Hunter's Moon (12 page)

He thought about the article while he watched his brother. There was a part of him that wanted to put this place in the rearview tomorrow. Yet the more he pondered delivering something to the magazine, the more the idea appealed to him. Talking with Sal had convinced him that there was a story here somewhere, and the fact that no one seemed to be talking about it meant it was something that Graham would likely not want him to tell.

“One man’s daydream is another man’s day.”

CJ was wearing a smile before the quote made an immediate connection with the memory from his childhood. As a boy, CJ had been the consummate daydreamer, and he understood now that this particular affliction was a necessary trait for anyone who made his living telling stories. However, to the adults charged with instructing such a child, a penchant for daydreaming was a mortal sin. There had only been one person in his life who had recognized CJ’s attention-related malady for something other than an inconvenience, and he turned to face her now.

“Grey Livingston,” he said with a smile.

“Indeed it was,” said Sister Jean Marie.

Of course she was older, but he could still see the much younger woman somewhere inside the habit. And the thing that truly distinguished her was the smile that lit up her face. Twenty years ago the fact that Sr. Jean Marie could smile had surprised CJ, since he’d thought that, along with vows of celibacy, poverty, and whatever other personal states that ended with a
y
she held, smiling was anathema. The kindnesses she’d shown him, along with the spiritual conversations that never shied from the intellectual, did much to cause him to consider his faith beyond those formative years.

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” he said. “Just mulling over a few things.”

The nun’s smile lifted to a smirk, which was another facial expression he knew well. It was the mark of the skeptic, and the fact that the sister used it often had convinced CJ that her faith was hard-won, and that as a boy he could ride those coattails of fealty.

“How are you, CJ ?” the sister asked.

“Just fine, Sister. I mean, all things considered.”

CJ hadn’t seen her at the church, but he’d been preoccupied enough that the failing was certainly his.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, and it didn’t sound as phony as it might have had it come from someone else.

“Thanks,” he said, and he was sure that unlike her sentiment, his sounded phony.

“I really liked your grandfather.”

“So did I.” Almost as an afterthought he asked, “How did you know him?”

She smiled. “Pancakes and bingo.”

Those few words drew a laugh from CJ —one unlike any he’d uttered in what seemed a long time. “He loved both,” he said.

The nun joined him in his laughter. She put a hand on his arm. “Your grandfather might have been the last of the good ones.”

When CJ was eleven, working his way through the Stations of the Cross, he’d had a conversation with the sister that, to the best of his recollection, dealt with the fact that there was a dearth of saints in the present age. That was what he was reminded of now, although he was confident Sal had been no saint.

“I won’t argue with you,” he said.

She released his arm and gave him an affected arch eyebrow. “Then at least you learned something under my tutelage.”

“If by tutelage you mean questioning everything that came down as official doctrine, then yes, I did learn a thing or two.”

Sr. Jean Marie didn’t have a ready answer for that beyond the smile she’d already wielded with great effect.

“If you ever want to talk, you know where I am,” she said.

And with that, she was gone, leaving CJ feeling both better and worse than he had before she’d arrived. He found that he appreciated the dichotomous feeling, even as he knew that he wouldn’t take the nun up on her offer.

On the heels of this thought, CJ’s stomach made a loud rumbling noise, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. There was a buffet that spread over two long tables, covered with more food than CJ could remember seeing in any one place that wasn’t a supermarket. He found a plate and began to load it, paying particular attention to anything that looked as if it would do a number on his cholesterol, reasoning that if one couldn’t forsake the rules of good nutrition in the name of solace, then when could one?

He’d just reached the dessert section when he heard a chuckle over his shoulder.

“Don’t they have food in Tennessee?” Julie asked.

CJ looked down at his plate and felt guilty for the briefest of moments before deciding not to be. He hadn’t had a beef on weck in a very long time, and he knew where the chicken wings were from and that they’d be better than anything he could get in the South.

“The South has a different culinary sensibility,” he explained. “I have to load up on Yankee food while I’m here.”

“Well, remember to pace yourself at least,” she said. “Or you’ll have to stop at every rest area between here and Nashville.”

He laughed but decided to forgo dessert. He’d recently made the move up to size thirty-six pants and harbored the hope that it was a temporary situation.

“Something I said?” Julie asked innocently as he turned away from the table.

“Will it make you feel like you’ve accomplished something if I say yes?”

“Help a girl out,” she laughed.

CJ balanced the paper plate on one hand and started to eat, the smell of the food overcoming his inclination to wait until he was done with this conversation. Not surprisingly, he found Julie to be one of the few people he’d enjoyed talking with so far, excepting Uncle Edward. Edward used to tell all of the kids war stories years ago, and CJ had loved hearing them. In the brief time he’d been back, Edward had already related a handful of them—a few he hadn’t been able to share with children at all, and one that he’d previously told but in a version properly sanitized for young ears.

“So you married Ben,” he said.

“I did,” Julie said.

At that, CJ nodded, not sure what else to say. After chewing thoughtfully on a carrot stick, he said, “It looks like you’re doing alright.”

There was a hint of a smile on Julie’s lips. “I’m doing just fine, CJ. Ben’s a great guy.”

“That’s great.”

“Thank you,” Julie said.

CJ caught Daniel Wolfowitz looking his way once or twice and decided that, even without meeting him, he didn’t like the man. And he had no legitimate reason for that except for a feeling in his stomach—one very unlike the sensation that had prompted him to pile more food on his plate than he would be able to eat.

“When is Graham holding a press conference to capitalize on Sal’s death?”

“Soon,” Julie answered. “If his little sycophant had had his way, it would have been on the steps of the funeral home, but I think he’s doing the tasteful thing and holding off for a few days.”

CJ had to chuckle at that, but then decided to shift the conversation away from family matters. “So why aren’t you a veterinarian?”

Julie’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe you remember that.” She shook her head and then brushed a lock of brown hair away from her eye, and for just a moment, CJ thought he saw a sad smile flit across her lips. “I got pregnant the summer before I was supposed to start college. So I got married instead.”

What saved CJ from saying something dumb was the large bite of potato salad he had in his mouth. Instead he chewed and nodded thoughtfully. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “Is there some law against mothers earning veterinary degrees?”

That earned a laugh. “Not that I’m aware of. But
you
try going to college while taking care of a baby, and with your husband working twelve hours a day.”

“If I try it, can I do it without the husband part?” CJ said.

Julie hit him in the arm, and his plate wobbled a little. He recalled then how she’d often hit him in the arm back when they were dating.

“You’re just as annoying now as when we were in school together,” she said.

“Probably more.”

CJ saw Julie’s husband on the other side of the room, surrounded by a trio of men, and it looked as if all of them were having a good time, with Ben the center of attention.

“You married a Baxter anyway,” he said, and even he wasn’t sure what he meant by it.

Julie followed his gaze and let her own linger for a moment. When she turned back to CJ, she was smiling.

“He’s a good man,” she said. Then she reached over and grabbed a cookie from the table, biting into it and chewing with an appreciative look. Gesturing with the rest of the cookie, she said, “You know, it wasn’t easy for him either. He had a scholarship to go to Syracuse.”

“Really?” CJ asked, not intending to sound as surprised as he did.

“He’s a lot smarter than people think,” Julie said. If she was offended, she didn’t show it.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Because of the baby, he took a job at a car dealership right out of high school.”

“And now he owns the place,” CJ said, meaning it as a compliment.

“Two places.” Pride was evident in her voice, and it seemed as if she would say more, but instead she nibbled a bit off the end of her cookie. Then, with something like a sad smile, she said, “I know that sometimes he thinks about how things might have turned out if I hadn’t gotten pregnant.”

“What would he have studied?” CJ asked.

“Forensic anthropology.”

Wow
, CJ mouthed, but Julie didn’t see it. She had turned so that she could see her husband, still holding court on the other side of the room.

“You know, he’s never once made me feel as if it was my fault,” she said. “Not once.”

CJ wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t anticipated the conversation taking such a personal turn. He decided on something related but innocuous.

“You have two kids, right? What are their names?”

“Jack and Sophie.”

CJ nodded. He liked both names. He didn’t think Sophie was a common one. He and Janet had never gotten around to the business of choosing names—beyond the one for the dog, and that had been entirely CJ’s doing. Not for want of trying. Janet had made it clear early on that she expected a child or two out of the marriage, and while CJ held out as long as he could, he eventually capitulated. His reluctance should have been a sign that there were problems in the marriage, but regardless of the fact that he was a writer and as such made a living observing and documenting what he saw, the idea that there was something wrong with the relationship never occurred to him. As luck would have it, a child never entered the picture, and while CJ now saw that as a blessing, he also realized that it sped him and Janet toward the inevitable marital dissolution.

What he’d kept to himself—even when Janet blamed their inability to conceive on him—was the clean bill of health that came via pristine lab results from his doctor. Whatever it was that kept Janet from getting pregnant, it wasn’t CJ’s fault.

He forced thoughts of his wife from his mind. He would have to deal with her soon enough, once he was back in Tennessee. And he was beginning to suspect that holding out in his apartment and waiting for things to blow over was not as effective a strategy as he’d hoped. And now he had his dog to consider. His apartment didn’t allow him to have an animal of any kind—not even a hamster. And since he was reasonably certain that the apartment manager was coming into the apartment when he wasn’t there, he imagined it would be difficult to keep the presence of a large Lab a secret.

“Hey,” Julie said.

When CJ found her eyes, he realized he’d been somewhere else. In the meantime she’d procured a second cookie. He shook his head. “Sorry. Just thinking about some things.”

“I noticed,” she answered.

What she didn’t vocalize was an invitation to talk about any of them, but he sensed the offer. Even so . . .

“Thanks, but I’m alright.”

She looked unconvinced, but gave him a nod. Then, finishing the last of her second cookie, she gave him a wink and started off toward her husband. CJ watched until she reached the group of men that included Ben and slipped into the arm he extended for her. As he observed the two of them together, it seemed obvious they were happy. He shook his head. A year ago he would have told anyone who asked that his life was perfect—that it had essentially unrolled as he’d mapped it. And was he happy?

Dealing with tough questions, he thought, required the proper fuel. He reached for a cookie.

Chapter 8

The atmosphere at Ronny’s was understandably festive, seeing as a good portion of the guests at Sal’s memorial gathering had followed the party there from the VFW. The place was packed, and CJ had a place at the bar only because it was widely known he’d been Sal’s favorite grandson. In fact, with the exception of his cousin Richard—whom CJ remembered as being a mischievous, cruel little boy—CJ was the only grandchild present. He suspected Graham was somewhere meeting with his campaign manager, and Ben had taken Julie home. He had other cousins, of course, but after so long a time they were all essentially strangers now.

At the moment he was occupied with an old school chum, and they were trying to carry on something resembling a conversation while bodies pressed all around them. His name was Dennis, and he’d been a close friend of CJ’s throughout middle school and early high school. The surrounding conversations and music were growing increasingly louder, but he thought he heard Dennis say something about his family, who still lived on the reservation. Unsure, CJ simply nodded, and then Dennis, as if understanding that catching up with his newly found friend would have to wait, leaned back and drank his beer.

CJ knew he was drinking more than he should, and it was something he rarely did anymore, but he’d gotten a call from his lawyer toward the end of Sal’s party, and it hadn’t been good news. The critic that CJ had lambasted had filed a lawsuit—for a substantial sum. He was spinning it as an assault on his professional reputation, so a judge would have to rule on any damage CJ might have done to the man’s ability to earn a living. CJ was of the belief that a near frivolous lawsuit would do more damage to the man’s reputation than had the indignity he’d suffered at the reading, but then he wasn’t a judge. For the time being Al had suggested he remain in New York and avoid the summons that awaited him, at least until his lawyer had a chance to straighten things out and avoid a litigious quagmire.