Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [105]
“Yeah, me, too, Friday,” I said, feeling sad rather than angry. I fed Scout, then heated up a can of soup and watched a couple of sitcoms on TV before falling asleep. The sound of the shower running awakened me, and I glanced at the bedside clock—ten-twenty.
“How was your dinner with the city manager?” I asked when Gabe climbed into bed.
“Fine,” he said, turning to me and pulling me into his arms, nuzzling my neck.
I lay there for a moment, tempted by the masculine rasp of his beard, his gentle, seductive tongue, then pulled away. “I’m tired.”
“All right,” he said without argument. He kissed my temple, then settled into his side of the bed.
I lay there in the dark and listened to his breathing slow down until he fell asleep. The lacy curtains covering our bedroom window made snowflake patterns on the ceiling, and I watched them move and change, like all the lives surrounding me, like my own life.
SAM CAME BY the next morning and had breakfast with us, his dark eyes ringed blue with fatigue.
“How is Bliss?” I asked after Gabe left for work. I tossed some leftover bacon in Scout’s dish. His happy tail beat against my leg.
“She’s doing okay,” Sam said, leaning his chair back on two legs. “She still won’t talk about it, though. Says we just gotta move on.” His young face looked troubled. “What do you think she means by that?”
“I have no idea, Sam,” I said, taking his plate. “All I can suggest is give her time. Losing a baby and getting shot are both extremely traumatic.”
“What should I do?”
“Just listen. Don’t try to push her. Let her feel what she needs to feel. That’s all I know to tell you.”
“She told me last night she’s thinking about taking a leave from the police department. She said she might go up north for a while with her mom and sister. Don’t tell Dad. He doesn’t know yet.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t want to go up north. I just got my life together down here.”
I scraped a plate into the garbage can. “Only you can make that decision.”
“Do you think it’ll hurt our relationship?”
Determined to be honest, I said, “I have no idea, but it would be hard to build a relationship with someone if they aren’t around.”
“That’s kinda what I thought. Maybe we don’t love each other as much as we thought.”
“Then again, maybe a separation will help you both see what you really want.”
He nodded, his face miserable. “Like I said, don’t tell Dad any of this. Or Mom. I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do.”
“You have my word,” I said, flattered he’d confide in me first. There was no doubt I’d miss him like crazy if he left.
He let the front of his chair drop on the kitchen floor with a thump. Scout went over and laid his head in Sam’s lap, and Sam massaged his ears, causing Scout to sigh deeply. “All I gotta say, madrastra, is being an adult sucks. It sucks big-time.”
“Yes, I know,” I said and poured myself another cup of coffee. “This I do know.”
DETECTIVE HUD ARRIVED at the folk art museum at five minutes to nine. He wore a pink shirt, another tweedy Western jacket and black-cherry-colored boots.
“Just how many pairs of boots do you own?” I asked, walking out to his truck.
“Twenty-two,” he said. “But that’s nothing. My mother owns forty.”
“The infamous mother. I don’t even believe she exists.”
He opened the passenger door, a bland look on his face. “Oh, believe me, she exists. Where’s your hound dog?”
“Left him home today. It’s a long, hot drive.”
He came around and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Okay, enough small talk. Where are we going?”
“Mariposa Valley.”
“Where’s that?”
“Out on the Carrizo Plains. Eastern part of San Celina County. Just get on 101 North, and I’ll tell you where to turn off.”
He put the truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. “Put on some music, or I’ll punish your insubordination by forcing you to listen to me sing.”
With Dale Watson singing low-down, truck-driving, honky-tonk country, I directed him to turn off on Highway 58 outside of Atascadero and headed