Home Another Way (4 page)
Finally, I heard a horn honk outside. It was Doc, in a late-model Jeep. I got in the car and slammed the door.
“Shut up,” I said, before he could speak.
He coughed, once, and drove me back to Jonah.
“Sarah? Sarah,” Maggie called from behind the pocket doors as I entered the inn. I ignored her, taking the stairs two at a time, and shut myself in the bathroom.
I undressed, got in the shower, and wept from stress, from fatigue and loneliness. The tears slipped off my chin, dropping onto my feet before being carried down the drain. When the hot water ran out, I wrapped myself in towels and darted to the bedroom.
My clothes were folded neatly on the bed. After putting on running pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt, I shoved the pile to the floor and climbed under the covers. Maggie had changed the sheets; they were mint green with blue tulips.
Each time I closed my eyes, my father’s face floated through my mind—what he looked like twenty-nine years ago in the only photo I’d ever seen of him. I found it after my grandmother died, when Aunt Ruth and I were cleaning out her house, rimpled and forgotten in a rarely used desk. It shocked me to see how much I looked like him—same red hair, same pale skin and dark eyes. Same splash of freckles across the nose. In the photograph, my father had his arm tossed carelessly over my mother’s shoulders. She was laughing, so happy. The date scribbled on the back read two years before I was born.
I rolled over, squashing the pillow around my ears.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I saw Rich. I would walk there if necessary. Getting out of bed, I put on low-rise jeans and a V-neck sweater that barely covered my stomach. Gooseflesh prickled my arms and legs.
I hoped I didn’t have to walk.
Downstairs, I knocked softly on the pocket doors. Maggie slid them open.
“Sarah, are you okay? I was worried when you didn’t come home last night.”
“My car was stolen,” I told her. “There wouldn’t be a bus that goes to Main Street, would there?”
“Oh, goodness me. Sweetie, I wouldn’t have you take the bus, even if there was one. You can use my car. Let me get the keys.”
She shuffled out of sight for a moment, returning with a jangling key ring. “It’s this one here,” she said.
“Thank you, Maggie. I really appreciate this.”
“Not a problem, not a problem. I just feel so bad for you. Here you are, your first time coming here, and you got a bad taste in your mouth.”
“Maggie, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think I might be able to borrow a coat? Mine was in the car,” I lied.
“Of course you can,” she said, taking a heavy, calf-length parka from the closet in the foyer. “Oh, dear, was your wallet in the car? Do you need any money?”
“No, I’m fine.” I wasn’t desperate enough to steal from a little old lady. Yet.
“Well, the car is in the driveway. I’m not going anywhere today, so you can use it long as you need.”
Maggie had a Jeep, too. I climbed into it, adjusted the seat, and turned up the heat. The air warmed slowly, but the coat helped. A thin sheen of ice covered the road, and the tires spun as I left the driveway. I popped the gearshift into four-wheel drive, keeping my left foot hovering above the brake as I drove to town.
I parked in front of Rich’s office and left the coat in the car.
“You’re going to catch your death if you don’t dress warmer ’round here,” Rich said when I walked in. He watched a small television on the counter, the picture flecked with static.
“Now, Rich,” I said, smiling a bit, “you’re a married man.”
“Being married don’t make me blind,” he said.
“No, it doesn’t.” Elbows on the counter, I leaned over. “It certainly doesn’t.”
Rich moved across the room, fiddled with a set of antennas nailed to the wall. “Do you need something?”
“I do. But I’m broke. So, I thought if you needed something, we could work out some sort of deal.” I straightened, tugging on the hem of my sweater so my navel showed. “Do you need something, Rich?”
“I got all I need,” he said.
“Do you?” I asked. “Really?”
“I can’t give you the money, Sarah.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to give me all of it,” I said simply, as if talking to a third grader. “Just a little. Half, maybe. You could give the rest to the church. And it would be our secret.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“It’s not like anyone would know.”
“Nope.”
“I—”
“No,” Rich said firmly, eyes on my face.
“Why not? You’re not working for free, are you? How much did he give you to make my life miserable?”
“Seems like you do a pretty good job of that on your own,” he said.
I swore, kicking a metal bucket near my feet. It tumbled over, spilling rusty screws and other mismatched metal bits. I slumped into the chair, still in the middle of the room, elbows on my knees, palms pressed against my eyes. I heard Rich picking up the parts from the floor, humming, seemingly delighting in my agony.
There were few people I considered friends, and none who would drive to this frostbitten Siberia to come get me, and then let me crash on their sofa until I found a job making enough money to get a place of my own. I couldn’t even afford a cab, and I refused to ask any of these inbred clodhoppers for help.
So, that meant what? Staying here? I would rather be that fox on Rich’s counter—glass-eyed, full of stuffing, and most importantly, dead.
Yet, it would be the sweetest revenge to do what my father wanted and at the end of the six months walk away eighty thousand dollars richer and still hate him. Spiteful?
Perhaps. Adolescent? Absolutely.
And really, what other choice did I have?
I stood. “I’ll need that key, Rich. I’m staying.”
He grinned. “Your dad would be real pleased to hear that.”
“Good thing he can’t.”
Rich handed me an envelope from the cash register. “Here you go. The one key is for the house, the other for the truck. They’re labeled.”
I looked inside. “What’s the little key for?”
Rich shrugged. “I don’t know. He just left the envelope, and all three were in there. I suppose he meant you to have it.”
I stuffed the keys in my jeans pocket, and saw something else in the envelope—a credit card with my name on it. “What’s this?”
“Your father figured you might be strapped for cash when you got here.”
I looked down at the counter, at my fingerprints smudged across the glass. So, Luke had kept tabs on me. A shiver of vindication crept down my arms, my legs. He’d seen what he’d done to me.
“As long as you’re living in Jonah, I’ll make the payments.” Rich added. “The store across the street doesn’t take charge cards. You can start an account there.”
“Anything else I should know? About the house, I mean.”
“Well, you saw it,” Rich said. “Not much—galley kitchen, living room with woodstove, bedroom, and bathroom. No tub, just a shower stall. Luke kept it simple; he fixed up that place himself.
“The house is heated by the woodstove. There’s some logs by the back door, but not enough to get you through the winter. Plenty of folks around here to sell you some. Also, there’s a small water heater in the bathroom. Runs on fuel oil. You can get that at Brooks.
“You’ll probably want to get that truck out of the shed. You’ll need it for the winter. We get a couple more inches on the ground, and that little coupe of yours will be in a snowbank somewhere.”
“My car is out of commission,” I told him. “Will the truck start?”
“Probably not. It’s been sitting about a year.”
“Is there any way you can get someone to look at it, and drive it over to the inn when it’s fixed?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Rich jotted a note on his pad.
“Fine. I’ll see you May fourth. Early.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said. “Smile, Sarah. You may like it here.”
Brooks Variety Store had just that—everything from potato peelers to winter coats. Unfortunately for me, the coats only came in two styles of ugly—for the men, a swampy brown-green army surplus getup, and for women, ballooning nylon fuchsia. Two other shoppers watched me, whispering behind a tower of $1.49 disposable tin pie pans. One wore the bright pink parka.
I wasn’t ready to tackle the house just yet, and I couldn’t move in without certain necessities—winter clothes, shampoo, food. Not surprisingly, I would not find what I needed in Jonah.
The shopkeeper approached me, her crinkled bouffant stiff with hair spray. “Ms. Petersen, is there something I can help you find?”
“It’s Graham,” I said, “and no.”
“I’m Nancy Brooks. Can I just say that I am so sorry about your father?” the woman continued, cannoli-shaped fingers on my arm. “He was such a wonderful man, and we all miss him so dearly. He was always willing to come over here and fix whatever was broken when my husband was sick with cancer. Carl’s better now, praise the Lord, but when he was sick and the shutters were falling off, all I had to do was call Luke and he’d be right over with his toolbox and a—”
I turned away. “Lady, save it.”
On my way out the door, I heard one of the pie-pan ladies say, “How rude!”
I remembered the diner woman telling me the nearest mall was a couple of hours away. Maggie did say I could use her car as long as I needed it.
I started down the mountain, stopping for directions in four towns. Finally, I pulled into a mall parking lot. Not the biggest I’d seen, but it had the basics. At the pharmacy, I stocked up on toiletries and cosmetics, Tylenol and flu remedies. It would be a long, cold winter.
Clothes next. I bought two pairs of boots, insulated work boots and rubber duck shoes. I also got running sneakers, fleece slippers and an armful of wool socks, long underwear, gloves, and mittens. I tried on flannel-lined corduroys, dismayed at the extra bulk they added to my hips and middle, but bought them anyway, as well as two pairs of tight, low-rise jeans and one impractically sexy dress. A green down parka, twelve turtlenecks, heavy sweaters, and blanket sleepers—with feet—brought my bill to over nine hundred dollars.
I’d never make it six months without an ample supply of peanut M&M’s. After loading my things into the car, I asked directions to the nearest grocery store.
Fluorescent lights bounced off the frozen food coolers, shiny and modern. I found the candy in aisle eight. After layering the bottom of my cart with yellow bags, I threw in my favorite garlic potato chips, instant hot chocolate, ramen noodles, canned spaghetti. And Diet Coke, six-dozen cans.
During the ride back to Jonah, I listened to the radio; the stations, one by one, cracked and fizzled with the increased elevation. By the end of the trip, I was left with a choice between honky-tonk and NPR. I refilled Maggie’s gas tank and returned to the inn, nearly crashing into the three vehicles parked on the driveway—a small SUV and two battered pickup trucks.
“You’re just in time for dinner,” Maggie said, coming from the innkeeper’s quarters to greet me.
“No, I couldn’t. I don’t want to intrude,” I said, my empty stomach kicking.
“No intrusion. I always make more than three people can eat in a week.” She pulled me into her side of the house, through the sitting area and into the dining room.
Maggie’s daughter—I couldn’t think of her name—sat at the table, the mangled side of her face turned away from me. The cocoa-spiller from the diner was next to her.
“Sarah, you’ve met my daughter, Beth. And that’s my son, Jack. This is Sarah Graham. She’s staying here a few days.”
“I hope you’re feeling better,” Beth said cheerfully.
“Ah, yes, thank you,” I replied, sitting down across from Jack. Now hatless, his lips smeared with some sort of balm, he looked like the kind of guy I wouldn’t mind meeting in a dark bedroom.
“I hope your hand is feeling better,” he added.
I wiggled my fingers in front of him. “I’m fine. No lawsuit.”
I piled my plate with ham and potatoes and, while listening to the gentle banter the Watsons tossed around the table, remembered why I hated family dinners.
I’d never had them.
“It’s supposed to snow again tonight,” Beth said.
Maggie sighed. “It seems like each year the snow comes sooner and deeper. Oh, Sarah, Luke’s truck was brought over for you.”
“Which one is it?” I asked.
“The black one,” Maggie said.
“The cops didn’t call here about my car, did they?”
Maggie shook her head and declared, “People today just don’t have the fear of the Lord like they used to. Speaking of that, have you written your sermon yet, Jack?”
Jack sighed. “Not nearly.”
“Well, last Sunday’s was very good,” Maggie said.
“Not just good. Beautiful,” Beth insisted.
I looked at Jack. He shrugged. “It was okay.”
“Jack’s the town’s pastor,” Maggie said, voice alight with pride.
“Oh?” A preacher. It figured. “What was your sermon on?” I asked politely, to keep the conversation moving.
“The church at Philadelphia. Small but faithful.”
Whatever that meant. Then I recalled the conversation I overheard at the diner. “Are you the only minister in town?”
“Well, I suppose. There’s Reverend Joseph, but he’s been retired about five years now,” Jack said, picking up his glass.
“So you’re the one that Ima-Louise Saltzman’s daughter has a thing for.”
Jack choked, milk dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He covered his lips with his napkin and, after managing to swallow, coughed several more times. Maggie and Beth laughed.
“I told you,” Beth said. “Everyone in Jonah knows that Patty is still nuts about you.”
“But how does
she
know?” Jack demanded.
“Small town, news travels fast,” I said.
“I’d say,” he grumbled, wiping beads of milk off his sweater. I wondered if he’d ever had a beer. Or a date.
“Well, since you seem to know so much about me, what about you?” Jack asked. “How long will you be part of this very wonderful, very small town?”
I hesitated, juggling several creative responses before I finally settled on the truth. “It looks like I’ll be here a little longer than first expected. Through the winter, actually.”