Fighting for Anna

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “Good Lord.” I slammed the door of the Jetta a little too hard.

  Two golden retrievers and one sausage-like, googly-eyed dog of questionable origin barked at me like I was there to loot the place.

  “Hello, I live here!” I shouted at them.

  They stopped barking, locking hurt eyes on me. I heard wheels on the dirt behind me and turned to find Sheriff Boudreaux himself pulling up in an LCSD Tahoe.

  “Great,” I muttered.

  I let myself in the gate and rubbed Gertrude’s tush. She wiggled and did figure eights around my ankles. I petted Janis and Woody behind their ears. I wasn’t sure which one was which without checking under their hoods, but they didn’t appear to be offended by my familiarity sans personal greeting.

  Boudreaux was out of his SUV. He came into the yard, re-latching the gate behind him.

  “I thought Tank and Junior didn’t take me seriously.”

  He gave me a politician’s bland smile. “Got a call from Greyhound.”

  “I’ll get him for you. Wait here.”

  The sheriff raised one eyebrow at me. His smile disappeared. Mine came back as I let myself in the house and closed the door firmly behind me.

  The house was crowded, hot, overwhelming. The adults clustered in the front rooms disappeared for a beat, replaced by two barefooted, pigtailed little girls in white cotton dresses, running and laughing, dolls in their hands, trailing the scent of dirt, fresh cut grass, and summer. I shifted my eyes and saw a woman in a calico dress and a long-brimmed bonnet. She was coming in the back door, carrying a basket of string beans. An older boy followed her with a pail of milk. A toothless old woman rocked by the front window, her eyes staring at nothing while she smiled and hummed a tuneless song. “Can a fellow get lunch around here?” a voice boomed. A tall bearded man in a sweat-stained white shirt slammed the door behind where I was standing. He moved through me, whipped his hat off, and bent to pull the pigtails on one of the little girls.

  As quickly as they had appeared, they were replaced by Jimmy Urban standing off to my left, shifting from one foot to the other. Greyhound sitting at the table in the kitchen bending Rashidi’s ear. Maggie in the living room to my right, arms crossed, foot tapping, as the Internet technician was explaining something to her. And Lucy from the church, walking out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. I didn’t bother greeting anyone.

  “Greyhound, the sheriff’s out front for you.”

  “Let him in,” Greyhound said.

  “I don’t feel like it,” I retorted.

  He looked at me closer, then stood and walked over to me, putting his hand on my elbow. “I asked the sheriff to come investigate.”

  “You have a lot more pull than I do. I made a report to his deputies and got nowhere.”

  “I’ll take care of it. That and the property tax situation.”

  I gestured around me. “Speaking of taxes, federal in this case, the estate is a lot larger than you knew. There’s millions in art in here. It’s not extraordinarily liquid, but there are some paintings in here that could pay the property tax debt as well as the future estate tax liability.”

  Greyhound squeezed my elbow, nodded, and went out the front door. Rashidi beckoned me with his hand. I only had to take two steps to reach him.

  “I fixed the Quacker air conditioner.”

  “Really?” I eyed him dubiously. No toothpick, I was relieved to see. “How?”

  He shrugged. “I cleaned the evaporator coil and added coolant. And when all the people dem leave, I’ll crack your safe.”

  “Thank you. Very much.”

  He dipped his head. Then he added, softly, “I have something to show you from your place.”

  Equally softly I said, “And I have something to tell you about the picture on the wildlife camera.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  Maggie piped in, “Mr. Internet and I are having us a good time.”

  The young man flushed. Something about his gleaming eyes told me that being harassed by Maggie was better than being ignored by Maggie.

  “I’m almost done, ma’am.” He continued fiddling with wires and cables.

  “Jimmy, Lucy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Jimmy hooked a thumb at Lucy, who had come to stand beside him. “She’s got something to say to you.”

  I gestured at the table. “Can I offer you a seat?”

  Lucy and Jimmy settled in chairs while I poured myself the last of the coffee.

  Rashidi said, “I’ll make another pot,” and shooed me toward the table. I took Greyhound’s vacated seat.

  “All done here,” the Internet installer announced.

  Maggie crossed both arms over her chest, one hip cocked out. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “I tested it out good, Ms. Maggie. With your phone’s Wi-Fi connection, too.”

  “Check it with a laptop,” she ordered.

  “Use mine,” I said. I’d set it on the floor by the door when I first came in. I pointed.

  She went to collect it. “Is there a password?”

  There was but I didn’t want to shout it out. What was the point of a password if everyone knew it? I waved her over. “Adrian14,” I whispered.

  She looked into my eyes, and in a weirdly comforting gesture, she leaned her forehead against mine liked we’d been sisters or friends forever. As quickly as she’d done it, she pulled away and went back to the living room to bedevil the installer. Rashidi was whistling in the kitchen, stopping to sing, “Little darling, stir it up.”

  “Where were we?” I gave Lucy what I hoped was a warm smile.

  “Go ahead,” Jimmy urged her, but he was looking at me.

  Lucy placed her cup in front of her carefully, then lined the handle up on the right side at a precise three o’clock. She clasped both her hands together, and her fingers kneaded each other. Whatever she had to say was becoming more interesting to me with each second that passed. Finally she squeezed her hands together so tightly her knuckles went white.

  She drew in a deep breath and blew it out hard. “I didn’t tell you the truth.”

  I froze, afraid to spook her. Afraid she would chicken out.

  She closed her eyes. “I told you I never talked to Gidget again after her parents died, but I came to see her the day before she died.”

  I reached across the table and put my hand over her two clasped ones. They were icy cold. “I’m glad you’re telling me now. Go on.”

  “It was Jimmy talked me into it. He made me see her life was harder than I’d known.” Jimmy shifted in his chair. “She was right glad to see me.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. “She cried buckets. I did, too. She was more like herself than she’d been since she was a girl. She even called herself Anna. She asked me to pray with her. She was reading the Bible again.”

  “I’m so glad you were able to have that time with her.”

  Lucy’s voice quaked. “I told her I was sorry. She said that she was, too. She told me about the book you’re writing and”—a sob escaped her throat—“she told me about her d-d-daughter. I lied about that, too, I’m ashamed to say. Anna said she was going to tell you herself, and the secret would be out.”

  My heart thudded a powerful rhythm in my throat. I became hyperaware of the sound of the coffee maker gurgling, the door closing as Rashidi slipped out back, the clicking of Maggie’s fingers on my keyboard, the breathing of the installation tech as he watched over her shoulder, Lucy’s cries, the vibrations of Jimmy’s emotions as he worried over her without making a sound. He cared for her, I realized.

  “What did she tell you about her?”

  “Years ago, that time she’d come to town and I was so angry she didn’t visit me, she’d been here to have her daughter. She said her parents gave her away, but that they never told her who or where. I just wanted you to know that the daughter is real, and that she was born in 1975, if that helps you any.”

  “It helps me a lot.” An understatement
of immense proportions.

  Maggie’s fingers started typing, click-click-click. “By golly, the Internet works!”

  The Internet guy blushed. “I told you, Ms. Maggie.”

  “Good job, young man,” she said to him.

  To Lucy, I said, “Did she tell you who the father was?”

  “No, she said she wasn’t going to tell anyone his name until she’d given him fair warning. She said she wrote to him and was expecting to hear back anytime.”

  “Dang. Okay.”

  “I knew Jimmy went to see her in Houston, and I wondered . . .” Her eyes flitted up, causing more tears to spill as they met Jimmy’s intense gaze. “I wondered if it was you.”

  You could’ve heard a pin drop.

  Jimmy’s forehead glistened with little drops of sweat. He stood and adjusted his overall straps. “That ain’t none of your business,” he said, but again he was looking at me.

  All his response did was goad me. “But could you be?”

  He growled, “I said it ain’t none of your business. So get your nosey nose out of it.”

  Lucy whispered, “I’m so sorry, Jimmy.”

  I wondered if her question would ruin her chances of becoming the next Mrs. Jimmy Urban. She grabbed for her cup with nervous hands, and again her knuckles whitened. I was afraid the cup would break. Control. This woman exercised an amazing amount of control, but what did her desperate mannerisms say about the powerful emotions inside her? Watching her and Jimmy, I wondered, too, how jealous she might have been, believing that her old best friend had borne the child of the man she now—and maybe had always—pined for.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Rashidi pulled his rental car to the side of the road on Rummel Square around the corner from Espressions, the coffee shop we’d visited less than a week before with Annabelle, Jay, Ethan, and Papa. On the drive over to Round Top, I’d filled Rashidi in on my conversation with Lumpy, and we’d discussed Lucy’s dramatic revelations, Jimmy’s angry reaction, and Greyhound’s report on the sheriff, who he swore promised action on my break-in. Rashidi was headed to meet with someone about cracking Gidget’s safe; I was grabbing more coffee and then would be waiting for him at the library, where the Wi-Fi was free and unlimited.

  I turned to Rashidi as the car stopped. “Can I get anything for you?”

  He trained his bottomless black eyes on mine. I fell right in them, losing myself in a second. I was way too sleep-deprived and vulnerable. I gave myself a shake, which shimmied my shoulders a little.

  Rashidi laughed. “What’s that?”

  I did it again. “Oh, just a chill. So do you want anything?”

  He cocked his head, fiddling with his omnipresent toothpick, and studied me so long I grew antsy. “Nah, no caffeine for me. I’m high on life.”

  I grabbed my pocketbook and slung my laptop bag over my shoulder, then wiped sweaty palms on my bare thighs. “Text me when you’re done with the safe-cracker guy.”

  Maggie had sent Rashidi to this guy because she’d heard he knew all there was to know about getting into things he shouldn’t. What a recommendation. I slid backwards out of the car. Gertrude was in the back seat. I opened the rear door and called her out. She jumped, dreadlocks sailing up in the air, then floating down as she landed.

  “Yah, mon.” Rashidi gave me a two-finger salute from his brow.

  I’d gone two steps with Gertrude sniffing the ground at my feet when Rashidi called after me. “Hold up.”

  I turned, ready to ask what was up, but he motioned me back to him with his fingers then held his phone up to me. “I forget to show you. I saw this at the Quacker today.”

  I grasped the phone, my fingers brushing his. Electricity shot up my arm. I lifted my sunglasses partway to get a better look at the screen. It was a photograph of a carving in a tree. A heart, with A+M inside it. I dropped the phone and jumped back. A . . . Adrian. M . . . Michele.

  “Where . . . what . . . ?”

  Gertrude whined, cocking her head.

  Rashidi put the car in park and hustled around to me. He picked up the phone, then grasped my shoulder with a strong hand. “I was working behind the trailer, and I saw it. Covered in leaves, on the back of a tree. I thought maybe you hadn’t seen it.”

  I put my hand over my mouth. “I hadn’t.”

  “Then it’s a good thing.”

  “Yes,” I croaked. A message from Adrian. It was like he was talking to me again, although why his message had to come through Rashidi, I couldn’t fathom. Still, I’d take it. He had to have carved it a year ago. Probably was going to show it to me on our anniversary, when he’d planned to reveal to me he’d bought the place. Only he died before that could happen. Oh, Adrian. I wanted to go back to our place and wrap my arms around the tree. I wanted to trace his sweet carving with my fingertip. I wanted to turn around and find him there with me, alive.

  Rashidi typed with one thumb. “I’ll send it to you.” He released me. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yes.” It came out weakly, so I repeated myself. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you for showing it to me.”

  “Of course.” He got back in the car and accelerated away from the coffee shop.

  I saw him turn and look at me one more time. How did I just resume life like everything was normal and okay after that? I nudged my funny dog with my toe. “Wow. Adrian.”

  She bobbed her head.

  I’d take my time. I took in a deep breath through my nose. I smelled coffee and biscuits from Espressions and the fragrant odor of fajitas from Los Patrones around the corner. I slowed down and really studied my surroundings, and I noticed a building ten yards back that struck a chord. I walked to it, pulled like a paper clip to a magnet. The old log structure had two arched cutouts in its long rectangular shape. I couldn’t tell if it had been a cabin or a stable or some other type of building. It was a beautiful restoration with new but old-looking mortar filling the chinks. As I walked through it, I saw a plaque hanging inside one of the arches.

  I skimmed the words. Moore’s Fort, the oldest building in Fayette County, moved to Round Top in 1976 from La Grange. I put my hands on my hips. Of course. My father had recognized this building in the photo of Gidget’s parents with their friends. He’d remembered it from a childhood trip to La Grange.

  Gertrude barked, one sharp yap.

  A person walked up and stood near me. “They just moved it here from all of two blocks away. Can you believe it?”

  I glanced to my right and recognized Senator Boyd Herrington. “Hello, Senator. My name’s Michele Lopez Hanson. We met at Espressions last weekend.”

  His face lost color, and he took a step back. “Good to see you again. Enjoy the beautiful day here in Round Top.” He walked quickly across the street and down the block, out of sight.

  Gertrude and I headed toward the coffee house. It was a strange encounter, but he was a politician, after all. I entered Espressions. The interior was small and dark yet somehow colorful and cheerful, too. The proprietor—the same guy from the weekend before—was scrubbing counters.

  “Hi, John. Is it all right if I bring my dog in?”

  He paused, rag in hand. “Absolutely. Let me know if she needs a bowl of water. Where’s the rest of your bicycling entourage?”

  Back in Houston, so few people remembered each other. Those I saw frequently still recognized Adrian more than me, even at the height of my semi-celebrity. Yet here in the small towns, everyone knew everyone. I set my bags on the community table.

  “It’s just me today.”

  My phone rang. Out of long habit as a parent, I pulled it from my purse to glance at the caller ID. It was Papa, which was unusual. Before my mother’s death, she did most of the dialing and phone communication. Since she’d died, I’d been the one to schedule calls with Papa. I turned away from John and tried to keep my voice low.

  “Hey, Papa.”

  “Michele,” he said. “How are you?”

  I loved his musical accent. Both o
f his parents were from Mexico, so he couldn’t help but pick it up somewhat. I had none of it. “I’m good. I’m in a coffee shop. In fact, the one you were in with us in Round Top.”

  Papa’s voice brightened. “Give it my best.”

  I laughed. Gertrude pulled on the leash. She’d sniff-patrolled all the square footage she could reach. I let the leash play out to its full length. “I will. What’s up?”

  He hesitated, and the silence filled my entire being with a heavy dread. Was it bad news? Could he be calling about his health? Was something wrong with Mom’s estate?

  “Papa?” I prompted.

  “Oh, I’m just a silly old man,” he said. “Feeling lonely and wanting to hear your voice.”

  I’d been away from home so many years I only missed my parents when I needed them. My mother’s absence was a terrible pain and loneliness, but it didn’t pervade my day-to-day life. It was different for Papa. He had lost his lifelong companion. His partner. Like I had with Adrian. While their marriage may not have been the greatest love match of the twentieth century, they had been together for many years. That house had to feel silent and empty.

  “I’m so sorry, Papa. Would you like to come visit this weekend or—”

  He cut me off. “I would, actually. I’ve been thinking a lot since your mother passed. I don’t know what’s holding me here anymore.

  “Your practice?” Gertrude tugged, ready for more territory. I took a step forward.

  “My practice, yes. But any vet can take care of my clients’ animals.”

  “That’s not true. They love you.”