2 Mayhem in Christmas River Page 4

  “John?” she shouted, waving her arms. “I’m over here.”

  I followed her gaze, and saw him barreling across the street, going faster than I’d ever seen him move before.

  It was like something out of a cheesy, heart string-tugging movie, one of those movies Kara liked watching so much.

  He ran to her and enveloped her in his arms.

  “Jesus, I was so worried,” he said, running his hands through her hair and kissing her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  She started sobbing again.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  “Oh, thank God. I thought you might have…”

  He kissed her, and they stood there a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  I stood up, getting to my feet, and giving them some room.

  I looked over at Daniel.

  Our eyes locked. But he couldn’t hold my stare. He looked away after a few seconds.

  I felt my insides crumble.

  John held Kara tightly, both of them crying now.

  I sank back down to the curb.

  Wondering if more than Kara’s shop had gone up in smoke today.

  Chapter 10

  After I closed up the shop, I walked over to the Humane Society a few blocks away.

  I figured a long walk might help clear my head and lessen the impact of what had been one brutal, drama-filled day.

  And being that Daniel was mad at me, and that Kara had John to console her, it was either the Pine Needle Tavern or the Humane Society.

  And despite the fact that I really could have gone for a drink, I didn’t give in.

  At least not until after I tried to walk through my troubles.

  I’d been a regular walker at the Humane Society for about a year now. It was one of my secrets to losing weight and keeping it off. Plus, I liked walking and getting to know the dogs. Sometimes they tried to get free of their leash, or wouldn’t heel, or would try to knock me over, but I had a soft spot for most of them and enjoyed taking in the fresh air while they pulled me along a trail.

  When I got to the little beige and yellow office, I was saddened to find out that Hubert, a St. Bernard mix that had wound up at the shelter when his owners left town, had been adopted out. Of course, the news made me happy. He was going to finally get the loving home he deserved. But Hubert had also been one of my favorite dogs to walk. He had a giant head with folding skin that made him look like an old man. He was one fuzzy, teddy bear of a dog. I had thought about adopting him at one point, but realized once I started down that road, dogs would be running wild all over my house.

  But it made me sad that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to him.

  Instead of walking Hubert like I usually did, I walked a scruffy Shih Tzu that the ladies working at the shelter had named Mr. Crawley.

  I could only imagine what Warren would have said if he saw me walking the small, scruffy-looking pooch.

  No doubt he’d shake his head at the creature and say something like, You call that a dog?

  But Warren wasn’t the one volunteering with the Humane Society. I was, so I took Mr. Crawley out for a long walk along a paved path that ran through the woods. He didn’t seem all that happy to have my company and he kept tugging on the leash.

  I stopped at the bridge for a while and looked down at The Christmas River, watching the late afternoon sun dance across the surface as it glided beneath the bridge.

  I thought of Daniel, and how we had met on that bridge once last year when he almost left Christmas River for good.

  And even though the harsh summer sun was beating down hard on me, I felt my skin break out in goose bumps.

  I picked up the pace and brought Mr. Crawley back to the office, and watched as one of the receptionists walked the tired Shih Tzu back to his cage.

  Then I drove home, calling Kara on the way. The call went straight to voicemail. I called John and left him a message telling him if she needed anything to call me, and that I’d swing by in the morning to see how she was doing.

  When I got home, Warren wasn’t there. He’d left a note saying he was down at the tavern, and that Larry would give him a ride home.

  I thought about walking down and joining him, but then decided against it.

  I wasn’t going to be good company tonight. Nobody would be able to put a dent in my bad mood.

  But a couple of glasses of white wine might.

  Chapter 11

  I changed into a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, and went for the fridge. I poured myself a big glass of white wine and then put one of Warren’s old Johnny Cash records on. I only drank white wine on the few occasions when I was feeling miserable, and I only listened to Johnny Cash when I was feeling low.

  I hadn’t done either in a long, long time.

  I went outside to the patio, left the screen door open so the music would drift out, and took a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs that faced the woods bordering our yard.

  Despite my depressed state, it was a lovely evening. Usually here in the woods of Central Oregon, it still got cold at night during the summers. But it had gotten so hot that day, the earth was still warm and kept the air a nice temperature, even as night fell around me. There was a warm breeze, too, and stars were beginning to pop out of the fading sky.

  I took a big gulp of my wine, the first acidic taste hitting me hard. I looked out at the trees in the distance lightly swaying in the gentle breeze, and I listened to the sound of the crickets humming softly, and I tried to think about something else other than Daniel.

  But of course, that proved to be impossible.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about that look he had given me earlier. And I couldn’t believe how much things had changed just in the last 24 hours.

  We had talked after the fire, but about nothing much more than that. They were still investigating what caused it.

  I couldn’t find the right words or the right moment to tell him the things I wanted to tell him

  I took another sip of white wine.

  Was being married really as bad as I was making it out to be? Was most of the trouble the fact that Evan hadn’t been the right one for me?

  Kara had been married, and she didn’t have any hesitations about walking down the aisle again if she found the right man. But then again, she hadn’t split with her husband because he’d been cheating on her with her friend.

  Being betrayed like that might have made her a little more hesitant to say I do again.

  I put the empty glass down on the table next to the chair and listened to a lone bull frog sound its guttural croak.

  I could justify myself all night, finding ways to make my decision sound logical and practical in my head, but it wasn’t going to make me feel better. Not really.

  This was a night that would require not only wine, but also inordinate amounts of ice cream.

  I got up, went to the freezer and pulled out an old carton of Tillamook Marionberry Pie ice cream, and grabbed a spoon.

  I went back outside to my chair, sat down, and dug in, shoving away spoon after spoon of the stuff like there was gold at the bottom of the carton.

  It might hurt the next morning, but it couldn’t be any worse than the way I felt tonight.

  In the back of my mind, I was secretly hoping that Daniel might show up on my doorstep. That he might come and tell me that it didn’t matter. That a piece of paper wouldn’t change things one way or another between us. That all that mattered was that we had each other. That he’d return the ring and buy us a trip to Hawaii instead, or a new Cuisinart blender for me, or new hardwood flooring for his house. Something useful that didn’t carry with it so many expectations. Anything but a ring.

  But as the dusk faded into blackness and the night filled with stars, I slowly realized that that wasn’t going to happen.

  I was alone tonight.

  And maybe not just for tonight.

  I dozed off to the sound of the crickets buzzing, Johnny still playing o
n the record player, singing about a troubled mind.

  Chapter 12

  The aspen above me quaked, its leaves rubbing together like sandpaper in the breeze. I lay beneath it, picking at a patch of grass, looking up at the soft summer sunshine dancing through the canopy.

  Somebody was frying chicken next door. The heavenly smell drifted over the fence and saturated the neighborhood. I dreamed of eating that fried chicken with the family making it. Sometimes at this hour I could hear them laughing and talking through the fence while they ate dinner on their patio table. Sometimes I wondered what it would have been like to be part of that family.

  I was alone in the backyard, waiting for somebody to come home.

  I grabbed my book and started flipping through the pages. I found the creased page where I left off and tried not to think about my rumbling stomach.

  These summer days always felt long to my stomach. They always felt long, period.

  Suddenly, I heard a voice.

  “Hey, kid. Catch!”

  I looked up from my book, dropping it just in time to catch the large white softball flying at me.

  He had a big fat grin plastered on his face.

  “You’re a natural,” he said.

  For once, he wasn’t looking tired. For once, those eyes didn’t look empty.

  And then I heard the sound of breaking glass.

  Chapter 13

  I sat up gasping for air as if my lungs were filled with water. The wine glass slipped out of my hand and crashed to the deck, shattering into a hundred jagged pieces.

  “God damnit,” I muttered.

  My hair was standing straight up on my arms.

  A noise coming from the woods had jarred me awake.

  I got to my feet, feeling lightheaded and slightly woozy. I stood still for a moment, listening hard.

  The only noise was the sound of the croaking bull frog. Nothing more.

  Nothing suspicious or sinister about it.

  But something didn’t feel right.

  I crept slowly across the backyard, trying to avoid stepping on and snapping any twigs lying on the dusty, dry forest floor.

  I stopped and stood still again for a moment. Listening.

  Nothing.

  I shivered.

  It must have been the dream. It had set me on edge. The noise I had heard coming from the woods had probably been a deer. Or a skunk. They were common enough back here and it was easy to mistake them for something else.

  I started walking back to the house. My mind going right where it had left off before I fell asleep.

  Daniel.

  If he only knew how much I loved him.

  If he only knew that I’d do anything for him. Anything but stand with him at the altar and say vows to him that meant nothing more than the paper they were written on.

  If only I could make him see it my way.

  I walked back on the deck and realized that the Johnny Cash record playing inside was skipping. I went for the door. A sudden, sharp pain cut through the ball of my foot.

  I let out a whimper and crumpled into the Adirondack chair, cradling my bleeding heel stuck with a piece of jagged glass.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  Just what I needed.

  Chapter 14

  I flinched at Warren applied Neosporin to the wound.

  He ripped open a Band-Aid packet.

  “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure this will hold it. It doesn’t look like too bad of a cut,” he said, securing the bandage.

  “Thank God.”

  “But stay off of it tomorrow if you can,” he said.

  “No chance of that happening,” I said. “Busy day at the shop.”

  “Well, at least get yourself a tetanus shot,” he said. “Lockjaw is no laughing matter.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said, laughing at his pun.

  I took my foot back and propped it up on the side table. Warren went inside and came back out with a fleece blanket. He draped it over me.

  I smiled.

  “I just cut my foot. I’m not dying of influenza,” I said.

  He shrugged.

  “Everyone could use a fleece blanket every now and then,” he said.

  “Well, I guess you’re right at that,” I said, pulling it around me.

  “So, are you gonna tell me what’s troubling you?” he said. “Or are we gonna tip-toe around it?”

  He glanced at my bandaged foot and laughed.

  “Well, as you can see I’m in no condition to do that,” I said.

  “Then what’s the deal, kiddo?” he asked.

  “You mean why did I finish off a carton of ice cream and half a bottle of wine before passing out?”

  “I don’t know if I’d phrase it quite like that, but that’s the general idea, yeah.”

  I let out a sigh.

  I was already tired of explaining this. Of thinking about it.

  “You heard about Kara’s store this afternoon?” I asked.

  He nodded solemnly.

  “Sure did. Harold was talking about it down at the tavern. What a terrible thing to happen to such a nice lady. How’s she holding up?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m not sure. She’s with John right now.”

  “So is that what’s bugging you?” he asked. “Kara losing the shop like that?”

  I could have said yes and been done with it, but Warren could always tell when I was lying.

  “Well, that, and…” I took a deep breath. “And the fact that Daniel proposed to me last night. And I’m a fool and didn’t say yes, and now we’re barely speaking.”

  I rubbed my face.

  “That’s why I’m out here drinking myself to sleep tonight,” I added.

  Warren didn’t say anything for a few moments. The silence was about all I could bear.

  I scanned his wrinkled face, looking for some inkling of what he was thinking. But I couldn’t tell anything one way or another. He just stared out into the dark woods, stroking his white beard.

  “He told me he was going to ask you,” he finally said. “Even showed me the ring.”

  “You knew about it?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “He wanted my permission,” he said. “Kind of took me by surprise. Not too many fellas are that old-fashioned these days. Evan certainly didn’t give a damn what I thought about the two of you getting married.”

  I let out a long sigh. Daniel had even gone through the trouble of asking Warren.

  “I don’t know much about these things,” Warren said. “Hell, nobody’s ever proposed to me before. But what I do know about is you, Cin. And if you said no, then I’m sure you’ve got good reasons.”

  “I didn’t exactly say no,” I said. “I just don’t want to go down that road again. I mean, I’m crazy about Daniel, but I don’t want to get married. Not to anybody. Simple as that.”

  Warren nodded.

  “If that’s your gut feeling than follow it and you don’t have to make excuses to anyone,” Warren said, patting me on the leg. “Just be sure it’s your gut talking, though, and not something else.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He leaned back in the chair, and adjusted his broad-billed trucker’s cap.

  Then he took a deep breath, and I knew that a long story was about to ensue.

  Warren never liked to explain what he meant outright if he could work it into a story. My childhood had been full of his anecdotes. But he knew what he was doing. I sure remembered them.

  “When I was a kid, there was this tire swing out on Elk Lake they used to call The Gallows.”

  I raised an eyebrow and wondered what a tire swing had anything to do with my current situation.

  “The Gallows?” I said.

  “They called it that because once it got swinging, you were so high up there, the drop might kill you.”

  “Sounds like a good place to get hurt,” I said.

  He got a distant look on his face.

&nbs
p; “But the thing was, I was never afraid of that swing. Not until one afternoon in late summer when I saw my best friend George jump off of it and break his leg after hitting the lake floor. We had to swim out and rescue him because he went under. And we caught all sorts of hell from our folks, I can tell you that much. Your great grandma Etta banned me from going down to The Gallows the rest of the summer.”

  He pulled out his pipe from his shirt pocket, sticking it in his mouth the way he used to when I was younger and he’d tell me these kinds of stories. Except then, he usually smoked it. He didn’t anymore, one of the few things he listened to his doctor about. But Warren still liked his old routines and rituals. Even when he’d given them up.

  “So did you listen to Great Grandma Etta?” I asked.

  His eyes sparkled in the porch light. I could tell that for him, none of this seemed all that long ago.

  It was funny the way that memory worked sometimes.

  “You see, the rest of the boys got the same sort of talking to by their mothers, but they’d still sneak over there most afternoons. There wasn’t much else to do in a town this size. I was the only one who listened to my mother. And you know what I got for being a good son?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Being called a sissy and a mama’s boy.”

  Warren grinned.

  “Now, I’m afraid being the hot-tempered bastard I’ve always been, I took some of the things they said about me very personal. But I still listened to my mother and stayed away from the lake.

  But then, one day, I was out for a walk in the woods by myself. Just me. And I was thinking about things the way those woods have a way of making you think about things. And suddenly, a thought struck me. I realized that I wasn’t staying away from The Gallows because I wanted to avoid a licking from my mother. No, no, no. I was doing it because I was lily-white scared out my mind of The Gallows and breaking my own legs on that lake bed.”

  He pulled the pipe away from his mouth out of habit, waiting for a phantom stream of smoke to escape, and then he rested it on the side of his mouth again.