Jaded (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Dodd sped down the highway, gripping the steering wheel. When Neil Blaylock called and asked him to come by the ranch on Sunday afternoon, Dodd felt a simultaneous surge of apprehension and relief. He was grateful Neil was finally following through with his promise to sit down and discuss Lynda Turner's situation, but he worried about running into Fawn.

As he pulled the El Camino through the iron gate of the Blaylocks' ranch, Neil waved from the open door of a warehouse-sized barn, motioning for Dodd to join him.

“Mind if I abuse my good manners and put you to work?” Neil powered on the overhead lights. “I need to get some feed out to my horses.”

“I'd be offended if you didn't.”

“That's what I like to hear.”

The barn's cement floor and buzzing caged lights reminded Dodd of the gymnasium back in his elementary school, but the comparison stopped there because the barn was much larger. Dodd always imagined barns would smell like cattle, but the only animal-related scent was the hay piled in a corner. The predominant oiled-machinery smell came from two tractors, one smaller than the other, and several strange contraptions that Dodd assumed were designed to be pulled behind.

Neil noticed him looking. “You ought to see the cab of the Kubota over there. The thing's got a dashboard that puts my desktop computer to shame. I'm considering installing a DVD player.”

Dodd's eyebrows shot up with interest. “You don't say.” He took the pair of soft-leather work gloves Neil offered him and followed the rancher's example by stacking bales of hay in the bed of Neil's double-cab pickup.

Suddenly he missed his dad. Dodd shoved one of the bales and heard the echo of his dad's voice. “No matter the task you're up against, remember two things. Enjoy the experience, because you might never do it again, and learn from it, because you probably will.”

He peered at Neil sheepishly, knowing there was only one way to learn. “I'm sure this is a stupid question, but don't horses eat grass?”

“They do.” Neil nodded. “But a norther's coming, and they don't take kindly to digging in snow to get their dinner. Besides, you're in West Texas now. In case you hadn't noticed, there's not enough ground cover out here to support a jackrabbit, much less twenty horses and seven hundred fifty head of cattle.”

Dodd whistled. “It must take you all day to feed them.”

“Well, I've got round bales for the herd, and they go much quicker with the tractor.”

“And the DVD player.” Dodd felt like an ignorant city slicker, but it was worth the opportunity to spend time with Neil and pick his brain. As they climbed in the truck, he said, “I've been looking forward to talking to you.”

Neil glanced at him with an indecipherable expression as he eased the pickup across the cement incline leading out of the barn and then accelerated down the gravel road, sending dust scurrying across the pasture in the wind. “Ah yes. The Turners.”

Dodd dreaded bringing up the subject but knew it was the only way to help Ruthie. “Can you tell me what happened between them and the church?”

“I thought Charlie talked to you about that.”

“He didn't know much. He said your father handled it.”

“That he did. Tried to keep it hush-hush.” Neil adjusted the heater control. “Hoby and Lynda struggled in their marriage for years. But when he found out she'd been unfaithful, it proved more than he could handle.” He slowed the truck as they vibrated over a cattle guard.

His frank tone stunned Dodd into silence as the truck stopped near a cluster of metal feeders.
So the rumors were true?
Prickly-pear cactus clustered among bare mesquite trees, accentuating the stark wind pressing against the truck. A gust swirled a few snowflakes onto the warm hood, where they melted instantly.

“Lynda committed adultery, son, and never once showed a penitent heart. The church had no choice.” Neil opened his door, and a whoosh of cold air cleared the stiffness in the cab. “Here come the horses. Let's get this done.”

Ten more questions popped into Dodd's head as he hastened to catch up with Neil, but he opted for the safety of small talk. “The horses act like you've got candy.”

“Yes, they come running as soon as they hear the truck.”

Neil hefted a bale and tossed it into the feeder, where a pale horse began pulling straws from beneath the tight wires. Four other horses did the same, unable to get a good mouthful but tugging for their dinner just the same. Impatient animals.

Dodd knew how they felt, because his own impatience made him feel starved for information. He reached for another bale as Neil eased between the horses.

“I bet you've got a few more questions.” Neil snipped the wires with a pair of wire cutters.

“Well, yes.” Dodd rested his elbow on the top of the feeder, but the coldness of the frozen iron penetrated his jacket, and he crossed his arms instead. “JohnScott seems to think Lynda never had an affair. It seems like he would know.”

“Lynda's a proud woman, son, and she knew she was in the wrong. She probably denied it to her family.”

Dodd reached toward one of the horses and hesitantly rubbed a gloved hand across its neck as the animal's muscles jittered. “So how did the church find out, then?”

Neil finished removing the wire, then frowned at the remaining bales, still in the truck. “Lynda and I were good friends back then. Had been since high school. When she confided in me, I encouraged her to repent, but she wouldn't have it.” He grimaced. “Stubborn pride.”

“So you went to your dad?”

“Had to.” Neil folded the baling wire and tossed it in the back of the truck. “Never dreamed the church would react that way, though.”

Dodd threw him another bale. JohnScott and Ruthie were adamant there was no infidelity, and Dodd knew telling them wouldn't be easy. But if he didn't, Ruthie would never understand the church's actions.

“What are you thinking about, son?”

Dodd slumped against the feeder. “Ruthie. Should I talk to her about it?”

Neil paused in his work, then reached for a bale and yanked it toward him. “You're becoming good friends with Ruthie and JohnScott.” His words sounded stilted, and Dodd sensed disapproval.

“Yes.”

Neil folded the remaining wires and peered at a horse that was champing noisily. “Son, how long has it been since your daddy passed?”

The change in topic startled Dodd. “About a year.”

Neil ran a gloved hand across the back of the pale horse and down its rump. “You've had a lot of changes. Losing your dad, moving out here, new job, new church, not to mention taking the reins with the family. That's a lot for a man to handle.”

The verbal acknowledgment of his burdens caused some of the weight to dissolve from Dodd's shoulders. “It's been a challenge.”

“Ever feel like things are happening too fast?”

Dodd chuckled. “Like a whirlwind.”

Neal slapped his gloves against a thigh. “Might not be a bad idea to slow down. Do what you can to keep life simple while you heal from your father's death. You've already had a double dose of adjustments—some good, some bad—and you deserve to rest a spell. Get your feet under you.” His lips curved. “Your family and your church need you to take your time.”

Dodd's heart sank. “You're talking about Ruthie, aren't you?”

“Among other things.” Neil reached for the door handle. “Let's get back to the house before we freeze.”

The conversation hadn't gone as Dodd had anticipated, and instead of feeling better about the Turners, he was more confused. As he and Neil returned to the warmth of the truck, he sensed the man holding something back. “Neil? When you said ‘other things,' were you referring to something in particular?”

Neil flashed a you-caught-me grin as he pulled out of the pasture and steered down a rutted lane on the edge of a field with neat green rows. “I hated to bring it up, but Lee Roy called a meeting of the elders last night. He's miffed about that ex-convict showing up at services.”

Dodd's mouth fell open in surprise. “Clyde? I'm thrilled he's been there.”

“Now, see …” Neil scratched his temple with a thumbnail. “Lee Roy, Charlie, and me? We've got nothing against the man, but as shepherds of the flock, we've got to consider the congregation.”

“I'm not following you.”

Neil removed his cowboy hat and wiped his forehead. “Aw, Dodd. It's just that Clyde Felton is a risk to the weak.”

“The weak?”

“Not everyone is as strong as you and me, and some of our members could easily be led astray. Besides, most of the women are scared of him.”

Dodd didn't like the sound of Neil's explanation but respected him enough to give the benefit of the doubt. “Clyde doesn't appear to be a threat.”

The truck bumped over another cattle guard. “But, son, you can't always read a person by first impressions.”

Dodd shook his head. “My opinion of him is not based on an impression. I've spoken to him at length on several occasions.”

“Have you?” Neil slowed the truck to peer at him momentarily.

“Yes, and he speaks highly of the prison ministry. It's because of those saints he even knows the Lord at all. In my opinion, we should gather him into the flock like one of those weak members you mentioned. He needs encouragement as much as the rest.”

Silence.

As they drove past another field, the evenly spaced green rows slithered and coiled against the ginger soil. Dodd looked at Neil. “Can we discuss this with Charlie and Lee Roy? I'd appreciate hearing their views on the subject.”

“We discussed it last night at the meeting, son, so I already know their views. You'll have to trust us on this one, not merely because we're your elders, but because we're your employers. If your daddy were alive, he'd tell you the same thing. Put some distance between yourself and Clyde Felton.” He reached over and slapped Dodd's leg with a grin. “Good Lord, son, you're the preacher. Time you started acting like it.”

Confusion crowded Dodd's thoughts. “Is the church laying out an edict for me to stay away from him?”

“Don't think of it that way. We simply think our young man ought to spend more time with those inside the church than those outside.” He stopped the truck at an angle behind the El Camino. “No matter who they are.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Ruth Ann, stop biting your nails.”

It was Monday, just after New Year's, and I was stuck reading a novel in a booth at the diner while Momma rolled paper napkins around silverware.

That morning I had awakened to six inches of snow, raised the blinds to marvel at the whiteness, and discovered ice on my bedroom window. On the inside. Our old heater was on the blink again—which happened frequently—but we always managed to keep warm by the fire until Ansel could get over to repair it. This time things weren't working out so well. As luck would have it, my uncle came down with the flu the same day we ran out of wood, forcing me to seek refuge at Dixie's Diner.

I groaned inwardly as the Blaylocks' black-and-gray pickup pulled to the curb, and Neil and the Mrs. stepped onto the sidewalk. Fawn followed behind them, and from the looks of it, she had the flu just like Ansel.

When the bell above the door jangled, Dixie called from the kitchen, “Hey there, Neil.”

“Dixie, you up to no good?” he teased.

They were related somehow. Cousins, maybe.

“As usual.” Dixie went back to her work, and Neil opened his menu. I wondered if the two of them ever spoke outside the diner.

Neil glanced around the room. Other than Old Man Guthrie sipping coffee on a stool by the counter, the Blaylocks were the only customers. Apparently people weren't getting out in the snow.

I pretended to read, and Momma ignored them as long as possible before sidling up to their table. “Drinks?”

“Bottled water,” Mrs. Blaylock said. “And Fawn wants a Sprite.”

“I'll have an iced tea. Sweet.” Neil leaned back in his chair. “With a couple of lemon slices on the side.”

“Coming right up.” Momma ambled behind the counter to assemble the drink order but soon put their glasses aside to brew a fresh pot of coffee for Mr. Guthrie. I couldn't blame her for stalling
. Lemon slices on the side?
Dixie's Diner didn't rank as a lemon-slice establishment, and Neil knew it.

Out of sheer boredom, I studied the Blaylocks over the top of my book. As Momma took them their drinks, Neil was texting on his phone while his wife tweaked her lipstick in a compact mirror. Fawn looked as if she might pass out.

After Momma served them, she brought me a plate of chicken-fried steak, and I welcomed the distraction. Ever since the drama at the fund-raiser, Fawn had been on my mind, but the pity I initially felt had been replaced with skepticism. I'd glimpsed a side of her I hadn't seen since we were young, and I speculated how she would handle the exposure. Truth be told, I puzzled over how to handle it myself.

I drenched my steak in peppery, white gravy, sopping the remainder with a dinner roll. Nothing hit the spot like comfort food, and I managed to ignore the Blaylocks while they ate their meals.

Soon Momma paused again at their table. “Dessert?”

“Not this time. The wife and I are stuffed. And daughters are impossible.” He motioned toward Fawn's untouched plate, but then he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his ample chest, and slowly let his head fall back until I thought his neck might snap. “By the way, Lynda, have you had a chance to meet the new preacher?”

My fingers tightened around my fork, and my gaze jerked toward Fawn, who immediately ducked her head.

The glare Momma leveled at Neil could have melted concrete, but he merely picked his teeth with his thumbnail.

“I'll get your check,” she said.

Dread bubbled up from my core like the clay volcano JohnScott made in eighth grade.
Why would Neil ask Momma about Dodd?

His wife and daughter made their way back to the truck, where they started the ignition to warm themselves, but evidently Neil was in no hurry. He sauntered toward the register, scraping his boots on the linoleum flooring like an arrogant cowboy in an old Western. He gazed at me with laughter in his eyes.

He knew.

Momma punched buttons on the calculator Dixie kept on the Formica counter. “Twenty-five dollars, eighteen cents.”

Neil leafed through his wallet and pulled out two bills, but when Momma reached for them, he tightened his grip and mumbled something I couldn't hear. He held the money a foot above her hand, then let it flutter to the counter.

Momma clenched her teeth and scooped the bills into her fist, but Neil, after glancing out the window, leaned toward her. He rested one elbow on the counter and spoke directly into her ear, and when he walked away, his fingertips trailed across her whitened knuckles.

She opened the register and robotically made change, which she shoved into the pocket of her apron. When her eyes bored into mine, my stomach wadded itself into a panicked pile of anxiety, and I thought I might toss my lunch.

This was it. She would yell then scream then cry then shatter, and I could do nothing but brace myself against the cushion of the diner booth and wait for her storm to pass. And suffer through the silence and pain and withdrawal and despair that would surely grip her for months afterward.

She stomped around the counter, trembling from the rage she felt toward me.

I shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't have gone out with the preacher. Shouldn't have pushed her so close to the edge. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth her lapsing back into herself.

I gripped the edge of my seat and held on tight.

“How can JohnScott associate with those people?” she asked.

I glanced out the window to the parking space, which recently held the Blaylocks' truck. A small square of asphalt was visible where the snow had melted. “I don't know, Momma.”

“They're all the same. Can't JohnScott see it?” She sighed a short puff of frustration—a muted explosion of air from her lungs, which seemed to release a stockpile of energy and tension—then she plopped down across from me.

My hands loosened their grip on the seat, but my fingers stuck to the vinyl as though they had recently been dipped in plaster that had already begun to set.

I slowly exhaled.

Apparently Dodd and I were still safe. I bowed my head, surprised to find my forgotten plate still sitting on the table in front of me. I touched the edge with my palm and pushed it six inches to the right as Momma mindlessly chewed her fingernails.

She scowled at the snow on the other side of the window, staring without seeing, but when the door jangled the entrance of a new customer, she rolled her eyes, shook her head, pulled herself wearily to her feet, and got on with life. Taking my messy plate with her as she went.

I opened my book again, but I couldn't focus on the words for thinking about Momma.

If Neil hadn't told her about Dodd and me, what had he said to make her so angry?