King Size

by Lexi Whitlow

  “That looks big—and bad,” Grace observes, casting her gaze toward the smoke. “Shouldn’t they have helicopters or planes or something trying to put it out?”

  She’s never seen a real wildfire before.

  “It’s not big,” I reassure her. “Hopefully it’ll burn itself out by tonight. They usually do.”

  Then again, the forest floor isn’t usually as dry as kindling.

  As soon as we get home and I’ve got the weekend grooms attending to the horses, I go to my computer and pull up the Forest Service fire map. What it shows me is shocking. The fire we saw is there, but it’s not alone. There are dots on the map representing fires all over the northwest, with a particularly troubling pattern beginning at the Canadian border, following the Rockies through western Montana all the way to central Colorado. The fires are small and dispersed, but with the conditions in the ground, any of them could blow up, then join up, creating a catastrophic situation for anything in their path.

  The good news is that everything seems to be happening east of Mission Valley. There’s nothing that could threaten us, directly. That could change, so I vow to keep my eye on things. For the moment, I’m satisfied that if we just get some rain, we’ll be fine. Storms are in the forecast. A good spring drenching would be welcome.

  Chapter 19

  Grace

  Some days things really don’t go my way. I knew today was going to be rough, but I didn’t start out knowing just how rough. The custody hearing began this morning, and because the judge wants to ask Emma some questions—thankfully not in open court—I’ve had to come along to take care of her while Cam, the Beauforts, and the attorneys, duke it out in the courtroom. Cam’s mom is in court, too, as moral support.

  I haven’t been in the courtroom, so I haven’t heard all the details. I have been present for enough of the back and forth between Camden and his attorney to know that they’ve done an excellent job making a case against the Beaufort’s gaining unsupervised visits with Emma. Craig Beaufort has a criminal record involving assault charges, as well multiple counts of possession of cocaine and other controlled substances. Beyond that, when Beverly and her sister were children, Child Protective Services was called to the family’s home numerous times.

  One at least one of those occasions, Craig Beaufort was suspected of abusing his children, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. The girls were temporarily removed from the home while he was under investigation. The odd thing about that incident is that usually the father is required to leave the home, but in this case, it was the kids who got displaced. Camden’s attorney said that was because Delores Beaufort took her husband’s side when one of the girl’s reported the abuse, and voluntarily surrendered them to CPS. By the time the kids had been in foster care for a few weeks, they recanted the story, saying they made it up.

  Camden didn’t know about any of this prior to his attorney getting to work on the custody fight. He hasn’t said anything, but my suspicion is that learning how Beverly was raised explains a lot about her behavior. The only life she ever had was a roller coaster of disfunction, neglect, and abuse. It’s no wonder she didn’t want to have children. It’s no wonder at all that Cam’s harsh last words to her rang so true to her that she acted on them.

  These are the thoughts going through my head as I sit with Emma in a little side hallway outside the courtroom, letting her play a videogame on my smartphone.

  It’s two in the afternoon and I have no idea how much longer we’re going to have to wait. Then I see Beck coming around the corner. She’s got a slightly wild look in her eye and I think it means the judge has called for Emma, when she says,

  “They’re calling you as a witness. The bailiff is coming to get you.”

  “Me?!” I exclaim. “What? Why?”

  “Because they can, and they know it’s going to piss Cam off, and they’re trying to provoke him.”

  Just then the bailiff appears, asking me if I’m Grace Bradley. I nod. “Come with me, please.”

  I leave Emma with her grandmother, my heart pounding in my chest. I can’t for the life of me imagine why I’m being called. I’m just the nanny. I’ve only been here a few months. I didn’t know Bev and I don’t know the Beaufort’s, and what little I do know does not aid their case.

  As I come into the courtroom I feel curious eyes on me, studying me intently. Camden gives me a worried expression, his face drawn tight, his eyes dark and narrowed. Cam’s attorney, Mr. Underwood nods to me, his expression calm. He offers me an even, reassuring smile. He must be a good actor, because he appears untroubled. Yet—he didn’t anticipate this. If he had, he would have prepared me. I know that much about how these things work.

  The bailiff swears me in and I sit where I’m told, sitting up straight, folding my hands in my lap.

  A small man with little hair remaining on his head and tiny round glasses approaches me.

  “Ma’am, can you state your name and address for the record.”

  I do as I’m told.

  “Thank you,” he says. “Now, can you tell the court what the nature of your relationship with the defendant, Camden Davis, is?”

  Holy shit. They’re going there.

  “He’s my employer,” I say. “I’m his daughter’s nanny.”

  He asks me a few questions related to my job taking care of Emma, then he branches out.

  “And in the capacity as Mr. Davis’ employee, would you say that the two of you have become friends?”

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “What’s the extent of your friendship with Mr. Davis?”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry. Let me be more direct. Do you and Mr. Davis have an intimate, sexual relationship, as well as being employer and employee?”

  The courtroom is as silent as a tomb.

  Everyone knows. Why hide it? I’m not ashamed.

  “Yes, we do.” I say.

  The little bald man smiles lewdly.

  “And does Mr. Davis’ daughter, Emma know about this aspect of your relationship with her father?”

  I can’t help it. I drop an eyebrow, raising another, giving him my best smart-ass expression.

  “She’s only five-years-old,” I say. “A little young for the birds and bees discussion, just yet.”

  A few people in the peanut gallery snigger. The judge demands quiet.

  “So, Emma would have no reason to believe that you were anything other than her nanny?”

  “No reason that I’m aware of,” I reply.

  “So, you don’t sleep in Mr. Davis’ bedroom?”

  “No Sir, I do not,” I respond sharply. Then I decide the ease the Q&A and skip ahead. “He doesn’t sleep in mine either. We maintain separate bedrooms. For sleeping purposes. Separate bathrooms for showers and toilet. When we have sex, we wait until Emma is in bed and asleep, then we do our thing as quietly as possible, picking a discreet, private room to do so.” I smile coolly at him. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  The courtroom ripples with murmur.

  The little man removes his eyeglasses, polishing the lenses on his cuff. He takes his time, then carefully replaces them, tilting them low on his nose.

  “Just a couple more questions,” he says. “The first will require a bit of subjective judgement on your part, but I’ll beg you to bear with me. The second will be easier for you.”

  He approaches me, stepping close. “Do you believe that Camden Davis loves you?”

  Wow. What a strategy. The babysitter pattern; five in a row, all of whom wanted Cam Davis, for better or worse.

  I smile at the man and shake my head. “No sir, I don’t.”

  I swore on a Bible. Good thing I’m pretty sure that thing is full of mythology.

  The man blinks. Not the response he anticipated. Nevertheless, he persists.

  “And you? Do you love Mr. Davis?”

  Again, I smile, contriving the best oh please expression I can muster.

 
“Sir, I’ve only known Cam since November, and I’m only here ‘til the end of August, when Emma starts school. I think I could best describe the nature of our relationship as casual. I don’t aspire to more. We’re both consenting adults. There’s nothing scandalous going on here. No matter how you might try to paint it.”

  He nods, satisfied that he’s done his best to expose us. I hope I’ve done a good job making him look like a creeping voyeur.

  “Thank you, Miss Bradley,” he says. He nods to Mr. Underwood, Cam’s attorney. “Your witness.”

  Mr. Underwood smiles and approaches, buttoning his jacket and he strolls unhurried across the floor.

  “I won’t keep you, Miss Bradley. Just a few small items, while we have you.”

  He clears his throat, then asks me. “You are a live-in caretaker for Emma, so you spend a great deal of time interacting with my client and his family. Is that correct?”

  “Yes Sir,” I say. “A great deal of time.”

  “Since you joined the family in November, have you ever heard Mr. Davis, or any other member of his family, or any of his friends, say anything negative about Beverly Beaufort or her parents in front of Emma.”

  “No Sir,” I reply. “Never once.”

  “Not once, not in all these months? And not since the Beaufort’s launched their custody suit?”

  “No Sir. Not ever.”

  “And has Emma ever related anything to you about her mother, that would cause you to believe someone was attempting to sway her opinion of her mother in a negative way?”

  “Never.”

  He nods. “Last questions. I know that you do not know the Beaufort’s well. You only met them once, while they came to my client’s residence on a court mandated visit last week. During that visit, did you hear anyone say anything negative about my client in front of Emma?”

  Oh, he’s good. Well done!

  “Mr. Beaufort said… I’m paraphrasing here, because I don’t recall his precise words… but something like, Cam ‘would like to see Emma drowned like her mother.’ And he said that Cam may as well have murdered Beverly with his own hands, because he was responsible for her death. He also had some choice words for me, as well as Ms. Barbour, Emma’s guardian ad litem.”

  Mr. Underwood smiles at me. “And what was your reaction?”

  “My reaction was to get Emma away from them as fast as possible. I took her upstairs to her room. She was upset. I stayed with her, calming her down.”

  “So, you terminated the court ordered visitation unilaterally? Do you think it was your place to do that?”

  I know he’s on my side, but I still bristle at the question. “I’m really not concerned about what my place is or isn’t when it comes to someone hurting Emma. My place is to protect her and take care of her, first and foremost.”

  “So, you were not aware of the fact that Ms. Barbour terminated the visit upon your departure, based on Mr. Beaufort’s language and accusations in front of Emma?”

  I shake my head. “No. I guess Emma and I were already gone by then. All I know is they left shortly after.

  He nods. “Thank you, Miss Bradley.”

  Just that quick, the judge thanks me, then tells me to step down.

  Finally, I take a breath, feeling relief wash over me, releasing all the tension from the last few moments from my body. I glance over at Camden, expecting a reassuring smile, but he’s staring at me with a hollow expression, his jaw slack, eyes dark, almost liquid.

  He’s upset. About what? I think I did well. I don’t understand that broken look he’s giving me, like I just crushed his world.

  What did I say?

  Chapter 20

  Camden

  “This went well,” Sam, my attorney says to me, clapping his hand across my shoulder. “We’ll wrap it up tomorrow and I think it’ll go our way. It’s looking like it.”

  I nod. I thought it was going well too, until I heard Grace say she didn’t believe I loved her. Until I saw how flippant she was in response to the question of whether she loved me. She said, casual. She said she’s leaving in August. She said she had no aspirations.

  She wasn’t lying. Grace doesn’t lie. She’s rarely forthcoming, but when she is, she puts it out there straight.

  Good lord. She’s ripping my heart out, with the cut starting low in my gut, twisting my insides to ribbons.

  The judge called for a recess at three o’clock to speak with Emma. He took less than fifteen minutes with her. After that, Grace and Mom took her home. It’s four thirty now, and they’re long gone. Mom’s coming to dinner tonight, along with Tyler and Amanda. I won’t get any time with Grace until late, too late to really talk, given that I’ve got to be back here in Missoula at seven.

  When I finally get back to the ranch the house is full and Mom’s talking a blue streak about who said what and the expression on the judge’s face when they said it. Amanda’s hanging on her every word while she and Grace unpack take-out fried chicken and biscuits, mac and cheese, fries, and creamed potatoes; a feast acquired from the KFC in Missoula. We don’t have much in the way of fast food nearby, so this is a treat in a round-about way. It’s a treat for Grace and my mom, because they don’t have cook for a house full of people.

  “And that lawyer, he tried to pull a fast one by calling Grace up,” my mom goes on. “But she turned it around on him—”

  “Enough Mom,” I say, shutting her down. “We were all there.” I don’t want to hear it again.

  Mom rolls her eyes at me. “Mr. Anxiety,” she teases. “You’ll see. This is going to go your way.”

  Which part? The part where I don’t have to send my kid to Arizona to hang out with criminals? Or the part where the woman I love with all my heart thinks we’re just casual fuck-buddies on a short-term contract? I want to ask her that, but I don’t.

  “Where’s Emma?” I ask.

  “With Jacob, upstairs in her room,” Amanda and Grace reply in unison, then laugh at one another in turn.

  I find my daughter and her best friend playing together with small plastic horses on the floor. They’re happily occupied and could probably do without me interrupting them, but I want to make sure my girl is okay after her interview with the judge.

  “Hey baby,” I say, leaning in her bedroom door. “I missed talking to you today.”

  She looks up at me, giving me a big, baby tooth smile. “I missed you too, Daddy.”

  “You okay?”

  She nods her head, jumping her little horse over a plastic fence. “Uh-hunh,” she says.

  “Nobody upset you or scared you or anything? Everything went okay with the judge you met?”

  She nods again. “He was nice. We talked about Stoney. He has horses too. He showed me pictures on his phone of some. We talked about you, and Gracie, and Grams, and Jacob. He asked me if I’d rather have a swimming pool or a horse in the summertime and I laughed; that was such a silly question!”

  I can’t help but smile. My baby girl knows her own mind.

  “I hope you told him that you can’t ride a horse in a swimming pool.”

  Emma giggles. “I don’t think Stoney would like that.”

  She’s fine, and I’m relieved.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” I say. “Put your toys away and come on downstairs.”

  At dinner, because of the kids, we steer clear of discussion of the day’s events. Instead, the talk turns to the fact that there’s been no rain for three months and the wildfires that popped a week ago are starting to spread.

  “Right now, the nearest fire is about ten miles northeast on the other side of the range,” Tyler says. “I heard on the radio this afternoon it was still going strong and had taken about three thousand acres already. There’s hundreds of miles of dry timber down those slopes. I’d hate to be on the foot of that mountain, waiting for it to come to me.”

  “I doubt they’ll have to wait long,” I say. “Wind is picking up. That thing will burn for weeks before it burns out.”

&nb
sp; I’m glad the wind is blowing west to east. I hate it that anyone is in the path of the thing, but I sure don’t want it coming anywhere near here.

  “By the way,” Tyler says. “Hope you didn’t forget we have to go to Idaho Falls this weekend to pick up those mares from the Hux Place?”

  I did forget.

  Taking the whole weekend transporting horses isn’t high on my agenda, but I promised Mrs. Hux I’d see to her babies personally.

  I haven’t left Grace alone on the ranch overnight by herself before, and it occurs to me that may not be a good thing. This is supposed to be her weekend off, with Emma at my mom’s house in Ronan. When we talk—whenever that may be—I’ll find out what she wants to do. Maybe she can stay with Amanda.

  After dinner, I try to catch a moment with Grace, but I’m thwarted by Emma who wants a bedtime story. I take her upstairs and after learning a little more about her conversation with the judge, I read from The Trumpet of the Swan, before watching Emma nod, blinking off to sleep. I tuck her in, turn out her light, and return downstairs only to find my Mother and Grace engrossed in a movie.

  I sit down on the couch beside Grace, trying my best to absorb the film, but I can’t clear my head of the things she said in court today. The more my mind turns on it, the angrier it makes me. I’ve told her how I feel about her, but she’s never said those words to me. She comes to my bed. She rocks my world, but maybe it really is just casual to her.

  Jesus, she kept the same boyfriend for years, and then just walked away from that relationship like it meant nothing. I told her I thought he was a fool for letting her go, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe he never had her at all. Maybe her heart is unreachable.

  Maybe I’m the fool.

  “Can we talk?” I ask, leaning in to her. “Now?”

  Grace looks at me, then back at the television screen. She slips her hand into mine. “When the movie’s over.”

  Really? Okay.

  I look at my watch. It’s ten thirty and I need to be up at five. This movie is at least two hours long.