The Comforts of Home (42 page)

She’d left Marty five messages on his cel , and he’d never answered one. Apparently he’d stepped out of this one life and into another. She didn’t know if he’d been forced or bribed to go back to Dal as, but she knew he didn’t go wil ingly. The memory of him saying he didn’t know if he had the strength to fight worried her. Had he given in to his father’s plan of care, or had he simply given in?

She wanted to be there to help him, but he wouldn’t want her there to watch him die. Whatever had pul ed him away, Marty wanted to deal with it alone, and she’d never know if he was forgetting her or somehow thought he was sparing her pain.

A part of Ronny thought if she just didn’t get up today, she wouldn’t have to face anything, but after fighting back tears for an hour, she knew that wasn’t true.

Final y, when al was quiet in the kitchen, Ronny stood and slipped into her old baggy pants and T-shirt. She tiptoed out the back door of the funeral home and crossed to the muddy creek bed. Branches and trash cluttered the path now, making it look dirty and unwelcoming, but she maneuvered through the boards and pieces of roofing, not caring that her shoes were caked in mud.

The morning was bright, almost as if nature were smiling and saying,
Sorry about all the mess
.

Buffalo’s Bar had lost most of the roof. The trailer park that had been down in the cottonwoods just out of town since Gypsies camped there in the 1890s, was pretty much destroyed. Tyler told her last night there were a dozen injuries, but no one hurt badly. A construction site over by the mal had had lumber and supplies piled up for a new restaurant. Most of it had vanished in the wind.

Ronny climbed the side of the creek bed a few houses from where Marty’s duplex stood. Like several buildings, it had suffered damage. Most of the ramp Marty had used to get in and out of the house was gone, and one of the Biggs windows had been blown out, probably by flying lumber, Ronny thought. The old Mission-style duplex looked pretty much the same, considering the fact that it had probably stood years of winds.

When she reached the front door, Ronny bumped into Martha Q coming out of Marty’s place.

“Oh.” Martha Q looked surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here. If you’re delivering the mail, the man moved out yesterday.”

Ronny kept her head down and backed away. She didn’t want to talk to Martha Q. Martha Q, on the other hand, seemed to have something to say. She closed in faster than Ronny could back away.

“I heard you moved out on your mother. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it years ago. By the time I was your age I’d been married twice.”

Ronny figured everyone in town had heard some version of the story, truth or not. Apparently, Martha Q

hadn’t heard that she’d been at Marty’s place the night her mother caused al the trouble. That was al right; people wouldn’t believe that a man like Marty would have anything to do with someone like her.

“About time you spread your wings,” Martha Q huffed.

“There’s nothing wrong with your brain, is there? You can think for yourself, count money, open a can so you won’t starve?”

Ronny almost laughed, thinking of how she’d flown once down a back road with the windows down. “What are you asking, Mrs. Patterson?” Just because Ronny never said a word when she was around the innkeeper didn’t mean that something was wrong with her. She’d managed to get through three years of col ege online, and that hadn’t been easy with her gaps in education after being homeschooled by a mother who thought math was a waste of time.

Martha Q stared at her. “You got enough money, girl? If I know Dal as, she didn’t give you a dime.”

“I have money.” It crossed Ronny’s mind that everything she said might be relayed to her mother. “I’l be fine. I’ve been gone almost a week and haven’t had to eat a frozen dinner once. I can learn to cook when I have my own place.” That she wasn’t sure of, but she wasn’t going to admit it to anyone.

“Oh, you can, can you?”

“I’m already col ecting recipes. Stel a, who works part time at the funeral home, was a home economics teacher.

She knows everything about cooking.”

Martha Q raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here if you’re not delivering mail?”

“Just looking around.” Ronny had had enough of answering questions. She began to back up.

Martha Q wasn’t finished. “Wel , since you’ve looked around, do you want to rent this place or not? Mr. Winslow cal ed me early yesterday and told me he was leaving. I told him he wouldn’t get his rent back for the month and he said you might want to move into the place. I’d have to increase the rent by twenty-five dol ars what with al the repairs I’m going to have to do, but I don’t see any reason you can’t move in and have the last of the month free since he already paid.”

She looked into the apartment and saw Marty’s cookbooks stil on the shelves in the kitchen. “What would I do with al the stuff he left?”

“Keep it or throw it out,” Martha Q said. “If you take this place, you take it as is. I’m not paying to have it cleaned or painted.”

“I’l take it.”

Martha Q seemed to have second thoughts. “You do know who your neighbors are?”

“Yes.”

Martha Q gave her a look that said she was questioning her mental capacity again. “I guess I could spare a few chairs and a dresser. Come over once you move in and we’l look in the attic.”

“Al right. I’l bring you the money for next month’s rent Monday, but could I pay you two hundred now in advance?

I’d like to start cleaning up from the storm.” Martha Q handed her the key.

Ronny paid her and walked into her new place. It needed everything—furniture, paint, a real bed—but none of that mattered. It was hers. She walked through the rooms and the memories, almost feeling Marty with her.

Border dropped by a half hour later and found her organizing the books. “Mrs. Q told me you rented the place.

I think Marty wil be glad to hear that when he cal s.”

“If he cal s,” she added.

“He’l cal . You’l see. Besides, he promised to come hear me play, and I’ve never known him to break a promise.” He walked through to the bedroom. “I’l get al the equipment out of the way.”

“How’s your brother this morning?”

“He’s doing great. Autumn and Wil ie were with him this morning. Both say he’s a real hero and I think my brother real y likes hearing that.”

She helped him carry a weight bench to the porch as he continued, “You know, I don’t think I knew how many friends Bran had until last night. His room was packed. Even the boss from his construction site came.”

“I count both of you as my friends,” she said, thinking few would come to her room if she was hurt.

“Oh, you bet.” Border went back for another load. “I’l be glad to help you out anytime you need some lifting. Bran said Marty was teaching you to drive and I should take out the Volvo and let you practice. I don’t mind. I don’t think I’ve ever taught anyone anything.”

“Fair enough,” she said as he hauled the last of the weights out.

He stopped and looked at her. “If Beau and I make too much noise for you, just bang on the wal . We’l keep it down.”

“I don’t think I’l mind at al .”

She went back into the house. Even with some of Marty’s things missing, she stil felt him in the house. He’d liked the kitchen, and she had a feeling it would become her favorite room.

She brushed her hands along the row of cookbooks.

She’d start here, learning everything he’d learned. She’d work on her classes every night on his desk, and she’d wait and hope. When he was able, he’d come back.

The book beneath the counter caught her eye. She pul ed it out and opened the place where he hid his money.

If he’d had any time before he left, he would have left her a message in the secret hol ow book.

The white envelope lay on top. He’d written one word in a hurried hand. Hundred-dol ar bil s fanned out from inside as she picked the envelope up, but she barely noticed them.

One word. His last wish. His last hope for her.

Ronny ran her fingers over Marty’s writing and said the word out loud.

Grow.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I wil ,” she said. “I promise.”

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JUST DOWN THE ROAD

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SEPTEMBER

DR. ADDISON SPENCER STOOD BETWEEN THE

EMERGENCY room doors of Harmony’s only hospital and waited for the next wave of trouble to storm the door. The reflection of her tal , slim body dressed in white appeared more ghost than human in the smoky glass. For a blink, Addison feared she might be fading away like an old photograph facing the sun. When she’d been a child with light blond hair, her father had cal ed her his sunshine; now there seemed little sunshine left. If it weren’t for her work she’d have no anchor to hang on to in life.

Saturday night on a payday weekend always promised a ful house in the ER, yet the wind just beyond the glass whispered change. She’d already been up since four A.M.

delivering twins to a teen mother who yel ed al the way through the birthing, but Addison’s shift wouldn’t be over tonight until the bars closed. If a fight didn’t break out in the parking lot, maybe, just maybe, she could be in bed by two.

She thought of the silence at the little place she’d rented a few miles from town. An old four-room house with hand-me-down furniture from decades past. Nothing special.

Nothing grand. Only the porch wrapped al the way around, and in every direction was peace. A single neighbor’s place spotted the landscape to the south. Cornfields were to the east and rocky untamed land to the north and west.

Closing her eyes, she wished she were already there.

“Dr. Spencer?” Nurse Georgia Veasey’s voice echoed behind her.

“Yes?” Addison turned, trying hard not to show any hint of the exhaustion she felt. One of her med school professors had drummed into everyone he taught that a professional gives her best until she drops and can give nothing at al . He often ranted that a career in medicine left little room for life beyond the hospital wal s, and for Addison that seemed perfect. One bad marriage had taught her al she wanted to know of the world outside.

“Harley phoned in from the bar.” Georgia moved closer, as though looking through the night for trouble. “Appears we got a pickup load of roughnecks coming in al bleeding and cussing.”

A year ago she wouldn’t have known what the nurse was talking about. She’d learned that roughnecks were oil field workers. “Who’d they fight?” she asked, without any real interest. Half the time the drunks couldn’t answer that question themselves when she asked.

“One man, apparently, but the cal er said it was Tinch Turner. From what I hear, he never joins in a fight unless the odds are five to one.”

Addison understood. “Get six rooms ready.” She’d be stitching up the load of roughnecks and probably operating on the fool who took them al on. “I’l go scrub up. You know what to do.”

The head nurse nodded. She’d start the staff cleaning up blood and giving shots while their drunk patients turned from fighters to babies. The nurses and aides would comfort the boys in grown men’s bodies as they sewed them up and cal ed someone to come get them. Addison knew Georgia would send the most seriously hurt one to the first room. She would be waiting there, ready to do her best one more time.

As she moved inside, Addison stopped long enough to pour a strong cup of black coffee. She hated coffee, but going into her twentieth hour on her feet, she needed something to keep her awake. Odds were good in a few minutes she’d be trying to save the life of some jerk who should have gone home to his wife and family after work.

Some doctors loved the emergency room and practiced there for their entire career, but Addison knew she’d finish out her contract here in Harmony and head back east somewhere. The problem that had driven her here was over. In four months she’d pick a new town on the map, find a hospital that needed her, and get back on her career track.

TINCH TURNER WAITED IN HIS PICKUP FOR ALL

THE OIL field workers to pile out and go into the ER. They’d have a few black eyes, a few stitches, but he knew from experience that none of them were hurt bad enough to be admitted. Tinch just had to break up the fight as fast as he could, and sometimes the easiest way to get trouble’s attention is to hit it between the eyes.

Next week he’d buy the boys a drink and explain to them that if they were in Harmony they needed to behave.

Howard Samuels shouldn’t have started cal ing them oil field trash, but every one of the roughnecks had been flirting with Samuel’s wife. She was barroom beautiful and tended to forget she was married when she drank. Tinch had seen her flirt before, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted Samuel to be jealous or dead.

Closing his eyes, Tinch told himself he should have stayed out of it. Several others in the bar could have stepped in to help Howard. But Tinch had tossed caution out the window about the time he gave up on caring whether he lived or died. Somehow, taking a few blows reminded him that he could stil feel.