Maternal Harbor (6 page)

We’ll go visit all the boys tomorrow morning,” she murmured and pressed on different places of her abdomen, feeling for movement.  Nothing.  She slipped her hand under her waistband to press deeper into flesh.  She cringed at the tightness of her skin.  It was stretched unbearably tight.  Would it ever shrink back strong enough to carry the weight of her weapons belt?  Men never worried about such a thing.  She pressed lower.  From deep inside, she felt a light nudge.  He didn’t want to be bothered.

“
That’s right, you rest now.”

Oklahoma City held nothing for Bryan Winslow since his wife of eight years announced she discovered true bliss in the bed of some Phillips executive.  After the divorce, Bryan traded his Firebird clunker for a brand-new Jeep Cherokee, rented a U-haul trailer, packed everything Cherylee didn’t want and drove to I-135.  He merged into traffic and hugged the slow lane until the city grew distant.

When a convoy of semis thinned, he accelerated into the left lane.  The Jeep’s powerful engine responded with ease.  This vehicle would carry him away, far away from the flat plains and the flat marriage, leaving behind the divorce court and heading to the place he’d spent his childhood summers – his grandmother’s cabin in the mountains near Glacier National Park.

Bryan longed for the shelter of mountains.  He needed to escape the treeless, windswept plains.  Nowhere had this land buckled or folded, not even into the smallest of peaks.  He figured the Almighty swatted it flat before adding grasshoppers, flies, mosquitoes, chiggers, and roaches to test man’s sanity, to see if the ever blowing wind could drive them into Hades – or divorce court.  It was dumb to blame the landscape for his obsession with the school and Ronda Rae’s bitchiness, but his wounds were fresh and raw.  Later he’d remember the good.  For now, he’d blame this land and retreat to the shade and smell of alpine evergreens.

This had been a dry year, not only for him, but for the soil.  The thin crops were already harvested, leaving sun-bleached stubble for rabbits and white tail deer to pick through for fallen grain.  Bryan gave up counting road kill at ten rabbits, two skunks, and one bull snake.

He should return home to Seattle and see his parents, but what could he say if he ran into Teagan?  Thoughts of her pestered him more than they had in a long time.  Bryan was disgusted with himself for letting the two women in his life run rampart in his mind.  Both relationships failed.

“So be it.  Get on with life,” he muttered and glanced at his watch.  He switched on the radio to catch the last newscast he’d hear with an Okie twang.  The slow rhythmic voice coming from the dash told about a high school shooting.  Six students dead.  The announcer listed the names of the dead children.  The solemn voice then reported the known facts about the three arrested killers.

The whole world made Bryan sick, and he switched the radio off, thankful he’d never dealt with such a horrible mess at his school.  He took pride in his ability to control students and teachers alike.  A principal’s job took more diplomacy than he’d realized.  Maybe he was glad to leave that behind, too.

Hunger rumbled in his stomach.  His appetite had been zilch for weeks, but now he wanted to eat.  An Exxon truck stop near the turnoff to Salina advertised a special for a hungry man’s breakfast.  He needed a good dose of fat.  No more tofu or anything else Ronda Rae insisted was good for him, like health clubs and Yani.

Before going inside the café, Bryan pumped unleaded fuel into the tank and washed the windshield.  He paid and then scanned around for the restroom.  After relieving himself, he stood at the sink, letting lukewarm water trickle over his hands.  He needed to quit whining, let go of his disappointment.  When was the last time he felt something besides disgust?

He chuckled when he realized it was right now.  Right now.  He checked to see if his shirt was tucked in properly and walked into the restaurant, confident his face remained unscarred by his recent emotional battles and the whites of his hazel eyes showed no bloodshot damage.

Without looking at a menu, he said to the waitress, “Sausage, over-easy eggs, and hash browns.”

He shoveled in a bite of runny eggs and was ready for a mouthful of hash browns when a voice interfered.  A kid, neither tall nor short, somewhere past his teen years, ragged but clear-eyed, stood looking at him. 

“
I didn't hear you,” Bryan said, taking the forkful of hash browns away from his mouth and holding them ready.

“
I asked if you're driving the Jeep with the U-haul.”

Bryan studied him.  “Yep.”

“Going far?”

“
You hitching?”  Bryan looked him over again.  “I plan on putting serious miles on the tires between here and dark.  Be glad for some company.”

“
I'll wait outside.”

Noting the kid’s quick glance at the half-eaten plate of food, Bryan asked, “You hungry?”

“I'm okay.”

“We need another plate of the same,” Bryan called to the waitress and then indicated for the boy to sit.  “What do I call you?”

“
TJ.”  He dumped his backpack into the corner of the booth and slid in.

Bryan guessed the TJ might stand for Tommy John or Teddy Joe.  He’d be damn glad to return north where babies were christened with one strong name.  He stuffed the forkful of cold potatoes into his mouth and swallowed.  “Heard on the news this morning we're in for another scorcher.”

TJ slumped into the comfortable curl of a young back.  “You don't have to make conversation.”

Again, Bryan studied TJ.  Dark shadows and hollows.  He needed sleep and food.  Bryan had found plenty of stray dogs and cats, fed them and then taken them to shelter.  He might just as well do so for a lost looking kid.  Beside Ronda Rae would easily turn her back on any one in need.

The waitress slapped a platter of sausage, eggs and potatoes in front of TJ, splashed full a glass of water, then asked Bryan, “Is that all?”  Her tone indicated she really didn't care and not to bother her again.

“
Refill on the coffee?”  Bryan controlled a sharp answer lurking near the surface.  One thing he didn't need was any more hassles with know-it-all women.

The waitress swished to the next booth.

Bryan half-expected TJ to wolf down the food, but he ate with manners almost refined.  His hands, small and tapered, belied the breadth of his chest.  TJ was a mixture of small and large; sizable eyes set in a narrow face, topped by a shock of chestnut hair, long on top, shaved close around big ears.

Bryan cleaned his plate, drained his water glass, wiped his damp mouth with the side of his hand, and stood.  “Take your time, TJ.”  He paid at the register, and while waiting, read ads tacked to a bulletin board.  One ad read persimmon-headed golf clubs for sale; another advertised baby furniture.  Again, he acknowledged relief that his sterile marriage hadn’t produced children.  He scanned all the bits of paper.  A German rifle was for sale and the price only a hundred bucks.  He almost heard
the ex
yelling about wasting money on his stupid collection.  She hated guns even more than she hated his job.  He yanked the scrap from under the thumbtack and searched for a pay phone outside.

He dropped change into the slot, and after four rings, he heard a receiver lift.

“I'm calling about the rifle you have for sale.”

“
Yes,” replied a feminine voice.

“
Still have it?”

“
Nobody's called.”

Puzzled by the lack of salesmanship, Bryan asked, “What kind is it?”

“Mauser.”

“
What model?”

“
Kar 98 Carbine.”

Bryan's adrenaline pumped up a notch.  A rare Mauser.  “You still want to sell it?”

“The ad wouldn't be on the bulletin board if I didn't.  Cripes, I’ve got them on every cork board all over town.”

“
Lady, you can't sell it if you don't tell me where I can see it.”

“
Not at my house.”

This was becoming a lot like pulling off a wet sock.  “Tell me where.”

“I don't know.”

“
I'm at the Exxon station at the I-135 junction.  I'm driving a white Jeep Cherokee and pulling a U-haul.”

I don't know what a Cherokee is, but I know a U-haul.  I suppose the whole place is full of them.”

“Mine is the only one.”  Bryan drew out the
one
.

“
Are there any scummy-looking people hanging around the truck stop?”

“
The mob here consists of me and one kid.”

“
I need cash.”  She sounded desperate.

Bryan didn't have the slightest idea why, but he reassured the voice that he could pay.

“Give me twenty minutes,” she said.

By now, Bryan would wait an hour just to see someone this dumb.  “I'll be in the restaurant.”

“Meet me outside.”  The woman’s voice pushed with
do as I say
.

“
How do I know who?”

“
Geez peez.  I'll have the rifle.  I'll bring the leftover bullets too.  You sure you got cash?”

“
I wouldn't have called if I didn't.”

“
Tell me what you look like.”

“
I’m just an average guy.  5'11" in my socks, brown hair and weigh a tad too much from desk sitting.  Is that enough?”  Bryan ground his molars together.

“
Anything easy to spot?  Like a beard or something?”

“
Lady, I’m clean-shaven and wearing jeans.  That’s it.  You want to sell or not?”

“
Be outside.”

He hung up, betting the lady was pure blonde.  TJ walked out of the station with his pack slung over his shoulder.  “Been a change of plans,” Bryan said.  “I have to kill twenty minutes.  Someone is coming to meet me.”

TJ shrugged and gazed around.  He walked to the only shade by the east side of the station, leaned against the block building, and lit up a smoke.

For the briefest second, Bryan wondered if he should just hop in the Cherokee and leave.  Instead, he glanced over at TJ, and not knowing where else to wait, also sought the shady side of the building.  TJ's cigarette smoke curled near Bryan.  Smelled good.  Soothing nicotine.  He missed it, probably always would.  Tempted to ask for one, he could almost hear her calling him stupid.  Misjudging that woman was the last asinine thing he planned on doing.

Twenty minutes stretched into thirty.  Flies buzzed above a dull army-green garbage bin.  Semis idled in the parking zone; faint smells of diesel fuel carried on a breeze drying moisture from everything except the sweat darkening Bryan's shirt.  Cars and trucks whizzed by on the freeway.  A Chevy sedan loaded with a hoard of children and a harried mother parked by a pump.  Then a pickup with a couple of teenagers rolled down the exit.

TJ lit another cigarette.

Bryan was mentally kicking himself for offering a ride and calling about the gun when an old white Cadillac exited the freeway.  Right kind of car for the blonde, he thought.  He expected a long-legged ditz to climb out.  He stopped in his tracks when a gray-haired woman planted both feet on the pavement and pulled herself upright by using the door.  Chubby knees showed below walking shorts and her tank top stretched across a buxom chest and huge paunch.  Heavy with cosmetics, her round face held bottle thick glasses set crooked on her nose.

Bryan turned away.

“Hey.  Ain’t you the one?”  The woman's voice matched the one on the phone.  She peered at him and popped the trunk open.  Two-handed, she lifted the rifle out and pointed it his way.

Bryan jumped aside.  “Is it loaded?”

“How should I know?”

Bryan took it.  “Is it stolen?”

“It belongs to my worthless son.  He owes me so much rent money that I’m selling it.”

The safety was off so Bryan opened the bolt.  It was loaded.  He ejected the single cartridge, closed the bolt and set the safety.  The wooden stock was velvet smooth, not a nick anywhere.  The barrel gleamed from careful oiling.  He sighted down it.

The woman looked where he pointed the barrel.  “Nothing out there you can shoot with an unloaded rifle.”

Bryan lowered the weapon.  “Know how old it is?”

“My father took it off a Kraut in the Argonne forest.  Should've been mine, but my old man skipped me and handed it to the bum who invented the X generation.  So in fact, it's mine to sell.  And I ain't haggling on price.”

Bryan controlled his eagerness, but the corners of his mouth twitched with pleasure at his luck.

“What'cha need it for?”  The woman rubbed the toe of her dirty tennis shoe against the pavement.

“
I'm heading to deer country.”

“
That kid over there belong to you?”

“
Just giving him a ride.”

“
Put the rifle back in the trunk.  I don't want no damn kid getting it.”

Bryan wanted to choke her for wasting his time, but instead replaced the Mauser in the trunk.  “You know, this whole thing has been like hiking ten miles in the desert and finding an empty beer can.”

“Oh hell’s bells, give me the money and take it.”  She held out her pudgy hand.

Bryan counted out seven twenties and a ten, handed them to her, and reached to retrieve the rifle.  She shoved him hard, slammed the trunk lid and dashed for the open door.  He stumbled, but caught his balance.  He stuck his boot in the opening just before it slammed.  He pulled.  She tugged.  He won and grabbed the hand still clutching the bills.