The Widows of Wichita County (18 page)

Saturday, December 11
County Courthouse

B
y one-thirty that afternoon, the tuna sandwich and the drinks Frankie served were at war in Meredith Allen's stomach. The third time she ran down the hallway past Sheriff Farrington's office, she saw him glance up and frown.

A few moments later, with her head an inch above the toilet, she heard the ladies' room door open. If she thought there was any possibility of vanishing by flushing herself, she would have tried. No one else was in the building. She knew who it was.

“Meredith?” he yelled. “Meredith, what's wrong?”

For a second she remained completely still, hoping he wouldn't notice her kneeling in the first stall.

“You're not supposed to be in here!” she finally said in her most authoritarian voice. “This is the women's restroom.”

His hand touched her shoulder. “Are you ill?” He brushed her forehead with his fingers. “You're burning up. What's wrong?”

Meredith was positive that if wanting to die would get her there, she should at least be in purgatory by now.

Granger stepped to the sink and began soaking paper towels. “How long have you been ill? Do you think you caught something? I could take you to a doctor.” He stopped talking while she vomited, then continued as if he had not noticed the sound. “Maybe it's food poisoning. The truck stop's been passing that out with the two-for-one burrito bags lately.”

He handed her the first towel and Meredith wiped her mouth. She rocked back, sitting on the marble floor in a very unladylike sprawl. She did not even want to think about how she looked and knew she did not have the energy to stand.

Granger knelt down to her level. “Meredith! Is there any chance you're…?”

If she'd felt better, she would have laughed. He looked even paler than she felt. “No, Sheriff. No little deputies.” She giggled at her own joke, then frowned. “I can't have children.”

“Then what?”

Meredith raised her eyebrows and addressed the class idiot. “I'm drunk.” She wondered if being drunk in a public restroom was a misdemeanor or a felony. She felt sure it was some kind of crime.

He stood. “You're what?” His voice echoed off the walls of the tile room, making her head pound.

“Anna Montano and I went to see Frankie about the lamp pole Randi knocked over. He was kind enough to serve us his special for lunch.”

“I may have to shoot Frankie,” Granger said calmly as he leaned down and pulled Meredith to her feet. “But first I need to take you home.”

“No, I can work.” Before she could issue her declaration, she jerked away and leaned above the toilet once more.

When she finished, he waited with a clean set of wet towels.

“I'm sorry.” She flushed the toilet.

He helped her up again. “Meredith, you're not the first drunk I've seen, and you probably won't be the last. Think you can make it home?”

She nodded. Surely there was nothing left in her stomach to lose.

He put his arm around her shoulders and walked her down the hall. At his office, he picked up his keys off the desk and the pager from its nest. He flipped a switch on the phone. Then he helped Meredith out the door and to his police car. He opened the passenger door. “I make most drunks ride in back, but if you swear not to mess up my car, you can ride in front.”

She looked up at him as she slid in. He showed no sign of kidding.

They were almost to her house when she remembered she had forgotten her purse.

He promised to lock the office and bring her things by later when he made his rounds. If she felt better by then, he said she could ride downtown and pick up her car; otherwise, he would have one of the deputies who came on duty at five help him get it back to her house.

“That's not necessary,” she replied.

“Adam won't mind. Where are your keys?”

“They're in the car.”

He glared at her. “Meredith, you shouldn't leave your keys in your car. That's just asking for a crime to happen.”

“Nobody would steal my car parked at the courthouse
and if they did, they'd better be a mechanic or they'll be sorry.”

“You need to get rid of that pile of junk.”

“It gets me to work and back.” She resented him calling her car names. The pile of junk had been hers since college.

They did not say a word to one another for the rest of the ride. He drove and she concentrated on not throwing up on his clean car.

He walked her to her door, but did not offer to come in. She was glad. Meredith had been so humiliated she didn't care if she ever saw Granger Farrington again.

Reaching for her house key in the huge pocket of her sweater, Meredith opened the door and faced him. “Thank you, Sheriff. It was nice of you.” She had to tell him how she felt. “But you don't have to look after me. You don't have to check on me if you see me in a bar, or start my car, or make sure I'm warm, or anything else. I'm not your responsibility.”

Meredith closed her eyes. If he said he was just doing his job, she swore she would club him with her hatchet.

“Get some sleep. You'll feel better.”

He acted as if he hadn't heard a word she said. He just turned around and walked back to his car like she was number 247 on his list of official duties for the day.

Meredith wanted to scream, but her head might explode at the sound. So she went into her house, crawled onto her unmade bed and took the sheriff's advice. She fell asleep.

Dreams haunted her. Not nightmares of monsters and torture. Worse. Dreams of Kevin, burned and calling for her. But she couldn't find him. She could hear him, smell the mixture of oil and burning flesh, but she could not reach him.

In her dream she ran and ran, calling his name, fighting vines and roadblocks and chains, but never reaching him, never able to help.

Suddenly, the dream was over and Meredith found herself alone in her dark bedroom. Her huge sweater was twisted around her as tight as a straitjacket.

She stood and fought her way out of the wool, then stripped off all her wrinkled clothes and headed toward the shower. For a long while, she let the water run over her face and body and wondered if she could have made any bigger fool of herself today. Granger had only been trying to help and she had snapped at him. He was right about her car. It was a piece of junk.

She dried off and put on Kevin's old high school jersey. It almost hit her at the knee.

Wandering into the kitchen, Meredith searched for something to eat. An old apple. Half a sandwich. The bread was hard, but the chicken salad still smelled good. There was also a quart of orange juice that had aged at least one season in her refrigerator.

Nothing sounded good. She glanced at the clock. Too late for the stores, and drive-throughs were beyond her budget for this month.

Someone tapped on her door. Meredith straightened from rummaging in the crisper as Granger let himself in.

He looked surprised to see her awake. “I'm sorry— I thought you'd be asleep. I was just dropping off your purse and some soup.” He set the bags down on the chair nearest the door and backed out.

“Wait!”

He hesitated.

“You brought soup?”

He smiled, realizing she wasn't still mad at him. “Soup,
crackers and cookies. I figured when you finally sobered up, you'd be starving.”

“I am.” She moved to within a few feet of him. “I'm sorry about the way I acted when you were only trying to help.”

“Forget it.”

“Would you stay for soup?”

“All right, but I cook.” He lifted the bag and waited for her to lead the way to the kitchen.

Handing her the cookies, he removed his coat and unloaded groceries. He'd also brought along milk with three different kinds of soup.

“I didn't know what you liked.” He shrugged, offering her the choice.

Meredith was busy fighting with the cookie package. “Any kind,” she finally said as she broke the cookies open and glanced up in time to catch him watching her.

“Want one?”

He shook his head. While she ate four, he warmed tomato soup and poured them both a glass of milk.

They ate at the bar, with their knees accidentally bumping together from time to time. She told him all about the agreement made with Frankie. There was something very comforting about being with a person that you've already made a fool of yourself around. She had no more false pride to lose. Even the fact that she was only wearing an old jersey didn't worry her. After all, he'd seen her in far less.

When they finished, he did their dishes, along with several others sitting in the sink. She watched him, thinking how out of place he looked in her little kitchen in his spotless uniform. She liked the gray at his temples and the solidness of his body. An ounce of fat wouldn't dare land on Granger.

She wondered what he would say if she told him she wanted a
king's x
from all the things she had said to him. Like the kids on the playground, she wanted to cross her first two fingers and suddenly have all the rules not apply. She wanted to say she needed more than his once-in-a-while lovemaking, and part of her wanted him tonight. If she had to play his game and not touch him when he made love to her, she would. She just wanted him to lie beside her and hold her, just for tonight.

But if she begged him to stay, she would have to face tomorrow and the next day and the next. She did not want to be his midnight lover whom he came to see when he thought no one was looking.

Something she remembered a teacher saying to a college class drifted through her mind. The best example you will ever give your students, is the way you live your life. The professor was trying to tell future teachers that they cannot live one way and teach another. The “do as I say and not as I do” was never much of an example.

If Meredith continued to live an honest life, she would have to be honest with herself. She was not like those women on TV who sleep with a man whom they had known for hours, then move on to another. Meredith knew that if she gave her heart it would have to be all or nothing. That's how it had been with Kevin despite their problems. That's how it would have to be if she loved again.

She wanted a man to stand beside her, to grow old with her. If it was that or being alone, then she would have to be willing to accept solitude.

“Thanks for the supper, Sheriff.”

“You're welcome.” He dried his hands.

“Do you think we could be friends?”

“I'd like that.” He grinned. “Would that mean I could call you if I had car trouble?”

Meredith smiled. “You bet.”

“And if I needed a friend to, say, walk into Frankie's place with me, you wouldn't mind tagging along?”

She fought to keep from laughing. “I'd do that for a friend, and I'd be sure to keep my mouth closed and not try to interfere. And I'd try to keep from bossing you around if we were friends, even if you were drunk.”

Granger shook his head. “That might be a hard one, since I seem to need a lot of direction.” He studied her closely. “But I'd try not to leave my keys in my car, my back door unlocked, my purse in plain sight….”

“You're making a real effort.” Meredith stopped him before he listed all her shortcomings. “Now, if you'll just promise to curb the drinking, I think we could be buddies.”

He winked at her. “It's a deal.”

She started to offer her hand, then reconsidered. “Well, good night, Sheriff.” She moved to the door as she spoke.

“Do you think since we're friends, and I'm making all this effort, that you could call me Granger?”

She opened the door. “Good night, Granger.”

“Good night, Meredith.” He stepped past her and walked to his car without a backward glance.

She watched him pull away, wondering if they could ever be friends when she could still feel his hands stroking her breasts. The memory of their night together was so vivid even now it made her ache inside. But one night could be written off as a lapse in judgment. Any more would be an addiction that would tear her apart with its limitations.

Roughnecks worked no matter what the weather. If it got bad they might all be served a “fifty cent overcoat” —a long draw of corn whiskey.

December 17
Montano Ranch

T
he wind swept down from the north and large flakes of snow swirled across the flat land. Anna had tried to paint all day but it was useless. She hated winters in Texas. What little beauty the country managed to hang on to during the other seasons disappeared with the cold. Everything faded to a dull brown. Not tan, not chocolate, just brown. The mesquite trees that could almost be tall bushes when green were now only squatty, thorny, useless sticks. The tall grass that swayed in fall, shook in winter, brittle with age.

She watched the sun set, knowing she would look north as soon as darkness fell. There she could see Zack's light. Then she would feel the warmth of memories.

Carlo and several of the men drove over to Dallas to pick up a load of new mares. They would not be home until tomorrow at the earliest. If the promised storm hit early, they might not return until Sunday.

Several of the hands took time off. With the cold and the holiday season, the work on the ranch slowed. Horses
were, as always, well taken care of, but their exercise time was shortened on days like this.

Her brother worried about her being alone at the ranch with only a few hands and the oil field workers still squatting near the rig. He insisted on leaving her the old Colt revolver usually kept in the barn to kill snakes.

Anna hated any weapon. Her earliest memory of a handgun had been watching her father put down a beautiful mare. The men on her family's ranch stood in a circle, but she could see between them. Her father knelt down, stroked the horse's mane while he placed the barrel of the gun where the bullet would pass straight through the mare's brain. The shot echoed in her nightmares for years. Not even her mother's explanation that her father had saved the horse a slow painful death made Anna feel any better.

Anna glanced at Carlo's gun resting on the corner of the hearth. It would be in exactly the same spot when he returned.

She had not visited Zack's place for several nights. In truth, she was a little ashamed of how forward she had been, kissing him so boldly when they said good-night. She was a woman who knew her place, her role. In her twenty-six years she never stepped beyond that place, except when she was with Zack. The first night she climbed over the fence started an adventure. Anna had no idea how it would end.

Tonight she felt even more alone than usual. Meredith called and talked a long while, then at seven Helena phoned to check in. The older woman sounded tired, but assured Anna she was getting plenty of rest. They made plans to visit Crystal. Anna volunteered to do Crystal's shopping. Crystal wanted to put up a big tree for Shelby with presents all around the bottom. She made the effort
of inviting Shelby's children and grandchildren, hoping to have a real family Christmas.

Anna feared Crystal would be disappointed, but still wanted to help her try. She planned to buy gifts anyone might enjoy just in case Crystal wanted to pass them out to the nurses and employees of Howard Drilling.

Anna looked around the great room of her cage. She had not bothered with one decoration. Carlo thought it was proper not to celebrate, with her still in mourning. Anna had bought Bella a teapot and ordered Carlo a new wallet with hand tooling on the leather. The two gifts were as yet unwrapped.

She remembered the Christmases of her childhood with everyone laughing and yelling and eating. Davis had promised her that “next Christmas” they would go back to her home. A promise he had made since their first year together. But somehow “next Christmas” never came. There were always more horses coming in, being sold or needing special care.

She tried to read. Tried to watch an old movie. Tried to eat. Nothing held her interest while she waited for sundown. She would go over to Zack's and tell him she was sorry she had been so forward the other night. She might have given him the wrong impression. She was not ready for a romance. All she needed was a hug now and then. She would survive with that.

As soon as his porch light came on, Anna ventured to the walkover. She knew the path well by now. She crossed over, then sat on the bottom step and watched Zack moving across his huge front windows. She could not help but laugh. He was trying to decorate a tree and doing a miserable job.

He did not notice her until she stepped on the porch.
He hurried to the door, mumbling and frowning. “I didn't expect you so soon.”

She took a step backward. “I—I could leave.”

“No.” He hesitated as if afraid he might frighten her. “Don't go. I just wanted to have the tree up when you came.” He glanced at the disaster behind him. “But that may be July.”

“Not going well?”

“No.” He held the door. “I could use some help, if you'd consider coming in.”

When she did not move, he quickly added, “Or I could stop for tonight and we could sit on the swing. This isn't something that can't wait.”

“I can help,” she said slowly. “Then we can sit on the swing and look at what we have done.”

When she passed him at the door, she was so close she felt his warmth, but she was careful that they did not touch.

His furniture was so sparse, she considered asking him if he was moving in or out. One comfortable chair in front of a bookshelf filled with mostly paperback books. One couch on a worn rug with a coffee table decorated by scattered water rings and dents. There were no pictures on the walls, but the hardwood floors were polished to a royal shine and the room looked recently painted.

Bella's doing, Anna thought.

Zack read her mind. “My wife took most of the furniture when she left. Actually, when we married, she got rid of my junk claiming it was worthless. If I'd have known the marriage wasn't going to make the year, I would have stored a little of the junk in the barn.”

“I like the space. Too much furniture weighs the room down.”

“That's true. I could drive a herd through here.”

She moved to the mess by the window. “I like your tree.”

“Thanks. I got it half price, it being so close to Christmas.” He looked as if he regretted telling her about the cost of the tree. “The ornaments were in a box my mother must have put in the attic. I haven't seen them in years.” He picked up one yellowed satin ball. “I'm afraid they're in pretty bad shape.”

She lifted one of the balls. “Do you have any paint?”

“Sure.” He raised an eyebrow. “What color do you need? It's probably in the barn. My father never threw any paint away as long as there was enough left to cover the bottom of the can. I inherited his disease.”

“Yellows, as many shades as you have. And bright blue and red.”

He shrugged his shoulders as if he thought she was wasting her time, but headed out the kitchen door toward the barn.

Anna looked around. The kitchen table was stacked with papers, mostly bills in disarray. However, the books on the shelves were placed in careful rows, almost like a treasured library. To her surprise, huge travel books filled the bottom shelf and each had tiny slips of paper sticking from them as if someone had marked pages in each book.

She decided to work on the coffee table. By the time she covered the old table with newspaper and spread the dilapidated ornaments out on the floor, Zack had returned with several buckets of paint and a few small worn brushes.

Without a word, she went to work doing what she loved most in the world. Painting. He straightened out the lights and got a few strings to work while he watched her. When he finally had the tree in place and the lights
evenly circled around, her first few ornaments were dry enough to hang.

He sat on the floor across from her as she worked. “They're beautiful. I've never seen anything like them.”

Anna smiled. “Thank you.” If she had her brushes, she could paint intricate designs on each ball, but with one-inch brushes that had seen better days, she made bold strokes with circles, starbursts and wavy lines.

The tree became magic, one ornament at a time. He did not talk as she worked, but each time he stood to add a ball, he stepped back and admired the tree. When she painted the last ornament, he carried it to the tree as she stood and stretched.

“You're an artist, Anna. A real one, like I've never seen before.”

“I enjoy it.”

She did not move as he slid his arms around her and worked the tired muscles of her back. They had been together for hours and he had not touched her. He was not embracing her now, only making her more comfortable.

“Tired?” As he relaxed her back, he swayed slightly, almost as if they were dancing.

“Hungry,” she answered honestly.

“Well, the least I can do is feed you after you saved my tree. I think I've still got some of them funny crackers and tea.”

She frowned.

“Baloney sandwiches?” He laughed when she made a face. “No wait. After all that work, you need a real treat. How about a baloney bowl with cowboy beans and onions in it?”

Anna raised her eyebrows. Ten minutes later she stared at a thick slice of baloney that had bowed to the shape of
a bowl when fried. It was then filled with grilled onion and canned beans. Anna was not sure she could eat it.

But Zack acted like he was serving a delicacy. “My mom used to make this for me when I was a kid.” He put a slice of flat yellow bread on her plate. “Corn bread,” he added when she stared up at him with an eyebrow raised. “It tastes really good crumbled on top of the beans.”

She seriously doubted anything could improve the taste of a baloney bowl filled with beans.

They ate at the coffee table while sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was surprised at how good the odd food tasted.

When he finished, Zack leaned back against the couch and stretched his long legs out beside her. “You're a great artist, Anna. I'm not just saying it to be nice. You should have your work in one of those high-priced studios in Dallas. Or maybe down on Sundance Square in Fort Worth. They've got Remingtons and Russells side by side in a gallery down there. It doesn't get much better than that.”

“And you, Mr. Larson, are a terrible cook.”

He did not seem to mind her honesty. “I know, but at least it was edible.” He glanced at her empty plate.

“I was starving.”

“So am I.” His voice lowered, his frankness frightening.

Without another word, he leaned across the little table and kissed her.

Anna pulled away and stood. It had come time to deal with what had happened between them the last time he had walked her to the stile. She spoke slowly, trying to make the words come out without stuttering, but knowing it was hopeless. “A-about the o-other night.”

She felt the warmth of his body behind her, but he did not touch her.

“What about it?” He didn't pretend not to know what she was talking about.

“I—I am not sure I am ready.” She fought for words. “I am not sure I will ever be ready.”

Zack folded her into his arms. “It's all right.” He felt her tremble but she did not step away. “Take your time, Anna. I'm not going anywhere. Only, do me a favor. Don't go kissing me like that unless you want me to follow you home. You'll never know how hard it was to stay on my side of the fence the other night.”

Her body relaxed against his. He was not going to push her into anything. “A fair request.”

“Now that's settled.” His hand slid down her arm to her hand. “Let's see what the tree looks like from the porch swing.”

He did not try to kiss her again or touch her in any way that was improper, but somehow their nearness had changed.

Wrapped in blankets, they sat on the swing drinking their coffee and tea but now, his every touch was somehow different. He was making love to her with each slight caress and she knew it. The moon brightened the cold night. She saw his face clearly. He looked deep in thought.

“Tell me why you read travel books.” She wanted to hear him talk. He was unlike any man she had ever known. Being with her seemed his only goal. He treated each hour as a gift.

“I don't know. I've collected them since I was a kid. I love it here, but I'd like to see other places someday.” He talked about all the countries he'd like to visit, all
the beaches he wished he could walk on, all the roads he would wander down if he had the time.

Anna listened, not telling him that she had seen many of the things he described. The gentle sway of the swing kept time with his voice, making her almost believe the world was a wondrous place.

She had never known the pleasure of seduction. Davis kissed her twice before he proposed. Then he had seen little of her before the wedding. After they were married, he saw no need for courting.

She could not help but wonder if Zack had any idea how his slight touch affected her, now. The way he ran his hand up and down her back, playing along the imprint of her spine. How he brushed her leg as he rocked the swing. Or how his breath warmed her cheek.

Anna leaned against his shoulder and watched the lights of the Christmas tree twinkle through the window. “It is beautiful.”

“That it is.” He kissed her forehead. “Thanks for helping me.”

“You are welcome.”

“Want'a stay the night with me right here? We could leave the tree lights on all night.”

“Yes,” she answered honestly, “but I have to be up early tomorrow. I am going shopping with the other widows.”

He did not need more explanation. She had talked of Helena, Meredith and Crystal before.

They rocked for several minutes before she added, “I may not get to come back for a while.”

His muscles tightened slightly as if he were forcing himself not to say a word about when she might return. She knew she was hurting him and he was trying not to let it show.

He did not ask her to explain. No questions. No strings. He had promised.

Cupping his chin with her hand, she whispered, “It is after midnight. Walk me to the stile.”