by Maggie Marr
*
Cade slowed his truck. Hudd stood near a ditch on the side of Yampa Valley Road. He wore a brown corduroy jacket, not nearly warm enough to protect him from the foul weather rushing in from the west. The wind tossed his father’s hair about his face. Like a lost child, Hudd wandered in the grass beside the highway.
Cade stopped his truck and quickly got out. The wind blasted him in the chest and knocked the air from his lungs. He braced himself from the gust and the cold. How had his dad walked nearly three miles with these blasts of wind?
Cade picked his way down the gravel embankment toward his dad. Hudd stood in browned weeds and stared at the ditch. Cade’s heart thwapped against his chest with the thought of what Hudd was searching for. Hudd lifted his cane and hit at the dried grass. His eyebrows were pulled tight and he squinted his eyes; confusion haunted the man’s face.
“Dad?” Cade called, his voice a gentle tone with hints of fear.
Hudd jerked his head upward. His gaze landed on Cade but Hudd’s eyes were flat and dull. Cade’s heart split—the deep crack of something solid breaking away into two halves. There was no recognition in his father’s eyes—they remained unfocused and confused. Hudd’s eyes searched Cade’s face as if seeking a crevasse to latch a memory to and finally—finally, after what felt like a lifetime—the tiniest glimmer lit behind Hudd’s eyes.
“Son? What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Cade said and walked through the dried weeds, closer to his father. “Awful long walk you took, isn’t it?”
Hudd pondered the question. It took extreme concentration on his part to pull up the memory of where he’d begun his walk. Cade’s heart wrenched. He would be the one to install locks at the farmhouse and the necessary alarm to let Cade and Lottie know when Hudd left the house. His father was becoming like a child—his mind careening back and forth between the reality they shared and the faraway land where Cade could no longer reach him.
“Dad, let’s get you home.” Cade slipped his arm through his father’s and gently encouraged his dad to walk back to his truck.
Hudd stood firm like a forty-year-old pine planted on the side of a mountain. He continued to hit the grass with his cane, not yet finished with his examination of the area. He pointed his cane toward the dead grass that lined the ditch.
“I know she was here,” Hudd said, emphatic.
With his father’s words an ugly feeling—fear mixed with anxiety—burrowed into Cade’s belly. His mouth hung open and he watched Hudd strike at the grass within the ditch. “Dad—”
“We came up on her,” Hudd interrupted, his voice at first confused and quiet but with each word his conviction and passion grew. “And she was nearly dead by the time we got out of the car. Right here. It happened right here, son! I know it. Connie McGrath can’t be alive. I saw her die.”
A roar rushed through Cade’s brain. His blood pulsed hard and burst faster through his body and yet he froze. His grip on his father’s arm tightened as Cade felt his own solidness start to fly away. The words—the words that Hudd just said—they were impossible and the ugly slick feeling that began in his belly slid its grimy, oily feeling way into his throat. Cade choked down the urge to scream—the urge to yell no into the howling wind.
With a childlike look that implored Cade to believe the words he said, Hudd stared into Cade’s face. His father’s eyes begged Cade to confirm a reality that Hudd knew to be true. A reality that Cade had never believed and barely let his mind entertain.
“Dad.” Cade shook his head back and forth. He needed to shake these thoughts, his father’s words, this pain-soaked place from his brain. “We need to go.”
“But, son—” Hudd’s eyes implored Cade to confirm or acknowledge Hudd’s memory.
Cade could do neither. “We have to go, Dad. Now.”
Hudd’s face relinquished its consternation. His brow relaxed—a look of surrender as though a beaten man, an old man. Hudd’s shoulders drooped and he more resembled a child than a man as he shuffled alongside Cade toward the truck.
Cade settled his father into the passenger seat and latched the seatbelt across his father’s chest and lap. He kept his face calm—he said no words. Cade shut the door and walked to the back of his truck.
Here—behind his truck, beside mile marker 78, the spot where Tulsa’s mother had died one night—Cade grabbed the cold, hard metal of the truck bed and settled his heart, his mind, his fear, his dread. He took one long look at the ditch and his heartbeat steadied. Cade realized—for the first time—that Tulsa may have been right all along.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cade paced from corner to corner in Dr. Bob’s office. Energy coiled tight along his spine and yet his arms hung limp. Cade looked up at the dozen diplomas on Dr. Bob’s wall. How did doctors get so many more diplomas on their march through medicine than attorneys got as they traipsed through the law? A chair creaked. Wayne waited, wedged into an office chair. His bulk was so generous the chair looked as though it belonged in a kindergarten classroom and not in Dr. Bob’s office.
“Sit,” Wayne said, his tone cool-edged. “You’re making me nervous.”
Cade ignored his brother and turned back toward the wall. His feet moved again, eating up carpet, retracing his steps. He paused when he reached Dr. Bob’s desk and eyed the pictures of Holt and Karen—Wayne’s son and ex-wife. From where Wayne sat, he was saved the view of these photos. Karen, Dr. Bob, and Holt made a beautiful family—remarkable in their beaming smiles. There had to be pain in this for Wayne—pain and remorse and perhaps even happiness that his son had the solid love of a mother, a father and a stepfather, but definitely pain that it couldn’t be Wayne smiling out from the photo with his ex-wife and son.
The office door opened and Dr. Bob burst toward his desk. “Sorry for the delay.”
Cade sat in a chair beside Wayne and gripped his hands together in his lap.
Dr. Bob shuffled through a file and flashed a smile—fast, but sincere. “I had to remove some stitches and then one of our patients had heart palpitations. The day just gets away from me.” He closed the file and popped open his laptop. “Okay, so I took a look at your dad.” Dr. Bob reached into his breast pocket for his glasses.
“Sounds like he gave you two quite a scare.” The light of the computer screen reflected in Dr. Bob’s glasses as his eyes ate up the words. He finally nodded. “I feel confident about my diagnosis.”
Cade’s stomach twisted and a sour feeling settled into a heavy pool in his gut.
Dr. Bob closed the laptop and his mouth tightened. The corners of his mouth turned down. “Hudd has dementia.”
Cade exhaled. The color drained from Wayne’s face and his jaw locked, but relief rushed through Cade.
“With Hudd’s wandering and the MRI and the lapse in judgment, I feel confident making this diagnosis.”
Wayne didn’t know it yet, but this diagnosis was Hudd’s salvation. Cade closed his eyes and breathed. Hudd’s statements about Connie were those made by an elderly man who was losing his mind. Hudd hadn’t killed Connie McGrath—he’d confused the rumors surrounding that night with the reality.
Wayne shifted his weight and the chair moaned in protest. “Does it get better?”
Dr. Bob shook his head. ‘‘I’m afraid it only gets worse.” He removed his glasses and carefully folded one arm and then the other. “There are ways to keep Hudd better for longer. The more active his mind, the lengthier his lucidity. Activities, in-home health care, medication. If his mind is kept busy, he’ll have longer moments of clarity and that clarity will last later in life.”
“So sometimes what he says makes sense?” Cade asked.
“Often,” Dr. Bob said. “There will be times that his memory and attention to detail may shock and exceed even yours, a man less than half his age. But those moments will only last for so long.” Dr. Bob leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. Dr. Bob’s voice remained soothing yet firm. “Ov
er time, Hudd’s moments of lucidity will decrease.” His gaze locked on Wayne and then shifted to Cade. He shook his head and inhaled a deep breath. “I wish…” He exhaled and steepled his fingertips. “I wish the prognosis was better.”
Silence. Deep but not lengthy—as the words about Hudd settled in around Cade and Wayne. There would be changes to make, precautions, medications—changes. Cade would make them—he would care for his dad just as his father had cared for their family. With hard work and attention to the details of life.
“I’m sorry, Wayne.” Dr. Bob leaned forward in his chair and settled his arm onto his desk. “Karen and I thought we’d let you tell Holt. Unless you want us to?”
Wayne stood and placed both hands on his hips. “Nope, I’ll do it. After the game this weekend.”
“This weekend is the fall carnival.” Dr. Bob stood and walked from behind his desk.
“That’s this weekend?” Wayne squinted, shook his head. “Guess with everything I damn near forgot.”
“Karen signed you up for apple-cider duty at the football booster-club booth right after us.”
“I’m sure she did,” Wayne said.
“I have some names and numbers for some folks that do great work with the elderly. I’ll have my nurse send them to you.” Dr. Bob clapped one hand to Wayne’s shoulder and reached out the other to shake. “I wish it was better news.”
Wayne sighed and shook his ex-wife’s new husband’s hand.
“You two let me know if there is anything I can do to make this transition easier. Once you decide on a place—”
“A place?” Cade jerked his eyes up from staring fixedly at the carpet.
“For Hudd to live,” Dr. Bob said. His eyes flicked from Wayne to Cade and then back to Wayne.
“He’s not moving,” Cade said. “He lives at the ranch. With me.”
“For now,” Dr. Bob said. “Of course. But Cade, eventually even with a home health-care worker Hudd may become too much to handle. He’s already belligerent and—”
“That’s just Hudd,” Wayne interrupted. “The belligerence doesn’t have a thing to do with the dementia.”
“Right,” Dr. Bob said and bit down on his bottom lip. He nodded his head and steadied his gaze on Cade. “Eventually you may need to consider a placement for Hudd. He’ll wander more, get confused. He may even start to get violent.”
A firmness—a determination, hot and solid, settled in Cade’s chest. “He lives with me,” Cade said.
Cade didn’t like the look that passed between Wayne and Dr. Bob. The look seemed to say he’s emotional, he’s unreasonable, let me talk to him. Well, Wayne could talk until his tongue turned purple and swelled up in his mouth. Cade wasn’t sending his dad to an old-folks’ home. He hadn’t left New York and returned to Powder Springs to shuffle his dad off somewhere to die.
*
“Be reasonable,” Wayne said. He pulled the SUV into his parking spot behind the jail. Sunlight burst through the last few leaves that clung to the trees while a breeze, with a hint of sharp cold, rattled more of the dead from the limbs.
“Me?” Cade’s tone held more than a question—his tone held judgment and sibling disagreement. “You want to send Dad to an old-folks’ home and I’m unreasonable?”
“Eventually you won’t be able to take care of Hudd, even with ‘round-the-clock help. I’m not suggesting we ship him off today but—”
“He thinks he killed Connie McGrath.” Cade’s words shot out fast and true, like hard pellets of hail. He turned his gaze away from Wayne, unwilling to meet his brother’s eyes. Cade ran his fingers through his hair. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell Wayne. He took a breath and softened his tone. “That’s why he left the ranch and wandered down Yampa Valley Road.”
The muscle in Cade’s jaw flinched as he fought with his words, his thoughts. He wrestled any uncertainty about his dad’s original story into submission.
Cade turned his gaze back to Wayne. His brother—the town sheriff—sat behind the wheel of his cruiser, his own jaw muscle flinching. His face showed little sign of the jumbled bag of emotions that Cade knew must be creating a chaotic mix of feeling within his brother.
“He told me,” Cade continued, his voice nearly a whisper, “that he saw Connie dead in that ditch and he didn’t understand how he’d just seen her alive at the hospital.”
Wayne turned his head toward Cade. His nostrils flared and a hard look penetrated his eyes. “What do you expect me to do, brother?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Cade said. “Hell, go talk to the DA for all I care.” Cade’s hands flew up from his lap. “He has a diagnosis of dementia.”
Wayne pursed his lips and his eyes slipped away from Cade’s. “Sounds like a confession to me.”
“A confession?” Cade shook his head. “The statement Dad made is the rambling of an old man who is losing his mind.” Anger thundered in his chest. “He confused what really happened that night with all the rumors we’ve all heard since Connie died and—”
“What about Tulsa?” Wayne asked.
Wayne’s words stopped Cade—made him pause. His hands fell to his lap. The tension about Hudd deflated with the mention of Tulsa’s name. There was more than just Hudd to consider, more than the truth about Connie—more—always more—in the middle of reality versus rumor, fact versus fiction. In the middle was Tulsa jerking at Cade’s heart—always Tulsa.
“You have to tell Tulsa.” Wayne’s voice was even and without anger, but it was a voice deep with earnest belief. “Her whole life, what she believed, why she left, what people said—”
Cade shook his head. “No.”
Wayne lifted his eyebrow. “Brother, you can’t keep this from her. Secrets have a way of owning out.”
“Did you hear me, Wayne? Dad didn’t do it.”
Cade needed Wayne to understand that Hudd didn’t hurt Connie. According to his alibi, Hudd wasn’t even on Yampa Valley Road that night.
“He’s merged rumors with reality,” Cade said, “but that doesn’t mean I want anyone else to hear him ramble.”
“Brother,” Wayne spoke his words slowly. “I sure wish I was as convinced as you.”
More convinced? What could be more convincing than a solid alibi and no witnesses? They’d both read the police file and there wasn’t evidence that connected Hudd to Connie’s death. Rumors were the only link between Hudd and Connie McGrath.
The words of Cade’s criminal law professor whispered through his head: The absence of evidence isn’t necessarily evidence of absence. Plus there was that one inconvenient name that seemed to pop up whenever Connie’s case was mentioned: Wilkes Stevenson.
“Looks like you better get your game face on.”
Cade followed Wayne’s gaze across the parking lot toward Main Street. Tulsa and Ash walked toward McPherson’s Arcade and Games where Bobby waited by the front door. Tulsa came to a stop, but she smiled and held out her hand once Ash gave her father a big hug.
Cade’s heart clutched. Tulsa with her long legs, black hair, and curvy frame—even from a distance she sucked the oxygen from him.
“That face of yours says everything that your words don’t.”
Cade turned toward Wayne and instead of a cocksure, teasing grin, Wayne’s mouth was downsloped and his eyes serious—thoughtful.
“I know what that’s like,” Wayne said. His paw-like hand rested on the steering wheel. “When you don’t stop loving them, but they can’t go on loving you.” He shook his head as if shaking an unwanted thought from his mind. “Such a damned waste.” Wayne looked out his driver-side window. “It shouldn’t have happened the way it did. He shouldn’t have been involved.”
Heat coiled deep in Cade’s belly. Why wouldn’t his brother let it go?
“Hudd wasn’t involved,” Cade said, the frustration that laced his voice more about Tulsa than Hudd.
Wayne squeezed his lips tight and raised his eyebrows. The cruiser creaked as he shifted his body and pushed open the d
oor. Wayne didn’t say another word, but he didn’t need to. His silence, his leaving, was statement enough.
*
Bells rang and buzzers ripped through McPherson’s Arcade. The doughy scent of pizza that’s waited an hour too long under a heat lamp wafted in the air. Tulsa hadn’t heard so much noise or seen so many flashing lights since the last time she’d been to Vegas to visit a client. She stood on the far side of the arcade while Bobby and Ash fought for a win over a tight game of air hockey.
“I used to always beat you at that.”
With the suede of Cade’s voice, the hair on Tulsa’s neck prickled. She’d never get past her visceral response to Cade. She gazed at his sharp cheekbones and full lips. A quick flame burned through her body as her eyes drank in a man she didn’t dare keep. His effect on her body—it was automatic, reflexive, unconditional.
“I remember winning a few games.” A small smile played about her lips. She tamped down the want that shot through her—focusing her gaze on his blue eyes.
He looked tired—deep brown, nearly purple pocketed his eyes. Sadness clung to him. An unfamiliar melancholy skimmed his surface.
She’d heard about Hudd.
At least part of the story. She’d heard the sheriff and the deputies and nearly a search-and-rescue team had been assembled to find the dour old man. She couldn’t say that her heart had hurt much for Hudd when she first heard—she wasn’t that good, that saintly—but for Cade, her heart had been torn. She’d thought of him. Even picked up the phone to call—to offer her help—but what help could she be? How duplicitous would it be to search for Wilkes Stevenson and then offer help to find Hudd? The duality of her wants rattled her—like a window blasted by a sharp mountain gust.
Ash slammed the puck into Bobby’s goal and jumped up and down, thrilled with her win. She pumped four more quarters into the game; it looked like father and daughter would go two out of three.
“I heard that Hudd wandered off.”
Cade was a good attorney, so there was just the tiniest flinch of his jaw muscle with her words. His body didn’t move, but she could feel it—the shift within him—the discomfort that her words caused. Her knowledge of his inner feelings was a sense—a sense that came from knowing him for so long and so well, no matter how many years had elapsed.
