Stutter Creek (15 page)

When she reached the drugstore, she noticed a slender man lounging near the light pole at the corner of the building. He was leaned forward a bit at the waist, and he seemed to be studying the Missing Girl poster on the front door of the Drugstore. His face was in shadow, his eyes nothing more than dark wells in a slightly lighter plane of flesh. He stood with one leg cocked so that the foot on that side rested flat against the wall behind him. Apparently, he didn’t have a care in the world, just reading the poster as a way to pass the time.

Allie watched him for a second before turning off the street and into the parking area behind the drugstore. Just reading the poster. Probably a tourist waiting for someone. That wouldn’t be unusual; lots of folks used the Drugstore as a meeting place. It was only one of two businesses open this early in the morning. The other being The Corner Store. And since Martha put up the poster, lots of folks had stopped for a second and sometimes a third look before going on about their business.

She parked her uncle’s faded blue Chevy Lumina in the alley space behind the store and got out to unlock the drugstore’s rear entrance. The silence after the loud music was deafening. Allie smiled, glad that her Aunt had trusted her enough to get things ready to open for the day. Her Uncle Joe’s emphysema had seemed worse this morning, and she was glad she could be there to help.

At noon, Martha drove up to the drugstore in her little Toyota Celica. She was so thankful that Allie was staying with them to help out. Martha had no idea what she would do when the girl decided she’d had enough of small town life and was ready to tackle college. Best not to think of that now. One day at a time, that’s what she would concentrate on. One day at a time.

After the lunch run, Martha helped Allie clean up. Then she told the girl to take the rest of the day off. “You’ve been here since seven a.m.,” she said. “It’s time you go out and have some fun. You’re only supposed to be part time anyhow.” She clucked her tongue. “Go on, now. Skedaddle!” The older woman slapped a rolled up cup towel at her behind jokingly.

Allie smiled. She knew her Aunt was serious, as if she could just run out and start having fun because her aunt told her to. In Stutter Creek, there wasn’t much to do between the seasons. It wasn’t like in a city where one could visit a mall or take in an afternoon matinee. Nope, ski season was over, and it would be a few more weeks before families would start arriving in droves with their shiny new tents and canoes strapped to the tops of their SUVs.

However, there were a couple things she’d not had time for lately. One was trying on new clothes. Summer was just around the corner and all her shorts were raggedy, skin tight, or just downright ugly. She also wanted a new bathing suit. It seemed premature to be thinking of a swimsuit with patches of snow still on the ground, but she’d visited Stutter Creek every summer since she could remember. She knew what spring was like in the mountains; freezing cold one day with snow spitting angrily at the greenery brave enough to show its new colors, then the next day might climb to 75 or 80 degrees before noon. After that, swimming weather would be upon them without warning. Besides, roasting marshmallows over a campfire didn’t always entail actually getting in the water.

In the summer she practically lived at the lake, and last year’s suit was so . . . childish. This year, she felt brave enough for a bikini, or at least one of those tankini things. She could even see herself toasting marshmallows at the lake in a new suit with one of those colorful sarongs to wrap up in when she felt too self-conscious.

Maybe Ginger would be home by now. She attended college three days a week in Pine River. She planned to teach kindergarten someday. Miller’s Outlet, one of the two clothing stores in town—the other being Wes’s Western Wear—might be putting out their summer stuff. If not, perhaps the two of them could meet up before Ginger left the city. Aunt Martha was right, she did need to get out and have some fun.

***

After her sandwich, and the conversation with her dad, Beth felt restless. She decided to go for a short hike, to clear her head. Outside, in the fresh air, things always seemed better. She stopped just outside her property line in the edge of the woods. The soft sunlight was filtering down through the pine canopy like golden rain. She admired the falling light, thinking what a lovely painting it would make, and how hard it would be to get the light just right—she’d tried her hand at watercolors in college—when she heard a tiny sound like a small animal snuffling around in the leaves.

Turning carefully, not wanting to frighten a deer or perhaps even a fox, just wanting to catch a glimpse of it, she was treated to . . . nothing. Gestalt, she thought; go gestalt, like Dad always said. Look at the whole forest and see what doesn’t fit. Don’t look at the individual trees; look at the patterns of dark and light. Look for something that breaks the pattern . . .

Still, there was nothing. Everything seemed to be in its correct place.

Slowly she turned around again. There! Another noise. This time it sounded like feet sliding on soft earth. Goose pimples appearing on the backs of her arms, she whirled around counterclockwise and caught a spot of movement. Her blood momentarily froze, rooting her feet to the spot; then anger boiled up and spilled over.

“Come out, dammit! I know you’re there. You’ve been watching me and I’m sick of it! Come out where I can see you—coward!”

A dozen yards away, a man stepped out from behind a towering ponderosa pine. Beside him, alert and imposing, stood the large dog that had come to visit her.

Beth stamped her foot, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. She wasn’t frightened. She was mad. She wanted to speak but her breath was trapped in her throat. To get it out she would have to start yelling.

“Sorry,” the man said, holding on to the dog’s collar. “We didn’t mean to startle you; in fact, I was trying to let you pass on by so that we wouldn’t startle you.” He looked down at the dog affectionately. “But old Turk here seems to have forgotten everything I taught him about surveillance—”

As if on cue Turk pulled from his grasp and leaped straight at Beth. The man opened his mouth as if to halt the huge dog, but before he could utter a word, Beth was on one knee, arms open wide.

He raised one eyebrow suspiciously. “So,” he said. “You’ve corrupted my ferocious guard dog.” He slid the sunglasses off his nose and hooked them onto the neck of his shirt as he spoke.

Beth’s gasp was audible. “John?” Her voice was incredulous. “Big John, is that you?” She couldn’t believe her eyes. After all these years of searching, looking for him in the shade of every evergreen, poking around his slowly crumbling cabin like a thief, leaving surreptitious notes tied with hair ribbons that blew away on the first strong breeze. . .after all that, here he was standing in the middle of the forest not fifty feet from her back door. Her heart seemed to be walloping the inside of her chest like a velvet-covered hammer. Her tongue was stranded in the desert of her mouth. She couldn’t seem to work up enough spittle to form any more words.

Beth looked him over closely. His blond hair was short, beginning to gray; a soft, close-trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face; his clothes were camouflage; and his eyes, the sea-glass green eyes that had haunted her memories all through the years, were staring at her as if they’d never seen her before.

Finally, she blurted out: “So you’re the owner of this magnificent animal who has been taking such good care of me?”
Get a grip, Beth. You’re not a teenager anymore.

The tall man ducked his head and muttered. “Guilty on both counts.”

Beth thought he might be blushing, but beneath the shade of the pines, it was difficult to tell. Finally, when she could breathe again, she whispered, “Don’t you know me? It’s Beth, Beth Brannock, I mean, Evans. You know, Tom Brannock’s girl.”

She might have gone on and on identifying herself but John finally held up his hand. “Of course I know you, Bethie. I’d know you anywhere.” His gaze was direct, his voice kind. “Can’t believe you’re here, that’s all.” Then he grinned, his eyes crinkling merrily. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s been awhile.”

Beth caught herself reflecting his grin right back at him. “Only twenty-odd years,” she crowed. “Heck, I’ve barely had time to turn around and here you are again, just like that summer . . . ”

“Yes, just like that summer.” His face was thoughtful.

Silence surrounded them. Even the birds seemed to be intensely waiting.

In the heightened atmosphere, Beth could feel each ray of sunshine on her skin; she could hear each leaf that floated, soft as a raindrop, to the forest floor. It was like suspended animation, this feeling.

John simply stood there. He’d begun to suspect it was Beth in the cabin. He and Turk had spent the entire night watching, making certain nothing, or no one, came snooping back around. But until now, he hadn’t been sure it was her, or that she was alone.

He glanced down at her hand stroking Turk’s rough head. He wasn’t really surprised that Turk had taken to her so readily. She had quite a way with animals, as he recalled. They’d saved more than one baby bird and at least one injured squirrel that infamous summer.

“And your dad?” he asked at last.

Tears welled but did not overflow. “Lost him two months ago,” she whispered. “Cancer.”

John frowned. “I’m very sorry, I thought I would, I mean I hoped I would, you know, get to see him again. I really thought a lot of that man.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I know he thought a lot of you, too.” She sniffled and dug for a tissue in her pocket. Turk looked into her face, concerned. “It’s okay,” she told the big Shepherd. “I’m all right.” Then, she sat on the nearest stump and wrapped her arms around Turk’s neck.

John wanted to slip an arm around her, pull her head onto his chest, cry right along with her, but he had to remind himself that they weren’t kids anymore; in fact, he didn’t really know this woman at all. He’d known a young girl, years ago. But that was then, as they say.

He crouched on his heels a few feet away, hands dangling loosely between his knees, at a loss for words.

Beth wiped her nose, hoping against hope that it wasn’t getting all red and stuffy.

They sat quietly for a moment, watching the sky darken above the pines. Beth untied her jacket from around her waist and stuck her arms in the sleeves. “Getting chilly,” they both said at once.

She stood and John pulled the jacket onto her shoulders. His hands grasped the tops of her arms as he settled the jacket about her securely. Without a word, he turned her like a slow-motion top. Face to face, he knew she was the one he’d been looking for all these years.

Beth met his gaze and her dream came back to her in a rush. She thought she should pull away, she couldn’t believe this was her old friend, the one she’d searched for over the years. “Still can’t believe it’s you,” she said, reaching out as if to touch his face, but not quite touching it after all.

“And I can’t believe you ruined a perfectly good guard dog,” he replied tenderly, the kiss—if indeed that’s what he’d intended—delayed good-naturedly.

Beth laughed. “And it only took a couple of hot dogs and some gentle persuasion.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Okay, half a dozen hot dogs, actually.”

John looked puzzled.

“He’s visited me at the cabin a time or two,” Beth explained.

Still shaking his head, John said, “I’ve seen him rip the arms off guys my size without a second thought. I don’t get it, I just don’t get it.”

“Believe me,” Beth replied, paraphrasing her father, “there are so many things we don’t get.” She paused, “I’m discovering more and more of them everyday.” She thought about the colorful little lights, the text messages, Heaven. She sighed, wondering what he would think if she told him everything.

Walking back to her cabin, the silence was thick with unspoken questions and shared memories. The ground was squelchy beneath their feet. The pine needles created the best, the springiest, carpet in nature. In her mind, Beth recalled the shy, lanky boy, tanned beyond belief from never wearing anything more than cutoffs, the boy who had grabbed her hands and hoisted her up onto the gigantic boulder at the southern end of Stutter Creek. It was their special place, the one with the worn rope swing, the only spot where there was a pool deep enough for real diving and swimming.

It was on that boulder that they would stand, swaying and laughing, daring the other to jump first into the clear, freezing mountain water. It was there that they also shared picnic lunches and talked over the world’s problems. It was there that he had confessed his feelings of loneliness, his feelings of never fitting in, of being on the outside looking in.

She, in turn, confessed how she felt like she should miss her mother, especially when holidays came around or when they made Mother’s day cards in school or had Muffins for Mom days, things like that, but how her dad had always filled in so readily, never missing any of her events, so jovial and fun to be around… that some of her girlfriends were actually jealous of her. And it was the same with John, for even though they often felt as if they were totally on their own in the forest, they never really were; her dad was usually upstream fishing, or downstream urging them on, or better yet, right there beside them, jumping into the freezing water first.

They had been quite a trio that summer. Between Beth and her father, the two of them had unwittingly shown John what he had been missing in the way of family.

They walked on in comfortable silence for a while longer. It was as though the years had melted magically away.

At last, Beth asked, “Have you always lived here?” She hesitated, and then continued bravely, “What I mean is . . . I’ve been to your cabin. I peeked in windows. You weren’t there. It looked like it was deserted.”

John stopped in his tracks. “You—you were looking for me?”

“Of course.” She wondered how much to divulge. “Every summer I would drag Dad up the mountain to see if you had returned.” She looked into his face for confirmation that it was okay to go on. “You disappeared, John.”