Just Over The Mountain (13 page)

Tears gathered in her eyes and she looked back at him. “I just want a chance to be normal. To have a baby and be normal.”

“You’re not abnormal. You’ve got a disease. We thought we had a good chance, but every day you ignore treatment, that chance slips farther away. Please, Justine. Come to the clinic. Let’s at least see what we have. Let’s at least confirm the pregnancy.”

“I don’t want to get in your clutches,” she said pathetically. “You’ll get rid of the baby.”

“Don’t be crazy. No one does anything to you that you don’t agree to, you know that.”

“You’ll talk me into it! I know how you doctors
work! You take over a person’s body and that’s it. You—”

John was suddenly smiling, but there was sadness in his smile. He thought, she must be pregnant. She’s gone over the edge emotionally. “You’ll do what you want to do, Justine. Let me help as much as I can.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, blowing her nose loudly.

“You must be scared to death,” he suggested.

“Hah. You can’t imagine.”

“How’s Sam dealing with this?”

“Not well.” With a hiccup of emotion that was halfway between a laugh and a cry, she said, “I think he’s pissed.”

John chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I can understand that. You can’t really blame him, can you? He loves you, after all.”

“Some way to show love, being all cranky and pissy.”

“You held out on him,” John argued, shrugging.

“No, I never. He knew I wanted a baby. All along.”

“After getting through chemo successfully. After being healthy and strong and ready.”

“He’s seventy! He doesn’t have all that much time!”

John was quiet for a moment, speechless at the irony. Very probably Sam had more time than Justine. Acting against medical advice as she had, she was virtually committing suicide. And if she truly was pregnant, she’d be taking the baby with her. He wondered how Sam would get through that.

“This is going to be rough for Sam,” John said. “He’s so devoted to you. Just look at him. When you married him, he dropped twenty-five years, but lately he’s got it back and gained some. If you aren’t going to worry about yourself and the baby, could you at least consider Sam? Justine, this is just plain cruel!”

She sobbed softly into her tissue. John walked around the corner and took her into his arms. He comforted by instinct, holding her while she got his shoulder all wet. And then he thought, what’s the matter with me? I don’t screw up with female patients! I know what to say and when to say it. I’m good with them and they feel safe and protected and respected. How could I have erred so badly with my own wife?

When Justine’s tears abated, he pulled back from her and asked, “Will you come to the clinic?”

She nodded in defeat. “When?”

“Whenever you like. Just call Jessie. She’ll fix it so you don’t have to wait.”

Trembling, she leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, John.”

“Hey, you’d do the same for a friend. Anybody would.”

“You’ll see,” she said, her smile tremulous. “I’m going to live.”

The bus dropped Johnny Toopeek at the crossroads about a half mile from his house. Most days he was with his sister, Tanya, but she had a baby-sitting job after school this particular day. The other Toopeek children
were in junior high and elementary school, and since Ursula taught middle school, Jenn and Sonja got rides. Bobby, or Baby as they often called him to make him absolutely crazed with anger, was in the first grade.

So Johnny, alone, cut across the hill behind his house. At the top of the hill he encountered the twins, Brent and Brad. They were not in a friendly mood. “Hey, Tonto,” Brent said. “You cop us out to your Chief-daddy?”

“What?” Johnny asked, perplexed.

“We’re busted,” Brad said, sauntering forward toward Johnny. “Since it was, like, the middle of the night, we figured you for the deal. You told the big Indian cop, huh, Redman.” It was not a question.

Johnny shook his head, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Get real,” he said, attempting to shoulder through them.

Brent pushed the shoulder back. “Not so fast. You gonna own up to it, snitch?”

“Me?” Johnny asked, again dumbfounded. “Don’t be stupid.”

Brad shoved forward beside his twin, backing Johnny down the path. “How’d he know?”

Now Johnny’s mirth was for real. Could these two really be so dense? “He’s a
cop,
” he said in disbelief. “It’s his job to know. He doesn’t need his kids to tell him anything. Jeez.” Again he tried to get by them and again they held him back. Johnny was thicker than the twins and probably stronger, but he was shorter. And, of course, there were two of them. “Don’t start anything. It won’t go the way you want it to.”

“Oh yeah? How’s it gonna go, Tonto?”

“Let me give you some free advice, asshole,” Johnny said. “There are lots of Indians around here. Native Americans. And none of us likes to be called names. Okay?”

“What are you gonna do about it? Tell the big Tonto?”

Johnny knew they wanted him to throw the first punch so bad they could taste it, and there was no way he’d do that. He backed up slowly, mindful of the turns in the path, the rocks underfoot. But he simply smiled at them.

“You coming through or not?” Brad said, still facing him down, forcing him backward.

“I’d say
not,
” Brent said, walking. “The Injun’s chicken.”

Johnny realized that being a twin must be a kind of adrenaline-producing thing. He was in football practice with these two, and though they were swift and dextrous, they weren’t hard hitters. They were just starting to develop some good muscles, but they were still a good two, maybe three, years and a bunch of testosterone away from manly. They were spindly. They both were going for quarterback slots, and they couldn’t take a hit.

Stupid. He almost laughed out loud.

“I think you ratted us out,” Brad said. “And you should learn a lesson.”

He wouldn’t respond, though it was tempting. But provoking them was almost as bad as throwing the first punch, and it was important to Johnny that his response be clean. Lily white. He would only do what he absolutely
had
to do…and he couldn’t wait.

Brent gave a hard shove. “You gonna admit it, Redman?”

“We have to beat it out of you?”

Oh, he couldn’t help himself. He spread his hands wide as if helpless, but the half smile on his lips was cynical.

Brad caved first, drawing back a fist and slamming it into Johnny’s jaw, causing him to reel backward and do a backward somersault on the path. He hadn’t given the twin enough credit—that was a darn good hit. Johnny’s jaw was temporarily numb and there was the unmistakable metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Plus, Brent was on him before he could get to his feet. These two weren’t going to tag team; they were going to pound him together.

They got in a few more licks than Johnny had intended, mostly because he couldn’t get up with the two of them on him. But then he rolled and rolled fast, grabbing the hair of one and the shirtfront of the other, sending them off him in separate directions. His vision was a little blurred, which meant he’d taken one in the eye, so he was through screwing with these two assholes. The closest was Brent and he pummeled his face one-two-three-four before Brad grabbed him from behind and locked his arms down. Johnny bent at the waist and threw Brad over his shoulders, flipping him right into Brent. Both of them landed with a loud thump and multiple groans. Johnny pulled Brad to his feet, spun him around, punched him right in the nose and sent him sailing again into his brother. He was going to
regret that one, he realized, shaking his hand. He hoped to God he hadn’t broken it because he didn’t want to miss any football.

It took almost no time at all to leave a couple of bruised and bloody idiots on the trail. Johnny was feeling some pain, but he was hardly out of breath.

“I don’t snitch,” he said to the twins. “And I also don’t do the shit you do. And don’t come at me again or you’ll really be sorry. You got that, Whiteman?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He went home.

His grandmother had raised four sons, so the look on her face was one of disgusted acceptance of his weakness. Then she brought an ice bag and poultice to the room he shared with Bobby. The other kids all did their homework at the big oak table in the dining room, but Johnny thought it smarter to stay in his room until his grandma could soften up his mom and dad.

He heard his father come home, and it seemed only seconds before the door to his room opened. Tom leaned in the frame, looking tall and formidable. The uniform and gun still had an effect, even if you were used to them.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I fell off my bike,” Johnny said.

Tom’s eyebrows immediately rose in surprise; that was a good one. He glanced at Johnny’s red and swollen hand. “Fall on the hand?” he asked.

Johnny nodded, feeling stupid. Right or wrong, his dad would grudgingly admire him for not snitching. They had these talks all the time, about when it was ab
solutely necessary, when someone could really get hurt. There hadn’t occurred such a time that one of the Toopeek kids held back in a dangerous situation, and Johnny prayed that day would never come. Having a police chief for a dad could be a real drag.

Tom sort of smiled. “How’s the bike look?” He wanted to know.

Johnny almost smiled back, but held it in check. “It took a few pretty bad dings, Dad. Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Tom said. “Let’s eat. Maybe we’ll have June look at that hand, if the swelling doesn’t go down.”

“You mad?”

“You do something wrong?”

“No, Dad. Honest.”

“Then I’m not mad. Honest.”

T
he day held a feeling of futility for June. She hadn’t connected with either Birdie or Judge, so getting some sort of legal advice for Myrna hadn’t been resolved. She was going to have to be patient with regard to the age and origin of the bones found on Hudson land, although the suspense was killing her. And Elmer had found that the Sandfield Office Supplier had gone out of business fifteen years ago. Whether there were any remaining employee records was going to take a while to uncover. Morton seemed to be missing more each moment. Myrna seemed to be getting deeper into trouble by the second.

June was discouraged.

In an effort to salvage something of the day, she did an impetuous, perhaps dangerous, thing. She went out to Shell Mountain in search of Jurea. And she didn’t tell anyone that that’s where she was going because anyone she told—John, Tom, Elmer—would have advised her against it and attempted to talk her out of going.

The shanty sat back in the trees and a curl of smoke wound upward from the chimney. Well, that was a good sign. There was human activity; hopefully a cook fire. Clarence’s truck was there, but that didn’t mean he was at home. The entire forest was his backyard.

“Hello?” she called. Though she approached the shack slowly, she was encouraged by the lack of hostile action from within. Better still, Jurea opened the door before she even had a chance to knock.

“I figured you’d be coming. You or Chief Toopeek or maybe that Charlie MacNeil from the VA. But someone would come,” she said.

June smiled with awe. “I just can’t get over the change, Jurea. Your face, it’s so remarkable.”

“Ain’t it, though?” she replied, laying a palm against her new cheek. “Don’t have much feeling here. I have a little mirror, and whenever I see it, I can’t believe it all over again.” She stood aside, opening the door wider so June could enter. “Are you coming in?”

“I’d like to. Is Clarence at home?”

“Oh, he’s never very far away. I can offer you some coffee. It’s not the best, but it’s hot.”

June went in and sat at the table. Jurea poured a cup from the pot on their woodstove, and once it was in front of June, she turned up the oil lamp, illuminating the room.

A change had come over the little hovel. June looked around in appreciation, noting that Jurea had brought back to the woods some items to make the place more comfortable. There were a couple of quilts folded at the
foot of two cots, cups, plates, utensils and pots. There were also candles, towels and store-bought supplies like soap, sugar, flour, coffee, lard, salt and pepper.

June knew that Jurea didn’t drive and had only one way to get back and forth to Grace Valley. “I visited your children,” June said, and Jurea’s eyes brightened, perhaps with tears. “They’re doing very well. They love going to school.”

“They understand about this,” she said. “They want me to see about their daddy.”

“But you can’t leave them alone for long. It will appear you’ve abandoned them.”

Jurea looked shocked. “But isn’t Clinton of an age to live away from his parents?”

“Yes, I think so, but just barely. And Wanda isn’t. She’s only fourteen. The county could decide to put her in a foster home. Jurea, it would be good if you went back to them…continued with the doctor.”

“I can’t leave Clarence, Doc. You know he wouldn’t leave me.”

“But he did,” June said pleadingly. “He ran right out of the hospital and fled for his life.”

“He was only afraid. That’s how our life has been. When we’re afraid, we at least have each other.”

“I know. I’m sympathetic to that. But now there’s more at stake.”

“No more’n usual. This plastic surgery is wonderful, and I’m grateful, but it ain’t more important than Clarence’s peace of mind.”

“That’s not what I mean, Jurea. Try to understand.
The kids are in school now and an education is the single thing that can change their lives, assure them a place to live and food to eat so they aren’t forced to forage the forest. It’s important that they continue going.”

“And so,
are
they?”

“Yes, but leaving them there alone and coming out here to the mountain makes it easier for Clarence to choose this, to withdraw again and live with his fears, away from people. Maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t come back here to be with him, he’d miss you and the children enough to try the town again. To take his medicine again.”

Jurea frowned. “You don’t mean to say this could be my fault?”

June shrugged. “You’ve made this choice a little easier for him. And I know you know, it’s better that he see the doctor, take his medicine and try living among people. For his own sake and that of the children.”

Jurea lowered her gaze. “He’s nowhere near ready to talk about that.”

June took a sip of her coffee—delicious coffee, made with the water of a mountain stream. Then she stood. “You know Clarence better than anyone. You should start to let him know what’s good for you, too. Meanwhile, can I get you a ride into town to see the kids? And someone to bring you back?”

“Maybe so,” she said uncertainly. “Not tonight, though. I’ll have to warm Clarence up to the idea.”

“Of course. In a couple of days?”

“That would be nice,” she said, almost smiling.

“I’ll be on my way then. Please give Clarence my regards and tell him we miss him.”

“That’ll make him feel good,” she said. “He don’t admit it, but I think he misses some of his new friends.”

It occurred to June to brag a little about how the people in town were looking after Clinton and Wanda without being asked. George was cashing the checks, though he had to know it wasn’t Clarence endorsing them. The kids were getting all the extra help they needed with schoolwork, and June wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last, to drop by and check on them. Instead, she just said, “Everyone and everything is waiting there for the two of you. Don’t make us all wait too long, Jurea.”

In the very darkest part of a moonless night, June heard a sound. She lay very still, tensely waiting, not even drawing a breath. Sadie got up and wandered out of the bedroom to investigate. June could hear the soft jingling of her tags, but the collie didn’t whine or growl. In just another moment he was there, leaning over her. He still had his beard.

“I’m going to have to start locking my doors,” she said.

“I locked it for you. Move over.” He sat down on the bed beside her.

“Am I dreaming you?” she whispered.

He kissed her and in an instant she knew that it was
not
with Jim that she had uncertainty and with Chris history, but very much the opposite. With Jim she had
a history that she could trust and with Chris she had only the uncertainty of a jaded past.

She put her arms around Jim’s neck, holding him close, kissing him deeply. A tear of sheer gladness coursed down her temple into her hair and her heart beat wildly.

“Are you here for good?” she asked, still whispering. It was as if she spoke loudly, she might cause him to bolt.

“No. Only for tonight.”

She slugged him in the chest. “Then why did you bother?” she wanted to know.

“I had a sense that you needed me, if only for a little while.”

Her protest caught in her throat. “Okay. I did. I do. But it’s so damn hard when you leave again.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “It’s not going to be very much longer. A few months at the very most, but I’m thinking way less. The people I’m dealing with are stupid and impatient.”

That almost made her laugh. “What funny good news.”

“You think it’s funny, but it’s not. It
is
excellent news, though. I’m tired of dealing with smart guys. They wear me out. It takes too much mental energy. These idiots are going to be ready for jail in no time.” He brushed back her hair. “I hate it when I leave, too.”

“But you’re right, I really needed you. Grace Valley is full of crazy people and I’m leading the pack.”

“Is that so?” he asked. He stood and took off his
shoes, then his shirt, then his pants. She pulled back the coverlet and made room. As though he’d been doing it every night for the past twenty years, he slipped in beside her. She snuggled into the crook of his arm and played with the hair on his chest while he inhaled the smell of her hair.

“I’ve been more unstable and neurotic than usual. It’s probably your fault somehow.”

“Probably.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me about your aunt.”

“In a minute. First I want to know something. Do we have the kind of relationship where we tell each other deeply personal things?”

That took him a moment. Then, hesitatingly, “I, ah, don’t really know.”

“My old high-school flame came back to Grace Valley,” she said. “Should I tell you about it?”

“Again, I don’t really know. Is this something you have to unburden yourself of?”

“He’s a divorced single father now,” she said, ignoring his question. “He’s been hell-bent we should try again, though I haven’t encouraged him at all.” Jim rose up on an elbow, looking down at her while she talked. “You can certainly look fierce with that beard. It’s a little scary.”

“Go on,” he said, urging her to continue.

“Okay. I’ve never had much in mind for him outside of a slow death. However, I did let him kiss me.”

Jim frowned darkly. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Of course not! I never even let him get to first base. But when he kissed me, I just let him. I’m not sure why.”

“Hmm. I guess you’re entitled to be curious.”

It was her turn to frown. That was awfully understanding. “Have you been kissing people since you’ve been away?”

He began to laugh. “If you could see the people I’ve been hanging out with, you wouldn’t even have to ask.”

“You don’t want to go messing with some Colombian drug lord’s mistress, Jim. I hear they’re short-tempered and jealous.”

“These are backwoods mountain men with matted beards and ropes for belts. It’s like Dogpatch, except they’re making a small fortune growing cannabis. The big question is, where’s the money going? I suspect the sheriff.”

“Where is this happening?”

“Never mind. Tell me about the boyfriend.”

“Are you angry with me for letting him kiss me?” she asked. “Because if that sort of thing upsets you, I won’t bare my soul in the future.”

He sighed. “June, I have a better idea. Don’t kiss any old boyfriends in the future.”

“Ah…you plan on sticking it out with me.” She snuggled against him and he lay back down on the pillow. “I wish you knew how hard it is to not tell anyone I have someone. People can’t understand why I’m not tempted by Chris. Or by the new preacher who came into town, who is attractive and single.”

“You haven’t kissed
him,
have you?”

“Oh no, and I don’t see any danger of that. I’m not attracted to him. He has, however, asked if I’m single.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” he asked.

“No,” she said, snuggling closer. “I’m trying to
hurry
you.”

The night was deep and soft, and they talked in hushed tones of things both complex and banal. She told him about Aunt Myrna and the bones, about Chris and his explanation of why he had broken her heart. He told her about the acting job he was doing undercover, pretending to be an IRS agent, a revenuer in search of illegal stills, when he was really after the marijuana patches the locals thought he was too dumb to recognize. But he wouldn’t say where, and when she asked him how he had managed to get to her he would only say, “I have connections.” When she asked if he had traveled all the way from the Ozarks he had said no, but it felt like it. Then he promised that as soon as it was over, he would tell her the whole thing.

Somewhere in the midst of all this talk they made love, slowly and carefully, savoring each touch and kiss because it would have to last. How long, neither of them knew. Too soon it was dawn.

“It wasn’t much,” he said, “but it’s all I have. How long do you think this one night will keep you from kissing other men?”

“Forever,” she said. “Because I love you.”

“That’s the first time you’ve admitted that. I knew, but I’m glad you finally said the words.”

“What do you mean, you knew? How could you know? How could you be sure?”

“I’m sure of the way you feel, June. You’re very convincing.”

“Hmmph.”

“And I love you, too.”

She watched him leave by the back door, walk across the porch and backyard and enter the trees at the edge of her property. There was an overgrown path that let out onto an old logging road about a hundred yards through the trees. When he’d been working undercover in her mountains, he had parked his truck back there and snuck in to her late at night. This time he would take the hidden truck to the airport.

She wouldn’t let herself cry because that would be ungrateful. To weep because it was temporarily over would ruin the miracle of his appearance, of what they had had together. She took a deep breath as he vanished from sight and told herself to be strong, to be worthy of a man like him.

And she smiled.

Early that same morning, two sheriff’s deputies drove their sedan up to Myrna Claypool’s house. They were followed by an unobtrusive white van that pulled a medium-size trailer. Behind the van were two more officers in a CA Highway Patrol SUV.

There was no sign of life around Hudson House. The officers were all out of their vehicles, standing around in the drive. Finally the first two walked up to the door and rapped harshly. “Mrs. Claypool?” one called out. “Sheriff’s deputies. Please open the door.” Still there
was nothing. “Should we kick it in?” he wanted to know.

“She’s eighty-four and lives alone. Give her some time. When you’re eighty-four it might take you a minute or two to get to the door.”

“We wouldn’t want her hiding evidence.”

“Shit, Stan. She’s had twenty years to hide evidence. Just knock again.”

He did so, then said, “What if she’s armed?”

“You want to break the door down and wrestle this ninety-pound little old lady to the ground, huh, Stan?”

The men from the van started unloading equipment—shovels, crime scene tape, tarps, lights. They wore white jumpsuits, boots and gloves. The Highway Patrol officers stayed in their SUV as back-up, standard procedure when serving a warrant.