The First Law of Love (12 page)

“With Case?” I whispered. I was hugging myself around the middle, and loosed my hold just a fraction.

“Yes, indeed. Her father locked her away until she confessed the truth, and no one could quite believe that Owen Spicer, who was a good ten years older than Melinda, was the father. Even then he drank far too much, gambled a great deal, lived in a trailer out on the old Spicer property. And here, beautiful little Melinda Dalton was going to have his baby. Go figure.”

“She must have loved him a great deal,” I said, at once submerged in the romance of this notion, very unlike me; I was the least romantic woman I knew. My sisters were the romantics.

“I wish I could tell you that was true,” Clark said, and I looked his way sharply. He went on, his gaze trained on the far horizon, “Owen married her, very nearly at gunpoint insistence from old Edwin. And she moved out to live on the Spicer homestead, just a mile and a half from here, out on Ridge Road. The Spicers were hit hard in the 1930s, see, and never quite recovered. Reputations for being drunks and laggards, I hate to say. Case and Gus broke that mold. They're good men, the both of them, and I'd like to believe I've had a hand in that. The big house burned down back in 1971. Owen's pa hauled a trailer out there, in which they've lived ever since. It's rundown. Case keeps the barn like it was his home, instead. He cares more about his horses than just about anything.”

I thought of Cider and Buck, how I'd been able to touch them, to put my hands on something that mattered to Case more than just about anything.

I gulped a little.

Clark continued, “I knew Owen, of course, though we were never good friends. It was through my Faye that I got to know Melinda, as she and Faye became fast friends. Melinda brought Case over here to play with Garth and Marshall, when they were just little sprouts. I would never have guessed anything was wrong, truly. I was too busy ranching at the time, as we still had sheep in those days. But my Faye knew something wasn't right, knew that Owen was abusive to his wife. I wish now, God I wish now, that I would have done something more about it. A part of me felt as though I was imposing, that it wasn't my business. And I regret that very deeply. That's a part of why I tried so hard to care for those boys once Melinda passed.”

“How did she die? She was sick, wasn't she?” I asked quietly, holding myself tightly around the middle again. I had set my drink aside. From the corner of my eye, I saw Clark nod.

“She was, for a long spell before she passed. Case would have been about eight, Gus just a few months. Owen was a rotten son of a bitch, he truly was, though I wouldn't say as such to the boys, even now. He was their father. Even worse than old Edwin, though, in his own way. He was meaner than a snake to them when he drank.

“When Melinda died, Case rode out into the foothills on his horse and didn't come back for three days, until I saddled up and went after him. I rode out the moment I heard he was missing. Owen, damn him, didn't tell anyone at first, probably didn't even notice for a day or so. I was worried as hell. I love the boy, he and Gus both, like my own kin. I found him huddled in a cave where the boys all played once upon a time. Took my best talking to get him to come with me. Little fella was so weak from hunger he could hardly even stand up. His horse had already long since hightailed it for home. Case said he wanted to die so that he could go to heaven and find his ma.”

My heart had constricted into a tight, painful fist.

“I could hear exactly what old Edwin Dalton, Case's grandpa, would have said. He would have told the boy not to set his heart too much on earthly things, that's what, but that's always been Case's way, for better or worse. I told him how much we'd all regret it if he went to heaven so young. I told him that his little brother needed him. And sure enough, Case has cared for Gus like a father all these years. Fed him, clothed him, made sure his homework was done, all the while taking the brunt of Owen's tempers. He tried to hide it, Case I mean, when Owen would beat on him. I'll never forget the night I found out the truth. Owen had made Case shoot a dog earlier that day, a dog that he didn't want any more, one that wouldn't run off, and he made his son do it. Case was only ten years old, couldn't quite handle a pistol, but Owen called him a pussy and told him to do it or he'd whip him. So Case did it, shot the critter, and cried his eyes out. Owen gave him a beating anyway, for crying.”

I listened with the knuckles of one hand pressed hard to my lips. In law school I had been presented with all manner of depositions, statements, testimonies, all for the purpose of study and speculation, the building of imaginary cases. I had been privy to information that would make anyone curl up with horror. And yet nothing had ever affected me this way, as though I'd been slammed in the gut with a baseball bat.

“I could have kicked myself in the head for not acting sooner. I rode over to their place and made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that if Owen ever laid a hand on the boys again, I would shoot
him
.”

“You did?” I whispered, suddenly hard-pressed to recall that this was 2013, well into the twenty-first century. People didn't behave this way any longer. Yet here sat proof that they did, indeed.

“I did. And I don't regret it a minute. Long story short, Owen cleaned up a little after that. Never heard about him beating on the boys again, but I would imagine he still did. Case is a great one for keeping secrets. He and Gus very nearly lived here most of their teenage years. Faye adored them. My boys and them may as well be actual brothers.” He looked my way and said, “I don't tell you any of this lightly, honey. I just want you to have a little insight. See, Case won't admit to anything anymore, won't admit that he feels a thing for you. But I know him well enough to see the hope in him, now that you're here for the summer. Making excuses to be near you. Thinking it might be different this time.”

“What about his ex-wife?” I asked, and my throat belied my unwitting emotion, as it was raspy and hoarse.

“Lynnette,” Clark affirmed. “They wed in 2009. Lynnette claimed to be pregnant, that's what sparked the whole thing, ironically, just like Melinda back when. But Case is nothing like his pa. He did right by Lynn and married her without a word of protest. Then she claimed a miscarriage a month or so later. I don't know. Never felt right to me. They fought a great deal. She hated that he worked late nights, performing. They split about a year and a half ago.”

“He was married that summer you came to visit Landon?” I asked. When Clark told Marshall he'd break bones if any of them tried anything with me.

“That's the only reason he didn't join us,” Clark said. “He wanted to come, something fierce, but Lynn said
no sir
.”

“Where is she now?” I asked, I hoped casually.

“Remarried, actually, and living in Idaho, last I heard,” Clark said, and my shoulders relaxed a little; I hadn't even realized they were hunched with tension.

“Clark, I don't know what to say,” I admitted then. A furtive emptiness had been stalking me and I shivered as it seemed to pounce.

“Honey, you don't have to say a thing,” Clark said, kindly. “I just worry about my boys. Be his friend, if you want, but that's where it has to end. He can't have false hope, I can't watch him go through that.”

I said softly, “I think he's beyond all of that, I do. It's been a long time, and we're older now. And I'll be so busy while I'm here, we probably won't see much of each other at all.”

“Dad! You and Tish still out here?” Wy yodeled from the house. I looked over my shoulder to see him silhouetted in the open door.

“We are,” Clark called back, teasing his youngest. “You can see us, can't you, fool boy?”

“It's late,” I noted. “Thank you for supper, and for telling me everything.”

Clark rose as I did, cupping my upper arm for a moment, before holding out a polite hand, allowing me to walk first. He said, “I'd like it very much indeed if you'd come back on Fridays as a matter of habit. And any other night you'd like.”

“I'd like that too,” I said.

In my car, heading home a minute later, I felt as tiny as an ant crawling along on the ground, and just as significant. All of the information I'd just absorbed was swirling around my brain, certain words and images standing out from others. I pictured Case as he'd looked last night on stage, and as he'd looked tonight, grinning as he'd stroked his horse's neck, introducing me to her. I thought of him as a vulnerable little boy, shooting a dog, hiding out in a cave and nearly starving to death. Marrying a woman he believed carried his child.

He
'
s a passionate man.

That
'
s abundantly clear.

And if Clark
'
s right, you can
'
t encourage any sort of attention.

Even if you want his attention, really badly.

Something caught my eye right then, a road meandering to the left, and I braked fast enough that my car squealed and fishtailed in the gravel. I told myself this was why I was a little shaky, clutching the wheel, holding down the brake, as I read the words on the road sign again. Ridge Road. The Spicer place was just down this road, Clark had said.

What are you doing?

Are you a fucking moron?

It
'
s late. He
'
s in bed.

I just want to see his place, that
'
s all. Just see it.

I turned left, driving slowly and carefully along this new gravel road.

You thought it was bad Google-searching him on Monday! What is this?

Are you a stalker now?

Tish. Seriously.

There was nothing but empty land for a mile or so, stretching to the mountains on the horizon. Dark as hell, nothing to illuminate the black except for my headlights. Then I saw a structure looming on the left side of the road and slowed down just a fraction. A barn, huge and imposing. And then, my heart feeling like someone with a heavy boot had stepped down upon it, I spied a trailer, tucked into the side of a small ridge, south of the barn. White and green, shitty-looking, spared total desolation by two strings of red chili-pepper lights glinting a warm scarlet welcome, stretched above the door.

As though to highlight the fact that I was indeed staring at Case's house, my headlights picked out a mailbox just to the right, silver and faded, the word
Spicer
stenciled in black upon it; somehow I knew,
I knew
, that Melinda Spicer had been the one to put that word there, long ago. I wasn't considering how conspicuous I was, in a car out here on what was clearly not a well-traveled road, and my heart went shooting right through my ribcage as a light towards the back of the trailer, perhaps a bedside lamp, clicked out.

Shit! Go!
I felt low and despicable and criminal, and didn't exactly stomp on the accelerator, but came pretty damn close. The barn and the chili-pepper lights and the stenciled mailbox were receding before I could think twice.

Now you
'
re going to get lost!
I thought frantically.
You have to turn around. You have to go back that way or you
'
ll never find your way to town.

Shit, shit, shit.

Perhaps a half-mile from his front yard, I stopped the car, though I was unable to likewise stop my frantically-pounding heart. I pulled to the side of the road, killed the headlights but left the engine running, and climbed out. I felt amped up like I couldn't believe and paced a little, as the dark Montana night engulfed me in a way that was exactly what my soul needed, whether I could articulate this to myself at present or not. After a few minutes I was calm enough to lean against the warm hood of my car, tipping my chin to the stars.

God, it
'
s beautiful out here. Like Landon, but wilder somehow. The air smells wild, if that makes sense. It could be any year right now, hundreds of years ago. Montana doesn
'
t realize or care what year it actually is, I get that now.

I cupped both hands around my temples and studied the sky, the way I used to as a little girl when we'd just visited Landon in the summers, before we'd moved there for good. Shutting out the world this way for a moment, I could pretend that I was able to lift from earth and fly up to the stars. This sensation was both heady and slightly terrifying.

What if you can
'
t fly back to earth?

What then?

I could hear the sounds of the night all about me, most unrecognizable, though that was surely a hawk somewhere in the foothills. The scrub brush on the edge of the road appeared wizened, pagan and enchanting and wholly mysterious. There was a particular rock formation to the east, visible and magnificent even in the darkness, shaped distinctly like an uppercase T. It reminded me of a wizard with arms outstretched, casting. I let this feeling overtake my senses and would have remained here all night, leaning against my car and staring at the landscape if not for the hordes of mosquitoes I could hear beginning to gather near me, as though for a feast.

I breathed deeply and at last admitted defeat; I turned to reenter my car when something hooked my senses. A flicker of a voice, the sounds of passage, somewhere out there in the foothills. Without questioning my actions, I leaned and instantly killed the engine. Motionless, nearly silent darkness encased me as thoroughly as a cloak, almost as tangible. I crouched near my car and peered towards the faint hint of distant activity; I wasn't sure if I was still on Case's family's acreage or not, and these sounds were drifting to my ears from the opposite direction in any case. I slapped at a mosquito, their insistent whine growing ever more threatening, but I remained still and silent, watching the distance.