Gathering String (30 page)

Pulling an old picture in a silver frame from the shelf, he looked down at a high-school-aged Jack Westphal, standing between his father and his brother. “They look like they’re carved from Wonder Bread.” He glanced back at her. “Just think of the pretty blond babies you could have someday.”

“Is that any of your business?”

“Probably not,” he conceded, and still looking at the picture, gibed, “Pretty, and possibly gigantic, babies. Christ, they were all tall.” He held out the picture for her to see and glanced over her small frame. “You sure you’re up for that?”

She didn’t answer, snapping, “Well, now what?” frustration quivering in her voice.

He shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to do this interview, and eventually I’m going to write a profile. What else can I do?” He put the picture back. “Come on, Tess, we tried to avoid this – hell, even Stretch tried to get out of it – but at this point, we can only roll with it. What do you think is going to happen? That I'll rat to him about you and me?” His smile faded.

Her tone softened a little. “No, of course I don’t. I just, well, I should probably tell him myself.”

Sam snorted, “That’s only a good idea if you want to fuck up your marriage. Toughie, there are a few things a man never wants to hear from his wife, and, ‘Honey, I laid that guy’ is the first one on the list. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to know a thing about it.”

She was struck suddenly with the memory of Jack snapping, “
Frankly, I don’t want to hear one word about the son of a bitch,”
and she sighed, “I don’t like keeping anything from him.”

Sam made a face. “Oh hell, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

She came back softly, “Yeah, that’s worked so well in your marriage, hasn’t it?”

She saw the sharp lines around his mouth turn down, and he looked back at the bookshelf. “OK, tell him if you want. Maybe it’ll take that nice-guy, chamber-of-commerce-booster, shit-eating grin off his face.”

“Hey,” her voice rose indignantly. “You met Jack once and talked to him for maybe two minutes. Why are you so mean about him?”

“He’s just such a fucking boy scout, talking about my old bones and offering to drive me home that night, like I was too drunk to drive. Jesus, that pissed me off.”

“You
were
drunk,” she protested.

He shrugged. “Not enough to keep Doogie’s junior-patrolman act from getting under my skin. As if there’s anything in that one-horse town worth running into.” He paused, looking down into her angry, stressed face, and the edginess faded. “Look, Tess, I know it's not my business, but seriously, I don’t think you should say anything to him about us. I’ll be gone soon, so what’s the point? It would only take him someplace I guarantee you he doesn’t want to go.” Putting his hands in his pockets, Sam looked down and muttered, “God knows I don’t like knowing you’re sleeping with him.”

“Stop it.” Her skeptical look told him she didn’t believe it really bothered him, and sinking down into Jack’s desk chair herself, she added, “We were over a long time ago.”

“Right. So take my advice and don’t drag him down our crooked memory lane. It wouldn’t be a favor to him.” He inclined his head back to the picture behind him. “Besides, he’s pretty big. I’d rather he not come to town looking for me. And it’s not like he hasn’t had his moments. I’ll say this for him, he’s consistent. He still likes dogs,” and he pointed to her bright curls, “and blonds.” She raised her eyebrows in question and he quoted,
“ living quietly in a small apartment with a Doberman and a blond named Bambi.”

He shook his head. “I always check out my sources. But I have to admit, I usually don’t find out so much about them. There’s been a lot written about your fella. Too bad, what happened to his family, but the rest made for some interesting reading too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Besides dogs and blonds, it appears he likes to spend money and drive fast – buying a newspaper, launching a website, renovating a building and all. And even after the cautionary tale of his whole family getting toasted in that car crash, he still took a flier off the interstate one morning himself. There was a hell of a picture of his Jeep still online. It must have rolled like it was inside a cement mixer. The story said it had to have been going over 90 when it left the road. There were a couple things about that accident that struck me funny.”

She only looked at him, saying nothing. Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam leaned against the bookshelf. “The story said he was driving north up I-35 about six in the morning, which meant he was going toward Lindsborg. If I’d been on the story, I’d have asked where he’d been. He must have spent the night somewhere. Probably in Des Moines, I figure. And he must have been awfully worn out to fall asleep like that. You were living there then, right?”

Tess didn’t say anything, but felt her face flush, and Sam’s wicked smile deepened. “I read that the governor himself went rushing to the hospital, but the Boy Wonder’s head must be pretty thick, because he wasn’t hurt too badly. The story also said he was ticketed for excessive speed and failure to control the vehicle. But the odd thing is there was no follow-up. No court appearance, no fine. It was like the whole thing just …” he paused for effect, “went away. I’m wondering how that happened.”

She shrugged, keeping her face carefully blank, even though she was tempted to laugh in spite of herself. Sam did have a way of putting things together.

“And you know what’s stranger yet? He got married a bare two weeks after the accident, in the governor’s office no less. Just a quiet affair. Not the kind of wedding one would expect for an ex-sports hero the whole state loves. It couldn’t have taken long to plan. Looked to me to be kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Imagine that.” She couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from turning up.

“I am.” His eyes sparkled back at her in amusement, and then they heard the dog begin to bark, and the kitchen door slammed. Sam pulled himself up straight, and Tess jumped from the chair and started for the kitchen.

She met him in the kitchen doorway, having just tossed aside his jacket, pulling off his snowy shoes. She whispered, “Jack, what the hell …”

Sam’s back was to them, and he appeared to be looking over the shelves again. Even though he couldn’t make out the words, he’d caught the sounds of the quickly murmured conversation and smiled. When he turned, he saw Westphal release Tess’s hand and extend his.

“Good to see you again.” Even in his stocking feet, the man was absurdly tall as Sam looked up at his face, giving Westphal the firmest handshake he could muster. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting," Jack said. "But I thought I’d beat you here. Didn’t you say you wanted to check out the town?”

“Yeah,” Sam took a step back. “Turns out Lindsborg doesn’t take that long to see.” Jack gave a small smile at that, and Sam added, “I figured I might as well come on out and catch up with Tess a bit.”

Jack turned back to his wife. “Did you show him some of the things you’re working on?”

“Uh, no,” she seemed taken aback at his question. “We just started talking and …” her voice trailed off.

“But I’d love to take a look,” Sam spoke up. “Rick Higgins, another former Triblet, is always going on about her artwork but, you know, I’ve only seen her news pictures.” Sam saw Tess’s eyes narrow at his lie.

Jack asked, “Well, why don’t you take him up and show him around, Tess?” He turned toward the doorway again, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll start some coffee while you take a look. I know Tess wants some. How about you?”

“Sure.” As Jack went back toward the kitchen, Sam didn’t bother to hide the open amusement on his face as he followed Tess up the stairs.

At the top, she stopped and turned to hiss, “Stop fucking around. You said you were just going to do your interview and get going.”

A step below her, he grabbed the handrail. She certainly looked angry enough to give him a push backward. “OK, OK. Jesus, I can’t help …”

“Oh yes, you can. One quick look, then get down there and get out.”

She turned and went to the right. But Sam turned to the left, taking a few steps the opposite way, just catching a glimpse through the open door of their bedroom and the huge, rumpled bed. He chuckled, as she came after him, grabbing his arm.

“Cut it out.” She hustled him down the hall and into her cluttered, sun-drenched studio. It smelled of paint, and the space heater in the corner was humming to warm the porch room, which let in so much light.

On the easel was a matted photograph, the colors deliberately faded, of three zaftig, older ladies, standing in front of a kitchen pass-through. Probably a church basement, Sam thought. Each had an expression of solemn good will, and Sam knew without being told they were serving a funeral lunch. Each wore a different apron, and it was the patterns in them that Tess was carefully, painstakingly, picking out with her paints. He nodded. “Nice. I hadn’t really thought about how you do this. It must take forever …”

“Yeah, yeah,” she snapped. “OK, you’ve had your look, now let’s …” She grabbed for his arm, but he pulled away.

“For God’s sake, Tess, let him get the coffee going, huh?” He swung around to look at the things leaning against the wall, or hanging from hooks. “Besides, I’d really like to see …”

He stopped in mid-sentence, catching his breath, then walked quickly to where the sunlight hit the picture she’d done of the rain forest on Vancouver Island, all humor and sarcasm wiped from his face. “Oh my God,” it was a very soft, deep murmur, and she hung back, unwilling to move toward it with him. For a long moment he just stood, staring. Then he pointed to the shadowed figure near the left edge of the scene that he knew to be his own. “Tess,” he didn’t turn to her, but she could hear the wonder in his voice, “I had forgotten …” When he did look back at her, his lined face was as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I would sell my soul to have this.”

Crossing her arms, she said nothing, just slowly shook her head. The long silence between them grew, their eyes locked, each undone at the pain in the other’s. At last he said, “Please …”

“I didn’t know you could surf.” It was Jack’s surprised voice that made them both jump and turn toward the door. As absorbed as they were, they hadn’t heard his stocking feet on the stairs, and he had just caught Sam’s question.

For a flustered instant, Tess stared at Jack open-mouthed, and then she stammered, “Well, when I was a kid … I learned while Dad was stationed at Pearl …” Her voice trailed off.

Over Jack’s shoulder, she saw Sam’s eyes were wide, and understood that, however much he’d tried to devil her earlier, he’d had no intention of having Jack overhear them. Sam cleared his throat, and stepped into what was fast becoming an uncomfortable silence. “Gosh, you two really are newlyweds. I remember those days, when there were still things to learn about each other.”

Tess blinked, speechless, either at Sam’s earnest attempt to smooth over the awkwardness, or by the irony of his words. Or perhaps it was just his unprecedented use of the word “gosh.”

Sam cut him off with a wave, starting toward the door. “Actually, we’ve recently separated, so I guess we didn’t quite make it that far.” He didn’t look back at Tess, and when he heard Westphal start to say something apologetic, added hastily, “Think that coffee’s done? I sure could use some,” and started for the stairs.

Tess didn’t follow them.

In the kitchen, Jack poured two steaming mugs as the dog scrambled out from under the table and sat beside him, thumping his tail on the floor. When Sam reached out to take one, the dog began to growl softly, the hair across his withers rising. Jack looked down and said, “Cut it out, Rover.” Then he asked Sam, “You need anything in that?”

“Black is great.”

Sam took a sip, and then took a step toward the chair where he had draped his coat. At his movement, the dog came to his feet with a heavier growl, baring his teeth. “OK, that’s it,” Jack took a quick step between them, grabbing the dog by its leather collar. “You must need some fresh air.” Sam watched as he pulled open the door and shoved Rover out into the cold. “Sorry about that. He’s usually really friendly.”

Sam shrugged and picked up his coat, pulling a reporter’s notebook and pen from it, along with a very small digital audio recorder. He flipped it on and dropped it in his shirt pocket. When he looked up, he found Westphal watching him, a slight frown on his face. For a few, uneasy seconds they only looked at each other, and then Jack sighed, “Well, I suppose we should get to it. How about right here?” He nodded toward the table.

Unhappy with Jack’s clear reluctance, Sam suggested instead, “Why don’t you just show me around first? It’s a hell of a house. I couldn’t touch a place like this on the coast. I suppose it’s the family home?”