The Cracked Pot (18 page)

"I think pleading and groveling couldn't hurt. Also, if you can work it into the conversation up front, tell her what an absolute idiot you've been, and promise her you'll change. But only if you're really willing to."

"I am," he said. "Thanks. How about flowers? Should I take her some?"

"You've been dating her awhile. What do you think?"

"No, Annie's not one for frills. She'd probably be mad I wasted the money on them."

"Then there's your answer. Good luck, but remember: it's her decision, too, and you should respect whatever she wants."

"You know I will. Mom drilled that into me from the day I could talk."

After he was gone, I closed out the books on the day, turned off the lights, and locked up. It was time to go home and check on my husband. Looking into Richard Atkins' murder would have to wait. I decided to take some of my own advice and put my love life ahead of everything else. Just because Bill and I had been together since dinosaurs roamed the earth didn't meant that I still shouldn't show him how much I cared about him.

Chapter
10

Though it was barely seven by the time I got home from work, with a trip to the grocery store thrown in to get some of Bill's favorite foods, my husband was fast asleep; his snoring reverberated through the house. What kind of pre scription had they given him? I envied him the sound sleep, but not the pain he must be feeling. Though he'd protested that it hadn't been that bad, I knew my husband. That cut had hurt, and not just his pride, which was considerable. He fancied himself an accomplished woodworker, and he was—that was easy to see in the beautiful pieces he made— but even pros had accidents. I saw it as a mark of his skill that it had taken this long for him to have an injury that drew enough blood to require stitches.

I'd planned to make him his favorite dinner, homemade chili hot enough to blow the top of his head off. Even though he was sleeping, I decided there wasn't any harm in making it now. I'd simmer it on the stove, and when he woke up from this drug-induced nap, a bowl of it would be waiting for him.

I made two batches, a big one for him full of spicy addi tions, and something a little more bland for me, though it was still hot enough to bring tears to my eyes. As both pots simmered on the stove, I looked in on him again. He hadn't even shifted his position on the bed. It didn't make sense for me to wait to eat with him, since it could be hours until he woke, and I was hungry now. I dished out some of the milder blend, cut off a chunk of sharp cheddar cheese, grabbed some crackers and a cold glass of milk, then set a place at the table and ate. The meal was fine, but I missed my husband, even though he was just in the other room. Was this how it was for my friends who had lost their spouses through death or divorce? I wondered how many meals Jenna, a widow, had eaten alone. How did she stand it? I'd have to be a better friend and invite her over more of ten than I did, which was hardly ever.

After I ate, I cleaned up, took Bill's pot of chili off the stove, and mulled over what to do next. Television didn't in terest me, and I wasn't in the mood to read. I was still upset about somebody murdering Richard Atkins in my back yard, but I wasn't going to let them drive me from my land. I grabbed my coat, jotted a quick note to Bill, and propped it up beside his awaiting bowl. Then I walked outside, grab bing the flashlight by the back door as I left.

It was a crisp evening, and the moon was full and bright, obscured only occasionally by scudding clouds. I loved our property, especially the way the land went back into the woods behind us. It gave me the illusion that we abutted some great, wild wilderness, though I knew the next street over was just a hundred yards away. I thought Bill had been foolishly extravagant when he'd bought the abutting lots along with our property, but I had seen his wisdom a thou sand times since. While our neighbors were surrounded by each other, we had the luxury of space around us, some thing that I cherished.

I found myself drawn to my raku pit for the first time since I'd stumbled across the body. The police tape was gone, and there was honestly no indication that something dire had ever happened there. As I stared at the pit where I buried the pots freshly removed from the gas kiln beside it, I began to wonder something that should have piqued my in terest from the start. What on earth had Richard been doing in my backyard in the first place? Did it have anything to do with him abandoning his car practically in my driveway the night before he was murdered? It was an odd place for a rendezvous, that was for sure.

I'd asked Bill about putting a security light in back so we could see if someone was out there, but my husband had protested that a light would just make it easier for a burglar to see what he was doing. Why help him break into our house?

I heard a noise in the woods in front of me, but the flash light beam was too weak to penetrate very far into the dark ness. I knew raccoons frequently ran through the woods, and neighborhood cats came and went as well. I'd just about decided that whatever it was had left when I heard a branch crack. From the sound of it, this was no raccoon. For once, my survival instinct was solid, and I raced back to the house, dropping the flashlight as I ran. There was enough moonlight to show the way, and the light I'd left on in the kitchen was like a beacon drawing me home. My heart was racing when I got back inside, but I didn't slow down until the door was safely dead-bolted behind me.

"What happened? Did you see a ghost?"

My husband was sitting at the kitchen table, polishing off the bowl of the chili I'd left him.

"No, it was nothing. I just decided to go for a walk out back. How's your hand?"

He flexed it slightly. "It's better. That medication knocked me out. Sorry about that."

"Sleep has to be good for you," I said. "Did you enjoy your chili?"

"I still am." He smiled as he took another bite. I sat across from him, happy that he was awake. "Thanks for this."

"You're most welcome. I thought you might like some comfort food tonight."

He stared at his hand. "It's not that bad, really."

"I know. Accidents happen."

He searched my eyes and saw no sarcasm in them. I heard his sigh of relief as he realized I wasn't going to say anything about what had happened.

"Maybe I'm getting too old for this foolishness," Bill said.

"You don't have to keep making furniture," I said, "but I know how much you love it. You shouldn't let this stop you. In fact, I think you should get back to it as soon as you're able."

He shook his head. "The doctor told me to lay off until I've finished my prescription. It makes me kind of loopy."

"I didn't mean tonight," I said. "But don't let this stop you for good."

He nodded. "I have to admit, it was scary looking down and seeing that blood."

"Did it hurt when the blade hit your hand?"

He rubbed his chin with his good hand. "No, as a matter of fact, it didn't. It took me a few seconds to even realize that I'd been cut. Seeing the blood was what triggered the pain." He shook his head briefly. "The medication's taking care of it right now." He pushed his bowl away. "That was perfect. Carolyn, I hate to be this way, but I think I'm going back to bed."

"That's a splendid idea," I said. "When are you due to take more medication?"

"I've got another half an hour." He winced slightly. "Do you think it would hurt to speed it up a little bit?"

"As long as you don't make a habit of it," I said. "Let me get it for you."

"That's all right. I've got it on the nightstand. I'll see you in the morning."

I kissed him quickly, then said, "Sleep tight."

"With this stuff? That's not going to be a problem, be lieve me."

It wasn't even nine yet, too early for me to go to bed. As Bill's snoring reached a particularly loud level of buzzsawing, I thought about making up the spare bedroom and bunking in there for the night. No, then I wouldn't be nearby if my husband needed me, and that was more impor tant than a sound night's sleep. I sat in the living room for an hour or so, doing not much of anything and had just about decided to turn in myself when I heard a tapping at the front door. Who on earth would come visiting this late? I flicked on the porch light and looked out the peephole, prepared to ignore whoever had come by.

I changed my mind and opened the door the second I saw who it was.

"Come in," I told Hannah. "What's going on?"

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, but Bill's already asleep."

She looked uncomfortable. "This can wait."

"Hannah, he's on medication for his hand. I doubt he'd hear us if we started a drum and bugle corps."

She didn't come in. "I hadn't heard. What happened to him?"

"There was a little accident in his shop," I said lightly, trying to disguise how I really felt about it. "He needed a few stitches, and he's on something for the pain. You've saved me from endless boredom. Now are you coming in, or should I join you outside?"

"I'll come in, but I'm just going to stay a minute."

"How's tea sound?" I said as I closed the door behind her and bolted it. "I'm in the mood for some Darjeeling."

"I'll take anything but iced," she said. "It's really getting chilly out there."

"Why don't you come back into the kitchen with me and we can chat while I put the kettle on."

She joined me in the kitchen, and as I filled up my bur nished copper teakettle, Hannah said, "I didn't think any one made tea on a stove top anymore."

"There are a few of us relics still out there," I said.

"Carolyn, I didn't mean anything by it."

I laughed as I said, "I know you didn't. I was joking my self. I know I can just as easily microwave the water, but there's something safe and reassuring about a teakettle, don't you think?"

"I never thought about it before," she said, "but I suppose you're right."

"If nothing else, it's a great deal more fun than a mi crowave." I rummaged through my cabinets until I found the tin with Darjeeling in it. It was awfully light, even for a container with tea leaves. My fears were realized when I saw that I was nearly out. "Okay, no Darjeeling. I've got a jasmine blend, and some sassafras tea as well. I know I have both of those."

"I haven't had sassafras since I was a little girl," Hannah said. "Isn't it bad for you?"

"This has been processed, so it's high time you revisit it. You still like licorice, don't you?"

"Occasionally," she admitted, "though I'm afraid I haven't had that in ages, either."

"Then you're in for a real treat." I pulled the sassafras chunks from the freezer where I kept them and dropped some in the kettle. "Now, let's see, I've got some cookies around here somewhere."

"Carolyn, I don't need a snack. Would you sit down here with me? There's something we need to talk about."

"That sounds serious," I said. "Perhaps it should wait un til after our tea is ready."

"I suppose," she agreed. I was in no hurry for the kettle to whistle. Hannah was visibly upset, and I was almost certain it had something to do with Richard Atkins.

Impatiently, she said, "You know what? I can't wait for the kettle to boil. I'm here to talk about David."

"What about him?" I asked as the kettle began to whistle. "The sheriff didn't arrest him after all, did he?"

"No, at least he hadn't half an hour ago when I left him. This is about Annie."

I reached for the kettle and strained two mugs of tea. The sassafras had a strong licorice smell to it, and to be honest, I kept it just as much for the mildly sweet aroma it gave off as I did to drink the brew.

"I've made it a point to stay out of David's love life," I said as I handed Hannah a mug.

"Well, you're not his mother," she replied.

"No, but I care about him, and I hate to see him get hurt as much as anybody does, with the possible exception of you."

"I know, excuse me for being so snippy. He's just devas tated this girl has broken his heart."

I looked at her closely. "Have you talked to him today?"

"No, that's the problem. He was mooning all over the house last night, and now he hasn't even come home. I'm worried sick about him."

"He's a grown man, Hannah. The last time I saw him, he was going to try to win her back. Have you considered the possibility that he was successful, and that they're together right now?"

"Which is worse?" she asked softly, most likely thinking I hadn't heard.

"If you have to ask that, you're not the mother you think you are. Hannah, you can't keep him your baby boy forever. He has the right to a life of his own. Look, don't borrow trouble. Wait to hear what he has to say before you con demn him for something he may not have even done."

I don't think she could have looked any more shocked if I'd slapped her. With an expression devoid of all emotion, she put the mug down and left, without a peep, a whimper, or a single word. Perhaps I'd gone too far at last. This might be the breach that couldn't be fixed with club sandwiches or tea. But the words needed to be said, and Hannah needed to hear them. Suddenly I was very tired, of everything. What I needed now was rest, and time to lock the world away.