Alibi Creek (7 page)

“Just pass me a pen. Point to where I sign.”

11

L
EE
A
NN LEFT WORK AT
noon to meet Mother's case-worker, Annette, for the quarterly documentation of the state agency's services. Working around rules that specified Do Not Tip Caregivers, she found other ways of showing appreciation for the women who drove the long miles to Alibi Creek. Today, a Mr. Coffee 12-cup coffee maker needed a home, if not with Annette, then some other staff member. She placed the box on the front seat and waved good-bye until her arm grew heavy and fell to her side.

The file on Mother's progress reported, “status unchanged.” There'd come a time when that phrase would be replaced by “oxygen required,” or “full time nursing care advised.” Not only Mother, but Edgar, who'd been around since before Lee Ann was born, would be needing assistance soon enough. He'd taken to sleeping past nine, and although he never complained, his bad hip and twisted fingers prevented him from riding, or tying a knot. She'd taken to sending beans and chile over to the bunkhouse once a week and for a man who insisted on attending to all his own needs, his humble acceptance of the gesture signaled his decline. Within the year he'd quit driving, his eyesight failing as fast as his hearing.

She went inside for a sweater, called the dogs, and whistling the theme from
The Bridge on the River Kwai,
started off to the creek. Before taking thirty steps, the one-ton
truck emerged from behind the workshop. She herded the dogs off to the side.

Dee pulled up and rolled down the window.

“I'm off to Plank's,” he said. “Scott and Walker are already over there.”

She brushed her hair back from her face, searching his eyes.

“You don't know,” he said, shifting into neutral.

“I guess not.”

“We're moving Danielle's trailer up the canyon behind Granny's. Walker told us to use the cinderblocks from beside the barn for supports. We've been working at Plank's all morning getting it loaded on the flatbed.” He put the truck in gear and revved the engine. “See you later.”

The dogs sat at her feet, tails wagging, waiting for the go-ahead. A scheme, this time involving Danielle. The only thing Danielle and Walker ever saw eye-to-eye on was a bottle of whiskey. If they couldn't find a party they'd make their own, which would invariably end in a fight they'd forget the next morning, then start all over again.

Along the creek bank, Patch and Blue picked up a scent in a pile of brush and began digging. Leaves landed like bits of paper on the water and swam downstream, catching on logs reaching out to snag them. She knelt and broke a twig in two, tossed one half in the water and followed its journey, the little stick incapable of turning back, powerless against the current. Tears filled her eyes, as if the twig was a living creature, robbed of free will, ignorant of rational thought or heart's desire.

“Lord, it seems we are helpless against an invisible current. This must be the great lesson we are meant to learn—to accept our fate with humility and grace. I trust You have a plan beyond my understanding, but I struggle to identify my purpose and determine when to assert myself. I question
whether submission and resignation make me weak or strong. If we encounter an eddy drawing us to danger, free will allows us to decide whether to jump into the whirlpool or flee. I lack the drive, or courage, to go against the current when circumstances demand I should. I'm confused about when to take matters into my own hands. I submit to You out of fear of making a mistake. I dare not oppose Your wishes.”

The twig floated downstream, undeterred.

“Walker rushes through life at a pace I can never match, driven by impulses I don't understand. Gone for whole days at a time, sharing details when it suits him, his pickup parked at Mother's when I leave for work, gone when I get home. Eugene insists I set limits, but You've created Walker untamable, uncontrollable, unteachable. I pray for him, for all things are solved through prayer. I try to forgive, as You advise.”

The wind picked up and she wrapped her sweater around her chest and hugged her waist. During the first months of Walker's incarceration, she'd continued to hear his footsteps sneaking up from behind, until one afternoon, while planting petunias in the two oak barrels on either side of the front porch, she hummed while watering. Weeks went by, and she began moving easier, touching the fragile roots of the starts she set out, watching the clothes on the line dance in the wind, mimicking the crossbill finches on the garden fence, without worrying about what was behind her back. His return had tightened her stomach. Anxiety had raised her shoulders and stiffened her neck.

She dropped the other half of the twig into the creek and turned her back on its voyage.
Whatever one is, he has been named already, for it is known that he is man; And he cannot contend with Him who is mightier than he.
Ecclesiastes 6:10.

Back at the house, she traded her sweater for a jacket and drove the Blazer to the corral while Patch and Blue, still
eager to play, raced alongside. Twisting the hair at the nape of her neck, in a steady voice she told Eugene about the plan to move Danielle's trailer up the canyon. He'd never met Danielle, but had heard plenty.

Eugene continued measuring the corral fence, jotting figures down on a legal pad.

“I'm sure she's different now,” Lee Ann said. “She's got a job at the motel. I've bumped into her a couple of times in town and she's been pleasant enough.”

Eugene tossed the tape measure and pad into the diesel and without a word took off, leaning across the seat, reaching into the glove box. Lee Ann released the curl at her neck and gripped her shoulder. Eugene always said hasty reactions made things worse. He always said, “I'll think about it,” when Scott sought permission, “Give me a minute,” when Dee asked a question, and “Let's consider all the options,” before making decisions.

His truck splashed across the creek, climbed the incline, and stopped.

She drove back to the house and from the kitchen window, aimed the binoculars toward the highway. Eugene had retrieved a chain and padlock from the glove box and was locking the gate. That gate hadn't been locked in thirty years. She drove to the turn-around at the bottom of the incline and with a clear view of the road, Eugene, and the gate, eased her hands from the steering wheel and turned off the ignition.

A half hour later, the one-ton pulling Danielle's trailer stopped at the gate, Scott's pickup close behind. Walker jumped out of the one-ton and yanked on the lock. “What the hell…”

Eugene got out of the diesel. “Take that trailer back where you got it.”

Walker slapped his hands against his thighs. “We're moving it up the canyon.”

“No, you're not.”

“We been workin' all day to get it over here.”

Eugene stepped close enough to be clearly heard, far enough to keep out of trouble.

“I don't give a damn how long you've been working. It has no place anywhere on this property.”

“Look, man,” Walker said. “It's temporary. Just till I sell it.” He jiggled the gate, did a little fast stepping, hands on his hips. “You know me. I can turn anything over in ten minutes flat, if not before. Soon as I hit the bar this item will be sold. Guaranteed.”

“Then park it in Brand.”

“I can't take it to town without you opening this here gate so I can get the blocks to set it on.”

Eugene called to Scott and Dee. “You ought to know better.”

“Open up, or I'll have to leave the damn thing out on the highway,” Walker said.

“Do what you want, only don't set it on this property.”

Walker beat his chest.

“It's my property, too.”

“It's your mother's.”

Lee Ann slammed the door of the Blazer and walked quickly to Eugene's side.

“Walker, you're overstepping the line. Had we discussed this, you'd know we do not want this trailer in the canyon. It's your business if you want to sell it or trade it, but you can't do it from here. It doesn't even belong to you.”

Walker stuck his hands in his back pockets.

“Yes, it does,” he said. “It's my wife's.”

12

A
T THE TIME
,
THAT WAS
a lie. Five minutes with Carlos Barela, the municipal magistrate, would make it true. Walker left the trailer blocking the entrance to the ranch, borrowed Scott's pickup and drove to the Brand New Motel.

“Sweetheart, it's time to make our arrangement legal,” he said, leaning over the counter.

Danielle said, “You got an email.”

He zipped around the partition and rested his chin on her shoulder. Something about the mixture of body lotion and shampoo made him want to stick his nose in her platinum hair and leave it there for an entire day, maybe the rest of his life. Today, her long fingers had bright red tips and fake gold charms dangled off her wrist.

Keith would be arriving late. Could Walker book him a room at the motel and meet him the following morning for breakfast at eight o'clock?

“Sure,” Walker said.

Danielle sent the reply and stood up.

“Let's make this quick,” she said, jotting a note and taping it to the door.

Seemed he always took the lead, set the pace and dictated the action, except when it came to Danielle, and now he bounded after her across the paved parking lot onto a gravel strip strewn with trash. Catty-corner to the motel, a
sign reading MAGISTRATE COURT tilted sideways in the window of a frame house painted red with white trim.

“We're here to get married,” Walker said.

Rhonda looked up from her desk, folded her magazine, and took off her glasses.

“Fill this out,” she said, reaching into a drawer and fitting a sheet of paper on a clipboard. “I'll get Carlos. You're going to need another witness.”

“Jesus, Walker, I got to get back.”

“Hold on just a minute. I'll get Walt.”

When they all gathered in the office, Walker got the chills. Of all the mysteries on this great earth, attraction between the sexes was the most baffling. Life would be moving along just fine and some woman would cross a guy's path and drag him into her particular set of problems. And for what? A tussle in the sack. A teensy bit of s-e-x left men full and proud and complete. Stuffing their shirts in their pants, notching their belts, they'd walk around all puffed up, a man having done a man's job—satisfied a woman. Pffff. Problem was, the female half of the species could never be satisfied, no matter how hard the male half tried. They
always
wanted something else, something more, something different. Trying to provide that little something wore a man down until the allure that captured his interest in the first place turned him 180 degrees in the opposite direction. Love—men wanted it. When they got it, they could do without it. The best plan was to let women do the wanting. Stick with bourbon to ease the fall when reality sets in. Love = crazy. Love = danger. 1+1 = 2 fools spinning toward self-destruction. Yet, here he was at this very moment excited about the prospects of matrimony with the very woman proven to do him damage.

Carlos asked, “Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife in sickness and health, until death do you part?” and Walker said, “I do.”

Carlos asked, “Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband in sickness and health, until death do you part?” and Danielle said, “I guess.”

Rhonda put on her glasses and applied her signature as witness. Walt wiped his hands on his grocer's apron and signed as second.

Carlos said, “Well,” and shook Walker's hand, kissed Danielle's cheek.

Danielle said, “I'm outta here.”

Rhonda took off her glasses.

Walt went back to work.

Walker tripped after Danielle, heart somersaulting like a new penny flipped in a coin toss, landing heads up, you win—the prize, prettiest gal in Dax County, not counting those gorgeous black-haired beauties. Course, comparing blonds to brunettes was as meaningless as analyzing the difference between tequila and bourbon. Hey now, this called for a celebration! He dashed over to the bar and bought a bottle of Jose Cuervo, stopped at Walt's for limes and continued down the street to Vera's. He snatched a saltshaker off the nearest table and waved his fist, promising to return it tomorrow. At the motel he spread everything out on the reception desk, flicked open his pocketknife and sliced the limes on the laminated list of daily rates. This was their wedding night. They might get a room.

“Are you kidding?” she said.

Walker poured them each a shot in cups from the water dispenser.

“To marriage,” he said.

Danielle raised her cup.

“To the divorce settlement.”

He rested his elbows on the counter like a customer and tried to get Danielle reminiscing about the old days. Damn, she was knockout gorgeous, silky smooth. The longer he talked, the more his body stretched over the partition, until he was half hanging, toes barely touching the floor, nearly drooling when she occasionally deigned to look at him with half closed eyelids. Hell, darlin', lighten up, this ain't all that serious. Might as well lap up the moment as well as the tequila. He wasn't about to take advantage of her body, or anything else. Actually, she didn't have anything else. Probably down to her last matching lace bra and pantie set, the pizzazz of the old days buried under a stack of credit card debt. He piled on the compliments and jokes, coaxing the dimple in her left cheek to crease, overlooking her distinct distaste of his antics. Questions about the girls and grandkids softened her some and he kept on, pretending to care about the exact date Billy got potty trained and how many teeth Jessica had (upper and lower) and what they did to celebrate Tamara's last birthday. In the end, he forgot what kid belonged to which daughter, the ratio of girls to boys, their ages, and where they lived.

They'd finished over half the bottle when Suzette showed up for the evening shift. Danielle collected her purse and Walker guided her by the elbow to her Jeep.

“Follow me,” he said, pointing to Scott's pickup.

She hiccupped.

No way to count the times he'd driven home drunk, crooning away with a smiling moon above. Hit an elk only once, a young bull that leapt out of the bar ditch and knocked off the passenger side mirror with his antlers. That was the only time—the best view of the road, and the way to keep a vehicle going sort of straight, was to drive on the centerline.

After what seemed like no time at all, a white shape glared like a giant TV screen in the headlights. He stopped on the side of the highway in front of the trailer, right where he'd left it, and stumbled to the gate. Still locked.

He helped Danielle out of the Jeep.

“Honey, we'll have to stay out here tonight,” he said. “Look at it this way—a minor inconvenience on the way to your fortune, a sweeper in the river, a worm in the apple, a bruise on the arm, all of it temporary. Tomorrow, I'll have this baby moved.”

“I'll be cold.”

“We'll snuggle up together under every blanket, towel, and coat we can find. Besides, you got me to keep you warm. Now, don't go cryin'. This is only one night out of your whole life, one little discomfort.”

“You've got it wrong,” she said. “It's the final blow.”