Clete smiled. “Did you ever hear me say you were being mean?”
“No, but that’s certainly the impression you gave.”
“Mean, as far as I’m concerned, requires intent,” Clete said. “I’m not saying that you deliberately treated Crockett badly, or unfairly, or any of the rest of that.”
“But I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes m’am, you did. But not with malice. You’ve got to remember that, Ruby. What you did was to try to care for yourself in the only way you knew how. I don’t know nothin’ about your history, but if I had to take a guess, it would be that you were badly misused by men or a man when you were young, and your defense was to learn how to manipulate them as you grew older. God knows you got all the necessary equipment.”
In spite of herself, Ruby smiled. “Wanna go into practice with me? You’re pretty perceptive for a country boy.”
Clete returned her smile. “And you’re doing a pretty good job of controllin’ yourself.”
“What?”
“You just chose one of three options on how to react to my diagnosis.”
“Three, huh?”
“Probably more, but three come to mind. The one you chose was to bat the ball back in my court to see what I would do with it while you got more time to think. Another option, which was sorta the one I expected, was to get pissed off because I had the absolute gall to offer a diagnosis in the first place, and then, after a suitable amount of time, give me the opportunity to apologize. The third was to jump on the fact that I brought up your necessary equipment, make some kinda sexual response, and deflect the conversation into gender game playing.”
Ruby raised an eyebrow. “So I chose the lesser of three evils?”
“Not lesser, just different. Instead of anger or sex, you chose to remind me that you are much better equipped to diagnose than I am because you already have a practice, and then to insult me by saying, in essence, I’m not as dumb as my Texas background might indicate.”
Ruby held his eyes for a moment, then reached for her wine glass again. “I did that, huh?”
“Yes m’am, you did.”
“I didn’t intend to.”
“No m’am, you didn’t. But, as I said before, intent don’t mean shit. Thought doesn’t rule this kinda thing, Ruby. Training and association do. I believe you psychological types would call it patterns.”
Ruby stared at the tabletop for a beat or two. “Jesus,” she said.
“Now, don’t get me wrong. You fatmouth Crockett all the time, and the vast majority of that is just Ruby LaCost, the wiseass. You love ol’ Crockett enough to do it, and he loves you enough to appreciate exactly what it is that you’re doing. It’s part of the way you relate to each other. Listening to the two of you can be more fun than watching I Love Lucy reruns. That ain’t what I’m talking about.”
“I know it’s not.”
“Sure ya do. What I’m getting’ at are those times you deal with Crockett as if he was just another man in the long string of men that have wanted something from you that you have maneuvered to your own advantage. The real difference is that the more Crockett grows, growth that you started incidentally, the more he answers to himself and not you. Tough to take.”
“I love him, Clete. I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“A course you don’t. You’d rather run and take care of yourself than hang in there on the chance you might have to take care of him. True love.”
“Just a goddammed minute,” Ruby said. “I was with him all through that coma up at Ivy’s. I sat by his bed, I read him books, I shaved his face, I cried on his pillow. I was the only one there that thought he’d make it back. Everybody else was sure he was gonna die, but not me. I sat there for three months and just waited for him to come back because there was nothing else I could do.”
“So what? He woulda done the same thing if you were in that coma, but with a difference.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, Ruby. The difference is, you were doing it for yourself. He would have done it for you.”
Stock still, Ruby stared at him for a moment. “Aw, man.”
“Yeah. All the time when you guys were together and you wouldn’t let him into your bed, ol’ Crockett hung in there. Any other man on the planet would have kicked you to the fucking curb, but not Crockett. He had that much love for you and faith that’d you’d eventually find yourself. I talked to him about it once, ‘cause I just couldn’t understand why he put up with it. Asked him what if you never changed? Crocket smiled and said, ‘Yeah, but what if she does?’ Jesus, Ruby. How long did Crockett wait for you to come back because there was nothing else that he could do?”
She sat looking at the table for a moment, then raised shining eyes. “You’re a helluva friend, Clete.”
“Loyal as a hound,” Clete said.
Ruby’s smile quivered. “Does Crockett know you’re here?”
“Nope. This is just between you and me.”
Ruby nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna finish my shells and then I want you to take me home.”
“Oh, to hear a good lookin’ woman say somethin’ like that, just makes my little Texas toes curl.”
Ruby smiled. “Don’t get any ideas, Texican,” she said. “That was a request, not an offer.”
Clete grinned. “That may be true, Miz Ruby,” he said, “but I’ve always heard it was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. I’d just hate like hell to not be there if you did.”
After dinner, Crockett and Stitch did dishes and the group went onto the deck on the front side of the Inn for coffee. Nudge wandered up from down by the lake with Maggie in tow and laid on the edge of the planking, swishing his tail and slow-blinking at Crockett. All was right in kitty world.
“How long you gonna be with us?” Zeb asked, turning to Stitch.
“I dunno, man. Depends on how deep the shit is that ol’ Crockett has stepped in.”
“You’re welcome as long as you like,” Mazy said. “You can move your helicopter down inside boat storage building fence so it’ll be safe.”
“Any trees close to the fence?”
“No more than twenty feet.”
“Far out. I can put it in there tomorrow after I take you guys for a ride. Ever flown in a helo?”
“Not me,” Zeb said. Mazy shook her head.
“Ha! Two cherries. I’ll be gentle.”
“You need someplace to stay, too,” Mazy said. “There’s an empty room and bath right off the living area.”
Stitch hesitated and looked at Crockett. “Where you stayin’, Man?”
Crockett winked at Mazy. “I’ve got a room inside. The bus is open if you want it.”
“Sure. Why don’t I just, like, hang out in the Pequod? Ol’ Nudge can stay with me if you want. He an’ I do fine. I got a duffel bag in the helo. Once I grab that and some stuff I got for you, I’m moved in.”
“You got stuff for me?”
“Yeah. Ol’ Goody sent you a package or two.”
Crockett grinned. “I’m sure that could come in handy.”
“Yeah. Toys, man. Neat toys.”
The group fell silent for a moment, Both Zeb and Mazy curious but too polite to ask. Finally Zeb spoke up.
“Just how deep is the shit gonna git, Crockett?”
“No idea. Maybe not deep at all. How’s the law enforcement situation around here?”
“We got a Sheriff’s Office that don’t have a lot to do. Course the lake is covered by Department of Conservation Agents. They carry guns an’ all and patrol the campgrounds and such. Purty good bunch a boys, but they’re spread real thin. They deal with tourists, hunters, campers, and such. Don’t have no real experience with bad guys exactly. Ain’t enough of ‘em. Some of the campgrounds is watched by civilians that get free campin’ spots to keep a eye on things. ‘Course, we’re private property. Conservation boys come in here once in a while ta git coffee or eat, but we doan see much of ‘em. They ain’t responsible for us. Stat
e Troopers pretty much stay out on the roads and highways. We’re kinda on our own, I guess. Never really had to think about it before.”
“You probably don’t have to now either,” Crockett said.
Zeb snorted. “That why you’re stayin’ on? ‘Cause there ain’t nothin’ to be worried about?”
“Exactly,” Crockett said. “Same reason I went to that ashram in Canada.”
Later that evening, Crockett got Stitch and Nudge both squared away in the coach and himself squared away in the second bedroom. Mazy brought him fresh towels and linens and he declined her offer to make the bed. He opened a window a bit, put some clothes and toiletries away, slipped on the mattress pad and sheets, unfolded two blankets, picked up a plastic container he’s brought in from the bus, and wandered out into the living area. Mazy, dressed in sweats, was fussing with the coffee maker. She smiled at him.
“Crockett. I thought you’d turned in for the night.”
“Just about,” he replied, setting the container on the counter. “Looks like I just got here in time.”
“What’s this?” Mazy asked.
“Coffee. I ground the beans before I came in. My treat.”
Mazy popped the lid and sniffed.
“My Lord! What is this?”
“It’s some dark roast Jamaican that I like. Not as good as Blue Kona, but I ran out of the good stuff.”
Mazy sniffed again. “This isn’t the good stuff?”
Crockett smiled. “This is the okay stuff. The good stuff would make you swoon. I don’t want you to lose control.”
Her eyes flashed and she shot him a sideways grin. “The hell you don’t.”
“Busted! You’re a peach. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight Mazy.”
“Sleep tight, Crockett.”
He didn’t.
After tossing and turning for a week or so, Crockett gave up and got up. He looked out the window. The lake shimmered quietly down the slope, reflecting squiggles of silver from a couple of distant lights on the opposite shore and the cool glow of a quarter moon. Sighing, he lit a Sherman, strapped on his leg, wrapped himself in the quilted bedspread, schlepped out onto the deck, and sank into a lawn chair.
The night was crisp. Something skittered away from the edge of the deck and an owl hoot questioned the night from an unknown location. Twice fish jumped within hearing range before he finished the cigarette and the lonely bark of a distant dog echoed through the night. It was peaceful, it was serene, and it was missing a campfire. Crockett wormed the edge of the bedspread under his bare foot and shivered slightly, enjoying the cool and the comforting caress of the night.
He felt her before he heard her, and heard her before he saw her. Mazy’s hand appeared over his left shoulder holding a steaming mug.
“Hot chocolate,” she said. “Good for what ails you.”
Crockett took the mug and she, wearing some kind of long quilted coat over her sweat clothes, settled into the chair beside him.
“Thanks,” he said, not disappointed to have his reverie disturbed. “Just what I needed. Very thoughtful.”
Mazy smiled. “Can’t sleep, huh? Me either. I heard you come out here, so I got up and made us something good for the soul.”
“Perfect for a night like this,” Crockett said.
They sipped quietly for a few moments before Mazy opened the conversation.
“Stitch showing up bring back some memories? That why you can’t sleep?”
“That’s part of it.”
“Unpleasant memories?”
Crockett smiled into the night. “Sorta.”
“Of what?”
“You always been this nosey?”
“Uh-huh. Of what?”
“To be a little melodramatic, gunfire and death.”
Mazy chewed on that for a while. “Bad people?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Good deeds?”
“Yeah.”
“Good cause?”
“Yep.”
Mazy nodded. “I doubt if you pissed God off.”
Crockett chuckled. “Nice to know. How ‘bout you? Why are you awake?”
“Sometimes I miss Jeff,” she said.
“Your husband?”
She nodded. “Met him right here when he and Zeb were putting the place in. My daddy trucked a lot of the steel up here for the Baker Buildings plant in Springfield. The boat dealer, the rental storage units, the boat barn and the two pavilions are all Baker Buildings. I rode with him on one trip and met Jeff. I was just seventeen. He was twenty-four. It was kind of an instant thing. We dated for two years, but got tired of driving back and forth, so we just got married. He got killed three years ago this coming February ninth.”
“And you miss him.”
“Not all the time. Not even very much, to tell the truth. Just now and then, like those times when it wakes me up.”
“Sorry if I contributed to that with my teasing. That certainly wasn’t my intention. Sorry that I even said that. Seems a little conceited. Christ. Forget I said anything, will ya? Jesus. I’ll shut up now.”
“You’re nothing like my husband. He was sort of slow and plodding. Worked too hard, didn’t laugh much, certainly not ever at himself. He didn’t take after Zeb hardly at all. He wouldn’t have liked you. He would have thought you were a smartass.”
“I am a smartass. Fought it all my life. Can’t seem to control it.”
“Well, if he’s keeping me up, is she keeping you up?”
“Probably.”
“You love her?”
“Yeah, but I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Too damn much effort. If she can get me to not love her, then she won’t have to love me anymore and she can walk away with a clear conscience and go back to her old life without any strings, commitments, or sacrifices. At least that’s what I think she thinks, even if she doesn’t think that’s what she’s thinking. Christ. Do you have any idea what I just said?”
Mazy smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then could you explain it to me?”
“Standard female bullshit. No wonder men don’t understand us. Most women go out of their way to complicate things.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s easier to feel vindicated when things go to hell if you can believe that the dirty sonofabitch never understood you. The easiest way for a woman to get empathy from other women and sympathy from men is to claim the man she wasted the best years of her life on never did understand her. For the most part, women love being misunderstood. It’s easier than having to be honest.”
“Holy shit,” Crockett said. “Where have you been all my life?”
Mazy giggled. “Right here by the lake,” she said. “What took you so long?”
“Did your husband understand you?”
“Jeff? Lord, no! He didn’t even understand there was anything he did or didn’t understand. He was a very basic man. Imagination got in the way of hard work. Jeff loved hard work. Don’t misunderstand me, he was a good man and I mostly loved him, but it was a long way from a hearts and flowers relationship.”
“Didn’t you ever want more?”
“Crockett, most of us, no matter how good we have it, want more. You done with your hot chocolate?”
“Yep.”
Mazy stood and took his cup. “Don’t stay up all night,” she said.
Crockett smiled up at her. “I like your style, kid,” he said.
She bent and kissed him on the cheek.
“Yours ain’t so bad either,” she whispered, and was gone.
*****
Boog Jeter wasn’t what anybody would have called a planner, including himself. That’s why Boog was kind of surprised when a plan began to form in his head. He wasn’t sure what he was gonna do about that black-haired woman doctor in them high-heel shoes, but he knew he was gonna have to do something, and he knew that something was gonna require money. He wished he could talk t
o Harold Lee ‘because Harold Lee had been to college an’ all, but Harold Lee was locked up in that prison up by Kansas City. Daddy woulda had some good advice too, ‘cause Daddy was so sly at gittin’ things done, but Daddy wasn’t around no more either. Momma had held Junior up near as high as Jesus, an’ anybody that close to the Lord woulda been a big help if he wadden dead, too.
Because there wasn’t nobody around for Boog to ask about nothin’, he kinda tried to imagine in his head what Daddy, Junior, and Harold Lee might have done if they were there with him. He studied on it for a while and dammed if it didn’t work. Daddy come to mind. So Boog set about to open up that old still.
Boog had spent a lot of time workin’ with Daddy makin’ Shine and knew how to do it, but, like folks say, it takes money to make money. Before the County took the house, Boog got some stuff outa the place, includin’ a gun or two. One a them guns was Daddy’s old .410 Stevens side-by-side double barrel. A .410 shotgun weren’t worth a shit on nothin’ but rabbits, but a side-by-side .410 double was right uncommon. Kind of a collector’s item. So when Boog took that gun to Jack Martin down at the hardware store and told him it was for sale, Jack jumped at the chance to take advantage of the situation and offer Boog less than half of what the gun was worth. Boog took the hundred and ninety dollars, made a mental note that Jack had screwed him, and headed to the feed store.
Daddy’s still was a sixty-gallon Georgia Ridge that Daddy had been some proud of. Boog spent nearly a whole day working on it until the copper was as clean as he could make it. He lugged the water from the Spring River about two hunnert yards away, a difficult business because of the ragged terrain and the fact that he needed nearly fifty gallons. Into the water went about half a bushel of corn meal, fifty pounds of sugar, yeast and malt. Four days later the mash was ready. Boog built a small fire under the still and watched the thermometer carefully, maintaining the heat at between 170 and 173 degrees. Distillation began, condensation occurred in the copper coil, and the clear liquid began to drip into the Ozark Mountain Head. Boog placed a few drops on his tongue and recoiled from the searing liquid. No wonder Daddy always called his shine Popskull.
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