Somewhere Along the Way Page 3

  Turning back to the mess of cheap furniture and office supplies, Liz almost wished she’d given in and let everyone help her.

  “No,” she said as she pushed the first box aside. “I have to do something for myself. I have to be good at something besides going to school.” She might not be ready to move to New York or Chicago and be a big-time lawyer, but she could stand on her own two feet for once right here in Harmony.

  By late afternoon Liz had managed to get all the furniture in place. The office had two rooms. One small front reception area and one large square office with north windows running from floor to ceiling.

  “North windows,” Liz could almost hear her mother saying, “they’re the best. Unchanging light. Artist light.”

  Liz only hoped they might prove to be lawyer light as well. She’d like to make a go of something for once. It would be nice to live without change for a while.

  She crammed the wicker chairs, small table, semicircle desk, and two plastic plants into the reception area, leaving only a huge desk, six file cabinets she’d picked up at a salvage store, and a long blue couch to fill up the big office. Nothing matched. She’d seen room arrangements at Goodwill that made more sense.

  The south wall of the office had a tiny white sink, a small kitchen area for making coffee, complete with a black microwave and a green mini refrigerator.

  The ladies’ room was down the hallway, near the back door that went to a small parking lot. She shared the second floor with three other offices. All of which looked empty.

  As she began unpacking a box that had been in storage for the three years since her divorce, she fought back tears. The day she’d left her husband, Eddie, had started with them yelling as she tossed dishes into a few boxes. She hadn’t planned where she’d go, she’d just wanted out, so the odd assortment of cups and plates she now unpacked were just the first things within reach.

  In the end, Eddie had helped her load her car, as he’d always helped her. The last time she saw him, she’d been pulling away from the condo he’d bought because he thought she wanted it. Tears were running down his cheeks, but he hadn’t said he loved her. He’d only told her that she’d be back. He’d yelled that she was going to miss him and his money and all their things. If he’d just said he loved her, or needed her, she might have turned around.

  Liz tossed a pot under the sink, realizing no one had ever needed her. She was the extra, the accessory everyone liked having around, but didn’t see as vital. She’d been just one of the “things” Eddie had collected on his way up the corporate ladder.

  Grabbing her bag, she headed for the gym she’d joined yesterday. Once there, she stormed right past the exercise equipment and went to the dressing rooms. After fifteen minutes in the hot tub, she took a shower, washed her short hair, combed the curls with her fingers, and left. No one seemed to notice her coming or going. Somehow she’d slipped into that age, or that size, that was gym invisible. In a month she wouldn’t be twentysomething, she’d be thirty-something, and that was only a few steps away from dead, she figured.

  Shadows were long when she got back to her office. If anyone noticed her car parked in the back lot, they’d think she was working late. Not that anyone would notice. A person would have to be walking in the old dried-up stream to pass within sight of the lot. She’d noticed the bookstore owner parked in front of his shop, probably to show people he was open, and the dry cleaners closed at three. It appeared the parking lot was all hers.

  She pulled the dusty curtains closed before she turned on the lamp atop her desk. Nine o’clock, time for bed, she decided. With no TV and no one to talk to, it seemed her only option.

  Pulling pillows and a blanket from her empty file drawers, she made her bed on the couch, tugged off her tennis shoes, and climbed in.

  “Perfect.” She giggled to herself. She couldn’t afford an apartment, but this place, with its large storage room for her clothes, could double as both office and apartment. She’d have to work with the ladies’ room, but being able to shower at the gym would solve most of her problems.

  Liz snuggled in, smiling. She was alone for the first time. She’d moved from home to the dorm, from the dorm to marriage, from marriage back home. It was time.

  She wasn’t just an extra in this game of life, she was a lawyer. People would need her, need her help, ask her advice. Before her family found out she was homeless, she’d have clients and be able to afford a place. Maybe she’d buy a house. There were a few in the historical district a block away that only needed a makeover. Big old homes like Winter’s Inn that had been turned into a bed-and-breakfast by the past three owners and little bungalow homes in between that would be more her style.

  The desk lamp flickered a warm glow on the brown carpet, the yellowed-white walls, and the army-green curtains. “Definitely a house, painted in sunset colors.” She whispered her dream. “With a swing on the front porch and flowers everywhere.”

  The wind howled outside and the curtain billowed slightly, letting in cold air. Liz wrapped the blanket tighter, figuring out why old Mr. Kaufman had insisted that the place rented “as is.” Apparently, paint wasn’t all it needed. North windows didn’t seem so perfect anymore.

  By six the next morning when the heating system clicked on for the day, Liz wore two pairs of socks and her coat beneath her blanket. She climbed out of her couch/bed, grabbed her makeup, and ran to the ladies’ room. Thirty minutes later, she was dressed, all evidence of her bed had vanished back into the file cabinet, and she had coffee brewing.

  At eight, when she placed her new sign in the window, she was ready to welcome clients. At ten, when someone knocked on her office door, she was asleep with her head on her desk.

  Liz jumped up and frantically looked for her shoes. She found only one, so after a few moments of panic, she limped through the reception area to the door.

  A potbellied postman raised his eyebrow as he looked her up and down, but didn’t comment on her missing shoe. “Name’s Jerry. You’re new on my route.” He never stopped chewing his gum as he talked.

  “Yes.” Liz didn’t feel the need to tell the postman her name. It was on the door and probably on every piece of mail in his hand.

  He handed her the stack of letters. “I’ve been holding these for you since you signed the lease.” He glanced around her to the small front office with its tiny desk and plastic plants. “If you leave a box by the door, I’ll drop any mail off there and won’t have to bother you if the receptionist isn’t here.”

  “Okay,” she said aware that he was trying to see into the next office. A receptionist was so far down on her list of things she could afford, she hadn’t even thought of hiring one.

  “Thank you.” She crossed her arms, waiting for him to leave. Jerry the mailman was nosy, and in a small town where everyone talked about the Mathesons, she didn’t need nosy. “Anything else?”

  He looked down at his pack. “Yeah, would you hold G. L. Smith’s mail so I can quit dragging it up here every day? He’s across the hall from you.” Jerry frowned at the door. “Up until last week I could open his door and toss his mail in, but about the time you rented, someone locked his door.”

  “Maybe G. L. did?” Liz took her neighbor’s mail and tossed it on one of the wicker chairs. Paint chips flicked off and dusted the carpet like dandruff.

  Jerry shook his head. “He hasn’t in years. Don’t see why he would now. I’m betting Mr. Kaufman locked it. He keeps a key to all the offices just in case there’s a water leak or something.”

  “When will Mr. Smith be in?”

  “Don’t know. Never met the guy. He gets UPS and Fed Ex deliveries too. The lady in the laundry told me she signs for them and brings them up to the office. She said she did it just to be nice, but every time she climbs up with mail, she finds a few dollars dropped in her mail slot.” Jerry raised his bushy eyebrow again. “You don’t think he’s dead in there, do you?”

  “No,” Liz answered. “We’d smell him by now
.”

  Jerry nodded.

  Liz grabbed the door frame. “Thanks,” she said, closing the door before he could ask any more questions. G. L. Smith had as much right to his privacy as she did. It made sense that Kaufman had a key, but she didn’t like the idea. Tonight she’d be shoving a chair against the door.

  She tossed her mail, which looked like mostly bills and “Welcome New Neighbor” notices, on her desk and microwaved the last cup of her morning coffee.

  Before she remembered to look for her shoe, she heard the front door open again. Limping to the front, Liz was surprised to see Edith from the diner a block over. All the locals knew her and loved her. Edith had been waiting tables at Cass’s Blue Moon Diner since she was in high school. She was sweet and kind; her only flaw had been in her choice of husband. If Harmony ever had a citywide cleanup day, he’d be part of the trash they took out.

  “Morning, Edith.” Liz’s smile was honest this time. “May I help you?”

  “I brought you a few of Cass’s blueberry scones for your first day at work. Hank was by this morning and told me you were setting up an office. Now that’s exciting, girl.” The woman, still in her apron, handed Liz a plate covered with a napkin. “I bet your mother is real proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” Liz doubted her mother had noticed, but that wasn’t Edith’s problem. She motioned with her head toward a chair in front of her desk. “Got time to stay a spell?” Edith always looked tired, and Liz realized she’d never seen the woman sitting down.

  “No. I got to get back before the lunch run starts. I was just wondering if you charge for hypothetical questions about the law.”

  “No. Ask away. If I can pass the bar, I should be able to come up with an answer.” Liz was already guessing the question would be something about declaring tips on income tax forms, which wasn’t her specialty, but she’d do her best.

  “And what I say in here, is that like something you say in confession with a priest? It can never be told?”

  “That’s right.” Liz smiled, happy that Edith trusted her.

  Edith looked down at the mud-colored carpet. “I was just wondering, if a woman killed her husband accidentally, would she go to jail?”

  Liz took the shock of her question without flinching. For the first time she noticed that the dark circles under the waitress’s eyes were bruises. “If it was an accident or self-defense, she would not go to jail.” She set the scones down and took Edith’s hand. “Are you okay, Edith? Is there something I could do?”

  Edith shook her head so hard her whole body seemed to vibrate. “No. I’m fine. I was just asking for a friend.”

  Liz suddenly felt very old. “Well, tell your friend that there are other ways out. If she wants to, she could come talk to me. I wouldn’t charge her for a visit.”

  Edith wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll tell her. I got to be going. Cass will run off the folks if he’s there alone.”

  Liz welcomed the change. “He is a bear of a man. I’ve never heard him talk except to yell.”

  Edith smiled. “Yeah, but that don’t bother me. Underneath, he’s a good man. Never known him to cheat anyone or turn down any drifter who can’t afford a meal.”

  Liz’s opinion of the man lifted slightly, especially because if she didn’t get paying business she might be one of those drifters dropping in for a free meal. It would beat going home to a thousand questions and her sister’s I-told-you-so attitude.

  Chapter 4

  WEDNESDAY

  JANUARY 16, 2008

  BLUE MOON DINER

  REAGAN COVERED FOR EDITH AT THE DINER AGAIN. THIS time Edith said she had to drive to Amarillo to see a doctor about her cold. This time Reagan didn’t even try to act like she believed the waitress.

  The weather held an icy stillness over the air, hesitating between winter storms. By eight o’clock, Reagan was surprised at how many people had wandered in. Most only wanted coffee, stayed an hour, and left a quarter tip. Noah dropped by to keep her company, but she was busy enough that they talked little. When she finally had time to sit down, he was into his homework and only wanted to ask her questions about algebra.

  Edith’s husband came by a half hour before closing. He said he was looking for his wife, claimed he’d forgotten about her trip to the doctor. Lloyd Franklin was somewhere in middle age. Reagan marked him as one of those loser types who might have been good looking in his teens but settled into overweight, dumb, and sloppy. He winked at her as if he thought he was doing her a favor by talking to her, then left. Reagan noticed he walked across the street to the bar.

  She sat back down across from Noah and continued checking his homework. Unlike her, he had his future all planned out. He wanted to travel the rodeo circuit for ten years or so, then settle down on his land and raise horses and cattle. For Noah, algebra didn’t seem a necessary skill, but he had to keep his grades up to go to college, and he only wanted college so he could ride with the team at Texas Tech. Reagan often thought God must have tattooed Rodeo on Noah’s brain before he set it in place.

  About the time Reagan decided to tell Noah the details of seeing Gabriel Leary last week, Noah packed up his books and hurried out. From the window she watched him pull out his cell once he was off the steps, and she couldn’t help but wonder who was calling him. A year ago, even six months ago, he would have told her. She would have talked to him about Gabe, but now the world’s slowest earthquake seemed to be separating the earth between them, and the gap was too wide to jump by the time they noticed it.

  She went back to refilling coffee for mostly old men who were busy solving every problem with the government.

  When she passed the pass-through, she yelled to Cass, “Thanks for putting in the step. Makes it a lot easier for me to reach all the paper goods.”

  He looked up from the sink. “I didn’t put it in. Edith must have.”

  Reagan glanced down at the step that swung down from being flat against the wall. She could flip it up or down with the toe of her shoe and, when up, it was completely out of the way. When down, it added five inches to her height.

  Cass moved closer to the pass-through. “You think you can lock up? Ain’t nobody else coming in and, if I leave now, I can watch my show.”

  “I can lock up.” Reagan almost giggled, wondering if Cass’s favorite program was Project Runway or gator wrestling.

  He grabbed his coat. “Don’t forget to wash the coffee-pots and wipe down—”

  “I know. I won’t forget.” As he passed her, she added, “What about takeout?”

  “We don’t do takeout after five,” Cass answered, and was gone.

  Reagan watched him go, realizing he didn’t know anything about the Wednesday night delivery.

  The last two old men left a little before nine. Reagan went to the kitchen and packed up a meatloaf sandwich, stew, and two cinnamon muffins. This place had more mysteries than one of those CSI shows. Evidently Cass and Edith had a communication problem. No wonder new waitresses only stayed a few weeks.

  She walked out into the stillness of a night that froze her breath. The lean figure of a man stood just at the edge of the back light. He must trust her, for he’d crossed out of the trees. It dawned on her that maybe Leary had been as afraid of her as she’d been of him last week. Suddenly, he wasn’t nearly as frightening.

  “Evening, Gabe,” she said, seeing his whiskered face. “Nice night for takeout.”

  He stammered just a bit before he answered, “Evening.”

  “If you’re walking, I could give you a ride home.” She noticed his cheeks were red from the cold already, and it was a long way back to his place.

  “No thanks, I’ve seen you drive.”

  She laughed. She did like to drive fast, and more than once she’d called Noah to come pull her out of a ditch.

  “Do you drive?” she asked, guessing that if he’d walked tonight, he might live out on his place without a car.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “Doesn’t everyone?�
�� He took the bag from her. “But mostly, I like to walk. There was a time I thought I’d never walk again.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out two bills. “Thanks for the supper.”

  “You’re welcome.” She stood, watching him move down the gully and across to the trees all dead with winter, and wondered if a part of this man wasn’t dead too. She knew without asking that he’d just talked to her more than he’d talked to anyone in a long time.

  Gabriel Leary no longer frightened her. Reagan just felt sorry for him. He wasn’t crazy or a madman running loose, he was simply alone and she knew how that felt. Once in a group home she’d gone a month before one person talked to her. The house mother had a habit of just pushing kids along and pointing as if she were herding cattle. That winter she’d turned twelve and cried so much a lifetime of tears spilled out.

  When she walked back into the diner, a woman huddled in the middle booth, her suitcase by her side.

  Reagan filled a glass of water and moved to her table. “What can I get you?”

  A thin wrinkled face looked up at her. “Just water and an order of fries.”

  “With chili or cheese?” Reagan smiled, remembering a few years ago when she’d been asked the same question by Edith. “This late at night there’s no extra charge for chili or cheese.”

  The woman nodded and straightened as she warmed. “Then I’ll have both, if you don’t mind.”

  “Just get in town?” Reagan asked, guessing the woman to be in her sixties. Not old, but worn down like some people get about that age.

  The woman nodded and turned her face toward the window, telling Reagan she didn’t want to talk.

  When Reagan delivered the food, she said, “I put the chili in a bowl with cheese on top. That’s how Edith, the usual waitress, gave it to me when I first got here.”