Jilted (23 page)

“Clyde Felton is making me crazy.”

“Aw, Lynda.” Velma tittered softly. “You were already pretty loony.”

Sunday evening we sat alone at the rickety picnic table in her backyard, watching the sky darken. “I don't need any more loony in my life, Velma. I've had enough of it to last awhile.”

“I'm beginning to think crazy is the new normal.” She picked at a chip of flaking paint on the tabletop. “Just when I think things will settle down, something happens to stir them up again. Makes me wonder what's next.”

It was strange to hear Velma talking so pessimistically, and it reminded me that I was supposed to be comforting her, not whining about Clyde. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No matter.” She peered far across the pasture, where all the cedars leaned slightly to the left, pushed over the years to the same angle by a gentle yet persistent wind. “Storm's blowing in.”

“They said the worst of it will pass us by.”

“Good,” she said. “It's nice out here. Calm.”

At that moment Velma's backyard was the only place on the property that wasn't crowded with family members. Her grandchildren had been put to bed on pallets, air mattresses, and roll-away beds—both in her house and in Fawn and JohnScott's double-wide fifty yards down the fence line. Her children and their spouses were congregated in her living room, talking and laughing, remembering good times with their dad.

All except JohnScott. He and Fawn had decided to go into town for worship, since they had missed services that morning. JohnScott had told his mother and sisters he needed the strength that would come from meeting with the saints, and even though they silently clucked their tongues in speculation, I got the impression that a few of them were envious of his connection to the church … even if they didn't understand it.

“How you holding up?” I asked.

Her mouth curved downward in a facial shrug. “I'll be all right.”

In the past three days, I had seen Ansel's family—my family—slip back and forth between grief and joy, one minute crying from their loss and the next minute laughing at a recollection of happy times. But through it all, they bolstered each other up, and even though Velma didn't realize it, they were all being extra careful of their mother's feelings. “You can be sad, you know,” I said. “Your kids expect it.”

“I know they do.” She peered at a bank of clouds far on the horizon. “But with all of them here, I've got other things to think about—Lilly's lost tooth and what's for dinner and will the toilet paper last through the week—so my grief is on hold for a while. You know what I mean … the hardest part of it.” Her plump arms wrapped across her abdomen, and she patted both elbows. “It's sure nice having them here, though. They're reminding me of Ansel's life, and it don't leave much time for me to harp on his death.”

“That'll come later?”

“And then some.” She slid off the picnic bench and hobbled to a flowerpot, which she picked up and set beneath the faucet on the back wall of the house. She eased the water on. “Sometimes I wish Momma was still around,” she said, “just for her hugs.”

The cloud bank was rolling in, and a cool breeze came with it. “I had forgotten how much she did that. Her hugs were long and lingering, weren't they?”

“Annoyingly so,” Velma said. “I've never been one for physical contact, but now I'd give anything for her touch.”

Ansel's blue heeler, Rowdy, trotted around from the side of the house and stopped to lap water from Velma's overflowing flowerpot. She scratched his head, then bent to turn off the water, leaving the pot where it sat.

“Daddy's the one I miss most.” I surprised myself with this declaration. “When he died, I felt lost without him.”

Stepping past the table, Velma picked up a football one of the kids had left outside. “We all need someone to take care of us.”

For years I had fought to keep people at a distance, not wanting to admit I needed them. “I never really got that, did I?”

She held the ball under her elbow like a running back. “But now … Clyde?”

“I guess he could take care of me.”
Maybe.

“You could take care of each other.”

Turning slightly I let the wind blow me straight in the face. “Is that how it's supposed to be?”

“Ideally.” She set the football on the table, then sat down. “Men need just as much taking care of as women do. But in a different way.”

“It just seems like everyone leaves me, but I guess if Momma and Daddy hadn't left, I would've handled it better.”

“Don't say they left. That sounds like they had a choice in the matter.”

“Okay, when they
died
.”

She nodded emphatically. “They died.”

“That's all they did.” My voice trailed off. “They died.”

She gave the dog another pat. “How's your grieving coming along?”

“All right,” I said. “It's not as bad for me, since Ansel was my brother-in-law.”

She clucked her tongue. “Land sakes, girl. I wasn't talking about Ansel.”

For a moment my thoughts swirled, and when they settled, I mumbled, “You mean Hoby.”

“We're both widows now.”

My chest expanded, but then it fell back into its normal pattern of intake and exhale, and I thought I knew a little how Velma felt. With the investigation and Ansel's death and Clyde's …
whatever
, I had too many things distracting me from my grief, but I could figure it out later. And then some.

Velma squinted, and her nose scrunched slightly. “Will they bury him? I suppose they'll have to.”

“Eww. There have been way too many gross thoughts associated with that husband of mine.”

“It's been a bizarre week. That's for sure. By the way …” She studied me for a second while she pursed her lips. “Sophie Snodgrass was out here earlier today. Supposedly to drop off a casserole, but it seemed more like a ploy to dump gossip on a slew of out-of-towners. Anyhoo. She was blabbering about that old pistol of Neil Blaylock's. You heard anything?”

I felt relief at the change in topic. “Hector explained it, but it still seems sketchy. He thinks Hoby was killed around Christmas, which would have been handy for Neil, because his gun was stolen the first week in December.”

Velma frowned but nodded.

“The problem with his story is that he didn't file the insurance claim until January. So according to Hector, Neil looks like he's lying about the gun being stolen.”

“So if they can find the gun, then they can match the bullet?”

“Apparently.”

“But what good will that do if they can't find Neil himself?”

I shrugged. “I can't picture Neil ever leaving Trapp. This place is in his bones.” A shiver raced up my spine and down my arm. “I can't believe I said that. It's creepy.”

“Sure enough. Bones are creepy.” She said it as though it didn't matter one bit, and I began to think it didn't.

Rustling movements came from the house, and through the sliding-glass door, we heard the weather radio blaring. The laughter in the living room increased in volume as the monotone voice described the coming storm.

“Time for me to go home.”

“You're welcome to stay.”

I chuckled. “Velma, if a storm hits, you don't have closet space for all your grandkids, much less me.”

“Aw, Lynda. We're a couple weeks past tornado season. Besides, nothing ever comes of those radio alerts … except to get the young ones excited. Now they'll be asking for flashlights to play with.” We stood, and Velma snapped her fingers to get the dog to follow her to the mudroom.

I pulled my car keys from my pocket and turned toward the hatchback. I'd go home and wait for the storm to pass, then find Ruthie and try to comfort her like Velma comforted me. After that, I'd call Clyde and make peace with him. If I could give up my memories, he just might be able to give up his.

Velma wasn't the only one who could have a family that laughed and talked together. She wasn't the only one who deserved it.

Clyde didn't mind working an extra shift on Sunday.
The Lord's Day.
Lynda made it clear she didn't want to see him, but he hadn't figured out what to do about it. Throwing himself into his work felt therapeutic, a distraction from his problems. Besides—like she said—he enjoyed cooking. He flipped the switch to darken the Dairy Queen sign, then hurried through his cleaning chores, hoping to make it home before the storm hit.

The water was hot on his skin as he rinsed the sink. Lynda had seen into his heart in more ways than one, and a gentle apprehension settled over him as he thought about how badly he had hurt her. All because of his shack on the Caprock. The place had always pulled at him, but he told himself it was because of his grandpappy and the memories before Clyde went away. If he had been honest with himself, he would have known it was more than that.

Lynda had seen it.

But what she didn't understand—and Clyde hoped she would let him explain—was that it wasn't the memory of the sex itself. It wasn't his feelings for Susan. It certainly wasn't love or longing for what might have been. The pull of that property hit him deeper, more personally, like a self-inflicted wound. Clyde held on to the house as a means of keeping himself right where he belonged, working at the Dairy Queen, living in a trailer house, sitting on the back pew at worship.

He picked up a case of Fritos and emptied it onto a metal rack by his workstation.
Frito pie.
He shook his head. If he ever opened a restaurant, he'd serve something that took longer than forty-five seconds to prepare. Several hollow popping sounds came from the dining room, and he looked up to see paper cups and other trash blowing across the parking lot and knocking against the glass door. He paused with his hand on a bag of corn chips as lightning flashed behind the roof of the Allsup's across the street and, a few seconds later, a crash of thunder boomed. There had been a lot of talk about the weather—customers going on about the forecast and the intensity of the high winds—but the brunt of the storm was due to hit south of Trapp, so he wasn't overly concerned. Clyde had lived in Texas forty-three years and had never seen a tornado. Most people hadn't.

He glanced around the kitchen, checking to see if anything else needed tending to before he left, and he realized he didn't want to go home. He wanted to go by Lynda's house and explain, make her listen, tell her everything would be all right. See if she would smile again.

He reached for his matches and slipped them into his pocket. Someday he would have to try Lynda's suggestion of chewing spearmint gum when he was slicing onions. He turned out the lights, picked up the trash bags, and slipped out the back door, letting it lock behind him. The force of the wind surprised him, and he gripped the bags tightly so they wouldn't slip from his hands.

He was halfway to the Dumpster before he noticed Neil's truck in the lot. Supposedly the man was armed and dangerous, but obviously he wasn't halfway to the border yet. Clyde tossed the garbage into the Dumpster, slammed the metal lid, and turned toward his sedan, steeling himself for whatever his old friend might do. Maybe Neil would be angry. Maybe he would pull out a gun and shoot Clyde in the head. Maybe he would simply run him down with his truck. None of those scenarios frightened Clyde nearly as much as the possibility that Neil would go after Lynda.

Lightning shot sideways across the sky and the resulting thunderclap vibrated the ground. The truck was parked three spots past his sedan, so Clyde could have slipped into his car and taken off, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned into the wind, walked past his own car, and stopped just on the other side. He was near an overhead light, and its glow spread an arc two yards past his feet, but Neil's truck lay in shadows.

Lightning illuminated the cab, and Clyde could see Neil's outline, hunkered over the steering wheel. He thought the driver's window was down on the truck, but if Neil spoke to him, Clyde wouldn't be able to hear over the wind and thunder. The pickup door opened, and the dome light behind Neil transformed him into a gray silhouette, and Clyde couldn't see the expression on his face. He could tell Neil's hands were empty, though.

The rancher slid off the seat and stood with his hand on the door, appearing shorter than usual. Neil's shoulders slumped uncharacteristically, and when he shut the door, Clyde could tell it didn't close all the way, as if Neil didn't have the strength to slam it.

Clyde lifted his hand in a half wave, not knowing what else to do, and Neil took a few steps, bringing himself under the glow of the light. Clyde wasn't prepared for what he saw. Neil's hair was mussed, and his clothes were wrinkled, his shirttail wadded behind his belt buckle. He seemed to be wearing some sort of loafers. Outside of football practices years ago, Clyde couldn't remember ever seeing Neil wear anything other than starched Wranglers and polished boots, but the biggest difference lay in his face. His pale skin contorted beneath the glow of the lamp, and with every crash of thunder, his cheekbones became skeletal. If Clyde hadn't seen this person get out of Neil's truck, he might not have recognized him at all.

“About time you got out here.” Even the sound of Neil's voice was strange, high pitched and warped by the wind, yet still demanding.

Clyde felt as if he were standing in front of a wild stallion that might rear back at any moment, crushing him under his hooves. An unpredictable beast. A jolt of fear raced through Clyde until he realized Neil had always been unpredictable. He'd always been a little bit of a monster. Clyde's nerves settled. Not only were Neil's hands empty, but they fell down to his sides—limp. At the moment Neil Blaylock didn't seem capable of hurting anyone.

“You all right?” Clyde asked.

Neil pointed at him. “You never should have slept with my wife.”

Clyde expected Neil to say something about Hoby, or the investigation, maybe even Fawn or Nathan, but not Susan. Neil rarely mentioned her except in reference to her being Fawn's mother.

Clyde raised his voice to be heard over the increasing wind. “You're right. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry.” Clyde could have argued with him about Susan—
It was years ago. She was just as guilty. Susan wasn't your wife then
—but he had long since had the defensiveness sapped out of him. He looked down at a plastic drinking straw bouncing across the asphalt. “I should have apologized before now.”

The temperature suddenly dropped several degrees, and Clyde inhaled deeply, invigorated by the coolness even under the circumstances, but Neil wrapped his arms around himself. He took three steps toward the light pole, then three steps back. “She's yours now.”

Clyde frowned. “I've got no hold on your wife, Neil. She loves you, and she'll stand by you through this thing.” A bolt of lightning shot down, striking a telephone pole a block away, but Neil didn't seem to notice.

“You ruined her life, Clyde, and you owe it to her to see she's taken care of.”

“What about you?” If Clyde hadn't known better, he would have thought Neil had been drinking. He certainly looked the part, and his reflexes seemed delayed, but Neil had never been one to lean on the bottle, and he didn't smell like it now.

“Don't worry about me.” Neil took a step toward his truck. “My dad is meeting me at the border tonight.”

Tension gripped Clyde, but it had nothing to do with the storm and everything to do with the fact that Gerald Blaylock had been dead for years. Clyde bent at the waist, fighting the wind and growing more concerned about Neil.

Neil's gaze bounced to the Allsup's, where an RV swerved into the parking lot, and two people bounded out and ran into the store. “Susan's set with enough money to last the rest of her life, but she'll need help managing things. She couldn't run a ranch to save her life, and my foreman's likely to take advantage of her ignorance. You'll do well out there. The guest bed is made up.”

Clyde got a sick feeling in his stomach just as the weather siren down at the volunteer fire department went off, sounding as though it had to work its way up to full speed.

“So you're headed south?” Clyde's gaze roamed the sky. Something felt wrong in the air, and the light from the streetlamps seemed to glow with a greenish tint.

“Take care of Fawn and Nathan, too. You owe it to them.” Neil swayed as he struggled toward his truck, and Clyde followed, trying to get in front of him.

A clatter of thunder echoed and a simultaneous burst of lightning lit up the sky half a mile beyond the Dairy Queen, and as it flashed, Clyde glimpsed a funnel cloud in the distance, so large it looked like a wall of fury. His heart beat hard against his rib cage, and he lunged after Neil, grabbing him by the arm. “We've got to get inside. There's a tornado!”

Neil jerked his arm away. “Get off me. My dad will be furious if I'm late.”

“Neil! Look around you. There's a storm!” Clyde was shouting now, the only way to be heard over the increasing roar of a hundred jet planes speeding past them.

Neil yelled something Clyde couldn't hear, and then he reached for the door handle of his truck. On the other side of the street, the lighted sign at the Allsup's swayed, and the outside trash bins tumbled between the gas pumps and rolled down the street and out of sight.

A sudden surge of wind slammed both men against the truck.

Neil's eyes grew wide, crazed, and he shoved against Clyde. Another flare in the sky showed the tornado coming closer, and in the second it took Neil and Clyde to turn their heads and look, the Allsup's sign fell and slammed against the pavement among a flurry of sparks.

Finally Neil yielded to Clyde's tugging, and both men raced for the back door of the restaurant, Clyde fumbling for his keys. Just as he pulled them from his pocket, the power went out through the whole town, leaving them in violent darkness, broken intermittently by enraged strobe lights.

Neil didn't wait for Clyde to unlock the door, but reared back and slammed his shoulder against it. The second time, Clyde joined him, and the door broke open, banging against the time clock.

The kitchen alternated from darkness to light as the storm flashed through the dining room windows, and just as the two men scurried through the kitchen, Clyde saw his sedan slide across the lot.

“What can we get under?” Neil called over the moan of the storm.

“Walk-in freezer's our best bet. Get inside.”

“Don't be an idiot!” Neil started to crawl beneath the front counter, but just then the windows shattered, and nuggets of glass shot past them. Neil cried out and bolted toward the freezer door.

The kitchen seemed to lift a foot off the ground, hovering around them, and Clyde had a feeling of weightlessness just before something big and heavy slammed against him, pinning him to the back wall. “Help me!”

Neil had fallen, but he lumbered to his feet, and together they shoved the metal appliance far enough for Clyde to slip from behind it.

Neil opened the freezer door and yelled something, but the shrieking of the storm drowned out his voice. Clyde tried to follow, but when he put weight on his left leg, he fell to the ground. He struggled to stand, but the leg wouldn't hold him, and he ended up crawling.

Hand over hand, Clyde worked his way across the floor, but then Neil grabbed him under the armpits and jerked him the rest of the way into the freezer. Just as the door closed behind them, Clyde heard ripping and pounding as though the kitchen were being trampled by a herd of angry longhorns.

He said a silent prayer.