by Sharon Sala
He walked toward her, smiling and nodding, and watched her relax as he locked the door behind them.
“Can we watch the last movie? I don’t want to go to bed. Too many bad dreams.”
He cupped her cheek, then rubbed a thumb across her lower lip.
“Yes,” he said, then stood back to let her lead the way.
* * *
The dog was growling, its teeth bared as saliva dripped onto the ground below.
Dallas had a gun, but it wouldn’t fire. She kept pulling the trigger over and over, sobbing helplessly.
The dog crouched.
She took a step backward, and when she did, the dog leaped.
She screamed.
* * *
Moments later her room was bathed in light and Trey was running toward the bed.
“It was a dream, just a dream. I’m sorry,” she said, and combed the hair away from her face.
Trey scooted onto the side of the mattress, then touched her shoulder and mimed taking a pill.
“No, I don’t hurt all that bad. I don’t want a pain pill. When I take them, I can’t wake up.”
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Dallas saw his lips moving and guessed from the look on his face that he wasn’t happy, but then, neither was she. They were as close to naked together as they’d been in six years, and she was too damn injured to do a thing about it.
She sighed. “Go back to bed. I’m fine.”
He sat for a few moments without moving, watching, then finally nodded and got up.
He waited as she lay back down, covered her up and turned off the light as he left.
Dallas lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and remembering all the bad dreams she’d had in this room as a child. Then it had been her mom or dad who’d rushed to comfort her. Tonight it had been Trey.
She closed her eyes against welling tears and wished for daylight. Eventually she fell asleep, and when she woke again, her wish had come true.
* * *
Dallas woke to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, threw back the covers and made a quick trip across the hall to the bathroom before getting herself dressed. She forced herself to use her left arm, then groaned as sore muscles pulled and wounds that had begun to scab over broke open.
“I will put on my own damn socks,” she said, and did, then stepped into the old tennis shoes from her closet. The Velcro closings made them simple to fasten. She called the job done.
Trey’s cruiser was still parked in the yard, but the house was empty, so she managed to put on an old jacket and went out the back door. She could see the herd grazing about halfway between the barn and the mountain, and guessed the cows and calves were in the feed lot behind the barn.
The chickens were already in the lot. She could see them fussing and running, trying to head each other off or claim a certain spot to feed. It was strange to see their antics without accompanying sound, and she realized how she’d come to enjoy the simple task of taking care of the chickens.
Knowing there were eggs waiting to be cleaned and sorted, she headed for the barn.
* * *
Trey had already fed the cows and was in the egg room cleaning and sorting when Dallas walked in.
“Hey!” he said, and then realized she couldn’t hear him, so he gave her a quick good-morning kiss instead.
“I’ll sort and fill the cartons,” she said, and got to work.
She was stiff and sore, but it felt good to be doing something useful. They worked side by side without trying to talk, and when they were finished she wrote the date on the cartons, moved the freshest to the back of the shelf and called it done.
Trey looked around, trying to see if he’d left anything undone. He saw a new padlock and key still in the package, and the big storage bins, and pointed at them with a question on his face.
“Beats me,” she said, and took his hand. “We’re through here. Have you had breakfast?”
He shook his head.
“How much time do you have before you need to leave?” she asked.
He glanced at his watch and then tapped a number.
“That’s over an hour,” she said. “Enough time for pancakes. I’ll tell you what goes in the batter if you’ll cook.”
“Deal,” he said, nodding his head.
* * *
The house still smelled like pancakes long after Trey was gone. Dallas refused Betsy’s offer to come over but promised if she needed help, she would text. She wanted the house to herself again. Today she was going to go through the place again, looking for anything that would give her a lead on her father’s big-money project.
But she still had practicalities to consider, so the first thing she did was put a sign on the front door for her egg customers.
I cannot hear your arrival.
If you need eggs, you know where they are.
Help yourself and leave the money on the table in the egg room.
Thanks,
Dallas
She had her cell phone on vibrate and put it in her pocket in case she got a text, especially a text from Trey, and once again began going through the house. When she got to the bedroom Trey was using, she hesitated a moment, worried he might think she was being nosy, and then shrugged off her concerns. She had a job to do.
She looked past his clothes in the closet and his underwear in the drawers, trying to find something that said “big money,” but she found nothing. Finally the only place left was her dad’s bedroom.
She’d already been through his room once, but then she’d been looking for a reason why he might have wanted to die. Now she was looking for a reason why he would have wanted to live.
She still felt like a trespasser as she entered his room, but she needed answers, and if he had any, this would be where he hid his secrets.
Without sound to distract her, her ability to focus entirely on sight was amplified. She saw beauty in the slice of light warming the corner of the bedspread, felt a tug of sadness at the sight of her parents’ wedding picture hanging over the bed. The John Deere tractor alarm clock she’d given him one Christmas many years ago was centered on an antique crocheted doily covering the top of the dresser. Her grandfather’s cherrywood armoire was in the corner of the room opposite the bed, and there was a small cherrywood table and chair beneath the double windows on the south side of the room. The curtains were faded; the room felt forlorn.
What secret were you hiding, Dad? Show me where it’s at.
She started with the dresser and went through every drawer, looking for something that didn’t belong. Then she moved to the armoire, poking in the nooks and crannies without success. When she opened the closet and saw the array of boxes stacked on the floor beneath the clothes and on the shelf above the bar, she groaned. If she was going to move all of that around, it was time take a pain pill.
She was in the kitchen getting a glass of water when the landline began to ring, and while the sound was faint, the fact that she heard it was so startling that she dropped the glass and broke it.
She didn’t care. She’d heard the sound!
She was so overjoyed that she started to cry, then cupped her hands over her ears and danced around the room like a crazy woman, even though it hurt her ribs. When she remembered the mess, she grabbed a broom and a dustpan to clean up the broken glass, and she didn’t even mind that sweeping made her shoulder hurt like hell.
It took another half hour before she got the pain pill taken, but by then she was trying out all kinds of sounds. She used her cell phone and called her dad’s number over and over just to hear it ring, and then she turned on the electric mixer to see if she could hear it. It was faint, but she heard the buzz. Then she tried the timer and banged drawers, and while some sounds didn’t register, she smiled wider with each one that did.
She went outside, curious to see how different surroundings affected what she could hear. The first place she went was to the chicken house, because she knew they were always making n
oise. She wanted to see how close she had to get before she heard them. It was obvious her hearing was still defective, but the fact that it was coming back was an answered prayer. She continued to test it, moving from one point to another outside in near-manic mode, and when she finally got back to the house, she sat down on the steps and cried again.
“Thank you, God, thank you,” she said, and cried some more at the sound of her own voice.
Twelve
It took an hour for Dallas to calm down enough to get back to exploring her father’s room, and a couple of hours more to go through all the boxes. She found interesting things, but nothing that shouted “money.” The only thing on the desk, besides a cup of pens and pencils and a pad of paper, was a small stack of books with diverse subject matter ranging from dousing for water to raising ginseng. At first curious as to why he would have such a strange assortment of books, she soon realized why he’d kept them.
The names on the flyleaves belonged to members of the very first Phillipses who’d claimed the land and built this house. These weren’t only antique editions but family heirlooms. She put them back the way she’d found them and kept on searching.
It was after 2:00 p.m. when she ended her search with no more answers than when she’d started. She’d skipped lunch and her belly was growling, but instead of making herself something to eat, she grabbed a cold can of Dr Pepper and a handful of peanuts, and headed for the porch swing out back.
The day was clear, the sky more white than blue. She ate the peanuts one at a time, taking joy in hearing the crunch every time she bit down. And as she ate she swung, satisfied in the moment and grateful for the sound of the creaking chain.
When her phone vibrated, she quickly grabbed it, guessing the text would be from Trey, and it was.
Just making sure you’re okay. Do you need anything? I need you.
Her smile stilled. The past few days had given her a whole new perspective on what mattered. He had never denied his feelings, and he’d never quit on her. She reread the message and then sent him one back.
I’m fine. I cannot lie. I need you, too.
He fired back an answer so fast it made her laugh.
Tonight. You. Me. Dinner in Mystic.
Deal. Me. You. A night on the town.
The little heart he sent back made her smile.
She took the phone off vibrate and dropped it back in her pocket, then finished off her pop. She had a hot date and her hair was a mess, but doing it herself wasn’t happening when she could only raise one arm above her head. She thought of the Triple C Salon and went into the house to get the phone book. She’d gone to school with the owner. Maybe someone there could work her in.
* * *
The Triple C Hair Salon—the Cs stood for curl, cut and color—was a red metal building between a small boutique and a bakery just off Main Street. Dallas had made the call with some difficulty and finally had to ask them to shout so she could hear, but they’d assured her they would work her in as soon as she arrived, so she’d headed for town.
She didn’t tell Trey. He would have insisted on taking her himself. But she didn’t need a babysitter. She just needed a hairdo and a little more time to get well.
She took the backstreets into town, hoping Trey wouldn’t see her, and parked in front of the salon. Someone honked as she got out. She barely heard it but turned to look. An old friend from church waved as she drove past. Dallas started to wave and then winced. She’d horsed around enough today; she needed to ease back and give her body time to heal.
As soon as she walked into the salon she was inundated with greetings and condolences, most of which she barely heard. It was apparent that voices were going to be tricky.
Bonnie Glass, the owner, met Dallas at the door. Dallas quickly explained why she was there.
“Thanks for taking me on such short notice, but today is the first day since the dog attacked me that I’ve been able to hear anything, though what I hear is faint. My shoulder is really sore, too sore for me to do my own hair. It’s a mess, and I need help.”
Bonnie ran her fingers through the strands, then raised her voice and spoke slowly and distinctly.
“What you need is a good shampoo and a little styling. Your cut is great. Okay?”
Dallas smiled. “Yes, very okay.”
“Then come with me and I’ll get you started,” Bonnie said.
It took a few minutes and some extra padding behind Dallas’s shoulder so she could lean back in the chair at the shampoo station, but Bonnie finally began.
Relaxing beneath the gentle massage of Bonnie’s fingers as she soaped and then rinsed, Dallas felt the first twinge of normalcy since the day she’d come back home.
It wasn’t until Bonnie seated her in the styling chair that she spoke to Dallas again.
“Before we begin, I want to tell you how sorry I was to hear of what happened to your daddy. I can’t imagine the shock of something like that, and I wish you grace and peace.”
Dallas knew she was referring to what everyone still assumed was a suicide. Today seemed like a good day to rearrange that story.
“Thank you, Bonnie, but I won’t find peace until they find Daddy’s killer.”
Bonnie froze, then met Dallas’s gaze in the mirror in front of them. “Killer? But I thought—”
“Suicide? Oh, no! I never bought that story,” Dallas said. “That wasn’t my daddy’s style, and it seems I was right. The sheriff contacted Trey yesterday to tell him that they’ve ruled Dad’s death a homicide. They’re already investigating.”
“Oh, my God! Murder! How did they know? I mean—”
“Without going into details, I’ll just say it was the coroner’s findings that proved I was right.”
Everyone in the hair salon had been listening, and now the shock of Dallas’s revelation rolled through the room. Someone in their midst was a killer! The cell phones came out and the texts began flying. It wouldn’t take long for word to get out, which was fine with Dallas. Somewhere there was a killer thinking he’d got away with murder. He was about to learn he’d made a costly mistake.
By the time Dallas left the hair salon, she looked like her on-camera self. She got in the car and quickly left town, unwilling to reveal the news that her hearing had returned to Trey until she was back on her own territory.
* * *
Trey and Earl were on their way to serve a protection order against a guy named Joe Hanson. Trey had grown up with Joe and was saddened by the turn his life had taken.
When they drove up to the auto repair shop where he worked, they both got out. Sometimes people didn’t take to being served and tried to cause trouble. In the police business, it was always better safe than sorry.
Both bay doors were open and cars were up on all three racks. Trey saw Joe at the far end of the garage.
“He’s down at the third car,” he said, and started walking with Earl beside him.
“Think he’ll cause trouble?” Earl asked.
“If he’s been drinking, maybe,” Trey said. “Just pay attention.”
Earl nodded.
“Hey, Joe, got a minute?” Trey called out.
Joe Hanson turned around, and the minute he saw Trey’s face, he visibly paled.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Joe said, and grabbed a rag to wipe the oil off his hands.
“This is for you,” Trey said, and handed Joe the order. “You’ve just been served, so consider this as serious as it seems. If you violate this order, not only will you get arrested, but you will go to jail.”
Joe scanned the paper quickly and then looked up at Trey in disbelief.
“Julie did this? This means I can’t go home. I can’t see her. I can’t talk to her. I can’t even put my boy to sleep at night?”
“That’s what it means,” Trey said.
Anger flashed behind Joe’s pain. “What the hell? How does she get off pulling something like this?”
“You broke her nose. You fractured her cheekbone. She h
as to have reconstructive surgery, you jackass. She’s afraid of you now. This is what happens when you beat the hell out of your wife every night, and don’t deny it. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Joe flinched as if he’d just been slapped. “I don’t mean to. I just—”
Trey handed him a card and a flyer.
“These are the times and locations of A.A. meetings in the area. Go. Quit drinking. Get your act together. You’re better than this.”
Joe started to cry, but Trey ignored it.
“Julie asked me to tell you that she’s packed a couple of suitcases with your clothes. They’re at your mom’s house. She’s expecting you.”
Joe frowned. “My mom? I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m not living with my mom.”
“I don’t care where you live, and I suspect Julie was trying to do you a favor. You won’t pay rent at your mother’s house, but you will still be paying rent where your family lives, so get that straight now.”
“But that’s not—”
“Look, Joe. My job was just to serve the court order and leave, but I always considered you a friend, so I’m giving you some friendly advice. Just because you fucked up your life doesn’t mean you get to fuck up your family’s life, too. Unless a judge tells you otherwise, you’re still at least partly responsible for the welfare of your wife and child. Stop whining and take responsibility for what you’ve done. Don’t make me have to arrest you. That would piss me off something fierce.”
He glanced at Earl, and then they walked off, leaving Joe Hanson with the problems he’d caused.
“That’s tough,” Earl said.
Trey frowned. “What? Getting kicked out of his home? It’s nothing compared to making his wife afraid to go home. He got exactly what he deserved.”
They stopped at a gas station to fuel up before heading back to the station. Trey would be heading out to the farm soon, and there were no words for how happy he was to know Dallas was there waiting.
“I’m gonna get me a cold pop and some chips. You want anything, Chief?” Earl asked.
“Bring me a cold Coke, but in a bottle, not a cup, and ice, please,” Trey said, and handed him a couple of dollars.
