A Far Gone Night (11 page)

“In this context, that’s a nice three-
worder
, even though it includes a conjunction. Thank you,” I said. “When she picked up the phone out there in Southern California, she was laughing and didn’t know who it was, too busy to check caller ID, and I could hear a man’s voice in the background, and I knew, you know, what was going on and then I guess she checked her phone and said, ‘Hello, Thomas?’ with the kind of nervous, false interest that can mean only one thing. So I went ahead and told her I would like to describe the first snowfall, as she had asked, and then she was quiet. I heard the man’s voice in the background asking ‘White or red?’ and she was shushing him to be quiet.”

It was dead silent in the truck except for the steady whooshing of the heater/defroster, and the slapping of the wipers shoving heavy snow off the plane of the windshield.

“She sounded like she was sniffling a little, you know, and then she said, ‘I’ve found someone’ and I said to please be happy and she started apologizing and I just quietly closed up the phone. I did, however, keep the phone.
Silly to be impractical by throwing it off the deck when it might come in handy sometime, like when wackos call and invite themselves up for Thanksgiving.
If I had tossed that phone away, which I more or less considered seriously
doing,
you couldn’t have gotten in touch with me. On second thought, maybe I should have tossed it.”

“Oh, Thomas,” Jan said. No one spoke again as I nudged slowly through a full-blown blizzard with heavy snow and whipping winds, howling here and there. The truck’s instrument panel said it was 22 degrees, so all three elements of an official blizzard were in place—heavy snow, high winds, and sub-freezing temperatures.

The State Road blacktop on my left finally showed up and I slowed down, negotiated the turn, and drove in silence the next mile until my mailbox and driveway appeared in the dense white gloaming, again on the left. My truck easily handled the incline, the gravel surface offering more traction than asphalt. We got out and trotted to the front door, leaning into the wind with our coats pulled up over our heads, protecting our ears and faces. I found myself slowing to look around at the stark beauty of black trunks and branches of the trees in silent silhouettes against the white backdrop.

The house was warm and welcoming, and so was Gotcha. Jan got down on her knees on a thick throw rug covering a section of the polished red oak floor and Gotcha bumped into her again and again, licking her face, nearly knocking Jan over. Gotcha is seriously powerful. Then it was Ernie’s turn to remind Gotcha of how beautiful she is, and what an outgoing personality she bestowed on everyone who knew her.

We took off our coats and hung them on a coat tree. I said, “I’ll start a fire and let Gotcha out. She won’t hang around long in this weather,” and I was right. She came back in almost immediately after attending to her needs.

The Timmons hurried upstairs to slip into jeans and sweaters and I fed and medicated Gotcha, leaving her to her dinner, and walked over to the sliding glass door that led out to my deck. I slid the door open and snow that had drifted against the glass fell inside. I bent down and scooped it up, or most of it, and pitched it back outside. Then I stepped onto the deck and slid the door closed behind me.

I live in a beautiful place, and I am grateful to God for it. I am also grateful to Gunther for building the house and Lunatic for telling me about Gunther. I crossed over to the far railing and looked out over the Whitetail River Valley below me and could see almost nothing except the storm and close-by trees, the snow now thick and furious and beautiful. I knew the two river valleys were beyond, hidden by the snowstorm.

I stood there until I was uncomfortably cold, then turned and went back inside. Ernie and Jan had come downstairs. He was looking at the few family pictures on the bookcase in the foyer. She was standing in front of the fireplace, watching the flames lick into the dry wood that had been seasoned for over a year.

“Can I get you guys anything while we’re recovering from a few snow flurries?”

I took orders and came back with brandy for Jan and Ernie, and a glass of red wine for me. Then I went back and gathered up some crackers and a couple of tubs of Pub Cheese, a spreading knife, some Trader Joe’s cheese sticks (acquired in Dubuque), and a wooden bowl filled with roasted almonds and cashews. We sat around in front of the fire, pulling comfortable chairs together so we could look at each other and the fire as well. It was cozy, and I felt blessed.

We could not resist talking about the weather. “Jeez, you guys, we haven’t seen each other for a long, long time, you drive up here for hours on end, and what do we talk about? The freaking
weather
,” I said.

“That’s because it’s new to us, and it’s beautiful and fierce and dangerous,” Jan said, sipping her brandy,
then
sipping again.

“Those last three adjectives describe my bride,” Ernie said.

Jan blew him a kiss and patted his leg.

“When Philip Roth came to Iowa as a visiting writer a few decades back, he said one thing he liked about Iowa was that the weather can kill you. He said it made him feel more alive,” I said. “You know, every year it’s in the news about some old person on a farm, living alone,
goes
out to check the mail, falls down, can’t get up, and freezes to death.”

“
Sayyyy
,” Jan said, “how ’bout those
Dawgs
!”

“I think she’s changing the subject,” Ernie said as Jan took another sip from her brandy. The snifter was getting low.

“Let me freshen up your brandy for you,” I said. “I want a little more wine myself.”

“
Pleash
, I mean ‘please,’” Jan said, smiling, her face exuding benumbed satisfaction.

I came back with more brandy for her, more
Rosso
for me, and a fresh package of cheese sticks.

“I like Olivia Olson!” Jan said suddenly. “I liked her on first sight at that delightful pub, The Grain o’ Mooning. She just seems so genuinely pleasant, friendly, but there’s a lingering sadness in her eyes, just barely there. Is that because of your problems together?”

“Jan, give Thomas a break,” Ernie chided with a smile. He knows his wife.

I said, “No, I think she’s having problems in her relationship with Sheriff Payne, her romantic interest. I’m not sure what.”

“I think she misses what y’all had,” Jan said.
“Just a woman’s intuition.
In the meantime, I’d stay away from that girl deputy. How old is she, eleven? Anyway, she’s a little
too
friendly, if you get my drift.”

“I don’t get your drift,” Ernie said. “What did she do to make you think that? She seemed perfectly nice.”

“Men,” Jan said, rolling her eyes. “Ernie, did you see that girl hug Thomas and not you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because you are obviously married to me and Thomas is single.” Jan turned to me. “Are you two lovers? Young as she is, you can’t be old friends.”

“No,” I said.

“There you go,” Jan said. “She’s prospecting. Now, may I get us all some brandy?”

An hour or so later, everyone was sleepy, especially Jan, whose empty brandy snifter was resting on the floor by her chair. Ernie took her hand, pulled her to her feet, and started toward the stairs.

“Say goodnight, darling,” Ernie said.

“Goodnight, darling,” she said, grandly waving her hand over her shoulder as they took the first steps.

Ernie turned to me and said, “Goodnight, Thomas. Hope you sleep well.”

“Feel free to sleep in. I don’t think I’ll be going for a run.”

“I think we’ll all benefit from a good night’s sleep, especially
herself
,” he said, nodding toward Jan.

“I am not ‘
herself
.’ I am Jan
DiBella
Timmons. Night-night, Thomas. And Olivia’s the word.”

B
eautiful snowstorms should not be seen alone. They beckon softly for two to watch, side by side, holding each other close, silent and snug, gazing out into deep cold and white fury just beyond the window pane. One should be intimate with another when there’s a blizzard going on.

I went to bed hoping Ernie and Jan were looking out their upstairs east bedroom window, arm in arm, loving and secure and cozy in my home. Is that me being envious?

The blizzard continued into the night, and I finally fell asleep, the howling of the wind and the sandy pattering of sudden snow gusts against my windows somehow comforting in that it was out of my control, reminding me that I am not God.
Which would come as a surprise to Gotcha.
The big, brindle and white Bulldog was sound asleep on her
tuffet
on the floor at the foot of my bed, and had been shortly after I closed the door to my bedroom. Her snoring sounded like someone softly and slowly tearing stiff cardboard boxes into strips, and it escorted me into sleep.

My sleep was as deep and dreamless as the snowdrifts I saw when I got up and looked out my window. The day was gray and looked cold, and I was glad it wasn’t sunny. A bright day after a blizzard, like stark truth, can hurt the eyes. Too much light can sometimes blind, Emily Dickinson said, and it’s true in more ways than one.

The strong smell of coffee awakened me, startling me, and then I remembered Jan and Ernie were in my house. I made myself get up, grumbling a little. I didn’t want to get up just yet, but I couldn’t sleep with someone out and about. Still, I needed to arise. Maybe I would hear some good news about Cindy Stalking Wolf’s case.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go hunting bad guys right away because the snow had brought just about everything to a padded pause.
Damn!
I might as well do what God told Job to do; that is, man up and quit whining. Still, just for the record, I prefer to be alone since losing everything that mattered.
And
still
losing
, I thought. Ruth
VanderKellen
. Olivia Olson.
Christina Hendricks in eighth grade who told me to “Drop dead” when I offered my love.

Maybe the longer we separate ourselves from other people, the stranger we become.
Lots of stories about hermits in the mountains with long, ratty, bug-infested beards; shotguns at the ready; and limited skills in both hygiene and conversation.
Something to which I might yet aspire.

Since the Timmons were going to be with me for at least today and tomorrow and Friday morning, I would have to finesse Ernie to keep him from knowing too much about my plans. Otherwise, he would insist on staying to help me out, and I couldn’t have that. As good a guy as he is, he would be in the way, and I like to travel light when I’m on a mission, and what lay ahead of me was most definitely a mission.

I dressed in jeans and a heavy, royal blue cotton sweatshirt. Then I slipped on a pair of battered moccasins I have owned for over a decade that I bought in Banff. Gotcha was not on her
tuffet
and it threw me off a little.
Along with that coffee smell.

I opened my door and stepped into the kitchen to find Jan working over the stove.

“Where’s Gotcha?”

“And good morning to you, too,” Jan said, smiling over her shoulder. “I just now let her out. I suspect she’s close to coming in. I peeked in a little while ago, saw you sleeping like a sloth, and when she got up and came my way, I let her. Then I closed your door. Gotcha actually
grinned
at me when I spoke to her this morning. Kind of a horrid yet endearing expression—all those jaws and folds and spikey teeth, and her grinning.
A bit unnerving if I didn’t know her.
Actually, a bit unnerving even though I
do
know her.”

“You peeked in on me?”

“
Yesss
,” she responded warily.

“Knowing I sleep in the nude?

“No you don’t!”

“How do you know that?

“Karen told me.
Years ago.
You booger!”

I walked past Jan and touched her shoulder on my way to the back door. I opened it to a cold blast of air and an annoyed-looking dog. She came in and gave herself a shake and proceeded to her bowl. Then she looked up at me, clearly impatient with the whole process being behind schedule. I fed and medicated her,
then
she headed for the sofa in the front room and hopped up. She is not a morning dog and she is not a winter dog. She prefers mid-day in the spring and fall. There’s only so much I can accommodate for her.

“So
how’re you liking
Iowa so far?”

“I like it just fine, Thomas. This snowfall is breathtaking. Have you looked outside?”

“I have, but I can’t help but wish we’d had a
real
snowstorm yesterday and last night. This hardly qualifies.
Disappointing.
I wanted you guys to see the real thing, and all we get is these flimsy flurries.”

Jan gave me a look.

“Ernie sleeping in?

“Indeed. The poor guy just couldn’t handle the blizzard and the brandy and the…,” she caught herself and actually blushed. “Actually, he’s in the shower, and by the way, I like your house more and more. That bathroom is stupendous—all that Italian marble.”

“I do what I can to honor your heritage. I hope you slept well. So, what are you doing in my kitchen? What’s cooking?”

All three of us had carried in boxes of groceries when the Timmons had arrived yesterday morning, and all of it was food Jan had judged to be essential and that she didn’t think she’d find in a small town in Iowa. She’d said she
had
to have ricotta cheese for the lasagna she was going to make and leave for me—she simply could not substitute with the cottage cheese I suggested—an unpardonable sin. Jan can be an inflexible woman when it comes to Italian cooking.

“I’m preparing Italian sausage and cheese grits.
Coffee, too.”

“Italian sausage and cheese grits? You are a gift from God, Jan. I smelled the coffee.
Woke me up.
Great way to start the day.”

“Here, have some,” she grabbed my big Harley-Davidson mug that waited, upside-down, on a towel spread out on the counter. She poured it half full and handed it over. “I couldn’t remember if you took sugar and cream, or neither, or just one.
Or even if you wanted this big of a cup.
I remember you liked it strong. How is it?”

“Thanks,” I sipped some. “Good.
Perfect coffee.”
I scooched around her and reached up into the cabinet above the stove and retrieved a big bottle of
Baileys
Irish Cream. I poured it into the mug, bringing the liquid to the brim and turning the coffee several shades lighter. I got out a spoon and stirred.

“Having a little of my coffee with your Baileys, I see.”

“I do like a little cream with my coffee.”

“Didn’t used to, did you? Seems early in the day.”

“Things change,” I said. “Baileys is a kinder, gentler way to start the morning. Besides, it’s afternoon in Ireland.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You make great coffee, Jan. Do you have a sister somewhere?”

“You know about Sophia in
Brindisi
, but she’s married. But there are other women around, and some of them you know back in
Belue
. Laurie Pendleton and Marie Pitts still ask about you.
Handsome women.
Are you even looking? Are you ready to move ahead? Isn’t that what you and Karen agreed to do if anything happened to either one of you? You know you really should by now. It’s been over two years, Thomas.”

“I know how long it’s been, Jan.”

I walked across the kitchen and looked out the window.

Ernie saved me from Jan’s questions by coming down the stairs. “Did I hear the dulcet tones of my beloved?” he asked as he entered the kitchen. He was in corduroy pants, a thin sweater, and loafers with red socks. Ernie always wears red socks, even though he’s a Braves fan. He even wore them on his wedding day, and says he wants to be wearing them when he’s buried. He just likes the color.
Iconic.

“I have dared to take liberties with another person’s kitchen,” Jan said. “I woke him up with the smell of coffee, sneaked Gotcha outside, and started breakfast.
All this in
his
kitchen.
I think it made him edgy, having a broad in the joint.”

“
Je
regret
, Jan.
Mi
cacina
es
su
cacina
.
”

She started laughing and the tension broke like a brittle Christmas bulb.

“You just spoke to my wife in multiple languages, Thomas,” Ernie said. “Trying to impress her?”

“Yes,” I said, coming back across the kitchen. “Now she needs to impress
me
with her cooking, which is always an iffy endeavor.”

Jan smacked me with the spatula, leaving a greasy little swipe on my shoulder.

“Shug,” Jan said to Ernie, “you should take a look at this man’s refrigerator and freezer. It’s pathetic, and a wonder he is alive. I guess Moon’s place is where you eat most of the time, right?” she asked, turning to me.

I smiled my most innocent, youthful smile and said nothing.

“What’s wrong with his refrigerator?” Ernie asked.

Jan replied, “Well, before I helped stock it, there was nothing in there but beer, white wine, bacon, brats, cheese, and peanut butter.
Some milk.
Butter.”

“
Natural
peanut butter, Jan. Don’t leave out the adjective,” I said.

“And his freezer had nothing but hash browns and sausage patties! Lord!”

“Don’t forget the ice cubes,” I added.

“What’s wrong with his food supply?” Ernie asked.

The day passed slowly. I couldn’t get out and about because of the snow, even with it starting to melt in mid-day sun and temperatures in the upper 30’s. I couldn’t do anything to help Moon, yet. Nine inches of pure snow had struck
Rockbluff
County, and not many people were venturing out.

After breakfast, Jan was in and out of the kitchen. When she wasn’t in the kitchen, we all hung out in the front room and caught up with what was happening in our lives when we weren’t getting up and going to various windows to admire the outdoors that Jan said looked like God had squished out shaving cream all over the countryside.

From time to time I went into my room and turned on the local radio station. No news about the murder of Cindy Stalking Wolf or the disappearance of the
Jarlssons
and the trashing of
Prentice’s
office. I checked every hour. Sometimes I cranked up the internet to see if there was anything in any other papers. I checked local weather, forecasts, and conditions around the area.
Several times.

During one lull in conversation I strolled outside with Gotcha, took my snow shovel I had set out the night before, and pushed some of the wet snow off my deck. Ernie and Jan joined us and admired the view while listening to the water dripping from the roof and trees. I told them about the eagles I had seen off and on since my move, and that Lunatic Mooning had told me the Ojibwa believe the eagles were the spirits of those I had lost, and that all was well with them in the world of the Great Spirit.

“You have been through a lot, Thomas,” Ernie said, gazing out over the white landscape beyond the deck. “See any benefits?”

“Not yet,” I said. Jan took my arm in her two hands. I could not look at her.