The Still of Night

by Kristen Heitzmann

  She laughed and reached for her tea, sipping it while he munched his bagel.

  Dan studied her as he ate, then swiped his mouth with the napkin and said, “Really, Jill. Can you handle it if we still do things as a four-some? You and Shelly and Brett and me?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. Can you?”

  “Yeah.” He tucked the last quarter of his bagel into his cheek. “I’d rather do that than nothing.”

  She sniffed. “So, we just, um, go back to … well, not actually back to the beginning because …”

  “I kissed you on our first date. Do you think that’s what jinxed it?”

  Jill covered her face with her hand. “I think I’m just bad luck all around.”

  “Aw, Jill.”

  “Want another bagel?” She pushed her plate his way.

  “I guess. If you’re not hungry.”

  She sipped her tea, and it settled her stomach. “What’s important here is for Shelly to know there are no hard feelings between us. There aren’t, are there?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m happy about things.” He started on her bagel.

  “But you do understand. You’re not going to start a campaign of parking tickets against me?”

  He cocked his fingers like a gun at her. “That would not be professional, my dear.”

  “I think once we work through the emotions of it …”

  “Yeah.” He chomped down on the bagel and dabbed the cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. The rest of it disappeared in three more bites. He drained his Styrofoam coffee cup and crushed it with his napkin. “So. Buddies?”

  “Ohh …” She grimaced.

  “Come on. We’ll ride it off. Nothing like exhaustion to numb the emotions.” He stood and took her elbow. “Leg it, lady. The day’s a-wasting.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  Morgan sauntered up to the boy sitting on the cabin porch, scratching the post with a nail. The kid didn’t stop scratching or turn, though Morgan guessed he knew he had company. Rick would not be pleased with the word taking shape in the post. Morgan stooped, and at last the boy turned from his graffiti long enough to use the phrase he’d been carving.

  Morgan rested his forearms on his knees. “Why should I?”

  “Cuz I told you to.” The kid fit the word in that sentence, too.

  Morgan shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

  Agitated now, the boy gouged a deep line into the post.

  Morgan could grab the nail, stop its damaging progress, but instead he asked, “You have a name?”

  “Why should you care?” There it was. So far he’d gotten it into every sentence.

  “Ever tried a complete sentence without that word?”

  “Ever tried to go—”

  Morgan raised a hand. “I got the gist.”

  The kid gripped the nail and dug an ugly curve into the post, then surprised him with “Todd.”

  “Well, Todd, don’t you have anything better to do than vandalize that post?” Morgan wasn’t too concerned. Rick could sand it off and stain it up good as new.

  “Like ride a horse in a line?” He got it in twice that time. Some kids were afflicted with the word like. Couldn’t stretch three words together without it. Todd’s choice was a little more grating.

  But Morgan listened around it. Rick must be taking the family on a ride. Morgan brushed away a brilliant blue-green fly darting in front of his face. “Your folks went riding?”

  “Yeah. They thought this dude ranch would be like Disneyland.”

  “You’d rather be in Disneyland?”

  “Take a flying—” Todd started back on the wood, digging in the nail.

  “And if they weren’t riding in a line?”

  Todd turned. “You mean if I could take a horse by myself?” A complete sentence with no profanity.

  Morgan shrugged. “Not by yourself. But you could lead the way.”

  Todd lowered the nail. “Who are you?”

  “Morgan.”

  “I mean who are you on this ranch?”

  Morgan quirked his mouth sideways. That was a better question than Todd knew. He waved to the holding corral beside the barn. “A couple of horses right there.” It had been years since he’d sat a saddle, but he’d grown up on the same ranch as Rick.

  Todd eyed the animals warily, turned back to him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t look like a—cowboy.” Not a complete cure then, but the word was coming less frequently.

  “I’m not. Haven’t ridden in years.”

  Todd formed a sly smile. “Is that your convertible?”

  Morgan sent his glance to his Thunderbird parked outside the house. He was lucky Todd hadn’t chosen it for his carving. “Rather ride that?”

  “Rather drive it.”

  Morgan moistened his lips, altitude and climate making him dry. “We can take it for a spin.”

  “I can drive?”

  Morgan didn’t ask how old he was. Even if Todd were small for his age, he was no sixteen. Morgan dug for his keys. “Why don’t you ride.” Todd dropped the nail, and it rolled through the crack in the planks. He stood up. “Let’s do it.”

  They climbed into the car and Morgan started it up. Great engine. He reached his arm between the bucket seats, looked over his shoulder, and backed out in one swift arc. Then he left the ranch, the gravel road trailing behind in a cloud of dust. He spun around at the intersection in Juniper Falls, and they flew back up to the ranch.

  Todd’s eyes were electrified. He used his favorite word with awe.

  “You know, Todd. It wouldn’t hurt to develop your vocabulary.”

  “What should I say? Cool?” But he was grinning.

  “In my circle we’d say excellent.”

  “Excellent. Can I drive it?”

  Morgan shook his head, “No.”

  “Why not?” The smile faded and the scowl returned.

  “You’d need your dad’s permission.” Morgan felt fairly certain the kid’s dad wouldn’t give it. His machine was safe.

  Todd swore. “Like that would ever happen.” He got out and slammed the door, turned, and kicked it.

  Holding his temper, Morgan climbed out and walked around, looked from the shoe smudge to the kid who had stopped in the middle of the apron, breathing hard.

  Todd’s shoulders rose and fell. “You gonna beat me up?”

  Morgan pursed his lips. “Should I?”

  Todd glared. “I messed up your car.”

  Morgan eyed the smudge again. “Nothing a chamois and polish won’t take care of.”

  “Are you rich?” He said it like someone might taunt Are you fat? Are you stupid? Are you ugly?

  Morgan faced him squarely. “Yeah.”

  Todd wasn’t sure how to take that honesty from an adult. His face showed it. “How rich are you?”

  “Nowhere close to Bill Gates.”

  Todd turned away and stared at the meadow that gradually rose to a stony crag.

  Morgan joined him. “Does that bother you?”

  “Why should it?”

  “It shouldn’t.” No reason this adolescent time bomb should care one way or another.

  Todd picked up a rock and threw it at the creek that ran down the meadow and behind the cabins. “My dad’s in jail.”

  “I thought he was here at the ranch.”

  “That’s my foster family.”

  Morgan nodded. “What did he do?”

  “Killed a guy in a bar fight.”

  “Where’s your mom?”

  He shrugged.

  No wonder the kid had anger issues. Morgan drew a slow breath. “Life can be ugly.”

  “What would you know?”

  Morgan eyed him sidelong. Why did every kid think he had a corner on the misery market? He said only, “I’d know.”

  It seemed to sink in. Maybe Todd’s mind was receptive to the melancholy that had seeped out with the words. At any rate, the boy didn’t argue.

  Morgan said, “How old ar
e you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  A shiver went down his back. This kid was almost the same age as … Was that why he’d fixated on him, some latent desire to parent someone in place of the one he couldn’t? He walked back to the car, opened the trunk, and took out two small bottles of Dasani water. He carried one back to Todd, then opened his and chugged half the bottle. “Do you see your dad?”

  Todd drank, too, then shook his head. “Don’t want to.”

  “Because he screwed up?”

  “Cuz he’s a—jerk.” Anger definitely triggered the word.

  Morgan nodded. “How ’bout your foster dad?”

  Todd scowled but said nothing.

  “How long have you been with them?”

  “Few months.”

  “Other kids?” Morgan took a long draw that drained his water bottle, then twisted the cap back on.

  “They got three.”

  “Older or younger?”

  Todd drank his water. “Both. One’s off in college, one in high school, one almost my age.”

  “Is that the girl I saw?”

  “She’s stuck up.” Todd crushed the half-full plastic bottle and started to heave it, but Morgan caught his hand and removed the bottle from his grasp.

  “They can be at that age.” At any age, really, though he enjoyed notching down the ones who really needed it. Especially in the professional world. If they deserved their position, great. He’d work with a woman as easily as a man. It was the ones who’d clawed their way into power through sheer vixen nastiness that brought out his dark side.

  “If a stuck-up girl is the worst you have to deal with, you might lighten up a little.”

  He expected Todd’s favorite word, but the kid only glanced up. “If you’re so rich, how come you’re not out on a yacht or something? How come you’re here?”

  “I like it here.”

  Todd kicked the dirt. “That’s stupid. There’s not even a TV anywhere.”

  From the trees at the edge of the meadow came the string of horses with Rick in the lead. Mom, Dad, and their dimpled blond daughter came next. Beside Morgan, Todd tensed, then turned around and slunk back to the porch of their cabin. Morgan tossed the water bottles into the barrel beside the barn.

  At the end of the yard, Rick stopped the horse parade outside the stable and helped the woman and daughter dismount. They seemed a decent enough family for all the stories you heard about foster care. The dad might be a bit of a milquetoast, but he wrapped his daughter’s shoulders with his arm and ambled toward the cabin. Todd was watching through the corner of his eye but averted his face as they approached. The woman spoke to him, but he didn’t answer.

  Morgan joined Rick. “Hey.”

  Rick jerked his chin toward Todd disappearing around the back of their cabin. “What was that all about?”

  He must have seen their interaction, if you could call it that. “Just getting to know him.”

  “Good luck.”

  Morgan grinned. “He is a little prickly. What’s the deal?”

  Rick heaved the saddle off the mare. “Not sure. He’s been in the foster program awhile. Stan’s only had him a couple of months. He’s flunked out or been kicked out of every school he’s attended.”

  “How’d you get hooked up with them?”

  “Stan’s a friend of my neighbor. He’s trying to keep Todd out of trouble. Needed a place of refuge.”

  Morgan nodded. “I’m starting to see a pattern.”

  Rick stripped the blanket and sent the mare up to pasture. “They have the cabin as long as they need it.”

  “The guy’s not working?”

  “He’s a schoolteacher. Off for the summer.” Rick uncinched the last saddle. No doubt he’d given Todd’s family the same sort of deal he’d given Noelle when she appeared at his door, wounded and needy.

  Rick hoisted the saddle off. “Even though Stan has him at the private Christian school, two rival gangs are courting Todd. Stan thought he’d get him out of Denver, try to make some inroads. We’re working out a chore schedule for Todd and his sister—foster sister, or however that works.”

  Morgan chewed the corner of his lip. “That’ll go over well with Todd.”

  “I hope it’ll do him good.”

  At the sound of the screen door banging, Morgan glanced toward the house. “What about Noelle?”

  Rick stared across the yard at his wife. “She’s really somethin’, Morgan.” He said it as though just the sight drew the words from him.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Rick sobered. “We weren’t going to take guests this summer, but I think it helps to have other people around. She gets pretty focused.”

  “On you?” Rick should complain?

  Rick sent the last horse up to pasture. “It hasn’t been that long. God’s been good, but sometimes she’s shaky.”

  Morgan watched Noelle spread birdseed on the railing. “You sure a troubled kid is what she needs around?”

  “She was glad for the chance. Shifts the spotlight.”

  Morgan shook his head. His first assessment must not have captured all the nuances of his brother’s relationship. Again he had that sense that Noelle had chosen the better man. “Any regrets?”

  Rick squinted. “All the things I didn’t do right.”

  Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Clark, Lois doesn’t seem to notice.”

  Noelle headed for them, shaking the seed from her fingers and still looking like a piece of Dresden china. “Where’d you go, Morgan? I heard the car tear out.”

  “Tear out?” He smiled. “Just giving Todd a little ride.”

  Noelle searched his face. “Really?”

  Morgan spread his hands. “What?”

  “I just … that’s nice, Morgan.”

  “And …”

  She slid a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know your sisters adore you, but I didn’t know you were interested in kids in general. I wouldn’t see you spending time with a boy like Todd.”

  “I’m a sucker for hard cases.”

  Her gray-green eyes were luminous in the daylight. “I should know that.”

  His chest tightened. Sure. Recapture the heartache. Smart, Morgan. He looked away. “Guess I’ll see what’s roarin’ at the Boar.” It was early to hit a bar, even for him. But hey, he was on vacation. He started for the car.

  “Morgan.”

  He turned back to Rick. “Yeah?”

  “Did you get a flight to Iowa?”

  Morgan frowned. “It’s lined up if I decide to go.” And he just might want some distance after all.

  Rick nodded. “Good.”

  After biking with Dan out to Finnegan’s Pond, twenty-four miles roundtrip from town and back, Jill had spent a quiet afternoon on the patio with Rascal and two professional journals on developing receptive language in autistic children and the use of broad-spectrum anti-depressants for various emotional disorders.

  Hearing a tap on the glass, Jill pulled open her patio door to admit her friend Shelly, who was waiting with a globe-shaped lollipop. “Tell me what you think of this one.” She slipped off the plastic and held it out.

  Jill took the lollipop. Not too many people got to be the unofficial assistant to the taste tester for Cartier Confections. Choosing the new test-market flavors was only part of Shelly’s job, but she took it seriously and always included Jill for her discerning palate.

  Jill eyed the current prospect. “For starters, you’ve got to blend the colors. This white-and-ecru swirl looks like something someone spit in the parking lot.”

  “Major concern.” Shelly checked it off on her PDA. “No phlegm on a stick.”

  “What’s the flavor?”

  “Taste it.”

  Jill sniffed it. “I’m not much for coconut.”

  “This is a taste test, not a sniff test.”

  Jill licked the lollipop, surprised by the sweet, pleasant flavor. “Tastes more like pie.”

  “Maui coconu
t cream.”

  Jill slid the pop into her mouth and spun the stick, coating her tongue for a full dose of flavor. It wasn’t bad, less cloyingly sweet than some Shelly had had her try. She’d never make it to the stick, though. In her opinion, they ought to cut the size by half. But they wouldn’t market as well. You need size for an eye-catching display, Shelly had told her. “Good flavor. You ought to do one with kiwi. Kiwi-pineapple. You could suck the coconut left-handed and the kiwi-pineapple right.”

  “Spoken by the girl who has yet to finish one, not two, lollipops at once.”

  Jill shrugged. “After the tenth suck, the sweet taste buds are saturated.”

  “Thankfully the majority of our market does not agree.” Shelly worked her way into the sitting room.

  “So does Maui coconut cream represent a merger, an acquisition, or a new contest winner?”

  “None of the above. We’re just playing with some summertime variety tastes.”

  “Definitely try the kiwi-pineapple. Makes people feel like they’re on vacation with one lick.”

  “Hmm.” Shelly settled into the giraffe chair and picked up the reunion postcard. “What’s this?” She curled up her short freckled legs and switched on the lamp.

  “Class reunion.”

  “Fifteen-year?”

  “It’s a fund-raiser.” Jill set the sucker on the counter and joined Shelly in the front room.

  “Are you going?”

  “I haven’t decided.” She glanced at the packet of forms on her desk, the sheet on which to fill in all her vital statistics, and the one to send in with the exorbitant fee. “The school needs work and a quick infusion of cash, so the alumni thought a mid-decade reunion-slash-fund-raiser would help. Get everyone together and appeal to their nostalgia.”

  Shelly popped her gum. “And are you going?”

  “I’m not nostalgic. I didn’t even go to the tenth.”

  Shelly reached into the bowl of raw cashews on the corner table. “This is a good cause. You should know the schools need help, and reunions are important. They remind you of your roots, show you how far you’ve come. Besides, it would take your mind off things.”

  “Off Dan, you mean.”

  Shelly raised her hands to fend off the argument. “Dan assures me you worked things out. He’s happy; you’re happy; I’m happy.”