Moondust Lake

by Davis Bunn

  An old black man was rising from a rocking chair before she climbed from the car. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and dark denims. Kimberly locked her car and approached. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I was told this was the address of Beth Helms.”

  “The lady should be along directly. Would you care to have a seat?”

  The man seemed friendly enough. Even so, Kimberly hesitated climbing the stairs. “No, thank you.”

  The screen door closest to the stairs creaked open. “Kimberly. How wonderful. Come in.”

  Today Beth wore a skirt and matching sweater of rose-tinted cashmere. But the clothes were wrinkled and her hair was mashed flat on one side. Beth led Kimberly through a shabby kitchen into a narrow parlor that smelled of fresh paint. Kimberly saw the blanket on the seedy sofa and suddenly realized, “I woke you up.”

  “I’ve had a bit of a pain. It’s fine now. Sit down, I’ll just go freshen up.”

  But no amount of time in the bathroom could disguise the glaze to Beth’s eyes, or the slow manner in which she moved around the parlor. Beth asked, “Shall I make coffee?”

  “No, thank you. Maybe I should come back.”

  “Nonsense.” Beth made a process of shutting the window and settling into a high-backed chair. “Friends are permitted to see one another at their weakest and their worst.”

  They were also permitted to be blunt. “You look ill.”

  “I have had a bad spell. That’s all.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  She actually smiled at that. “Far too many, and countless times. Can we please not talk about my health anymore?”

  “All right.” Clearly, Beth Helms liked keeping the world at a formal distance. Another thing they had in common. Today, however, Kimberly had a secret of her own to reveal. She forced herself to say what she had practiced the entire way over. “I find myself in a position that has never come up before. To be frank, I’m not even sure how this would be covered in the professional texts. But I think I should err on the side of caution.”

  Beth’s only response was to fold her hands in her lap. She did not speak. It was one of the things that Kimberly admired about her. She seemed most comfortable when offering another person the gift of rapt attention. Kimberly went on, “We are friends, yes. But you and I began on a professional footing. And because of this, I feel I should tell you that I intend to date your son.”

  The addled sheen to Beth’s gaze dissolved. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

  “I . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Because it seems to me that a date is so inconsequential as to go unnoticed.” Her words turned crisp, as though the discussion was precisely what she needed to draw the world back into focus. “But feelings, now, they are another thing entirely.”

  Kimberly found herself gripped by a sudden urge to confess her experience on the church front lawn. The impossible message, the impossible situation. Impossible. All of it.

  “If you are simply dating my son, well, it’s hardly a concern of mine,” Beth went on. “I would not dream of interfering in my son’s casual nightlife. He is an adult. He is free to do whatever he wills. I have no interest in discussing such issues with someone who treats my son with casual disregard.” Beth’s precision was smoothed by her refined diction. “On the other hand, if you actually had feelings for my boy, then I could not think of anyone I would rather open up to. About all manner of things.”

  “What if it didn’t work out between Buddy and me?”

  “Who can say what the future holds? Certainly not I. The question is, what is the situation now? How real are the feelings that have brought you to the point where you feel a need to bring this up?”

  Kimberly replied slowly, “I don’t think I’m ready to discuss that yet.”

  “Then I suggest that we leave things until you are.” She closed that subject by glancing out the window and sighing. “I went to see Jack the other night. It proved to be futile. At least that is how it appears now. Even so, in those dark hours when I tend to fret, I know a remarkable sense of rightness.”

  Kimberly had no idea how to respond. There was a uniqueness to the situation. Being friends, and yet sensing that Beth wanted more. Whether the older woman’s desires were related to herself or her son, Kimberly had no idea. So she asked, “How did you and your husband meet?”

  “I first set eyes on Jack at a revival. He and I were students together at UC Davis. My family has resided in the Central Valley longer than California has been a state. My father was a dentist. He and my mother are both gone now.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. But their loss has made my present situation possible. The inheritance pays my rent and expenses. Jack doesn’t know about their bequest. It’s the first secret I ever kept from him. I suppose I knew even then that this day was coming.” She seemed to drift away for a moment, then returned with a start. “Where were we?”

  “You met your husband at university.”

  “Actually, it was a little town, just to the east. A hamlet, really. Five churches and six taverns, and more cows than people, was how my grandfather used to describe the farming towns that anchored California’s Central Valley. My grandfather was preaching at the revival, and I was there singing with our church choir. I’ll never forget the moment I saw Jack Helms. He was dressed in the finest suit, like a movie star, with his hair slicked back and his fine threads. That’s how we called it. You can’t imagine how dashing the man looked.”

  Kimberly smiled. “If he looked anything like his son does today, I can.”

  “If you held up a photo of Buddy today and Jack then, you’d think they were twins.” Her gaze went misty. “Jack was also in pain. Granddaddy made his altar call, and Jack came forward in tears. I’d never seen a grown man cry before that day. Jack was a handsome young man carrying a whole lifetime of grief and woe. When Granddaddy asked why he had come forward, Jack screamed out the words ‘I’ve got blood on my hands!’ ”

  Kimberly felt her body seize up. But the woman seated across from her was too lost in memories to notice.

  Beth Helms went on speaking. “Granddaddy asked Jack if he wanted to have his sins washed away. There was a lake out behind the revival tent, and they were going to have a baptismal service later that same night. But Jack wouldn’t wait. Right then and there, he sort of half crawled, half ran, down to the lake. Granddaddy asked if he didn’t want to change clothes and not ruin his new suit, but by that point Jack was already thigh-deep in the water. One of the women in the choir started singing the old hymn ‘Nothing but the Blood,’ and we all joined in, everybody just pouring out of the tent and standing there singing and watching as the pastor prayed over that handsome young man who couldn’t stop crying.”

  Kimberly found herself taking a mental step back from the moment. It was something that often happened when she was dealing with intense issues in therapy. The space shielded her from the emotions and helped her review the situation from a professional perspective. Sometimes she wondered if it was also a crutch, a means by which she could keep herself from feeling anything too deeply.

  Only that was not what happened now. Instead, she watched this woman reach into the sleeve of her sweater and draw out a tissue. She observed how Beth applied it to the corners of her eyes, though there were no tears in sight. And Kimberly had the distinct impression that everything about this moment had been carefully planned out. Including how Beth finished with the words “I do so wish Jack had held on to that power of confession and tears. Instead of wreaking vengeance on everybody who stands in his way.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Kimberly was halfway back to her office when Buddy called. “I’ve got more questions than answers. But I’ve made a good start and I’m coming back. I need to go through what I’ve learned before I can be certain what to do next.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “East of Paso Robles, about two hours from home. You mind if I use you as a soundi
ng board?”

  She hesitated only an instant. “There is nothing I would rather do than talk with you.”

  That stopped him. “Wow.”

  She nodded slowly in silent agreement. Wow.

  Buddy described the drive and the valley and the old man’s words. “It was the Keller Canneries over by Hamlin. Pop was involved.”

  “You think or you know?”

  “I don’t have a smoking gun. But the evidence is pretty strong. I’ve gone through the newspaper accounts from that period at the local library. The Keller family was notorious for coming down hard on the union organizers. Around the time that Pop left his hometown, there was a pair of vicious attacks. One was at a new cannery, west of Visalia, right when Pop came back driving a new car. The second was the summer before Pop entered college.”

  Kimberly found herself returning to the conversation with Beth. And how Buddy’s mother had referred to her first meeting with Jack Helms.

  “This second attack happened outside the Keller headquarters,” Buddy went on. “Three striking factory workers died. The newspaper carried several reports about how a young strikebreaker was the primary suspect, but he’d vanished. They had no name. Just a description. It sounds a lot like Pop.”

  Kimberly pulled into the church parking lot. “I really want to hear everything. But I’ve got a session starting in four minutes.”

  “Sure. Can I call you when I get home?”

  “Buddy, have dinner with me tonight.”

  She could almost hear the mental gears shift over the phone. The silence lasted long enough for her to become genuinely fearful he was going to turn her down. Then he said, “You mean, like a date?”

  “That’s right, I’m asking you on a date.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

  “Yes, Buddy. I do. I’m scheduled to meet this afternoon with a therapist in Miramar Bay. She’s retiring and wants to pass over some of her patients. I can’t say for certain when I’ll be done.”

  “Let’s meet there. There’s a restaurant I’ve heard about for years. Castaways.”

  After she cut the connection, Kimberly sat there, thinking about what she had just done. She had gone on a few dates since the disaster of Jason, but not any since arriving in San Luis Obispo. What carried her up the stairs and into the church office was how much she wanted this to happen.

  The receptionist greeted her by saying, “Your appointment just canceled. Which is good, because the pastor . . . here he comes now.”

  Ross Burridge strode down the hall. “Kimberly. Could you join us in my office?”

  Kimberly followed the pastor out of the counseling center’s rear entrance, across the lot, and into the church. They entered a wood-lined study with shelves crammed to overflowing. Ross Burridge might like his golf game and his crony status with the city’s movers and shakers. But he was also a serious scholar of ancient biblical texts, which he read in the original Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic. To her surprise, Preston was already seated in front of the pastor’s desk. “What’s going on?”

  “Have a seat, please.”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” Ross fitted himself onto the window ledge. It was a position she had often seen him take, pretending at a relaxed stance while holding himself aloof from whatever tension or argument might be pervading his space. “I just got off the phone with Jack Helms. He wants the pair of you gone. Today.”

  Preston swiveled in his seat so as to study her. “Did he show up for counseling today?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Ross Burridge was handsome even when frowning. “Jack Helms is coming to you for therapy?”

  “His wife made appointments, hoping the sessions would be for them both. But he has not shown up.”

  “How often have you seen his wife?”

  “When Jack rejected her request, Beth opted not to have therapy at all.” She debated whether to mention they were becoming friends, but decided now was not the time. “His daughter Carey is seeing me.”

  “How often?”

  “Whenever there is serious emotional issues, and I have the time, I offer a new patient the chance to come in daily for the first week or so.”

  “And are there? Serious emotional issues, I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Ross, I can’t be asked to divulge anything that emerges in therapy.”

  “No. Of course not. Forget I ask.”

  “And Buddy is seeing me for therapy,” Preston added. “Once so far. He’s made a second appointment for tomorrow.”

  Ross Burridge looked genuinely alarmed. “You have two of Jack’s children coming in for therapy? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  Preston countered, “Why should we have told you anything at all?”

  “The most difficult elder this church has ever known? I realize you two have just arrived. But surely you must have noticed what an effect Jack has.”

  Preston held his ground. “Even so, my question still stands.”

  “That should be clear enough. Part of every pastor’s job is political. The worst part, as far as I’m concerned. Jack Helms personally arranged for my predecessor’s dismissal. I’ve managed to avoid his wrath for nine years. I want to keep it that way.”

  Kimberly decided he needed to hear the rest. “It gets worse, I’m afraid. Beth Helms has left her husband.”

  Ross looked aghast. “You can’t be serious.”

  “She has taken an apartment in old town.”

  “All right. I’ve heard enough. Thank you for your time.”

  Preston waited until he was at the door to ask, “What about us? Do we pack?”

  But the pastor’s only response was to run a hand through his groomed silver hair and mutter, “What a mess.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Once she arrived home, Kimberly did not allow the day’s conversations and crises and conflicts to crowd in. If she had, she would have called the whole thing off. And she didn’t want that. For the first time in four long years, she was excited about spending time with a man.

  The suitcase was in the back of her closet, where she had put it upon moving in. It had occupied a similar position in Seattle since the week after her divorce became final. Packing the case had been her way of coming to terms with the fact that her life was going to be lonely from then on. She had trained herself not to look at the case, or remember what the contents once had meant. Kimberly set the suitcase on the bed, then found herself unable to open the latches.

  She poured herself a bath and added her favorite eucalyptus-scented wash. She shaved her legs and plucked her eyebrows. She took forever on her makeup. She brushed and brushed her hair, then fashioned a French twist. Then she returned to the bedroom. The case was there, waiting for her. Beckoning. Threatening her with the pain of hope.

  She forced herself to open the latches. The dresses were still in the plastic wrapping from their last dry cleaning. Eight outfits, with a small jewelry box on top. Four pairs of shoes lined the sides. It would have been too much to ask for the memories and the regret to leave her untouched. But at least the bitter agony was gone.

  She had bought the top outfit to wear for her last formal event with Jason. The corporate gathering had taken place the night before she told him she was carrying his child. Jason had claimed to like showing her off. He had always said he was proud of her beauty. He had liked to go shopping with her for these items, sitting in the room while she modeled one outfit after another.

  The dress was by Versace, a midnight-blue silk so dark it appeared black in certain lights. It was designed like an Art Deco cheongsam, high-shouldered and clinging to her like a second skin. One row of the silk buttons traced straight up and down, while the other curved around to meet her right shoulder. The dress on that side was slit in the Oriental fashion, only a little, for the skirt was already quite short. Kimberly buttoned herself into the frock, then slipped her hands over her hips, straightening the lines and pulling out four years of wrinkles
. She put on the matching diamond-patterned tights, then slipped on the Ferragamo pumps, with the impossible heels and the little gold straps. She debated whether to add the pearls, alternating white and smoky gray, then decided not. She closed her case and turned for the first time to meet her reflection in the mirror. Kimberly could not help but smile at the thought that Buddy would probably not mind a few wrinkles.

  When she came downstairs, Preston took one look and said, “Call out the dogs.”

  She held out the hand not holding the small alligator purse. “You like?”

  “Just tell me what you did with my cousin and I’ll let you go.”

  She kissed the air by his cheek, determined not to smudge her lipstick. “She’s still here on the inside. Trying hard to pretend everything will be okay.”

  Preston gave her the signature look, the one that filled her with the memory of the second father, who was now lost to them both. Straight to the heart. “You are doing great, and you are getting even better.”

  * * *

  When Buddy had suggested they meet at Castaways, he had only told Kimberly half the truth. Miramar Bay possessed a sort of locals-only legend. It was said that it held the power to offer second chances—at life, at love, whatever the individual most held dear. After the break-up with Shona, Buddy had started driving up almost every weekend, walking the coastal path and hoping against hope that breathing the salt tang might help reshape his future.

  Now he arrived early enough to park in the beachside lot and join the others out to enjoy a sunset stroll. His nice clothes garnered a few looks, but not many. Even well-dressed folks could find themselves in need of another chance. The question, he now knew, was not being offered a new opportunity; it was avoiding the mistakes he had made the first time around.