Her Wild Oats (34 page)

“Mr. Lathrop, I’ve been hoping to have a few minutes to ask you some questions. We’re on deadline with…”

“Shhh!” he shouted. “I’ll talk to you when I’m finished with this. Where’s the thing? You know, the thing with the people.”

“I’m sorry; I’m not sure what thing you’re talking about. I’ll ask Ginny if she has it. And let me know when you’re ready to answer some pressing questions, OK?”

After a frustrating day at the office, she drove home determined to—finally—have a long-overdue conversation with Jerry about their marriage. He’d been sweetly deflecting every attempt she’d made to talk things over. Tonight she was determined to cut through the crap and clear the air. But she arrived home to find a phone message saying he had a client dinner and would be out later than expected.

She went to bed early and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep only to wake up a few hours later.

*

3:05: Arizona stared at the digital display on her bedside alarm clock. She scrunched up her pillow and crammed it into the hollow place between her neck and bent arm, rolled over on her side, and tried to go back to sleep.

*

3:10: Arizona crept out of bed, tiptoed downstairs, and walked into the tiny kitchen. Dishes were piled high in the sink; Jerry’s briefcase had been emptied out onto the table, legal briefs and files in disarray. She began tidying up, loading the dishwasher, trying to make some order of the paperwork. As she placed a client file back into his briefcase, an open envelope fluttered to the floor, and out fell a new selection of photos—Stephanie in nothing but her “Jesus has got my Butt” panties, red lips in a kissy-face, pouting at the camera. In the envelope was a handwritten note: “Coming home soon, baby, Ari bought the package. I can’t wait to see your sweet face.” The envelope bore the return address of the Central California Medical Center, and was postmarked just two days earlier.

This time Arizona wrote her note with a thick, black Sharpie.

This time she taped it to the bathroom mirror.

*

3:45: Arizona got into her car and turned her key in the ignition. Maditrude perked up and came to life as she eased the car back out of the driveway. Arizona drove to the end of the block, dug around in her purse for her iPhone, and dialed a now-familiar number.

“’lo,” Bobby Lee answered sleepily.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Hey, Miss Arizona, it’s great to hear from you. Did you make it home?”

“Well, I made it back to my house in Venice if that’s what you mean.”

“Everything OK? Is your husband all right?”

“Oh, he’s just fine…”

“That’s good. I guess.”

“You’re in Fresno, right? How’s the tour going?”

“Yeah, Fresno. Um, it’s going all right. The shows have been good. Oats is kicking ass, and so is Hoagy. We miss you, though.”

“How’s the new guy working out?”

“Well…he’s hanging in there, I guess. But you’re a tough act to follow.”

“Yeah? Well, would
he
be a tough act to follow?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“How soon can you get here?” Bobby Lee asked.

“Give me four-five hours, tops.”

The sun was rising as she hit Highway 5 heading north.

“Continue driving for two hundred twenty-one miles,” Maditrude bleeped.

Arizona smiled as she popped a Bobby Lee Crenshaw CD into the disc player and cranked the volume.

“You bet your ass I will.”