Aftermath Page 7

“Well . . . nothing’s over yet,” Maddie said. “And today is all we have. So let’s just enjoy it and not get all maudlin, worrying about things we can’t control.”

  David looked at her in surprise. “When the hell did you get so Zen-like?”

  Maddie gave him one of her best deadpan expressions. “You’re not the only one around here who watches Conan.”

  Henry raced back into the room. “Uncle David. Astrid just went poopie on the stairs again.”

  David held up his hand before Maddie could say anything. “I’ve got this.” He stood up. “Come on, Henry. Let’s clean it up and take her outside for a walk.”

  “Okay,” Henry said. “Can I carry the poopie outside this time?”

  They walked out of the room together.

  Syd sighed. “That dog is a menace.”

  “I know.”

  “Henry is already getting too attached to her.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Syd looked at Maddie. “Just like we’re too attached to Henry.”

  “How could we ever be too attached to him, honey?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Maddie nodded.

  “What are we going to do if James takes him back?”

  Maddie squeezed her hand. “James will take him back, Syd. We need to expect that. Henry is his son.”

  “I know.”

  “I know you know.”

  Syd sighed. “How is it possible for you to be so stoic about this?”

  Maddie gave her a sad smile. “Because inside, I’m growing a tumor that could declare statehood.”

  Syd scooted forward and rested her head on Maddie’s shoulder. “One day at a time, right?”

  Maddie nodded. “One day at a time.”

  ASTRID WAS TAKING her time, nosing along the base of the split-rail fence that separated the yard from the pasture behind the house. Pete had already lost interest in this pastime and trotted off to inspect the perimeter of the pond.

  “Okay, Henry,” David said. “Hurl it as far as you can, and make sure you throw it up in the air this time so it doesn’t bounce off the fence and hit us.”

  Henry nodded. With great concentration, he flung the handful of tiny stools as high and as far as he could. They made an impressive arc over the top rung of the fence, splaying out against the bright blue sky like pieces of gravel.

  Of course, the oversized work glove of Maddie’s that he was wearing went sailing over the fence, too. Again.

  David sighed.

  “Stay here, buddy. I’ll go get it.”

  Henry looked up at him. “Don’t step in the cow poopie.”

  That had happened twice already, too.

  “I won’t.”

  David handed Henry Astrid’s leash and climbed between the split rails and waded out into the high grass in search of Maddie’s glove.

  “Can I walk Astrid over to the barn so I can look at my steering wheel?” he asked.

  “Sure,” David said. “But don’t let her pee on it again.”

  “I won’t,” Henry said. The two of them set off for the backside of the barn.

  He loved it here. It was so different from living at Grandma’s house.

  Sometimes he missed playing with Jason and Tommy in the afternoons after he got home from school. Mrs. Manning would always let them go outside and play until suppertime. But Syd always made sure Henry did his homework first. That wasn’t so bad, except on the days he had piano lessons. And now it wasn’t like the wintertime, when it got dark so early. And sometimes, Gabriel and Héctor Sanchez came home with him and stayed until their mama came for them at suppertime.

  He liked having Uncle David and Uncle Michael here. Uncle Michael made pizzas for him, and he baked really good cookies. And Uncle David always let him watch TV in the evenings before bed. He really liked that. Usually, Maddie wouldn’t let him watch more than one show, and only after his bath. But Uncle David put a TV in his bathroom upstairs, so if Henry took his bath in there, he could watch two shows every night.

  Uncle David’s favorite show was something called The X Factor. He liked how Uncle David would yell funny things at the people while they were singing—usually about their clothes. Henry didn’t think their songs were bad, but Uncle David said that this was what you were supposed to do during “boot camp.” He didn’t really know what that meant, either. Uncle David said that it was a lot like learning to play the piano. Henry didn’t say anything to him, but he was really glad that Syd didn’t yell at him while he was practicing. He was pretty sure that would make it harder to concentrate.

  Astrid kept pulling on the leash like she had someplace to be. Henry was really hoping she would go poopie again. He wanted the chance to throw more of it over the fence.

  Last time, he almost hit Before—the fat black and white cow with the yellow “B4” tag in her ear. B4 made a good target because she just stood there chewing grass and staring at him with those big, dark eyes. She was always by the fence up here behind the house, even though she lived at Mr. Baxter’s farm. Henry really wanted to give B4 a better name, but Maddie said that probably wasn’t a good idea, so that’s why he just started calling her “Before.”

  Astrid stopped and sniffed around the woodpile. Henry held his breath and waited, hoping, but then she lifted up her head and moved on again.

  Astrid was a funny dog. She wasn’t like Pete at all. Pete ate anything—especially stuff he wasn’t supposed to have. But Astrid would only eat really icky stuff. Uncle David called it “sweetbread,” and he cooked it for her every day. Henry really didn’t understand that. It didn’t look like bread and it sure didn’t smell very sweet. Uncle Michael always complained about how it made the kitchen stink.

  He wrinkled up his nose. It made her poopie stink really bad, too.

  Hey!

  He looked down. Oh, boy!

  He looked back over his shoulder. “Uncle David!”

  It was going to be a great morning.

  JOCELYN ONLY HAD one more stop to make. She usually tried to wrap up this part of her day by eleven-thirty, so she’d have time to pull over for a smoke and a Pepsi before heading back into the Post Office to pick up her afternoon deliveries.

  She checked the cellophane-wrapped pack that was propped up in the ashtray of her ’57 Biscayne. Damn. Only four left. She’d have to hit the Quik Stop on her way back into town for another carton of Dorals. At the rate she and Deb were burning through them, they might as well buy stock in the damn tobacco company.

  For the past couple of months, Jocelyn Painter and Deb Carlson had been working together, running a flag car business on the weekends. Most of their work came from the half-dozen manufactured home distributors on Highway 58. Those were usually short trips, an hour or two each way. But sometimes they got longer hauls—even the occasional overnight trip to Tennessee or West Virginia. And those trips were real cash cows—a dollar forty-five a mile, plus sixty-five dollars for the overnight, and fifteen dollars for each hour of down time. But ever since the tornado, Deb hadn’t been able to help out as much. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a car to drive—she still had access to that old Oldsmobile she gave her mama when she got the Camaro.

  She tapped the red and white steering wheel of her beloved Biscayne. Hell . . . she drove a classic car, and the thing still ran like a top. No, it wasn’t that the Oldsmobile was too old. It was more that Deb just didn’t have the heart for the work anymore. She said that when her Camaro got sucked up by that storm, it just blew the light right out of her—like a candle in the wind. In fact, she drove Jocelyn nuts playing that damn Elton John song over and over—only she called it “Goodbye, Deborah’s Rose.”

  It was pretty sad, really, but Jocelyn was a realist, and she believed that Deb had mourned long enough. It was springtime, after all. And mortgage rates were at all-time lows. That meant that tons of oversized loads of mobile American Dreams were just waiting to roll down the byways toward exotic and far-flung destinations. There was money to be mad
e, and if Jocelyn was gonna be able to keep them both in Dorals, Deb would soon have to start pulling her weight again, or Cougar’s Flag Cars would be nothing but a memory.

  Just like that damn Camaro.

  She turned onto the long lane that led up to Dr. Stevenson’s house. The Trumpet Creeper vines that covered most of the fence at the turnoff looked just about ready to burst into bloom. That seemed early for this time of the year, but it had been a lot warmer than usual. That’s why they’d been having so many of those damn storms.

  It looked like Dr. Stevenson’s property had fared better than many parts of the county. She didn’t see too much wind damage as she followed the gravel lane along the creek that led up toward the outbuildings. She always liked it when she had a reason to ride all the way up to the big farmhouse. It was such a pretty and tidy place—no piles of trash or broken-down farm equipment parked all over the place. No junked cars or cast-off—wait a minute . . .

  She saw what looked like the dashboard of a car propped up against the backside of the barn. She shook her head as she continued on toward the house. It was too bad. Sooner or later, everybody started collecting junk, but she was really sorry to see this place start going downhill. She really thought the cosmopolitan Dr. Stevenson was a class act, but maybe the locals were right, and you never could quite take the country out of the girl.

  She stopped near the steps that led up to the wide front porch and shut off her engine.

  Normally, she’d leave the mail in the box that faced the county road, but today was different. She looked down at the flat brown envelope that rested on the seat beside her. It had a cream-colored label that read Law Offices of Graber, Helms & Hopper. It was registered mail, and Jocelyn had to get a signature in order to deliver it. She had a pretty good idea what it contained, too. Just last week, she had delivered a similar piece of mail to Eunice Pollard. It was like an epidemic these days.

  The big front door to the house opened, and a little boy came outside. A big yellow dog followed him. The dog saw her and ran down the steps with his tail wagging.

  “Hey, Henry,” Jocelyn called out as she made her way toward the steps, with Pete dancing around her feet.

  “Hi, Miss Painter,” he said. He was carrying a red coffee can.

  “What are you up to?” she asked.

  He pointed toward the pond. “I’m going to feed the catfish. Do you wanna come help?”

  “Not today, sweetie,” she said. “I have to deliver a letter to Miss Murphy. Is she at home?”

  Henry nodded. “She’s making brownies.”

  “Would you do me a favor and tell her that I’m here?”

  He nodded. “Okay.” He set his can down on the edge of the porch and ran back into the house. He returned less than a minute later. “She said to come on inside—they’re in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, Henry.”

  He picked up his red coffee can and ran off toward the pond with Pete in tow.

  Jocelyn walked up the steps and opened the front door.

  “Hello?” she called out, as she stepped inside.

  “Hi, Jocelyn!” Syd’s voice rang out from someplace. “We’re in the kitchen. Come on back.”

  Jocelyn made her way down the wide center hallway toward the dining room. She could hear music playing. It was some kind of classical something—a piano thing. That reminded her of the concert they had at the high school last Christmas, when Dr. Stevenson’s mother was here visiting. She played Christmas carols with the local symphony to help raise money for the rescue squad. Everybody said it was one of the best benefit concerts they’d ever had, but a lot of the people who showed up didn’t give a flip about the county’s 911 service. They just hadn’t seen Dr. Heller since she left Jericho more than twenty years earlier, and they were dying to see how well she was holding up.

  Pretty damn well, as it turned out.

  Jocelyn had to agree. If Dr. Stevenson had inherited many of her mama’s genes, then she was gonna be turning heads for many years to come.

  She crossed the dining room and entered the kitchen. Syd was seated at a pine worktable, scraping thick batter from a large stoneware bowl into a rectangular pan. Her injured leg was propped up on a ladder-back chair. Dr. Stevenson was there, too, bent over some papers and file folders that were spread out across the kitchen table. They both looked up when she entered the room.

  Syd smiled at her. “If you hang around for forty-five minutes, I can hook you up with one of the world’s most decadent brownies.”

  Dr. Stevenson nodded. “She speaks the truth, Jocelyn. Pull up a chair, and I’ll put on some fresh coffee.”

  As tempted as she was to accept, Jocelyn shook her head. She was on duty, and she couldn’t mix business with pleasure.

  “I wish I could, but I’ve got this registered letter that needs to be signed for. Then I have to get the receipt for it back in to the post office so Zeke can log it before he heads out for lunch.”

  She didn’t mention the pit stop for more cigarettes. Quik Stop closed at noon on Saturdays, and they had the best price in town on cartons.

  “Oh,” Dr. Stevenson said. “That’s too bad. We never get to see you, Jocelyn.” She took off her glasses and stood up. “How’s the flag car business going?”

  Jocelyn shrugged. “It would be going a lot better if I could get Deb to come back to work.”

  Syd looked perplexed. “What’s wrong with Deb?”

  Jocelyn sighed and waved her hand. “It’s all this business with her car. She just can’t get over it, and hearing about it in the news every day and seeing those disaster relief posters all over town isn’t helping with that.”

  Dr. Stevenson laughed, then sobered when Syd frowned at her. “I’m sorry, Jocelyn. I know it’s not really funny.” She looked at Syd. “But you have to admit that this whole marauding car thing really takes the edge off thinking about how catastrophic the aftermath of this tornado nightmare could have been.”

  Jocelyn thought again about “Deborah’s Rose” and her own declining bank balance. “Tragic” didn’t really seem like that much of an overstatement to her.

  She nodded anyway. It was hard not to be agreeable when Dr. Stevenson was staring right at her with those deep blue eyes. She really did look like her mama.

  Syd cleared her throat. “Still, we’re very sorry about Deb’s loss—aren’t we, Maddie?”

  Dr. Stevenson nodded apologetically. “We are.” She picked up a pen from her pile of file folders. “Now, where do I need to sign?”

  Jocelyn shook her head. “Actually, Dr. Stevenson, this is a letter for Syd.”

  “For me?” Syd was surprised.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jocelyn walked over to her.

  Syd reached out a hand to take the envelope from her. “I’m not expecting anything.”

  A flicker of something crossed Dr. Stevenson’s face. “Aren’t you?”

  Syd’s hand paused in mid-air. “Oh. Maybe I am.” She looked at the label on the envelope. Then she looked at Dr. Stevenson and nodded.

  Jocelyn didn’t really know what to say, so she cleared her throat. “You just need to sign right here.” She indicated the correct space on the NCR form.

  Syd complied, and Jocelyn tore off the top copy of the receipt for her.

  “I have to get going now,” She really didn’t want to be there when Syd opened the envelope. She made the mistake of staying around when Eunice read her letter, and it didn’t go well. She always did think that Lonnie Pollard was a poor choice for Eunice, who actually had been a really pretty girl in her younger days. Before that afternoon, Jocelyn had no idea that Lonnie had been dipping his wick into so many different pots.

  She didn’t know that Eunice could curse like that, either. All that abuse just flowed right out of her like she’d been saving it up for a lifetime. It was like somebody had pulled the stopper out of a bathtub drain.

  She sure got an earful and an education on that delivery.

  She stole another glance at
Dr. Stevenson, who was just standing there quietly looking at Syd.

  Yeah. It was time for her to go. “I’m sure I’ll see you ladies around town. Have a nice afternoon.”

  She heard them each call out their thanks as she turned around and high-tailed it back down the long hallway toward the front door.

  “ARE YOU GOING to open that?”

  Maddie was still standing beside the table, watching Syd slowly turn the envelope over in her hands.

  Syd looked up at her. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s the matter with me . . . I knew this was coming.”