Return to Redlin

by Lazette Gifford

  Chapter 10

  Bastard, stupid men. Always think they know how to run the world. Don't think women are good for anything, or they don't have any feelings, or. . . .

  I'd been crying, which annoyed the hell out of me. If I wasn't going to cry over what Junior did, I shouldn't be crying over what Derrick had said. I slipped on a boulder because I couldn't see clearly, scraped my hand again. I kicked the stone out of frustration. Not a good reaction and I cursed Derrick again. And then I sat and cried for a while.

  How dare he treat me this way? How dare he send me running --

  Something clicked.

  Hell. He had done annoyed me on purpose. He had pushed through my already jangled nerves and got me to move on because he didn't want to slow me down. He pushed to get me out of danger. We both knew Junior would come back for us if he got free of the police. And if he didn't, wouldn't tell the police where to find us, either. Had anyone from Loma seen us in the car? If not, they might not even realize he'd had someone with him.

  I tried to decide what to do. I had made a good distance since I left Derrick. But the day had turned colder and very dark, the snow falling harder -- and I feared if I went on, I would never see Derrick alive again.

  So I turned around and headed back. Maybe not smart, but I didn't want to leave Derrick there to die, alone in the snow, facing Junior or not. I wouldn't leave him.

  Oddly, I had less trouble going back. I reached the glade about an hour after I had left him, the shadows falling -- and for a moment I couldn't even find Derrick. Then I saw him only a few feet from where I had left him, sitting against a tree, snow covering far too much of his body. Fool. He'd freeze to death before Junior could get to him.

  He looked up only when I got within a yard of him, his face showing startled surprise, worry -- and I thought a hint of pleasure and relief though he tried to hide the reaction again.

  "What the hell are you doing back?" he demanded, though his voice could hardly hold the charade of anger.

  "I came back for you. Are you done resting?" I asked.

  "Just go --"

  "Don't you think you owe it to your children not to give up so easily?"

  The color came back to his face, his eyes blinking. I thought he might be trying to hold back tears. But I had said the right words this time. He lifted his good arm toward me and I helped him back to his feet. He had trouble staying there, but I put an arm around his waist and he put an arm over my shoulder. He felt far too cold.

  We started moving again.

  "The woods are lovely, dark and deep," Derrick suddenly quoted, startling me.

  "But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." I glanced at him. "Do you like Frost?"

  "Sometimes. I think I have a new appreciation for the poem." He gave a little laugh. His hand unexpectedly squeezed my shoulder. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I truly did want you to go on without me."

  "I know. But I'm damned stubborn, you know."

  "I've guessed that part." He laughed a little.

  The night fell before we even reached the place where I had turned around. We kept going, talking a little bit about life in general, the world outside Redlin, and what kind of teas and coffees we liked. We avoided the talk of food, for the most part, since both of us were pretty hungry by then. But nice hot coffee or tea....

  "Hot Chocolate," I said, with a sigh.

  "Oh yes," he agreed with a little nod and winched. I imagined the wound in his shoulder probably made any movement painful. "With marshmallows."

  "Yes." I sighed with longing. Then I started moving a little faster again. "And we'll have some when we get out of this damned snow."

  He didn't argue, but I knew we'd stop soon. We both needed rest, and I feared I would slip and fall soon and take Derrick down with me -- and not be able to get him back up. Better for us both to rest before we got worse. Snow had piled up to about four inches in some places, and though the wind wasn't very strong, but snow started to drift. I couldn't clearly see what lay beneath the covering, and I decided we'd stop at the next area where we could get away from the water.

  A few minutes later, I saw a likely spot with some trees growing close together and shelter from some of the snow beneath their limbs and I started towards the trees.

  "What?" His head came up, and he seemed less coherent than I had expected.

  "Time to rest, Derrick."

  "Junior --"

  "Junior isn't here. He probably won't even come out until morning, you know. I can't see him putting himself out in this weather, even to get us. We can rest for a little while."

  "I'm sorry I screwed up so badly."

  "You haven't. Here. Sit down."

  I helped him down, trying to ignore the little hiss of pain as he settled with his back against the tree. I tried to find anything else to help us. We didn't feel terribly cold yet, and when I settled down by the tree the little breeze didn't brush at my face. Good -- or at least as good as it was going to get.

  "Come closer. Pull my trench coat up around us both," he said. "Don't worry about my arm. I'm so cold I don't feel anything now."

  I knew he lied, but shared warmth might help us through this night. I carefully snuggled in closer to him, pulling his coat around my shoulder and reaching around his chest so my jacket draped across his chest. I rested my head on the sling and cast.

  "Better." Derrick even relaxed. "I've spent worse nights. Once, out on a job -- well, never mind. I don't want to talk about worse times."

  "Good idea," I mumbled into his arm. I hadn't realized how tired I felt until now. I'd walked much farther on spring hikes through the woods, but this day had been filled with too many draining emotions.

  "We'll get by for a better day," he said softly.

  I lifted my head, startled by the words. "Your mother used to say that. I could almost hear her in your voice."

  "Did she? I didn't know where I'd picked the saying up." He shook his head a little. "I don't remember her much at all. The Westons drove her out of me, I think. For a long time I felt like she'd betrayed me, leaving me with them. I don't know why she married Tom Weston."

  "Tom is a big, strong man," I said. "He's not like Junior. Junior is stupid and vengeful. Tom is..."

  "Smarter." Derrick nodded and frowned again. "Yeah, which makes him more dangerous in some ways. I suddenly wonder about Junior's little robbery ring. I wonder if there isn't more -- like someone smart enough to train him how to pull off the robberies."

  "Now there's an interesting thought." I didn't mind talking, even about Junior. I think the silence would have been worse. "I'm trying to think if Tom has shown . . . oh."

  "Oh?" Derrick asked.

  "Tom bought a couple good hunting rifles last month. Custom made stuff, and expensive. Mr. Shoplin made a good amount of money. No one wondered where Tom got the cash. I mean he and Junior both work at the junk yard and they don't have a lot of expenses, living out in the trailer. But I remember even my dad saying something about him buying stuff for his cars lately, which seemed odd with the junk yard work. You think Tom's involved?"

  "I wouldn't be surprised, but I could be wrong. I think it would be damned hard for Junior to keep something from his father. And I suspect, when he finds out Junior took the two of us out on the robbery, he's going to be mighty pissed at his son."

  "Yeah," I said, feeling a little bit of pleasure. "So maybe Markie and Sally know, too."

  "Damn. I hate to think what this is going to do to his kids."

  "If it's true, they're going to get out of a hellish situation."

  He shivered. Not the cold, and I still didn't ask about life with the Westons.

  I sighed a little. "I hope everything goes alright for the Apple Days celebration. I don't want to miss it."

  He gave a little woof of sound -- half amazement with just a little bit of annoyance. "With everything else going on, you're worried about Apple Days?"

  "That's all I'm willing to admit being
worried about," I said, lifting my head. "Everything else is too serious, too dire. I can be upset about missing Apple Days. What's it really going to matter?"

  He tilted his head a little. I wished we had more light. I could barely see him in the dark, though I could tell he smiled, which I hadn't expected.

  "I like your attitude."

  "Well, you could have fooled me," I replied, and he laughed this time.

  "I'm worried, too," he finally admitted. "Because I said I'd call my kids tonight, and they're going to be upset when I don't, and worry about what happened to me this time."

  "This time," I echoed softly and nodded. "It's not stupid to worry about your kids like thinking about Apple Days. Your kids are important to you."

  "Yes, they are. Since . . . since my wife died, they've been mostly living with my sister-in-law, her husband, and their three kids. They have a real family there. I'm not around as much as I should be." He sighed and leaned his head back on the tree. "They want to take the kids to Hawaii this summer to stay with their grandmother. That's a damned long ways to go without me."

  "True," I agreed.

  "I only live a block away from them, but in my own place. They wanted me to move in too, but I couldn't. If I did, I would have become too dependent on them. It would have been too easy."

  "I know. I understand. When I came back to Redlin my parents begged me to move in. But I knew if I did I would never move out -- or move on -- again. I know it seems like I'm wasting my time coming back here --"

  "No," he said. "No, that was my own bias interfering with my good sense. Or what passes for good sense." He moved a little, his breath catching in a slight whisper of pain. "We're going to get through this. Junior sure as hell better not be anywhere I can find him before Miller does."

  "I don't think you're in any shape to take on Junior right now. So he had better watch out for me, instead."

  Derrick laughed, a remarkably nice sound, even while we both shivered there in the cold. I felt better and I think he did, too.

  "I never knew you had so much fire, Ginger. You should let that part out to play more often. I'm sorry about some of the things I said to you, but --"

  "But you were right about some stuff," I admitted, burrowing my head a little more into the crook between his arm and his coat. "I did come back here to hide. I like Redlin. I enjoy the people, but I spend my days at the Senior Center and my nights at the Gas and More. I've taken to playing mother to my roommate-cousin, and telling myself I'm making certain she doesn't make the same stupid mistakes I did --"

  "Did you make a stupid mistake? I get the feeling it was your ex-husband who made the mistake."

  My breath caught at those words. No one else had come out and said them aloud, and I couldn't even begin to tell Derrick what they meant to me -- not without breaking out in tears. Maybe he knew. He didn't say anything more, waiting for me as I took several, slow breaths.

  "I was a good wife." I gave an unexpectedly bitter laugh at those words. "What a stupid thing to say, but it was true. I believed in the future we would have after he got through law school. I worked hard, saved, cut corners, took a useless job and dropped out of school. And then he met a fellow student and they had so much in common! They could discuss work, and school, and all the things we didn't have any more. So we divorced."

  "His loss."

  "Are you feverish or something?"

  He started laughing so hard it obviously hurt. In the end he took several deep breaths.

  "Sorry," I apologized, though I suspected he hadn't minded the laugh.

  "I'm sorry I've been such an ogre the last few days. I didn't like being in Redlin."

  "For obviously good reasons," I said, and brushed snow from my legs.

  "I don't think we dare stay here for too long, you know. We'll get frostbite at the very least."

  "I know. But we were both starting the falter and I figured we better choose our spot rather than fall flat somewhere bad. Maybe you should try to sleep for a while, Derrick."

  "And you'll keep watch will you?" he asked, with a little laugh.

  "Yes, I will. Just like in the movies."

  I was asking him to trust me.

  And he did. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back -- and slept. I stayed awake. I would not fail him. Junior would never get close enough without waking both of us, but I stayed awake, and an hour later I woke him and we got back to our feet and moved on. At least the snow had stopped falling.