Читать книгу Firefly Nights - Cynthia Thomason - Страница 12
ОглавлениеKITTY HURRIED FROM the breezeway to meet the sheriff when he came out of the motel lobby. “How’d he take the news?” she asked, shaking her fingers, which had become numb from clenching them so hard. “Is he okay with Adam and me staying?”
“He didn’t like the idea at all, did he?” Adam said, his voice blatantly hopeful.
“He liked the idea all right—after I told him you could cook and clean, wash clothes and—”
“Okay, sure,” Kitty said. “How hard can all that stuff be?”
Virgil’s eyes rounded with shock. “What?”
“What I meant was that cooking and cleaning—it’s all second nature to me. Not hard at all.” Actually those tasks were second nature to Esmeralda, the housekeeper who’d been working for Owen Galloway for years.
“All right, then. Let’s go inside.”
Kitty and Adam walked ahead of the sheriff into the lobby. They passed a couple of tired old Danish chairs and a counter with a chipped Formica finish. Adam’s fingers wrapped around Kitty’s arm like a claw. “Nice place you picked here, Mom,” he whispered.
“I picked?” Kitty started to argue but realized the futility of bringing up Adam’s mistake again.
“Do you know the difference between a washing machine and a stove?” Adam asked.
“Hey, I’m not the one who confused a jacket for a shopping cart.”
They entered a living space just slightly larger than a typical studio apartment. Forcing her gaze to sweep quickly across the room, Kitty avoided for the moment the man whose presence was definitely the dominant feature. A queen-size bed covered with a colorful Navajo-print comforter sat next to an uncluttered desk. A knotty pine dresser held an assortment of men’s toiletries on a wooden valet tray situated precisely in the middle of a pair of polished brass lamps. Brass drawer handles sparkled on each of the nine dresser drawers.
An immaculate kitchen occupied one corner. The gleaming white appliances appeared new. Two doors at the rear of the room were closed. Kitty assumed one was a closet and the other led to a bathroom.
And in the middle of this space, there was a distressed leather sofa and a pine coffee table with a notebook computer on top. And then, because she could no longer avoid acknowledging the man at the center of this meticulous display of orderly living, Kitty focused on a wide leather recliner, which was filled quite respectably by Campbell Oakes.
He wore a Charlotte Bobcats T-shirt and navy blue cargo shorts. A shock of dark brown hair fell onto his forehead and partially covered a fresh bandage. One long bare foot at the end of a well-muscled leg extended over the chair’s footrest. Campbell’s other leg, buried in at least a three-foot length of cotton batting and fiberglass splint was supported by a pillow.
He stared at her with an overtly appraising green-eyed gaze that made her feel like squirming. She tried to smile, but her lips refused to obey the command from her brain. She wondered how Campbell Oakes, even with damaged ribs and a broken leg, had the capacity to render a person speechless and smileless. Just imagining him standing fully upright, dominating everything around him, brought a strange quiver to her stomach. It wasn’t like the trepidation she felt when she faced her father. It was strange in a different sort of way.
“All right, now,” Sheriff Oakes said cheerfully. “I’ll just make the introductions and be on my way. You young folks’ll get along just fine. Campbell, this is Kitty. Kitty, Campbell.” The sheriff reached over and tousled Adam’s hair. Adam flinched. Sheriff Oakes pretended not to notice. “And this towheaded youngster is Adam.”
Campbell nodded, but his intense scrutiny didn’t ease up. In fact, his gaze settled above Kitty’s neck and refused to move.
Assuming something must be amiss, she ran a hand through her hair, felt the blunt-cut strands prickle her palm and spring back to attention with what was left of yesterday’s gel. She drew her lips together. No lipstick, of course. What little she’d applied before hitching a ride on the watermelon truck had been chewed off in the Value-Rite parking lot. She ran her tongue over her teeth, searching for an embarrassing food scrap, and then remembered that raspberry lipstick and two swigs of coffee were the only things she’d eaten all day.
Campbell’s gaze wandered over her and ended in a puzzling frown. “Kitty, is it?” he said, returning his attention to her face.
“Yes.”
“You picked out a room to stay in?”
“No, not yet. Any one will do.”
A low, rumbling sound that might have started as a sarcastic laugh but ended as a stifled groan came from his throat. Obviously something hurt, bad. He pushed himself up in the chair. “Actually none of them will do, but it’s take it or leave it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Virgil intervened. “I’ll put Kitty and the boy in the first room past the breezeway. That way they’ll be right next to the washing machines.”
Adam cupped his hand over his mouth. “Lucky break, eh, Mom?”
“Is there a phone in there?” Virgil asked.
Campbell nodded. “Doesn’t work, though. The only phone that’s hooked up is this one.” He pointed to a portable unit on the end table.
“No problem,” Virgil said with a chirpiness that was beginning to get on Kitty’s nerves. “I’ll stop at the phone company and have Kitty’s turned on. That way you can call her and Adam in their room anytime you need them.”
“I won’t need them much,” Campbell answered.
“You could just keep us on a leash and yank,” Adam said.
The sheriff laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard and tried to tousle Adam’s hair again. This time Adam was too fast for him.
“Wanda was here yesterday,” Virgil said, sticking the hand that had swatted the air over Adam’s head into his pocket. He walked to the kitchen. “She stocked the cupboard and icebox for you.”
He opened the refrigerator door and stuck his head inside. “You’ve got milk, cola, orange drink, bologna, bread, bacon and eggs. You won’t starve.” He pointed to a broom closet. “I guess the cleaning supplies are in there, Kitty. Knowing my nephew, he’ll have stocked up on everything you need to keep the place sparkling.”
“Maybe he keeps the maid in there, too,” Adam mumbled, and Kitty shushed him.
“Anyhow,” the sheriff continued, “if you think of something else you want, just call the sheriff’s office and either my deputy or I will bring it out to you.”
Adam had moved to the cupboard, where he was investigating the food provided by Wanda Oakes. “Grape-Nuts and cornflakes? You got to be kidding! Where’re the Pop-Tarts?”
Kitty rushed over and shut the cupboard doors. “Don’t complain, Adam. Let’s have Sheriff Oakes show us our room and then we’ll come back and fix lunch for Mr. Oakes.” She glanced back at Campbell. “Is that all right with you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and laid a hand on his stomach. Kitty figured he was weighing the advantages of trying to eat through the pain versus starving to death. From the look on his face, it was a tough call.
“I guess I could eat,” he said, opening his eyes again.
“Are you having pain?” she asked him.
“He sure is,” Virgil said. “He’s got, what is it, Camp? Three cracked ribs?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“You’ve got pills for that pain, don’t you?” Oakes asked.
“Yep.”
“Make sure he gets those,” Virgil said to Kitty. “But for now, follow me.” He jangled the motel keys and nudged Adam to walk ahead of him. When they were in the lobby, Oakes leaned over to deliver a special message to Adam. “I’d advise you to rest up as much as you can today, Adam. Come Monday you’ll be working for Mr. Quint Cheevers over at the Value-Rite.”
Obviously the sheriff’s cheerfulness in front of his nephew hadn’t caused him to forget the real reason for this act of penance. And it was a stark reminder to Kitty that she and her son were definitely expected to fulfill their pledge as participants in this unique example of Sorrel Gap justice.
Kitty walked woodenly behind the sheriff and Adam. Maybe exhaustion and hunger were catching up with her. Maybe her commitment to a situation that could prove to be a disaster was making her stomach jump as if dozens of moths had been released inside. Or maybe it was Campbell Oakes himself. He hadn’t done anything other than scope her out with those cool green eyes. But it was enough to make her feel as if her legs were made of matchsticks, and the lobby of the Saddle Top Motel was suddenly the size of a football field.
When they finally reached the porch, Adam held Kitty back. This time there was no joking in his voice when he said, “Mom, you’ve got to stop this. That guy’s weird. You have to call Grandpa!”
She took a long, soothing breath of mountain air and straightened her spine. “No, Adam. We’re going to do what’s right even if we make a mess of it.”
“You mean even if it kills us,” he added.
She gave him what she hoped was a smile of encouragement. “Mr. Oakes is just unhappy because he’s hurting. He’ll warm up to us when we’ve been around for a while, you’ll see.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it certainly was wishful thinking.
* * *
SHERIFF OAKES UNLOCKED the door to unit number six, slipped the key off the ring and handed it to Kitty. “Here you go. I hope you and the boy enjoy your stay in beautiful Spooner County.”
“You won’t forget about our things, will you, Sheriff?”
“Tommy will bring them out to you at the end of his shift, about five o’clock. In the meantime, I expect you’ll find whatever you need in this room or in Campbell’s place.”
The sheriff stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward his patrol car. What remained of Kitty’s confidence threatened to walk away with him. A wind had kicked up, sending a film of sand over the sidewalk. Loose gravel pinged across the porch shingles—the desolate, lonely sound of a place forgotten by the human race. Kitty shivered and fought an urge to rush to the car and beg Virgil Oakes for other options.
Maybe Campbell Oakes wasn’t exactly weird as Adam said, and his injuries rendered him virtually harmless, but he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder large enough to fuel a bonfire. Plus, she feared that she would be a miserable failure at helping him. According to her ex-husband, Bobby, during the longest two years of her life—her marriage—she’d been a failure at nearly everything she tried. More recently, her father made her feel as if she wasn’t even capable of taking care of herself and her son, an opinion that had been substantiated in the past twenty-four hours. How was she going to take care of an invalid?
The sheriff set his elbow on top of the car. “I’m counting on you to keep your word, Kitty, and to make Adam keep his. Don’t make me regret giving you and the boy this chance.”
His implied warning only added to her guilt and uncertainty.
“That fella in there is my brother’s son. He’s been through a lot over the years.”
Right. Campbell was a war veteran. But he’d also worked for the wealthy Leland Matheson and made his home in Raleigh before coming to Sorrel Gap, so he hadn’t bedded down with land mines without a break. “I’ll look after him,” she said, and sent a silent prayer skyward that she’d succeed. “You take care of my truck, all right?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll even have my mechanic look it over. That truck’ll be all yours again about the same time my nephew can live out here on his own.”
How long would that be? How long would she and Adam have to remain in this dusty, forsaken patch of North Carolina despair? “You won’t forget to have the phone turned on in our room, will you?” she asked as a flood of panic returned.
Oakes indicated that he would remember. The promise of a connection to the outside world, the chance to call Bette and Esmeralda, erased some of Kitty’s misgivings.
The sheriff climbed into the patrol car and backed out of the parking lot. Soon he was over the hill and returning to blessed civilization.
And Kitty and Adam went into their room.
Actually none of them will do.
The words Campbell Oakes had uttered a few minutes ago about the rooms at the Saddle Top Motel flashed in Kitty’s mind. And now, standing just over the threshold of unit number six, Kitty understood what he’d meant. And she suddenly felt as tired as this abandoned old room looked.
Adam entered the room and covered his nose. “Phew. Now we have another gross smell.”
Kitty yanked open the rubber-backed drapes covering the picture window. “That’s neglect, Adam,” she said. “Mildew. Stale air. Whatever you want to call it. Just please help me open the room up.”
They each cranked handles on opposite sides of the glass until two large panes creaked open. A breeze swept inside, depositing dust from the sill on a round Formica table and two orange vinyl chairs.
The admittance of air helped eliminate the odor, but the accompanying sunlight emphasized the deplorable condition of the furnishings. There were two double beds, each covered with thin spreads in faded gold and avocado stripes. Kitty walked over flat shag carpet that might once have been a peachy color, but was now nondescript. She ran her hand over the top of a six-drawer brown dresser. Three of its pulls, which reminded her of the fins of a vintage automobile, dangled loose, hanging by only one screw. A television sat next to the dresser on a rusty metal stand.
Kitty went to the rear of the room where there was a gold vanity under a rectangular mirror held in place by a half dozen clear plastic mounts. She opened a door to reveal a bathroom decorated in small gold-and-white tiles. When she flushed the toilet, she was relieved to see the discolored water swirl over rust stains in the bottom of the bowl and disappear. It was replaced with a welcoming pool of clear water.
A sharp click followed by an electrical buzz sent Kitty rushing back to the sleeping area. “What’s wrong?” she asked Adam, but immediately saw what had produced the strange noises. Her son sat on the end of a bed, his face cupped in his hands as he stared gloomily at a TV screen with more static than picture.
“It’s not even color,” he said. “I can’t watch this.”
She checked the back of the television. Its bulbous shape convinced her the set was color even if the only remaining evidence of the NBC peacock was a sickly Martian green. “Probably just needs a new antenna,” she said.
“This place sucks.” Adam turned the channel wheel, which only had thirteen numbers. He was able to get minimal reception on four of them.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Kitty said. “For now, get off the bed.”
“What?”
Seeing her son on the old linens had revitalized Kitty with the instinct to protect her young. “I don’t want you sitting there.”
He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, but he stood. She ripped the linens from both beds and piled everything, sheets, spreads and two thin blankets, into Adam’s arms. “Take these to the breezeway. I saw a decent washer and dryer and a bottle of detergent. Fill the washer with half the linens, dump in some soap and turn it on.”
He grimaced at the load in his arms. “I don’t know how to wash clothes.”
“It’s easy. Read the dials and choose whichever settings claim to have the most superpowers.”
He trudged out of the room, sheets trailing behind him. Kitty followed him outside but stayed on the walkway. She leaned her elbows on a railing that ran the length of the covered walkway and took a deep breath. “Okay, Kitty,” she said to herself. “You can do this. It won’t be so bad.”
The wind had calmed so that only a gentle breeze rustled the pitiful shrubs that stubbornly existed in nutrient-depleted beds in front of the motel. Kitty plucked a pale, drooping leaf from an evergreen plant and studied it. “All it would take is a little fertilizer and some serious weed removal, and this bed could be brought back to life,” she said. “I’ll bet these bushes could look as good as...”
She stopped, wondering where she had been going with that sentence. And then she looked across the two-lane road to hills that dipped and rose in elegant curves up from the gap and into the horizon. A wispy haze hovered over a cleft, a saddle-shaped indentation in the tallest peak, bathing the mountain top in a cool blue-gray mist.
It must have been a nurturing spring, she decided, because every tree in her view was dressed in the most remarkable shades of green, from deep emerald to pale olive. She twisted the leaf between her fingers. “Yep, you could look as good as what lives just across that road.”
She blew the leaf into the breeze and glanced over her shoulder into the bleakness of her room. What had seemed hopeless only moments ago now at least hinted of promise. “It’s sure a long way from my father’s house,” she said, “but it’s a heck of a lot better than Bobby’s sixteen-foot travel trailer.”
She’d been in her second year at the University of Florida when charming, sinfully handsome Bobby Watley played a golf tournament at a nearby resort. Kitty volunteered to be a scorekeeper. Her mother had died a few weeks before, and Kitty was desperately seeking any activity that would get her out of the classroom and the claustrophobic despair where her grief had taken her. Unfortunately it had been Bobby’s dazzling smile that had taken her mind off her problems, not his less-than-stellar golf swing.
Two weeks later, she dropped out of school and married Bobby in the town where the next tournament had been held. Now she couldn’t even remember the name of the place. Towns all ran together, and state lines became indistinct when you stayed in campgrounds that all looked alike.
She shivered now, thinking of that dismal time in her life when she was married to Bobby. They never had enough money. They never had enough room. When Adam came and he needed space, she’d been forced to toss out most of the possessions she’d brought with her. She fixed simple meals on a small, two-burner stove.
But of all the things she lacked with Bobby, the most glaring was encouragement. When she craved support, Bobby offered criticism. When she asked for help, Bobby demanded more than anyone could give. Had she known Bobby was so emotionally needy, she never would have married him. Had she realized the same of herself, she especially wouldn’t have.
She’d been young when she married Bobby. But she’d felt old when she left him. After twenty-four months of watching her husband fail on the golf tour, Kitty called her father and begged for his forgiveness. A day later she walked away from a dry, dusty campsite in Arizona with nothing in her pocket but the credit card her father had overnighted, and her ten-month-old son in her arms. And because Bobby knew he didn’t have a chance of seeing any of Owen’s money, he signed the divorce papers sent by the Galloway attorney.
Even when she’d put those years behind her and moved back to Richland, she constantly struggled to move forward without being haunted by the past. It didn’t help that Owen fanned the fires of her memories. Sometimes she thought the greatest satisfaction he had in life was reminding her of the foolish mistake that had cost her a college education, her independence and, most importantly, her self-esteem.
“Mom?”
Brought back to the present, she smiled at Adam. “How’d you do with the laundry?”
“I guess I did okay. I read the directions on the soap jug.”
She drew him close to her side. He flinched at first and then stood quietly, as if he sensed that contact was what she needed. Stroking his hair, Kitty admitted that this child of hers was a handful, but he was all she had of Bobby Watley and all she wanted from him. At least Bobby had given her Adam.
During Adam’s twelve years of life, Bobby had been little more to him than a crinkled copy of an internet article about the players in some insignificant tournament. Adam read that story over and over, connecting with his father the only way he knew how. Kitty had made sure the article was among their belongings in the broken-down truck. Adam wouldn’t have wanted to leave that piece of his history behind.
“We’ll get washed up,” she said to Adam, “and then look in on Mr. Oakes.”
The mention of Campbell’s name brought a strange image to Kitty’s mind, as if the Adonis beauty of Bobby’s face had mutated like a Hollywood camera trick into the imperfectly rugged features of Campbell Oakes. She hardly knew anything about Campbell, but she sensed that he wasn’t a bit like Bobby. Not that she should be thinking of Campbell as anything other than an obligation, but some things were just obvious. Bobby was sand, shifting with the tides, pretty to look at, but you couldn’t build a house on it. Campbell, despite being bested by a busted fuel line, was definitely rock.
“We got some money left, don’t we?” Adam said as they walked back into unit number six.
“I have a little. Why?”
He nodded at the television. “Maybe we can buy an antenna for that old piece of junk.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He grinned at her. “Give me back my Tampa Bay jacket, and I’ll pick one up at the Value-Rite when I go into work.”
