A Stillness of Chimes, page 15
“Socks,” she said. “Underwear.”
“What’s so significant about socks and skivvies?”
“Think about what’s missing. His wool socks. The ones he liked for hunting trips.” She shut the top drawer and opened the second one. “This is where he kept his long johns. I know because I always helped Mom put the laundry away.”
He gave the contents of the drawer a cursory look. “I see some long johns. What’s your point?”
“There’s nothing left but some of the everyday kind. Where are his special long johns? The expensive ones he got by mail order? He wouldn’t have worn them for a fishing trip in August.”
“That doesn’t prove a thing. Laura, please. Be sensible. Don’t live in a fantasy about having your dad back.”
“Now you sound like my mother.” She slammed the drawer shut. “It’s not a little-girl fantasy. It’s a theory.” She pointed to the tall gun safe in the corner, topped with a stack of books. “Let’s open that thing.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll bet you don’t remember the combination.”
“Bet you’re wrong.”
Now that she’d practiced the combination a few times, she was fast. She had it open again in seconds.
She swung the heavy steel door open and stepped back. “Voila. The old BB guns and the .22s we used for target practice—remember those?—and the antique revolver he never trusted. But what about his good deer rifle? Ammo? Knives? Bows and arrows? Where’d they go?”
“Your mom must have sold them.”
“If she had, she would have given you first pick of everything. You know she would have. You were like a son to my folks.”
“Maybe she just moved them somewhere. Like the garage.”
“I checked the garage. And the attic, cobwebs and all.”
“Oh.”
“Everything that’s missing is something he would have needed in the wild. Weapons. Ammo. Basic tools. His mess kit. His flint. The best down sleeping bag. He wasn’t planning a morning at the lake.”
“You and your mom would have noticed him taking everything out of the house.”
“Not if he took a little bit at a time. At the crack of dawn, before we were up. You know that’s when he liked to set out. Remember what you told me on Sunday? A man could stash everything he’d need to survive. Clothes and food. Tools and hunting and fishing gear.”
“I was only quoting what some other people have been saying.”
“Maybe they’re saying it because it’s true.”
He looked at the nearly empty gun safe as if wishful thinking could make the missing weapons reappear. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”
She moved closer, begging him with her eyes. “At least admit that he might be alive. Not that it’s certain, not that it’s even probable, but that it’s at least possible.”
Sean sank onto the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees, the same tense posture she remembered from the times they’d sat with Cassie on the bench outside the principal’s office. “I don’t know, Laura.”
“What’s your problem? Why do you only want to argue with me?”
“I only want to help you face reality. If you’re not ready, I’d better head home.” He stood up and walked out.
She chased him down the hall and into the kitchen, where she passed him and planted herself in front of the door. “Tell me what’s wrong, Sean. Tell me what you’re keeping from me.”
“What makes you think I’m keeping something from you?”
“The way you’re acting.”
“Baloney.” He retreated two steps.
She followed, as close as a ballroom dancer. “Something’s going on that you don’t want me to know about. Will you at least admit that much?”
He was silent, not quite meeting her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For admitting that something’s wrong. By not saying anything.”
“Sorry.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say about it?”
“Yep.” He grabbed the songbooks, sidestepped her, and made for the door.
She followed him onto the porch, into the cold evening air. He ran down the steps and climbed into his truck. With the door open, he looked up at her. No smile now.
“Did your folks ever own a little brown car?” he asked.
“Brown? Not that I remember. Why?”
“Just wondering. Good night.” He shut the door.
“There you go again.” She raised her voice, hoping he could hear her through the truck’s window. “Acting weird.”
The roar of the engine was his only answer. The truck jolted down the driveway and onto the road, where the taillights swerved and disappeared around the sharp curve with only a fleeting flare of the one operative brake light.
She hurried inside, bolting the door behind her, and tried to dismiss Sean’s aggravating attitude from her mind. She had more important matters to deal with. Rubbing her arms to warm up, she recalled what her dad had always said about mountain weather. Just like a woman, it was beautiful but fickle, going from cold to hot and back again.
A fifty-degree night wasn’t bad if you had a warm bed to sleep in, but a fifty-degree night without decent shelter would be miserably cold, especially for a man whose clothes must have worn thin by now.
Laura returned to the closet, hatching a plan.
Cassie had started seeing her parents with new eyes. Sure, they were middle-aged fuddy-duddies who could stand to lose a few pounds, but they were good people. They cared about other people. They’d once stuck their noses into Dale Halloran’s business for Sean’s sake, even though there might have been serious repercussions.
And if her mom showed a few signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior … so what? Cassie was starting to think it wasn’t a big deal. If a woman wanted to spend half her afternoon making a ridiculously organized grocery list, arranged aisle by aisle like a map of the store and color-coded for different kinds of coupons, that was her privilege.
Cassie propped her elbows on the granite counter and studied her mom’s neatly written menu. “Steaks? For a little boy’s birthday party?”
“Nothing’s too good for my grandson,” her dad bellowed from his home office.
“No fair,” she yelled back. “You never bought steak for my birthdays when I was little.”
“We couldn’t afford steaks back then, Cass. Did it wound your tender little psyche?”
“Yes sir, it did. You need to make it up to me. Buy me a new car or something.”
He laughed. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Her mom looked up. Seated at the table, she was searching through a shoe box full of coupons—as if she still needed to pinch pennies. “The steaks will be for the adults,” she said. “Trevor will want a hot dog. He always does. Does Laura eat red meat? Or is she like Jess?”
Cassie sat beside her. “Except for tuna and sushi, Laura will eat just about anything. Like me.”
“You? You’ve always been a fussy eater.”
She smirked, thinking of Drew’s running joke that they should write a cookbook with a thousand and one ways to cook beans. “Not anymore.”
“I just hope she and Sean will come. He’s such a dear.”
“Ardie, sweetheart?” came a wistful voice from the office.
“Yes, Gary?”
“Will you pick up some good salsa from the deli, please?”
“Yes, darling, and I’ll buy the really good tortilla chips.”
“Thank you, my love.”
“Ugh, I’m getting a sweetness headache,” Cassie said.
Her mom ignored her. She added salsa and chips to her list, in exactly the right spots: Deli and Aisle 12.
“Wow, Mom. I just walk into the store and start throwing stuff in the cart.”
“You could save money if you planned more carefully.”
“Maybe there’s a happy medium?”
Ardelle didn’t answer.
Tigger breezed into the kitchen, her silky blond hair swinging. She proudly wore a maternity top although she was barely showing. Trevor tagged along behind her, explaining why he needed a magnifying glass for his birthday.
“And so I can see my insect collection better,” he said.
Tigger smiled. “Oh, you and those bugs.”
“They’re insects, Mom. Only some of them are bugs.”
Cassie wondered if anybody made a white lab coat to fit a kindergartner. Trevor had given off the mad scientist vibe since he was three or four and had to start wearing glasses. He’d started reading at four. He’d probably enter Harvard at fourteen on a full scholarship. Naturally, Tigger wouldn’t just have a smart kid. She’d have a Boy Genius.
Ardelle stood up, having finished organizing her coupons and shopping list, and cupped one hand over Tig’s belly. “Look at you, starting to show.”
“You get to do that because you’re my mom,” Tig said with a tolerant smile. “When complete strangers try it, I threaten them with karate chops.”
“Sure you do.” Ardelle turned to Cassie. “I remember being pregnant with you and patting Jess’s tummy and telling her she could borrow my maternity clothes once you were born. And she did.”
“That’s wrong,” Trevor said, his eyes cheerful and big behind thick lenses. “A baby doesn’t grow in a mommy’s tummy. Tummies are for food. The baby grows in the mommy’s loom.”
“Womb,” Tig corrected gently, keeping a straight face.
Cassie grinned, glad Trevor still didn’t know everything.
Ardelle seemed to have missed the funny exchange. Her mind was probably on those cents-off coupons. “Tig and Trev, in case you’re not here when I get home, give me my kisses now,” she ordered.
They came forward obediently, bestowing and receiving kisses, and Ardelle left through the garage to do her shopping.
“We’d better go too,” Tig said. “Trev, go get your backpack and say good-bye to Grandpa.” She met Cassie’s eyes and frowned. “What’s wrong? You look unusually, um, sweet.”
“I’m thinking you lead a charmed life, right down to having a great husband and an adorable and brilliant child.”
Tigger’s flawless face lit up with happiness. “I do lead a charmed life, don’t I?” She rubbed her fingers lightly over her belly, like a prenatal love pat to go with those expensive prenatal vitamins she’d taken for months before they tried for Baby Number Two.
“Tigger the Tagger.” Wary of karate chops, Cassie steered clear of the pregnant tummy and mussed her sister’s shiny hair instead. Like old times. “Even though it irritates me to pieces, I’m really and truly glad you’re happy.”
“And I’m glad you are. But leave my hair alone, Eeyore.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Walking past the table to see Tig and Trevor out the door, Cassie stopped short. After all that work, her mom had left her list and coupons on the table.
Green, green, green everywhere. Kudzu would conquer the world someday, at least where the winters weren’t cold enough to kill it.
Treading carefully through the vines, watching for snakes, Laura slogged toward the cabin, glad that her shoulder had improved overnight. The big black trash bag she’d slung over her back made her feel like Santa Claus, but there was no chimney left for Santa. Except for a corner in the rear, the roof had caved in.
The No Trespassing sign she’d nailed to the wall looked gaudy against the rough gray wood. It didn’t belong there. But neither did Dale. The signs probably wouldn’t discourage him anyway, but at least she’d put him on notice that she knew he’d been there.
With her dad’s old work gloves tucked securely under her arm, she made her way around to the back. She couldn’t imagine anyone using the cabin as a refuge, with its roof collapsed and its plank floor rotting into the dirt, but she couldn’t think of a more likely home base for her dad. Even if he never spent a night there, he might find the loot and haul it away to wherever he’d been staying. If it brought him any comfort at all, it was worth the trouble.
The back door hung at a crazy angle, its top hinge rusted away. She gave the weathered wood a cautious push and peered into the green gloom inside.
Nothing but kudzu.
She placed the black bag in the corner that still had a roof. Triple-bagged, the clothes and supplies should be safe against the weather for a while. She hadn’t wanted to give him a heavy load to haul, so she’d brought just one of each article of clothing she thought he’d need. No duplicates except socks and underwear. She’d packed lip balm too. Toothpaste and a toothbrush. Soap. A can opener and some canned goods. Since leaving the house, she’d already thought of a dozen more items.
From the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a tiny notepad and a pen. For hours, she’d contemplated what to write. She’d finally decided.
“Dad, please let me know you’re okay. I love you.” She signed her name and clipped the pen to the notepad.
Studying those old suede gloves, a peculiar shade of green, she wondered if he would recognize them. He might even recall that when she was little, she’d loved to put them on when they were still warm from his hands.
She tucked the notepad and pen inside one of the gloves and left them on top of the trash bag. She had more bags in the car, to drop off at the homeless shelter, but this bag was meant for one particular homeless veteran. He might never find it, though. She might have donated the clothing and supplies to some unknown trespasser—or to Dale.
She left through the broken doorway and waded through the kudzu. Back to her car, back to normal life. Except it could never be normal until she learned what had happened to her father.
Laura headed up the back steps with the mail in her hand but stopped short. Mikey was sound asleep in a puddle of sun on the porch. She’d left him inside, sleeping on the couch, and she remembered locking the door.
Walking past the cat, she tried the door. Unlocked.
The driveway showed no obvious signs that another vehicle had come and gone while she was out, but that didn’t prove anything. The ground was too dry to show tire tracks.
Or footprints. Maybe someone had come on foot, in broad daylight.
Her heart pounding, she opened the door partway and stuck her head in. “Who’s there? Dad?”
Silence. Of course.
She’d given her word that she would call 911 if she saw another prowler. But she hadn’t actually seen one.
The sleeping cat was easy to capture. Holding him firmly, she took him inside, shut the door with her hip, and deposited him on the kitchen floor.
“What’s going on, Mikey? Who was here? I wish you could talk.”
He wobbled sleepily over to his food dish and started eating.
Laura sucked in a breath. She’d fed the cat early, and he’d wolfed it all down. He’d emptied his dish within minutes.
“Ardelle,” Laura said. Ardelle had let herself in. She’d given Mikey a second breakfast and let him escape.
Trying to squelch her irritation, Laura looked around the kitchen. The mug she’d left beside the coffee maker was in the sink, and the bag of oranges she’d left on the counter was missing.
Ardelle always liked to refrigerate her fruit. Laura opened the fridge.
The oranges were in the produce drawer.
The tuna casserole sat on the second shelf. If Ardelle had lifted the foil, she would have known it was still untouched except for the spoonful the cat had enjoyed. Maybe that would hurt her feelings, but she had no right to snoop in the fridge or anywhere else.
Laura walked into the den. It smelled like lemon Pledge. Some of her dad’s instruments had been moved, ever so slightly.
Nothing was out of place in any of the bedrooms, but the carpet was freshly vacuumed. The bathroom’s surfaces gleamed.
She returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. Half the county had a key, but only Ardelle would have the nerve to walk in and act like she lived there. It was too much. The cleaning, the straightening, the journals packed away in a closet. Apparently the cabin wasn’t the only place that needed No Trespassing signs.
There was no harm done, though, and she probably just couldn’t help herself.
Laura filled her lungs, held her breath as long as she could, and exhaled slowly, trying to blow the anger right out of her system. She had to let it go.
But then she noticed the calendar that hung beside the fridge. She’d deliberately left it open to April, the last month that held neat notes about dentist appointments and garden club meetings. Now it was open to the blank squares of May.
A month ago, she’d begun to grieve the loss of her mother. The future held a thousand smaller losses. No more notes on the calendar. No more coming home for Christmas and filling each other’s stockings with little treasures. No more swapping goofy birthday cards. Her mom had always loved the funny ones. Bonus points for finding her a funny one with a cat on it.
Mikey sidled over to the door and yowled.
“I should,” she said. “I should let you out, you ugly old possum-cat. I should feed you to the coyotes.”
But she remembered him as an orphaned, half-starved kitten, taking milk from a medicine dropper held in her dad’s big, scarred hands.
“I didn’t mean it, Mikey.” She scooped him up and held him close. He must have been rolling in her mother’s herb garden because his fur smelled like rosemary.
Laura closed her eyes and rested her chin on the cat’s head. If she’d had more time with her mother, they might have mended their relationship. Or they might have gone on as before, never daring to talk about the mysteries that drove a wedge between them.
On Saturday morning, Laura pushed a shopping cart through Kroger’s produce section and stopped beside the white peaches. The first of the season. Her dad had loved peaches.
The abundance of food brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to walk him up and down the aisles and buy him anything he wanted. Anything at all, even if it wasn’t good for him. She wouldn’t lecture him about pesticides or processed foods or cholesterol.
