Kristy's hand flew to her throat. "It's so ugly. How could anyone in this town do something so ugly?"
"They hate me, and they don't want me here." .
"I'm calling Gabe."
"No!"
But Kristy was already running inside.
The beautiful morning had turned into something obscene. Rachel cleaned up the spilled coffee with an old dish towel, as if spilled coffee was the worst outrage on the front porch. She was heading inside to get dressed when Gabe's pickup roared up the lane, tires spitting gravel. He parked it at a sharp angle and threw himself from the cab just as Kristy emerged from the front door in a seersucker robe.
Gabe looked as if he'd thrown on his clothes. His hair was rumpled and he'd stuffed bare feet into a pair of battered white sneakers. Only the day before they had been making love, but now he was regarding both of them with his take-no-prisoners look.
"Gabe, I'm so glad you're here," Kristy cried. "Look at this!"
But he'd already seen the ugly graffiti, and he glared at it as if the power of his vision could annihilate the image.
"You and I are paying Odell Hatcher a visit this morning, Rachel." His eyes stalled on the long expanse of bare leg extending from beneath her shirt, and it took him a moment to recover. "I want the police patrolling up here."
"The town's turned mean," Kristy said softly. While Rachel stood silently, she told him about the tire slashing and what had happened at the Petticoat Junction Cafe. "It's as if Dwayne Snopes broke people's hearts, and the only way they can get back at him is to take it out on Rachel."
"The police won't care," Rachel said. "They want me gone just like everyone else."
"We'll see about that," he replied grimly.
"I don't want you gone," Kristy said.
"You should. I've been so selfish. I hadn't realized… This is going to spill over and affect both of you."
Kristy's eyes flashed. "As if I care."
"You just worry about yourself," Gabe said.
Before she could argue with them, the screen door creaked and Edward appeared. He held Horse at his side by one long ear and rubbed an eye with his fist. His faded blue two-piece pajamas were too short in the leg, and the decal of kick-boxing Dalmatians on the front was so cracked and faded Rachel felt ashamed of not doing a better job providing for him.
"I heard a mean voice."
She rushed to his side. "It's all right, sweetheart. It was just Mr. Bonner. We were talking."
Edward spotted Gabe. His mouth set in a mulish line. "He's too loud."
Rachel quickly turned him away. "Let's get dressed."
He let her take his hand without protest, but as she opened the screen door he muttered a word that she fervently hoped Gabe hadn't heard.
"Butthead."
By the time she and Edward were dressed, Gabe had disappeared, but as she entered the kitchen to help Edward with his breakfast, she caught sight of him on the front porch with a can of paint and a brush. She poured milk on Edward's cereal, then went out to him.
"You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do." He'd covered the graffiti, but it still showed through. "It's going to take a second coat. I'll finish it up after work."
"I'll take care of it."
"No, you won't."
She knew she should insist, but she didn't have the stomach, and she suspected Gabe knew it. "Thanks."
Not long after, he poked his head in the house and told her to get in the truck. "We're going to see Odell Hatcher."
Twenty minutes later, they were seated in front of Salvation's chief of police. Rail-thin, with sparse, grizzled hair and a meat-hook nose, Hatcher regarded Rachel over the top of a pair of black plastic half glasses as he took down the information Gabe gave him.
"We'll look into it," he said when he was done. But she detected a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes and guessed that he wouldn't extend himself more than he had to. Hatcher's wife had been a Temple member, something that had no doubt embarrassed him after the corruption was uncovered.
She decided it was time to go on the offensive. "Chief Hatcher, your department confiscated my car the day Dwayne ran off. There was a Bible inside, and I'd like to know what happened to it. It's a family piece, of no value to anyone, and I want to get it back."
"The car and everything in it went to cover Dwayne's debts."
"I realize that, but I still need to know where the Bible is now."
She could see that Hatcher didn't want to extend himself in even the smallest way; however, it was one thing to ignore the televangelist's widow, but quite another to do it with a member of Salvation's most prominent family watching.
"I'll check," he said with a grudging nod.
"Thank you."
Odell disappeared. Gabe got up and wandered over to the room's only window, which looked out onto a side street that boasted a dry cleaners and an auto-parts store.
He spoke from the window, his voice low and troubled. "You worry me, Rachel."
"Why?"
"You're reckless. You plunge into things without any thought to the consequences."
She wondered if he was talking about yesterday. So far, neither of them had alluded to what had happened.
"You're too impetuous, and it's dangerous. So far, no one has actually tried to harm you, but who knows how long that will last?"
"I won't be here long. Once I find the money, I'll leave Salvation so fast…"
"If you find the money."
"I will. And then I'm going as far from here as possible. Seattle, maybe. I'll buy a car that runs, and a pile of books and toys for Edward, and a little house that feels like a home. Then I'll—"
She stopped speaking as the police chief reentered the office and set an official-looking document in front of her. "Here's a list of everything we found in the car."
She gazed down at the neatly printed column of items: window scraper, registration papers, small chest, a lipstick. On it went, listing everything that had been in the car. She came to the end.
"Someone's made a mistake. There's no mention of the Bible."
"Then it wasn't in the car," Hatcher said.
"It was. I put it there myself."
"That was three years ago. People's memories are funny."
"There's nothing funny about my memory. I want to know what happened to that Bible!"
"I have no idea. It wasn't in the car or it would have been listed on this report." Hatcher regarded her with small, cold eyes. "Remember that you were under a lot of stress that day."
"This doesn't have anything to do with stress!" She wanted to scream at him. Instead, she took a deep breath to steady herself. "The chest that was in the car…" She pointed toward the report. "It ended up back at the house. How did that happen?"
"It was probably considered part of the household furnishings. The car was sold separately at auction."
"I put the chest and the Bible in the car at the same time. Someone in your department screwed up."
He didn't like that. "We'll increase patrols around the Glide cottage, Mrs. Snopes, but that won't change the way the town feels about having you back. Take my advice and find another place to live."
"She has as much right to live here as anyone else," Gabe said softly.
Hatcher pulled off his half glasses and tapped them on the desk. "I'm just stating the facts. You weren't around when Mrs. Snopes and her husband nearly tore this town apart. They didn't care who they took money from as long as they could feather their own nest. I know you've had a hard time lately, Gabe, and I can only guess you're not thinking straight. Otherwise, you'd be more careful in your choice of friends." The disrespectful way he regarded Rachel told her he believed Gabe was supporting her in exchange for sex. Since that was exactly what she'd proposed at one time, she supposed she shouldn't feel so offended.
"Maybe you'd better think about your family, Gabe," the chief went on. "I doubt your parents are going to be happy when they find out you've taken up with the
Widow Snopes."
Gabe's lips barely moved. "Her name is Stone, and if she says the Bible was in the car, then it was there."
But Odell Hatcher wouldn't give an inch. He was a man who believed in bureaucracy, and if his paperwork said that something didn't exist, then it didn't exist.
Later that day as Rachel finished painting the last of the playground equipment, she took comfort in the support Gabe had given her, even though he believed she was on a wild-goose chase. She glanced across the lot where he and an electrician were installing floodlights. He seemed to sense her eyes on him because he looked up.
Her body tensed with awareness. At the same time, she wondered what the rules were now that their relationship had shifted so drastically. For the first time, she considered how difficult it would be to make even the simplest arrangement to be together.
When evening arrived, he announced that he was driving her home. She had no car, and she hadn't been looking forward to the long walk up Heartache Mountain, so she accepted gratefully. She'd worked hard that day. Not that she minded. She was beginning to believe she cared more about the drive-in than Gabe. She was certainly more excited about the opening.
As he started the truck, the tension that had been sizzling between them all day intensified. She lowered the window, and then realized the air-conditioning was already running.
"Heat getting to you?" He gave her a faintly wolfish look, but she was nervous now, and she pretended not to see it.
"It's been warm today."
"Hot's more like it."
His gentle pressure on her thigh encouraged her to slide closer, but she turned away and raised the window instead. He removed his hand.
She didn't want him to think she was being coy, especially when she wanted him so badly, and she knew she had to tell him. "Gabe, I started my period this morning."
He turned his head and regarded her blankly.
"My period," she repeated. When he looked no more comprehending, she remembered his professional background. "I'm in heat."
He gave a bark of laughter. "I know what it means, Rachel. I just can't figure out why you think I'd give a damn."
She hated herself for flushing. "I don't believe I'd be comfortable…"
"Sweetheart, if you're serious about being a hussy, you need to get rid of your hang-ups."
"I don't have any hang-ups. That's just hygiene."
"Bull. We're talkin' a major hang-up." He gave a dry chuckle at her expense and turned out onto the highway.
"Go ahead and laugh at me," she said grouchily. "At least this problem will go away. The other problem isn't so easy."
"What problem is that?"
She traced a thin streak of blue on the skirt of the tangerine-and-white checked dress she'd set aside for painting. "I just can't figure out how we're going to manage our—you know. Our fling?"
"Fling?" He sounded offended. "Is that what this is?"
They rounded a bend in the road, and she had to squint against the setting sun. "It's not an affair." She paused. "Affair is too serious. It's a fling, and the point is, I don't see how we're going to manage it."
"We won't have a bit of trouble."
"If you believe that, you haven't thought this through. I mean, we can't just take off in the middle of the day and… and…"
"Fling?"
She nodded.
"I don't see why not." He grabbed his sunglasses from the dash and shoved them on. She wondered if they were a defense against the glare or her.
"You're being deliberately obtuse."
"No. I just don't see the problem. Or are you still talking about that period thing?"
"No!" She jerked the visor down. "I'm talking generally. You think we're just going to do it in the middle of the day?"
"If we want to."
"Where would we go?"
"Anywhere we wanted. After what happened yesterday, I don't think either of us is too choosy."
He glanced over, and she saw her miniature reflection in the lenses of his sunglasses. She looked small, insignificant, capable of being blown apart by the next big wind. She turned away from the image.
"If the snack-shop counter doesn't appeal to you, we can drive to the house," he said.
"You don't understand anything."
"Then maybe you'd better explain it to me." He spoke like a man holding on to the last threads of his patience, and she had to choke out the words.
"You pay me by the hour."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"What happens during the hour—the hours—we're… flinging?"
He regarded her warily. "This is a trick question, isn't it?"
"No."
"I don't know. Nothing happens."
"Something happens to my paycheck."
"This doesn't have anything to do with your paycheck."
She was going to have to spell it out. "Do you pay me for the hour we're flinging or not?"
He was clearly wary, and his answer tentative. "Yes?"
Her stomach sank. She turned away to gaze out the side window and whispered, "You jerk."
"No! I mean no! Of course I don't pay you."
"I'm barely making it as it is. I need every penny I can get! Yesterday afternoon cost me half a week's groceries."
There was a long silence. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?"
"Don't you see? Nothing can happen while we're working, even if we want it to, because you control my paycheck. And after work, I have a five-year-old to take care of. Our sexual relationship is doomed before it ever gets started."
"That's ridiculous, Rachel. And I'm not docking your pay for yesterday."
"Yes, you are!"
"Look. You're making a big deal out of nothing. If we want to make love, and the time is right, we'll make love. It doesn't have anything to do with paychecks."
He could pretend ignorance, but he knew exactly what she was talking about. At least he had the grace not to point out that she'd once offered him sex in exchange for the very paycheck they were arguing over.
He turned his attention back to the road, and nearly a mile slipped by before he spoke again. "You're really serious, aren't you? This is a problem for you."
"Yes."
"Okay. Then we'll both think about it and come up with a solution while you're having that period of yours."
His hand settled on her thigh and he caressed her with his thumb. "Are you okay? After yesterday?"
He sounded so concerned, she smiled. "I'm terrific, Bonner. Top of the world."
"Good." He squeezed her knee.
"And yourself?"
His chuckle had a dry sound, as if it hadn't been used in a long time. "Couldn't be better."
"Glad to hear it." She glanced out the side window. "You just passed Heartache Mountain."
"I know."
"I thought you were taking me home."
"We'll get there." He slipped off his sunglasses.
They drove into Salvation, and, just as they were entering the downtown area, he pulled into Dealy's Garage. As he parked the truck in front, she spotted the Escort sitting off to the side.
"Oh, Gabe…" She threw open the door, rushed over to the car, and promptly burst into tears.
"Nothing like a new set of tires to stir a lady's heart," he said dryly as he came up behind her. He curled his hand around her waist and stroked her.
"It's w-wonderful. But I don't—I don't have enough m-money to pay you back."
"Did I ask you to pay me back?" He sounded faintly indignant. "Cal's insurance will cover it."
"Not all of it. Even rich people have deductibles. Dwayne had deductibles on all four of our cars."
Ignoring her, he grasped her upper arm and steered her toward the truck. "We'll come back and get it. We have something to do first."
As he pulled away from the garage, her feelings jumbled inside her as if they were being tossed around by a giant blender. He was gruff and kind, clueless about some things, wise about othe
rs, and she wanted him so badly her teeth ached.
He drove to the center of town and pulled into a parking space that sat directly in front of the Petticoat Junction Cafe.
"Come on. We're going to get ourselves some, ice cream."
She caught his arm before he could open the door of the truck. The ice-cream window was enjoying a lively pre-dinnertime business, and she understood exactly what he intended to do. First the tires, and then this. It was too much. Her throat felt tight. "Thanks, Gabe, but I have to fight my own battles."
He wasn't impressed by her show of independence. His jaw set, and he glared at her. "Get your butt out of this truck right now. You're having ice cream if I have to hold your mouth open and shove it down your throat."
So much for his sensitivity. She didn't have much choice, so she pushed open the door. "This is my problem, and I can handle it myself."
His door banged behind him. "Like you're doing such a terrific job."
"I want a raise." She stomped toward the sidewalk "If you can afford to throw money around on tires and ice cream, you can pay me something better than slave wages."
"Smile for the nice people."
She felt the stares of the adults around them: mothers with small children, a pair of highway workers in dirty T-shirts, a businesswoman with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Only a group of boys on skateboards seemed disinterested in the fact that the wicked Widow Snopes was treading on Salvation's holy turf.
Gabe approached the teenage girl standing behind the window. "Is the boss around?"
She chomped once on her gum and nodded.
"Go get him, will you?"
As they waited, Rachel noticed a clear plastic canister sitting by the window with a sign on it that said Emily's Fund and held a picture of a curly-haired toddler with a smiling scamp's face. The sign beneath asked for help paying the child's medical expenses as she fought leukemia. She thought of the woman with the parrot earrings.
You're our last hope, Mrs. Snopes. Emily needs a miracle.
For a moment, she had a hard time drawing in enough air to breathe. She concentrated on opening her purse, drawing out a precious five-dollar bill, and slipping it into the slot.
Don Brady's face appeared in the window. "Hey, Gabe, how's it—" He broke off as he spotted Rachel.
Gabe pretended not to notice that anything was wrong. "I was telling Rachel here that you make the best hot-fudge sundaes in town. How 'bout whippin' us up a couple of them. Large."