by Robyn Carr
Jurea lowered her gaze. “He’s nowhere near ready to talk about that.”
June took a sip of her coffee—delicious coffee, made with the water of a mountain stream. Then she stood. “You know Clarence better than anyone. You should start to let him know what’s good for you, too. Meanwhile, can I get you a ride into town to see the kids? And someone to bring you back?”
“Maybe so,” she said uncertainly. “Not tonight, though. I’ll have to warm Clarence up to the idea.”
“Of course. In a couple of days?”
“That would be nice,” she said, almost smiling.
“I’ll be on my way then. Please give Clarence my regards and tell him we miss him.”
“That’ll make him feel good,” she said. “He don’t admit it, but I think he misses some of his new friends.”
It occurred to June to brag a little about how the people in town were looking after Clinton and Wanda without being asked. George was cashing the checks, though he had to know it wasn’t Clarence endorsing them. The kids were getting all the extra help they needed with schoolwork, and June wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last, to drop by and check on them. Instead, she just said, “Everyone and everything is waiting there for the two of you. Don’t make us all wait too long, Jurea.”
In the very darkest part of a moonless night, June heard a sound. She lay very still, tensely waiting, not even drawing a breath. Sadie got up and wandered out of the bedroom to investigate. June could hear the soft jingling of her tags, but the collie didn’t whine or growl. In just another moment he was there, leaning over her. He still had his beard.
“I’m going to have to start locking my doors,” she said.
“I locked it for you. Move over.” He sat down on the bed beside her.
“Am I dreaming you?” she whispered.
He kissed her and in an instant she knew that it was not with Jim that she had uncertainty and with Chris history, but very much the opposite. With Jim she had a history that she could trust and with Chris she had only the uncertainty of a jaded past.
She put her arms around Jim’s neck, holding him close, kissing him deeply. A tear of sheer gladness coursed down her temple into her hair and her heart beat wildly.
“Are you here for good?” she asked, still whispering. It was as if she spoke loudly, she might cause him to bolt.
“No. Only for tonight.”
She slugged him in the chest. “Then why did you bother?” she wanted to know.
“I had a sense that you needed me, if only for a little while.”
Her protest caught in her throat. “Okay. I did. I do. But it’s so damn hard when you leave again.”
“Tell me about it,” he said. “It’s not going to be very much longer. A few months at the very most, but I’m thinking way less. The people I’m dealing with are stupid and impatient.”
That almost made her laugh. “What funny good news.”
“You think it’s funny, but it’s not. It is excellent news, though. I’m tired of dealing with smart guys. They wear me out. It takes too much mental energy. These idiots are going to be ready for jail in no time.” He brushed back her hair. “I hate it when I leave, too.”
“But you’re right, I really needed you. Grace Valley is full of crazy people and I’m leading the pack.”
“Is that so?” he asked. He stood and took off his shoes, then his shirt, then his pants. She pulled back the coverlet and made room. As though he’d been doing it every night for the past twenty years, he slipped in beside her. She snuggled into the crook of his arm and played with the hair on his chest while he inhaled the smell of her hair.
“I’ve been more unstable and neurotic than usual. It’s probably your fault somehow.”
“Probably.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me about your aunt.”
“In a minute. First I want to know something. Do we have the kind of relationship where we tell each other deeply personal things?”
That took him a moment. Then, hesitatingly, “I, ah, don’t really know.”
“My old high-school flame came back to Grace Valley,” she said. “Should I tell you about it?”
“Again, I don’t really know. Is this something you have to unburden yourself of?”
“He’s a divorced single father now,” she said, ignoring his question. “He’s been hell-bent we should try again, though I haven’t encouraged him at all.” Jim rose up on an elbow, looking down at her while she talked. “You can certainly look fierce with that beard. It’s a little scary.”
“Go on,” he said, urging her to continue.
“Okay. I’ve never had much in mind for him outside of a slow death. However, I did let him kiss me.”
Jim frowned darkly. “Did you sleep with him?”
“Of course not! I never even let him get to first base. But when he kissed me, I just let him. I’m not sure why.”
“Hmm. I guess you’re entitled to be curious.”
It was her turn to frown. That was awfully understanding. “Have you been kissing people since you’ve been away?”
He began to laugh. “If you could see the people I’ve been hanging out with, you wouldn’t even have to ask.”
“You don’t want to go messing with some Colombian drug lord’s mistress, Jim. I hear they’re short-tempered and jealous.”
“These are backwoods mountain men with matted beards and ropes for belts. It’s like Dogpatch, except they’re making a small fortune growing cannabis. The big question is, where’s the money going? I suspect the sheriff.”
“Where is this happening?”
“Never mind. Tell me about the boyfriend.”
“Are you angry with me for letting him kiss me?” she asked. “Because if that sort of thing upsets you, I won’t bare my soul in the future.”
He sighed. “June, I have a better idea. Don’t kiss any old boyfriends in the future.”
“Ah…you plan on sticking it out with me.” She snuggled against him and he lay back down on the pillow. “I wish you knew how hard it is to not tell anyone I have someone. People can’t understand why I’m not tempted by Chris. Or by the new preacher who came into town, who is attractive and single.”
“You haven’t kissed him, have you?”
“Oh no, and I don’t see any danger of that. I’m not attracted to him. He has, however, asked if I’m single.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” he asked.
“No,” she said, snuggling closer. “I’m trying to hurry you.”
The night was deep and soft, and they talked in hushed tones of things both complex and banal. She told him about Aunt Myrna and the bones, about Chris and his explanation of why he had broken her heart. He told her about the acting job he was doing undercover, pretending to be an IRS agent, a revenuer in search of illegal stills, when he was really after the marijuana patches the locals thought he was too dumb to recognize. But he wouldn’t say where, and when she asked him how he had managed to get to her he would only say, “I have connections.” When she asked if he had traveled all the way from the Ozarks he had said no, but it felt like it. Then he promised that as soon as it was over, he would tell her the whole thing.
Somewhere in the midst of all this talk they made love, slowly and carefully, savoring each touch and kiss because it would have to last. How long, neither of them knew. Too soon it was dawn.
“It wasn’t much,” he said, “but it’s all I have. How long do you think this one night will keep you from kissing other men?”
“Forever,” she said. “Because I love you.”
“That’s the first time you’ve admitted that. I knew, but I’m glad you finally said the words.”
“What do you mean, you knew? How could you know? How could you be sure?”
“I’m sure of the way you feel, June. You’re very convincing.”
“Hmmph.”
“And I love you, too.”
She watched him leave by the back door, walk across the porch and backyard and enter
the trees at the edge of her property. There was an overgrown path that let out onto an old logging road about a hundred yards through the trees. When he’d been working undercover in her mountains, he had parked his truck back there and snuck in to her late at night. This time he would take the hidden truck to the airport.
She wouldn’t let herself cry because that would be ungrateful. To weep because it was temporarily over would ruin the miracle of his appearance, of what they had had together. She took a deep breath as he vanished from sight and told herself to be strong, to be worthy of a man like him.
And she smiled.
Early that same morning, two sheriff’s deputies drove their sedan up to Myrna Claypool’s house. They were followed by an unobtrusive white van that pulled a medium-size trailer. Behind the van were two more officers in a CA Highway Patrol SUV.
There was no sign of life around Hudson House. The officers were all out of their vehicles, standing around in the drive. Finally the first two walked up to the door and rapped harshly. “Mrs. Claypool?” one called out. “Sheriff’s deputies. Please open the door.” Still there was nothing. “Should we kick it in?” he wanted to know.
“She’s eighty-four and lives alone. Give her some time. When you’re eighty-four it might take you a minute or two to get to the door.”
“We wouldn’t want her hiding evidence.”
“Shit, Stan. She’s had twenty years to hide evidence. Just knock again.”
He did so, then said, “What if she’s armed?”
“You want to break the door down and wrestle this ninety-pound little old lady to the ground, huh, Stan?”
The men from the van started unloading equipment—shovels, crime scene tape, tarps, lights. They wore white jumpsuits, boots and gloves. The Highway Patrol officers stayed in their SUV as back-up, standard procedure when serving a warrant.
The deputy pounded on the door a third time and the sound of movement within caused him to step back, out of the way of a potential shotgun blast. The heavy door slowly opened.
“Mrs. Myrna Claypool? We have a search warrant for your house and grounds.”
“Oh my,” she said. “You will be careful, won’t you? Most of my things are antiques.”
Fourteen
After Jim’s departure, June couldn’t go back to bed. To go there alone was out of the question. She lifted the pillow he had used and took it with her to the chair in the corner of the room. She sat there, breathing in the scent of him, hoping it would last a good long time. She was thinking of not washing the pillow slip until his return.
She decided to take this opportunity of being up extra early to drive by Culley Stables. It might have been on account of the night she’d spent with Jim, which had left her feeling sentimental toward all couples. Or perhaps the fact that relationships suddenly felt so fragile, so vulnerable. Or maybe it was just that she had not looked in on Daniel and Blythe Culley since their troubles began. Whatever the reason, she felt drawn to them.
Daniel was recovering from angioplasty, but she knew he’d be up before dawn. Men like Daniel, whose livelihood lay with the land and animals, worked long hard days, never rested much, never took time off, never pampered themselves. It was a doctor’s bane to know that, no matter how crucial bedrest might be to a patient, these old farmers, ranchers and the like could not be kept still for long.
But when she drove up to the house, she was startled by the lack of activity. There were lights on in the house, but Daniel’s truck was gone and the stable was still dark. No dogs came running to greet her. The porch light didn’t automatically flash on at the sound of a vehicle. Maybe she had misjudged. Maybe this was the single patient who would stay down and rest a while.
“Gee, Sadie, maybe we ought not—”
But then the light did come on, and slowly the door opened. There stood Blythe in her overalls, squinting into the darkness.
“Well, Sadie, looks like we might get a cup of coffee after all.” Sadie made a sound of agreement and began to wiggle in happiness. June killed her engine and got out of the truck. “Hey, Blythe,” she called. Blythe didn’t return the greeting, but just stood in the doorway. Funny, June thought, she’d never before been unfriendly. Then again, she’d been through a lot, first losing her husband to another woman, then almost losing him to a heart attack. June climbed the steps to the porch. “I thought I’d run by on my way to the clinic and see how Daniel’s doing after his procedure. And how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing the same, I reckon,” she said with that lilting Kentucky cadence. “If you have a mind to check on Daniel, you won’t be finding him here.”
June was brought up short, though when she thought about it, she shouldn’t have been. Sarah had been with him at the hospital, not Blythe. “Where is he, Blythe?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
The angry lines almost cracked Blythe’s usually cheerful face. She was pale and drawn, her eyes flat, her hair stringy. It appeared she hadn’t been sleeping much.
June whiffed the air. Aha! She might not have slept, but she’d gotten up and put the coffee on like always. “Can I talk you out of a cup of coffee?” June asked. It wasn’t that she craved the coffee so much, but this woman was in trouble. Patient or not, you don’t walk away from a neighbor in trouble.
“I haven’t got time to dawdle. There’s a lot that needs doing today.” But she held the door open so that June could come in.
June told Sadie to stay on the porch and stepped into the house. What she saw stunned her. Moving boxes were scattered around the living room and dining room and Blythe appeared to be packing household goods into them. The dining table was covered with earthenware and glassware; the living-room couch was covered with stacks of linens.
“Blythe, what’s going on?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this between us, June. Daniel has himself a new partner and I’ve made up my mind to move on.”
“Move? But where?”
“I haven’t quite decided that, but maybe south. Maybe back to Kentucky. And to tell the truth, I always wanted to see Florida.”
“What does Daniel say?”
Blythe smiled, but it was a mean smile. “You don’t reckon I need to get his permission, do you? He seems to have made up his own mind about what he wants.”
Blythe walked into the kitchen and June followed. There was more order in there; only a couple of boxes, already closed and labeled, sat in the corner. Blythe pulled a cup off the wall rack and poured. June took a seat at the kitchen table.
“Sit down with me, will you, Blythe? And tell me about it?”
Blythe put the cup of coffee in front of June, then fetched her own from the counter. She didn’t sit down as invited, but merely turned toward June, leaning against the sink, holding her cup with two hands. “There isn’t anything to tell, June. Daniel found himself a woman he feels at home with.” The anger seemed to melt from her eyes and was replaced by sadness. “I don’t even have bad will for Sarah.” She shrugged. “I liked her once.”
“Blythe, I know this is very painful, but you must remember, divorce isn’t unknown in this valley. You aren’t the first person to suffer through it and you won’t be the last. But this is your home. Your livelihood! You don’t have to give that up, too. You and Daniel can work out some arrangement…”
Blythe looked away impatiently. She sighed heavily, as if to say, “What do you know about it?” Then she looked back and said, “What do I want with all the talk?” she asked. “The humiliation of it.”
June reached toward Blythe, but the other woman drew back. “That’s just it, Blythe,” June said. “We might hear a little chatter about Daniel and Sarah, but it won’t last long. And no one’s going to hold it against you. You’re the underdog here. You’ll get sympathy and understanding!”
Blythe made a derisive sound. “You’re right, that sounds so much more appealing.”
“Oh, Blythe, don’t run away…”
Blythe merely looked
down into her coffee cup. June held her tongue, knowing she shouldn’t harangue her. Maybe she could find someone who Blythe might listen to.
“I’m just thinking of it being a fresh start, is all,” Blythe said. “If Daniel can start over, I can start over.”
Something occurred to June. “I didn’t see anyone around the stable,” she said.
“Since Daniel fell ill, we’re just boarding, not training or breeding. I let all but two hands go and had most of the stock returned or sent to another stable. When Daniel’s better and wants to work again, he can do what he wants.”
She’s giving up everything, June thought. Giving up and slinking away, ashamed that she lost her man. It was so painful to see. What would become of her now?
“Are you planning to leave soon?”
“I’d like to go right away, but there’s always one more detail. As soon as I can get everything organized. I might want to kill him, but I’m not going to leave him a mess that he’d just have her clean up.”
June studied that statement. On the surface, it sounded angry. But underneath, Blythe was saying that she wanted to go, yet didn’t want to go. Which would be perfectly normal.
“I guess I’ll be going then,” June said. “If there’s any way I can help you with this, will you call me at least?”
“There isn’t anything to be done, June. I thank you for caring, but there’s no need to say anything about this, either.”
“Do you imagine you can sneak away without anyone knowing?”
With a hurt tone, she said, “That doesn’t seem to be necessary. These things I’m packing are mine. I’m not taking anything of Daniel’s, so don’t feel you have to warn him. I may have it all stored till I put down roots somewhere.”
June just nodded. She made to leave and then turned, opened her arms and clumsily hugged Blythe. Blythe hugged back, even more awkwardly. Then June left with a heavy heart.
It didn’t take her long to make her decision. First of all, Blythe wasn’t a patient, she was a friend. Not a close friend, not a confidante, but someone June had known for twenty years. And she hadn’t made any promises to keep any secrets. Blythe had worked beside Daniel for decades, building a stable worth considerable money, and she was packing up her glasses and towels and running away. Giving up the battle to save herself embarrassment. June just couldn’t let her go.
