2 Fog Over Finny's Nose

by Dana Mentink

  The child nodded and rolled off of her to go search for his astronaut action figures.

  She stood up. “Louella is nice. I get the feeling she thinks it’s about time you brought a girl home.”

  He blushed and raked his fingers through his close-cropped hair. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry she kind of put you on the spot.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, walking to the back door and looking out into the yard.

  A huge shadowy blur hurled itself against the sliding door. She leaped backward.

  “Sorry. That’s Mr. Boo Boo. He only knows a few tricks, and polite greetings are not one of them.”

  She looked at the dog with his tongue lolling out, one ear standing up and the other at right angles to it. “Does he have two different-colored eyes?”

  “Yup. I think he was sort of assembled from leftover parts.” He looked around distractedly, trying to remember how to engineer polite conversation.

  “Hey, if I’m intruding here, I’ll just head for home,” she said.

  “No, no.” Suddenly he wanted her to stay, to keep standing there, looking at him from under the fringe of black hair that fell into her eyes. “I’m going to make Paul some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

  “It might be less complicated if I didn’t.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  He looked at her blankly. “A vegetarian?”

  “Mm-hmm. You know, no meat.”

  “No meat?” he repeated.

  “No meat. Chicken, beef, nothing that had a face. Maybe I’d better go home. Uncle Monk is used to my strange eating habits.”

  “No. No problem. Nothing with a face.” Jack went to the kitchen and studied the contents of the fridge. Leftover meat loaf, Louella’s. One chicken pot pie, Louella’s. Some macaroni and cheese. Mustard. Black olives. Finger Jell-O. Eggs. He grabbed the egg carton and removed one. Eggs didn’t have faces, he thought triumphantly. But they came from animals with faces. Hostile faces with beady yellow eyes and sharp beaks like Ruth’s cranky birds, he remembered.

  Bobby poked her head into the kitchen and startled him from his confused remunerations. “Jack?”

  He whirled to face her, egg still in hand. “Yeah?”

  “Eggs will work.”

  “Eggs will work,” he repeated. “Okay then.”

  Thirty minutes later he had produced two pretty decent cheese omelets and sliced some ripe tomatoes from Louella’s garden. Paul’s plate was piled high with scrambled eggs and finger Jell-O.

  The kitchen echoed with the sounds of Bobby’s laughter and Paul blowing bubbles in his milk. After dinner, the boy sat down with a Thomas the Train video while Bobby helped clean up.

  There was an intimacy in cleaning dishes together. Washing away the remnants of a shared meal. Drying the dishes and disclosing their secret resting places in the cupboard. Standing side by side in front of a chipped porcelain sink. It made him feel uneasy and foolishly pleased at the same time.

  “So how are all your investigations going? Aren’t you up to three now? Toes, Cootchie, and Ed Honeysill?”

  “We’re busy, all right. Things are going slowly, but the FBI is helping out with the Dent kidnapping.”

  “Thank God she’s all right.”

  “I’ll second that. I know you won’t believe this, but life in Finny is generally quiet and uneventful.” He thought about the strange path his day had taken since the call from Nathan summoning him to the Rosario farm. He smiled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Oh, I was just recalling the look on Vern’s face after you steamrolled him.”

  “I only steamrolled him a little. You do think he deserved it, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. I didn’t think I’d ever meet the person who could put him in his place, though. You are the most fearless woman I have ever met.”

  She frowned, rubbing a dish. “I don’t think I would describe myself as fearless.”

  “No? In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve trounced a guy in the bar and treed a cranky old codger who outweighs you by about one hundred fifty pounds. And you didn’t even flinch at meeting my four-year- old. That isn’t fearless?”

  “I’ve been plenty afraid in my life. Everyone has fears, don’t they?” She looked at her reflection in the ceramic dish. “When I was sixteen my mother got ovarian cancer. I was terrified that she would die. I skipped school constantly to stay home with her. I kept a four-leaf clover inside my bra and slept in the hallway outside her door for months, I was so afraid of losing her. I prayed until my fingers were numb. You know what?” Bobby put the dish into the cupboard. “She died anyway. I guess I just figured then that fear doesn’t really change things much.”

  He nodded, remembering how the bottom had fallen out of his stomach when he got the phone call about Lacey. “But it sure is something you remember.”

  She looked at him closely. “Are you thinking about your wife?”

  “Yes.” He continued rinsing the omelet pan as he spoke. “It never occurred to me that I should worry about losing her. I never even entertained a thought about her dying until I got the call that she was gone. She died of a brain hemorrhage on her way to get the mail.”

  “That’s when Paul stopped talking?”

  “Yeah. He saw her die, I think. He didn’t say a single word for two years.” He closed his eyes to shut the pain back into place.

  “How did you cope with it all?”

  “Not very well. Day by day, like we’re coping now. Lots of people helped out as much as they could, like Louella and Ruth. I get down on my knees and thank God for them every day. Things are better now that Paul is talking some.”

  He exhaled with a groan. “Now what really scares me is that he will forget his mother ever existed.” The water gurgled quietly as is trickled down the drain. “I still can’t really accept it. People tell me that God wouldn’t give me more than I can bear, so I guess I need to toughen up.”

  She fished the rest of the silverware from the dregs of soapy water. “In my expert opinion, Jack, that’s a crock of baloney.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “Of course God gives us more than we can bear. Who can bear losing a wife while a child watches? Who can bear having a child kidnapped, for that matter? What about the parents who never get their kids back? No one can bear that, not alone. So He gives us people to lean on. People who shoulder the load when we can’t do it one more minute.” She looked him straight in the eye. “He gives us the miracle of a life and the tools to deal with all the crud that comes up in the course of living it.”

  He looked into her eyes, seeing the glimmer of earnestness that was so very rare in his experience. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known,” he said softly.

  Bobby chuckled and finished putting the silverware away. She peeked into the family room, where Paul slept in his train pajamas in front of the television.

  “I’ve got to get going. Thanks for dinner, and tell Paul I want to show him how to make a LEGO space shuttle sometime. It will knock his socks off.”

  “Just a minute and I’ll pop him into the car and drive you to Monk’s.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s not far, and I like to walk at night.” She noted the look of concern that stole across his face. “I think we’ve established that I can take care of myself.”

  “I know that, but I’d feel better if I took you home.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She picked up the box he’d found for her and headed to the garage to fetch the cat. “Besides, this is Finny. What could possibly happen?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ruth put her back into whipping cookie dough batter within an inch of its life. The muffins she’d made were already baked and cooled. Now she tossed handfuls of pecans and chocolate chips into the vanquished cookie dough.

  Monk sat in a chair with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cookie in the other. “Ruth,” he said between bites. “We’re going to ha
ve to talk about this sometime.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “You know what. You’re avoiding the issue. You are upset about what happened to Cootchie, and I think you need to talk about it some more.” There were lines of frustration on his face. “I love you. Let me help you with this.”

  “I am not avoiding the issue,” she said. She added a teaspoon of vanilla. “I have to get these things baked for the sale tomorrow. Why do you say I’m avoiding the issue?”

  “Because every time I try to talk to you about it, you bake another batch of cookies. So far you’ve made oatmeal raisin, snickerdoodles, and now chocolate chip.”

  “Chocolate pecan chunk.”

  “I stand corrected.” He put the coffee down and stood, trying to catch her eye.

  “I don’t want to talk about anything.” She couldn’t understand the anger in her own voice. She wanted to wake up and find the whole mess over, forgotten, her carelessness erased like chalk from a blackboard. “I’ve got lots to do. It’s the last festival weekend, and you know how Maude is.”

  “Okay. I can see this isn’t going to get us anywhere.” He rubbed his forehead above his massive eyebrows. “I’m new to this marriage stuff, Ruth. Plus I’m an old guy and I never got a chance to practice on anyone. I just want to say again that I love you and anytime you want to talk, I’m here.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She knew she was being unfair to him, but she didn’t know how to cope with his kindness on top of her own emotional maelstrom. It was a relief when the phone rang. “Yes?” she answered with a tremor in her voice. “Sure, Dimple. Okay. I can meet you there.” She hung up. “I’ve got to go now.”

  She didn’t dare to look at Monk’s face as she took off her apron and scurried out the door.

  Her feet took her to the door of the bungalow, though her mind screamed a protest every inch of the way. How could she face Dimple? What would she see in the woman’s eyes? Anger? Disgust? Hatred, even? She knew it could not be put off for one more minute.

  Her hand trembled as she knocked.

  Dimple opened the door. She looked well, Ruth thought. There was color in her cheeks, and her eyes had lost their halos of misery.

  “Hello, Ruth. Please come in. I have been thinking about you,” she said.

  She stepped through the door and stood facing the woman. Her whole body began to shake. “Dimple,” she began, “how can I ever tell you how sorry I am? How terribly, terribly sorry I am?” She was terrified to see a look of recrimination on the young woman’s face.

  Dimple stopped her with a hug. “You have always been a blessing to me and my daughter. We love you just as we always have.”

  Ruth clung to her for a moment, until she noticed the objects stacked on the coffee table over Dimple’s shoulder. “What are the suitcases for?” The question gave her mouth something to do, though she already knew the answer.

  Dimple looked at her with somber green eyes. “I am going to send Cootchie to be with my—with Meg for a while. She has a big place in Phoenix and lots of room for Cootchie to run. I’ll go visit them in a few days when I can get away.” She squeezed Ruth’s shoulder. “I just think it would be safer, until the villain is caught. It won’t be for long, I promise.”

  Ruth nodded. She knew speaking would result in a torrent of tears. Already a chilling pain was mounting in the pit of her stomach, as though she had swallowed a frozen lump of granite.

  “I’ll go get her. She’ll want to say good-bye.” Dimple glided off toward the back of the house.

  Slumped on the sofa, Ruth bit down hard on her index finger to keep from screaming aloud. She felt a weight on the couch next to her. Meg sat there in a fetching coral pantsuit. Tiny luminescent pearls dotted her earlobes, and her lipstick matched her outfit to a tee.

  “I’d like to apologize for the things I said to you after Cootchie disappeared.” She looked into Ruth’s eyes. “I was upset, but that was no excuse to blame you for what happened.” She took hold of her hands. “The fact of the matter is, you have taken excellent care of my daughter and granddaughter when I didn’t have the courage to. I am in your debt, and I hope you can forgive me for what I said that day. I can only say again how truly sorry I am.”

  Ruth looked down at their clasped hands. Meg’s skin was soft and unwrinkled. The fingernails were filed in graceful crescents and painted with a subtle creamy taupe. Her own hands were calloused, rough from dishwashing, and the nails were chewed off. She withdrew them from Meg’s grasp.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t say anything out loud that I wasn’t saying to myself. I won’t ever forgive myself for what happened.”

  Meg was about to respond when Cootchie bounded into the room and jumped into Ruth’s lap.

  “Hi, Nana. I am goin’ on a plane tomorrow,” she said.

  Ruth cleared her throat. “Yes, I heard you were going to stay with, ah, your grandma. That will be fun, won’t it?”

  “Yes, Nana.” The girl played with the strings on Ruth’s sweat jacket.

  She smoothed the girl’s flyaway curls, savoring the silkiness with her fingertips.

  “Cootchie, Nana is very sorry. I should have been watching you more closely. So the—the man couldn’t have taken you. Nana made a terrible mistake.” The words burned her mouth.

  Cootchie fixed her heavily lashed eyes on Ruth. “It’s okay, Nana. I went to de library. I got a book on rocks. When I come back, we can hunt for rocks together. Okay?”

  Ruth could not answer. She hugged Cootchie and buried her face in the mounds of curly hair. “I love you, Cootchie,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Nana.” Cootchie danced away to find her magnifying glass to add to the collection of things in her suitcase.

  Somehow Ruth made her way to the door and said her good-byes to Dimple and Meg. The door closed behind her, and she staggered down the walkway to the trees at the end of the drive.

  Monk stood there with his hands in his pockets. “I thought maybe you could use a shoulder.”

  Ruth began to cry bitter tears. He folded her in his arms and held her.

  Maude called almost hourly to add more afternoon Mrs. Fog appearances for the final weekend of the festival. Ruth appreciated Maude’s intention—to keep her mind and heart busy. Monk plied her constantly with containers of soup and homemade bread.

  She was in a fog, shrouded by the horrible “what if ” feelings that swirled inside her head. As much as she struggled against it, she felt herself sliding back into the black depression that had gripped her soul after her first husband’s death. She’d lived in that darkness for years, but since she’d started her new life with Monk, it had disappeared. Now it was back with a vengeance.

  A steely resolve crept up inside her. No. She would not allow the darkness to overtake her again. She had fought too hard, too long to let it take away her soul a second time. She gripped her hands together and prayed until her fingers were numb.

  When she opened her eyes, she was filled with a need to do something. Anything. In a blink, she knew where she had to go. If Monk was right and God gave her courage because He knew she would use it, then it was time to face her demons. Maybe there was something there, some infinitesimal clue that would reveal who had taken Cootchie on that terrible day. It was all she could think to do.

  Monk offered to accompany her up nose, but Ruth knew she had to do it alone. At least, almost alone. She took an eager Martha along with her for feathery moral support. The bird felt warm against her chest, soft feathers silky under her chin.

  As she passed the Buns Up Bakery, she noticed a familiar face. It was Candace, sitting at a corner table, talking on her cell phone. Judging from the woman’s expression, it was not a pleasant conversation. Suffering from an acute case of nosiness and procrastination, Ruth walked inside the store, tucking Martha into her jacket.

  The delectable smell of apple fritters filled the small space.

  Al, the owner, greeted her ch
eerfully. “Ruth. It’s so great, isn’t it? Cootchie is back and no worse for the wear.”

  Ruth nodded, unable to find words for a moment.

  Al continued to ramble on as Ruth eavesdropped on Candace’s conversation in the corner.

  “I don’t think so,” Candace muttered. “Nothing has changed.”

  Al put two fritters in a bag. “I been thinking about that toe. Where do you think it came from?” he asked. “Do you think it is related to the kidnapping or to Honeysill’s murder?”

  Ruth shot a quick glance at Candace. “I don’t know.” Ruth took the bag and paid for the treats. “It’s a mystery to me.”

  He leaned toward her. “Plenty of strangers in town. Some of them up to no good. I saw a guy in here yesterday. He talked like a New Yorker. Wore real fancy clothes and all.”

  “Who was he with?”

  “He came in alone, but then he struck up quite a conversation with that balloon guy.” Al wiped down the counter as he whispered. “Ask Hugh. He was here. He can tell you about it.”

  She thanked Al and turned to leave just as Candace finished her conversation.

  “No. That’s it. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

  She punched off the phone and met Ruth at the door.

  “Hello, Candace. How are you holding up?” Now that the woman was close, Ruth could see the lines etched into her dusky skin.

  “I am okay, but I can’t wait to leave this town.”

  Ruth nodded. “I can imagine there aren’t many good memories for you here.” Martha poked her head out of the jacket to peck at the paper bag.

  “I’ve got to stay until the end of the week,” Candace said. “The insurance company is sending someone out, so I’ve got to answer more questions.” Her eyes were dull.

  “Oh?” She pulled the bag out of the bird’s beak.

  “Ed had a pretty substantial life insurance policy, and I’m the beneficiary, so I guess that makes me look pretty suspicious.”

  Ruth wondered if Bing had known about the policy before the crash, but she didn’t dare ask.