Evenfall (29 page)

Edna hasn’t shared a pew with her at church since, but it’s not like Gert cares. Knowing he’d paid the bill let Frank sleep easier those last few months, and even if she’d been arrested, it would have been worth it.

Edna’s on the phone when Gert comes in. “I’ll call you back,” she says when she sees Gert, and quickly hangs up. There’s a long counter that runs the length of the room and a cluster of desks behind it. The tax collector shares an office with the town’s treasurer and assessor, but the latter are part-time positions, so Edna’s made the space her own. Pictures of her bulldogs line the front of the counter, and there’s a sign on the wall behind her desk that reads: “I can only help one person at a time. Today’s not your day, and tomorrow doesn’t look good either.”

Edna takes her time coming to the front of the room, and when Gert hands over the check, her nose wrinkles, as if the paper smells bad.

“I keep telling you, you can mail these in,” Edna says. She folds the check in half without looking at it. Edna has run for her position four times unopposed, and to Gert’s way of thinking, that’s half her problem. The other half is her natural disposition, but not much can be done about that.

“I’d like a receipt, please.”

“Of course,” Edna snaps. “Just hold your horses.” She bangs open a drawer below the counter and paws through it, emerging with a pad and pen.

While she’s waiting, Gert’s eyes settle on a picture of a particularly small and wrinkled dog.

“New puppy?” she asks, pointing to the picture.

Edna nods.

“Nice,” Gert says, although she knows nothing about dogs and finds this one particularly odious. But an idea is flickering at the back of her mind, and she wants to follow it and see how far it goes.

“She is,” Edna says, softening. “She’s Misty Kennel’s Achy Breaky Baby, and she got best of opposite in her very first show! She is just the cutest little bitch.”

“I’ll bet,” Gert says. She admires the picture a bit more. “It must be difficult for you to find time to show, given your job.”

“You know, I’ve been saying that to my husband for years. Of course, we do have Mondays off here, but even so, getting the girls ready for a big show can take me a whole day.” She leans forward and drops her voice. “People can be so unsympathetic. It’s okay to miss work because of your kid’s dance recital, but if I ask for time off for the girls…” She shakes her head.

Gert makes sympathetic noises and waits until she has the receipt in her hands. Then, on her way out the door, she stops and turns back. “Maybe it’s time to give somebody else a shot at the job,” she says. “I mean, if your heart’s not really in it anymore, it’s not really fair, is it? To you or to the…girls.”

“I don’t think so,” Edna says. “It’s a very difficult job, you know, and people aren’t ready to see someone else in my place. They want someone reliable, someone they can trust.”

“Exactly,” Gert agrees. “That’s why I’m thinking about running.” She waits a second, to catch the full expression that crosses Edna’s face, and then she breezes out with a
wave. If nothing else, it’ll give the old biddy something to think about, but Gert just might do it. She needs something to keep her occupied these days; that’s half her problem. She’s always had a good head for numbers, she’s organized, and she’s nursed enough people around these parts that getting elected shouldn’t be too hard, even if Edna does decide to run again.

Gert’s almost at the exit, still musing over Edna, when a man’s voice calls to her. “Hey, Gert. You got a second?” It’s Walter Kawalski, the first selectman. Unlike Edna, he’s run against stiff opposition for the last two terms and beaten both contenders handily. He has the thin wrists and delicate fingers of a surgeon, but Gert’s never seen him hold anything sharper than a pencil.

When she turns, he beckons her into his office and shuts the door. “I heard the news. So I guess congratulations are in order, huh?” he says. He motions her to take a seat, then goes around to the other side of his desk and sits down.

Walter and Gert were assigned to the same room at the church’s cleanup day last spring. He painted the trim in slow, careful strokes, making sure he covered even the hard-to-reach places. She thinks they’d make a good team, and Walt must, too, otherwise he wouldn’t have made a point of bringing her in here so fast. He must have overheard her talking with Edna. Gert shudders when she thinks of what he must put up with, working with that old harridan. Still, it’s not a sure thing, and it’s not right to let him think it is.

“I haven’t made my mind up yet,” she cautions him. “It’ll be a big change for me, and I need to think it over a bit.”

“So you haven’t signed anything yet?” he says. “It’s not official?”

“Goodness, no. I’ve hardly had time to make it official. The idea just came to me this morning,” she says.

“Well, that’s great. That’s good news,” he says. He leans back in his chair. “The way your niece’s fiancé was talking down at Baxter’s, it sounded like a done deal.”

The word “fiancé” strikes Gert like a fist. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room, and her unreliable heart goes galloping off at a most unseemly pace. Steady, she tells herself. Steady now.

When she can take in air, she realizes Walt is still talking, and that none of what he’s saying seems to have anything to do with the position of tax collector.

“Walter,” she says, taking a deep breath. “You’d better start again.”

“Sorry,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I tend to get a little too into the details of a situation like this. Hey, you want some water or something? You look a little pale.”

Gert nods, and Walter springs up from his desk. There’s a water dispenser in the corner of the room, and he fills a paper cup and hands it to her. Her hands are trembling when she takes it, but she holds it carefully and manages not to spill.

When she finishes, Walter takes the cup. “Do you need some more?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No, thank you.” He’s watching her closely, and she manages a small smile. “I’m fine,” she says. “Really. Now, explain to me again what you were saying.”

“Right.” Walter goes back around to his chair, although
he doesn’t sit so much as perch. “Well, basically, the bottom line is that we can’t afford to match the price that the developer is offering you. I mean, two and a half million dollars buys a lot of schoolbooks, you know? Even when it’s not an election year.”

“Indeed,” Gert says. She’d no idea the property was worth so much, although someone clearly did. It occurs to her for the first time to wonder what happened to the assessor’s report.

“But—and it’s a big but—I’ve been looking into the state’s conservation program, and I think there’s a chance we could get you a pretty fair percentage for the development rights. If you want to sell them, that is.”

“The development rights?” That clear, sharp-headed feeling Gert woke up with has long since vanished. Her head feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“You sell the state—if I can convince them it’s worth it, which I think I can—the rights to develop the farm,” he explains. “The state keep the rights, so the land can’t be developed, and you get a nice chunk of change, plus the land.”

“Hmmm,” Gert says. This is all too much. She waits a moment. When Walter doesn’t say anything else, she asks, “And why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t,” Walter says. “But you strike me as a woman who likes to know all the options, and this is one of them. Maybe.”

“I’m too old to start farming,” she says. “And too tired.” The foolishness of her interchange with Edna is apparent
now. The woman is at least fifteen years younger. Even if Gert had the energy for such a job, which she doesn’t, who would want her? She’s been kidding herself. The word “fiancé” keeps buzzing in her head like an angry black fly.

“Gert, I have no doubt you’ll be here long after the rest of us are nothing but fertilizer,” Walter says. “But that land may not be. Did you know Scotty McPhearson sold his place to a developer, and twenty houses are going up there next spring?”

Gert nods. She’d heard the McPhearsons were moving to Florida. They’d let it slip during the reception after church that their new condo came complete with a hot tub, wall-to-wall carpeting, and a walk-in wine cellar.

“From the time I could walk I spent every summer fishing on that river,” Walt says. “Now…” He shrugs. “As an elected official, I’m supposed to be happy we’re growing the tax base.”

They sit in silence and contemplate what progress looks like from the other side. “Look,” Walter says finally. “It’s not a definite, but even so, I’d appreciate it if you’d think it over.”

“I’ll do that,” Gert says, and rises to leave.

“Oh, and tell your brother hello for me,” Walter says. He comes around the desk to open the door for her. “He’s quite the character, isn’t he?”

“My brother?” Gert asks. “How do you know Richard?”

Walter gives her a look, the same one she’s seen him use on Edna when she’s come to church wearing a necklace made of bronzed puppy teeth. Clearly, Gert is missing something. She grips the back of the chair for balance.

“He’s the one who brought in the developer,” Walter says carefully, enunciating every word. “I think your niece’s fiancé is the one who knew him, to start, but Richard’s the one who was walking him through the land records at town hall.”

Gert sits back down. The room doesn’t seem to be holding still anymore, so it’s just as well she’s off her feet.

“Gert?” she can hear Walter say, but it seems like a long ways away. “Gert?”

It’s only when he starts calling for Edna that she manages to come to. “Water, please,” she says, and takes a sip from the cup he offers her. “Now, tell me everything again. From the very beginning,” she says, and he does.

THERE’S something off about the living room. Each time Andie passes through, the difference nags at her. It’s not until well after lunch, when she’s carrying a load of laundry to the kitchen to fold, that she realizes what’s wrong. The map that normally hangs above the couch is gone.

It’s an old seafaring map, one that Frank’s grandfather used. Water stained and marked with dirt, Clara had it framed as a birthday present from her and Andie one year. It has the Wildermuth name written in careful, ancient longhand in one corner, and in the center of the frame, a gold plaque reads, “From the Murphy Girls.”

“Well, we can’t let him have it all his own way,” Clara had said when Andie had asked about the plaque. “The Wildermuth name is most everywhere else—seeing Murphy here
won’t hurt him none. Besides, it’s not like the map’s telling him where to go. They’re places his family’s already been.” The dark spot on the wallpaper where it usually hangs gapes at Andie like a missing tooth.

She puts the basket down, checks behind the couch to see if the picture has fallen there. Nothing. She considers asking Neal if he’s seen it, but just as she’s about to call to him, she hears the clang of the shower pipes from the upstairs bathroom. He’ll be in there at least half an hour, fussing with the temperature. She decides it’s just as well. Since yesterday at Gert’s, every time she looks at Neal she gets a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. They need to talk. But somehow she can’t seem to bring herself to it. Last night after her walk home from the cottage, she went directly to the spare bedroom, blaming her headache. He’s been romping around her this morning like an overeager puppy, all in her space and wanting to chat, but she’s managed to put it off. She needs to be prepared, needs to find the words he won’t argue with, so he can’t convince her to change her mind again. There’s a power to believing you’re irresistible, and Andie’s come up against it often enough to respect its force.

She’s standing there, rehearsing what to say for the billionth time, when the doorbell rings. She picks up the laundry basket and walks into the entryway to answer the door. It’s Cort, standing on the steps with Nina beside him. As soon as Andie opens the door a crack, the dog pushes it wide and wiggles through.

“Hey,” Andie says, but with the laundry basket in her
hand she can’t grab Nina’s collar. She hears the dog clattering down the hall and then up the stairs.

“Shit,” Andie says. “Nina, come back here.” But Cort pays no attention.

“We’ve got to talk,” he says. He takes the laundry basket from her, sets it on the floor, then pulls her into the living room.

“If it’s about last night, I was out of my mind,” Andie says, but just standing this close to him is making her lightheaded. The house seems too warm, suddenly. She looks at Cort’s lips, at the shape they make when they say her name, and has to stop herself from reaching out to trace them with her finger. There’s a buzzing in her ears that won’t let her concentrate on anything but his face. It’s as if she’s under a spell.

“Are you listening to me?” he says. She nods, even though she has no idea what he’s talking about. She can hear the clicking of Nina’s nails on the second flight of stairs, the ones to the attic. She wants to warn Cort about the broken window, but he interrupts before she can get the words out.

“It’s all over town. Chris heard Edna talking down at Baxter’s.”

“About what?” she says. Andie’s standing close enough to him that she could count his eyelashes, if she wanted to, but the way Cort’s looking at her isn’t particularly affectionate.

“About your fiancé’s latest deal. The jukebox didn’t work out, huh? So now he’s going to sell Evenfall.”

“What?” Andie says, finally paying attention. “That’s crazy.”

“Really? You tell me, then, how come he’s got a developer ready to sign for two million bucks?”

“That’s crazy,” she says again. “Aunt Gert would have said something to me.”

“That’s just my point,” Cort says. “I don’t think she knows.”

“But Aunt Gert has to sign any deal. She’s the one who owns the property. And for the record, he’s not my fiancé.” It’s not until she says this that the muscles around Cort’s mouth relax. For some reason, that makes her happy.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what he’s saying.”

“Neal says a lot of things. He likes to talk,” Andie says. She’s having a hard time making eye contact and fixes her gaze on the wall instead. “He’s good at it. It’s part of his job, making connections. Some guy he met probably mentioned he was in real estate and Neal thought it would be a great opportunity…” Her words trail off. She’s staring at the blank spot on the wall, and suddenly it all clicks. She’s seeing things the way they really are.