Читать книгу Rachel Dahlrumple - Shea McMaster - Страница 8

Chapter 3

July 4, 2009, started out pretty much like any other Saturday morning.

Aside from the events of the previous night, that was. I certainly did my best to ignore them, not that it did any good. In order to continue, a brief explanation should suffice.

After fainting, I came to on the living room chaise with our EMT neighbor, Miguel, backed up by Dan and Cyndi, bent over me. A blanket covered my lower half. Too embarrassed to ask how much Dan had seen, I ignored him and concentrated on breathing per Miguel’s instructions. Cyndi, God love her, fussed about, pouring coffee and water. Trust her to turn my malaise into a tea party.

Miguel kept a bottle of oxygen and an Epi-pen on hand for the very rare times an attack overtook anyone in the neighborhood. As he usually looked at me when mentioning it, I’d pooh-poohed the implication for about three years. Only now his smug smile assured me he considered his forward thinking had finally proven my protests moot. Dan dashed upstairs to get my meds and it took an hour before they were all confident enough of my stability for me to kick them out.

From their silence on the issue of Burt, I suspected Dan hadn’t said a word–or they chose to ignore it. I did notice the flower box had been carefully bagged. He took it and the note for analyzing, after ordering me to lock and alarm the house, then go to bed. For a moment he sounded an awful lot like Burt and I wanted to stick my tongue out at him. Probably because, unlike Burt, he looked just the teeniest bit worried about me, I nodded instead.

So, Saturday morning, desperate to not think about the night before–seriously, fainting with no underwear on under a very short night shirt? I knew I’d never be able to look the deputy in the eye again as long as I lived–I rose after only two hours sleep, showered, dressed all the way, took care of my morning med doses and went downstairs for breakfast that might as well have been sawdust for all I noticed. While I drank my coffee on the back porch and did a visual inspection of the backyard–the coolers remained untouched–John brought over his secret weapon, his six-year-old steel magnolia, Mindy. Knowing I couldn’t hold out against the sweetest little girl ever born, they coerced me into meeting them in town for the parade. Over the years, John had learned to shamefully use his adorable child against me, and I’d yet to find a way to counterstrike. Okay, so she was my child of the heart and I would have stolen her from them in a heartbeat, and he very smugly knew it.

Because their car barely held the family of five, I had a choice; a five-mile drive and hassle with parking, or walk a few hundred yards across the seasonally low river and risk wet feet. In my present mood, a mixture of mystification, humiliation, denial and simmering anger, I did my best to focus on my surroundings rather than my anguish. In truth, I should have stayed home because I just couldn’t find it in me to put on my normal happy face. I’d completely fried my mind trying to figure out who’d sent the weeds. Since she–whoever she was–had made the delivery, did it mean Burt really was at a convention? And playing golf? The fact he hadn’t answered his cellphone in no way reassured me. Never mind he almost never answered his cell when I called, but he usually called back within an hour. Hadn’t happened yet.

I slung a tiny purse with keys, phone and cash over my shoulder, made a barely dignified slide down the river bank, and picked my way from sand bar to sand bar across the extremely low waterway that separated our neighborhood from town. I loved my Crocs and had made it a point to wear them specifically for crossing the river. They dried fast, and standing around in a wet pair of shoes and socks all day didn’t appeal. Besides, they were cute and matched my outfit. A tough combo to beat.

The walk gave me a chance to study our small town from an angle I rarely got the chance to savor. Typical of the stereotype, we weren’t much more than a wide spot around a county highway about twenty miles off I-5 running down California’s San Joaquin Valley. A farming community settled in the last half of the nineteenth century, most of its homes had started out Victorian, and then morphed with twentieth century modification.

The moment I scrambled up the far bank and crossed the sports fields where the fireworks would be set off later, I met people streaming from the houses, and heading toward downtown. Beneath the large trees, mostly oaks and sycamores, standing in the wide yards, natural shade covered the broad streets. The trees didn’t cool much as the ambient temperature soared, but I appreciated their protection from the direct sun. I strolled down the middle of the street–the sidewalks were all full–and exchanged greetings while looking away from curious stares. Burt’s absence was noted but generally ignored in the way that small town gossip always made the rounds but stopped short of the object, which saved me from a lot of poor dear comments. Looks, I could deal with. Pity? I could do without. I slowed my steps and let the people flow past, giving my attention to the little ones who knew me from the library.

At one point I had three of the little critters hanging off me, not normally something I considered a problem. Right then I couldn’t pretend they were mine. Instead, the hole inside felt bigger than ever. I’d always wanted kids, but they’d never happened. I extracted myself from the hugs and sent them off with their parents.

“Miss Rachel!” A masculine voice overrode the chatter going on around me and I considered ignoring it, but then he repeated my name much closer. I turned and saw a blast from the past flagging me down.

Jim Santos. Now there was a memory. As he strode my way, looking much the same wearing worn denim and a dark tan cowboy hat, I flew back in time to a few stolen afternoons hidden under the drooping branches of a weeping willow. My God, did everything have to be thrown at me at once? That was all the time I had to think before he caught me up in a hug.

“Wow, stranger,” I said. Completely lame, but I honestly had no small talk in me.

“Is that all the greeting I get, querida?” He lifted me just enough to spin me around and kiss my cheek, forcing me to cling to him. “Has it been so long you no longer think of me with kindness?”

“It’s been more than twenty years, you oaf. Put me down.” I slapped at his shoulder and noted how much he’d changed since that Homecoming week so very long ago. Twenty-four years, but the memory still had the power to make me blush. He was broader and stronger, yet still lean in the hips. And hard. Oh boy, was he hard all over as he held me close. I prodded his muscled-in-iron-shoulder with a finger and almost broke the nail. “What are you doing here, and where’s your family?”

He set me down and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “Mom and Dad went on ahead an hour ago. Mom won’t be happy if someone takes her spot.”

Jim had always been a touchy-feely one, and since we’d shared a certain–ahem–rite of passage, just the two of us in a well hidden spot beneath a tree, well, I guessed he felt a certain right to touch me. I didn’t see it that way. I was married, and as such I’d put old boyfriends and lovers behind me. I stepped away, imagining the gossip from the many witnesses around us getting back to Burt. I secretly bet he’d find a way to turn it around on me and make it look like I’d been the cheater.

Funny how gossip about Burt had never reached me. The reminder of his alleged betrayal hit me afresh, flipping my stomach over once more, and I turned toward town.

“Ah yes, in front of the diner. No local would dare take her spot, or let a tourist move in, for that matter.” Mrs. Santos had her territory, and that was that.

Jim kept pace with me and when his hand brushed mine, I shoved both hands in the pockets of my sundress.

“You’re alone, Rachel. Why is that? Where’s your big handsome husband?”

Whether it was the question or the tone–had it really been a sneer?–I didn’t know, but the probing turned up the heat on my anger a notch.

“Out of town on business. Due home in a few hours,” I answered shortly, ignoring the sideways glance he gave me.

“Why did you come from the river? Ever revisit our spot?”

What was he trying to do? Did he know about the delivery last night? Had he made it for someone else?

Whatever the reason, he’d stepped on my last nerve. “Jim, if you want to talk to me, catch up, or hang out, drop the subject of our past. I’m a married woman and last I heard you were married. Twice. Where’re your wife and kids?”

“Okay, okay.” Jim backed off and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My second divorce was final last week. No kids from either marriage, except a couple step-kids I’m helping put through college. Mom heard a rumor of you getting a divorce, so I was just testing the waters. I’m home for the holiday and Monday I’ll be back at work.”

The word divorce in conjunction with my name knocked the breath from me and stopped my forward motion completely. “Wh-what did you say?”

Jim managed to stop with me. “I’m just in town–”

I turned on him and stabbed a finger into the middle of his chest. “No, the part about me getting a divorce. Where did you hear that?”

Jim shrugged uncomfortably and adjusted his cowboy hat. “Mom heard it somewhere in town last week. In case it’s true, you should know she approves. Thinks you should take him to the cleaners.”

I must have blanched and appeared ready to keel over because Jim caught me by the shoulders and backed me up to the strong trunk of a tree. “Easy, Rachel.”

Control. The word floated into my head as I forced myself to take long, slow, deep breaths. After a minute, I felt stronger, but my heart still raced. I’d barely decided I needed a divorce lawyer, yet the town already knew about it? How blatant had Burt been and how had I not noticed? Damn him! Damn him for ruining the holiday, for making me an object of vicious gossip, and damn him for, well, everything! When I got my hands on the son of a bitch, he’d know the depth of my fury. We might end up canceling the party because Burt would be too busy salvaging his belongings. Or his life. I hadn’t decided which just yet. It was a toss-up at that moment.

“Rachel?” Jim’s voice brought me back to my surroundings and I noticed people regarding us with curiosity as they passed. His hands held me securely, which was probably a good thing as my legs trembled on the edge of collapse.

“I’m okay,” I said, knowing it to be a lie as I shrugged away his hands.

He stepped back. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I looked up and found him looking contrite. Another handsome man. More handsome than he’d been as a youth. I remembered the power of those dark, almost black eyes, but the feeling remained that, a memory.

“I don’t know where the rumors came from, but there’s no divorce in motion.” Yet. Come the following Monday morning that would change, unless Burt came home with some very convincing proof. Then again, I didn’t think he could. My heart dropped again, and I resisted the urge to pull off my wedding set and fling it down the nearest storm drain. The hand wearing it curled into a fist. I might need it to pay for the lawyer. Then again, the diamond would make a nice mark on Burt’s face when I punched him.

“Okay. Let’s forget I passed on stupid gossip. I don’t want you mad at me. Friends?” He held out a hand.

I cautiously took it and gave it a shake.

Jim used our clasped hands to gently tug me away from the tree. “Sure you want to go to the parade?” He asked it softly, as if concerned I might fall apart. Granted, he was right to be worried. I was damn close to a breakdown right then.

“Yeah.” The words felt wooden and flat, but I forced myself to speak, hoping a feeling of normalcy would return. “The Westons will be looking for me if I don’t show up soon. They made me promise.”

“Who?”

“You remember John Weston? He lived next door to me. Between us in age.”

“Oh, right. The super jock.” Jim nodded.

“He bought the house next door from his parents. I’m meeting him, his wife, and three kids.”

“Let me walk you into town.”

I could have refused. Probably should have, but his presence felt vaguely familiar and somewhat comforting. With him beside me, I realized I hadn’t liked walking alone. On the other hand, wouldn’t Jim’s presence instead of Burt’s draw more comments than me walking by myself? Hard to tell right then. I shrugged away from the tree and resumed the trek toward Main Street, where the parade would start in twenty minutes. If I weren’t there by then, John would come looking for me. And Mindy had informed me everything would be ruined. So I was stuck.

We walked in silence for a block before I found some small talk inside me. “What do you do these days?”

“Construction.”

I glanced sideways at him again. I’d bet he still wielded a hammer. His already-darker Hispanic skin tone was more so from the sun, and I could make out the bulge of well-toned biceps beneath his worn chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

The crowd began to thicken with the Elks, VFW, American Legion, Boy and Girl Scouts, and various other civic-minded groups lining up for the parade, so we had to move to the crowded sidewalk. From there we greeted members of each of these groups that kept the town busy with enough dances, pancake breakfasts, and ice cream socials to keep everyone up on the latest gossip and the teens out of too much trouble.

When Jim’s arm brushed against mine again, it seemed more natural, a result of being crowded together, not him trying to octopus me.

“Miss Rachel!” “Miss Rachel!”

The cries of my age ten and under fans increased as we drew closer to downtown, where most of our buildings radiated the pride of renovated historic gems. The sense of permanence soothed my heart, and I could finally breathe enough to feel the satisfaction of connecting with my deep roots. Although the throng held more tourists than townies, I felt a sense of belonging. I should, my mother’s family had helped build the tiny rustic haven.

Close enough to the Big Sur Coastal region south of Monterey and Carmel, Bonchamps had always attracted tourists and visitors who meandered down our shady streets to shop. The town stayed old-fashioned on purpose because we, the townspeople, wanted it that way.

Of course, we couldn’t remain entirely nineteenth century. Tucked in side-by-side with the old standbys, Jim and I strolled past shops with artists of every kind. Athough the Main Street beauty salon and barber shop were institutions, we also passed an art shop, an herbs and spices tea merchant, a colorful kite shop, two independent book stores, a few antique stores, a deli, and all manner of specialty boutiques.

We also had the choice of organic goodies at a fancy café, but I usually stopped at Barb’s for my clandestine donut fixes. I waved to her through the window when we paused at her corner.

As the crowd had grown denser, Jim had taken my hand to lead me through the thicker concentrations of people on the sidewalks. I let myself forget to pull my hand from his, and got lost in a deep sense of community. These were my people. Their families had been here for well over a hundred years. Like my family, and me, they weren’t going anywhere. When I remembered the hand I held didn’t belong to my husband, I dropped it, but not before Barb noticed and raised a brow. Feeling a little sick to my stomach, I waved away the coffee she held up to tempt me inside.

Patriotic to the center of our red, white, and blue little hearts, tradition demanded we go all out to celebrate national holidays. Independence Day was no exception and probably our biggest draw of the year. Bunting draped the entire length of the parade route down Main Street. Vendors trailing streamers and balloons, selling everything from silly hats to lemonade and cotton candy, worked the crowd. The crowds swelled around me, surely sending seizures of rapture into the hearts of merchants and tax collectors alike. We moved on, and I stopped long enough to buy a big cloud of pink cotton candy. I had no intention of eating it, but the kids would all love a sticky handful.

Jim noticed I’d dropped behind, and he came back for me.

“You don’t have to guard me, you know,” I mildly complained.

“Don’t like me anymore?” He pinched a bit of my cotton candy with an exaggerated wink and a waggle of the eyebrows.

“Jim…” I sighed in exasperation.

“Okay, I get the hint. You’re not interested in fooling around.” He pinched another bit of fluff and stuffed it in my mouth.

The sugar dissolved on my tongue. “No kidding.”

“Let me hang with you today, Rachel. I like to see a pretty woman smile at me, and you seem a little down. Let’s cheer each other up for old time’s sake?”

Yeah, I could already smell the grass and leaves in the secluded hollow under the weeping willow. I knew just what kind of old time’s sake cheer he wanted.

“I’m not much in the mood for cheer and I’m meeting friends,” I reminded him. “Besides, your parents are expecting you.” I pointed to where his mother waved at us.

“Where are you meeting the Westons?” He waved back and his mother settled into her folding chair, content in her spot.

“They’re a little farther down the street, so you’d better skip over to your parents and let me continue on to my party.”

“Afraid folks might misinterpret two friends hanging out at the parade?”

“Exactly.” Especially since no one in town had ever known about our, uh, friendship. Unless he’d said something. I never had. In fact, we’d already drawn far too much attention. Raised eyebrows popped up all around us.

Jim gave me a long look that felt entirely too intimate, too knowing, and it sparked a bit of wondering in me. What would have happened if he’d stayed around Bonchamps instead of moving off to Monterey and beyond? Did I feel any attraction for him? Compared to the fireworks Dan had set off last night, Jim just didn’t reach me in the same way, but he didn’t leave me cold, either.

“Look, the parade is starting soon. I need to move on. Come to the party tonight. It’s at my house this year.” He knew what party I meant. “We can probably find time to talk then. Bring a suit, we always play water polo.” No, we probably wouldn’t find time to talk, but he’d get to see me acting like a proper wife with a proper husband and having fun. Dammit, I would have fun, I swore. I expected it to be very fun tossing Burt out on his ear right after I made him clean up from the party.

“I’d love to. Thank you.” Jim captured my hand and kissed the back of it. He could be very charming when he made the effort. That much I did remember.

“See you later.” I waved to his parents and pressed into the crowd, a little relieved to shake him. The strain of keeping up a conversation, and the upset of his revelation made me desperate to be alone for just a few minutes before I faced the Westons.

As I walked, I forced myself to see the people around me.

I usually loved watching everyone enjoying themselves. The little ones especially, with their sticky faces and eyes round with awe. If I looked hard enough, maybe I’d find a touch of magic, since I had so little to enjoy in my life at the moment.

Out of Jim’s sight and alone in a sea of mostly strangers, I paused and leaned against a refitted iron lamppost, the metal radiating summer heat through the fabric of my cotton dress. It felt far more solid than I did as people jostled by, seeking the perfect vantage point from which to watch the parade. I’d never before attended the parade by myself, and didn’t like it at all. I may not have been deliriously happy with Burt, but his place was with me, as he had been for nearly half my life. In a way, it felt as if I were missing a limb. A diseased one that required immediate amputation for sure, but the sense of loss was the same. As much as I hated him and what he’d done to me, to us, would I always miss him once I cut him away?

Across the street was one of two buildings, shops with apartments overhead, Burt and I owned. The owner of the jewelry store, a forty-something single mom who went by the name Ohm–derived from her initials, I’d been told–made jewelry and sold holistic doodads. She stood at her window staring out at the crowd, looking about as disgruntled as I’d ever seen her. Her son, a sweet twelve-year-old who visited the library almost weekly, caught my eye when he waved. I waved back before continuing my appraisal of the crowds.

The other building we owned, in addition to two small houses, was several blocks farther along the street, and housed a store specializing in organic, handspun and dyed wool, made by a co-op of sheep ranchers from the valley. If I’d been a knitter, I would have shopped there frequently. However, my talents had never been along those lines. Nor did I spend much time in the jewelry store. Burt brought home enough of her work, I didn’t need to shop there, too.

As I scanned the filling street, I noted other business owners and managers keeping an eye on the crowds and kids. Sonja Neumeyer, the hotel manager, had her hands full pouring iced tea on the porch of the hotel, even with her kids helping. She was one of three single moms I knew to be friends with the jewelry maker. They pretty much stuck together. Any one of them might have caught Burt’s eye at one time or another.

A tall figure, uniformed in the forest shades of tan and green of the sheriff’s department–complete with flat brimmed hat–strolled in my direction and cut off my dark speculations. I shrugged off my wounded pride long enough to enjoy the sight of Dan subtly controlling the crowd. He certainly drew more than his fair share of fascinated female stares. Though there seemed to be a few thousand people between us, our gazes caught. After a head-to-toe appraisal that paused somewhere around my middle and left my heart beating double time, he pointed up the street. Sure it was the heat of the day making me breathless, I nodded, then shoved off my anchoring lamppost to join my neighbors one block up. Surely he couldn’t have been wondering about my underwear. Could he?

Because I had to work at keeping my turmoil from showing, I missed a good portion of the parade. I waved when the Westons waved. I waved to anyone who called out my name, and my face ached from keeping a smile pasted on it. John and Cyndi both found excuses to pat me on the shoulder from time to time and the kids took turns passing me bits of candy tossed from the floats. Mindy took charge of my lap as my special angel while ten-year-old Aggie and eight-year-old J.J. scrambled for the treats. Let them think I was upset over Burt’s absence. Sooner or later they’d learn the true reason, but not here, not now. They didn’t say anything, so I didn’t confess.

As Dan worked crowd control, we got glimpses of him from time to time. I had trouble meeting his eyes the few times he caught me looking, but my gaze kept straying his direction enough that I made my excuses and hurried home as soon as the clean-up clowns started down the street, sweeping up behind the horses. I had other concerns to deal with, and drooling over the deputy wasn’t one of them. It was just the one that kept jumping to the top of my Most Urgent list.