Mason's Daughter (21 page)

If he is ready to act pleasant, I can’t be sure I’ll go along. It all depends on what he has to say and what he needs me to do. I nod and say nothing.

Big Jack gestures toward Colton. “What’d you do to your hand?”

“Just a cut.”

“Be careful. You don’t want to end up like me.”

How true.

Big Jack motions at me to sit in the other chair near him. Across the room, Colton leans against the wall.

I humor my father-in-law through some meaningless chitchat. “You’re sitting up today. That’s progress.”

“I can’t do it by myself. I have to have help.”

“You must hate admitting that weakness.” A little salt in the wound for starters. “Now what is it you want to tell Colton and me? We came all this way to–”

“I’ve decided to retire.”

If he’d said he planned to get married again, I couldn’t be more surprised. “Did I hear you right?”

“There’s nothing I can do for the business while I’m like this.” He sneers at his legs as if they are lazy employees. “The other day, after you and Mike Avery left, Nate told me he would pay the difference, my percentage. I can cash out completely. That’s what I’m going to do.” He looks out the window. “It’s not what I want, but I have no choice now.”

“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never taken a day off except during hunting season. And the time Trixie made you take her to New York City.” She enjoyed the Empire State Building and the Rockettes immensely, but he wouldn’t ever consider another trip. “You came back complaining of high-priced food and people who talk funny.”

“Nate’ll even include the eighteen grand Jack took.”

A clean slate for Big Jack, thanks to my father. Must be nice.

Big Jack folds his hands in his lap. “The doctor says I have to go to rehab. I thought that was for alcoholics.”

“For how long?” I tick off a calendar in my mind and wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to find paid help by the time he feels ready to go home. Whoever agrees to it will be worth twice the going rate. Is there another woman anywhere on earth who can match my mother-in-law’s saintliness? Too bad his selfish daughters live so far away.

“Until I can walk without falling.” He jerks his head toward the window. “Goddamn head injury is causing a few problems.”

You have a lot worse problems than a head injury.

What will I say this time if he asks me to get Jack to drop by for a visit? If he ends up all alone, he can’t blame anyone but himself. I try but I can’t muster any sympathy, only the desire to punish him. “Wouldn’t it be nice if Jack were here to help you?”

Colton gasps and then bolts from the room.

What have I done? I clap my hand to my mouth, trying to shove the words back in. Without waiting for a response from Big Jack, I jump up and follow Colton.

He stands about ten feet down the corridor, leaning against the wall with his head in the crook of his left arm. His shoulders shake as he sobs in silence.

My stomach contracts. If Colton thinks I have turned into a monster, no one will argue. I approach him and stop within two feet. All I can manage is to stare at him.

After a minute, a nurse comes up and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, young man?”

He twists toward me and snarls, “How could you talk about him dying?”

“Now, now,” says the nurse. “Your grandpa isn’t going to die. He’ll be–”

Colton points at me. “You hate him.” He glares at the nurse and speaks through clenched teeth. “She can’t stand to be around her own father either. She’s always hated both of them.” He sobs and chokes out his next words. “She hates me, too.”

He might as well spit nails. Each accusation strikes me until I back up two paces.

The nurse looks at me with a sad smile. She mouths, “Why don’t you go back in there. I’ll speak to him.”

Forcing myself to turn around, I feel like the village pariah. By the time I return to Big Jack’s room, he has shuffled to the edge of his bed. He sits gazing at the floor, with his hands resting on the grips of the walker. He can’t hold them steady, and I wonder if his balance has waned.

“Sorry,” I say. “He . . . we’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“He hates his arm being in a sling, too, doesn’t he?” He frowns. “Can you go by my office today?”

“I guess so. Which papers do I need to sign this time?”

“Nothing. Harlene is there.”

Just the person I would choose to chat with over coffee. Right after I poison hers.

“Tell Harlene I want her to stay. She doesn’t need to make other plans after I close my part of the business.”

“Won’t Harlene simply go to work for Nate?”

“Not here in Mason’s Crossing. He offered her a job in Montana. She talked about taking Skipper with her, so he can start over fresh.”

One mother’s prayer answered. Two, if I count my wish to have Skipper out of our lives.

Big Jack leans back against his pillow. “But I want her to stay here so she can take care of me at home. Besides you, she’s the only one I trust, and truthfully I don’t know who else would do it.”

Neither do I. Harlene doesn’t fit my image of a saint, but maybe I have underestimated her.

In a whoosh of air like a tire deflating, Big Jack sighs. “Will you talk her into staying? Explain my situation better than I can.”

Now I am caught between the devil and the deep blue skies of Montana. “I’ll see what I can do.” I pick up my purse and head for the door.

“You know . . .”

I spin around and wonder if Big Jack might be talking to himself. He stares out the window.

“I always thought I’d eventually bring Colton into the business with Jack and me.” His voice fades to a whisper. “My father and grandfather worked together, just the two of them, until I was a teenager and joined the family operation. That’s what I wanted to tell him.”

My mind floods with regret for the broken old man he has become and with relief for what Colton can avoid. How will any of us ever get what we want?

He seems to retreat into his memories, so I leave the room without saying good-bye. In the hallway, I search for the nurse who tended to Colton. She tells me he has gone downstairs to wait.

On the way down, the elevator stops on every floor, as if eating a human meal, two or three bodies at a time. The leisurely pace gives me time to plan my words. I should apologize, of course, and say how proud of Colton I am for trying to process his mistake. Whatever the hell that means.

Will he accept my praise? His short fuse racks my nerves until I lose any confidence I can find a way to relate to him at all.

The hallway outside the elevator bustles with visitors and employees. Not the place to display an emotional apology or risk an outburst.

I can save myself the edginess. No Colton in sight. Not in the lobby either. What if he has run away again? My heart races.

By the time I find him outside sitting on the wooden bench in the circle drive, I have lathered up a sweat from my toes to my forehead. He doesn’t look up when I come to stand in front of him. I jangle my car keys. “We can go now.” My voice sounds small, like I’m a child again.

He rises to walk toward the parking lot. Shivering, I follow and wonder what colossal error I will make next.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Colton reaches the car first and leans against the passenger door. I head toward him but reverse course when I recall my Jeep came with a new gadget that allows me to unlock his door from the driver’s side. Now it is my turn to put a little distance between us until I see how he’ll react.

We climb into our seats and he pulls his seatbelt across his lap and clicks it. When I don’t start the engine right away, he unbuckles the belt and slouches in his seat.

“Colton, I’m really sorry.”

Silence.

“No matter how angry I felt, I shouldn’t have said that to your grandfather. And it was terribly insensitive to you.”

He shifts in his seat and tugs at the sleeve of his jacket. “Why are you so mad at Big Jack all the time?”

I dust the steering wheel, even though it doesn’t need it. “When I got engaged to your father, people said Jack would be ‘marrying up.’ Do you know what that means?”

He shakes his head. “Is this going to be another one of your long stories?”

“Just listen. Everybody around here considers the Mason family the upper echelon of local society. My grandparents and great-grandparents always owned more land, oil, and cattle than anyone else.” I turn toward him and tuck my ankle under my other leg. “Dad’s family was climbing the social ladder, and the Mason connection was a real plus.”

“What’s your point?”

“His parents, even his older sisters, put a lot of pressure on your dad to achieve, to measure up to their standards, and what they perceived might have been the Mason ones.”

“Didn’t he?”

“Jack’s personality was too laid back for them. You know how he liked to joke around and not take anything too seriously?”

Colton nods.

“Big Jack believed Dad didn’t have what it took to grow into a businessman experienced enough to manage the operation.” It won’t help Colton to hear that I agreed with my father-in-law. “He thought Jack would be better off working as a sales clerk in the sporting goods store for the rest of his life.”

“Dad always had such a good time at the store. Who pushed him to do something else?”

“No one. He had his own ambitions. He wanted to achieve something by himself, away from Big Jack.”

“
You
made him do it. Because you have such a shitty relationship with your own father. You wanted Dad to be a success, so it would make you look good.”

I gasp. How can Colton assign me the role of villain? “It was Big Jack who never saw him as an adult, fully capable of running his own show. And when he tried to break away, Big Jack squelched it.” I shake my head. “You don’t know what difficult problems they had as father and son.”

“So you
do
hate Big Jack, for what he did to Dad?”

“I fault him for the damage he did to Dad’s self-esteem. Big Jack’ll never admit it, but he played a part in why Dad gave up.” I want to put my hand on Colton’s shoulder. “By the time he got home that night, he was already defeated.”

Colton heaves a sigh, laced with disgust.

I drape my wrists over the steering wheel. “That’s why I’ve been so angry with Big Jack. There was nothing Jack could do about the disrespectful way his father treated him. He just hammered away at Jack’s self-esteem.”

“He wasn’t the only one.” Colton pulls the collar of his jacket up around his ears, and his head submerges inside it like a turtle. He puts on his seatbelt again and stares straight out the windshield until I start the engine.

This time, I don’t bother to turn on the radio during the ride to Big Jack’s office. Perhaps it’s better for us both to let our thoughts wander separately. Does Colton think I am also to blame, maybe not for his father’s actual death, but for what went wrong in Jack’s life?

Ever since I read the note Jack left on the front seat of his truck, I have tried to figure out how he could accuse me of ruining his life. He never threatened me or expressed such hostility while he was alive, and now it’s plain he meant the words for his father instead. I’ll never know how much punishment my husband endured from such a harsh, domineering parent, one for whom Saint Trixie could never compensate. If I’d written the note to Big Jack, I would have used stronger language.

By now, I can’t bear the thought of listening to Big Jack fuss. He will want someone to wait on him hand and foot, but she can’t be black or Hispanic. After Saint Trixie died, he went through housekeepers like a goat through a trash pile. None of them stayed longer than a week, and later he insisted each one had stolen, broken, or lost something valuable.

I avoid passing the Hot Crossed Buns Diner in case the sight of it might send Colton into emotional orbit. He doesn’t ask why we drive along side streets instead of Mason Boulevard.

Harlene’s baby blue Skylark sits parked in front of the office, all by itself. I hope Skipper stayed at home to pack his scant belongings. I pull into the neighboring space.

How can I do what Big Jack wants? Asking Harlene to stay feels like such a betrayal to Jack. Merely talking to her is distasteful. I’d rather see Harlene’s taillights as she and Skipper depart Mason’s Crossing forever, especially since she received a generous nudge from the maneuvering hand of my father.

I get out of the car and square my shoulders, ready to strap on armor for a battle I don’t want to fight. Perhaps my height will intimidate her. Why didn’t I wear higher heels?

Maybe I can talk her into postponing her move until Big Jack improves enough to get around under his own steam. The more time Harlene spends with him, the less I’ll have to. At this point, I’d rather confront my own father and demand all his pocket change.

As I open the front door of the office, the suffocating odor of ‘Jungle Gardenia’ greets me. Behind me, Colton sneezes.

Harlene looks up from her desk and raises her overdrawn, tinted eyebrows. “You’ve been to see Big Jack, haven’t you?” Her words came out with no emotion, like club soda gone flat.

“Anytime I want. I’m family.” Maybe she recognizes my animosity, as I do hers. Her son went to prison because my husband testified against him, but she got her revenge on Jack under cover of loyalty to his father. How could our dislike not be mutual?

She sits ensconced behind her citadel of a desk, piled high with file folders. I approach, close enough she has to tilt her head back to meet my gaze, and wait until our eyes lock. “Big Jack’s going to rehab.”

“I already know.” Harlene opens the middle drawer and takes out a staple remover. She clicks it several times like a castanet, but doesn’t pick up any papers. What is she going to do? Bite me with it? Maybe she dipped the sharp points in the witch’s brew in her coffee cup.

Standing my ground, I hope I make her nervous or at least irritate her by tapping my fingers on the edge of her desk. “His balance isn’t what it used to be.”

She stands up, but only reaches the height of my chin. “All this never would have happened if you hadn’t made him so mad about that damned appointment book.”

I am tempted to tell her to get on her broomstick and fly to Montana, but the sound of Colton’s collapse in the chair behind me changes my mind. I whirl around. He sits with his hand over his eyes. I turn back to Harlene and glare at her. “How dare you fault me for that! His own ugly temper is to blame. Besides, you had a big part in what went wrong between Big Jack and his son. I hope you regret it for the rest of your life.”

“The only thing I’ll regret is not leaving this stinking town sooner. I’ve put up with your hoity-toity attitude far too long. You’re the one who talked Jack into lying at the trial. Lamont never sold drugs from the loading dock.”

“Your son has smoked pot ever since he first learned to strike a match. You’re just mad he got caught dealing it.”

“At least he never stole money from the office safe!”

After suppressing a gasp, all I can do is continue glaring at her.

“You and your school clique acted so mean to him. He couldn’t help his stutter, and when he outgrew it, all you rich kids still teased him and called him Skipper.”

“Even Big Jack calls him Skipper. Don’t try to change the subject.” I try to soften my voice, against all the harshness I feel. “Big Jack wants you to help him at home. You’d be doing it for him, not me.”

“Lamont and I can get settled elsewhere, and he can live a decent life from now on, no thanks to people like you.”

I switch my tone. “You’ve been dependent on members of my family the whole time you’ve lived here. You could be out of work again, except for the generosity of my father. Is he aware your son is a convicted felon?” I feel almost silly asking the question. Nate somehow knows everyone’s business.

Harlene’s face turns three shades of pale. “You wouldn’t! Mr. Wallace already offered me a job there and I’ve accepted it.”

“Look, I have no interest in whether you stay or go. But Big Jack needs your help for a short while and wants you to stay.”

“Not a chance. I’m putting my son first for a change.”

We stare across the desk at each other like two rattlesnakes ready to strike. “The sooner, the better for both of you,” I mutter and turn to leave.

She made the right choice. Can I?

No sooner did I reach the front door than I realize Colton has gone. A panicky feeling shoots up from my gut and spreads heat across my face. Will I ever stop worrying that he has run away again?

I yank open the door and bolt outside. My Jeep and Harlene’s Skylark sit near each other in the parking lot. I turn left and run to the end of the sidewalk just as he strolls around the corner.

“Where–”

“I wanted to see where Skipper sold the pot.” He ambles toward the car, pulls on the door handle, and waits.

“How do you know about marijuana?” I crinkle my eyes to narrow slits. “You haven’t tried any, have you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not yet.”

“My God, Colton!” I almost yell. “You want to end up in prison like Skipper?”

For the second time that morning, I could slap my own face. Why do I bring up the possibility of his punishment? Will my son and I never have a normal conversation again?

“Relax, Mom.” He tries the door handle again. “I only heard about some high school kids who smoked it.”

“Well, promise me you’ll stay away from them.”

“Okay, okay.” He shivers. “Can we get in the car now?”

Once we leave the office parking lot, I decide to take Colton to visit Angelique for the calming effect she always has on both of us.

Taking the long way around to avoid downtown again, we reach Angelique’s house about twenty minutes later. Her car sits parked in the driveway. Side by side, Colton and I wait on the front porch, but no one answers the door. After ringing the doorbell a second time, I remember she told me Raúl would be gone for several days.

Colton and I return to the driveway. “I guess she’s gone to lunch with some of her friends.” I frown and glance at her front door one more, as if I can conjure Angelique’s arrival. It won’t help Colton to share my worries that Angelique has more than one friend who likes to pop a cork or two by noon. The doctor probably recommended she stop smoking and skip the nightly cocktails. “She hasn’t been home in a while either, so she needs groceries.”

“And cigarettes.” He crosses the pavement to retrieve her newspaper from the bushes and flings it onto the front porch before he climbs in the car.

On the way home, I wonder how long it will take me to get used to the silence Colton inflicts. Maybe I should try to see him as emotionally shut down, instead of taking it as personal punishment. His thoughts probably render him speechless. Mine would, if I had done what he did.

We turn onto our street and Colton sucks in his breath. “What’s he doing here?”

I follow his stare. Mike leans against the trunk of his patrol car, parked in our driveway.

“I don’t know.” I pull up behind him and shove the gearshift into park. “He told me last night he didn’t need a statement from you yet.” Part of me wants to jump out of the car and dash directly to Mike’s arms. My mouth twitches as I remember our kiss at the fairground. The motherly half of me feels like stepping on the gas pedal and screeching the tires through a u-turn to escape with Colton.

Mike watches me as if he can read my mind. He looks concerned, but not angry. Can it be too much to hope that nothing is wrong this time?

Our eyes meet. After I turn off the engine, I get out of the car quickly. Colton takes his time. I don’t run to Mike’s arms, but I smile and step close to him. “Hungry? You’re in time for lunch.”

“Let’s go inside.” He takes my arm and turns toward the front door, ignoring Colton completely. “I have something to tell you.”

As Mike steers me to the front porch, I look over my shoulder to be sure Colton follows. Someone has deposited a large arrangement of lilies and roses next to the door. Mike picks it up and I snatch the card from the plastic holder, staked like a pitchfork amid the greenery. While Mike searches for a place on the entry hall table, I tear open the envelope.

In neat block letters, the card reads, “Please accept my deepest apologies. Brett.”

Mike follows me into the kitchen and stands, twirling his hat. I have begun to recognize that signal.

Moments later, the phone rings. Brett’s voice proves Judith right. He inquires after Angelique’s health, the length of my father’s visit, how Big Jack is getting along, and whether I am looking forward to school starting again next week.

After I thank Brett for the bouquet, I am about to end the conversation without suggesting we shouldn’t see each other again, when he tells me he has big news. “I’ve accepted a visiting professorship at Princeton. I’ll be leaving in May.”

“History, right? That’s wonderful.” I hope he hears sincerity in my voice. “How long will you be gone?” The instant the words leave my mouth, I wish I could cut the phone line. Instead I jab my index finger upward to indicate one more minute.

Mike holds his hat still for a moment and then leaves the kitchen. I wave him back, but he has already stepped into the dining room. I watch until he reaches the living room across the hall.