Indivisible (12 page)

Tia closed her eyes. “It definitely was.”

“So what if it was? Does that make you a horrible person? Everyone makes mistakes.”

“You sound like a
Sesame Street
song.”

Piper snuggled in. “I loved
Sesame Street.”

“So did Reba.” Tia’s grin twisted. “I told her Big Bird had a growth disorder and Grover was a mama’s boy.”

Piper rested her head on Tia’s shoulder. “And Oscar?”

“I kind of liked Oscar. He said it like it was.”

Piper giggled, crossing her ankles on the coffee table right beside Tia’s. “Want to have a pajama party?”

When Tia got up and limped to the kitchen, Piper guessed she’d pushed too far, but then Tia came back with a bottle of red wine and a box of Godiva dark chocolate. “I bought these truffles for my birthday last month. I think now would be a good time to eat them.”

Twelve

Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.

—JOHN MUIR

J
onah woke with his head and arms bent over the foot of the bed, his empty coffee mug lying on the rug, and the coyote watching him over three live and one unresponsive pup. The last must have come after he dropped off, when he’d thought she was finished. Had it been born dead, or had the mother lacked the energy to lick one more to life? Guilt stabbed as she looked at him with accusatory eyes.

“Yeah? Get in line.” He pushed up from the bed, stripped, and showered. He’d navigated troubled waters last night, and though there were things he could have done better, he’d come through sober and chaste. It could be worse.

Then he realized it was Sunday. Maybe he should change it up and see his mother on Wednesday or Saturday or not at all. Or maybe he should get to church and stop whining. As Jay said, his sentence was self-imposed. He didn’t have to inflict himself on her or her on him. But he would.

He brooded through the Scripture readings, then stood with the congregation to recite the creed. He did believe in God, the Father Almighty. Stan Westfall had personified that person of the Trinity, altering the energy of a room, charging the space around him with a consuming power any wrong step could unleash. He understood the Son, broken by the Father’s will, sacrificed to redeem the people fallen in their sins. The difference came in that Jesus had exalted his father, not destroyed him.

Those images were old, and he knew better. He’d encountered the living

God. He just couldn’t always see through the fog—the glass was still dark. Some days as dark as the base of a bottle of ale.

Instead of going home to gear up, he drove directly to his mother’s house. She didn’t answer when he knocked. Not home yet, he guessed. She attended church an hour and a half away, so as not to offend her former congregation or the family of the young woman who had died.

With the rush of relief came words like
worthless, gutless, spineless
.

The wood pile was low. He strode over, jerked the ax from the splitting log, and got to work. The brisk air chilled his salty sweat, and his muscles bulged and stretched. He’d always found release in physical exertion, and it cleared last night’s frustration and helped him focus. By the time his mother’s Blazer pulled in, he had replenished her supply. He sank the ax and turned.

She climbed out, tugging two grocery bags. He could see another pair in the backseat. She walked past without acknowledging him. He grabbed the other two bags and reached the porch by the time she’d come back for them. Smelling of cold cream and mouthwash, she took the bags without allowing him to cross the threshold. He stared at the closed door a long moment before leaving.

He understood the hatred. If he had left it alone, walked away when the inquiry concluded, everything would have been different. If he had ignored what he knew—or suspected—and let the findings stand, his father would be alive. But the girl would still be dead.

He went home, parked outside his cabin, and rested his head on his forearms stretched over the steering wheel. Jay had come over early. How he timed it was a mystery. Jonah didn’t ask for explanations. He climbed out and let the sound of the creek wash over him. The summer flow was still strong, carrying melted snows to basins and reservoirs.

He went inside, glanced at the animals in his closet, then found Jay planing a board in the back extension. “How did you get the dead pup out?”

“Mama went outside.”

“You have her house-trained?”

“Animals don’t foul their dens.”

“Yeah, but she could have used the kitchen or—my whole house is her den?”

Jay grinned. “I think she might have spent time with someone before.”

“You’re saying I’m not her first?”

“Just a theory.” Jay slid another curl of wood before the plane, releasing the scent of cut wood. “So did you prove your manhood last night?”

Jonah slid him a look. “I don’t have to prove anything. It was your pretty mug that put the thoughts in her head.”

Eyes smiling, Jay felt the surface of the board. “So the answer is yes.”

“The answer is no. I didn’t take advantage of a lonely woman to prove I’m not gay.”

“Why do you say lonely?”

Jonah shrugged. “New in town. Never see her with anyone.”

“How often have you seen her?”

“Not that often. But she seems … vulnerable.”

“Do you mean Liz or you?”

Jonah sighed. “It didn’t feel smart.”

“You know how smart feels?”

“Vague recollection.”

Jay masked a smile. “You had an interested woman, but instead you spent the night with Enola.”

“Enola? You named my dog?”

“She’s yours?”

Jonah conceded the point. “Why
Enola?”

“It means solitary. I think maybe the coydog came to you because you’re also alone.”

“You’re one to talk.” Jay had been dating the assistant DA’s cousin for four years without progress. “At least I know what I want.”

“And wanting something you can’t have is better than having anything else?”

Jonah sat down in the plastic-sheeted window seat. “It’s not a choice.”

“Sure it is.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I just decided which addiction to conquer.”

Enola passed the framed wall, staring at him through the wooden skeleton on her way outside once more. Jonah watched her with a sinking stomach. “I let her down last night, falling asleep before that last pup was born.”

“What do you think you could have done?”

“Encouraged her to quicken it.”

“Nature has her own way.”

“Had she opened the sac?”

“No.”

“If I’d been awake, I could have torn it open myself.”

“Maybe it was already dead.”

Part of him knew he was making too much of a coydog pup, but he and Enola had an unspoken pact. She had sought him out, and he’d accepted. They were bound.

His pager beeped. He checked the source and then returned the call. “Yeah, Sue.”

“Child protective services took Eli.”

“What? Why didn’t they call me? I’d’ve vouched for your being at work when—”

“The x-rays showed other hairline fractures. Old ones. He’s been hurt before, Jonah. How could I not know?”

Jonah rubbed his head. When Sue worked, Sam watched the baby. But when she was home, had she never heard him crying? “Was he dosed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Sam drug him?”

“No way. He—” Her breath rushed in his ear. “Could he?”

“You should get a tox screen.”

“Jonah, the injuries could be accidental. That would be intentional.”

Old injuries discovered on x-rays were rarely accidental. “If he was killing the child’s pain, you wouldn’t have realized Eli was hurt.”

“I thought he was just quiet. Placid. Sweet tempered.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.”

“How can you say that? I knew Sam was using. I know the flash of his temper. If he jerked Eli’s arm …”

“The important thing is to establish your ability to care for him, to create a safe environment. How likely is it that Sam will put the blame on you, or on your mother?”

“He wouldn’t. Would he?”

“You need to talk to CPS. You and your mom. I’ll vouch for you.”

“You’ve only seen me at work. You don’t know.”

“I have some credible experience.”

“That’s not firsthand knowledge.”

His thoughts flew ahead. “If you know that he’s using or trafficking …”

“Sam is Eli’s father. Am I supposed to tell him I put his daddy in jail?”

“When the DA brings abuse charges, will he give you the same consideration?” He waited through her silence.

Finally she said, “I have to deal with this. Can you cover my shift?”

“Of course.” He hung up and told Jay, “I’m going in.”

“I can stay for a few hours. But I’m not sure Enola needs it.”

“Her wounds might still attract a predator.”

“She is a predator.” Jay straightened. “Don’t forget it.”

Liz looked up with surprise and a little hitch when Jonah’s Bronco pulled into her parking lot.

Lucy looked over her shoulder, querulous. “What does he want?”

To apologize, Liz imagined, to say he’d made a mistake, wished the night had turned out differently. Heat rose in her cheeks. “I don’t know.” She gripped the leash of the Rottweiler she had neutered and walked him outside to get his legs back under him. With Lucy watching from behind the curtains, she led the dog away from the window. “I didn’t think the chief of police worked Sundays.”

“I’m filling in.”

Their trajectories intersected at the gate to the dog run. She released the offended animal into the long, chain-link tunnel. “Titan is feeling less than himself this morning.”

“With good reason, I guess.” Jonah noted the dog’s tentative motion. He turned, but she didn’t see regret, only sympathy. “I want—”

“Don’t apologize.” Anger rescued her from tears, but she showed him neither. “It was a moment; now it’s past.”

He let it go, relieved, it seemed, that she’d handled it for him. What had she expected?

“I hope you didn’t just come for that.”

“The coydog had her litter.”

Her breath caught. “How many?”

“Three live, one stillborn.”

She nodded. “It could have been injured in the shooting.”

“Could have.”

“I thought she might have a few more days. If I’d have examined her, I would have seen the swollen milk sacs.”

“You just don’t stick your head in a closet with a coyote.”

Or your heart on your sleeve with a man.

“Liz, I know you wanted one—”

“Two. And I want them immediately. I hope by bottle-feeding to overcome the wild tendencies and form a bond.”

He frowned. “I think you’d have better luck one on one.”

“I want them to have each other.” She had almost said she wanted one for herself and one for her sister. But after last night she couldn’t mention Lucy.

“That would only leave her one.”

“In her depleted condition, that’s probably all she can nourish.”

“I don’t know.” He looked away.

“Timing is essential. When they open their eyes I want them to realize the hand that holds their bottle is mine. It’s like patterning with ducklings.”

“These are not harmless ducklings. Coyotes bite the throats and suffocate larger prey, crush the skulls of smaller animals. You need to consider the pets brought here as well as your own safety.”

“I promise you, Chief, if I can’t tame them, I will mercifully euthanize. Then you won’t have the issue of brazen predators. But I think I can do this.”

He sighed. “It won’t help to argue, will it?”

She shook her head. “What will you do with the third?”

“That’s up to mama.”

Liz smiled. “Who’d have thought you have a soft spot?”

“I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“Is she your responsibility?”

“Looks that way.”

She allowed a pang of regret. They might have had something lovely. “Have you determined their sex?”

“Haven’t exactly gotten that close.”

“When the mother goes out, check the pups.”

“They’ll have my scent.”

“They’re living in your closet.”

“Good point.”

“Besides,” she said, “it’s an old wives’ tale that human scent makes animals leave their young.”

“Really?”

“Really. So, I’d prefer females, but two of the same gender will do.” He frowned. “I still don’t think—”

“Take them while she’s out.”

“Then what? She comes back and they’re gone?”

“That’s how it works. She’ll make sure they didn’t wander off, then forget they were ever there.”

He still looked undecided.

“I appreciate your concern, but I want the pups. In this area, my experience trumps yours.” She would not take no, and he must have seen that.

He spread his hands. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

When he’d gone, she led Titan back inside, murmuring to him, “I know it’s hard.” He would not procreate, but he would make a fine companion. A deep ache hollowed her as she closed him back into the cage to wait for his master. Companionship never quite …

“You’re sad.” Lucy’s hand on her arm was light and cool.

“I’m sorry for his pain.” She looked into the dog’s drowsy eyes, imagining he knew his loss and mourned it.

“I know it’s not the dog.”

“Of course it is. What do you mean?”

“I know how you feel about the chief.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh, Lizzie.” Lucy slid her arms around her. “You can’t hide it. Why would you?”

“He’s in love with someone else.”

“Because he doesn’t know you. If he did, he would love you as I love you. As I’ll always love you. My sister, my heart.”

Liz hugged her back. “I love you too, Lucy. You’re all that matters to me.”