Indivisible (23 page)

After a long day including two domestic calls, Jonah exited the courthouse with a warrant to question a punk who’d been peddling crank at the middle and high school. With any luck they’d tie him to Caldwell or Greggor or both. He was ready to get home, but when he reached his vehicle, Ruth’s voice came over the radio. “Jonah, you know I hate to pile on.”

“Go ahead.”

“We had a 911. I think you’ll want to respond.”

“What is it?”

“The address is your mother’s.”

“Medical?”

“EMTs are en route. Sounds like a heart attack. I’m sorry.”

“Who called?”

“Laraine called it in herself, but she collapsed in the process.”

He put the Bronco in gear, hit the lights, and took off. He had not seen this coming, but who ever did? He activated his Bluetooth and called Jay. “I might be tied up awhile. Can you check in on Sarge and Enola?”

“I’m not sure I can get away.”

“Then don’t worry about it. They’ve got to make friends at some point.”

“What’s going on?”

“My mother’s had a heart attack.” Strange it should come now. Why not during all the years of heartbreak? Except it was never really her heart breaking.

“You’re going over?”

“She’s my mother.”

“Don’t take this wrong, Jonah.”

He braced himself. “But what?”

“Is it in her best interest?”

“You mean, will I make her worse?”

“To put it bluntly.”

Jonah considered that. “I’m not sure who else she has. I don’t want her to be alone.”

“No, you should go. But remember, if a circle tries to bend too far, it’s no longer a circle.”

“Where do you get this stuff?”

Jay didn’t laugh. “Just remember who you are.”

And also, as Sarge had said, who he never wanted to be. At his family home, more than anywhere, the lines blurred. He saw himself in the old man and the old man in him. It was like the story Jay had told amid the sweats and potions.

“There is a fight going on inside of you, a fight between two hungry wolves. One wolf is fear, envy, sorrow and regret, greed, spite, arrogance, and self-pity. It is guilt, resentment, false pride, superiority, ego, and unfaithfulness. The other wolf is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, and forgiveness. It is integrity, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faithfulness. The fight goes on and on, each one trying for control. Which wolf wins? It is the one you feed.”

He reached his mother’s house and parked beside the ambulance. The team was inside, and Jonah joined them. Curtains were drawn, making the house dim. Stacks of mail and magazines covered most surfaces, cups and dishes on the corners of tables and lining the counters. He moved through the rooms to her enclosed porch where his mother lay on the brick-red pavers. She was conscious, pale, and trembling, wearing a blood pressure cuff, finger monitor, and oxygen.

She said, “What are you doing here? It’s not Sunday.” Splotches appeared on her cheeks.

“How’re you doing, Mom?” When she didn’t answer, he asked the EMT, Mack Dougal.

“Pulse is thready.”

“I shouldn’t have to put up with you more than one day a week. Shouldn’t have to do it then.” The clear plastic mask fogged.

“Take it easy, Mom,” Jonah murmured.

“Easy,” she snarled, her irregular heart tones increasing.

Jay had been right to worry. Jonah knew the team, knew she would receive the care she needed. He stepped back. “You’re in good hands.”

“No.” She gripped her left arm until the flesh turned white. “You made sure I’d never be.” This conversation would dredge up old suspicions. The EMTs were friends of a sort, but that wouldn’t stop them spreading it.

Jonah caught Mack’s eye and read his rising concern.

“Let’s move,” Mack said. “Riding along?”

He shook his head. “I’ll follow separately.”

“Don’t,” his mother hissed.

Her rancor had steeped in resentment and curdled with rage. The wolf she had fed was sated, and it looked out at him now. He started to shake, seeing in her eyes what he’d seen that night, when he’d staggered back, spattered with blood and more. As they wheeled her into the back of the bus and pulled the doors closed behind them, his hands clenched.

He locked the house, intending to get into his vehicle. Instead, he moved around to the back and stared at the shed. An agony of fear and loathing seized him. His legs moved forward like mechanical shanks he couldn’t control. He wrenched open the door and smelled or imagined the rank odor.

Wood spiders had woven netting across the ceiling. Crackling black-widow webs clogged the lower corners. But his mind skipped over his childhood fears and centered on the steamer trunk near the back, the black stains thick with dust.

The former police chief materialized, standing tall, legs spread, hands on hips.
“I told you to walk away.”

“You know I can’t.”

“We stick together on these things. That’s the first rule I taught you.”

“Stacie Williams is dead.”

“A drunken pothead got out of control.”

“You took the call and went out to the party. When Stacie got belligerent you arrested her, put her in your car.”

“Blah-blah-blah.”

“You stopped a mile and a half from the arrest location.
”

“
She got sick. I let her out of the car, unfastened the cuffs so she didn’t fall on her face when she puked. It’s all in the file.”

“I ran a rape kit.”

“You what?”

“One of the samples matched your DNA.”

His glare was not ice; it was nitrous oxide. He knew better than to argue DNA, given the rest of the story. So he justified.
“She wanted a deal.”

“Sex for leniency?”
He couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice.

His father’s nostrils flared.
“You think you’re better than I am.”

“I need your service revolver, Dad.”

“You don’t know when to quit.”

“You taught me that.”
He held out his hand.
“Your gun.”

With a low growl, the chief removed the gun from the holster and held it out grip first.
“So you’re the big shot now. Think you can do the job better than your old man. You’ll see how the mighty fall.”

Jonah took the weapon and, as he removed the clip, his father reached back for the shotgun, chambered a shell. For an instant Jonah believed his father would kill him.

But Stan Westfall rammed it under his own chin and pulled the trigger. Choking with shock and splatter, Jonah staggered back, ears ringing.Horror engulfed him with the smell of death, his mother’s screams splitting the night.

Remembering, Jonah’s legs gave way. He dropped to his knees in the silent musty space and stared at the dirty sunshine spilling over the floor where his father had fallen. He tasted bile. He’d hated the man, and yet …

Twenty-Two

Perseverance is more prevailing than violence; and many things which cannot be overcome when they are together, yield themselves up when taken little by little.

—PLUTARCH,
LIFE OF SERTORIUS

T
ia locked the shop and walked home. Her early morning trek and a day at the store had brought clarity. Entering the house through the mud room, she looked for and found Piper in the kitchen, sucking honey off her finger. “Miles would be horrified.”

Piper giggled, turned to the sink, and scrubbed. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” She stirred the tea, then sipped. “Perfect.”

Tia threaded her fingers through her unruly hair. “I’m leaving town for a while. I don’t want anyone to think I’ve been abducted or gotten lost in the mountains or dissected.”

Piper paused with the cup almost to her lips. “Anyone meaning me?”

“I’m pretty sure if you don’t worry, no one else will.”

“Hey. Every time I’ve called for help, you needed it.”

“This time I’m going to be fine.” She kept the tremor from her voice. This would be harder and riskier and probably more painful than a crippling injury on a mountain. “I’ll be gone a few days, max.”

“Do I get to know where you’re going?”

“Arizona.”

“You’re going to see your sister?” Piper’s excitement lit her eyes. “I’m going to try. Amanda’s watching the shop, but you’ll have to hold down the home front.”

“I think I can manage. Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“I’m driving.”

“Now? It’s almost dark.”

“Great invention, headlights.”

Giggling, Piper set down the cup. “Will you call when you get there?”

“Sure.” Tia laughed.

“Are you telling Jonah?”

She sighed. “Let it go, sweetie.”

Piper stretched out her arms and hugged her. “Be careful, okay?”

Tia hugged her back. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good. Because you know I’m not letting you go, right?” Piper laughed. “Right.”

She packed quickly, some overnight things and a couple of changes. She would drive it straight and face things in the morning. With as little rest as she’d had the last week, she ought to be exhausted. Instead, she felt as though she were waking from a very long sleep.

In the foggy glow of the street lantern outside the bay window, Piper saw Jonah exit his Bronco and approach the house as though someone had blown the ground out from under him. She wrenched open the door, rasping, “Is it Tia?”

He stopped, confused.

She pressed a hand to her racing heart. “Did her car crash?”

He frowned. “She’s not here?”

Piper collapsed against the door frame. “She drove to Phoenix.”

He blinked, the news adding weight to his shoulders. Even all ragged edges, he was still a million bucks plus tax. He wore calamity like cologne, evoking not sympathy but a primal feminine instinct to attach and defend.

“When did she go?”

“A couple hours ago. I think she’s trying to make up with her family.” The lines deepened between his brows. “You could call her cell.”

He shook his head.

“I could call for you.”

“No, don’t bother her.”

“It isn’t Sarge, is it?”

“Sarge is fine. I just wanted to …” He spread his hands. “I don’t know what I wanted, tell you the truth.”

He was obviously hurting. “You want to come in?”

“No.” His smile was thin. “Thanks, Piper. You take care.”

He started for his car.

“Jonah?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“She’d want you to call.”

His eyes narrowed pensively. “I don’t think so.”

As helpless as she’d felt with Tia lost on the mountain, she watched him drive away. Once again, there was nothing to do—except pray?

Jonah climbed the steps and hunched into the chair on his porch. Despite the damp cold, he didn’t go inside. Neither Enola nor Sarge would matter. He’d down the bottle and not stop until he’d saturated every cell.

Funny thing, alcohol. It made some erudite, others contrite. Too many took it straight to their fists. Some could take it little by little, even work a buzz and walk away. To him it called from a hollow in a bottomless well, the voice of a siren in the drowning deeps.

Same with love, it seemed. Most people moved in and out of relationships with the same ease they left a half-empty glass on the bar. He would lick the rim and sides if that was all there was left for him, then wait, hoping for a refill that might never come.

His extended affair with booze had probably been an attempt to sacrifice his life for the life taken. Had his affair with Tia been the same? He acknowledged a self-destructive streak. But the longing he felt for her, the connection he’d experienced with her seemed like his one sure chance at survival.

He closed his eyes, then looked down at his shaking hands. His mother’s heart might stop, and she didn’t want him there. He’d apprised his brother, Pete, who’d said, “Keep me posted,” which meant, “Let me know if she dies.” Neither faked an affection they didn’t feel.

Pete had taken him aside at their dad’s funeral and said, “Stan Westfall did whatever he intended to and nothing else. If you think Mom’s any different, you never learned anything.”

Jonah dropped his head back against the chair and ached for Tia. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, but stunned by the experience in the shed, he’d staggered to the one person who’d understood. He clenched his hands, hearing the bottle’s sibilant song. He could call Jay, reaffirm their mutual commitment to sobriety. Or he could toast his mother’s health in a tribute worthy of Chief Stan Westfall, pillar and legend.

A single scratch sounded on the door behind him. He stood and opened it, letting Enola pass by. He looked inside and caressed the bottle with his eyes. The smell of drink permeated his nightmares. He’d hated it, hated the smell of himself as it had seeped from his pores.

He jerked the door closed and returned to his seat, lowering his face to his hands. He watched through his fingers as Enola disappeared, then emerged from the shadowed edges of the yard beyond the circle of porch light. He would have risen to let her back inside, but she came to a stop beside him with a measured stare.

He waited. Normally he didn’t make lengthy eye contact, not wanting her to feel challenged. But something in her stillness, in the way she didn’t move past, caught and held him. Carefully he let his arm slide down the side of the chair, his hand dangling.

Almost imperceptibly she extended her nose, taking his scent. He had not before offered his unclosed hand, but she stretched and tucked her nose under the edge of his palm. An inexpressible joy bloomed inside. Centimeter by centimeter, he slid his hand over her face and worked his fingers into the stiff fur of her forehead.

In all that time they had not lost eye contact. As he slid his palm over the side of her face, he hoped, truly hoped, the wild would not call her back.

Tia had gotten in around four in the morning and caught a few hours of ragged sleep. She showered, tamed her hair with finishing lotion and left it to air dry. Hoping the latest address she had for Reba was current, she got directions from the motel clerk.

Gangly palms graced some of the yards in Reba’s nicely manicured neighborhood. All seemed to have a citrus tree in the front, lemon, orange, even a few grapefruit. Minor variations differentiated the ranch-style bungalows with pools in the backyards and tall plank fences. Tia pulled up to the slate blue and blond brick home and parked in the lollipop shade of an orange tree.

She didn’t know whether or not her sister worked outside the home. Their three kids were still young, and Mark would have a solid income. She had known him a little, but after he and Reba had started dating, she didn’t see him much. Reba rarely brought him to the house, and was there any wonder why?

Closing her eyes, Tia wondered if she could get out of the car. What if Mark answered and said Reba had told him to never, ever allow her sister through the door? What if Reba answered and did the same? Only one way to find out.

The inner door was angled halfway to the wall, and the screen allowed a view into the front room and hallway. Reba called out when she rang, “You know you can just come in.”

No, she definitely didn’t know that. But she went in. The screen snapped shut behind her. Unwilling to advance under false pretenses, Tia stood there and looked left and right. The room had a south-of-the-border flair she would never have imagined Reba choosing, and yet she had pulled it off wonderfully. Clay pots in the corner held black mesquite branches and another sort that spiraled up like knobby, gray smoke.

The couch was upholstered in sage green suede with a red, gold, orange, and black serape tossed over the back. The red side chairs flanking it had legs made of what looked like webbed stovepipe cactus skeletons. A slice of petrified wood formed the low tabletop where two big-wheeled trucks and a stuffed dog waited for playtime.

With quick steps, Reba strode in, her silky blond hair straight to her midback, highlighted to diminish most of the red tones, her clear blue eyes registering shock, if not dismay. “Oh. I thought you were Mom here early.”

“Nope.” Tia formed a tentative smile.

“I never noticed how much you look like her. Now that you’re older, I guess it shows.”

“I hope I haven’t interrupted.”

“No. I mean Mom’s going to watch the kids while Mark and I—What am I saying? I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You’ve changed.”

“I was eighteen when you left.” In spite of her efforts, her voice cracked.

“Yeah,” Reba said faintly.

“But you. No one would know you’ve had three kids.”

Reba flushed. “Four actually. Robbie was born three months ago.”

Stunned, Tia masked the pain of not being informed. “You’ve lost the weight.”

“Running after the others. I meant to send an announcement. Actually, Mom did them for me since my hands were full.”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “It’s all right.”

“I’m … I’m glad to see you.”

“Maybe.” Tia’s smile twisted. “Maybe not so much.”

“No, really. Sit down.”

“I know you’re busy.”

“Always. You know how it is, running here and there and someone needing something every minute.” Tia smiled as though she knew.

“But what are you doing here?” Reba slid the hair behind her ear, a simple yet elegant gesture.

And now it came to it. “I wanted to ask your forgiveness.”

Reba searched her face, then looked down at her hands. “That was a long time ago.”

“I apologized then and understood why you couldn’t accept it. If anything, I understand more now. But …”

Reba looked down. “I don’t want to dredge it up.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Tia pushed up from the couch. “Then I’ll go. I need to tell Mom—”

“How is Jonah?”

Tia swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“You’re not together anymore?”

“We’ve never been.”

Reba shot her a disbelieving look.

Tia tipped her head. “Did you think we were?”