Iris Avenue (12 page)

“Well, thanks, Ava,” Scott said. He could feel his face get hot and knew he was blushing.

Ava placed her hand on one side of his face and kissed the other.

“If I were a single gal,” she said, “I’d never let you get away.”

Patrick pulled up in front of Ed’s newspaper office in a robin’s egg blue Volvo station wagon. Ed came out and Patrick tossed him the keys.

“Kept in a garage for fifteen years,” Patrick said. “It belonged to the man’s mother; she died last year and the estate was settled this week. He started it up every so often, and kept the oil changed, but there are hardly any miles on it. He brought it to us this past weekend to get it ready to sell. Curtis said to tell you he would waive the commission if you pay for the oil change and new air filter.”

“This is great, Patrick,” Ed said as he got in the driver’s side.

“These cars are known for their safety ratings,” Patrick told him from the passenger side. “Let’s take it for a spin.”

Once around the block was enough for Ed. He went home to get his checkbook and then met Patrick back at the station. He left a check for the car with Curtis, and then drove it over to the bakery. Bonnie, Delia, and Mandy came out to see it.

Mandy wasn’t as excited as he expected her to be.

“It’s old,” she said.

“It is,” Ed said. “That’s why I got such a good deal.”

“So you already done bought it?” she said.

“Well, yeah,” Ed said. “It has really low mileage, and it’s a safe car. I want you and Tommy to be safe when we drive. You hate it?”

“I’ll get used to it, I guess,” she said.

Ed realized he’d made yet another decision on their behalf without consulting her.

“I guess I should have let you see it first,” he said. “I thought it would be a great surprise.”

“Well, I’m surprised, alright,” she said, and looked at the car in distaste.

“You want to drive it?” he offered.

“No, thanks,” she said, and went back in the bakery.

“It’s a lovely car,” Bonnie said.

“She’s young,” Delia said. “She probably imagined a red sports car.”

“It was the sensible thing to buy,” Bonnie said.

“She’ll come around,” Delia said.

Ed thanked them but he didn’t feel any better.

Brian Fitzpatrick winced as the VW Beetle he’d stolen from his sister jerked and sputtered up a rutted, muddy track rarely used outside of hunting season. The self-inflicted stab wound he’d made was oozing blood, and every pothole and rock felt like another knife being inserted in the same wound. He was in trouble, not from bleeding too much, but from the infection he knew was going to develop in the deep gash that had not been stitched up.

As soon as the car crested the ridge of the hill, he checked for a cellular signal and was relieved to find he had service on his uncle’s phone. He pressed the numbers he knew by heart and when the party he was seeking got on the line he made his request short and to the point. He also reminded the recipient what would happen if his request wasn’t followed to the letter, and right away. He gave directions and then ended the call.

Back in the VW, he steeled himself for two more agonizing miles of narrow track, muddy where the sun shone on it and icy where it didn’t. He had to stay alive long enough to come up with a new plan and get as far away from Rose Hill as possible. It would be nice to have a big wad of cash as well, but right now he would settle for some pain killers and a safe place to sleep.

The hunting cabin the Fitzpatrick family owned was located on the outskirts of the land Curtis had deeded over to Hannah and Sam when they got married. It was in a remote location only approachable by a logging road that started on Hollyhock Ridge, wound through the State Park, and ended in another state.

Brian’s father Fitz had been the keenest hunter of the family, but since his accident he could barely make it to the fridge for a beer and back to his recliner. Brian, Patrick, and Hannah’s brothers had all used the cabin as a place to seduce girls and hold the occasional drinking party when they were teenagers. Brian had used it to seduce several women during his marriage to Ava. It hadn’t been used by anyone in many years.

Brian parked the VW down the muddy track a hundred feet beyond the cabin, back in among some large rhododendron bushes, and dragged some snowy brush over to cover it. He was relieved to find the cabin empty and boarded up, with a “no trespassing” sign on the door. He broke in through a back window.

Inside he found some matches in a plastic bag in a drawer, cleaned off an oil lamp that still had oil in it, and lit the wick before placing the protective glass column back over the top. He didn’t dare make a fire in the fireplace, for fear the smoke would draw attention to his hiding place. Instead he reconnected the gas line to the stove, opened the valve and lit the pilot lights. The family had mineral rights to this land, so there was no meter for gas service. He lit the oven and left its door open to heat the room.

Although still weak from the loss of blood, Brian made his way down over the hill behind the cabin to the spring house to get some water. He had to use a rock to break up the thick ice that had formed around the steady trickle of clear, clean water. He filled two plastic milk jugs and then struggled up the hill with them.

There was coffee, sugar, and whisky in the cupboard, so while he warmed some water for coffee he cleaned his wound with the whiskey. The pain was so intense he almost passed out. He made a dressing out of some paper towels and duct tape, and covered the gash, which was bleeding again.

The hot sweet coffee tasted good, and warmed him inside, but he was so weary it did nothing to revive him. He lay down on the bottom bunk in the back bedroom, and although he told himself he must stay alert, he fell deep asleep.

It was a struggle to wake up when he heard the crunch of tires on snow and footsteps on the back porch of the cabin. His heart was pounding as he peeked out the window, and his relief was a cold sweat on his skin as he opened the door for the visitor he was expecting.

“I’ve helped you this one time, but I won’t do it again,” his visitor said an hour later, as he prepared to leave. “Do what you will.”

“I won’t need you again,” Brian said. “By this time tomorrow I’ll be long gone from here.”

“Eventually you’ll have to face the consequences of your actions. None of us gets away with anything, not in the larger sense.”

“I’m not spending the rest of my life in a prison. I’d rather die.”

“Heaven help you, then.”

Brian listened as the engine started and the four-wheel drive struggled out of the muddy driveway. As the sound of the vehicle faded away, Brian took stock of his situation. He had Maggie’s VW, a cell phone with no charger, and $40 he stole from his Uncle’s service station. He knew Curtis left the side door open for the mechanic while he went to the bakery to get his breakfast.

He’d waited in the bushes behind the station until he heard Curtis go whistling down the street, and then he’d slipped in the side door that led into the car service area. He’d hoped to steal one of the cars in the lot outside, but the customers’ keys were no longer kept on pegs in the service area.

A quick check of the office revealed a brand new safe, no doubt purchased after Brian’s last robbery of the station a few weeks before. Maggie’s VW key was still hanging on the peg board, however, so he grabbed that, a cell phone left on the desk, and all the money in the petty cash bag kept in the top drawer. On his way out of the garage he took a pair of coveralls and some gloves.

As Brian warmed his front side before the open oven door, he wondered if he could count on his visitor not to rat him out. He wanted to spend the night here, in the cabin, and then leave before light, taking the muddy track all the way to the other end, where he hoped he could escape unseen into Maryland, and see about exchanging Maggie’s car for another. After that, his plan was to get as far away as possible as fast as he could.

Brian took some scissors into the bathroom. He took a handful of his long red curls, now matted with sweat and dirt, and cut them off at the scalp. He cut off all his hair as close to the scalp as possible before he shaved his head with one of the disposable razors he found in the medicine cabinet. Then he cut off his beard and mustache before he shaved his face clean. He didn’t spend much time admiring his clean cut, younger-looking face in the mirror. He needed to erase any distinguishing characteristics that made him stand out in a crowd.

He swept up the hair, put it in a plastic bag along with his prison garb, took it outside, and threw it over the hill. He found an old backpack and filled it with a blanket, some towels, the rest of the disposable razors, the whiskey and the provisions his visitor had brought. He dropped the backpack and the jugs of water by the back door.

He was exhausted. Despite the painkillers his visitor had delivered, he was still suffering from the pain of his wound. He was afraid to lie down and sleep for fear his recent visitor had alerted the police to his whereabouts. All he could think of was that he must get away.

The few weeks he’d spent in the county lockup and then the state penitentiary had been the worst weeks of his life. He knew he wasn’t tough enough to survive prison. The bullying that worked so well with women and those weaker than him had no effect on the cold-blooded killers in the state pen. He didn’t think he could bear to do what he would have to in order to survive inside. The feds were willing to work with him on the length of his sentence in order to get what they wanted out of him, but Brian had decided that what he wanted was no sentence. There was no going back now.

Brian heard a noise outside and was relieved to see it was only a buck nosing around the porch of the cabin. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep in the cabin and feel safe, but he needed to get some rest in order to get through the next few days. He weighed his options as far as alternative places to bunk down were concerned. When the solution came to him, he thought he might have just enough energy left to get there.

Hannah woke up to the house dogs barking at three in the morning. She pulled on some clothes and hurried to the kitchen, thinking maybe Sam had come home. Although the dogs were carrying on at the back door, she couldn’t see anyone out there. The parking area next to the house was covered with a new, pristine layer of snow, and against the porch light she could see more snow was falling.

“What are you guys barking at?” she asked.

The dogs were hysterical to get outside, which probably meant they’d seen a deer or a fox. Hannah decided to let them out so they could run off their energy. They took off toward the barn and Hannah locked the door behind them.

Since she was wide awake now she poured herself some juice and fired up the computer that sat on a desk in the pantry off the kitchen. This was where Hannah kept track of her household bills and corresponded with people via e-mail. She was surprised to find an e-mail from her husband.

“I’m so sorry in so many ways for so many things that an e-mail just won’t cut it,” he wrote. “I’ll be home to apologize in person this week. I hope you’ll let me stay. I miss you. Love, Sam.”

If Sam thought she would be thrilled to hear from him and thankful he was coming home, he was sadly mistaken. She felt only a bone deep exhaustion and a sense of dread.

Hannah looked at the calendar and thought of all the things she needed to do between now and Sunday. She had to work at the food pantry at the church later this morning, and then assist Drew with some vet clinic surgeries in the afternoon. Thursday the county vet was coming to execute the prisoners; that was a hard day to get through so she hadn’t scheduled anything else. She had planned to set humane traps all over Pine County on Friday, and then scoop up the feral cats she caught and deliver them to Drew to spay and neuter on Saturday.

Drew was coming out to the farm on Sunday to help her write a grant proposal for money to expand her kennel facility and start the feral cat program. Congressman Green had promised the mayor they could have government-funded Vision workers assigned to the project if they got the grant. This was all supposed to happen in between any calls she received about stray dogs, garbage-raiding possums, or home-invading raccoons.

She could imagine herself canceling all that and sitting at home waiting for Sam, not knowing if he would show up. She could also imagine him e-mailing her late Sunday night to tell her he was sorry but he wasn’t ready to come home. It had happened before and she’d felt like a fool. She wrote and re-wrote her response several times before she got down what she thought she wanted to say.

“Sam – if you do come back this week you are welcome to stay here at the farm. I have a lot to do so I may not be here when you arrive. Call me on the cell when you get home or to let me know if you change your mind. We will talk when I see you, Hannah.”

She clicked on “send” and pictured her response flying up and over the mountains to the little town west of Boston where Sam’s college roommate Alan lived. She couldn’t imagine him sleeping in Alan’s guest room, or doing anything he must have done since he left home. In her mind, as soon as he left the house and drove away, he’d disappeared, and did not exist anywhere but in her imagination, where he was suspended by whatever self-destructive impulse it was that always compelled him to run away from home.