Expiration Date (39 page)

“Jenni called,” Della said.

“Uh. From Wyoming? When?”

“Early this morning. She asked that you call back between eight and nine.”

The clock by the bed read 8:52. “Our time or hers?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Della nudged the door shut. She turned with hands folded in front of her sunflower-print skirt and sleeveless white blouse. “Clay.” Questions blinked in her eyes. “You’ve been through a bad stretch—the divorce, financial struggles, and that Summer girl’s passing. A lot to think about. Last week when the sergeant brought you home from the Raven, he warned that you’d become a risk to yourself. I want you to know how much I care about you.”

“Things’re working out. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“And I’m so relieved. Please don’t forget your mother loves you.”

“I know.”

“Please, dear. If there’s anything you—”

“Don’t worry. I know I’ve done some … irresponsible things. But I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll leave you in peace, then.”

Clay took a deep breath and reached for the phone. “I’m gonna try calling Jenni.”

Okay, boys and girls. Back to reality
.

Mylisha felt good about this. She closed the office door, punched into an open phone line. She’d checked the daily column during evening break, had even run it by a colleague. Time to do this. She’d call Mr. Clay Ryker, tell him everything she knew about the threats and the link between Bill Scott and Hannah Dixon and.

“Hello.”

“Clay? You sound upset.”

“Oh. Hi, Mylisha. Sorry, I was just about to … uh, I was calling Jenni.”

“I’ll call back later.”

“No. I mean, go ahead. What’d you want to say?”

“Mmm. Might be better in person.”

“Say it.” He sounded annoyed.

“Why you have to be like dat? Boy, I’m trying to help you here. I don’t—”

“Listen,” Clay said. “A few weeks back you made it clear you didn’t wanna see me. Now I’m supposed to believe you’ve changed your mind? For the past year I’ve been riding a roller coaster, and I’m not anxious to climb back on.”

“Let’s see, Clay. High school graduation, a final peck on the cheek, a few lines in a Hallmark card … Who took who for a ride?”

“Told you already, I was stuck in my own world back then.”

“And now you’ve changed?” Mylisha asked. “Guess I missed that one.”

“Bye, Mylisha. I’m calling my wife.”

“You mean, ex-wife.”

The phone went dead in her hand. She expelled air. Why had she gone and acted the fool? Why rub salt into his wounds? She was in management at a supermarket, almost thirty, a grown woman. What was she thinking?

Circled and underlined, the horoscope taunted from her desk.

Don’t hesitate to realign with estranged friends and lovers. Today is the day. Pick up the phone and watch forgiveness work wonders
.

Lotta good that’d done her.

She crumpled the paper and slammed it into the wastebasket beneath the desk.

Rhea Deering had the night off from waitressing at the Raven.

And in fifteen minutes she had a date.

She turned on the gas stove, planning to make some tea. Her voice was raspy with nerves. What she needed was some of that herbal, medicinal, antioxidant junk in the little cellophane-wrapped box.

At forty-six Rhea was too old for the bar scene. She’d run into her share of strange cats, the most recent example being that Clay Ryker guy. He’d come in a few days ago, downed a couple of drinks, then grabbed her arm and tried to predict her death. Who did he think he was? What right did he have?

A new job would do her good, Rhea decided. But what else was there for her? She’d smoked since she was nine, having picked up the habit from her older sister. She drank for lots of reasons, and none of them had to do with the taste. She’d gone through three skirt-chasing husbands, all of them suit-wearing stiffs. Just something about a man dressed to the nines.

And dang it, you’d think I would learn my lesson
.

So what was she doing tonight? Hitting the town with—you guessed it—another guy in a suit. A star performer. A salesman at Guaranty RV Centers, one of the nation’s largest dealerships, located right here at the south end of JC.

The doorbell rang. That was a promising sign. On the first date with her last husband, he’d honked from his Porsche in her driveway.

“Be right there,” she croaked.

He was early. That could be a good or bad thing, but she’d decide later.

He knocked this time.

“On my way.”

She tossed a leather jacket over her hot pink top, inhaled, then fastened the top button on her trendy jeans with the frayed pockets. Reformed biker-girl chic. The guys in suits seemed to have a thing for it.

“Clay?”

Jenni’s voice was a crack of light chasing off the darkness. It’d been months.

“Clay, say something please. You’re calling back late as it is.”

He gripped the drapes of bitterness and peeled them back from the window of his soul. The light was blinding, almost painful, yet capable of life-giving warmth.

He breathed her name. “Jenni.”

“I’m not going to bite. Remember, I called first.”

“I thought my mom might be lying.”

“Della?” Jenni said. “She’s been known to be manipulative. But lying?”

“I’ve had a couple of rough days. Thought she might be trying to cheer me up.”

“Yeah, I heard how you vanished. Gave everyone a scare and royally peeved your dad. You did get my message?”

Clay mumbled an affirmative.

“I’ll make this quick,” she said. “You have a son who misses you terribly.”

He grunted. Should he remind her whose fault that was?

“Jason can’t stop talking about his trip to see you,” Jenni continued. “I’ve been counting down the days for him with those plastic magnets on the refrigerator.”

Clay grimaced. She’d taken the side-by-side Frigidaire when she moved.

“What I’m leading up to, Clay, is that I want to adjust the visitation plans. Now before you say anything, let me explain. I have a family reunion to attend in mid-August over in Bend. I did the math, and instead of separate airfares, it’d be cheaper for Jason and me to drive out together. Due to my schedule, we’d arrive on the eleventh. One day later than the original plan, but Jason could stay with you a few extra days.”

8.1.0.0.4 … August 10th. What if Jason never gets here?

“Are you there? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

He looked at his palm. The numbers were invisible, yet hot and coiling. “Couldn’t you get here a few days earlier, Jenni?”

“My clients will be backed up as it is. I can’t risk losing new accounts.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ve already checked, and the airlines will let us redeem the ticket for some later date. Perhaps during Christmas break.”

Clay’s eyes clamped down against the thought of holidays divided.

“Well,” Jenni huffed, “nothing like the old patterns. I see it’s going to be up to me to carry the conversation. You should know that I’ve changed a lot in the past months—gaining confidence, saving money, building my customer base each day.”

“Does this mean less alimony?”

“Is that all you can think about? You probably don’t even care that I had one of the Denver Broncos come in yesterday.”

“That’s amazing. Which one?”

“Clay, I believe client confidentiality’s important. This guy—and no, I’m not telling you his name—he says they might need a massage therapist. He’s going to speak with the team doctors about having me come down in the preseason to give a hand.”

“A hand.” His laugh caught in his throat. “I get it.”

“Why’re you doing this to me?”

“That’s supposed to be my question.”

“I’m trying to have a nice conversation, Clay.”

“Listen, I didn’t want this divorce. Or have you forgotten that?”

“What did you want? That’s something that still eludes me. You had the Prince Charming act down—tall, handsome, athletic, and motivated. Do you blame me? Is that it? Each year, by degrees, you drew further inward. Like you were hiding from something. Or maybe you stopped loving me and started looking for a way out.”

Clay had hoped to tell Jenni of his catharsis at Crater Lake. He’d imagined a moment of reconciliation as he explained the paralysis of guilt that had cut him off from her. Instead, the emotions that’d been shoved into the corners along with his secrets now demanded recognition.

“I’m not the one who filed,” he snapped. “I’m not the one who ignores my messages. You don’t really wanna know what I’m thinking. You run when I show who I really am.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m a failure, Jenni. That’s what I am! As soon as you began to realize it, you turned away. Didn’t even give me a stinkin’ chance. When I needed you the most, when everything was falling apart, you left. So my name wasn’t on the bankruptcy? Ha! Okay, you can take the credit for that one. At least incorporating SME kept my nose clean, right? Wrong. I have bills coming out my ears. And to top that off, I have these wonderful little things called alimony payments, child-support payments. I’d willingly work my fingers to the bone to take care of you if I could. But that’s not good enough. I have to be a show-stopping success, or it’s just not worth it for Ms. Jenni Ryker.”

For a moment Clay thought she had disconnected the phone.

For kicks he considered spewing more of his thoughts into thin air.

“Clay.”

“You’re still there? Surprise, surprise.”

“Most of what you’ve said is … I suppose it has some truth in it.”

Clay paused. Flabbergasted. He himself didn’t believe half of what he had said; he’d been using it to strike back.

“You know something else, Clay? That’s the most you’ve said to me since the morning they towed away my Lexus. That’s the day I knew it was over.”

“A car. A hunk of metal. That meant more than twelve years together?”

“Clay, you’re so thickheaded! No, it wasn’t because of the car.”

“The house? The SUV? What was the final straw?”

“Your silence! Don’t you get it? Are you hearing me? It wasn’t over for me. It was over for you. I tried to stand by you, to love you through it all. You were what I wanted most. But you were gone. Not physically perhaps, but you had checked out. When they took our things, they took you along with them. After months of nothing from you—not a word, barely a kiss—I had to escape.”

Clay’s cheeks burned. “From your failure of a man, huh?”

“No, Clay. From whatever it is that’s haunting you.”

A tear brimmed on each of his eyelids. She had already cast him in his role as ex-husband, distant father, failed businessman and athlete. He wanted to tell her about Bill Scott, about the bridge and Bill’s involvement with Mylisha, about the guilt that had driven him into the depths of Crater Lake.

He could not, however, allow her to add manslaughter or attempted suicide to his list of sins. The list was long enough already.

Past midnight. And she could get nothing more than a good-night kiss? A ride into Eugene in a nice car, a fancy dinner at the renowned Oregon Electric Station, a slow dance in the club at the top of the Hilton …