The Bequest (27 page)

Teri stared at
herself in the mirror as she pulled up her jeans, then
slipped a tee-shirt over her head, put her cross-training shoes back on, and
laced them up. She had figured out a couple of years ago—back when she
inherited the screenplay, in fact—that Mike Capalletti was not the man
she thought he was. He had his moments, though. He could be funny and
charming and, when no one else was around, sweet, but he could also be
cold, calculated, and conniving. The three Cs he had learned from Bob
Keene. She had loved him for a time and even once thought he would be
the man she would marry. That all came tumbling down two years ago
when he decided to join forces with Bob Keene to fire her. He had been
given the choice of his career or her, and he had made his choice.

Even after that, he helped to shepherd her through the movie that
seemed destined to provide her the comeback she needed. He still seemed
to care about her, but she knew, intellectually, that he was driven solely
by self-interest. The movie would make his career, too; that it would help
her was secondary to him. If the time ever came again that Mike needed to
jettison the ballast from his ambition, though she might be the last to go
overboard, she nevertheless had no doubt that she would go. But the last
thing she wanted at this stage of her life was to be alone, so she had turned
a blind eye to Mike’s ambition, even though she knew it was just a matter
of time until they separated again. She knew that the next time would be
for good.

As it turned out, she was a prophet, and now they were permanently
separated. Not by greed, not by ambition, and not even by betrayal, but
by a bullet. Not the first time a bullet had done that to a relationship for
her.

She opened the door and went back to the den, where Chad waited.
Chad. The man who was everything Mike had turned out not to be.
The man who had put her interests in front of his, even at the ultimate
cost of his career.

“I thought things couldn’t get any worse, but now I know they always
can.”
“I thought we might go for a ride. That always seemed to help in the
old days.”
An involuntary smile crossed her lips, just for a moment, but then it
was gone. “I’d like that,” she said. “But I don’t have any riding boots.”
“I’ve got some at the barn that’ll fit you. Grab your sunglasses. I’ve
also got a hat you can borrow.”
Clad in straw cowboy hats and wearing sunglasses, Teri and Chad
walked in silence from the house to the barn. Though it was hot, with the
sun beating down through a canopy of trees that stood between the two
structures, Teri felt a sense of coolness wash over her. She left Texas
under a cloud; now she had returned to Texas under a cloud, but no
matter how long she had been gone, Texas was still home—and there was
just something about home that made problems seem a little smaller and
burdens a little lighter.
Inside the barn, Chad led two quarter horses, both chestnut in color,
one with black stockings and the other white, out of their stalls. The
gelding was already saddled.
“This is Hansel and Gretel,” he said. He handed the reins of the mare
to Teri. “Saddles are in the tack room. So are the boots.”
The tack room was on the south wall of the barn, next to a gun
cabinet that held but one weapon, a rifle that Teri knew well. She brushed
past the cabinet with scarcely a glance. Inside the tack room, she found a
pair of women’s cowboy boots that had the worn look of years of rough
use, their leather cracked and soft. She knew those boots, just as she knew
the rifle, even though it had been two decades since she had last worn
them. She picked up the left boot and blew off a layer of dust. Memories
flooded through her as she kicked off her cross training shoes and pulled
on the boots. They were a bit stiff, yet still fit like a glove. She guessed
that hers had been the last feet to wear them.
She walked to the saddles and, like a pro, selected one best suited for
her mount. She also knew that saddle, having ridden in it for hours at a
time during her teen years. She grabbed it with one hand and lugged it
over her shoulder to where Gretel awaited. In a matter of seconds, she
had the saddle situated, balanced, and strapped tight. After she finished
tightening the cinch, she stepped back and noticed, for the first time, that
Chad had been watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“How long has it been since you’ve done that?”
“Saddled a horse? Not since I left.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve missed a beat.”
“Like riding a bicycle,” she said.
She put her left foot in the stirrup, then threw her right leg over the
horse and settled easily into the saddle. The smoothness of the leather felt
right beneath her butt, just as the boots felt as if they belonged on her feet.
If it was the little things that made a home, these two might top the list.
She fitted her right foot into the right stirrup, then stood up and settled
back into the saddle again.
“Or riding a horse,” she said. “It feels good to be back in the saddle.”
“Gretel’s no Bingo, but she’s a good horse,” Chad said.
At the mention of the name, Teri sombered.
“I’m sorry I had to put her down,” Chad said. “I didn’t want to but—
”
“I know you had to. She was old. She had a good life.”
“You two won a lot of barrel races together. She made a pretty good
mount for shooting contests, too.”
He went to the gun cabinet and moved a pitchfork that leaned against
the front glass, then took out the rifle, a Winchester Model 70 bolt-action.
A bronze plaque on the stock proclaimed: “First Place, Open Division:
Peggy Tucker.”
He carried it to Teri and handed it to her. She gripped the reins in
both hands and refused to take the weapon.
“Given what you’ve told me, and what the police said, it’s not a bad
idea for you to be armed,” Chad said.
“Why don’t you take it then?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it, but you would.” He tucked it
into the scabbard on her saddle. “No man in Bandera County ever shot
better than you.”
As Chad mounted Hansel, Teri pulled the rifle partway out of the
scabbard and studied the plaque on the stock. “I haven’t seen that since...”
Her voice trailed off as a bad memory surfaced. The last time she had
seen the rifle was the last time she had used it.
“Your mom gave it to me,” Chad said. “I always knew that, some day,
I’d give it back to you.”
“My shooting days are over.”
“Just do me a favor and keep it close.”
“I won’t use it.”
“I hope you don’t have to.”
Without another word, they turned their horses and headed outside,
with Chad leading the way. As they passed a bed of hay just inside the
door, Teri pulled the rifle from the scabbard and tossed it aside. It landed
soundlessly in the hay as they left the barn. While the saddle and boots
brought good memories, the rifle was simply one more bad memory she
didn’t need.
Teri caught up to Chad at the top of a ridgeline that ran north and
south through the ranch. To the east, flat range land stretched to the next
hill, nearly two miles away. On the west side, the ridge sloped down
sharply to a stand of cypress trees that lined a creek cutting across the
property. Spanish moss hung from the cypress branches, blowing in the
hot breeze.
“I miss it,” Teri said.
“Miss what?”
“All of it. The hills, the trees, the smells, even the heat.”
“You sorry you left?”
“I’m sorry I had to.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You know as well as anybody that I had no choice. It was time to
grow up and be on my own.”
“You did us proud. The only problem was, we couldn’t acknowledge
it. We always worried that some reporter would come snooping around,
looking
for deep background
on
Teri Squire. Thank
God
it never
happened.”
“I know,” Teri said. “I was always afraid someone would figure it out.
Every now and then, a reporter would trace me back to Texas, but the
trail always ended there, as if it disappeared at the New Mexico line. I
never knew how you did that.”
“It’s the advantage of living in a small town and having an aunt who
does all the computer work for the county.”
“I hope she didn’t do anything illegal,” Teri said.
“She didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for her funeral.”
“Uh huh.”
They lapsed into silence again. The only sounds were the hooves of
their horses picking their way along the ridgeline. When the ridge turned
east, Chad turned west and headed down the slope on the other side,
which had flattened over the past quarter mile or so. At the bottom of the
slope, they merged onto a dirt road and turned north again. Teri felt a
sense of familiarity, as if she had been here before, but she couldn’t quite
figure out where she was. A prickly sensation ran up the back of her neck.
“We’re off your property, aren’t we?” she asked.
“We left it about a mile back.”
“Where are we going?”
He said nothing, but just kept riding. About two hundred yards down
the road, he turned west again, through an opening in a barbed wire fence
where the wire had been cut, and onto a flat pasture. In the near distance,
a copse of trees shaded a structure. As they drew nearer, the structure
became clearer: a country church with a bell tower. Nearby, small blips
on the landscape indicted headstones. A solitary figure stood by one of the
headstones.
She did know this place. “Chad, why are we here?”
Still he remained silent. They reached the cemetery, which stood free
and unfettered by any gate or fence. The solitary figure was a woman in a
denim skirt, her back to the riders, gray hair draped across her shoulders.
Chad and Teri headed toward the figure, who turned to watch their
approach for the last ten yards. The woman smiled but remained silent.
Teri dismounted and ran to her. “Mama.”
Mary Tucker embraced her daughter in a hug, and the two women
wept.
Chad clucked the reins and turned Hansel’s head, then returned back
the way he had come.
Mary held her daughter at arm’s length and brushed tears away with
her fingers. She allowed tears to run unchecked down her own cheeks.
“Baby, you came home,” Mary said.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“You came to the right place. Chad told me you were in trouble.”
Then she focused on Teri’s swollen nose and blackened eyes. “What kind
of trouble? Are you hurt?”
Teri rubbed her nose gingerly. “It’s nothing I can’t get over.”
For the first time, Teri looked at the headstone where her mother
had been standing.
In bold
letters,
chiseled into
granite, was the
inscription: FREDERICK ADAM TUCKER, NOV. 19, 1969—JULY 6,
1993.
Teri bowed her head; her tears beat out a steady pit-a-pat on the toes
of her shoes.
“I come here every week,” Mary said. “He’s still my little boy.”
“I’m so sorry, Mama.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Baby. I know that.”
“It wasn’t yours either, Mama.”
“I keep wishing I could have done something different. Then it never
would have happened.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I think I did. I think I always knew.” Mary paused, and then added, “I
think your daddy did, too. But we didn’t do anything about it until it was
too late.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No. He thinks this is just my weekly visit.”
“Does he still hate me?”
“Oh, Baby, he never hated you. He just couldn’t make his mind
understand it, that’s all.”
“It sure seems like hate to me.”
Mary gestured to a wooden bench under a nearby oak. “Let’s sit over
there.”
She took Teri by the hand and led her to the bench, where they both
sat. “Something you’ve got to understand about your daddy is that he
comes from a long line of Texas ranchers,” Mary said. “He was raised to
believe in God, land, and family. He believes it’s his God-given duty to be
a good steward of the land and to protect his family. He’s always been
good at the first one. He’s taken real good care of the land. But he feels
like he failed at the other. He couldn’t protect his family. First he couldn’t
protect you, and then he couldn’t protect Adam. Then he lost both of
you.”
“He didn’t lose me, Mama. He kicked me out. I may be the Prodigal
Daughter, but I didn’t leave on my own. He abandoned me when I needed
him the most.”
“It was just too much for him. He thought you would be better off
without him.”
“Mama, I know he’s your husband and you love him. He’s my father,
and I love him, too. But that’s just bullshit. He made a decision, and then I
made a decision. And now I have no father.”
Mary got up and walked back to the tombstone. “He’s hurting. He
has been for twenty years. He lost his son. No parent should have to bury
a child.”
“And I lost my brother.” Teri stood and went to Gretel. She grabbed
the pommel of the saddle and mounted up. With the reins in her hands,
she headed the horse toward the place where her mother stood. “Daddy
buried two children. The problem is that the second one he buried is still
alive.”
Mary didn’t look up but kept her eyes on the tombstone.
“Did you bury me, too, Mama?” Teri asked.
The question spun Mary’s head around. “No, Baby, of course not.
But don’t make me choose between my daughter and my husband.”
Teri’s voice softened, thick with emotion. “It seems like you already
chose, a long time ago.” She brushed away a tear. “I love you, Mama.”
Mary looked back at the tombstone. “I love you, too, Baby. I always
will.”

A buzz of uncertainty swirled in Mary’s head as she stared at the gravesite
of her only son. Had Adam’s death been her fault? Could she have stopped
it if she hadn’t turned a blind eye and a deaf ear? The uncertainties, the
questions, the doubts of the last twenty years swarmed like a Texas
twister, the buzz increasing to a dull roar and then to a full-blown roar.
The chasm the shooting had dug between Peggy and her father had driven
Peggy away all those years ago. Now she was finally home again, and still
Mary had no words of comfort to offer her daughter.