Forever Friday (26 page)

“I appreciate it. Don’t get grilled cheese too often.”

“How did you know what—?”

“The smell.” The old man sniffed the sack and laughed. “I may hobble around on a pine peg, but my nose still works.”

Gabe dug in his pocket for a few coins. “This will buy you some coffee.”

The old man waved him away. “Son, don’t waste my time, or yours. You’ve got more important things to think about.”

It wasn’t worth asking him what he meant, Gabe thought, then noticed the old man’s eyes—probably the clearest he’d ever seen. Maybe he wasn’t a drunkard.

The man sniffed the air. “Is that a pack of Luckys I smell?”

Gabe reached into his shirt pocket and produced the cigarettes.

“Throw in a book of matches, and I’ll give you some advice for your trouble.”

“Take my lighter,” Gabe said. “Keep your advice.”

The old man’s smile glowed in the dusk. “A man can’t see ahead till he’s first looked back. Then he can look up.”

“Need anything else?”

“I ain’t the one who’s needy. Now you’d best get out of here. Like I said, you got more important things to consider.”

Gabe walked back inside the hotel. After almost a week in this town, he’d seen a wide cross-section of humanity; now, his first mental case. In an odd kind of way, the old man was right. But there was no way a total stranger would know or understand what Gabe was going through. The man’s advice was nothing more than a coincidence. Suddenly Gabe felt fearful and realized he needed to be more careful. The man could’ve gone berserk and pulled a gun. So instead of heading for the alleys, he returned to his room.

The instant the door swung open, his eyes focused where Huck had lain on the bed and the pillow that had been stained with her tears. A lump rose in his throat. He’d never purposely avoided her before and wished he could take back the past four days. But that was impossible.
And the more he contemplated the infamous Clark letter, the more Gabe realized how unfair he’d been.

Would he have read it, even if she’d shown it to him?

Probably not.

And if he had, remained levelheaded enough to view it rationally?

He knew the answer.

Gabe’s eyes grew moist. Not only had Huck almost been raped, a childhood friend she’d once loved had been killed.

Killed.

Whether a man deserved death or not, the outcome was the same for those close to him.

Gabe rubbed his eyes. Because of his stupid pride, he’d almost sent Huck where the tragic events would remain forefront. Thank goodness Cutter had taken her to Beaumont instead of Huntsville.

Gabe dropped to his knees and wept.

What had he done?

The woman he loved more than life itself needed his protection now more than ever.

“Oh God, please forgive me,” Gabe said as tears streamed down his cheeks. “And please comfort Huck.”

He stood and threw his things into his suitcase. Beaumont was a good four-hour drive south. Cutter wouldn’t be there, and Huck might be fearful of the dark. If he hurried, he could still right things with his Forever Girl before midnight.

Huck lay on the bed in Cutter’s spare bedroom and stared out the open window into the night. She’d cried more the past three days than she
thought humanly possible, but the tears still found ways to pour from beneath her swollen eyelids. That afternoon, her twin had left town with the Beaumont Exporters and wouldn’t return for a week. He’d been sweet and had seen to her every need. But he wasn’t her husband. So she’d pasted a smile across her face and told him she’d be fine until Gabe arrived.

Gabe.

Would he even come for her? She’d never been more scared.

Since he’d not called, she’d halfway expected a letter. When she’d walked out to Cutter’s mailbox that evening, she prayed with every step, but her hopes had been dashed. Worse, it reminded her that tomorrow was Friday and there would be no postcard this week, if ever again. So a round of tears burned anew.

Huck glanced at the bedside clock. Eleven thirty. Three days and three nights without Gabe seemed an eternity. And now she was well into night number four. Cutter had suggested she not contact Gabe but give him the freedom “to do what a man needs to do.” Huck knew that meant Gabe needed time, but not phoning him was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Her thoughts flashed back to Mister Jack and how he’d taught her about hope. But since her guardian angel hadn’t bothered with an appearance in Kilgore, the only hope she could manage was that her marriage wouldn’t fall apart.

She sat up and took a sip of water from a glass on the bedside table. Cutter had called their folks, who were genuinely upset. He’d said nothing about the attempted rape, but only about how Huck had been traveling to Kilgore with Clark to see Gabe, who was there on an assignment for Gulf. Boom towns, as everyone knew, were dangerous, and Clark had been fatally shot. Cutter went on to explain that specific
details were sketchy, but Huck was fine and would be in Beaumont with him until Gabe finished his assignment.

Huck shivered.

The Richards family would keep the sordid details of what had happened out of the newspaper, but versions of the truth would gradually seep into town, and the gossips would have a heyday. Even though it still seemed surreal, Clark’s death would eventually become a reality. So Huck prayed that when the numbness passed, she could cope not only with the tragic loss of a lifelong friend, but with the pain of his betrayal.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar car drive up.

Blue Norther.

Without taking the time to grab a robe, she ran out of the house in her nightgown and into Gabe’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe said, tears pooling in his eyes. “I should’ve never stayed.”

“No. It’s me. What happened was—”

Before she could finish, Gabe kissed her deeply. Huck didn’t know how long they stood on Cutter’s front lawn, but she could’ve remained in Gabe’s arms forever.

“Salty kisses are the best kind,” he said finally, wiping both their eyes with his handkerchief. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a cup or two of coffee handy this time of night?”

“For you,” Huck replied, “I’ll drip an entire pot.”

While the water boiled, Gabe showered, and then they sipped mugs laden with heavy cream, talking into the wee hours. Things weren’t perfect between the two of them, but they discussed the dangers in forgetting The Long Division and came to an understanding. Realizing
they’d stepped apart through mainly selfish acts, they asked each other for forgiveness, then bowed their heads and thanked God for His ever-present goodness. And just before turning out the bedroom light, Huck recited Gabe’s first postcard poem about “two hearts commanding devotion.” From now on, the phrase would be their motto.

When dawn broke a few hours later, Huck lay wide-eyed, wrapped in Gabe’s protective embrace. On her pillow was a new postcard. She didn’t know how he’d managed it, but she read it over and over again, her back pressed against the comforting rhythm of his sleeping heart. She snuggled closer as a tear of eternal gratitude rolled down her cheek. It was Friday, her soul mate had returned, and she felt safe.

She’d not dreamed since the terrible incident, but sometime during the night an idea—dreamlike—danced along the fringes of her thoughts. The rumbling sound that guided Ranger Gonzaullas to Clark’s car was no oil well or earthquake. It was the same vibration she’d felt during her state of semiconsciousness. Only, Gonzaullas had heard it first.

Another tear joined the first one.

The mysterious sound was the powerful echo of a booming laugh she’d first heard at her secret glen when she was ten.

A powerful laugh meant to defy evil.

A laugh belonging to Mister Jack.

October 1940

Huntsville, Texas

“The traffic this year’s worse than ever,” Huck said as they sped up Highway 75 toward Huntsville. “We’ll spend the entire afternoon trying to find a parking space.”

“That’s because the
Chronicle
has touted this year’s prison rodeo as the most unbridled show in captivity.” Gabe glanced at Huck. “Thanks for the surprise.”

She smiled, remembering how much fun it had been to surprise her husband of nearly fifteen years with a pair of the most sought-after rodeo tickets in the Lone Star State. Even though it was held each Sunday afternoon in October, more people wanted to attend than there was
room. She and Gabe had even skipped worship services that day in order to drive up from Houston and make the two o’clock start time.

“I can’t think of a finer way to spend our afternoon than watching man wrestle beast.”

“If Papa were still alive, I’d have stayed home and graded papers.”

“Did he miss a single rodeo?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Think your dear mother—God bless her soul—knows we missed church?”

“My guess is that Mother is still much too busy gawking at folks in heaven she thought wouldn’t be there.” Huck smiled. “That or scolding Papa about how he should be spending eternity.”

“Seems hard to believe your folks have been gone four years.” Gabe patted her leg.

“I know.” She sighed. “It’s even harder to believe their old home place has been sold to the college. Molly Beninna says there are plans to tear it down and build a men’s dormitory.”

They drove along in silence as Huck remembered the quiet deaths of her parents. It had been the summer of 1936. Cutter had moved up to the majors and was playing for the White Sox. She and Gabe had taken a two-week vacation, boarded a northbound train to Chicago, and spent three glorious days sightseeing and watching Cutter play at Comiskey Park. It unnerved her a little that Chicago was where Clark lived before his death, but she’d not dwelt upon it.

At the end of their vacation, they’d driven to Huntsville to help with her mother’s annual pickling and preserving. Annise had grown to love Gabe as one of her own sons. In fact, the family joked he’d become the most beloved Huckabee child. By midafternoon of the first day,
they’d peeled and cooked a bushel of tomatoes, had two bushels of sliced cucumbers soaking in lime water, and finished canning three dozen quarts of peaches. Annise announced she was “done in” and was going to lie down. She did and never got up again.

Two weeks later, Ethan passed. As was his habit, he’d retired to the veranda after Sunday’s breakfast for a little Bible reading, to be followed by a fresh chaw of Brown’s Mule tobacco. He’d accomplished the reading but expired in his favorite rocker, the plug still in his shirt pocket, unopened.

Family consensus was that since both Mama and Papa were well into their eighties, they’d lived a good life. And after fifty-eight years of marriage, plus providing for a large family, their physical bodies had simply worn out. Moreover, without Annise around to tell Ethan what to do, he’d lost the direction to continue living.

Huck agreed with her siblings only to a point. In her mind, Ethan lived life on his own terms, complying with Annise’s wishes because he loved her. In turn, she met his every need because she loved him. Whether the others realized it or not, her parents had been soul mates of a sort.

When they reached Huntsville, Gabe took a series of back roads to beat the traffic snarl. It wasn’t long before they reached the rodeo arena and located a parking spot.

“Saved just for us,” he said. They hopped out of Blue Norther and headed to the main gate. He took a deep breath. “It smells like our Splash Day first date.”

“Except for the salty air.”

“And roasted corn on the cob.”

Gabe pointed to a long row of concession stands. “Tell you what…
Next year we’ll quit our jobs and open up a cob stand. We’d only have to work one month a year.”

“Sounds appealing,” Huck said as they passed through the gate. “But so does eating and paying our bills the other eleven months. And speaking of food, why don’t you get us a snack while I claim our seats?”