and a low, rumbling purr. Staring out the patio door to a sky washed with rain, Jake finally admitted to himself that Ramona had changed him. Until the day they had met again at the wedding, he’d been drifting as aimlessly as a tree trunk caught in a river current. She was the tree itself, strong and rooted in the earth, and she made it seem like the right thing to be.

  Weary, he closed his eyes and imagined her standing with her feet on solid ground, her hair floating out branchlike, her body the healthy, stalwart trunk. It made him smile. She’d probably hate that image.

  Somehow, he slept all night. From midnight right through to dawn with a cat in his lap, his shoes still on his feet and no dreams to bother him. Blinking awake in the purpling morning, he tried to remember if he’d taken a sleeping pill, but he hadn’t. And although he and Red Dog had certainly downed a few drinks, Jake had been a long way from being drunk.

  Amazing. In the past, his episodes of insomnia had ended like this, abruptly and without warning, and he was simply able to sleep again. This time, at least, he’d have enough sense to realize it would be back.

  Meanwhile, he felt as clearheaded as he had in days. He made a pot of coffee from freshly ground beans, showered and left a note for his friend. Red Dog wanted to see some of the vendors in town about carrying his jewelry, but nothing would be open on the Fourth of July. He’d have to stay another day.

  The morning air was cool on Jake’s face, smelling of pine and rain and that subtle scent peculiar to the mountains themselves. Walking toward town, Jake wondered about hiking this afternoon. Might be a lot of tourists around this weekend, but he knew a few back roads no one bothered much with.

  At a convenience store, Jake bought a pack of Winstons and a can of Colt 45, which was about the closest thing he could find to Guinness at seven-thirty in the morning. Probably Harry wouldn’t want a drink this early, but Jake wanted to be prepared. He had some questions to ask the old man, and he wanted to apologize for being such an idiot a couple of nights ago.

  Briefly, his mind swirled around Ramona, and he pushed the thoughts of her away. She was something he had to think about when he—

  With a sudden sense of dread, he remembered her phone call of last night. Damn. He’d fallen asleep without calling her back. At the pay phone outside the store, he looked up her home phone and dialed, framing an apology in his mind.

  No answer. She’d left her beeper number, too, but he didn’t have it with him. With a frown, he hung up. He’d call her when he got back. If something had happened to his family, someone else would have called him by now.

  The VA home sat on a wide, green acreage surrounded with several parking lots for visitors and the handful of residents who could drive. Few cars were in the lot this morning, but Jake saw Ramona’s. It gave him a sense of unease. She didn’t do rounds till later.

  He stopped outside, his skin prickling. Sometimes in battle, a soldier got that warning, just a hint of it, before something went down, and Jake knew enough to respect it. More than once it had saved his butt.

  But there could be no danger in a VA home. He shook off the premonition and went inside, waving to a nurse he didn’t recognize as he continued past the desk toward Harry’s room. The door was open and he approached it quietly in case the old man was sleeping.

  Just inside, he stopped. The bed was empty. Not just covers-tossed-back empty, but stripped clean, as the other bed had been Saturday night. The mattress, Jake noticed, was not a very good one, cotton ticking covered with striped canvas. He wished he had known that before—he would have seen that Harry had a decent mattr
ess.

  Jake put the Winstons and the Colt 45 on the bed and walked from the room. Later, he would find out what was being done with the remains, where the funeral would be held, all of that. For now, Jake couldn’t breathe, and he had to get outside.

  Twenty minutes later, Ramona happened by Harry’s room and spied the red package of cigarettes lying on the mattress. She let loose an earthy curse, then with a sigh, entered the room. Next to the cigarettes was a big can of malt liquor, still ice-cold. A bittersweet pang went through her as she picked it up. Who knew how long Jake had been smuggling contraband in to the old man? She smiled. How like him.

  Suddenly, she dropped it, ran out to the hallway to look for Jake, then out the front doors of the home. She saw him walking down the hill at a fairly brisk pace, a tall, toolean figure in jeans and a plain corduroy shirt he managed to make look elegant. His black hair shone in the sun.

  Ramona stood there for a moment, watching him. Once, she opened her mouth to call after him, then decided against it. He knew she was here. If he needed her, he would have to make the first move. A man sometimes had to fight his own demons alone.

  With a heavy heart, she went back inside, unable to prevent herself from again imagining that army of angels following along beside him, swords and strong arms at the ready.

  Jake felt numb all day. As if from a great distance, he went on with his life, going with Red Dog to a picnic in the town square, where he automatically engaged in banter with his brother and helped entertain his nephews, who were anxious to get to the highlight of the day—the fireworks. Red Dog set up his case of jewelry on a picnic table and sold a healthy smattering of mostly earrings. Equipped with a collection of bone and tiny stones, he carved tiny, intricate feathers between customers, and Jake watched idly.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked finally.

  “Nowhere, really. My grandpa used to do the silver, and he taught me when I was little, but the feathers are kind of a new craze. Do ’em right, and they sell for a pretty penny.” He pulled out a pair already finished. “The trick is to find the right stones and bones, look for the pattern in them, so they tell you what feather they want to be.”