Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  “My car broke down!” she screamed back at him. “Not long after I got to Coos Bay, before I even realized I was pregnant! I had no money to get it fixed. I walked to work, stopping to puke in the gutters. For months, I could hold nothing down until late afternoon, not even water!”

  “And later?”

  “I was married! He was jealous! I’d told Matt I couldn’t love him, because I still loved you! He said he loved me enough for both of us. And, hello, Mr. Judgmental, Matt was my surefire bet. You weren’t! Four letters went unacknowledged. Well, explain where four letters wandered off to, Slade. I sure as hell didn’t get your name wrong!”

  Slade mentally circled her argument. As angry as he was with Vickie, he’d never known her to look him in the eye and tell a bald-faced lie. A white lie, maybe, or a little fib. But even then, she hadn’t been able to maintain visual contact with him. He distinctly recalled one time when his parents were throwing a surprise birthday party for him, and she’d had to lie in order to get him home in time for the shindig. Even then, she’d had to look away as she told him some story she’d made up, and he’d known she was telling him a whopper.

  So it followed that she truly had written to him. Letters that he’d never received. In a town where everyone knew him. A memory flashed in his mind, and his blood ran cold. Only a couple of weeks after Vickie had fled Mystic Creek, April Pierce had gotten a job at the post office as a mail sorter. Rage roiled within him. It was inconceivable to him that any young woman could be so besotted with a man who barely even knew she was alive that she’d fabricate a tale to break up an engaged couple a week before their wedding. It was even more of a stretch for him to believe that April would have been so vicious that she might have seen Vickie’s letters and somehow prevented them from ever reaching him. All his life, he’d heard people use the quote “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” but he’d never rejected April. It made no sense that she might have done something so horrible. And yet, what other explanation was there? His mind raced with questions, but of one thing he was certain. He couldn’t so much as hint to Vickie the possibility that had just occurred to him, not until he knew for sure. He assumed a stony expression, because this woman that he loved so well knew him better than anyone else on earth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Still ranting, Vickie advanced on Slade, her small fists doubled as if she might take him on. “How dare you ask me why I didn’t do this or I didn’t do that? While you were out bonking little blondes with no brains, I was big and pregnant and hobbling around on swollen ankles, and we were so broke we could barely pay the rent. It was a year before we could even afford a phone. And by the time we got one, when I could have called you collect, Matt had turned into a mean drunk! If he had seen that I had placed a phone call to someone in Mystic Creek, he would have known. And trust me, I might not have lived through the consequences.”

  Seeing the pain in Vickie’s expression, Slade felt his heart clench in his chest, and for an instant, he thought he might have a coronary for real. He struggled to modulate his voice before he spoke. “Don’t tell me he beat on you. I swear to God, I’ll hunt him down and kill him with my bare hands.”

  “You can’t. He’s already dead.” Her eyelid twitched, and then her mouth quivered. “But, yes, he was violent. I didn’t need you to play hero and take care of the problem, though. I’m a Granger, and I was a big girl. I took care of it myself. He beat the hell out of me only once.”

  “Please tell me you divorced the son of a bitch.”

  “Not then. It wasn’t long after I’d given birth to Brody, and I hadn’t gone back to work yet. I had to think of my baby. What would happen to him if I couldn’t put a roof over his head?”

  “Your folks were here! They had a roof. Why in the hell didn’t you just come home?”

  “I still didn’t have a home phone to even call them. It was spring, and the weather was horrible. I worried over exposing a tiny baby to the cold wind and driving rain to walk to a phone booth. I had to step up and act like a grown-up for my child. So I took care of it. Matt backed off and never struck me again.”

  “I’m sorry you went through so much, Vick. If I could go back and change it, I would. Please know that. I am so very sorry.”

  Her hands relaxed, and he knew her anger was ebbing. He glanced down at himself. Half-naked and covered with soot and dirt, he was surprised she still cared enough to be standing there to argue with him.

  “I, um, need to find some clothes,” he said. That was true. He couldn’t go down the mountain on a horse without at least a pair of boots on his feet. He also had guests he’d have to meet at the trailhead late in the afternoon. But maybe, just maybe, he could replenish his wardrobe, whistle up another rifle, see about getting his hunting license replaced, and still have time to pay April a short visit. If he was wrong about her, so be it. But everything seemed to circle straight back to her.

  “And so that’s it?” Vickie’s hands clenched into fists again. “You haven’t asked me one real question about our son.”

  Slade wanted to ask her a thousand different things, and when the time was right, he would. But right now, he had far more pressing matters to think about. “Today’s Saturday. Guests arrive late this afternoon. Buck season opens tomorrow and runs until Friday. In the fire last night, I lost everything I need to guide a hunt, even my saddlebags.” Slade knew he was driving another wedge between them. She undoubtedly wanted him to ask what color Brody’s hair was, how tall he was, what he did for a living. She needed to know that he cared. But right at that moment, he had other important questions to ask, and she wasn’t the woman who could answer them. “I love you, Vick. I’ll carve out some time this evening to talk with you. I promise.”

  He saw her expression grow shuttered. “That’s fine. Business is business. I get that.”

  Only Slade knew that she didn’t get it at all, and she wouldn’t until he got some answers. He raked a hand through his hair and realized he’d just rubbed more soot through it, not that it mattered. Even though the fire she’d built now snapped and crackled behind him to warm the tent, he pretended to shiver. “I need to roust Wyatt out of his bedroll and see if he has some threads I can borrow. I’m freezing.”

  “Go.” She said the word as if she were telling him goodbye. “I need to get breakfast started, anyway. If I don’t, I’ll have a bunch of starving men breathing down my neck.”

  Slade turned to walk away, but then an awful thought struck him. She’d obviously come back mainly to confront him about the son he hadn’t known he had. Now that she’d done that, there was nothing more to hold her in Mystic Creek. He faced her again. “Promise me something.”

  “What?” she asked woodenly.

  “Promise me you’ll still be here when I get back, Vickie. You said Brody’s in a jam and you can’t help him out of it. If there’s any way I can, I will. I swear it. But we do need to talk.”

  She hugged her waist and gave him a deadpan look. “I’ll be here. You owe me money. So if your checkbook went up in that fire, get another one while you’re gathering stuff up. I won’t leave until I’m paid.”

  As Slade left the cookshack, he decided then and there that he might not cut her a check until her month of employment ran out. Even if his suspicions were correct about what had happened to the letters, even if he could prove to Vickie beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d never been unfaithful or lied to her, they would still need hour upon hour to simply talk. He knew she still loved him just as much as he loved her, but forty-one years was a very long time, and they’d changed. Maybe not in huge ways, but they still needed to bridge that chasm of separation and get to know each other again.

  As he gimped over the icy ground, hopping when he stepped on rocks and made his gouty toe send stabs of pain up his leg, he promised himself that no matter what happened, he’d never just let her walk away from him again. Maybe they couldn’t change
all the miserable things about their story up until this moment, but damn it, they could make sure the ending was beautiful.

  He’d make that happen or die trying.

  * * *

  • • •

  Slade was exhausted by three o’clock that afternoon when he knocked on April’s front door. Her last name was Jones now. A few years after Vickie left town, April had married a stocky fellow named Harley. He seemed like a nice guy, and when Slade had seen them together around town, Harley seemed to adore his wife. Slade wasn’t a revenge seeker by nature. After Vickie broke their engagement, he had confronted April. Yelled at her, actually, for telling the woman he loved such a vicious lie. But once he’d vented his rage, he’d walked away and never looked back. April hadn’t been worth any more of his time. At that point, she couldn’t change what she’d already done. He hadn’t been able to find Vickie so he could drag her home and make April tell her the truth. What was the point? Slade was a great believer in karma. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that he believed every bad thing people did was noted and written down somewhere in the sky. God eventually dealt with individuals like April. It wasn’t Slade’s job to punish her.

  Now, as he waited for her to answer the door, he could only hope her husband wasn’t home. Harley would step in if Slade raised his voice. He also might overhear everything Slade said. Not a good situation. Rumor had it that Harley was extremely protective of April, and Slade had also heard that the big man had a jealous streak. This meeting would go smoother without his interference, not that Slade was in any mood to play nice if it got rough. While he didn’t believe in retaliation or getting even, he wasn’t above utilizing someone else’s lies against them.

  The door finally opened. In Mystic Creek, people didn’t normally use the peephole to identify a caller or have a chain guard latched to prevent a sudden entry. Totally unsuspecting, April drew the portal wide and smiled in greeting. Slade had seen her only from a distance for more years than he could recall, and he was a little shocked by how well preserved she looked. Like Vickie, she was younger than he was, but only by a year or two, and that still put her at well over sixty. Her once-slim figure had grown a little heavier, but she appeared to be fairly trim. Gravity sure as hell hadn’t yet won the war. She still bleached her hair and slathered on makeup, he noticed. At a certain age, most women couldn’t get away with that. The application of too much foundation and eye shadow highlighted the wrinkles. But April didn’t seem to have that many. Surgical intervention, he guessed. She’d always been a little obsessed with her appearance. Big hair. Lots of mascara. Heavy on the lipstick and glittery stuff. Slade preferred Vickie’s natural look. He supposed she probably wore touches of makeup when she wasn’t camping, but he doubted she would ever go heavy, not even for a night on the town.

  “Slade!” April said, her tone conveying that she couldn’t be happier to see him if he were a treat-filled basket from the Easter bunny.

  He had no doubt that her surprise at seeing him was genuine. “April,” he replied, keeping his voice even.

  She pushed at her hair and tugged on the hem of her knit top, which hung fairly loose but still molded snugly to her generous bosom. She wore black leggings that revealed nicely toned thighs and calves.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” she asked.

  Slade rested a shoulder against her door frame and cocked one hip. “I’m just in the mood for a little walk down memory lane.”

  “A what?”

  “You heard me.” He let that float on the air between them for a moment. “Vickie’s back in town.”

  He saw the shock register on her face, but she quickly rearranged her expression into a smile. “Oh, how lovely. How is she doing?”

  “Pretty good. The same old Vickie, still mad as a wet hen because I allegedly got drunk and fucked you at a beer party over forty-one years ago.” Slade recalled Vickie’s comment that morning about his choice not to use the F word in the presence of ladies, and she’d called it right. His father had raised him to hold women in high regard. But April wasn’t, in his opinion, a lady. In fact, he suspected that she was a malicious, self-serving bitch. “Crazy, huh?”

  “It certainly is,” she agreed with a nervous twitter. “It’s hard to believe she’s still fussing about something that happened so long ago.”

  Slade kicked his relaxed-cowboy stance up a notch by slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Don’t you mean what didn’t happen so long ago?”

  Bright spots of color suddenly flagged her cheeks. “Why are you here, Slade?”

  He gave her points for catching on fast. “Oh, I don’t know. Guess I’ve been thinking too much. I paid dearly for what didn’t happen that night. Lost the woman I loved, just for starters. Never found anyone else. Never tied the knot with anyone else and had kids. I’ll be honest, April. I’ve lived a lonely life. The hottest bed partner I’ve had in the last ten years was a panting dog. I never stopped loving Vickie, and now that she’s back, the way I see it, I’ve got one more chance to set things right between us. One more chance to maybe fix things so we can be together in our golden years. One more chance to convince her how much I love her and that I never cheated on her or lied to her.” He met and held April’s wary gaze. “You following me?”

  “I wish you well, Slade. You deserve to be happy.”

  “Thanks for saying that, April. And I think you’re right; I do deserve to be happy, and so does Vickie. Which is what led me here. Being the wonderful old friend that you are, I thought I’d ask you real nice if you’d help me out.”

  “How can I possibly do that?” She rolled her heavily lashed blue eyes and planted her hands on her hips, showcasing inch-long, bright red fingernails. Like everything else about her, they were fake. “If Vickie can’t grow up and get over it, nobody can make her.”

  Slade crossed one boot over the other and leaned just a bit more heavily against the wood frame to make sure she couldn’t slam the door in his face. He had a feeling they would quickly reach that moment. “Well, you know, it’s not really about Vickie’s maturity level. Come to find out, she was pregnant with my baby when she broke our engagement and left town. And what’s really mind-boggling is that she tried to notify me by letter, four times, only I never received the correspondence. That is odd. Don’t you think? How could the United States Post Office lose four letters? One, maybe. By a big stretch of the imagination, maybe two. But four? How could that conceivably occur?”

  She reached for the interior door lever. “Beats me. I’m sorry, Slade, but I have a hair appointment this morning and need to get going.”

  He held up a hand. “Not so fast, April. It occurred to me this morning that shortly after Vickie blew out of this little burg, you got hired on at the local post office. As a mail sorter, if I recollect it right.” He drew one hand from his pocket to touch the brim of his Stetson. “I have to salute you on moving up the ladder and turning that into a lifelong occupation, by the way. When are you going to break through the glass ceiling and become our postmistress?”

  Her chin came up. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  Slade gifted her with a slow grin. “You and what army plan to make me?”

  She straightened her shoulders. Studying her, Slade sincerely hoped she and Vickie never tied it up physically, because April weighed at least thirty pounds more and that muscle tone she’d undoubtedly worked hard to maintain at the Crash and Burn would give her a big advantage.

  “If you don’t leave, I’ll just holler for Harley,” she threatened. “He’ll make short work of tossing you off our porch.”

  Slade chuckled. “I don’t doubt that. He’s a big boy. I hear he loves you like no tomorrow. How long you been hitched now?”

  “Thirty-eight years.”

  “That’s awesome, April. I love when I hear happily-ever-after stories. But it does make me feel sad for Vickie and my
self, because somehow we got dealt a really rotten hand of cards. So here’s my idea, and I think it’s a good one. I thought maybe you could meet us tomorrow evening, say about seven, at the Witch’s Brew. I hear JJ did extensive remodeling to draw in a classier crowd.” He chuckled. “Of course, we all know JJ’s idea of classy may differ from ours. But it might be fun to check it out.”

  “Tomorrow is opening day of buck season. Harley will be tired tomorrow night. Besides, we got religion a few months back, and we’ve pretty much given up drinking.”

  “Good on you!” Slade hooked the thumb of his free hand over his belt. “Have you given up lying, too?”

  She acted as if she might shut the door, but she knew as well as he did that it wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to move first, and for the moment, the soles of his boots had pretty much put down taproots.

  “If you don’t get your ass off my porch, I’m going to call the cops!”

  Slade released a theatrical sigh. “Oh, April, please don’t do that. I’d like to settle this peaceably without it getting messy. If you dial nine-one-one, it may be my niece who shows up, and she’ll be all over me about minding my manners and not getting off a lady’s porch when I’m asked.”

  “That’ll be your problem.”

  “Yeah, but she loves me, you know, and if I defend myself by explaining why I’m here, I might slip and say something about a mail sorter at our post office intercepting and destroying someone else’s mail years ago. That could get ugly. Isn’t it a federal offense? I don’t even know if there’s a statute of limitations. Do you?”