The Angel of Death (21 page)

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Authors: Alane Ferguson

BOOK: The Angel of Death
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A beat later, and then, “Should I be?”
Before she had a chance to reply, she heard Monica chirp, “Hey Cammie—don’t go yet! Wait!”
Cameryn pulled away from Kyle. She watched Monica slide forward as though she were skating to the bar rather than walking. Monica wore an already-dirty apron, and her hair, which had been braided, was coming undone. “I didn’t know if you were still here. I’m glad I checked—you got a phone call,” she said. “Vanko took it in the back.”
“Who is it?” Cameryn asked.
“I don’t know. I think he said it’s some lady named Hannah.”
In an instant, Cameryn felt the blood drain from her face. It slid all the way to her chest, where it disappeared into the abyss of her stomach. Monica must not have noticed, because she chattered on.
“The lady said she needed to talk to you, but Vanko thought you’d already left, and then she got all upset because you were supposed to be working until six. She was asking for directions on how to get to the Grand. Vanko was trying to tell her, but his English isn’t so good so I took it. I told her to hold on so I could check to see where you were. I’m glad you’re still here ’cause the lady’s already in Ouray.”
In a dream, in a fog, Cameryn repeated, “Ouray?”
“Yeah. Which means”—Monica looked at her watch— “whoever she is, she’s not far. She’ll be here in about an hour. So come get the phone, Cammie. The lady is waiting. ”
Her mind numb, Cameryn gasped, “I . . . can’t . . .” but Kyle broke in, “Show me where the phone is, Monica. I’ll tell Hannah to come to my house—I’ll give her directions. Cammie will meet her there.”
Chapter Fifteen
KYLE’S HOUSE WAS a cabin high in the mountains. As he drove Cameryn up the winding dirt road, she tried to swallow down the hot broth of anxiety rising from her stomach. After fourteen years of separation, she would meet her mother in an hour, maybe two. Back at the Grand, after Kyle had given Hannah directions to his cabin, he’d hung up the phone and hugged Cameryn, reassuring her that everything would be okay.
“She sounds nice,” he’d whispered into Cameryn’s hair. He rocked while holding her in his arms, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a slow dance. “I’m so happy for you, Cammie.”
But now, in his Subaru, she watched in panic as the dashboard clock nibbled away time. The glowing red numbers reconfigured her life while the last digit turned from four to five, another minute closer, and then from five to six. All she could think was:
I’m about to meet Hannah.
Unable to silence the cacophony of emotions, she felt her heart bursting with every beat until it hurt physically to breathe. Her hands gripped her knees so hard her fingers blanched white. Kyle seemed as nervous, too, because every few minutes he reached over to touch her.
“Thank you for letting me meet Hannah at your place,” she said. “I didn’t want to meet her where people knew me. I couldn’t exactly meet her at my house, either.”
“I told you I’d do anything to help. And my dad’s on the road, so this will be completely private.”
“Thanks,” she said again, and then bit down on her cuticle so hard it began to bleed.
The road crisscrossed in switchbacks as they ascended, and Cameryn worried whether Hannah had a car that could make the climb. “My dad and I cut this road ourselves, ” Kyle told her. “It’s not very wide, but it does the job. We have a chicken coop up there and a couple of goats. We had a horse a while back, but something ate it. A bear, we think.”
But Cameryn wasn’t listening. Instead, she looked at the evergreens marching toward her, their gnarled trunks visible at the base with their branches crossed as if in warning.
Stop!
they seemed to say.
Think this through!
For the hundredth time she wondered if she was doing the right thing.
“Nervous?” Kyle asked.
“Yes. Excited, too. And scared and terrified and everything else you can think of all mixed together. On top of all that, though, I guess I feel guilty.”
“Guilty? Why guilty?”
“I feel guilty about not telling my dad. I keep thinking I should call him—”
“Don’t do it! Don’t tell him anything until
after
you’ve talked to Hannah.” Kyle’s voice was adamant. “Cammie, it’s only fair to listen to what she has to say before you decide what’s next. If your dad comes, then Hannah won’t be able to tell you the truth. And that’s what you want to get at, right? The truth?”
“Yes, that’s what I want,” she replied softly.
“I know it’s not exactly the same, but this situation sort of reminds me of my dad. My mom never talked when my dad was around and then—boom—one day she left. Just out of the blue. I wish I could have heard what my mom really thought before she went away. But my dad ran things in our house, and I didn’t want to go against him and then . . . it was too late.”
“You know, you never talk about your dad, Kyle. What’s he like?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. My dad’s one to play his cards close to his chest. Except with his dog— he
loves
that animal. Last night he called and told me he fed Skooch a whole steak right in the motel room.”
“Wow. He sounds nice.”
“Except he’s different with people. Like with Mr. Oakes— did I tell you my dad wanted me to drop out of Scouts because he decided Brad had too much influence over me?”
“No.” Cameryn looked at him, her eyes wide. “When did that happen?”
“A while ago.” Kyle’s hands tightened on the wheel as he said, “That’s just the point. I decided what
I
wanted to do, and that’s what I did. That’s what you should do with Hannah. See her by yourself, and then decide.”
“You’re right.” Once again she was grateful to lie back in the current and let Kyle make the choice, because her mind was so thick with thoughts she couldn’t sort them anymore. She would stay the course and see Hannah alone. The next bridge, the one where she told her father, would happen later. She’d cross it when she got there.
Kyle took a sharp right and pulled into a circle of dirt. Beyond it was a log house, two stories high with a steep-pitched green metal roof. The pathway led to a step up and then a wooden deck that wrapped around the house, and at the south end the ground dropped away to a small open field below.
“It’s beautiful here,” she breathed.
“If I’d known you were coming, I would have straightened up,” he said, sheepish. “It’s not too clean since we’re a couple of bachelors now. Actually, it’s mostly just me.”
“It’ll be perfect. Hannah won’t care, and it’ll be private. ”
“That’s for sure. There’s no one around for miles and miles.”
The door was unlocked, and when she walked inside she realized Kyle had been correct; the house was not clean. It wasn’t as messy as it was dirty. A film of dust covered everything, muting colors. There was a stack of newspapers yellowing in one corner, next to a huge fireplace, and beside that a pile of wood shedding bark. The fireplace wall was made of split rail. On it, high above, hung taxidermied animal heads watching her with glassy eyes. A deer with a huge rack, an elk, a moose, even a buffalo stared at her silently. Cameryn, who hated stuffed heads as a décor, asked, “Do you hunt?”
“Not me. My dad does. Me and my mom couldn’t stand these things, so we took them down one week while my dad was gone trucking. You should have seen his face when he got back. He pitched a holy fit, and they’ve been up ever since. Do you want some water?”
“No thanks. Is that your father?” she asked, pointing to a picture on the wall. It was a photo of an aging cowboy, perched up high in his big rig. Grinning, he had one hand on an enormous steering wheel, the other draped over a dog sporting a bandana around its neck. The man’s teeth were yellowed—cigarette-stained, she figured—and did not look well cared for. A straw cowboy hat had been wedged into the dash, its brim frayed. She never would have put this scrawny man together with Kyle; they seemed so opposite.
“Yeah, that’s the old man. And his beloved dog. He won’t be back for ten more days. Which is fine by me.”
“Your dad doesn’t look like you.”
Kyle looked at her strangely, as though he was seeing, and yet not seeing her. Once, when her class had studied bald eagles, she’d learned that the birds possessed a protective inner eyelid, a thin membrane that covered the eye while the eagle tore into its prey. Back then, that was how she’d pictured Kyle. He, too, seemed to possess a kind of inner eyelid that obscured average kids from really registering in his line of sight. Seen, but not seen. That look, the one she’d forgotten, reappeared now as he turned back to his father’s picture. All expression had drained from his face until it appeared almost blank.
“Thanks,” he finally said. “I’m glad I don’t look like Mr. Donny O’Neil. Actually, I look like my mother. She’s a blonde, too.” Running his hand over his mouth, he said, “You know, I wish I could do something useful. I’m feeling a little bit strange here, like
I’m
invading
your
space. Would you like me to leave?”
The truth was, she did want him to go. What was about to play out was so personal, so frightening, she didn’t want any witnesses. Although she’d thought of a way, she wasn’t sure it was all right to ask. Kyle had already done so much.
“I can see you’re thinking,” he said. “I see the wheels spinning. What is it?”
“I—I guess I didn’t believe Hannah would be here so soon. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t think she’d actually come to Silverton at all. But the point is, she’s almost here and I’m empty-handed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m meeting my mom for the first time and I don’t have anything to give her. I know it’s kind of hokey, but I’d really like to give her some flowers.”
A smile split across his face. “That’s an awesome idea,” he said. “Except I don’t have any. I could run to town and get some roses.”
“Not roses.” Cameryn pictured the letter she’d received from Hannah, the one with the delicate watermark of an iris. “I’d like to give her irises. A huge armload of irises. But the only place that carries them is that specialty shop at Purgatory. That’s a ways away and . . . is that too much to ask?”
”Not at all. I know which shop you mean. It’s the one where the rich people go.”
“Which means it’ll cost a lot, I know. But I really want to do this. Do you think you could—? ”
“Of course. I’ll use my credit card.”
“No,” she protested, “I’ve got money—”
“Don’t worry about it. I think I can make it there and back in forty minutes. An hour, tops. And the truth is, I don’t mind having something to do.” His keys jingled as he pulled them out of his pocket. Leaning over, he kissed her on the top of the head. “You sure you want me to go? Last chance to change your mind!”
“I think it might be best.”
“All right. Help yourself to the refrigerator, although there’s not much more than cold pizza. Bathroom’s through that door over there, and the TV remote’s on top of the coffee table. Let’s see, you can go see my goats if you want—they’re out in the pen. Just stay away from the chickens in that back coop. That’s my dad’s, and he doesn’t like anyone out there.”
“Not a problem.”
“If you want to use my computer it’s upstairs in my room. The desk over there is my dad’s, so . . .”
“No worries. I won’t touch it.”
“Great. I’ll be back in a flash.”
With that, he was gone. As his car’s taillights blinked through the trees, Cameryn realized how alone she was. Standing at the window, staring out, she looked at the pines and the darkening sky. A wind had kicked up, and she could hear the trees sigh as their tips swayed. The sound was mournful, like the organ at St. Patrick’s. She felt pricks on her skin as she heard another sound: a rustling from the kitchen, and then she saw a reflected flash from behind her streak across the glass. As she whirled around, a dark shape leaped onto the top of the television, and a large, green-eyed gray cat stared at her, its whiskers drooping onto its paws.
“Good grief, cat, you about scared me to death. What’s your name?”
The cat blinked. Stretching out a hind leg, it began to lick its paw.
If only she could be like that cat, she thought. No worries beyond yourself.
She began to pace. Below the mounted animal heads was a cuckoo clock, one that looked as though it had come from Germany. At the bottom of the pendulum swung a pinecone. She watched it click back and forth, counting the seconds. After that she got a glass of water and sipped it, but her stomach closed against it and she set it on the small rolltop desk. Then she wandered back to the picture.
Donny O’Neil had a wrinkled, weathered face and eyes that stared blankly at her from the photograph. Something nudged her mind, but she didn’t know what. As she studied the picture she heard a crash, and turned just in time to see the cat lift its paws daintily over the water glass it had just knocked over on the desk.
“Dang it!” she cried. Racing into the kitchen, she grabbed some paper napkins and ran back to blot the water, which ran in a tiny waterfall between the slats of the rolltop. She could hear it drumming onto papers, like drops of rain. Rolling back the top, she saw it was worse than she thought. Papers were getting wet, ink smearing, edges curling—she picked them up and let the water pour off of them. Cursing under her breath, Cameryn realized that the napkins weren’t enough, so she ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. Blotting, fanning, she tried to save as much as she could. It took her several moments to realize the paper she was holding was Kyle’s, written in his square hand, and the teacher who had given the assignment, the teacher who had composed the comments scrawled in red across its top, was Mr. Oakes. The story was some sort of fiction; she could tell that much from skimming it. But it was the notes that caught her eye. She knew she shouldn’t read them, but she couldn’t resist. Mr. Oakes had inspired Kyle as a writer, after all.

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