Last Resort (15 page)

I nodded. I knew how easy it was for people to make assumptions.

She shook her head ruefully. “Even when Harvey went out with the twins, people were wondering why I wasn't angry that he was supposedly cheating on me. As if someone like Harvey would ever be interested in an old biddy like me.” She let out a soft chuckle at the thought. “I denied it for so long and then I just finally gave up even addressing it. I clearly wasn't going to change what people thought, so I  let people think what they wanted to think. There was nothing else to do.” She smiled at me. “So there's your answer.”

“You didn't owe me an answer, Delilah,” I said. “You really didn't.”

“I know,” she said. “But it feels good to be able to share the truth and know there's a shot that person will believe what you say.”

“Well, then I'm glad you told me,” I said. “And I do believe you.”

“Thank you.” She slapped her palms to her thighs and rubbed them on her shorts. “Alright. Now I really need to get things rolling here. Thank you for listening to an old lady.”

“Any time,” I said.

Delilah stood. “Well, I'll make sure there aren't more times. You're here on vacation. You need to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” I said. “Jake and I both are.”

“Good,” she said. She frowned then. “Oh. I meant to ask you about the tow truck yesterday. Something wrong with your car?”

It was my opening to tell her about the tire slashing but I decided to keep my mouth shut. She didn't need anything else to worry about. “Just a flat tire. We had it towed to a local shop and they're bringing it back for us. Today some time, I think.”

“Probably Clarence,” she said, nodding her head. “He's got a place in the next town over that does repair work. He'll have it fixed for you in no time.” She worried her lip. “I hope you weren't needing it to go do stuff. You can always borrow my car if you need to...”

“No, no,” I said, holding up my hand. “We're just fine right here.”

“Good,” she said.

As if on cue, a tow truck lumbered toward the front gate from the main road, our shiny rental attached to the back.

“That was fast,” I commented.

“Clarence does good work.” Delilah waved at the driver, a balding man with a handlebar mustache, and pressed the button on the remote. “And he doesn't get much work up this way.”

“Bringing this back to your place,” Clarence called from his open window. “Belongs to some gal staying there?”

Delilah nodded and motioned to me. “She's right here.”

I waved. “Thank you,” I called.

“You betcha,” he said. He shifted the truck back into gear and made his way up the hill.

“Guess you aren't stuck here, after all,” Delilah said, smiling. Her eyes drifted over me and toward the road and the smile disappeared. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

I followed her gaze. A silver Suburban was turning into the gravel lot at the end of the pavilion.

“You don't sound like you mean that,” I said.

Her lips pinched tight and her shoulders filled with tension. “The meat for the potluck. I have it  delivered. Steve from The Landing always brings it over and then helps at the barbecues.”

“Okay,” I said, still unsure what had changed her demeanor so dramatically. “Is he late or something?”

She shook her head. “No. That's not Steve.” She swallowed. “That car? That's Kat's.”

“Kat's?”

She stared hard at the Suburban. “Harvey's mother.”

TWENTY FIVE

Kat got out of the Suburban and shaded her eyes against the sun. She wore a pair of denim shorts and a red T-shirt that advertised The Landing. She spotted us, hesitated for a moment, then walked around to the back end of the Suburban. She lifted the window and pulled down the tailgate. She pulled a large box out of the back and made her way toward us.

“Where do you want them?” she asked as she approached. Her tone was curt.

“Table next to the grill,” Delilah said. She hesitated, then asked, “Where's Steve?”

Kat walked over to the table and dropped the box. “He's sick. He called me.” She walked toward the Suburban.

“See?” Delilah muttered. “Tons of fun.”

As nervous as Delilah seemed to see her ex-friend, Kat just seemed angry to be there. She grabbed another box and walked back toward us.

“Can I help you?” Delilah asked.

“No,” Kat said. “I've got it.”

“I can help you carry things.”

“I said I've got it,” she snapped.

She made three more trips to the Suburban and walked past us without saying a word. And each time, Delilah's anxiety grew. Kat slammed the tailgate on the Suburban on the last trip, her arms filled with one more large box. She dropped it on the table and started ripping the boxes open. Then she checked the propane on the grill.

“What time does thing start?” she asked.

Delilah checked her watch. “About half an hour.”

Kat nodded and ripped the rest of the boxes open. Stacks of frozen patties were stuffed inside of a large plastic bag.

“Are we just going to do it like this all afternoon?” Delilah asked.

“Do what?”

“This,” Delilah said, waving her hand in the air. “Not talk. Pretend like we're invisible.”

“Yep,” Kat said, pulling out meat patties and setting them on a tray. “I'm here to work, not discuss how you screwed up my son's life.”

Delilah's eyes grew round and she swallowed hard. “I did not screw up Harvey's life.” Kat didn't respond and Delilah continued. “Well, maybe if you'd been a more understanding mother, he might've spent a little more time with you.”

Kat flinched like she'd been tasered. She set another stack of patties on the tray and looked at Delilah. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Delilah said. It was like something had sparked inside of her. I'd never seen her lose her cool but she was spitting knives. “If you hadn't just cut Harvey loose and stonewalled him, then maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to spend all of his time somewhere else.”

I could almost hear Kat's teeth grind as she clenched her jaw and set her hands on her hips. “Well, if you had respected my wishes and not turned him into your pseudo-son, he would've left this second-rate campground and gone and made a real life for himself somewhere else.”

“Harvey was an adult,” Delilah said, enunciating the word. “The problem was you never figured out how to treat him like one.”

“The problem was this place kept him from being one.”

“Yeah, if only he could've done something more adult,” Delilah said, rolling her eyes. “Like run a crappy restaurant in town.”

Kat's eyes narrowed. “At least I'm not about to declare bankruptcy.”

“At least I didn't just give up on life.”

Kat's cheeks flushed, the anger boiling over. I stood there, helplessly, watching the train wreck unfold. I didn't want to see them fight, but I knew it wasn't my place to get in the middle of them, either.

“I didn't give up on my life,” Kat said. “I stayed here to make sure my son would be alright.”

Delilah shook her head. “Which shows exactly how little you knew about Harvey. He'd be fine anywhere.”

“But if he hadn't been here, he wouldn't be dead!”

Delilah drew back as if Kat had slapped her.

“Yeah, you don't have a reply for that, do you?” Kat sneered. “Because you know it's true.”

Delilah swallowed. “Harvey was here because he loved Windy Vista. He loved Minnesota. And he loved the outdoors. No matter how hard you pushed him away, he wouldn't leave.” She swallowed again and leveled her eyes on the woman in front of her. “And it's not my fault that you have to live with the guilt of never having apologized to your son. Because he's gone now. And that opportunity is gone now, too.”

Kat froze. Slowly, she extended her arm and picked up one of the frozen hamburger patties. She stared at it for a second, then fired it at Delilah. The patty sailed a foot over Delilah's head and slammed into one of the posts holding up the pavilion, hitting it with a thud before flopping to the concrete floor.

The sound ignited something inside of Kat. She grabbed two frozen brats and hurled them at Delilah. One missed, landing in the grass beyond the pavilion but the other hit her square in the chest. Delilah stumbled backwards, clutching her shirt where it had hit her.

“Ladies, please,” I said, taking a step toward them. “Please don't do this.”

But Delilah had regained her balance. She leaned down and picked up the frozen brat. She wound up her arm like a pitcher and whipped it in Kat's direction. It smacked her squarely in the forehead, leaving a long, red mark above her eyebrows. The other woman caught herself on the table, squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, and then opened them.

And then she charged at Delilah.

I did what any self-respecting woman would have done. I took a step back and got out of the way. She tackled Delilah and they tumbled to the ground in a pile of unintelligible screams. They rolled around on the concrete patio, back and forth, their arms locked together like two Sumo wrestlers.

“Ladies,” I began but I knew it was to no avail. They were focused solely on each other.

“You killed him!” Kat screamed, her hands groping at Delilah's ponytail.

“I did not!” Delilah screamed back.

“You killed my son!” Kat screamed.

Delilah clawed at her hands. “I did not!”

“You killed my son!”

“I did not!”

Kat let out a howl that sent chills down my spine. “My son is dead!”

They both stilled, like a magic spell had frozen them in place.

“I know,” Delilah's voice was softer. Broken. “I'm sorry.”

“He's dead!” Kat wailed.

“I'm sorry,” Delilah repeated.

Both of them were crying. Sobbing, really, unable to speak or catch their breath. The wrestling had morphed into an embrace, each holding tightly to the other as they cried, their bodies shaking with grief.

“I'm sorry he's gone,” Delilah said, her voice ragged. “I'd do anything to have him back.”

“Me, too,” Kat said.

They released one another and sat up, wiping at their faces.

“I miss him,” Delilah said. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks stained with tears.

Kat hesitated, then nodded. “Me, too.”

I stood there, wishing I was somewhere else. If they noticed I was still in the pavilion, they gave no indication.

“Did he really hate me?” Kat asked, her voice barely a whisper.

It was Delilah's turn to hesitate. But then she shook her head. “No. He didn't hate you. He missed you, but he was afraid he'd just make it worse if he tried to talk to you. I kept telling him he needed to make it right with you and he said he would. Some day.”

Kat nodded slowly. That had to be awful to hear, that her son had been planning to try and patch things up with her and now wouldn't have the chance. I thought of my own kids and how many times I'd gotten angry over simple things. Suddenly, I missed all four of them very badly.

“I'm sorry, Kat,” Delilah said, again wiping at her makeup streaked face. “I'm sorry he's gone and I'm sorry we aren't friends anymore. I'm really sorry.”

Kat stared at the ground for a long moment. “Just tell me one thing. Tell me you had nothing to do with Harvey's death. Promise me.”

Delilah paled and I saw her sharp intake of breath. Kat looked up, her eyes on her former friend's face.

“I had nothing to do with his death, Kat,” she said in a small voice. She hesitated, then added, “I...I promise.”

TWENTY SIX

I walked back up to the cabin, wondering about the final exchange between Kat and Delilah. Maybe Delilah had just been rattled by the fight and the conversation but she seemed flustered by Kat's request. I wondered why but it wasn't my place to insert myself in their conversation. I'd excused myself soon after and they'd both stared at me, almost as if they were surprised I was still there.

I took a shortcut back up the hill, finding a narrow dirt trail that snaked between two of the campsites. I got to the cabin and I heard footsteps on the deck. Jake must have just gotten back from his run. I thought about calling out to him but a chipmunk scampering across the grass caught my attention and I stood for a few seconds, watching it dart in between the hostas. I started walking again, rounding the corner so the deck was in site. I opened my mouth to say something to Jake, but then shut it and froze.

Chuck and Jaw were at the camper, just stepping through the glass door and back onto the deck.

Which meant they'd just been
inside
.

“Hey,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

They both turned in my direction. They were wearing the same exact outfits as from before, thought Chuck had on a different greasy hat. Jaw was behind him, closing the door, with something in his hands.

“Uh,” Chuck said, his eyes widening.

“Shut up,” Jaw hissed.

“What are you doing?” I said, my heart rate escalating. I was pretty sure my voice was shaking, too. “Why were you inside?”

Jaw shifted his hands so whatever he was holding was on the other side of his body and I couldn't see it.

“Nothin',” Chuck said. “Just...”

“Shut up,” Jaw hissed again. “And keep goin'.”

Chuck looked unsure of himself, but then got himself moving toward the other end of the deck.

“What did you take?” I demanded.

“Nothin',” Chuck said.

“Not you,” I said, then pointed at Jaw. My fingers were trembling. “You. What do you have in your hands?”

Jaw reached up a hand and messed with his sunglasses, like he was adjusting them. “I don't have anything in my hands.”

“Yes, you do. Did you steal something from us?”

“Run!” Chuck yelled and took off.

Jaw hesitated for a moment, then took off after him.

They both jumped down the stairs, their feet smashing into the gravel, their shoes kicking rocks everywhere as they started to run.

I stood there for a moment, frozen. They'd been inside our cabin. They'd taken something. I wasn't sure what it was, but they'd stolen something. And it was the second time they'd messed with us.

I was a little scared, but I was mad, too. A lot mad.

I scrambled around the corner of the cabin and jumped into the golf cart. I unhooked the charger from the port, turned the key in the small slot and hit the button to reverse. The cart jerked backward and when the tires hit the pavement, I pushed the button again and flattened the accelerator to floor. The cart lurched forward, the electric engine whining as it powered the cart as fast as possible. I turned the wheel left and took off in the direction they'd run.

The posted signs listed 5 MPH as the speed limit, but I was exceeding that, pushing the cart to it's full speed of...maybe 7 MPH. I saw my two burglars up ahead and, while I wasn't losing them, I wasn't exactly catching up to them, either. I ran a couple of the small stop signs where the narrow streets intersected and was the recipient of several dirty looks from people walking on the paths. I ignored them and stepped harder on the pedal, leaning forward as if that would somehow help the cart go faster.

I rounded the corner at the end of the street and Chuck and Jaw were still up ahead of me, still running and looking back over their shoulders. I seemed to be losing ground. They were heading down the road toward the clubhouse and what I assumed was the exit to the campground. If they got off the grounds, I'd never get them.

I pressed harder on the pedal.

Which might've pushed me to 8 MPH.

They scrambled over the corner of the last lot and headed down the hill toward the entrance. I stayed on the pavement and turned the corner behind them. They were picking up speed as they went downhill but my cart was locked in at the same speed, as if some invisible force was preventing me from going any faster even though we were going downhill.

I was going to lose them.

I saw another cart approaching from the bottom of the hill, having just come in through the entry gates.

I leaned out of my cart and screamed, “Help! Stop them!”

Chuck and Jaw both looked back over their shoulders.

The cart slowed to a halt, but no one got out.

“Stop them!” I screamed again. “They broke into my camper!”

Chuck and Jaw were closing on the cart in front of them, but still looking over their shoulder at me.

Then Wayne Hackerman got out of the cart and clotheslined them both with his big fat arm.