One Fool At Least (22 page)

Jack and I drove to Great Falls to meet with his parents. On the way I noted a major distinction between Montana and Illinois. Webley, for example, was littered with buildings and billboards and signs and public wastebaskets and all sorts of things. The color of the sky on any average day would have to be described as “bland.” In Montana, there was just space, space and true scenery, the sort of view that gave me butterflies that were usually a sign of dread but I think now were some sort of harbinger of joy. The sky, for our entire journey, was a blue that I’d never seen before, not even in the jumbo crayon box.

Jack had noted all of my gradual revelations about this place, and he often gave me the silence to ponder it in. By the time we reached his parents and the beautiful city of Great Falls (which had a smaller population than did Webley), I felt I had almost come to terms with the place. It was like a new lover—full of possibility, but still frightening at times.

Jack’s parents took us on a tour of the city, and allowed us ample picture-taking at the Missouri River, where I lingered at Black Eagle Falls. Something here, too, made me think of the past; perhaps it was the vastness of the view, which offered that generous sense of eternity. So much of the world, it seemed, didn’t understand what Montana still did, what Montana was preserving.

I learned for the first time about Charles Russell, the cowboy artist who had called Great Falls his home. Robert Shea said he would like to buy us a Russell print as a wedding present; Jack and I chose one that depicted cowboys working their lassos against a mountain landscape; it captured the colors that I would come to connect with Montana—the blue of the mountains contrasted with the gold of the prairie grass.

We drove to Jack’s parents’ home, exhausted from sightseeing. Jack’s mother, devastated by the tone our honeymoon had taken, had reacted in a way similar to Libby’s—except her focus wasn’t on food, but on presents. She presented us with wrapped boxes, things she’d been buying all week in anticipation of our visit: clothing for me, really lovely things, and toys for Jack, including a carrying case for his laptop, on which he normally compiled his grades.

While we were eating a pizza dinner together, she said, “Oh, I just remembered something I got for you,” and disappeared.

“Mom,” Jack said gently. “We have to take all of this back on the plane. I don’t even know if they’ll allow—”

But she came back in with a very small package, wrapped in gold foil. She handed it to me. I smiled gratefully and peeled back the paper to find a little travel journal.

“I thought you could keep a record of your honeymoon,” she said. “But maybe just start with today.” Her face expressed her wish to erase our recent past, to smooth things over for her boy and his new wife.

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Jack and I can take turns making entries.”

She and her husband beamed at us, pleased by this simple gesture. I felt the need, suddenly, to alleviate their concern.

“You should know,” I said, “that I’m glad to be here, no matter what. It’s a beautiful place. A magical place.”

This was a genuine remark, but it obviously earned me some major points with Jack’s parents, and even with Jack himself. We chatted then about what Jack and I had done the day before, how lovely and solitary the mountains were, how beautiful the summer weather had been.

When we left I felt I had forged a special bond with Jack’s parents, especially when, on the way out, I whispered to his father, “Thanks for helping me get on the plane.”

Robert Shea patted my back in a fatherly way and said, “You were fine, Darlin.”

*

On Thursday, five days after our plane had landed in Montana, Jack and I were sitting in our kitchen, eating cereal together and looking at each other’s faces. I found it odd that I had known Jack for almost three years, but marrying him and leaving my home turf had served to make him somehow brand new and fascinating. I think he felt the same about me. I couldn’t seem to get enough of his features, his hair, his posture, his walk. My hands would linger on his arms, his shoulders, wherever they happened to land in a casual embrace. I felt oddly proprietorial, something I’d never really felt before, and it was invigorating. Perhaps it was the mountain air.

“This cereal is good,” Jack said, watching my lips as I chewed. “I don’t think this is available in Illinois.”

“We’ll have to take some home with us,” I said, enjoying the way his hair curled behind his ear.

The phone rang; I think it rang a couple of times before we actually heard it. Jack smiled sheepishly and jogged to the wall-mounted phone. I admired the back of his jeans while he spoke tersely.

“Hey. Yeah. Really?” he said, staring out the window over the sink. “Do you think—okay, that’s good. Right. Well, I suppose, if I were in her place…. Okay, Bro. Give us a call when you’re finished. Maddy and I will be here till lunchtime, I think.” He looked at me in a way that conveyed his intentions for the morning. I silently concurred. Then he said goodbye and hung up.

“What?” I asked.

“Colleen wants to come out and talk to Pat and Libby. She wants to apologize.”

“Wow. Poor Colleen. And yet—”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, either, but Pat told her that he would want the police there, and she said she understood. She said she felt she owed him an apology on her husband’s behalf.”

“Hmmm,” I said. This seemed very noble of Colleen, but of course there was always the possibility that she was her husband’s accomplice, and simply wanted to come to Pat’s home so that she could try to kill Slider again.

Jack was looking out the window again. “Hendricks is already pulling up,” he said. “That guy is getting to know this family quite well.”

“He’s creepy, Jack.”

He spun to face me. “Is that why you don’t want to press charges?”

I stiffened. “We’ve already discussed this.”

Jack turned away again. “Okay,” he said. His voice suggested that he still disagreed with my decision. I supposed there would be a lot of those moments in our marriage.

“Hendricks went in,” Jack said. “So at least we know they’re covered.” He seemed tense, though. It pleased me to know how invested Jack was in his family, in their safety and well-being.

I joined him at the window. “We’re being nosy,” I said, trying to jockey for a better position.

“Here’s Colleen,” Jack said. “Why does this make me nervous?”

“Should we go up there?” I asked.

“No,” my husband said firmly, clamping an arm around me.

Colleen Kirk’s car, a blue Taurus, pulled slowly up Pat and Libby’s driveway and then came to a stop behind the police car. I could vaguely see her profile behind the wheel. After a moment or two—perhaps she was gathering her courage? She opened her door and stepped out. From our distance she seemed small and frail. Her arms were wrapped around her in a defensive posture. Chief Hendricks came out to meet her, stooping to say something to her before he escorted her inside.

“Well, good for her,” I said.

“Yeah.” Jack moved away from the window, restless. He was going for his guitar, I was sure. Sometimes he used it as a way to calm down.

I was still staring out the window; I’d suddenly realized that my vibes, which often take the form of stomach butterflies, were in full force. I felt almost sick. “Something’s wrong,” I said to myself.

“What?” Jack asked. “Maddy, come away from the window.”

I didn’t answer. Something was odd about the scene in front of me; Colleen Kirk’s car seemed to be driving itself—no, but moving, definitely moving—then I realized that the trunk was opening, very slowly. Colleen must have opened it from inside the house, maybe to get something that she had brought for them. But that was unlikely, wasn’t it? First that she would bring something, and second that it would be large enough to store in her trunk.

And when I reached that realization, I saw a leg sling over the trunk, then an arm. Someone was climbing out, and I feared I knew who it was.

“Jack!” I yelled as the full form of a man emerged from the trunk and moved furtively behind the car, away from Pat’s house. “David Kirk just got out of the trunk! He’s out there! He just climbed out of Colleen’s trunk!” In my panic I was babbling the same thing over and over, but Jack got the message and peered out the window. His jaw tightened as he reached for the phone. He dialed with rapid fingers—something I would have done if I hadn’t simply frozen.

Now Jack was upset. “Come on, come on, answer the damn PHONE!” he yelled.

“Why aren’t they answering?” I asked.

Jack shook his head, pounding his fist on the counter. “Dammit!”

Kirk had slithered out of sight, toward the woods to the west of the house. “What the hell is he doing? Where the fuck is Hendricks?” Jack yelled. My husband became profane in times of stress, which was something we had in common.

Jack slammed the phone down and marched to the door.

“Jack, no!” I yelled. “He has a gun!”

“No, Hendricks has his gun, remember?”

“He could have another one! You have nothing!”

“You want him to get to Slider with his gun? To Molly?”

I said nothing; the situation was unbearable to me.

“He won’t even see me. I saw where he went. I’ll go east and run around. I’ll be fine, Maddy.”

He was already at the door. “Jack,” I said.

He understood everything I was feeling, and he sent me a brief look of compassion. “I’m sorry, Babe. I’ll be right back.” With one foot over the doorway, he turned back and said, “And under no circumstances are you to leave this house. Not if you love me, Madeline.”

I didn’t even have a chance to reply. He shut the door with a firm click, then moved fast, at a crouching run, toward the eastern treeline, as he’d promised.

I glued myself to the window, trying to get a glimpse of Kirk, of Jack, of someone. “No, no, this isn’t happening,” I said. I was remembering all of those sad movies, love stories with unhappy endings. What if Jack was hurt? What if he was shot? My husband was going to face a madman in order to protect his family, and David Kirk would not think twice about killing him. He simply had nothing to lose.

Then I thought of Jack’s last words. “Not if you love me, Madeline.” What sort of comment was that? If I loved him I would protect my own hide? The way I saw it, if I loved him I would be out there protecting him. If I loved him I would face Kirk with him, if that was what it came down to. And Jack hadn’t even made me promise, because he’d been in too much of a hurry.

Nervously I tried dialing Pat’s house again; this time it didn’t even ring; I merely got Pat’s voice on an answering machine. “Oh, God,” I said, and I hung up.

I turned around. The cottage was no longer sweet and cozy. It felt cold without Jack. I was finding it hard to breathe. I hopped to the wall where my crutches were and opened the door. “I do love you,” I said to no one, to the gray and somber Cat’s Teeth blotting out much of the horizon. “But I want to love you for my whole life.”

Pat’s house sat on a higher elevation, a lovely bluff with a view of Montana for miles around. A path wound from Jack’s and my cottage into the woods, eastward and up toward Pat’s place. Jack had headed here, probably for ease of movement and cover provided by the trees. I moved east, too, much more slowly than Jack had moved, scanning constantly for a person, any person. I saw nothing. I crutched along, quickly as I could, and my mind assaulted me with images of Jack. Jack at Christmastime, starting a snowball fight with me and looking about ten years old as he launched snowballs with amazing precision; Jack playing his guitar, his face focused and sweet, almost as intent as it was when he made love; Jack brushing his teeth; Jack packing his briefcase for work in the morning; Jack kissing me goodbye, his lips warm and coffee-flavored.

My teeth were chattering by the time I reached the summit of the hill on which the Shea’s house stood. It wasn’t cold, but I was terrified. I hesitated, and that was when I heard the voices. Low, but just audible. Men’s voices.

My stomach cramped horribly and I moved with care, trying to make no sound with my clumsy crutches. Finally I bent to set them down and tried to move, gingerly, without them. It wasn’t too bad, I found, if I put most of my weight on my good foot. I limped this way, unimpeded, trying to stay in shadow as I pursued the voices; they’d grown slightly louder.

I limped to a large tree and peered around it; what I saw made me want to scream, or vomit, or die in the leaves at my feet. David Kirk did have a gun, and he was aiming it at my husband, and the look in his eyes said that he would find pleasure, even relief, in pulling the trigger.

“There’s no point in this,” Jack said, his voice eerily calm. How could he be that calm, knowing he might never see me again? “Let’s go in together and talk to your wife.”

“I’m doing this for my wife,” said David Kirk. “And I don’t really care who I have to knock down to get to my goal. Have you ever been poor?” he asked. His voice was so petulant, so ridiculous in light of what he’d done that I realized we were not dealing with a rational man.

“I’m betting she’d rather have you than any amount of money,” Jack said. “When all is said and done the money won’t bring her happiness.” He had his hands in the air, like the good cowboys who get cornered by the bad guys in the movies. But the good cowboys always had something up their sleeves, or they were really fast on the draw. They usually got away, didn’t they? My hands started shaking. My body knew that I had made a decision before my mind did; it was trembling all over, and then I felt myself stepping from behind the tree.

David Kirk didn’t see me at first, but Jack did, and his face fell. I knew I had disappointed him, but it didn’t matter; if one of us died, at least we had the other one right there. I wouldn’t want to die without seeing Jack one more time, and I was sure he felt the same about me. “Get away from my husband,” I said. My voice sounded odd, too—brittle and harsh, like something that would easily shatter.

Kirk swung around, his gun waving wildly; I flinched, my hands flying up protectively.