Authors: Karen Harter
I realized then that I loved him. I needed him to be the towering rock we all thought he was. And worse than anything, like
a child, I still needed him to love
me.
The sheriff eventually stomped up the back steps and poked his head through the kitchen doorway. “There are a lot of prints
out there, but it’s a mess with all the debris from the storm. The only clear ones I could find seem to match up with your
boots. Keep an eye out, though, when you go out there. If you see any prints you don’t recognize, give me a call.”
“So, where did you two go last night?” I asked after the sheriff had gone.
“All the way to Bellingham.” The Judge was overly cheerful for a man whose life was being threatened by a crazy guy. “We had
a nice long dinner. The kind your mother likes. Four courses with plenty of time to linger in between.” He winked at her.
Mom only forced a weak smile and dropped her eyes before turning to leave the room.
N
OVEMBER CRAWLED BY like a garden slug. I watched the leaves go from gold to orange to brown. They swirled in the wind and
stuck to the wet ground. The old maple tree finally stood naked out by the barn, its arthritic bones reaching plaintively
into the sky.
Donnie took me down to the spit on the river a few times. At first we walked slowly, and on the way back up the trail I leaned
heavily on his arm. When I could no longer make the whole trek, he carried me part of the way, but only after I had tried
very hard to make it by myself.
The last time we made the trip was in mid-November, when the trail was slick with brown leaves. I wore the Judge’s plaid wool
jacket and my hiking boots. Donnie came around the side of the house with a rusty old wheelbarrow from the barn. “Taxi, ma’am?”
he said. Halfway to the river I leaned too far to my right to see chanterelle mushrooms as orange as pumpkins clustered beneath
a hemlock. The wheelbarrow tipped and I spilled into a prickly Oregon grape bush. Since Donnie thought it was so funny I pulled
him in to see how it felt. We rolled, laughing, to where the ground was a soft carpet of needles. He pulled a leaf from my
hair and brushed something from my face. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he rolled onto his back
and stared pensively up through the evergreen boughs. One big hand went behind his head, his jaw went taut and some mysterious
wave passed behind his eyes. He used to get like that sometimes when we were kids. We would be playing and having a good old
time and the next thing I knew he didn’t want to play anymore. He would just get real quiet and mopey, and I’d poke him with
a stick or something and he would say, “Get out of here, Samantha! Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
I didn’t say anything this time. I didn’t think I had done anything to make him angry. Maybe it suddenly occurred to him as
we wrestled in the leaves that he was trapped on a weary old ranch out in the middle of nowhere with nothing better to do
than push a dying friend around in a wheelbarrow. Or could it be that he still wanted more than this wonderful friendship
between us? But how could he? He knew how I felt about Tim. Tim was my husband, after all. And besides, in my current condition
I was no good to either one of them.
Donnie didn’t come by for a week or more after that. I drank herb teas with my stocking feet propped on the living room windowsill.
The doctor said I did not have a cold. This annoying cough was some kind of reflex in response to my huge heart putting pressure
on my lungs. Mornings were especially long and quiet because TJ was gone. I had signed him up for the preschool that my friend
Kirsten’s son, Alex, attended. We had gotten together twice since meeting at the football game, and the boys were already
great pals. The Judge usually dropped TJ off at preschool on his way in to the courthouse, and Mom (or Lindsey, if Mom was
playing tennis) picked him up about noon. Sometimes he forgot to show me what he made because he had already been through
all that with Mom. She told him he was definitely artist material and turned the refrigerator into his private gallery. I
displayed his pinecone turkey and egg-carton bugs on my bedroom windowsill.
Lately I had visions of this busy household buzzing along without me. There wouldn’t be much difference. Just that shape over
there in the gold reclining chair would be gone. TJ would miss me for a while, but I knew he would be okay. He was loved.
He would always have a home. Lindsey and David had agreed to raise him if I died, which was somewhat of a relief but I worried
that TJ would turn out predictable and boring like a Ken doll with black plastic hair. At least they had plenty of money.
TJ could have braces and skis and a college education if he was their son. I tried not to think about Tim anymore. Living
beyond the new year was about all I could hope for.
Thanksgiving came and so did David’s parents. They thought our house was quaint and Mom’s elegant dream dining room was “just
darling.” Like this was just the summer house. Dick (that was David’s dad) tried to talk fishing with the Judge but their
communications missed each other like wild arrows. Dick’s idea of fishing was to sit on the deck of a charter boat off the
coast of Cabo with a martini and of course a camera in case a marlin actually came along. Mrs. Matthews wore an angora sweaterdress
the color of buttermilk with high-heeled shoes to match. She looked constipated, standing there with her stomach sucked in
and chest out, a pained look on her face even when she smiled. The fat she had accumulated on her last cruise swelled over
her belt anyway. You’d think she would wear something a little more forgiving for Thanksgiving dinner. TJ asked her why she
wore “too many rings.” He invited her into his room to see his worms, but the way she looked down at him and made some lame
excuse about maybe after dinner, I could tell she didn’t really see him. She brushed him off like he was one of those poor
Panamanian waifs who rowed out to meet their cruise ship, begging for money. They told about that during dinner. TJ asked
if they threw money down to them, at which Mrs. Matthews huffed, “Oh, no, dear. You shouldn’t encourage that kind of behavior.”
TJ said if he was on that big boat he would throw them his dinner because they were probably hungry. I know I made her uncomfortable
too. She froze up every time I coughed but wouldn’t look at me. I couldn’t really blame her. I couldn’t stand to have dying
people around me either—especially at the dinner table.
Lindsey seemed to like her in-laws, but my sister saw something good in everybody. Personally, I wished I could choose TJ’s
potential grandparents myself. I saw maybe the skipper of a charter boat, someone who could teach TJ to carve whales out of
driftwood, and his tough old wife—a rosy-cheeked adventuress who laughed right into the face of a good storm. Or forest rangers.
Either of those would be good.
The following day was the holiday known as the Biggest Shopping Day of the Year. Mom and Lindsey left just after dawn and
planned to stay overnight in a Seattle waterfront hotel. I could tell they felt guilty about leaving me home, but at this
point there was no discussing it. Lindsey asked me to write down some Christmas gift ideas for TJ and me. For TJ it was easy.
Anything to do with bugs, worms, fish or frogs. Anything
I
wanted was either too expensive to mention or not for sale in any store.
TJ and I watched cartoons in our pajamas until almost eleven a.m. The Judge never liked having the TV on in the daytime. He
used to say watching TV was for people who didn’t have a life of their own. I noticed he never said a word about me sitting
in front of
Oprah
in the middle of the afternoon, so I must have qualified. Anyway, I finally told TJ to turn it off and get dressed. He pulled
on his jeans and boots and skipped out to the barn to join his grandpa.
I stood in the shower until the water turned cold. The full-length mirror on the bathroom door was steamed up, but I wiped
it off and turned to see how big my behind was getting from waiting for my pager to go off. I shook it to see if it jiggled
more than usual. My breasts hadn’t changed, but they would. There would be a scar. A highway through the mountain pass. I
traced the line where they would saw through my breastbone and shuddered.
The phone rang. This could be the one. I called from the bathroom door. “Is anybody out there?” No answer. I swore under my
breath, pinching a towel around me and walking as fast as I could down the hall. “Hello.”
“Samantha?”
I froze. “Yes. This is Samantha.”
“This is Tim.”
“I know.”
There was a slight pause. “Um . . . are you going to be there for a while? I need to talk to you—in private.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll see you soon then.”
I held back my cough until the receiver was down. I stared at the phone, massaging my heart for several long seconds. “Well,
it’s about time,” I said out loud, running my fingers through my wet hair. My hair! I dropped the hair-dryer twice in my hurry
to get the job done and once the brush flew out of my hands. I knew it. I had seen a spark in his eyes that night at the country
club. A sign of life among the embers. And again after the football game. He said he had missed me too. It was not my imagination
after all. Luckily, Mom had washed my best blue jeans—the ones that fit just right. I pulled on a white scoop-neck T-shirt.
A blue velvet box on the dresser held a delicate chain with a sterling silver charm. My nervous fingers struggled with the
clasp. A little lipstick, a little blush. I had just slipped on my shoes when he drove down the drive.
At that moment the back door burst open. “Mom!” TJ ran from the kitchen, almost knocking me down. “It’s Christmas! We got
all the decorations. Lots of ’em! We’re going to surprise Grandma.”
The Judge trudged in carrying a cardboard box. I could tell by his raised eyebrow and half smile that he was just getting
warmed up to the idea. He put the box on the floor. “You’re looking well today, Samantha.”
I grabbed his arm. “Tim is here.” He stared at me blankly and then glanced around the room. “He just drove up.” I raised my
eyebrows and smiled. “He wants to talk to me. Alone.”
There was a knock on the door. TJ ran to open it. My father touched my hand. I looked up at him and I swear a sadness fell
across his face and then just as quickly washed away. He winked. “Come here, boy,” he said, but TJ had already flung the door
open.
Tim stood there awkwardly for a moment. I came up behind my son, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Hi. Tim, I don’t think
you two have officially been introduced.” I remembered Tim staring down at the little brown baby. His stooped shoulders just
before he walked out the hospital room door. “This is TJ. TJ, this is Tim Weatherbee.”
“Hey.” TJ looked up at me. “He has the same name as us.”
Tim nodded politely, glanced down at the porch, up to me and then nervously over his shoulder toward his truck. My father
called to his grandson. When TJ didn’t come, the Judge came to the door and greeted Tim with a handshake. “Nice to see you
again, Tim. It’s been a long time. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
Tim stood a little taller. “It’s nice to see you too, sir.”
“Come on in and make yourself at home. TJ and I are just on our way out to find the Christmas lights.” He ushered TJ toward
the back door.
“Grandpa, he has the same last name as me and Mom,” I heard him say before the door slammed.
Tim sat on the leather sofa across from me, elbows on spread knees, his hands massaging each other. He looked good. “So, how
does your sister like married life?” I asked. What a lame question.
He nodded. “She’s happy. He’s a good guy. I like him.”
“That’s good. And how’s your mom?”
“She’s all done with the chemo. You know she has cancer, right?” I nodded. “I think she’s going to be okay.”
“Are you going back to your place at Grants Pass then?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got it rented out to a friend of mine. I decided to stay here for a while. This whole thing with
Mom . . . well, I didn’t know how that was going to turn out. There are still no guarantees.” He stared out the window at
the dark clouds. “They say it might snow.”
I coughed. My hand went habitually to my chest.
“Are you okay?” Tim studied my face. “You don’t look so good. You got that flu that’s going around?”
I shook my head. “Just getting over it. I’m fine.” I pulled my feet up and crossed my legs.
“You’re still wearing that necklace I got you,” Tim said.
My hand went to the silver mizpah, half of a heart with jagged edges. “Do you still have yours?”
He laughed. “No, I don’t think so. What did it say when both pieces were together?”
“‘The Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent from one another.’”
“Oh, yeah.” He looked out the window again. Finally, he sat back and sighed. “Hey, I’m getting married.”
My chest constricted. The cough overtook me again, this time bringing tears to my eyes. When I could, I straightened and took
a deep breath. “You’re already married.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s why I’m here. Our marriage was over a long time ago.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out some
folded papers. “You and I both know that, Sam. It’s time to get on with life. We just need to take care of the paperwork.”
A
T FIRST IT SNOWED wads of cotton that disappeared as soon as they hit the wet ground. By nightfall the flakes poured like
bath crystals from the windless sky, until the grass and sidewalk and driveway were uniformly white, sparkling in the light
from the garage. It covered the tracks left by Tim’s truck when he turned around.
I didn’t sign his papers. He left them on the coffee table, still folded, saying something about it all being pretty self-explanatory
but if I had any questions just give him a call. He got the forms from the stationery store in town. We didn’t need an attorney,
he said, because there were no custody or property issues involved.