“Yes, every night. I think a God who gives us something so beautiful as that sunset is too loving, too kind, too wise to strike anyone down.”
Whether she believed it or not, the words and the beauty soothed, and Alice rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.
*
In the shack, Callen washed up his dishes. He’d been waiting for a knock on his door, but since it hadn’t come, he thought he might take himself over to the bunkhouse. Seek the company of men. Maybe sit down for a poker game. He didn’t gamble often or much, but since he didn’t have his father’s problem, he enjoyed the occasional game.
One thing he knew: He didn’t want to spend the evening in his own company. Too much thinking and worrying about what might be going on at the main house, too much thinking and wishing for Bodine. Too much thinking about the things his mother had told him.
Just too much thinking.
So maybe a beer with the men, a few hands of cards—which might add some change to his pockets. He didn’t have his father’s problem, and generally a lot better luck.
He’d talk to Bodine in the morning when they rode into work. He could settle for just talking until her life smoothed out some.
Then the knock came. He stayed at the sink, annoyed with himself for the instant flash of pleasure. He’d be better off, he knew he’d be better off, not being so damn tied up in her. But he just couldn’t cut the rope.
“It’s open,” he called out.
When she stepped in, the stress and fatigue on her face made him ashamed of the annoyance.
“I really need to get away for a while.”
“You’ve come to the right place. Want a beer?”
“No.”
“Wine. I still have that bottle from the cabin.”
She started to shake her head, then let out some air. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be just fine. I haven’t had my glass of wine tonight.”
“Have a seat. I’ve got huckleberry shortcake, too.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Yolanda, dessert chef? I let her boy ride Sundown. He’s been giving me the pleading eye after school every day for a week. I gave in, and I got huckleberry shortcake out of it.”
“With whipped cream?”
“It ain’t huckleberry shortcake without it.”
“Good deal. I’m in for that.” She tossed off her coat, sat.
He took out his multitool for its corkscrew. It wasn’t until he’d pulled the cork that he saw tears swimming in her eyes.
“Ah, hell.”
“I’m not going to cry, don’t worry. I may teeter on the edge of it for a couple minutes, but I won’t fall off.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know, that’s the truth.” Breathing, just breathing for a moment, she pressed her fingers to her eyes as if to shove back the tears. “She looks a decade older than my mother, soft and kind of doughy in the body, with a face that’s lined deep, like a woman who lived hard. God, I hear how that sounds out loud. I’m not saying it to be judgmental.”
“I know it.” He poured her wine, and though a beer would’ve suited him better, poured himself a glass of wine in solidarity.
“Her hair’s frizzed up and dry as straw, and has to be down to her ass. Like it hasn’t been conditioned or trimmed in years—and I guess it hasn’t been. She’s got spooked eyes—you see animals with eyes like that who expect the boot or the crop because they’ve felt it too often. Then she saw the sunset, saw it through the window of that room I know you helped paint.”
“I came in on the tail end.”
“You helped paint,” Bodine repeated, a tear slipping through after all. “And there was such joy on her face, Callen. Such wonder—like a child’s. She wouldn’t go out because some of the men were still working outside, but she watched every minute of the sunset like it was fireworks on the Fourth of July and Christmas morning and a circus parade all rolled out in one shiny package.”
“Nobody does sunsets like Montana.” He set a plate of cake in front of her.
“God, Yolanda knows her cake. You know, Sal and I, and a couple of other girls, went up to the Oregon coast the summer after graduation. They’ve got some impressive sunsets, but they don’t beat Montana, not for me. And for Alice … Callen, she said she was allowed to sit out for an hour once a week, at sunset. If she was good.”
“She’s going to remember enough so they find him, Bo.”
“She’s remembering some—some of the grannies and of Mom, maybe the house. She said she’d had daughters, but she didn’t get to keep them like Mom could keep me. It ripped my heart.”
When her voice broke, she stuffed cake in her mouth. “Ripped it in pieces.”
Her breath tore. She bore down, made herself eat more cake.
Callen said nothing, gave her the comfort of listening silence so she could finish it out.
“We took up trays for her and Nana and the nurse. A good home meal on one of Mom’s pretty plates, with a cloth napkin. You’d’ve thought we’d set a banquet in front of her. The rest of us—well, except Chase—ate downstairs. But all I could think was how she’d looked at a plate of chicken and potatoes like it was the finest French cuisine, and she didn’t know quite what to do about it.”
She sighed, ate some cake. “So I had to get away for a while.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I think it’s bound to get easier. I was hoping you’d come by.”
She worked up a smile for him. “Well, you did say you wanted sex.”
“I was hoping for that, too, but wine and cake aren’t bad.”
“It’s really good cake. Chase went over to Jessica’s for dinner.”
“I heard.”
“He took his Tombstone DVD.”
Callen laughed, pleased to see that laughter mirrored in her eyes. “The man can’t help himself.”
“They might actually watch some of it. I’m pretty sure he’s hoping to stay overnight. He brought her flowers today.”
Callen just grunted, ate more cake.
“He’s in love with her.”
“Because he brought her flowers?”
“You tell me—I know you’ve been gone some years, but you know him as inside out as I do—so you tell me if you ever recall him bringing a woman—or a girl back a ways—flowers.”
Callen drank some wine, thought it over. “He got Missy Crispen one of those…” He circled a finger over his wrist. “For the spring formal.”
“You’ve got to do that. This is midweek, not even a date involved, flowers. I saw them sticking out of his saddlebag. Irises, so he went out and bought them deliberately.”
Callen wagged his fork at her. “Has every man who brought you flowers been in love with you?”
“I’d sure as hell know he was seriously sweet on me if he bothered. And Chase has shy ways with women. Flowers for him are a statement of intent.”
“Intent of—”
“She won’t know that,” Bodine breezed on. “But I know that. He’s in love with her, and he’s never been more than halfway sweet on anybody before. You know what else?”