She shook her head. “He doesn’t need that set!”
“Well, he’s got it.”
“Sold to #27. Thank you, sir.”
Just like that it was over.
Excusing herself to buy a bottle of water, Christy walked over to the snack bar Don’s wife ran in the back of the room. How could she have lost her cool like that right in front of Hunter? What could he be thinking of her abilities now?
She took the water outside and lit up a cigarette, inhaling a long drag. She was positive Fletcher didn’t really want that set. He wanted to beat her. And now Hunter was losing to Fletcher all over again.
Chapter 7
May pulled her truck into Harvey’s driveway. His home in Woodmoor was at the edge of a suburban development of oversize houses in undersize lots. She took her time walking to the door of his three-story house. Little electric candles shone in each window, and two spotlights set back in the snow illuminated the front of the house like it was a museum exhibit. When she pressed the doorbell, Scribbles’s bark detonated. Had it only been four days since she’d been standing on Aunt Edna’s porch just like this?
The door opened and Scribbles jumped at her. She dropped to her knees on the welcome mat and opened her arms to the dog, vaguely aware of Harvey’s presence. Scribbles’s rough tongue bathed her face, and she cuddled him. In a moment he was licking tears from her cheeks.
“I think he misses Edna too,” Harvey said softly.
May stood and hugged him. She was suddenly a child in need of comfort, and Harvey’s arms offered that to her. It felt good to be held.
After a moment Harvey closed the door against the cold. A sweet smell hovered in the air, and she guessed Betty was baking something for dessert.
“I’m very sorry to see you under these circumstances,” Harvey said, taking her coat. He was dressed in slacks and a brown cardigan. A leather eyeglass case stuck up from his shirt pocket.
“Thanks for taking care of him.” She pointed at Scribbles, purposely changing the subject. If she dwelled on her loss, she’d be crying again.
“Is that May?” Betty’s voice called from the other room, and the plump, rosy-cheeked woman rounded the corner, wiping her stubby fingers into a dish towel.
“It’s me,” May said, smiling.
Betty enveloped her in a loving, motherly embrace. May let herself remain in the woman’s arms, like she had in Harvey’s, and it hit once more that she would never hug Aunt Edna again. That pleasant Downy fabric softener smell in her clothes was only a memory. There would be no more midnight calls for advice and prayer. Tears came again, and May tightened her hug around Betty.
“It’s okay,” Betty said, patting her back.
“I’m sorry.” She let Betty go and wiped her eyes. “I thought I’d be all right.”
“I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
May nodded appreciatively as Betty disappeared into the kitchen. She followed with Harvey. “What a rough week,” she muttered.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
In the kitchen, Betty handed her a mug of steaming herbal tea that smelled like berries. “Work on that. It’ll help.”
May thanked her and sipped it, but the liquid was too hot to take a full swallow. She cradled the warm mug with both hands, trying to get her thoughts together. She’d only hinted at the ranch’s money problems with Harvey on the phone. Now she needed to tell both of them the whole story. She might as well just come out with it. “They want to foreclose on the ranch.”
Betty pivoted away from the oven, hot pad still in hand. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”
Setting the mug on the kitchen table, May went to the silverware drawer beside the fridge. It would be better to keep her hands busy, and she didn’t want Betty doing all the work.
“Is there anything I can do?” Harvey asked.
“We’ve missed so many payments,” May said. “I just kept hoping something would change and we’d be able to work it out. But they sent us notice on Saturday. If we don’t come up with the whole deal . . .”
“Forgive me for asking, but your inheritance. That doesn’t help?”
“It’s barely half.”
She picked out three forks, spoons, and knives. Harvey and Betty still used their wedding silver for everyday use, and the letter K of Kurtz was engraved on each piece in flowery script.
Harvey rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s happened to this point.”
As she set the dining room table and Harvey got out the candles, May relayed how late they were, what they owed, and the letters sent back and forth.
“I’m assuming neither of your credit allows you to take out a second mortgage?”
She shook her head.
“You do know I wish I could lend you the money myself.”
“I would never—”
He raised his hand, and the chandelier lights caught his Marine Corp ring. Her father had worn a similar ring, and May wished he’d lived long enough to see her grow up. Would Dad have been proud of the woman she’d become? Or would he have been disappointed she didn’t pursue loftier dreams?
“If it weren’t for Tom and Emily,” Harvey said. “I owe it to them to—”
“I know. Your children have to come first. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Dishes clinked, and Betty brought plates and salad bowls to the table. “Do you have any friends or acquaintances who’d consider buying in?”
May shook her head again. Jim had already tried to take out a loan for the ranch, but they’d refused him too. She’d just found out about it a few days ago and been touched by his selflessness. She knew Beth would jump to help, but May could never bring herself to ask.
“I’ll be happy to call the bank for you,” Harvey said. “And see if there’s anything we can do.”
“Is there even a chance?”
Betty handed her a plate. “There’s always a chance.”
“But, really? Am I fooling myself here?”
“Let me call,” Harvey repeated. “Then we’ll go from there. But I won’t lie to you. Getting their money is really all that matters to them. If they can’t get that, getting your land is the next best thing.”
Twenty minutes later, they were eating Betty’s signature roast beef, creamed spinach, Yorkshire pudding, and roasted potatoes. May tried to keep the conversation light for as long as she could, but she knew she’d have to broach the subject that had plagued her sooner or later.
“Okay, guys,” May said, taking a deep breath, “I need some honest answers from you.”
Looks passed between husband and wife sitting at the heads of the table.
“The other day on the phone, Harv, I asked you about Chris. You very expertly dodged my question.”
He popped a chunk of roast beef into his mouth, not looking her in the eye.
“I think you know how much I want to talk to her.”
A nod.
“And you know where she is, don’t you?”
Harvey’s forehead crinkled at the question, and there was the same hesitation she’d picked up on before. But this time, after a few seconds he gave in and said, “Yes, I do.”
Her heart leaped. “Where?”
“I’m not free to tell you right now.”
“What?” May couldn’t hide her shock. “Why in the world not?”
Harvey sighed and looked at Betty who set down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “We don’t know why she’s doing this,” she said.
Harvey’s eyes finally met hers, and they were full of sadness. “I gave a promise to your sister years ago that I wouldn’t tell anyone where she was unless she said I could. I was trying to prevent her from cutting all of us off, to somehow stay in enough contact with her to know where she was. I didn’t know she’d want me to keep it up. I wish she didn’t, but I can’t go against my word.”
“Didn’t you explain I wan
ted to see her?”
“Yes, but—”
“And she still wouldn’t let you tell me?”
He shook his head. “Try to understand my position here. This isn’t the way we want it either, believe me. We’d like nothing better than to see you two together again.”
May tried to digest what he was saying, but it felt like a rock in her stomach. They were doing their best to soften the devastating blow they were delivering, but it wasn’t working. She’d suspected this but hadn’t wanted it to be true, hoping things might have changed. Over the years she’d consoled herself by giving Chris excuses. Her sister ran away because she was confused, immature, just reacting to their parents’ sudden death. Maybe she hadn’t meant to hurt her. But with this news all May’s hopes were dying fast. Chris didn’t want to see her.
“For crying out loud, this is my only sister.” Fresh tears came to her eyes. “What did I ever do to her?”
“Nothing,” Harvey said. “I’ve spoken with her only a handful of times over the years myself. And never much more than pleasantries.”
May stared at the half-eaten food on her plate, a scene of long ago flashing through her mind. After Mom and Dad’s funeral, Chris drove May to Aunt Edna’s where the few family friends were gathering. They’d pulled up to the street in Chris’s old car, and they both sat still for a minute, like it was just hitting them what had really happened. Mom and Dad were gone. All they had was each other now.
“You go on ahead,” Chris said.
May bit her lip, reaching for the door. She started to open it, then stopped, looking back at her sister. “It’s gonna be okay, right?”
Chris didn’t answer the question. With her face turned away from May, she whispered, “Just go in the house.”
And May did, wobbling a little on the borrowed dress pumps that pinched her toes.
It was the last time she’d ever seen Chris.
“Harv, if you talk to her, can you tell her something for me?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
“Tell her I miss her. Tell her I want my sister back.”
***
“Slow going?” Hunter stepped into the Barn’s front room, and Christy smiled at him from behind the counter. They’d finished at the auction and made it back to the store by four. Now it was almost closing time. He hadn’t brought up her blunder once all day, and she wished she could thank him for it.
Hunter knelt in front of the potbellied stove in the corner of the room. Sparks shot out as he fed it a log. He took pride in starting it every morning and babysitting it throughout the day. Even chopped all the wood on the weekends.
“Only two customers,” she said.
Hunter brushed his palms on his jeans, just watching her for a second with one of his silly half-smiles. She felt warmth creep up her neck and busied herself needlessly straightening the pens, bookmarks, and business cards behind the counter.
“You’ve got to see something.” Hunter disappeared into the storeroom and returned holding a book. He gave it to her.
She cradled the copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls, careful not to open the boards too far and possibly weaken the binding. She instinctively flipped to the copyright page. There was the seal of the publisher, Charles Scribner’s Sons, and the letter A right above it that had to be there for the book to be a first.
Christy turned the book over to see the photograph of Hemingway at his typewriter on the back of the dust jacket. An important point in this book was whether or not the photographer was credited beneath the portrait. If he wasn’t, the dust jacket was in its first state, the most desirable. There was no credit in this copy, which made it worth several hundred. “Not bad.”
“You missed something,” Hunter said with a grin. “Check the title page.”
When she saw Hemingway’s signature she returned Hunter’s smile.
“It’s authentic,” he said.
“Where’d you get this?” A signature shot the book’s value up into the thousands.
“Right before closing two days ago a very old man brought in a box of books. He told me his wife had recently died, and he was moving into a retirement home. They were her books. I could tell he needed the money, but as I went through the box I was trying to figure out how to nicely say we couldn’t use Reader’s Digest Condensed novels. Then I spotted this.” Hunter held up the Hemingway. “At first glance I wrote it off as a book club edition, not at all expecting it to be a first. Should’ve seen the look on that guy’s face when I offered him seven hundred. A fifth or sixth its value, I’d say. I love making someone’s day like that.”
She loved it too, and after Hunter left for his office at the other end of the Barn, she kept thinking about his honesty. He could have ripped that old fogey off. The guy hadn’t known what he had. But Hunter did the right thing regardless. It wasn’t an option for him to act any other way.
Would she have done the same thing? Christy sat down behind the counter. Vince wouldn’t have. She could see him offering the man twenty bucks, acting like he was doing him a favor by taking it off his hands for so much. His ignorance would be Vince’s gain. “What you don’t know won’t hurt you, but it won’t help you, either,” was his favorite coined saying.
Behind her the storeroom door squeaked, and footsteps padded toward her. Fabric rustled with each step, pant legs rubbing together. She caught a whiff of his cologne.
Vince came and sat on the edge of the counter, resting his hand on hers. “I was thinking about when we first met. Remember?”
She did. Very well. On her first day of work Vince was the one who charmed her and made her feel comfortable at the strange new job. Their conversations that day and the days after had been intellectually stimulating. Vince knew all she wanted to know. That’s what attracted her to him most. She’d loved what she thought he was: a cultured, knowledgeable gentleman, someone to be emulated.
“I loved those grand chats before opening when we’d sit by the stove and talk about books.” Vince waved an arm toward the cane-backed chairs scooted close to the stove. Weary patrons loved to rest in them while paging through their treasures, especially during the winter.
“How about it?” Vince said. “Let’s sit together for a while.”
“Not happening.”
“We need to talk.”
“We’ve already talked.”
“Then we need to talk again.”
Christy tried to pull her hand out from under his, but he held it down. He leaned toward her. “About our agreement.”
“I never agreed to anything, and get your hand off me.”
Vince let her go with a chuckle.
“You think it’s funny?”
“I need an answer, you know.”
She rubbed her knuckle. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“If you’d quit being so paranoid you’d see the fun we could have together. Just think of the treasures waiting to be discovered.”
“I can’t do it. I told you that.”
“But you will.”
Christy walked away from him, scooping a stack of colorful Easton Press leather editions off the pricing table and marching toward the display case by the door. If she ignored him maybe he’d go away.
But Vince followed her, a wolf trailing his weakening quarry. “I’m trying to be patient.”
She set the stack on the floor by her feet and consolidated the books already on the shelves to make room. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She would not cry.
Vince’s breath tickled her ear. “You aren’t making this easy.”
Christy shelved first one book, a red one, then the next, a blue.
“Don’t ignore me.”
She whirled toward him. A book thudded to the floor. “I trusted you! How can you do this to me?”
That same wide-eyed, glaring expression she’d seen when he’d hit her in the study rushed to his face. She shrank from it.
Vince grabbed her
arm, the blue vein on his temple pulsing. “Let’s not talk about trust. Because I trusted you. I opened my home to you, and you violated my trust.”
“They were right out in the open. I—”
“What were you doing at my computer?”
“I was just . . .”
“Snooping?”
“Checking my e-mail.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Please let me go.”
“I’m giving you another chance.”
“I don’t want—”
His fingers tightened. “I love you. I need you.”
Christy held her eyes shut, not from the pain of his fingers pinching her skin, but because she knew the only answer she could give.
“A team. That’s what we can be.”
He didn’t leave her a choice. Hunter and Mr. Dawson couldn’t know about her dealings with Fletcher. Vince knew she’d worked at too many fast-food joints to risk losing her job at the Barn. Even Aunt Edna’s money couldn’t bail her out because she had no idea how long it would take Harvey to get the money to her. She had to keep from being fired.
Vince caressed her neck with his free hand. “Give me another chance, darling. Give us another chance.”
Nodding, she opened her eyes, unable to keep a tear from escaping. She felt it slide down her cheek.
He let her arm go. “It’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to us. You’ll see. Everything’ll be all right.”
When he finally left her alone, she found refuge amid the Priority Mail boxes and bubble wrap in the storeroom. In the shadows she cursed herself. Vince might be wrong about everything else, but he was right about one thing. She was a lowlife.
***
Saturday morning Christy pulled into the driveway of Aunt Edna’s home in the van she’d borrowed from the Barn. Two pine trees towered over the house, their fat roots cracking the cement. She sat for a minute staring at the house, an unwanted memory materializing. The last time she’d seen May was right here. After Mom and Dad’s funeral.
Christy got out, slamming the van’s door. Funny how it was another funeral, Aunt Edna’s own, that brought her back. It was scheduled later today in this very town, and she still hadn’t decided if she was attending.
Unlocking the heavy front door with the key Harvey had given her, a burst of wind sent the wind chime hanging on the gutter into a clanging flurry. She pushed the door shut, and standing in the silent foyer, breathed in the stale air that hadn’t escaped for days.