Indivisible

by Kristen Heitzmann

Tia slipped back to her shop and admitted Mary Carson, who had asked to drop in early to pick up her order. Tia had the tapers wrapped and ready, but Mary would still browse. She always did.

  “Is it Sarge?”

  Tia nodded, unsure why that hadn’t been her first thought. “He’s not happy with the fuss.”

  “Old Sarge will cuss Death right back where it came from.” Mary’s eyelids reddened. “My Bob was too polite to put up a fight.”

  Tia touched her arm.

  Mary’s silver head trembled with palsy. Of the two, Bob had seemed like the strong one, tan and robust, still hiking at seventy-seven while inside his brain a time bomb ticked. Blinking back the tears, Mary ran her finger over the gold aspen leaves on a scarlet, triple-wick pillar candle just inside the door. “My, this is beautiful. You always had an artistic side.” Mary was one teacher who hadn’t bought into her parents’ warnings. She’d let her students prove themselves, one way or another. “This would perk up my living room, give it some life.”

  “And accent your fainting couch.”

  “Scarlet with gold threads.” She raised her eyebrows. “Did you design it to entice me?”

  Tia laughed. “Now there’s an idea. Target my designs to my friends’ décor. Wish I’d thought of that, but I’m afraid they just happen.”

  “Well, I’ll take it before anyone else does. Kate Maitlan has similar colors.”

  Tia moved behind the counter where the cubbies were stuffed with tissue and string. “You have a base for it?”

  “Oh.” Mary snapped her purse. “No, I hadn’t thought. I was picturing it across from the planter, so of course it needs a holder.” She glanced around the shop. “Well, I’ll have to pick one, won’t I?”

  Tia carried the six-pound candle around the shop, showing it on the different stands. As they moved to a natural stone pillar near the wall, a stranger came in. Though she hadn’t locked the door behind Mary, the business hours were clearly posted.

  The man stood well over six feet, his shoulders rounded to minimize that, as with many overly tall people. His brown hair cut straight in line with his earlobes made him look comical. But the white pants, pressed to a crease that could cut paper, and slick blue Windbreaker seemed good quality, and his brilliant white tennis shoes made a squeaky sound on the tile floor, as though they hadn’t been worn twice.

  “Go ahead,” Mary whispered. “He must be lost.”

  Tia handed her the candle and approached the man, who smelled of hand sanitizer. “Can I help you?”

  “No.” He spoke crisply. “I don’t need help.”

  “Okay. Just ask if you have questions.”

  “No questions.” He put a shelf between them as though he could hide like the elephant in the cherry tree.

  “Okey-dokey,” she said mostly to herself and returned to Mary, who raised an eyebrow when the odd customer took a tissue from his pocket to lift and inspect a luminous, melon green ball candle.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Mary addressed him, the former schoolteacher coming out.

  He peered over the top of the incandescent ball, looking for all the world like a sea lion who might balance it on his nose.

  “She makes all the candles by hand,” Mary continued. “You can even see her fingerprints.”

  His head jerked. “Do you know how many germs are transferred by a single fingerprint?”

  “No,” Mary said dryly. “How many?”

  Tia bit her lip.

  Without answering, he set the candle back onto the shelf, held the tissue like a dead rodent, and searched for a trash can.

  “Allow me.” Tia whisked it out of his hand and deposited it into the bin under the counter. “I doubt you’ll find a candle without a fingerprint, except …” She turned. “Maybe the tapers. They’re dipped, not formed, molded, or decorated, though I can’t say who’s touched them since I hung them.”

  He pulled out another tissue and went to inspect the tapers, actually selecting a beeswax couplet. He plucked them off the peg by the connected wick and dangled them over the counter as she rang up the sale.

  “Would you like me to wrap them?”

  “No.” He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a bill with the long fingernails of his overlarge hand.

  “Here you go.” She deposited his change into the pouch he opened to receive it and thanked him.

  He ducked when the bell over the door announced his exit, then moved away from the shop as though someone might have seen him. Tia narrowed her eyes, pensive.

  “What an odd man.” Mary set a wrought-iron stand beside the counter. “Imagine being afraid of fingerprints.”

  “He probably has no control of it.” A number of disorders she’d studied manifested irrational fears. And at a time when people kept looking for the next pandemic, avoiding germs wasn’t necessarily irrational.

  She carried Mary’s purchases to the Toyota RAV4 parked in front of the shop. A few steps away, the EMTs were loading Sarge into the ambulance.

  Mary shuddered. “It reminds me of Bob.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s the suddenness. One minute things are one way, and the next everything is changed.”

  Tia looked at Jonah, standing with his back toward her, hands at his hips. “I can imagine.” She turned away, set the paper-wrapped stand in the back, and closed the hatch. “Is Magna there to help you unload?”

  Mary nodded. “I’m stopping by the cemetery first.”

  “Tell Bob we all miss him.”

  Mary smiled, tearful again. “It’ll go to his head.”

  Tia looked up and caught Jonah watching. She hesitated, then approached as the driver closed the ambulance doors and climbed into the cab.

  “How is he?”

  “Too ornery to know what’s really going on. I’ll check in with him and let you know, unless …”

  “That’s fine. I’d appreciate it.” Sarge had been her business neighbor all the years she’d run the shop, but she had no personal relationship with him. He didn’t think much of her, though he’d adored her mother. Actually, that explained it.

  He thought the world of Jonah. Which just went to show. She turned and went back to her shop.

  Jonah jammed his hands into his pockets and headed for the office. He didn’t think Sarge was in critical condition, but worry gnawed. The old guy had no one at home to look after him and didn’t look after himself. It was only a matter of time before this or something else happened again. But how to tell a man like Sarge he can’t take care of himself?

  Ruth looked up, her pink nylon tank top accentuating the bulge where her arms expanded. “Nancy Barry wants to make a complaint against Hank Dale. She’s having her hair permed, then she’ll be back.”

  “Must be serious.”

  Ruth giggled. Though in her forties, Ruth had the rosy sort of face that made a giggle work.

  “Anything else?”

  “Stolen mailbox. Someone replaced it with an old shoe. If this was CSI, we’d collect DNA and nail the fool.”

  “It would only prove who’d worn the shoe, not how it got there or who took the mailbox.”

  Ruth eyed him. “That’s why you’re the chief. That rapier mind.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. Anything else?”

  “I’m worried about Sue. That husband—”

  “Okay, thanks.” Sometimes Ruth’s gossip yielded valuable information, but Sue was a fellow officer. Sam would become police business when and if they proved he’d committed a crime. The rest was up to them. “I’ll be in my office.” He had a slew of paperwork.

  Hours later, he closed out of the spreadsheet and chewed his pencil. The incident with the raccoons still bothered him. He’d searched every site he could find on rites involving animals. Sickening reading, but he’d not found one instance of animals being sewn together. There had to be significance to that methodology.

  He spit a wood fragment and stared at the chewed pencil, memory washing over him of Miss Matthews
shaking her head. “You must be part woodchuck, Jonah.” The other kids had laughed, but he didn’t care because her dimples had peeked out when she said it, and he’d needed every smile he got.

  “Boy! When I find you …” Jonah pressed his eyes shut, seeing the dark shed, smelling the dust and grease and musty mouse scat. Small enough to fit into the hollows between the junk, he had faced the black widows more readily than the fist that held the belt. His only hope had been to hide longer than the meanness. Still and silent in the dark, he had thought about things like Miss Matthews’s dimples.

  Exhausted, Piper collapsed on a chair in Tia’s workshop, in the back room of her store. She pulled the band off her ponytail, and groaned. “How did Sarge do it?”

  Tia looked up from the table where she’d been drawing designs. “Have you been at the bakery this whole time?”

  “Well, I closed at two like always, but I noticed everything was looking dingy, especially the front, so I scrubbed it down, walls, windows, floorboards, tables, chairs.”

  “Hmm.” Tia closed her sketch pad. “Stress cleaning?”

  “I guess I was worried.” She let the hair hang between her fingers.

  “Sarge is a tough old bird.”

  “He didn’t look tough curled up on the floor.” She could still see him writhing. “He made me go out front, but I didn’t know how bad the pain was or I wouldn’t have left him alone.”

  “Sarge doesn’t allow insubordination.”

  “But I should have realized …”

  “You really couldn’t have. Sarge would rather die than admit he needs help.”

  Piper sighed. “I still don’t know if I did the right thing. He was spitting nails.”

  “I saw.”

  Piper raised her brows.

  “You were out front.”

  “At least it’s over.”

  She had fumbled her way through the morning rush, baked frantically, and made it through the substantial lunch crowd. Sarge had not told her what to do with the money, and she didn’t know the combination to the safe, so she’d stuck the zippered transfer bag in the lower oven and locked the shop. Yeah, it was over. “Until tomorrow.” She groaned.

  “Shh.”

  She felt Tia’s hand come over her eyes.

  “Keep them closed.”

  The snick of a match left an acrid smell. The air moved when Tia brushed the smoke away and another scent took over.

  After a few moments, she said, “Now, breathe.”

  Piper drew a slow breath in through her nose. The new aroma smelled soft and mysterious, like a dream she could not quite recall.

  “That’s nice.”

  “It’s called Peace.” Tia’s cool fingertips pressed into her temples and rubbed, her fingers spreading out, making small circles over the sides of her head.

  Piper surrendered her scalp into their care, murmuring, “Peace.”

  “It’s from my Sacred Scents collection.” Tia’s thumbs moved to the base of her skull. “The insert reads: ‘Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.’”

  “I like that. How’d you come up with it?”

  She could hear the smile. “Jesus said it.”

  “Like, two thousand years ago?”

  “Go figure.”

  Tia was teasing, but Piper sank deeper into the ministration. Come to me, you who are weary. Had it really been so bad? A little rushing back and forth, some rude and disgruntled customers. But she’d managed. Sarge had gotten help, and he’d only yelled at her once. “Can I be you when I grow up?”

  “Better to be you, sweetie.”

  Tia’s tone was soft and warm but hinted at sadness.

  “The chief sure helped. Without him, I’d have panicked. You could have heard my heartbeat across the street. Then he came in and, I don’t know, it felt like everything would be all right.” He’d soothed her then, just as Tia’s massage soothed her now. “He was really good.”

  “I bet.” Tia didn’t hide the edge.

  Piper slid a glance upward. “What happened with you and Jonah Westfall?”

  Tia’s hands slipped away, and Piper regretted the question. Most people wanted to share. Tia was like a mirror reflecting conversation back to others. She listened in a way that made it all about you.

  But this was about Tia, and it felt important. “Come on, tell me.”

  Tia rested her palms on the chair. “He broke my sister’s heart.”

  “Your sister?” She could have sworn it was more personal than that. “Are you close?”

  Tia sighed. “We were.”

  Yet until now she hadn’t seen or heard a word about a sister. “Where is she?”

  “She moved to Arizona.”

  “Because of Jonah?”

  “Sort of. She got married.”

  “Then she couldn’t have been too heartbroken.”

  “Ever heard of rebound?”

  Piper scratched her cheek, peeling away a shard of caked flour. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

  “They’re all there. Reba had a difficult pregnancy, and my parents went down to help out.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Mom asked me to watch the shop.”

  “The Half Moon?”

  Tia nodded.

  “I thought it was yours.”

  “It basically is.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Nine years.”

  “Nine years? Did it occur to you she might not be coming back?”

  “No, Piper. It never entered my mind.” Her tone bit.

  “Right. Sorry. It’s just a long time to mind someone else’s business.” She’d obviously hit a nerve, and there was more to it than Tia was saying.

  “After the first grandchild, there was the next and then a third.”

  That could explain the sadness that sometimes crept in. Had they all made a new life and left her behind? Maybe she hadn’t wanted to go. “You miss them?”

  Tia hesitated. “Yes.”

  Four

  The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration.

  —PEARL S. BUCK

  Tia sank onto the chair Piper had vacated. She didn’t feel bad for not going out to eat with her. The times they had gone, guys had vied for Piper’s attention and even the privilege of paying. Her beauty and high spirits strummed a chord that had the male population humming. Tia half smiled. Only six years between them, but it felt like ages.

  She pressed her palms to her eyes, thankful the discussion had ended before she had to cut it off. She had no intention of wallowing. Truth was, she didn’t even know how to tell it anymore without sounding pathetic. When was she going to live her own life? How had she forfeited the right? Or maybe she’d never possessed it.

  Her parents had borne one perfect child; what did they need with an inferior model? Her colicky, strong-willed nature had acted like a repellent. Her smart mouth had reflected a smart mind, if anyone had cared to notice. Her energy and spirit needed channeling, not crushing.

  Her parents had made no effort to hide their feelings from her teachers, her friends and their parents. Here’s what you can expect from that child. Reba had tried to make up for the glaring discrepancy in affection by buying her lip gloss and trinkets. She adored Reba for trying.

  Her cell phone rang, the tone designated for the number on her fliers. She picked it up. “Hopeline.”

  “Yeah, um.” The caller sniffled. “Do you, like, listen and tell me what to do?”

  “I listen and pray, and together we consider your possibilities.”

  The voice was young. “Well. It’s my friend. My used-to-be best friend …”

  This took her back to Rachel Muerrisey, who through some faux pas had lost her standing at the top of the order. “What do I do? You’re used to no one liking you. I
don’t know what to do without friends.”

  Tia had shaken off the barb with a toss of her head. “Pretend you’re me, a wild pirate child more fleet of foot and deft of hand than any sailor who scaled the masts. You need no one, but seeing your fearsome, spirited ways, they will clamor back to you, seeking your favor.”

  It had worked, and in the ruthless way of children, Rachel had no further need of Tia Manning.

  Closing her eyes, she emptied herself now and listened, confident that her words would give this caller comfort and courage, while in the back of her mind a voice cried hypocrite. She gave callers hope, helped them forgive others and themselves, yet she could not free herself. No—would not.

  Jonah roughed up his hair and stood. His knees felt creaky from sitting so long, but he’d been able to concentrate without being called out more than a handful of times. He checked his watch. Officer Donnelly was late. Jonah frowned. He didn’t run things with a heavy hand but expected punctuality. Newly, McCarthy, and even the rookie, Beatty, were fairly reliable. Moser ran like a clock, but Sue …

  She rushed in, snapping on her weapon belt. “Sorry. Sorry, Jonah. I had to get Eli to his grandma’s.”

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “He had a conflict.”

  Normally he’d let it go at that, but Ruth’s comment had stuck. “Of the bender sort?”

  She looked up, startled, then down. “He’s not drunk.”

  “Pot? Blow?”

  She shrugged.

  “Meth?”

  “I don’t know, Jonah.”

  “Where’s he getting it?”

  “He won’t say. Obviously.” She straightened her shirt. “Anyway, I’m here.”

  “Need a few minutes to get yourself together?”

  “No.” She smoothed her hands over her short brown hair and fixed him with her quick, sparrow eyes. “Just fill me in.”

  She looked a little green by the time he’d finished, though the bulge in her stomach might account for that. He wondered how long she would wait to tell him. Maternity leave would stretch her finances, especially if Sam was using—unless of course he was producing his own.

  Time to let the raccoons go. He had a string of petty burglaries and an encroaching drug situation that could be related. The worst used to be marijuana possession. Less than an ounce kept it local; more went to the county. Lately worse substances had been creeping in.