Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [69]
“Got some rodeo gigs lined up?” His specialty act, performed with an Appaloosa he’d trained himself, included fancy roping tricks à la Montie Montana.
“Yeah. A couple of them are running cowboy poetry performances along with the rodeo. I’m hoping to make a few extra bucks and sell some books.” Recently, with the financial help of Grace, he’d self-published a book of his cowboy poetry and sold it whenever and wherever he could. He hacked and spit. “Providing I’m allowed to leave town, that is. Nora’s murder has really screwed things up.”
I looked at his sun-webbed face, half-shaded by his straw cowboy hat. Did he feel any sorrow over Nora’s death, or had the bitterness gone so deep and hard that he truly didn’t care?
When I didn’t answer, he said, “I know you think I’m a real asshole.”
I shrugged. That’s exactly what I thought, but wasn’t about to say it.
He pushed his hat back and rocked on the heels of his cracked leather boots. “Look, I’m sorry she’s dead. I never wanted anything like that to happen. Shit, when things were good between us, they were really good. Then the accident happened, and everything changed—” His voice shook on the last word. “We just couldn’t make it, and I hope they catch the garbage who killed her, but I’ve got to go on with my life.”
I still didn’t reply. I wanted to understand both sides, but it was hard to forget how he cheated on her when their son was dying, when she needed him the most. Disloyalty was tops on the list of things I despised.
He looked at me with glazed eyes. “You know, when Joey was dying, I felt so mad, so useless, all I wanted to do was kill something. I was raised by my pa that a man takes care of his family, that he goes after whoever messes with them. But who was I going to go after? After the accident all we could do was watch him die. Little by little, he went farther and farther away from us. Every minute of the day was taken up watching him die. It took nine months. And she couldn’t think or talk about anything else. So many people were good to us . . . to her. She belonged to this group, had other mothers to talk to. I didn’t have anyone. She was lost to me from the day the doctors told us Joey would probably never come out of the coma. I was shoeing for Grace at the time, and she listened to me. The thing between me and Grace just happened. We didn’t plan it. It just happened.”
I knew this story, having heard Grace’s version. Though deep in my gut I abhorred the act of adultery, and I instinctively drifted in the direction of feeling more sympathy for Nora, I couldn’t deny that Roy’s pain from his son’s death ran deep and sincere.
But all that had happened a year ago, and a lot of bitterness had overshadowed the sadness they both felt over Joey’s death. I knew from Grace that Roy and Nora had not only fought over Zar’s ownership, but also the money from a trust fund that had been set up for Joey from donations and from an insurance policy they’d taken out on him when he was born. Roy, anxious to get his breeding herd started, fought her for every penny.
“I told him to just let it be,” Grace had told me after he’d interrupted one of our kitchen-table talks with an angry diatribe about Nora. “That we’d save the money on our own. But I think he’s just so angry, he has to take it out on something . . . or someone.”
I stared down at Roy’s rough, strong hands. Had he finally gotten angry enough to kill? I shook my head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought. “Don’t forget our final meeting and pizza at Angelo’s tonight.”
“What time are we all supposed to be there?”
“Seven. Remember, this is the last meeting before the festival, so any concerns you have need to be taken care of tonight ’cause it’s going to be crazy starting tomorrow.”
“Everything’s jim-dandy with me.” He settled his hat on his head and checked the post he’d just fixed by giving it a firm shake.
“Including your story?”
He grinned slowly. “Mr. Greenpeep still all a-twitter? Grace said she told you I was just razzin’ him.”
“Try and cool it with Peter