Gathering String (18 page)

“He was a student of yours?”

“Well, I did have him in an art history class. He’s a dear fellow, and he’s got a good eye. But sadly in that whole big, beautiful frame of his, there’s not even the tiniest artist. He’s meant to be painted, not to paint. Never could get him to pose for me though.” The laugh came rolling again. “No, I know Jack best from his basketball days. I’ve always been a rabid fan, and really, there’s just nothing like watching those graceful young men flying through the air, now is there? A wonderful place to study the poetry of motion, and heaven knows Jack Westphal was one hell of a poet.” This time Tess had to laugh with her.

"Honey, he drove over here this morning after he read an online article about my retirement. He noticed that it said I’m opening a small gallery down in Campus Town, you know, just to keep my hand in and keep from driving my poor hubby Drake mad. Jack said he knew immediately that I must speak to you. He says you’re doing some fresh work I really must see.”

“Oh,” Tess lowered herself onto the desk chair. “He recommended me for your gallery?”

“Enthusiastically. He quite convinced me that I must see your work as soon as possible. What are you doing this weekend, dear?”

“I, ah …” Tess pulled a schedule toward her, looking down over the four assignments listed under her name for Saturday and Sunday. She drew a breath to say there was no way she could get free, and suddenly it felt like a thick, heavy chain wrapped around her neck. Her shoulders sagged. But then,
"Take a shot,"
whispered in the back of her mind. She shook off the weight, straightening her shoulders. “I very much want to meet with you, of course. I'll clear some time. But let me take your number and get back to you. If I can manage it, I’m thinking Sunday.”

“Sunday? I rather hoped it would be tonight or tomorrow.” Dolly sounded like a disappointed child.

“Dolly, I really need to make a quick trip up to …” Tess hesitated, but there was something in the older woman’s warm voice that invited her confidence, “to Lindsborg, don’t you see?”

She heard Dolly draw a breath and then sigh, “Ah, perhaps I’m beginning to.” She fairly purred the next words, “I can cool my heels until Sunday. Just call me back when you and Jack work things out. I’ll give you the directions to my home in Ames, and for heaven’s sake, bring plenty of examples of your work. Any chance you might be bringing that adorable creature with you too?”

“Keep your fingers crossed.” Tess took down Dolly’s information. Then she rushed to farm out her assignments to other photographers who owed her.

In spite of her best efforts, she didn’t pull onto Lindsborg’s main street until nearly seven. That evening’s
Journal
was on the streets, but she knew Jack always worked late, so she went straight to the office. She didn’t see his Jeep in back, but did catch the devil photographer, Laramie, coming down the wide stairs, and pulled in at the curb, putting down the electric window on the passenger’s side.

“Oh,” Laramie looked back over his shoulder toward the front door. “No, he left the office maybe ten minutes ago. He went off to shoot some hoops with the kid who tweets high school games for us. Jack’s been grumpy as an old bear all week. He said he needed to blow off some steam.”

Tess pulled into the lot a good way from the court. Jack was easy to spot, older and taller than the other players. Most were high-school age, a couple probably in their early 20s. A number of young people, mostly girls, stood around watching, and she joined them, staying near the back.

The evening was heavy with thick, muggy air perfumed with the smell of lilacs from a windbreak at the edge of the campus. The players were shooting free throws to divide up sides, and before Jack’s turn came, a fourth kid made his shot, setting the shirts team. A pleased ripple went through the young women, and Tess realized that it was Jack they were watching closely as he stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it off the court. The tight muscles played over his arms and chest, his smooth belly flat against his jeans as he stretched to take a practice shot. “God, I love this game,” a buxom brunette muttered to her friend, who giggled.

At first he killed them.

Taller and faster, he turned them around on every drive, cutting back into the basket and setting the ball in, his fingers coming up to the rim with an ease that made Tess remember Dolly Timm’s words about poetry in motion. When they started double-teaming, he moved to the air, seeming to hang there for seconds to take his shot. He just killed them.

For about 20 minutes.

Then a hefty young guy, two or three inches shorter but heavier, began leaning on Jack and bumping him every time he got near the basket. He would foul rather than letting Jack shoot. And soon, instead of sprinting down court when his team had the ball, Jack trotted. She noticed that he started stalling, holding up at the top of the key, passing the ball off and taking his time moving under the basket, where the youths bumped and held to slow him down. He started shooting from the outside, making several long shots, but missing a few as well.

He was nearly in front of her, falling back on defense, watching a surprisingly fresh kid come barreling down the court, when he glanced over and spotted her. She saw his huge smile, and then the boy cut around him, making a run at the basket. Jack swung back, and his legs strained for one more jump, arms raised, to block the shot. But he was too late. The kid’s elbow caught him just under the right eye, snapping Jack’s head back, and sending him sprawling.

“Shit, Jack, you OK?” The boy they called Brandon hurried over.

“Yeah, just old and tired.” Jack touched the blotched red spot gingerly, then grabbed Brandon’s offered hand and pulled himself back to his feet. “Come on, guys, let’s wrap this up,” he glanced back at her, with a funny grin. “The old man’s had it.”

Distracted now, Jack missed every shot he took, but the shirts still couldn’t catch up. On their way off the court Brandon stopped and pointed to Jack’s eye. “You might want to get some ice for that. It’s starting to swell, might be sore tomorrow.”

“If that’s all that’s sore tomorrow, it’ll be a miracle,” Jack bent to pick up his things. They all laughed, and then Jack moved deliberately toward her, pulling on his shirt, his smile deepening. Taking her arm, he kept moving, saying softly, “Speaking of miracles, what brings you here?” They walked toward his Jeep.

He nodded and stopped at his Jeep, putting his foot on the running board and resting his forearms along his leg, leaning toward her, keeping his voice low. “She said someone called who wouldn’t leave a message. I was hoping it was you. But then, when you didn’t call again, I thought maybe no. What did you want to tell me?”

“That I missed you. But then I got a call from a lady with the unlikely name of Dolly Timm. And after we talked, calling you wasn’t enough.”

“She called already?” he sighed, running his hand through his wet hair. “Look, I know it’s your business, not mine. But when I saw the short about her gallery, I figured why not …”

“Take a shot?” She finished for him, and he smiled again, but she grew more solemn. “I’m overwhelmed that you thought of it. What can I say, Jack?”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything. You came back.” For a long moment they stood staring at each other, the kids eyeing them as they filtered past on their way to each other’s cars to head off and enjoy the weekend. Finally he said, “So, how would you like to finally see the
Journal
? Later we could get something to eat.”

“The Sanctuary looked nice.”

He shook his head with a little laugh. “Let’s try the pizza place. Hey, would you mind a stop out at the farmhouse? If I don’t get a shower …”

“No problem.” The invitation caused the backs of her knees to prickle.

“Maybe you’d better follow me out,” he said with a grimace. “It could get a little gamey in here with me.”

He drove surprisingly slow, obviously aware of how easy it would be to lose her on the steep gravel roads. It was pretty country, the rolling hills dark and loamy, coming to spring life. The sun was sinking into a thick line of clouds crowding the horizon when they pulled into the drive. The house was big, a square salt block with a porch around three sides. Old and mellow, it looked just right, crowning the hill. She was surprised at the number of well-maintained outbuildings and the thick stand of fruit trees just beyond the house. Old fashioned and unusual in these days when every foot of expensive farmland was normally put under the till.

They went up the porch steps together. “I’ll hurry and get cleaned up, and then show you around,” he said and nodded to the southwest. “Looks like the weather’s going to break.” He propped the screen door open with his hip as he unlocked the front door. A large, tattered brown dog came loping from somewhere behind the house, and Jack reached down to rub its ears. “Hey, Rover, say hi to Tess.”

“Well, he’s got such a nice stray cliché going, I figured why screw it up.” He stepped aside to let her in. “I feed him and let him sleep in my kitchen. He acts like a watchdog while I’m gone, and gives me someone to talk to when I’m here.” Tossing the keys onto the kitchen table, he crossed to the refrigerator and held out a long-necked beer with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure,” she said. He twisted off the cap and handed it to her, taking a Gatorade for himself.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He took her hand, but carefully kept from pulling her close, his sweat still not broken, then glanced at Rover who started to follow and added softly, “Uh-uh.” The dog seemed to understand and immediately went to his basket in the corner of the kitchen.

“This place is huge.” She looked up at the 12-foot ceilings as they passed from the large square kitchen into the large square dining room and from there to the large square living room. He stopped at the iPod dock on a shelf on the south wall and clicked it on, Lizz Wright’s sultry voice sighing through the entire house as he flipped the switch, “See your eyes in mine, leave the rest behind. Hit the ground babe, cause I want to love you now.” The whole house seemed to wake up with sound.

“Wow.” Tess looked down to see the word Bose as he stepped away. He had hooked up small, powerful speakers in the ceiling corners of every room.

“I like music. You’d be surprised how quiet it can get out here.”

“No, I wouldn’t. There’s a lot of room to fill.”

“Yeah, Rover and I kind of rattle around, but it’s the home place. Go ahead and look around. I’ll go up and get decent.” He ran up the wide, open staircase, his Nikes squeaking a little on the hardwood floor of the upper hall.

She wandered from room to room, enjoying the simple, homey furnishings. The hardwood floors had been refinished and sealed to a deep glow with good wool rugs, faded but whole, spread over them. The furniture was old too, but expensive and well cared for. The comfort in the things created the warmth of the house.

The home office was the only place she was sure Jack had made some recent changes. He had another desk, this one kidney-shaped and made of shining cherry wood. Equally neat as his desk at work, it held a new, powerful notebook computer. Bookshelves lined the west side of the room, and sprinkled among the stacks were family pictures in eclectic frames. She looked them over, noting the strong family resemblance among Jack, his brother and his father.

At a deep rumble of thunder, she went to the windows of the north side, which were obviously new and gave a wide view of the orchard beyond. In the odd, murky light of the approaching storm, she looked out and caught her breath at something she saw. With a delighted smile, she hurried out, back through the kitchen and out to the car for her camera, Rover following curiously at her heels.

The rain was pattering on the porch when Jack came down. She hadn’t turned on any lights, and the rooms were dim with the lowering clouds. The thunder came again and again now, one quick rumble upon the other. Barefoot, he padded through the rooms.