Tumbling Blocks (18 page)

“I know, I know,” she moaned. “It’s the only scent that doesn’t make me throw up. I’ve had to ask Emory to stop wearing cologne completely. All his colognes make me gag.”

“Boy, will you have a lot to hold over this child’s head someday,” I said, laughing. “And that doesn’t even count labor.”

She laughed too, and the rosy bloom in my best friend’s cheeks, her obvious happiness, made my heart hurt with gladness.

“I gotta hit the road,” I said. “This will be my last fun day for the next week. I’ve got a full schedule including my fake investigation, and Boo isn’t going to make things any easier.”

“Fake investigation?” Elvia’s face was confused. “Boo?”

“I guess I haven’t talked to you since
so
much in my life has changed. Follow me downstairs, and I’ll introduce you to my new godson.”

“Your what? Who had a baby? Who names their baby Boo?”

While she cooed and got all maternal over my foster puppy, again shocking me, this woman who loved pictures of baby animals more than the real thing, I filled her in on how he came into my life and what Constance was asking me to do. Emory excused himself to go inside to start dressing for the barbecue.

“Gabe actually
asked
you to investigate?” she asked, her black eyebrows raised in perfect sideways commas.

“Pretend to investigate,” I corrected. “As much as it sounds like a blast to someone as nosy as me, it’s turning into a big pain in the butt. I do feel sorry for Constance. I’d go completely bonkers if I lost either of my best friends.” I smiled at her as she cuddled Boo in her arms. “But I really don’t think Pinky Edmondson was murdered.”

“Pinky Edmondson was one of my best customers. She probably spent five hundred dollars a month on books.”

“Wow,” I said. My investigator antenna immediately perked up. “I don’t suppose you keep records of what your customers buy.”

“No, I don’t, but I’ll tell you what she bought since I can’t imagine that it would matter much. They were mostly art books.”

“No surprise there,” I said. “She loved art and was a very generous sponsor of the folk art museum.” I took Boo from a surprisingly reluctant Elvia. “See you at the ranch.”

The day ended up being a pleasant one. Again, Gabe didn’t speak to Ray, but Daddy and Isaac took up the slack and entertained Ray. Isaac, an internationally renowned photographer who swore he was retired, was already making tentative plans to join Ray on a train trip from an engineer’s front seat point of view. Though retired, Ray still had many connections with the railroad and said he’d be more than happy to help Isaac with this new project.

The food, as always, was superb. Daddy and Sam, Gabe’s son, barbecued tri-tip steak and chicken. Spicy pinquito beans, homemade salsa, sourdough garlic bread and green salad rounded out our Santa Maria-style barbecue, the traditional meal served at rancheros back in the time when California was still a part of Mexico. Of course, Dove added her own Southern touches with sweet potato casserole, pecan pie and fried green tomatoes, a particular favorite of Gabe’s.

Boo was in heaven because Daddy’s sable and white corgi, Spud, from an earlier litter sired by Boo’s own daddy, was willing and ready to dart around the house playing catch-me-if-you-can corgi games. Scout, appearing relieved that his high-energy young charge was temporarily occupied, settled down for a nap in front of the family room fire. I sat next to him and gave him a well-deserved neck massage and ear rub.

Later on, when the day was starting to wind down and everyone had, at Dove’s urging, gone out to the front porch to watch the crimson and gold sunset, I took that time to sneak back into the family room for a little peace and quiet. Spud was out in the barn with my dad, who was feeding some pregnant heifers. Boo was exhausted, lying next to Scout, his little black nose tucked into Scout’s warm neck. I worried briefly that the dogs were getting too attached to each other. How would they react when Hud came back and took Boo home? That modern phrase,
doggie play date
, started running uneasily through my head.

“What’s going on in that evil little mind of yours?” asked Emory, flopping down beside me on the leather sofa, cradling a white bowl holding a huge piece of pecan pie topped with vanilla bean ice cream.

“Keep eating like that, cousin dear, and your son or daughter will be calling you Big Daddy Littleton.”

He stuck his spoon deep into the bowl and smiled at me. “Then share it with me, and tell Big Daddy what’s got you looking so worried.”

I looked at him in mock horror. “I meant that Big Daddy as a joke. I will not call you that. It’s a little too
Splendor in the Grass
.”

“I think you mean
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
, but go ahead, what’s up?” He spooned a bite of pie and ice cream into his mouth, then offered me the bowl.

Before I could answer, Ray and Kathryn walked into the den.

“Your sunsets out here are almost as pretty as the ones in Kansas,” Ray said, teasing me. They sat down across from us on a matching sofa.

“Oh, Ray,” Kathryn said, playfully squeezing his upper arm.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “There is nothing like a Kansas sunset. It’s probably something about the reflection off those amber waves of grain.”

At that moment, Gabe walked into the room. “Hey, Mom, want a piece of Dove’s pecan pie? There’s peach too.”

It fascinated me to watch my husband talk to his mother. There were moments when his manner and voice reverted to a much younger Gabe, when he spoke with almost a teenager’s teasing tone.

“No, thank you, Gabe,” she said, smiling. “I’m so full I could burst.” She looked over at the pie and ice cream Emory and I were sharing. “Although that does look very good.”

“It is,” I said around a mouthful of pie.

She smiled. “Maybe just a little then . . .”

“Gabe, sit down with your mother,” Ray said, jumping up and motioning his long-fingered hand at his place on the sofa. “I’ll get you both some. Peach or pecan? À la mode or straight up?”

Gabe didn’t turn his head, deliberately ignoring Ray’s offer. He continued looking at his mother. She glanced at Ray, then back at her son.

“Mom, would you like me to get you some pie?” Gabe asked again.

“Not now, son,” she said, obviously deciding that the whole pie issue was becoming a bit too fraught with emotion.

I glanced over at Emory, who raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

“Suit yourself,” Gabe said. “I think I’ll go back out on the porch.” He left the room without a backward glance.

I stared after my husband, debating whether I should run after him and whup him upside the head like he deserved or wait and give him what-for later.

Gabe’s mother, her long, pale face tinted a soft pink now, gave Ray an uneasy glance. Then she rose slowly, faltering a moment. Ray caught her elbow and steadied her.

“You’re tired,” he said, his deep voice gentle.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes slowly, leaving them shut for a moment, as if she were gathering strength. “Maybe we should head back home.”

“Sit back down and wait here. Let me get your sweater,” I said, standing up. Before they could protest, I was out of the room.

After finding Kathryn’s sweater, I went into the kitchen to tell Dove that Kathryn and Ray were leaving. She was cutting another pie. I’d already decided that I was going to drive them home in Gabe’s car. That seemed the best thing for everyone right now.

“I’m driving Kathryn and Ray home,” I said, going over to hug her. “She’s kind of tired. Thanks for another great meal.”

“Is she okay?” Dove asked.

“I think so. Gabe’s been acting like an adolescent around her every time Ray comes into the room, so maybe it’s starting to wear on her. Honestly, I’m about ready to smack him silly.”

Dove just smiled to herself and kept cutting slices of peach pie.

“I know, I know,” I said, bumping her with my hip. “I was just as bad when you were dating Isaac. But he should have learned from my mistakes.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that. Don’t worry, Gabe and his mama will work this out.”

“I suppose,” I said, leaning against the tiled countertop. I reached over, snatched a piece of flaky piecrust and popped it into my mouth.

“Maybe not as quickly as we did,” Dove continued. “And likely not in the same way we did. But they’ll work it out in a way that suits them. Those two have a lot of sad history they’ve not yet resolved. Might have been wiser if they’d taken care of it before she remarried. Then again, it might not have been addressed at all without this change in their relationship.” She took the empty pie tin and placed it in the sink behind her. “Sometimes you need a little rhubarb with your strawberry to give it snap.”

“In other words, strawberry-rhubarb pie.”

Dove turned and smiled at me. “Always a crowd pleaser.”

“And Gabe’s favorite,” I added. “I’m going out to tell him that I think I should drive his mom and stepfather home and he should drive home in the truck with the dogs. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck,” she said. “You need an armored car.”

I laughed uneasily. She was kidding, but she also knew Gabe. “If I’m not back in five minutes, call the police. No, wait, that won’t help.”

She handed me a piece of peach pie. “Here, take this to Gabe before you leave. Manna to soothe the savage beast.”

Gabe wasn’t on the porch with Elvia, Sam, Sam’s girlfriend Teresa and Isaac.

“I think he went to the barn,” said Sam.

I actually found him in the backyard, sitting on a wooden Adirondack chair staring out at the almost-dark hills. He was barely illuminated by the sliver of light coming from the barn fifty yards away where I could hear Daddy talking to Spud.

“Hey, Friday,” I said, placing the pie down on the table beside him. I perched on the chair’s wide arm and rested my hand on his shoulder. I tried to make my voice light and casual. “Your mama’s getting kinda tired, so I told them I’d take them home. You can come later and bring the dogs.” I gently ran my fingers through his thick, citrus-scented hair.

He didn’t answer. After a minute or so, I said, “Want to give me your car keys?”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and held them up to me, continuing his thousand-yard stare.

“Gabe,” I said, taking the keys. “I don’t mean to interfere—”

“Then don’t,” he said, cutting me off.

I fingered the keys in my hand, trying to maintain my composure. “Okay, I do mean to interfere. You’re acting like a big baby. Why don’t you cut Ray and your mother some slack?”

“Why don’t you just take my mother and her husband home and leave it at that?”

I gave an audible sigh, hoping that would influence his cranky mood. Not to my surprise, it didn’t help. It would do no good to argue with him. But I also knew if this kept up, he and I were headed for a blowup even if he and his mother didn’t have one.

Kathryn and Ray didn’t question why I was driving them home rather than Gabe. It was pretty obvious that he was in a snit. I had to admit, as much as I loved my husband, I was a bit embarrassed by his childish behavior, not that I should be throwing stones. I’d be the first to admit that. Dove was right. Sometimes things just had to play themselves out.

Pleading fatigue, Kathryn and Ray excused themselves the minute we got home. It was about seven thirty. My mother-in-law did look tired and, it seemed to me, a bit hopeless. I felt sad for her and Gabe. Her marriage didn’t have to be such a painful thing. In reality, Gabe should have been glad his mother had found love again, that she would not spend the remainder of her life alone. It was complex, the mother-son relationship, a warp-woof of emotions that made up the fabric of their connected lives. Even with someone as open as Dove, there were times when communication between her and Daddy either broke down or became intricately knotted, and they had barely been able to speak to each other.

Gabe came home about an hour later. While changing for bed, we talked of minor things, what the weather was supposed to be like tomorrow, when we would get our Christmas tree.

“I can go by Wingfield’s Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow and buy one,” I said. “We could have a small decorating party, maybe invite Beebs and Millee and Emory and Elvia. That would be fun.”

“Whatever,” he said, sounding like a petulant teenager.

“I still haven’t found a present for your mom yet. And I need to get something for Ray. Not to mention buying them a wedding present.”

“Why?” He pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it on the floor, an action that was so unlike my Marine Corps- trained, neat-as-new-shoes husband that I just stared at him, openmouthed.

“That’s enough,” I finally said. “I’m trying to be understanding here, but you are acting like a spoiled brat.”

“Get him whatever you want,” he said, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower. “Buy him a new car. Shoot, give him the house. I don’t give a shit.” Then he shut the bathroom door.

I stared at the door for a moment, tempted to fling it open and let him have the full brunt of my temper.
Let it go
, a voice inside me whispered, sounding suspiciously like Dove’s.
Let him work this out on his own.

So I heeded the voice and didn’t say a thing when Gabe walked out of the steamy bathroom. I took my own shower, carried Boo downstairs for one last outside break before our two a.m. rendezvous and joined Gabe in bed. We kissed, and I touched his cheek with the tips of my fingers, looking deep into his turbulent-ocean eyes.

“I love you, Friday,” I said.

“Te querido,”
he answered, looking so sad I felt like crying.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.” He kissed me again, then turned over. “See you mañana.”

I lay awake in the dark a long time, listening to his breathing slow down and finally settle into the even rhythm that meant he was asleep. I wanted to help him through this, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know what he needed. Maybe
I’d
go see Father Mark tomorrow. He seemed to understand Gabe better than anyone. Surely he’d have some words of wisdom for me.