End Times (12 page)

It was a relief to step out the back door and into the early summer air. They sat at one of a dozen picnic tables covered in plastic gingham, and Daphne tried to pay attention to the food on her plate, wondering which lump was which: They all looked like identical masses of noodles and coagulated cheese.

“That was some sermon, wasn’t it?” Karen Peyton plonked down next to Janie, carefully setting down a plate piled with coleslaw and hot dog casserole, a paper cup of pink lemonade, and a big bowl of melting ice cream.

Uncle Floyd climbed in next to her. “Daphne, what do you think of Pastor Ted?” he asked.

“He’s—very charismatic,” she said carefully.

She was about to dig into what looked like mac ’n’ cheese when she felt Janie’s pink gel mani pressing into her thigh. “The Varleys are coming over here,” she hissed. “They haven’t spoken to me since I got preggers!”

Daphne looked up to see a man in a blue gingham shirt striding toward them. He wore cowboy boots polished to a rich mahogany and a large, round belt buckle embossed with an elk’s head. Even if Doug hadn’t been slinking along behind him, it would have been obvious that the man was his father. He had the same oversize head and rolling, pigeon-toed strut, and he exuded the same cockiness. Taking up the rear was a thin, faded blond with a ski-jump nose, carrying a small baking pan.

Karen Peyton stood, sandwiched between the bench and the picnic table. “Well, Vince and Deirdre, Doug, what a nice surprise! Please join us.”

“I baked you a Bundt cake.” Deirdre set the pan down on the table.

Next to Daphne, Janie was practically vibrating. “That is so nice!” she cried. “What a sweet gesture—baby loves cake, don’t you?” She patted her tummy happily.

Deirdre’s smile looked like it hurt. “We couldn’t be happier for you,” she began, smoothing her prim blue skirt as she sat.

“Happy for
us
,” Floyd interrupted. “For all of us. This is some gift we’ve received from the Lord, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Vince Varley nodded approvingly. “I’m glad you see it that way, Floyd. It’s a gift for
us
.”

Floyd’s eyebrows knit. “Well, of course it is—my daughter, your son, and we all get to share the joys of being grandparents.”

“Of course they’re a little young,” Karen added. “But what can you do? The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

A cloud passed over Vince Varley’s face, wiping away his good-natured smile.

“Of course He does!” Deirdre interjected quickly. “And we’re just thrilled about all of it—
aren’t we, Vince
?”

Her meaningful look kicked his smile back into place. “Yes, yes, right.” He cleared his throat. “As Pastor Ted was saying, we’re blessed in many ways. And about that oil . . .” He struggled for words, then stopped and tried a different tactic. “Floyd, you know, the Varleys and the Peytons go back quite a ways,” he said.

“I do,” Floyd agreed. “Our great-grandfathers settled this land together, and our grandfathers were the best of friends.”

“Exactly.” Vince’s grin inched wider. “That’s why my grandpa John just about
gave
your grandpa Noah that land your trailer is on today.”

“Don’t think I don’t know it,” Floyd said mildly. “Selling that whole parcel for one measly dollar was just about the kindest act one man could do for another, particularly with our family hurting so hard at the time—and that’s why I keep the deed framed in our living room, so I can remember that kindness every day.”

“It’s a code to live by.” Karen nodded approvingly. “If only we could all be as good and godly as that man.”

“So—you kept the deed.” Vince’s lips set in a tight line.

“Of course. It’s as precious to me as our family photos—though maybe not as pretty.” Floyd laughed heartily.

Vince’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think, given the circumstances, we deserve a cut?”

“After all, if it weren’t for Vince’s grandfather’s generosity, your family wouldn’t be sitting on that oil at all!” Deirdre cut in.

“Oh, you two don’t need to go showering me with logic like that.” Floyd was still chuckling. “If you thought I’d forget your great-granddad’s kindness, I’m afraid you must not think very much of me at all. When that oil money starts coming in, Vince, I’d say it’s only fair that half of it should go to your family. For history’s sake—and for the sake of our grandchild.”

Daphne started.
Half the oil money?
To a family that clearly wouldn’t have shared as much as a cent if the tables were turned? She wanted to believe that Floyd was doing the right thing, but it seemed like he’d lost his mind.

Across the table, Karen’s face went white. She reached for her lemonade with a shaking hand and took a long gulp. When she saw Daphne looking at her, she offered a weak smile before abruptly averting her eyes, turning her attention back to the Varleys.

“Well, that’s awful big of you, Floyd,” Vince boomed, beaming. “I should have known I could count on you to make the right choice.”

“Don’t mention it,” Floyd said.

“So, I’ll have you down to my office later this week, and we can have my lawyer finalize everything, then.” Vince was suddenly all business. “Does tomorrow work for you—say, ten A.M.?”

“Oh, I don’t know that we need to go involving lawyers and all that.” Floyd chuckled. “Like your grandpa, I’m a man of my word.”

“But,” Vince began. “How . . . ?”

Floyd’s laugh boomed across the church’s lawn. “How long have we known each other, Vince? Since our mamas used to put us down on the living room floor to crawl around together so they could get down to some good old-fashioned gossip?”

Vince nodded.

“And in all that time, have you ever known me to go back on my word?”

“No,” Vince admitted. But he looked troubled.

“Let’s shake on it, then.” Floyd stuck out his hand. After a moment, Vince met it with a vigorous pump.

“Yay!” Janie erupted, clapping her hands. “Doug, honey, we’re gonna have the richest baby Carbon County’s ever seen!”

“It’ll be a baller,” Doug agreed. “We can get it a diamond binkie and stuff.”

Everyone laughed, and Karen turned to Deirdre. Doug’s mom had regained her fragile smile, but her cheeks were still waxy and pale. “So I guess we’ll be seeing quite a bit more of you all, then. Maybe you and I can get together and plan a nice baby shower.”

“That sounds lovely,” Deirdre said in a voice like cut glass. She checked her slim silver watch. “We have to be going, though. So much to do. Enjoy the Bundt cake!”

There was a rustle of goodbyes as the Varleys stood to leave. Doug kissed Janie lightly on the forehead. “I’ll text you later, ’kay?”

“Yay!” Janie said by way of response. She waited until they were just out of earshot before putting her hands together in prayer and raising her face to the heavens. “Oh, thank you, Lord, for finally making the Varleys accept this child.” She turned to Daphne. “That sure was a long time coming!”

“Janie.” Daphne knew there was no nice way to say it. “Don’t you think maybe this has more to do with the oil money than the baby?”

Janie’s pink-frosted mouth fell open, and Daphne wondered if she’d gone too far.

But Janie just laughed. “Honestly, who cares? The important thing is that they accept the child. Maybe that’s
why
God led us to the oil in the first place. God and you, of course.”

“Not me,” Daphne corrected. “I wish everyone would stop saying that. Floyd, you studied the rocks. You made an educated guess. I had nothing to do with it.”

The three Peytons stared at her, and for the second time in five minutes, she wondered if she’d gone too far. She’d wanted to temper her opinion, to let them believe whatever they wanted to believe, but she couldn’t handle everyone heaping praise on her, giving her credit that she’d never deserve. She was still a killer, still taking advantage of relatives who didn’t know, still living in their house inside the delicate bubble of her lie.

The crease between Floyd’s eyebrows deepened, but a moment later they relaxed. He smiled.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he repeated.

“EVERYONE, say hello to the new guy.” Dale addressed the rig workers clustered around the admin hut, most still wolfing down last-minute energy bars and wiping the sleep from their eyes. “This is Owen Green—the lucky guy who scored the last roustabout position on our crew.”

Daphne’s face flushed as she finished tightening the laces on her work boots. She stood quickly, just in time to meet Owen’s eyes. He looked strong and well rested, his pale skin glowing in the early morning sunlight.

For a moment she felt dizzy, like she’d skipped breakfast or given herself a head-rush by standing up too fast. Then the corners of her mouth tugged into a smile, returning his.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do, so let’s get to it!” Dale rubbed his hands together and rattled off a list of names and assignments for the day. Daphne, Owen, and a handful of other roustabouts were in charge of digging a ditch in the far corner of the oilfield.

“Hey, thanks for the heads-up about this,” Owen said, lightly touching her arm as they headed for the maintenance shed. The same hot, tingly sensation that she’d felt talking to him in the parking lot of Elmer’s Gas ’n’ Grocery rushed to the surface of her skin. “Dale’s a good guy—as soon as I told him I rebuilt my bike from scratch, he offered me a job.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Daphne said, selecting a shovel. “Life around here is pretty grueling.”

“You think I can’t handle it?” Owen teased. He took the shovel from her hands. “Let me carry that for you.”

“I can carry my own gear!” Daphne made a grab at the shovel, but he held it above his head, out of her reach. “Now you’re making it seem like
I’m
the one who can’t handle things around here,” she said, exasperated.

“I never said that.” Owen shouldered her shovel along with his own and started across the field. “I’m just being a gentleman.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly a debutante ball.” She fell into step, her long strides matching his.

He glanced at her sideways. “And, let me guess, you’re not exactly a debutante?”

Blood rushed to her face. “Do I look like one?” she countered, gesturing to her cargo pants and steel-toed work boots.

“You look like
something
,” Owen responded cryptically.

They reached the far end of the field, where the outlines of the ditch had been marked in blue construction tape.

“This is where we start digging,” Daphne said. “So you better give me back that shovel, unless you want to work for both of us.”

“I would if I could.” Owen tossed it to her, and she caught it with one hand. He raised an eyebrow. “Good reflexes.”

“I don’t sleep on the job.” She jabbed the blade deep into the earth and wriggled it around to loosen the dirt. She could still feel Owen’s eyes on her, and for a moment she was horribly self-conscious: She had already started to sweat, and the bottoms of her cargo pants were covered in dirt.

She tunneled in, focusing on her work. There was something comforting in the physical labor: The simple act of transferring dirt from one place to another seemed solid and sensible compared with the weird stew of sensations brewing inside of her, and she soon lost herself to the repetition of the movements.

By the time Dale came by to call a break, a deep Y of perspiration had soaked the back of her shirt. The ditch was starting to take shape, a long, low trench in the ground. She looked up in time to see Owen shrug off his hard hat and wipe his brow. His thick black hair stood out in all directions, and his white T-shirt clung to his chest, outlining the taut muscles beneath.

“Want to grab a snack?” he asked.

“I’m actually not that hungry,” she confessed. Something about the way Owen looked at her made her feel like her stomach was full of bubbles, and even though she was usually ravenous by the mid-morning break, at the moment a snack was the last thing on her mind.

“Cool, me either. I still haven’t really gotten the lay of the land here. How ’bout giving me a tour?”

The rest of the roustabouts were heading toward the canteen, dreaming out loud of ice cream bars and sodas. “You coming?” Eric, a nineteen-year-old from Nebraska who slept in his truck and sent all his money home to his wife and baby, called to Daphne. She shook her head, and he arched an eyebrow, asking her a silent question before turning back to the rest of the crew without saying another word.

“You’re pretty popular around here,” Owen observed.

She shrugged. “Everyone was a little weird about having a girl on the team at first, but now they’re used to it.”

“Looks to me like you work as hard as anyone,” he said. “Maybe harder. I don’t think I even saw you stop to take a water break.”

“You were watching that closely?” she challenged.

He grinned mysteriously. “Maybe. So do I get the grand tour or what? Let me guess—this is the ditch.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “It will be. And over there, that’s going to be another ditch. And there . . . well, guess.”