by Frank Hayes
“No argument, Eustace. Anything that helps. They saved Charlie’s life.”
* * *
Virgil stayed longer with Margaret and Eustace than he had planned. That was initially the result of his guilt, but in the final analysis it was because he plain just enjoyed their company. He loved their stories. There was always a new one. He belly laughed for the first time in a long time when Eustace told the story of the lady wing walker who went up on a brutally hot day dressed in shorts and a halter. She became the victim of a sudden drop in altitude and some unpredictable air currents. As the pilot did the last loop, she lost her halter. Needless to say, for the male audience, she became the hit of the afternoon. Eustace said that for years after, whenever it was announced that act was performing, they always had sellout crowds. Margaret insisted that the wardrobe misstep was no accident.
Virgil decided to bypass Hayward when he left Sky High and take a different route to the ranch. He didn’t want to go to Velma’s wake in his uniform. It wasn’t as late as it looked. The sky showed leaden and gray. There was a distinctive bite to the air. Mile after mile of desert sameness had a kind of numbing effect. The occasional vehicle, the only thing to break up the monotony. One flew by in the opposite direction at least twenty-five miles over the limit. Virgil just wasn’t in the mood. Out here, speed wasn’t much of an issue. If a driver went off the road on either side, the biggest obstacle in his path might be a barrel cactus. The terrain was flat and endless. Rarely was anyone seriously hurt from one of these incidents. Usually the biggest complaint from a driver if they had a blowout or got mired in loose sand was that cell phone service was at best spotty. The country was so remote that they could wait an hour or more, depending on the time of day, for a car to come along. For Virgil, it was the perfect ride to reflect on what the Lassiter brothers had told him.
Each of them had made multiple trips in the last few weeks to the high plateau that bordered the reservation and High Lonesome ranch. Their clients in all instances had been less than talkative. The one exception was the woman who seemed enthused by the landscape and happy, as she put it, “to be out in the field.” Cory Lassiter, the older brother, said she hadn’t returned on either of the last two flights. He said when he inquired of the men, they said she had decided to remain behind and would be hiking out. He thought that more than a little strange, but was quickly rebuffed when he tried to inquire further.
Jake, the younger brother, told Virgil that on one of the earlier flights in, before the flight to bring Charlie Thompson out, he had dropped off another man. He had gone in two days before he got the call for Charlie and brought the man out. He saw no sign of the woman. The man was gruff and uncommunicative. His gear, Jake was sure, included a case for a high-powered rifle.
29
Marian stood looking down on the unsmiling face of her mother. A face she didn’t recognize without that smile. Too late, she wished she had opted for a closed casket. This was not the image of her mother she wanted to remember. The viewing had just begun. She looked around the room for Mr. Simpson, wondering for an instant if it was too late to act on her initial response, then silently acquiesced when she saw no sign of him. They had always been close, she and her mother, living in a male-dominated environment. The irony was that Marian thrived on High Lonesome. From day one, she had always been thrilled to be part of it all. She wasn’t interested in dolls or fancy clothes and makeup. She was one of those storied ranch kids who learned to ride almost before she could walk. Way earlier than either of her brothers. She was caught in a stereotypical dilemma. No matter how many times she impressed her father with her natural physical skills or accomplishments, whether it was roping a steer or gentling a broncy colt, she couldn’t break out of the mold. Her father loved her, but the boys were the heirs apparent. It was her mother who brought that reality home to her time and time again, beginning when she was no more than four or five. She asked Marian one day what she would like to be when she grew up.
Marian responded, “A boy.”
“Well, that ain’t likely to happen, honey, especially on High Lonesome.”
Nevertheless, Marian kept trying, waiting for that day when her father would recognize what she had to offer. Now, almost forty years later, she was still waiting.
She looked about the room as more people started to file in, recognizing most, noting how some were beginning to show the wear and tear of life. Standing at her mother’s side, she greeted the first few, wondering where her brothers had got to, hoping she wouldn’t have to play the role of sole mourner. After three or four old family friends passed by, she looked up into the smiling faces of her son and daughter. For the first time that night, she cried.
* * *
Virgil stepped out onto the porch to be greeted by the screech of an owl, probably on the hunt for his evening meal. He spent so much time in his uniform that he felt almost unfinished without a sidearm at his waist.
“Well, it’s either a wedding or a wake. I’m guessing a wake.” Virgil hadn’t seen Cesar sitting in the dark.
“Little cold to be sitting out here, isn’t it? I was thinking the other day that it was time to move this outdoor furniture to the barn. Anyhow, it’s Velma tonight, in answer to your comment.”
“I figured it was most likely. Thought I’d ride along with you. Nice people, the Thompsons. Manuel always tells me how sad it will be for him if he has to leave the ranch.”
“Well, maybe he won’t have to worry about that no more. Marian tells me she’s staying on. Wants to help her father breathe new life into the place when he gets back on his feet.”
“Bueno, bueno. Manuel always said she never should have left. The boys couldn’t hold a candle alongside her, but her father never saw it.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what she told me. Charlie was fairly typical of his generation. Guess I was lucky to be born the right sex.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered either way in your case. Your mother was the ramrod here and your father knew it. Sam might have been the top dog in town, but not on this place.”
Virgil couldn’t remember the last time Cesar had called his father by his first name.
“Those boys of Charlie’s . . .”
Cesar never finished. Virgil knew Cesar well enough to read between the lines.
“Anyway, let’s get going before I freeze to this chair.” Cesar got to his feet. “Guess we won’t be sitting out here until sometime next spring.”
Virgil remembered the leaden sky he had driven home under from Sky High.
“Maybe when we put these chairs away, we ought to bring back a couple of snow shovels.”
* * *
Simpson’s was fairly typical of most funeral homes, particularly in small towns. It stood out like a sore thumb—all white with that almost-colonial look that went with nothing else on the street. It didn’t need the sign out front. No one would have taken it for anything other than what it was. Virgil was happy to see the parking lot full. Velma deserved a good send-off. One of the Simpsons was the greeter at the door.
“Evening, Sheriff.”
He ignored Cesar. Virgil just nodded.
“Still invisible to a lot of folks,” Cesar said as they stepped inside.
“Invisible isn’t always a bad thing,” Virgil said.
They joined the line to the casket. When they got to the front Marian greeted them both warmly, then introduced each of them to her children. Virgil took one look at the boy and the girl and knew Marian and her late husband had done a good job. Each of them stood on either side of Marian, holding on to her hand. Virgil and Cesar joined Manuel, who was sitting in the back of the room. There was hardly anyone who came through the door that either of them didn’t recognize. In some cases, Virgil was sure he knew more about them than they would have liked, but that again was life in a relatively small town when you had been the sheriff for almost fifteen years.
“Well, Virgil, guess you’ve been busy lately.” Mayor Bob “Ears” Jamison had just sat down next to him.
“Little bit, Bob.” Virgil had caught himself just in time, although Bob didn’t really mind the nickname, as he had told Virgil more than once.
“Velma didn’t deserve this,” Bob said.
“Few people do,” Virgil said. “The ones that do—well, let’s just say I’m looking for them.”
“Any luck with that? What about that unidentified girl that’s been lying on a slab in the morgue for almost two weeks? Anything there?”
“Not sure. Let’s just say I’m plodding along. It’s kind of like a puzzle. Think I’ve got some of the pieces.”
Virgil sat for a while with Bob, spending most of the time lobbying for a new deputy. He told him about Simon Levine. After a few minutes Virgil got to his feet.
“Let me see what I can do, Virgil. You know Lester has been asking if we could find something for his nephew Elroy.”
“Well, don’t point him in my direction, Bob. That kid has been in my care three times. He’s mean down to the bone and a bully to boot. He’s about the last person in Hayward I’d hand a gun to.”
“Lester says he’s changed.”
“Yeah, well, if he stays out of jail for six months maybe you can get him a job down at the town dump collecting tickets from folks who are dropping off their garbage.”
“Okay, okay, Virgil. Like I said, I’ll see what I can do. One hand, that’s rough. Would kinda like to give him a shot if you think he could handle it. Excuse the pun.”
“Thanks, Bob. I’d like to move on it. Really need more personnel. I’ll try to avoid siccing Rosie on you.”
“Speak of the devil.” Virgil saw Rosie walking toward them.
“I won’t tell her you said that.” Bob got up to stand alongside Virgil.
“Hey, Rosita, thought you’d be here sooner,” Virgil said.
Rosie nodded, then came close to Virgil and whispered in his ear. Cesar noticed Virgil stiffen slightly, his teeth clench. Then Virgil turned to Cesar.
“Listen, can you get a ride back to the ranch? Got something that needs my attention.”
“No problem. Might even stay in town tonight. Go out first thing in the morning.”
“Good,” Virgil said. Then he excused himself from the group to walk to where Marian was standing.
“Virgil.” He had placed his hand on her arm.
“Marian, I’ve got to leave.”
“Oh, I understand. I’ll be fine, especially now.” She glanced at her son and daughter, who were introducing themselves to people who had just reached the casket.
“No, it’s not that.”
“What is it, Virgil?” She could see the concern in his eyes. “My father—something with my father?”
“No, no. I hate to tell you this. Here. At this time. It’s your brother Vernon. He was found in his vehicle outside of town. Looks like an accident. He’s dead, Marian. I’m sorry, he’s dead. No easy way to tell you this.”
She sunk into a nearby chair. Virgil felt like he had just sucked the oxygen out of the room.
* * *
“I don’t get it,” Virgil said as he stood by the side of the road looking down the embankment. “What caused him to go clear across the road from the opposite side? It makes no sense. It’s a straightaway. Not even a dip or a turn in the road.”
“That’s what I was wondering, too,” Jimmy said. “Another ten feet, he would have been in the river. Then we might never have found him. River’s pretty deep here.”
“How did you even spot him? I mean, it’s really dark, not even a trace of a moon.”
“His one headlight wasn’t broken, but twisted out of its mounting. It’s so dark along this stretch that I had to stop when I saw a light shooting up into the sky from down below. At first I thought somebody was doing some night fishing from a boat on the river, but I thought that would be pretty odd. Too cold to be out on the river at night this time of the year. Actually, in daylight I probably wouldn’t have noticed the light. By tomorrow night that battery would most likely be done, the light gone. He would have been down there a long time before anyone would have spotted him. There’s a lot of underbrush so it would have been from the river—not likely the road. Like I said, there’s not much traffic out there.”
“Think you’re probably right about that, Jimmy. Must have been tricky getting down there.”
“Surely was.”
Jimmy turned around. In the glare of the headlights, Virgil could see Jimmy’s rear end was covered in dirt and his pants ripped in multiple places.
“Looks like the county is going to have to spring for a new uniform.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t have much choice about going down there. Figured I’d find what I found, but I had to be sure. Felt bad, but I think he was dead on impact. Felt worse when I realized who it was. That family has been taking some hits lately.”
Virgil took note of the slump in Jimmy’s shoulders.
“You did your best, Jimmy. Couldn’t have done more. I wouldn’t have done anything different.” Virgil saw a look in Jimmy’s eyes that caused him to ask, “Something else, Jimmy?”
“No.”
“C’mon, what is it?” Virgil prodded.
Jimmy looked down the ravine before responding. “I was just thinking. It was kind of what happened to me, but I survived. Guess there’s just no figuring.”
“Don’t dwell on that, Jimmy. Life is too random. Accept that and move on.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
While they were talking the EMTs pulled up in the ambulance. Virgil went to speak to them. He gave them an assessment of the situation, then returned to where Jimmy was standing.
“You’re sure he was dead, Jimmy?”
“No doubt, Sheriff.” The tone of voice said it all. Virgil went back to the EMTs, then returned.
“They’re going to wait until the tow truck hauls the car up. Since there’s no rescue, they say it’s too dangerous going down there in the dark. Why don’t you head back to the office? I’ll stay here until everything is done.”
“I don’t mind, Virgil.”
“I know you don’t, but you’ve done more than enough. Go back, get cleaned up, then go home.”
“Okay,” Jimmy said.
He turned and started walking toward his vehicle. His walk told Virgil it was more than just fatigue he saw.
“Jimmy!” he shouted after him as Jimmy stood by the opened door of the cruiser. “You did all you could do. It was his time.”
After Jimmy left, Virgil went to his car and got a flashlight. He spent the next few minutes walking the stretch of road leading to where the car went over the embankment. He did this a couple of times, stopping finally when the tow truck showed up.
“What are you looking for, Sheriff?” Toby Sweets asked as he exited the cab.
“Toby, I’m looking for a reason why that car down by the river with a dead man inside ended up there. So far, I’ve got nothing.”
30
Charlie Thompson wasn’t a college graduate, but that was only because he had found out early in life what his skill set was. He recalled on more than one occasion his father telling him he was born about a hundred years too late. He was a primitive. His father was right. Never happier than when he was sitting on Jupiter or any of the long string of mounts that had come before him. Born to the life he led, he couldn’t have been happier if he had a choice. Velma, Marian, and the two boys had completed his circle. As the years had unfolded, his boys’ lack of interest in the ranch brought bitter disappointment.
The cold light of an almost-winter’s day was filtering through the window and falling on his hospital bed. Falling on a wide-awake, fully aware Charlie Thompson. He’d been in and out of consciousness for the last two days. It was the
pain of broken ribs that had awoken him. He had resisted at first because the lull of the coma had allowed him to exist in the twilight world of noninvolvement. In the end, he was as he had always been, a realist. He had spent too much time as a witness to the natural world to deny participation now. Over the last twenty-four hours, even though he had not engaged, he knew that Marian had been at his side. Only last night was she absent. More ominously, Velma had not been there. That coupled with Marian’s absence told him that there could be only one reason for her absence. Although he didn’t know how he had come to be in this hospital, he knew where he was. There could be only one reason why Velma was not at his side. It was a reality he accepted, but something he did not want to think about. Beyond that, he also knew there had been no sign of Calvin or Vernon at his bedside. That was no surprise. He held on to his dream of them, what he had hoped for, until it became ashes in his mouth. The realization that High Lonesome would die with him had finally been accepted. Almost two hundred years of sweat and hard work that made up the history of the Thompson family and built High Lonesome would vanish like the dust in a desert windstorm. That realization for him was a pain almost too much to bear. On top of the loss of the woman that shared his life every step of the way. Way beyond the sharp knife pain he felt in his ribs every time he took a breath.
It was a little after seven when Marian came in to his room. To her astonishment he was sitting up in bed.
“Dad! Dad, I can’t believe it. When I was here yesterday you—you were still out of it.”
“Knew you were here. Just wasn’t ready to talk. Knew you weren’t here last night. Kept looking for you, but you didn’t come. Then I knew you had things to do.”
Marian’s eyes glistened, a tear ran down one cheek. “Dad, I . . .”
