Hunter's Moon (36 page)

“When did you learn how to dance?” CJ asked.

“About ten years ago—when the baby weight wouldn’t come off.”

CJ didn’t have a follow-up to that so he just nodded, content to be this close to a woman he’d forgotten for all of his adult life, and who now seemed to occupy every conscious thought.

“Why did your husband let me cut in? He has to know . . .”

“Know what?” Julie prodded.

CJ looked down at his shoes, but then looked back up when he felt Julie’s grip tighten on his hand. “He has to know that I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Julie hesitated before responding, and when she did it was with a quiet laugh. “You’re right. He does know.”

“Then why . . . ?”

“Because he trusts me.” She paused and then gave CJ a smirk. “And he likes you.” When raised eyebrows were CJ’s only response, she said, “He says you’re the only Baxter besides him who has his head screwed on straight.”

That pulled a headshake from CJ. “I’m head over heels for another man’s wife, I’m about to get divorced, I was in jail two days ago, and Ben thinks I have my head screwed on straight?”

“I never said he was a good judge of character.”

CJ smiled, and then the pair danced in silence for a time until CJ broke it.

“Is it hard for you?” he asked.

She considered that for several seconds, during which the song to which they were dancing ended. CJ began to look around for Ben, expecting the man to show up at his elbow, but eventually he found Julie’s husband by the snack table, a loaded plate keeping him occupied for the time being. So CJ retained his hold on Julie’s hand and waist until another song—another slow number—started.

As the first notes began, Julie said, “It’s hard right now. But it won’t be when you leave.”

CJ frowned. “What do you mean when I leave?”

“Just that,” Julie said. “Face it, CJ. You’re not here for the long haul, no matter how bad you think things are in Tennessee right now. Eventually you’ll leave, and then things will be back to normal.”

“Normal.”

“As in, I can concentrate on being a wife and mother and not have to worry about you stealing kisses in cold garages.”

“I don’t really think I
stole
it,” CJ said.

Julie sighed. “And that’s the problem. You should have had to.” Then she gave him a crooked smile. “But I think I can be strong for the both of us.”

CJ supposed there wasn’t much else to say. He pulled Julie toward him and she put her cheek on his shoulder, and they danced that way for a while. At some point, as CJ shifted his feet to turn them in a half circle, Dennis floated by, a smiling redhead in his arms. He was a lot lighter on his feet than CJ would have guessed. Dennis looked his way, and CJ gave him a wink and then he danced with Julie until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“You in or not?” Harry asked for the second time, but Dennis would not be rushed. He pondered his cards for a bit longer, then closed his eyes.

“Are you praying to the cards now?” Harry said.

“The poker gods,” Dennis mumbled. “I’m praying they clean you out and give everything you own to your ex-wife.”

“Anyone else notice that he doesn’t stutter when he’s had a few?” Jake commented.

“I’m out,” Dennis said, tossing his cards down.

“I was out an hour ago, but I was too stupid to realize it,” CJ said, following Dennis’s lead.

“Are you calling it?” Harry asked.

“I’m pretty sure Dennis has called it for us,” CJ said. Dennis’s head had slumped to his chest and he’d started to snore.

“I’m not sure what to think of a man who passes out before eleven,” Harry said.

“Go easy on him. He lost the girl of his dreams after a single dance.”

“Is he that bad a dancer?” Jake asked.

“Surprisingly, no. He’s a pretty good dancer. But let’s just say that when a man isn’t feeling well, maneuvering around a dance floor usually isn’t the best idea.”

“He didn’t,” Rick said.

Harry’s contribution was a low whistle. Dennis stirred a bit but didn’t wake up.

“I’ve heard a lot of good first-date stories,” CJ said, “but never one that wound up with a guy throwing up on a pretty girl’s shoes.”

“Which is further proof that you and I don’t travel in the same circles,” Harry said. He tipped his chair back and winked at CJ.

Silence settled over the table, and CJ sat there and enjoyed it. As the quiet lingered, and as the Doors drifted in from the next room, a thought came to him.

“You want to do me a favor?” he asked Jake Weidman.

Jake, who had picked up the cards and begun to shuffle, said, “Favors aren’t normally in my nature, but for some reason I’m feeling magnanimous.”

“There’s a guard at one of your prisons—name’s Richard Baxter.”

“A relation?”

“Cousin,” CJ said. “Is there any way he can find himself all alone in a cell with someone a bit . . . I don’t know, disgruntled?” Hearing how that sounded, he added, “Not too disgruntled, but just enough for a black eye and a lump or two.”

Jake didn’t look up but continued shuffling, cigar held in his mouth. When the cards had circled each other twice, he said, “I’ll see what I can do. But I reserve the right to reconsider in the clear light of day.”

“Fair enough,” CJ said, wondering how he would feel about the request in the morning.

In truth, much of what had gone on during the few nights he’d spent playing poker with these men was open to clearer scrutiny during daylight hours, solely for the fact that one of the men figured prominently in CJ’s current writing assignment. Here he was playing cards with a man who appeared to figure into some campaign finance maneuvering, and yet CJ couldn’t bring himself to dislike him. Neither had he sent out even a mild feeler to flesh out the growing list of things he’d found that supported his thesis. They’d just played cards, and CJ found that he liked it that way, regardless of how strange it might seem.

On the heels of that thought a yawn caught him. He pocketed the money he had left and stood.

“Can I leave him here?” CJ asked Rick, gesturing toward Dennis.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Rick said.

CJ nodded and started for the front door, and Dennis’s snores followed him until he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Chapter 29

Ronny’s was more packed than usual, even for a Friday, as revelers sought someplace to continue the celebration begun at the football field with Adelia beating Smithson Academy in a fashion befitting some of the storied games of old. Middle-aged husbands and their tipsy wives, businessmen who normally frequented higher-class establishments, even temperance-minded churchgoers who preached the evils of alcohol the other 364 days of the year—all of them found that Ronny’s was the type of place they needed, a near-seedy pub to put a dangerous edge on this night of uninhibited celebration.

Rick was split on the merits of the influx of patrons. It was good money, but it meant having to deal with inexperienced drinkers. Rick liked his regulars. With these people there were more needs to fill, tempers to watch, limits to recognize. It was enough of a pain that Rick had more than once threatened to close for the last night of the Fall Festival. Yet year after year the lure of triple profits saw him sweeping, washing, and rearranging to accommodate the crowds.

CJ, who hadn’t experienced Fall Festival closing night at Ronny’s—at least not legally—was inclined to agree, especially when, on arriving with Dennis, he couldn’t even reach the bar, much less find an empty stool. Even so, over the hour he’d been here, the atmosphere had grown on him. He and Dennis had worked their way into a small table in the corner, and as long as one of them remained at the table at all times, they could preserve their territory on the periphery of the maelstrom. The concession was that they had to wait longer for fresh drinks, but since CJ wasn’t in the mood for more than a few, that wasn’t a deal breaker.

Dennis hadn’t said much in the last hour, and CJ suspected that had less to do with the noise, which made it difficult to hear normal conversation, than it did the constant replaying of his ill-fated dance with Stephanie Nichols.

“You sh-should have seen the l-look on her face,” Dennis groaned.

“I was there,” CJ reminded him. “I
did
see it.”

“And the scream,” Dennis said.

“I heard that too.”

CJ saw Rick behind the bar dealing with a trio of women who’d dressed up in their trashy best for the evening, but who were well past their expiration dates. Red wine, some drink with an umbrella, and what was probably a Long Island iced tea. CJ caught Rick’s eye and winked, which earned him a scowl, and would have probably earned him more had Rick not been otherwise occupied.

“I’ll tell you what you do,” CJ said to Dennis. “You wait a few days and then give her a call. You apologize, maybe get her to laugh about it, convince her to meet you for coffee somewhere. Maybe she’ll surprise you.”

“You’ve g-got to be k-kidding.”

“I’m serious. What do you have to lose? It’s not like she’s going to talk to you ever again anyway. If she hangs up on you, you’ll be in exactly the same position, only you won’t always wonder if you should have given it another shot.”

“There’s no way I’m c-calling Stephanie,” Dennis said, though the statement lacked conviction.

“Just give it a few days,” CJ said. “Trash day is Monday, right? You should call Monday afternoon. The shoes will be gone—it’s almost symbolic.”

“You think she threw away the shoes?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I guess . . .”

“Trust me,” CJ continued. “If I’ve learned one thing from being married, it’s that you can’t overcommunicate. It’s impossible. So pick up the phone and communicate.”

“But you’re g-getting divorced.”

“Because I didn’t communicate,” CJ said, with perhaps more triumph in his voice than the subject warranted.

While they were talking, the crowd had started to thin out. CJ looked at his watch and said, “You want to go watch kids throw rotten tomatoes at each other?”

Dennis shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

CJ put a twenty on the table, then he and Dennis stepped out into the cold night air. They took Dennis’s truck. CJ thought about running upstairs to get Thor but decided against it, letting the inclination pass. The dog had been all over town the last few days and probably needed some rest. Dennis pulled onto Main and turned onto Eighth, headed west.

Batesville, Adelia’s longtime co-conspirator in this part of the Festival, was a nineteen-mile straight shot west over land made up of steep hills, forests thick with elderly trees, and gorges that seemed to appear out of nowhere. When the first roads went in, their builders avoided the worst of these hazards to wind up with a circuitous route that turned the nineteen miles into forty-one. CJ thought it was a testament to the strength of the Festival tradition that the residents of Batesville made the trip—in the old days by horse and wagon, braving the straight shot between the towns, and now by way of a road trip twice that distance.

By the time they got there, cars lined both sides of the state road for a hundred yards. Dennis parked the truck, and soon he and CJ were walking toward the crowd gathering at the town line. There were so many people, blocking the road to any through traffic, that CJ and Dennis had to go down into the ditch to get around the crowd enough to see anything. They picked a spot near one of the portable light stands that turned night into day for about thirty yards in any direction. In years past, this event would have taken place by torchlight.

As they neared the site of impending warfare CJ heard someone in the crowd call his name. He stopped and scanned the myriad faces until he saw someone waving at him. It was Sr. Jean Marie, who offered him a grin while hoisting a handful of tomatoes. He waited as she worked her way through the crowd toward him.

“Looks like you’re ready to unleash the apocalypse,” he said.

She laughed. “We can’t always wait on God to execute His judgment, now can we?”

“No, I guess we can’t,” CJ agreed.

The nun handed him a couple of tomatoes. “It’s cathartic, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure; I haven’t been here in a very long time. But isn’t this just for kids?”

“Aren’t we all just kids at heart?”

“I am,” Dennis said. To illustrate, he grabbed a tomato from CJ and looked ready to release it at any likely target that came into range.

“Good man,” the nun said. As Dennis took a few steps away— whether by design or because of the state of things, CJ didn’t know—Sr. Jean Marie looked up from her spot at his side and asked, “Have you given any thought to what we talked about?”

It amused CJ that even a week ago he would have answered that question with his customary avoidance. After a moment of silence he said, “I think I’ve absorbed most of it.”

The nun gave his arm a squeeze. “Good, because we’ve got too much to carry without dragging around anger. The sooner you let go of that, the better you’ll be.”

It wasn’t something he could argue, so he nodded and smiled. She gave his arm another squeeze, turned and disappeared into the crowd.