The Matriarch (20 page)

I’m stunned. What’s he up to? Al walks toward me and stops right in front of me. He’s too close.

“Al … what—”

My gut explodes. He’s slammed a fist right into my belly. I can’t breathe. I start to double over when he gives me a harsh chopping uppercut right into my chin. The blow sends me backwards, and I land on my back.

“You don’t talk to me that way, asshole. I’m the sheriff—are you forgettin’ that fact?” He’s glaring down at me. I still don’t have the breath to speak. He kicks me on my side, near my rib cage. The pain is incredible—I don’t know if I’m going to puke, bust out crying, or simply pass out. “You and your idiot friends get the hell out of my department, you hear? Get up, Chrissake, you’re not hurt.”

He grabs a handful of my shirt and yanks me up off the floor. He holds me close to him, his face a scant inch from mine. “And don’t you give a thought to complaining about the little chat we’ve had just now … understand? That would be a really stupid move.” He seems to be waiting for a reply. “You get me?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. I feel blood trickling down my chin.

“Good. Now get the fuck outta here.” Al shoves me to the door. “And don’t come back,” he hollers.

I open the door and stumble out of the office. Frank and Lester greet me, their faces stunned at my appearance.

“I’m okay,” I say.

“You’re not okay,” Charlotte says, rushing to my side. Her eyes are cloudy with tears as she gives me a gentle hug, clearly afraid of hurting me more. Her concern for me is a pain killer—I suddenly feel much better.

“We’re gonna report this,” Frank says.

“Yeah,” Lester says and looks around for someone to report it to.

“No,” I say. “Not a good idea.”

Dott comes over to me muttering “Dear God” over and over.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I say, pulling Charlotte closer to me as we leave.

We go to a tavern called ‘Take a Break’ and we all order drinks.

“I guess you’ve probably figured out by now that Al is not on our side. We’re completely on our own. We need to come up with a plan to get rid of The Tree.”

We have another round of drinks. The only plan we come up with is using fire. But we’re woefully short of manpower, and everyone’s depressed.

At 5:10 p.m. when we return to the ranch house, Shelly has returned from town with a very tired Molly who’s taking another nap in my room. Shelly’s in the kitchen, and Frank sits in the living room at the wagon wheel table. He seems dazed and barely looks up when we come in, which I attribute to the amber filled shot glass in his hand.

“Molly’s sleeping a lot,” I say. “I hope she’s okay.” I sink into a cool leather chair. Louie comes romping up to me and licks my hand.

“Well obviously she needs it,” Dott says. “When Victor’s body is discovered, we’re going to have to defend that girl. She’s an innocent victim of those figs—not to mention that crazy mom of hers.”

“We’ll get her an attorney,” I say. “The best.”

“Let’s go check on her. I need to know she’s okay,” Dott says.

Louie and I follow Dott down the hall.

We gaze down at the sleeping girl. Her brown-black hair glistens with sweat and clings to her forehead over dark brows and long thick eyelashes. Her lips are red as if daubed with lipstick.

“Those lashes,” breathes Dott. “The envy of women everywhere.”

I watch as Molly’s body shudders. She sleeps as if she’s sharing her bed with demons. Dott strokes her forehead lightly, and she awakens. She rubs at her eyes and stares up at us. “What’s wrong with your chin?” she asks me.

“I fell,” I say. “No big deal.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Molly says.

“You don’t have to,” I say quickly. No way will I send this girl back to Kate Hammond.

“You call your mother,” Dott says, “and tell her you’re staying over tonight with a friend.”

I nod. “We’ll figure out what happens next Molly, what works best for you. We’ll do that together.”

Dott leads her through a few of her friends, and Molly selects a likely name. Dott holds her hand while she calls Kate, and I wonder what’s going through her mind. Does she recognize the evil in her mother? Does she think of herself as evil? Or is she simply in shock and numb to the whole thing? I know Molly’s mental future is going to need a lot of professional sorting out.

That’s later. The Tree is now, and I need to think. I leave Dott with Molly and walk out to the porch where Frank sits working on a shot of bourbon. Louie is snoozing under the table.

I pull up a chair and join him. “Frank, maybe you’re drinking too—”

“Lordy-God, boy! You see that boot a’ mine? Not enough bourbon in the world to make me forget that … thing … chokin’ the life right outta …” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sloppy swallow. “And now you gettin’ decked by that idiot sheriff …”

I put a hand on his arm. “Cool it, Frank, please! I need you. I need you sober.”

He sighs. “As a young man, I always thought your mind went along with your body and got old too. You just naturally adjusted to it in your head—like you accepted the reality of it. But it isn’t like that, Cassidy. In my mind, I’m still young.” He drums his fingers on the table. “And I do so miss my Emma.” His eyes cloud with tears.

I squeeze his arm—can’t think what to say.

“You sure you’re feelin’ okay?” he asks me.

“I’m absolutely okay.” Strangely enough, that happens to be true. Belly and chin a bit tender but no real damage. Except to my ego, that is.

“Anything going on with you and Charlotte?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I say, surprised by Frank’s perception.

“No maybes with Emma and me. I knew right from the start she was the one. I was lucky.
We
were lucky.” He bounces his foot up and down, unaware that his knee is jiggling the table. His eyes have a far-away look.

“The Tree, Frank.” I say. “We have to destroy The Tree. How do you think we—”

“I saw Georgie today,” Frank says. “He’s acting funny.”

Wonderful. Everyone is out to fucking lunch, including the horse.

“I’ll check him out,” I say.

Frank nods as if I actually know something about horses.

“I’m not sure you’re right about that tree, Cassidy.” He struggles with his words. “But if you
are
… then I’m sittin’ here growin’ the end of the world.” Frank drains his glass.

At dinner, I convince everyone that we should go to see Ed and Gwen Schwartz. Gwen has been picking up figs, almost every day. So … is Ed okay? Is he still vertical? I’m concerned about time, so we agree to make the trip first thing in the morning. I don’t want to give The Tree too much more time, because I know she’s gaining strength. I realize I’m now thinking of The Tree as a “she,” an evil matriarch. We decide to destroy her, but the “how” of that is still a mystery.

I fall into bed, utterly exhausted.

I sleep deeply at first, but soon I feel a presence—a benign one. Charlotte crawls into my bed and gently settles herself on top of me, her naked body cool on mine. I’m instantly aroused. The feeling is new, as if I’ve never known this delicious lust before. Her nipples are erect, hard against my chest. “Where do you hurt?” she asks, her mouth on my neck.

“My head,” I say. “My mind. I didn’t land one punch.” Her lips are on mine, soft at first, then hard, her tongue pushing.

Not landing a punch isn’t important anymore; I can’t believe it ever was. I pull her close and she comes eagerly, her body thrusting against mine. There’s a pleasing freshness to our moves; they feel unique. We’re somewhat careful with each other at first, then passionate, and then lost. Lost in blinding desire. We let ourselves climb to the summit, the exquisite peak … and then the restorative calming.

I’m quiet now, but high … I feel so blessed with this woman.

“I’m blessed with you, Charlotte.”

“Yes. And I with you.” She strokes my chest, her fingers cool on my skin. “We can do this again, you know.”

I laugh. “Give me a little time … okay?”

She gives me twelve minutes, and that’s enough. We are indeed blessed.

Ginny comes awake with a jolt. She cries out and clamps a hand over her mouth. A dream. One of the bad ones. About Al. She can’t remember it clearly though, and that’s good. The glowing clock on the bedside table reads 1:52 a.m. She lies rigid and hurting, perfectly still so as not to wake the slumbering Al lying next to her. It’s always like this after making love.

Making love! What a ridiculous thing to call such a violent, painful act!

Her whole body hurts, especially her genital area. She’s angry. Another woman would probably call the police, but Ginny is married to the acting sheriff.

After a few careful quiet breaths, her heart begins to calm. When somewhat composed, she eases herself to the edge of the bed, sliding one foot to the floor and then the other. She stands and slips into her gown that Al tossed onto the floor. Ginny places a protective hand over her genitalia, not actually touching herself. She creeps into the bathroom. Avoiding her ghost-like reflection in the mirror, she runs cold water onto a washcloth and places it gently between her legs. The chill helps. It numbs her.

He knows he hurts me.

Of course he does. He likes it that way. He’s a sadist. So what am I going to do? What
can
I do? One thing I can do is to
Not
make a baby with him! He’s a monster and would make a monstrous father.

There’s a scent in the air, Ginny realizes as she remoistens the cloth. It’s unfamiliar and sweet. It makes her thirsty. She likes to get thirsty, because then she has to quench her thirst, and doing that is always wonderfully satisfying. An icy cold beer will do the job, she thinks.

On bare, silent feet she goes into the kitchen, taking the cold cloth with her. She opens the fridge door and peers in. No beer. Oh shoot. Ginny can never seem to keep up with Al’s appetite for beer. She stands in front of the open fridge and pulls her gown up to let the cool air play over her body. She turns, looking around the kitchen. She notices the bowl of figs on the kitchen table and smiles. They look so healthy glowing up at her, and she remembers their delicious taste. Her mouth instantly floods with saliva.

Ginny closes the fridge door and goes to the table. She selects a fat purplish fig and bites into it. Her mouth fills with an explosion of sweet juice. It’s satisfying, so she sits down at the table and eats another. And another. Juice lingers on her chin, and she can’t bring herself to wipe it off.

Happily sated and free from thirst, she returns to the bedroom where Al sleeps on. Ginny looks down at the big lump in the bed that is Albert D. Schmidt.
Acting Sheriff
Albert D. Schmidt, as he has grown fond of pointing out to her.

Acting Prick!

Words in her head. Where did they come from?

Her distracted gaze falls on a magazine on her bedside table. It’s a
Family Circle
she purchased yesterday. It promises a selection of “Fall Crafts for the Busy Homemaker.” Ginny picks it up and carefully folds it once, lengthwise. Smiling, she puts a knee gently onto the bed and leans forward, over Al. She raises the magazine high and smacks him hard, right across his forehead.

“Ah … Wha …?” She pulls back as his eyes open in alarm. He brings both hands up, palms to his forehead. He struggles to sit up. Ginny drops the
Family Circle
back onto the table and quickly lowers her body into bed. She pulls the comforter up over her shoulders and lies still.

“What the fuck? What
was
that?” Al rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“What was what?” Ginny asks sleepily. “Bad dream?”

“Strange,” he says. “Fucking strange.” He shakes his head, lies back down, and turns onto his side, away from her.

Ginny stuffs a handful of comforter into her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

We take Molly to her friend’s house and then leave for the Schwartz home around 9:00 a.m., all of us in the girls’ wagon. Charlotte sits next to me, as close as the gearshift will let her. I’m still high on her, but I need to be clear-headed and focus on our situation. We need to see this couple and then make a decision about The Tree as quickly as possible.