Arizona Homecoming

by Pamela Tracy

  She headed for the front door, knocked once and opened it without waiting.

  Donovan took a quick glance around. Cotton fields looked a lot different than corn, that’s for sure. As much as he wanted to explore the migrant cabin, he decided to make sure Emily didn’t need his help with Karl. He stepped up his pace so that he was entering into a living room on her heels. She didn’t know what or whom she’d find in there. This was an out-of-the-way place. Help wasn’t as close as a holler next door. The nearest house, Jilly’s, was a good half mile away.

  “Karl!” Emily hollered as she went room to room. He dogged her every step, amazed that she didn’t hesitate before bursting into a room.

  He knew about out-of-the-way places. He’d grown up on a dairy farm in Nebraska and had read In Cold Blood when he was sixteen. He’d spent the next six months building a tree house that he could hide in, with a rope ladder he could pull up.

  “Karl wouldn’t be in here,” Emily said, hesitating before the last door, which he figured would lead to a second bedroom.

  “Whose room is this?”

  “Karl’s son. He went missing...” She hesitated. “He went missing in 1979.”

  “Older than our skeleton.”

  She nodded. “Yes, and he was only seventeen when he disappeared.”

  Emily turned away from the room and headed to the kitchen again, exiting through a back door that banged shut behind her. Once again, he hurried to keep up.

  She went to the migrant house and opened the door, peeking in and then backing out.

  “Nothing?” he queried.

  “Empty.”

  He followed her for the next fifteen minutes as she went in sheds, behind sheds and even walked a ways down a dry creek bed.

  “This is actually good news,” she finally said. “It means he’s off with someone and just not answering his phone.”

  “Who does he go out with?”

  “Usually Garrett, but he’s in Tempe touring Arizona State University.” Emily pulled out her phone and hit a button. Donovan listened as she told her sister what they’d done. She barely finished when a black Cadillac slowed at the entrance and pulled in. A moment later, Karl was exiting the passenger side, and another man exited the driver’s side.

  “What are you doing here?” Karl asked. “Something wrong?”

  “You didn’t answer your cell phone and we got worried.”

  Karl reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Hmm, how about that, turned off.”

  Donovan studied the Cadillac’s driver. He recognized the type: slick, moneyed, used to getting what he wanted. Holding out his hand for a shake, he introduced himself. “I’m Donovan Russell.”

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” Karl was telling Emily, who was already on the phone telling Elise that all was well.

  “Randall Tucker,” the driver identified himself. “I’ve driven by the Baer place. You’re doing good work out there, quick, but no shortcuts.”

  “Thanks.” Donovan almost said, It will be beautiful when I finish. But it might never be finished.

  Tucker cut his glance to Emily and seemed to smirk. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.” With that, he went over, patted Karl on the shoulder and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  After he drove away, Emily finished her phone call and asked, “Why were you with Randall Tucker?”

  Karl was already at his front door, opening it, and beckoned them to follow. “He’s buying land in the neighborhood and interested in mine. I thought maybe I’d hear what he has to say.”

  “You want to sell?” Emily asked, incredulous.

  “The man called, was interested in my place,” Karl said patiently, “and I wanted to hear what he had to say.”

  “Randall Tucker is the man who tore down the Majestic.” Emily practically spit out the words.

  Donovan felt a smile form. So there was someone in Apache Creek she disliked more than him. Just figured it was someone interested in making things new instead of keeping them old.

  It was the reminder Donovan needed that he and Emily weren’t compatible.

  Chapter Seven

  “What’s the Majestic?” Donovan asked.

  Karl filled him in while Emily phoned her other sister and dad. Donovan followed the man up the two stairs that led to the porch and then through a screen door that looked as if a good sneeze could send it flying.

  “I’ve lived here my whole life,” Karl said, switching from the Majestic to his own home. This time, Donovan had a chance to really look around the house without frantically searching for its owner. The living room was small, just enough space for a couch, an easy chair, a coffee table, a television and a fish aquarium.

  “Nice,” Donovan said.

  Karl assumed he was talking about the fish.

  “It’s a twenty gallon. I couldn’t keep it up until so many nosy neighbors started coming by regularly, checking up on me.” He frowned at the door to the kitchen, where Emily was filling glasses with ice and water.

  The frown wasn’t real.

  It took only a moment of Karl’s explaining the landscape of the tank and types of fish for Donovan to realize he was an architect at heart and this was his creation.

  “And don’t forget to tell him that sometimes the fish hide,” Emily said, coming back in the room and handing out water glasses.

  Karl grinned. “They hide, jump out of the aquarium and triple in size. Never a dull moment. Much better than watching television.”

  “So, Karl.” Emily’s voice softened. “I still can’t believe you spoke with Randall Tucker.”

  “Real slick fella. He said I’ve forty acres of prime real estate that he’s willing to make an offer on.”

  Donovan knew of Randall Tucker. Anyone in the real estate business did. He bought old buildings, most of them in disrepair, and put up new ones. The man had a knack for figuring out the areas prime for growth. He moved in before the crowd, snatched up the best real estate for rock-bottom prices and sold at a high profit.

  “And you’re thinking about selling?” Emily asked softly. “Now? Why?”

  “Until he called,” Karl said, “I wasn’t thinking of selling. In the back of my mind, I keep hoping Billy will come home. He’d be in his midfifties now. Who knows, though, maybe he’s got a wife, grown kids, someone who’d want this land for what it can do.”

  Emily reached out a hand to touch Karl’s arm, but he gently nudged it away.

  Donovan didn’t say anything. How could he? His father was in Mytal, Nebraska, holding on to one hundred and twenty acres, thinking someday Donovan would return home and take over.

  Honor your father and your mother so that you may live long in the land your God has given you.

  The look in Karl’s eyes reminded Donovan that a phone call to his parents was long overdue.

  Karl looked around the living room. “Truth is, I’m not wanting to sell right now. Especially not to a man who wanted to know how I’m zoned instead of how long the place has been in my family.”

  Emily’s chin went up. Donovan could just imagine the petitions she’d do for this one.

  “I’m happier than I’ve been for years. I’ve got you folks over all the time, and look at my crops. Garrett’s doing a fine job. But, he’s heading off for college next year, and I’m eighty-four years old. Maybe I need to be thinking about where I’ll go when I can’t live alone and need someone to take care of me.”

  To Emily’s credit, she didn’t argue with him.

  Donovan really wanted this visit to end so he could call his parents. Karl reminded him of his dad: baseball cap, button-down shirt, jeans and tennis shoes.

  “Have you looked at some of the ranches that are for sale in this area?” Emily asked. “Do you know what Jilly pai
d for hers?”

  “Jilly’s not your typical home buyer,” Karl said.

  “You’d be surprised,” Donovan spoke up.

  Both Karl and Emily looked at him.

  “I’ve a standing offer to drop by her place,” Donovan explained. “She’s taken a falling-down structure and restored it and more. There are plenty of people dreaming of doing such a thing.”

  “Most of them don’t realize the hard work it would take,” Emily groused.

  “That’s true, but enough of them have the kind of money it takes, and it’s that very thing that keeps workers like me in business.”

  “You’re a builder not a restorer,” Emily pointed out.

  “Yes, but one of the jobs I’m doing next year is building a new Victorian in Florida with all the perks of the twenty-first century. I’m looking forward to it.”

  He was, to some degree. What he really wanted to do was build environmentally friendly homes. Not that he thought that cob was better than wood or that solar paneling was the end-all. But efficient use of what was at hand was prudent.

  No, he wasn’t a restorer, but he could see the potential in the four walls making up Karl Wilcox’s home. He’d leave the walls of the house pretty much the way they were. Today’s buyer, however, would never go for such small rooms. Donovan would utilize the berm, open up one side with windows and build belowground, Earthship style, with rounded walls. He knew right where he’d put a kiva fireplace, and he’d add flagstone floors and...

  “Donovan?”

  Emily interrupted his musings.

  He chuckled. A belowground-level home would certainly be a hit in Apache Creek. Karl would have more company than he knew what to do with. The guests heading to the Lost Dutchman Ranch would never suspect the square feet the tiny aboveground section was hiding.

  “Donovan?” Emily said again.

  “You’d be surprised how many people dream of owning simpler...going back in time.”

  “How long does that last?” Karl wanted to know.

  Donovan didn’t have an answer. He dealt with new homes, usually with involved clients, who had the money to create exactly what they wanted.

  “So, what did Randall offer you?”

  “Five hundred thousand dollars.”

  Donovan didn’t laugh. In the building business, tomorrow’s boss might be today’s competition.

  “It’s worth more,” Emily said.

  “I know, but I’m not messing with the zoning.”

  “Mind if I look around?” Donovan asked.

  “Go right ahead.” Karl finished his water and sat on the couch, studying his fish and ignoring the television.

  During his first run-through of the house, Donovan had been distracted. Now, he planned to scan it more thoroughly.

  Attached to the living room was a dining room with a table and four chairs. The newspaper was open to the sports page. On one side of the dining room was the kitchen. It had been built before the need for modern appliances, and counter space was at a premium. The microwave took up most of the space, followed by the coffeemaker and a canister set took up the rest. It was the stove that caught Donovan’s eye. It was white enamel and looked to have four doors. Could they all be tiny ovens?

  It would be hard to save this kitchen, yet it was bigger than most apartment galley kitchens.

  Maybe...

  He turned and went back through the dining room and found a tiny restroom, complete with a pull-cord light. On each side of the restroom were bedrooms. One had an open door. This must be Karl’s.

  It was mostly bed and dresser. A chair was next to the dresser and clothes were piled on it.

  Donovan turned the handle of the second bedroom. It stuck a bit.

  “Karl hasn’t really changed Billy’s room,” Emily said. She stood so close behind him, he could feel her warmth.

  “You’ve been in here, then?”

  “Just once back when Garrett went missing.”

  “I thought his son’s name was Billy.”

  “It was. Garrett is Elise’s fiancé’s little brother. The one I told you helps Karl out around the ranch. He hit a spot of trouble last year. I wasn’t here so I don’t know the whole story.”

  She pushed open the door, talking all the while, filling him in on family dynamics, something he wasn’t comfortable with. His parents had been homebodies except for church, and their church had been small, just ninety members.

  Billy Wilcox’s room was clean, lived-in, yet not.

  The posters on the wall were of Pink Floyd, Aerosmith and Led Zeppelin. School books were on a desk by the wall. They were covered in brown paper, like a grocery bag, and colored-marker words pronounced each subject: math, English, Spanish. A small television was on top of a dresser. Next to it was a typical school photo, probably Billy’s senior picture. It showed a slender brown-haired youth with unruly hair and slightly protruding ears. The black T-shirt proclaimed Yes. A jean jacket was draped over the back of a chair.

  “Karl never gave up hope that Billy would come home someday.”

  “What happened?”

  “According to my sister Elise, who’s become an expert on the story, Billy went off to school one morning, as usual. Karl said there wasn’t anything different about the day, about his son’s behavior. When it was time for him to return home, he didn’t. Karl gave him some time. They’d been having struggles, the usual stuff. Billy couldn’t wait to get away from Apache Creek. Karl wanted him to study, go to college, be respectful, take over.

  “When it got to be six,” Emily continued, “Karl called the school. No one answered, so Karl called the principal. Only then did Karl discover that Billy hadn’t shown up for school at all.”

  “He’d run away.”

  “Yes, and Karl had a hard time convincing law officials to help search. Billy was two days away from eighteen, making him almost an adult. In the end, one of my uncles found a T-shirt. That’s all.”

  Donovan picked up a Rubik’s cube. It felt different than the one he’d tried in college, firmer somehow. He took a deep breath, trying not to feel Billy’s frustration all those years ago. He knew; he understood. It wasn’t easy to have a parent’s dream rest on your shoulders, especially if you were the only son, the only one who could keep the dream alive.

  Like Billy, he’d run away. He hadn’t severed the relationship, though, just fractured it.

  * * *

  Emily stood on the porch behind the restaurant and watched the sun set. Her dad and Karl were at a table talking about old times, and Elise was at the front desk checking in a family.

  Donovan’s camper was parked next to the barn. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there.

  “You going to stand out here all night or take care of the couple who just sat themselves?” asked David Cook, aptly named as he was the restaurant’s only cook.

  Emily wanted to stay here and stare at the hazy, muted-orange sun. She didn’t want to head back inside, to the smell of barbecue and corn and homemade potato chips. Usually, those were the scents of comfort and safety.

  Tonight, she felt displaced, as if she wanted to be somewhere else.

  With someone else.

  “I’ll go wait on them.”

  “I gave them water.”

  Really? Slightly stooped, more than chubby, with dark tuffs of hair on either side of his head and a swatch of baldness across the top, Cook rarely ventured from the kitchen unless it was to help restock the buffet.

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and Mr. Donovan is sitting with dad and Karl.”

  “What?”

  “I think he came in the front.”

  No way, no way could she have missed him loping up the path. Unless he’d not been in his cabin when she first came out here.
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br />   “I’ll get him a water,” Cook said, watching her. “I need a closer look.”

  Emily started to protest, but that would only make Cook more determined. Never, in all Emily’s twenty-eight years, had Cook attempted matchmaking. But that seemed to be his intention.

  As Cook walked away, Emily noticed that dark tuffs of hair were now graying and the bald spot spreading. She’d never noticed before because she was usually looking at his smiling face.

  Cook had always been Emily’s close friend. She, more than her sisters, liked being in the kitchen with him. Eva hadn’t mastered dicing potatoes until three years ago. But she, at least, had tried. Elise, who’d never battled her weight, could live with just a microwave. Emily loved the kitchen, the smells, the laughter. Her father probably would have spit out his coffee if he knew the stories Cook, who’d traveled the rodeo circuit with him, shared with her.

  Emily really needed to help out in the kitchen more often. She needed more Cook time.

  Right now, what Emily really needed was more Donovan time. Adjusting the apron, she headed back into the main dining hall—one big room with lots of round tables and a buffet counter—and headed for the couple who’d wandered in. They turned out to be tourists who’d stopped for the night and had heard about the Lost Dutchman Ranch.

  “Wish we’d have known about this place earlier,” the wife confided. “We’d have stayed here instead of the motel by the highway.”

  Her husband raised an eyebrow. He probably figured their cabins cost a lot more than the motel. That was true in the winter, when they were booked solid as people flocked to Apache Creek to enjoy the near-perfect temperatures. In summer, however, a savvy traveler could negotiate the price, grab a special.

  She took their drink order and pointed out the options. Then, they helped themselves to the buffet.

  Looking over at her dad’s table, she noted that Cook had joined the group. What a crew. Her dad sipped iced tea and leaned forward, listening to something Karl was saying. Next to Karl, Donovan was shaking his head. Not a good sign. Jesse Campbell, Eva’s husband, was bent forward, too. Hmm. Elise’s fiancé, Cooper Smith, was interrupting Karl, and often.