Finders Keepers (4 page)

“Neil called Jesse, then Jesse called me . . . He and Rowen
are on their way. They were leaving when I was talking to him.” She approached
the foot of the bed slowly. “I’m so sorry, Garth. And, wow, that sounded as
pathetic and petty as I always thought it would.”

“It’s okay. I get it. You’re sorry, I’m sorry, the whole
fucking world’s sorry. But it doesn’t fix anything. Sorry doesn’t bring Clay
back. Sorry doesn’t stop that fire from starting. Sorry doesn’t get me to that
trailer before the fire started. And sorry sure as shit doesn’t make me feel any
better.”

I wasn’t mad at Josie. I knew there wasn’t much else to
offer than an
I’m sorry
when tragedy struck. I’d already heard it a few
dozen times in less than an hour, and I’d hit critical mass. If I never heard
another
I’m sorry
again, I’d be good.

Instead of saying something back, Josie came around the side
of the bed and crawled in next to me. Her body fit around mine as her arm
wrapped around me, holding me close. It was an odd embrace, a foreign one for
me, but it felt so exactly what I needed right then that I melted right into
her. Screw the drugs.

“Neil told me what happened. About how you were trying to
get inside.” Her hand wrapped around the wrist of my bandaged hand and gave it
a gentle squeeze. “I always knew you’d be one of those people who’d charge into
a burning building to save a person. I always knew you were a superhero in
hiding.”

Josie liked to see the good in everyone, and she’d never let
go of the idea that some was still left in me. At one time, I’d believed her. I
didn’t anymore.

Her embrace became more painful than comforting. “I didn’t
save anything or anyone, Joze. I don’t qualify as a superhero.”

“But you
tried
. That’s what matters.”

“No, that’s not what matters. Saving my dad’s what would
have mattered. The only thing that matters now is that he’s dead, my hand is
burnt to hell, and I’m homeless.” Too bad the doc didn’t hook me up with an
I.V. Then I could have just kept pumping the drugs into me. I wasn’t sure if it
was Josie or reality, but one or both of them were forcing me back to a place I
didn’t want to be.

“You know you can stay with me and my family for as long as
you need to.” Her hold around me tightened when I tried to squirm away. Classic
Josie.

“Oh, yeah. That would be ideal. Absolutely ideal. Because we
all know how highly your dad thinks of me. If I was the last living creature on
earth, he wouldn’t even skin me and use me for his boots, and that’s without
him even knowing I slept with his daughter under his roof.” Josie hushed me.
Maybe because I was getting a little loud, but probably because I’d brought up
being one of the men she’d been with. She hated that. Probably always would. I
hated myself for it. That was one of the few things Josie and I had in common.
“And let’s not forget your mom, who looks at me like she can’t decide whether
to pray for me or pray that the ground opens up and a legion of demons drag me
into hell where she thinks I belong.”

Josie let out one of those long sighs, and the warmth of it
crept down my neck. “I just wanted you to know the invitation’s there should
you choose to accept it.”

“Thanks, Joze, and I mean this with sincere gratitude . . .
but no thanks.” Truthfully, that she’d even invited me to stay at her place was
enough to choke a man up, but I couldn’t let her know that. There was no way I
could let her know she was probably the only person on the face of the earth
who’d invite me to crash at their place for an indefinite amount of time. A few
minutes of silence passed between us, long enough so her embrace shifted back
from pain to comfort. Long enough I’d almost fallen asleep from the drugs.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I said instantly. I didn’t want to talk about it then,
the next day, or never. Talk, kind of like
I’m sorry,
didn’t change
anything.

Josie didn’t press me. She didn’t try to encourage me that
opening up and talking until my vocal chords oozed blood was a part of the
healing process. She knew me, and while most of the time that was a detriment,
right then it wasn’t. She knew I didn’t talk about anything I didn’t want to
because she’d been around long enough to know my M.O. Plus, she was the same.
Trying to get Josie to open up about something she didn’t want to would have
been about as successful an endeavor as trying with me.

“What are you going to do?” she said a minute later, her
voice soft, almost scared. Josie did scared about as often as I did, so I
couldn’t understand where it was coming from. What was she scared about? Scared
for me? Scared of life and its suddenness? Scared of what?

Letting out a long sigh, I said, “I don’t know, Joze. I
don’t fucking know.”

Moving so smoothly I barely felt the mattress shift, Josie
crawled over me until she was laying in front of me, her face inches from mine.
Whatever sadness or fear had been in her voice wasn’t on her face. Her green
eyes locked onto mine, and if I believed in that kind of shit, I would have
sworn whatever peace or certainty was in them transferred to me. For the first
time that night—for the first time that
year
—I felt peaceful. At rest.
It was such an alarming sensation, I didn’t know what to do. Run and duck for
cover, or exhale and bask in it.

Before I’d made up my mind, Josie leaned in closer until her
lips pressed into mine. My eyes hadn’t dropped before her mouth left mine, but
the taste of her strawberry lip gloss lingered.

“What was that for?” I asked once I remembered how to speak.
Josie was an expert at rendering me speechless.

Sliding off of the bed, she paused before disappearing
behind the curtain. “It looked like you needed that.”

HOW DID ONE hold a funeral for a
person whose body was gone? Hell, for a person whose ashes didn’t even fill an
urn? The whole concept was lost on me, but I was about to find out.

A few days after the fire, the chaplain at the hospital
offered to do a service after he asked about funeral arrangements and I pretty
much scratched my head in answer. Clay died with no money in the bank, and his
secret whiskey stash went up with the rest of the trailer. Since I had a
whopping forty-two dollars in my wallet, having a funeral service inside of a
church was out. So much for not-for-profit . . .

The chaplain had suggested holding the service outside, at a
location of my choosing—maybe somewhere I had fond memories of Clay and I being
together. When my answer was another head scratching, the chaplain gave up and
suggested a spot by the river. Worked for me. So long as it was quick and to
the point, I was fine with Clay’s funeral being held there.

It was almost one o’clock, and I was going to be late. I’d
pulled into the public access parking lot fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t
pull myself out of my truck to make the short hike to where the chaplain was
waiting for me. He was already there. At least, I assumed his car was the one
with the bumper sticker that read
Don’t drive faster than your guardian
angel can fly.
There weren’t any other cars in the parking lot. It was late
fall, too late in the season for fishermen, or campers, or anyone other than a
random funeral goer to be enjoying the river.

The chaplain had encouraged me to invite as many family
members and friends as I wanted, assuring me the mourning process was so much
easier to go through with the support of loved ones. The best I could do after
he’d said that was to not laugh. Loved ones mourning Clay Black? Hell, I was
his last living flesh and blood, and even I wasn’t so hot on the idea of
mourning him. How was I supposed to mourn a man I’d hated more days than not?
How could I miss a father who’d reminded me every day how he cursed the day I
was born? Mourning a person didn’t come standard with death. It was an honor
reserved for those who lived life right.

Needless to say, I hadn’t invited anyone else. No one but me
would be there, and even I didn’t want to attend. The only reason I finally
shoved open that driver’s side door was because I knew the chaplain was waiting
and he sure as hell didn’t need to go out of his way for Clay. So I sure as
hell wasn’t going to let his good deed be wasted. Adjusting my hat, I made sure
the bottle cap was still in my shirt pocket before heading down the trail.

Since the only thing left of Clay was whatever was left
inside the shell of the trailer, the chaplain recommended I bring something
meaningful to Clay and me. Something that could stand in place of a casket or an
urn. Something that encapsulated his forty years of life. It took me a while,
but I finally found something that summed Clay Black up perfectly. A token that
was more the man my father was than any varnished casket.

The trail made for an easy hike down to the river, but I
struggled with every step. My feet had grown concrete blocks, and just when I
thought I couldn’t go another step, I saw the chaplain. He saw me at the same
time, gave me a small smile, and waved. He’d picked a nice spot with the river as
a backdrop, and he stood beside a large rock, almost like it was a podium. As
expected, we were the only two around.

“Hey, Chaplain. Sorry I kept you waiting.” I forced myself
to take the last few steps. Once I got it over with, it would be done. Over. I could
sweep the whole thing under the rug and forget about it.

“It’s fine, Garth. I’ve just been enjoying the bounty of
God’s workmanship.”

I forced myself to return his smile. The chaplain had drunk
way too much of the Kool-Aid in Sunday school as a child.

“How much longer would you like to wait for the rest? Don’t
worry about me, because I’ve got the whole afternoon open.”

The chaplain and I might have lived on opposite ends of the
spectrum, but he was an all right kind of guy. Despite being a little out of
touch with reality. “You might as well do your thing because I’m the only one
coming.”

The chaplain indicated just over my shoulder. “Either
fisherman have started wearing formal wear to pull trout out of the river, or
you’ve got company.”

My sigh cut short as soon as I saw who it was. “What the
hell are you two doing here? This is a funeral, not a wedding.”

“Good to see you too, Black,” Jesse replied, helping Rowen
over a few rocks in the trail. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fucking on top of the world. Can’t you tell?”

“I’m not sure that
fuck
’s allowed at a funeral,
Black.” Rowen shot me a wink as she and Jesse came up beside me.

“Why not? Clay was that word’s number one fan. The profanity
and the act.” The chaplain looked off into the distance.“How in the hell did
you two know what was going on today?” I couldn’t decide if I was pissed or
relieved they’d shown up. I definitely felt a bit of both. I’d seen Jesse and
Rowen a couple of days ago, pretty much right after they got in from Seattle,
but I hadn’t mentioned a thing to either one of them about the funeral.

“You called in sick today,” Jesse answered, nudging me.
“You’ve never called in sick before. Not even the day after . . . after . . .”

“The day after the fire,” Rowen interjected. Jesse thanked
her with a smile.

“You mean the day after Clay was burnt to such a crisp
nothing was left of him?” Jesse’s eyebrows lifted. Rowen’s came together. I
wasn’t trying to upset two of my only friends. It just went against my nature
not to. Truthfully, having them with me made the whole thing less daunting. We
were nothing more than a few friends hanging down on the riverbank, saying
good-bye to a person I wasn’t sure even deserved it.

Rowen said, “You want to take out your anger at us today,
fine. Do it. You get a free pass. Today and today only. Tomorrow you’d better
find somewhere else to channel your anger.”

I waited a moment for her to go into more detail, but none
came. “Or else?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Or else.”

“I sure have missed your veiled threats, Miss Sterling-soon-to-be-Walker.”

“Yeah, yeah. And we’ve missed your unparalleled goodness,
too.”

Jesse tried to keep from smiling, but that was about as easy
for him to do as it was me to keep smiling.

“So I get that me calling in sick today alerted the dogs to
what I had planned, but how in the hell did you know where to find me?” Montana
had as many wide open spaces as there were stars in the sky. “Did you go and
install a GPS tracker on me or something?”

Jesse stared into the sky while Rowen’s eyes locked onto mine.
“No. We followed you,” she answered with a shrug.

I shook my head. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with trying
and failing to spin a brodie in the middle of the road and tear out of town and
never look back, I might have noticed Old Bessie tailing me. That truck was
such an atrocity it was impossible to miss. “You two are a couple of regular
ninjas, aren’t you?”

“Hi-yah,” Rowen deadpanned, thumping the side of her hand
into my stomach.

“And look at you, Walker. Dressed up all fancy in a suit. It
almost looks like you’re heading to your own funeral.” I elbowed his ribs,
making him elbow me right back. “Hold up. Aren’t you the whipped chump getting
married this summer? I suppose that explains why you look like you’re heading
to your own funeral.” I chuckled, ignoring Rowen’s impressive glare.

“Two words, Black,” she said, all tough sounding. “Or.
Else.” Lifting her fist, she circled it around.

That, of course, only made me laugh. “I sure am glad I have
you two here for moral support. I’ve never felt so uplifted and surrounded by
warm fuzzies in my life.”

“We love you too, buddy.” Jesse slung his arm around Rowen’s
neck, the other around mine, and pulled us together for some sick version of a
group hug. I was protesting with an exaggerated groan when I heard a few others
coming down the trail. It probably shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.

Mr. and Mrs. Walker, followed by their three daughters, made
their way toward us. Neil had a solemn expression, Rose had a small smile, and
the girls all looked a bit red-eyed. Go figure. Three Walker girls who’d barely
even met Clay had been crying, but his own son had yet to shed a single tear. I
told myself the only reason they were able to muster up a few tears for him was
because they didn’t know Clay like I did.

Neil clapped my shoulder as his family fell in line beside
him. “It’s a hell of a thing, son. One hell of a thing.”

I nodded once then indicated the chaplain. I had planned on
being wrapped up already, not greeting guests I hadn’t invited. Despite not having
invited them, I was glad they’d invited themselves. The chaplain had been
right—it felt good to be surrounded by loved ones, or as close to loved ones as
I had. I’d never openly admit it, but it was the truth.

The chaplain rolled his shoulders back. “We are brought
together today by a great tragedy. A life ending before its time. A man—”

“Hold on. Wait! I’m sorry. Just hold on one more minute!”
someone hollered from the trail.

My initial response to hearing Josie’s voice was to smile.
So I went with a drawn-out sigh. When she came into view, I saw what was to
blame for slowing her down.

“Damn these heels. Why can’t they make a pair more suited
for rough terrain?” She glanced at me just long enough to acknowledge me with a
smile before going back to watching the ground like it was about to reach out
and grab her. With the heels she had on, it was a miracle she’d made it that
far without breaking her neck.

Jesse nudged me. I didn’t get what he was hinting. Then he
elbowed me. I still didn’t get it. Finally he sighed and said, “Why don’t you
go help her before she breaks a heel or a leg?”

Riding in on the white horse and saving the day was Jesse
Walker’s thing, not mine. That’s why I hadn’t picked up on his hint. When I
stayed glued where I was while Josie hobbled over a few more rocks, Jesse shook
his head. Before he’d taken one step toward her, I grabbed his arm. “I got it.
Hey, stilts, let me give you a hand before you go and break your neck.”

If she wasn’t so busy watching the ground, I knew she would
have glared at me. “I don’t know what I was thinking wearing these things.
Where’s a pair of boots when a girl needs some?”

I’d seen Josie in a pair of shoes other than boots maybe a
dozen times since I’d known her, but seeing her in a pair of heels with the knee-length
dress she had on made me wish she’d wear them a lot more.

Unbelievable. I was at my father’s funeral and having
moderately inappropriate thoughts about a girl’s legs. I didn’t have many, but
I knew I’d had finer moments than that one.

“Yeah, but they sure look nice.” I forced my eyes up right
about the time Josie stumbled over a rock Hell, maybe she stumbled over her own
two feet. I’d gotten to her just in time. I broke her fall right before
swinging her into my arms. We didn’t have much farther to go, but I didn’t want
to wait another decade for her to maneuver her way there.

“What are you doing?” Josie asked, her tone as shocked as
her expression.

I shrugged, asking myself the same question. “Blue moon.”

Josie’s forehead lined. “Come again?”

“You’ve never heard of a blue moon?”

“Yes, Garth. I’ve heard of a blue moon.” Today’s eye roll
count: one. “What does one have to do with you helping me?”

“This guy’s got the day off from playing the hero.” I
slugged Jesse’s arm after setting Josie down. “I’m filling in.” Jesse’s and
Rowen’s expressions matched Josie’s. “What?” I was ready to slug him again if
he didn’t stop looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

“I knew you had it in you all along.” Josie planted her feet
on a level patch of sand.

“Yeah, yeah. No need to go and spread the word, Miss
See-the-Good-in-Everyone, because I’m about to have the reluctant hero inside
of me exorcised.”

“Too bad. That was the first time in years that I haven’t
wanted to slug you in the jaw.”

The chaplain cleared his throat, and Josie zipped her lips
at me.

“Fine, bossy,” I muttered.

“Whatever. Hero.” She gave me a wide grin before turning her
attention to the chaplain.

“Garth? Are you ready to proceed?” the chaplain asked, still
looking like he wasn’t in any hurry.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Even the smart-ass tone I’d
perfected fell flat.

“Did you bring something to symbolize your father being here
in spirit?”

“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.” Digging in my shirt pocket, I
pulled out the cap and set it on the large rock beside the chaplain. Want to
know how to make a crowd of talkers go so silent it made the air thick? Thunk a
Jack Daniels cap in front of them where a casket would be if Clay Black’s ashes
weren’t scattered over acres of barren, rented land.