Not Dead Enough (25 page)

Chapter Fifty-two

I found myself buried in court appearances and depositions during the following week. I was locking up my office after a particularly busy day when the phone on my desk rang. I dashed back in and caught it on the fourth ring.

A familiar voice said, “Cal? I'm glad I caught you. It's Jason Townsend. How are you?”

He went on to invite me to what he described as an important meeting of his closest advisors for that Friday night. I told him I hardly qualified as an advisor, let alone a close one, but he insisted I come. He was evasive about the purpose of the meeting but managed to pique my curiosity. I told him I'd be there.

***

The meeting was at his father's estate on the Willamette River. It was seven in the evening, and the horses were in the stable, although stable seemed an inadequate term—‘palatial equine structure' would be more accurate. Plum trees in full flower lined the drive, and the manicured pasture to my left looked like a fairway at the Masters, even in the fading light. I parked my car on cobblestones, followed the murmur of voices around the side of the house, and let myself onto the patio through a gate covered with English ivy.

I knew some of the players by now, but the throng of supporters had grown considerably. The professor from Lewis and Clark was huddled with the emigration activist and the Portland artist. They were speaking in low, conspiratorial tones. The rest of the group, including Winona, was gathered around Sam DeSilva. I didn't see Jason Townsend or his father, Royce. When DeSilva saw me, he broke from the group and came toward me like a heat-seeking missile.

“You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here, Claxton.”

“It's nice to see you, too, Sam.”

The color in his neck deepened a shade, and the healed scratch marks on his face turned purple. “You're the one who suggested to the police that Royce might've had some connection to that crazy bastard Norquist, aren't you?”

“What I told the police is none of your business.”

“Well, we kept the lid on the publicity, but it could have crippled the campaign. Why don't you just turn around and get the fuck out of here?”

“I'm an invited guest,” I answered and brushed past him.

Winona saw the encounter and came up next to me. “What was that all about?” She looked anxious, but there was a fragment of something new in her eyes as well, something I couldn't read.

“Oh, just Sam being Sam. So, this doesn't feel like another political strategy meeting. What's up, anyway?”

Her smile turned bittersweet. “I'll let Jason tell you.”

As if on cue, Royce Townsend and his wife came out of the house with Jason Townsend walking between them. The gathered supporters of the campaign turned to face them and fell silent. Obviously, they'd sensed the same vibe I had. Winona took her place beside Jason, taking his hand.

Jason cleared his throat, let go of Winona's hand, and stepped forward. “Good evening, folks. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” He glanced back nervously at his father, who stared straight ahead like a stone statue. His stepmother had a glued on smile that hinted something awkward might be afoot. In contrast, Winona looked serene. “I also want to thank you for the support you've given me over these past months. The advice, the hard work, the campaign contributions, it's all been incredible. I'm deeply honored that you find me worthy to represent you in the U.S. Senate, and that's what I want to talk about tonight. I, uh, have an important announcement to make and wanted you to be the first to hear it.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sam shift his feet nervously, a puzzled look on his face.

Jason focused on something behind the group, and the easy, boyish charm he'd always exuded seemed gone. In its place was the look of a man who'd come to terms with a difficult decision. “I believe it was Plato who said, ‘The life which is unexamined in not worth living.' Well, I've examined my life and decided to make some changes and own up to some things.” He paused for a moment and brought his gaze back to the group. “Effective immediately, I've decided to drop out of the race.”

The group gasped in near perfect unison and then went silent. I heard a horse whinny out in the barn. “What?” Sam DeSilva said, stepping forward. Smiling in disbelief, it was clear he hoped what he'd just heard was a joke. The smile disintegrated as he and Jason stood looking at each other. “You can't do this,” he said, shifting his eyes to Royce Townsend. “Royce, what the hell's going on? Tell him he can't just up and quit. He's a lock to win this damn thing. Tell him, Royce.”

Royce Townsend looked straight ahead and didn't answer.

“What about the money these people donated? Have you thought of that?” Sam's face was flushed. A glistening thread of spittle dangled from the corner of his mouth.

Jason wrinkled his brow and shook his head as if he were dismissing the antics of a small child. He said, “Sam, would you be quiet, please? You know very well we haven't spent that much from our war chest. We'll be glad to refund people's donations. But I'm not finished.” He turned and offered his hand to Winona, who took it and stepped forward, a nervous smile on her face.

My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard.

“Winona and I have made a joint decision to end our engagement.”

A collective groan rippled across the group. The Hispanic activist cried out, “Oh, no!”

Jason raised his hand in a calming gesture. “Please, it's the best thing for both of us. We remain the best of friends.” Then he turned to Winona and added, “We both know now that we entered into the engagement for the wrong reasons.”

Winona smiled and nodded her encouragement.

The economics professor said, “What are you going to do now?”

Jason stood there for a moment as if he'd been waiting for that particular question. His lips traced a faint smile. “I plan to serve out my term in the Oregon Senate and then decide what's next. I, I'm really not sure I'm cut out for politics.” He paused for a couple of beats. “And I plan to live my life as an openly gay man.”

The room went completely silent. Jason continued, “I want to be clear about one thing—I'm not dropping out because I'm gay. I'm just not sure politics is what I want to do the rest of my life.”

By this time, Sam DeSilva looked like a balloon with its air let out. He stepped unsteadily up to Jason and said in a low voice, “After all I've done for you, this is how you repay me? I was handing you a Senate seat on a platter, and this is how you react? You're going back to that little faggot Hanson?”

A collective groan rose from the assembled guests. Jason stood his ground, regarding Sam with a look of pity. Then another voice said, “Sam, I think it would be best if you left now.” It was Royce Townsend. His tone left no room for misinterpretation.

Sam spun on his heels and walked out, muttering to himself.

I looked around just in time to see Winona disappear into the house with the Townsends. I stayed around, hoping she'd come back out of the house. I wanted to reassure myself she was okay. None of the others left right away, either. There was a need to talk, the jarring news seeming to forge a new level of camaraderie among Jason's spurned supporters. It was safe to say no one saw this coming.

I gave up after fifteen minutes. I was fumbling for my keys next to my car in the darkness when I heard a voice behind me. “Cal, is that you?”

It was Winona.

Chapter Fifty-three

I turned and saw Winona's silhouette backlit by a landscape light. I said, “Oh, hi. I was just leaving.”

She wove her way through a bed of rhododendrons, and when she stopped in front of me I caught a hint of lavender from her hair. “I'm glad I caught you, Cal. Jason and his father are having another, um, discussion. I came with him tonight, and I'm exhausted. Do you suppose you could give me a lift home?”

When we got out to the road, I said, “Look, we're closer to my place. Why don't you come to the Aerie? You can sleep in my guest room, and I'll take you back in the morning, after I feed you a proper breakfast.”

“Do you make pancakes?”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Okay, the Aerie it is.”

She was asleep before we reached the Pacific Highway. When we got to the Aerie, I nudged her gently to wake her and led her up the stairs to the guest room. I started to leave, but she turned and put her arms around my neck. I kept my distance for a few awkward moments as my resolve left me like so much smoke in the wind. She tugged softly on my neck, and our bodies met, tentatively at first, and then full on with a hungry urgency. I could feel her heart pounding, her breath entering and leaving her lungs. I began kissing her face, her hair, her eyes, the soft hollows of her neck. We rolled on our sides and undressed each other, flinging the clothes on either side of the bed, and then we were joined. I abandoned any hope of slowing myself down, the end coming like the breaking of a dam on some river in my mind.

Afterwards, there were few words. We slept deeply, pressed against each other. In the morning we made love again, this time more slowly.

While I made breakfast, Winona began pouring her heart out about Jason Townsend and the decision they'd finally come to. To me, it was something personal between them, and I wasn't sure how much I really wanted to hear, although I listened without protest. At one point, though, curiosity got the better of me. I said, “If he hadn't come out, would you have gone through with the marriage?”

She was sitting at the breakfast table, looking fresh and beautiful. The valley pulsed with color, and highlights from the morning sun rippled in her hair. She paused for a moment. “I don't really know. I loved Jason in an admiring kind of way—not romantically—and I thought he loved me. I figured that might be enough, that it would be something to build on. But when you and I talked after David left, I began to look at the situation differently, although I think on some level I already knew. There was something about David, you know? He and I agreed on the issues, but I always got this vibe from him. He was so, so protective of Jason.” She paused again, wrinkled her brow, then chuckled. “At the time, I chalked it to loyalty, but it was jealousy, wasn't it.”

I nodded. “It went way beyond loyalty.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “You were carrying quite a secret around. How did you find out about Jason and David in the first place?”

“I happened to overhear a conversation between them that made me wonder. Then when I took David home after his fight with Sam, I got him to admit he and Jason were lovers.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I struggled with that. Part of me wanted to, you know, maybe break you two up. But I couldn't do it. It just wasn't any of my business. Hell, for all I knew, Jason was being perfectly open with you.”

Winona came over to the stove and hugged me. “Well, thanks for the discretion. I'm afraid I might have shot the messenger.”

I laughed. “That possibility certainly crossed my mind. At the very least, I wanted to keep you as a friend.”

We polished off two batches of pancakes while managing to keep the banter light. Afterwards, Winona went to the window and gazed out at the valley. Not one to shrink from delicate subjects, she said, “This place is beautiful but so isolated, like you've been exiled or something.” She turned around and faced me. “But I can understand wanting to be alone after what happened down in Los Angeles.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “I had to get away from myself. At least the self I used to be.” I made a sweeping gesture with my arm. “This seemed to be the best way to do that. Arch and I have everything we need up here.”

She smiled and met my eyes. “Is this the new Cal speaking?”

I thought for a moment. “You'll have to be the judge of that.” Then I asked, “What caused Jason's epiphany, anyway?”

She hesitated for a moment, considering, no doubt, whether to let me get away with changing the subject. She shrugged. “I began to see how he was being manipulated by his father and Sam. The last straw for me was when he caved on the dam removal plank. We had a long talk after that. I told him if he didn't start standing up to them, I'd break the engagement and quit the campaign.”

“I'll bet you didn't expect him to go as far as he did.”

“Oh, my God, no! I was shocked when he told me. But now I'm so proud of him. He's determined to find out who he really is.” She hesitated and then added, “And I'm relieved, too.”

I hoped she might elaborate on the last part, and I knew she was like me, so I waited. Matters of the heart didn't come easily for either of us.

Reading my mind again, she made a face at me and sighed. “Of course, things got complicated after I met you. I tried really hard to shut you out, but it didn't seem to work.”

“I have that effect on women.”

Her laughter put to flight two towhees at the feeder out on the deck. “In your dreams, Cal Claxton.” Then she tossed a wet dishrag at me.

We were out on the porch having coffee when my cell phone rang.

“Mr. Claxton? This is Shirley Norquist. I hope I didn't call too early.”

“Not at all,” I told her, my mind snapping to attention. Why was Jacob Norquist's mother calling me?

“I wanted to thank you again for your kind words after I lost Jacob. You had every reason to be angry, I suppose, but you showed forgiveness, and I appreciate that.”

“If what I said comforted you, I'm glad.”

She paused before going on. “But that's not why I called. I just received two boxes from the guide service my son worked for over in Boise. They contain some of his belongings from the last camp he stayed at before he came to Oregon. There're some papers, too. I opened the boxes but couldn't bring myself to sort through it all, but I figured someone should. They might shed light on what really happened to Jacob.”

“Have the police gone through the stuff?”

“I have no idea.”

“Have you talked to the State Police about this?”

“No. And I don't intend to, at least right now. They've made up their minds about my son. Besides, if they find anything embarrassing, it'll wind up in the papers.” She paused again, and I knew what was coming. “I was hoping you'd be willing to take a look at the boxes, Mr. Claxton. Maybe advise me about what to do.”

I agreed to have a look and told her I'd drive over that morning. I could imagine the Idaho guide service wanting to shed themselves of any and all things associated with Jacob Norquist and wasn't that surprised that the belongings had apparently been overlooked by the Idaho police. Shirley Norquist was mired in deep denial, too.

I snapped my cell shut and turned to Winona. “Want to take a ride?”