After the Thaw

by Therese Heckenkamp

  She began picking her way back over the clutter. “Can you recommend any cheap motels nearby?” The thought of staying alone in a motel still didn’t agree with her, but with night falling, she didn’t have much choice.

  Sam nodded. “Sure. Tell the driver Motel 6 on Arlington. And here,” he reached her in two broad strides, “for the cab.” He thumbed a couple bills from his wallet and pushed them at her.

  She hesitated, though she knew her cash was dwindling fast. First thing tomorrow, she’d go to the bank.

  “Take it.” Sam thrust the bills into her hand. “It’s only an advance, and a small one at that. Just remember our deal.”

  She folded the bills, feeling as if she was taking a bribe.

  “You get one day to settle in, so you can start work day after tomorrow,” Sam said briskly.

  She nodded and stepped around the jagged remnants of a table. Her gaze went to the floor where, earlier, she had cowered in fear. She saw her hair on the ground, a dry puddle of brown strands, the curls flat and forlorn. Grimacing, she left the shop.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Charlene?”

  Hearing her name, her head whipped around. In streetlight, she saw Brook crossing the parking lot of Motel 6.

  “Hey.” Brook smiled and shifted a white box in her hands. “I was just picking up some muffins.” She indicated the bakery next door. “They have the absolute best banana nut muffins.”

  Charlene nodded, wondering why in the world Brook was out at a bakery at this time of night instead of at Clay’s side. It wasn’t like he’d banned Brook as he had her. The muffins obviously weren’t for him, either. Unless she planned on blending them into mush.

  Brook glanced at the motel’s blue doors. “So you’re staying? Here in town, I mean?”

  Again, Charlene nodded. She didn’t feel she had much left in her to speak. She just needed a bed to fall into so this day could finally end.

  “How long are you staying?” Brook persisted.

  Charlene blew an obnoxious, tickly curl away from her nose. “I’m not exactly sure.”

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but something in Brook’s eyes yearned for more information. Charlene gave in. “A few months.”

  Brook’s eyebrow arched under her thick, sweeping hair. Beautiful long hair. Charlene smothered a flare of envy.

  “I know Motel 6 is cheap,” Brook said, “but it won’t be if you’re staying that long.”

  “The motel’s just for a few days. I’ll start looking for a place to rent tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Brook’s forehead puckered slightly as she seemed to debate something.

  Charlene glanced again at the motel, envisioning peace, quiet, and sleep.

  “Would you like a muffin?” Brook extended the bakery box.

  “No thanks.” Immediately after saying it, Charlene realized she should have said yes. Her stomach growled angrily. “I really just need to check in, so—”

  Brook let out a sigh and flicked a lock of hair from her shoulder. “Look, I probably shouldn’t even suggest this, but I need a roommate. It’s a small apartment, nothing special, but the rent’s cheap.”

  Charlene cocked her head. “Really?” She had an impression that while Brook wasn’t offering whole-heartedly, she genuinely wanted her to accept the offer. But then, what did she know? By now her mind felt about as functional as a ball of fuzz.

  Brook nodded. Her green eyes brightened with something like anticipation. “I’ve been needing a roommate for weeks. My last one bailed suddenly.”

  “You hardly know me.” And I hardly know you.

  They regarded each other a moment before Brook countered matter-of-factly, “I know you more than I would any potential roommate answering an ad.”

  “True.” Charlene peered down the street. “Is it far from here?” I could at least take a look.

  Brook’s smile held a hint of relief. “No, not at all. Come on, I’m parked over there.”

  Charlene soon learned that the apartment was conveniently located in the heart of the small town. The building was a long rectangular block, red brick on the bottom half, white siding on the top. Evergreen bushes made a stiff green collar around the place.

  Charlene expected a musty, offensive odor when they stepped inside, as many old apartments had, but she detected only a light dusty scent.

  Brook unlocked her door and gave a short tour. Though small, the place was decent and cheery with light lemon walls. White gauzy valances topped a picture window. The kitchen was clean and tastefully decorated. A small wine rack held Chardonnay and Merlot beside a bowl of grapes.

  Most impressively, the bathroom sink and mirror shone spotless. The spare bedroom was simple and tiny, but empty and vacuumed.

  “So what do you think?” Brook asked.

  Charlene swept her gaze once more around the room. “I think I’ll take it.”

  * * *

  A mere half an hour later, Charlene closed the door of her new bedroom and sank wearily onto the freshly-made bed.

  Struggling to keep her eyes open, she studied her new phone and brought up the keypad. She stared at the digits, her mind clouding as she tried to pull Ben’s number from memory. A three, then a six, then a four—no, a five? Or a . . .

  Before she could complete the call, she fell asleep.

  * * *

  First thing the next morning, Charlene tried again. Ben didn’t answer, so she left a brief message letting him know she was fine and would call back soon. After a quick shower, she left the apartment.

  Her first stop following the bank was a hair salon, and though the hairdresser gave her a wide-eyed once-over, Charlene didn’t elaborate on the cause of her current frightful style. She simply asked the woman to do what she could to make her curly mop look as decent as possible without sacrificing any more length.

  After approving the results, Charlene headed to a nearby diner for some food. From there, she strolled the sidewalk and spotted a yard sale sign up ahead. A green Trek bike leaning against a tree caught her interest. She ran her hand over the smooth frame and found the price sticker. A bargain. She examined the tires. Firm, and not worn.

  “Go ahead,” called a woman sticking orange price tags on toys, “hop on and give it a test ride.”

  So Charlene did, and as she enjoyed a smooth, short ride up and down the sidewalk, she pictured herself sailing through town with the impending summer stretching before her, warm and promising. Her short hair fluttered behind her and she could almost imagine it was long again.

  She coasted strategically past rummage items and stopped to pay for the bike. The woman kindly threw in a bike lock for free, and Charlene rode away, jubilant.

  She pedaled up and down Main Street in the sunshine and gave herself a little tour of Creekside. Bumping over a plank bridge above a tranquil river, she smiled as she passed people strolling, and they smiled back.

  No suspicious narrowing of eyes.

  No turning away to avoid her.

  No pointing fingers.

  She was an anonymous nobody, a girl out for a carefree ride, and it was a wonderful feeling. Joy flooded her lungs like clean air, buoying her mood. For those moments, she didn’t think of Lance, Grandfather, or even Clay.

  She cruised into a park adjacent to the library, then she set her new bike on the grass and sat on a bench in the shade of a maple tree. Tilting her head, she gazed up at the blue sky and was simply happy to be alive.

  Yards away, mothers pushed toddlers on swings. The happy childish cries were a beautiful sound.

  Her phone rang, and she slipped it from her pocket and answered.

  “Charlene, finally!” Ben’s tone held a flood of relief. “Are you really okay? Where are you? I tried calling you all yesterday and just kept getting voicemail.”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I just got a new phone; you’re the first one I called. So much has happened.” She began by telling him about the fire.

/>   “I know,” he cut in. “The police questioned me. I’ve been so worried about you.”

  A terrible pang struck her. She hadn’t realized what she might be putting him through . . . she’d hardly had a moment to think straight. With the subject of the fire exhausted, she moved on to describe her disastrous stay at Grandfather’s.

  That shocked Ben into silence for a moment. “You told me about him. I just never believed he could really be so, so—”

  “Eccentric?”

  “That’s putting it nicely. What a nut case. You seriously need to report him.”

  “Right. My word against his, the powerfully influential billionaire.” She crinkled her nose. “Look, I’m okay, I got away.” Now was not the time to tell him about Lance.

  “So where are you?”

  She shaded her eyes with her hand and focused on distant daffodils. “In a little town called Creekside, about an hour north. I found a little apartment. My roommate’s real nice.”

  There was a long pause. “You . . . rented a place?” Pure incredulity. “I don’t get it, Charlene. Why would you do that? I thought we had everything settled. You were going to stay at my parents’.” The agitation in his voice scraped her nerves.

  She stood and paced the grass. “I know. I wanted to, really.” How to go on without blaming his mom? “But I really think it’s best for me to get out of Woodfield completely. There are a lot of people who don’t like me there.” She switched the phone to her other ear. “It’s hard, Ben, and I can’t—I don’t want to put you and your family in danger. I can’t be that selfish. And this is just for a little while. We’ll make it work.”

  “It’s just so far away.”

  She squeezed the phone. “Not really. I can hop on a bus and be back in an hour.”

  “And how often are you going to do that? How often are we actually going to see each other? I want to be understanding, but it’s like . . . I feel like you’re trying to put distance between us, when we should be spending more time together, not less. We’ve got the wedding to plan.” He paused. “You still want to get married, don’t you?”

  “Of course. This has nothing to do with us, or you, Ben.” Ouch, that came out wrong. “I mean—”

  “When am I gonna see you next? Today? Tomorrow?”

  “I . . .” The thought of heading back to Woodfield rolled her stomach. And the drug charges still hung over her head like a guillotine. “Soon, Ben. I promise. I’ll always be off Sundays, so I’ll come early in the morning and we’ll go to church, then spend the whole day together. Every week.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. I want to see you, too, Ben, believe me.”

  “And what about school? Your classes? You’re just going to give all that up?”

  “No, of course not. But I’m almost done for the summer. I’ll work something out.” And she would. Carpentry was not going to be her career. “How are you doing? How are you feeling?”

  They talked a little longer, but after she said goodbye, she stared at the blank phone screen, feeling conflicted. She hadn’t told him everything, but she’d intended to. They didn’t keep secrets.

  She wet her lips and made her next call, expecting another earful of a different kind.

  “It’s about time,” her lawyer began. “Why haven’t I been able to contact you, Charlene? That is not acceptable.”

  Back to pacing, she tried to explain, but Vivian broke in. “You’ll no longer be needing my services.” Her tone switched from severe to triumphant. “Your case was dropped.”

  Charlene froze in mid-step. “Oh my gosh, are you serious? That’s amazing. That’s wonderful news!”

  “I wish they could all wrap up this nicely.”

  Vivian went on to explain how the parking lot surveillance tapes had shown a large man jimmying her car open and ducking in the passenger side briefly. “He obviously planted the drugs. Unfortunately, the footage was low quality. We couldn’t identify the man. We don’t know who was trying to frame you or why, but with that kind of evidence, the prosecutor had no choice but to throw out the case.”

  After the call, Charlene became aware of a big smile stretching her face. Relief didn’t begin to describe her feelings. She promptly called Ben back and shared the news. “This means no more court dates or hearings or bail restrictions.”

  His relief mirrored hers, but then he asked, “Any chance this changes your mind? About coming back?”

  She caught her lip between her teeth. “I still don’t know who planted the drugs or why. That person might still be out to get me.” The realization tempered her happiness, and after the call, she stared vacantly. She’d left town, but she hadn’t gone far. She’d promised Ben she’d visit frequently. Anyone who wanted to find her wouldn’t have a hard time.

  “A large man,” Vivian had said.

  Lance? Ridiculously, the thought was nearly something of a comfort. He’d done his damage and disappeared. With any luck, he’d stay gone. Better to think it was him than some unidentified menace.

  Charlene realized she’d been watching a little boy and girl swinging vigorously. “Bet you can’t swing higher than me!” the boy yelled.

  “Can too!” the girl shot back.

  Charlene figured they were brother and sister, and they reminded her of herself and Max. The day he’d learned to pump a swing, she’d practiced relentlessly to keep up with him. The blisters on her hands had been worth it. They’d spent a lot of summers swinging side by side.

  After the kids jumped off and dashed away to a twisty slide, Charlene wandered to the abandoned swings and settled on a seat. The flexible rubber pressed her thighs and knees together awkwardly, but she pushed off with her toes and glided gently. Holding the chain one-handed, she dialed Max with her other hand.

  Reaching his voicemail, she said, “Hey, Max, I just got the best news from Vivian. I’m free! The case was dropped . . .” She rattled off the details till his voicemail cut her off.

  Not minding, she pocketed her phone. This was huge news. Max would call her back this time, she was sure of it.

  * * *

  She’s trouble. The thought scurried through the woman’s mind like a frantic centipede. Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sights.

  But she had.

  Irritation clawed.

  She couldn’t keep an eye on her—or him—constantly, not with work stealing her time.

  The woman tugged at her waistband and growled in frustration. She’d lose her slender figure soon and gain countless cumbersome pounds.

  No one else will want me.

  But that was okay. She didn’t want anyone else. Only him. Always him.

  Till death do us part.

  * * *

  “Clay was none too happy about my decision to let you work here,” Sam commented, speaking the most words he had all day.

  Charlene paused in sweeping sawdust from the woodshop floor, but Sam kept right on clamping two pieces of wood in a vise. Satisfied with that, he let the glue set while he hoisted a large pine plank onto his saw table. He slipped on safety goggles, then tugged on ear protection, which looked like plastic ear muffs.

  She pulled on her own ear protection just as the saw began buzzing. The wicked teeth of the round blade disappeared into a gray whir and the noise became a shriek. The scent of pine heightened as sawdust rained down.

  The first chore she’d done upon arrival that morning was sweep and discard the pile of her shorn hair, glad to have it out of sight, yet, in a ridiculous way, sad to say goodbye. That hair had been with her through so much . . . She shook the ludicrous sentiment away.

  She and Sam had cleared a decent path through the wreckage. He’d separated the salvageable wood while she deposited the remaining scattered pieces in a fire pit in the backyard for future burning. She rehung the Saint Joseph picture. Sam, surprisingly patient, taught her the art of sanding and staining.

  As she worked, she was acutely aware of Clay’s presence in the nearby house. She consi
dered the different activities he might be doing to pass time—sleeping, watching TV, reading, drinking—and she wondered how soon he’d be back at work.

  He’d have to face her then. It was only a matter of time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Catch, Charlene.” Sam tossed her a broken spindle. It almost jabbed her arm before she caught it.

  “Go ahead and take that to the burn pile.”

  So away she went, glad to snatch a few moments out in the warm sunshine. Tulips bloomed along the edge of the lot and around the base of a gnarly tree. Beneath lowered lashes, she cast a glance at the house. It was basic, somewhat small. A coat of paint would brighten it nicely, and the windows could use washing.

  Spindle still in hand, she squinted, focusing on what she thought was a person standing at the window. Clay?

  She almost attempted a wave, but he was already gone. Or maybe he’d never been there at all and it was a trick of the dirty windows.

  While tossing the wood into the burn pile, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She answered to hear Max.

  “Hey Char, got your message. What did I tell you? I knew it’d all turn out. So now that you’re free, what do you say you take a trip out here?”

  She stared at the woodshop. “That sounds nice, but it’s still not good timing. I’ve got other things going on right now. Maybe when—”

  “You haven’t ended the engagement yet?”

  She bristled, knowing he was trying to rile her. “Of course not.”

  “Have you at least found me the perfect girl yet?”

  “No to that, as well.”

  “Gosh, slacker. What have you been doing since I left? Nothing but studying and working?”

  “I wish.” She pulled in a breath and informed Max of all that had happened since his visit, including her condo fire, her stay at Grandfather’s, Lance’s attack, and her new job.

  “And you didn’t tell me all this sooner why?” No humor in his tone now.

  “I tried calling, but you never answered.”

  “I’ve been busy. You should’ve left a better message. How was I supposed to know—”