Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [41]
Marybeth came out to the porch as Lacey exited her car. “Oh, Lacey,” she said, and gave Lacey a long embrace. “So good to see you.”
After an awkward silence, they walked through the front door and into a Sunset photo shoot. They sat down on a big white couch in front of an impressive stone fireplace embedded in blond wood.
Marybeth filled her in. She had a boy and a girl in private school up in Orendale, which had just resumed the previous week. She worked from home some days, real estate something or other. Dick was busy but made it home most nights. Lacey thought she seemed to be holding up well, given the recent news. Maybe she was a little medicated, or a little religious, or both. Whatever works, Lacey thought.
“I always liked you, Lacey,” she said, sadly. “I thought you were Hart’s best chance at happiness. I guess maybe I was right.”
She didn’t mean for the words to sting, but they did. Lacey never signed up to be a lifesaver.
“Well, I don’t know what to say,” said Lacey. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I can’t imagine how horrible this has been for you.”
“I know you cared for him deeply. You know, Hart had a lot of love in him once you got past the outlaw act. He just couldn’t quite seem to use it on himself, you know?”
Her voice was unaffected, but tears were streaming down her face.
“I want to show you something.” She got up and took a photo binder from the bookshelf. She started showing Lacey pictures of Hart as a young boy. When she saw little Hart on his dad’s shoulders on the family farm, Lacey gave in. It was the first cry she’d had since the whole mess had started four nights ago. In fact, it was the first cry for a long time before that, too.
When the sobbing subsided, Lacey asked, “So, does Hart’s dad know?”
“I doubt it. I haven’t heard from him since the day he left. He thought of himself as the last cattle baron. Went to Texas to become a bigger one. Last I heard he was in Argentina, running a big beef operation. If he never finds out, that’s fine with me.”
She turned the page to a picture of Hart as Darth Vader on Halloween, and another in a straw cowboy hat on the back of a big brown steer. Even the steer looked happy.
“After his dad left he started getting quiet,” Marybeth said. “One day a farmhand came to talk to me. Apparently he’d seen Hart running into the cattle fence. He’d get knocked off his feet, then get up and do it again. I looked in his drawer and the back of his shirt was singed. When I asked him about it, he admitted to it. ‘I don’t know, I just like it, I guess,’ he said. Like it was normal. He was twelve.
“He called me now and then over the last couple of years,” Marybeth continued. “He sometimes sounded sober, sometimes not. He worked construction for a while and then a few other odd jobs. I know he spent some time working for the Babalatos out on their old property, hauling old junk to the dump. A few months ago a lady called and said she had some mail for him under the name of some company. I forget what it was called.”
“Can you do me a favor and let me know if you think of the name?”
Marybeth gave Lacey a concerned, motherly look. “Lacey, promise me you’ll be careful. You don’t owe Hart anything. He was blessed to have you in his life, and now he’s gone.”
“Have you talked to Sheriff Ed yet?”
“I went down to the station yesterday. Sheriff Ed always seemed to have it out for Hart. I guess he figures he finally got what was coming to him.” Then she broke down again. “I’m sorry, I think I need to lie down.”
“Anything I can do?” said Lacey as they both got to their feet.
“Just pray for his soul. It was wonderful seeing you, Lacey. God bless,” she said as she hugged Lacey good-bye.
“Yeah, um, you too,” Lacey said.
On the drive back down the mountain, the driver’s side was the cliff side, where you were farther