A Sin Such as This Page 15

  Alvin was kind enough to escort me back here and never tried to get into the room. Sweet man. I even confessed I’d wondered if he was my father. Mom had me when she was nineteen. The timing was close to right.

  He laughed at that. “No. Wasn’t me. In fact, she and I didn’t make it past second base. It could’ve been Vince, but I don’t think Junie was much for fidelity, sorry to say. Damn. There I go again. I sure do feel like I’ve been telling tales out of school about your dearly departed mother.”

  “No worries, Alvin. Mom didn’t hide her ugly side from us. In fact, we never saw anything else. I did what she did, left home at eighteen and refused to look back. Only difference was I made sure to never have children. Melody chose to, and she managed to break the cycle of violence. But it was mostly me Mom went after, and she was wicked mean. I understand why a little more now, so thank you for that.”

  “How did Junie die, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Lung cancer.”

  He nodded. “She started smoking young. We used to argue over it. Never could stand the stink.”

  “Me, either. It was one of the best things about moving out on my own. Hey, you sure you and I aren’t related?”

  “Positive. I take it you and Junie weren’t what you’d call tight.”

  “No, actually. We’ve barely spoken at all in the last twenty-five years.”

  “So how come you’re here?”

  “Closure.”

  We were at the motel by then. He waited for me to dig out the room key. “I might stop by the cemetery tomorrow, pay my respects. That okay?”

  “Of course. Oh. One thing. That Jerry guy. Is he all right? I mean, my sister’s not in danger, is she?”

  “In danger of being bored to death, maybe. He’s not the brightest fella around. Course I doubt it’s his brain she’s interested in.”

  “True. Hope to see you tomorrow, Alvin. Good night.”

  That was that.

  But I did expect Mel back last night. The little alarm clock on the frills-free nightstand tells me it’s 8:06. I get up—slowly—and dig my phone out of my bag, to find a text from my wayward sister. Im ok. Staying over. Don want drive.

  If Jerry was half as messed up as she obviously was, I think that was the right call, though I’m still irritated that she left in the first place. What would I say to her family if she ended up dead, of boredom or anything else, in a stranger’s bed? I text her back. Going to breakfast. See you soon. Hope he had a big one and knew how to use it.

  I grab a bottle of ibuprofen, take it into the bathroom, and swallow three with tap water. One thing I’ll say about Glenns Ferry. Buying bottled water here would be a waste of money. What comes out of the faucet is sweet and cold.

  The headache fades as I shower and dress, and it’s nothing more than a thin memory by the time I settle in at the restaurant. My coffee has just arrived when Mel comes through the door wearing yesterday’s clothes, which somehow managed to avoid too many wrinkles, and a smile that says pretty much everything.

  “That big, huh?”

  “No, but he did know how to use it.” Melody scoots into the chair across from me, signals to the waitress to bring the coffeepot over. Once she’s holding a cup in her hand, she asks, “You’re not angry with me, are you?”

  “Why? Do I seem angry?”

  “Other than the huge scowl, not at all.”

  “It’s your life, Mel. I’m not your babysitter.”

  “But you disapprove.”

  I shake my head. “Again, not up to me. I would just caution you to remember every action invites a reaction. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Well, thanks for that, I guess.” She sips her coffee, peruses the menu. Eventually, she asks, “How long till the guilt kicks into gear?”

  “Don’t know. Guilt is not in my vocabulary, and at this point I’d suggest excising it from yours, too. It’s an exercise in futility.”

  “Programmed heavily by our mother.”

  “Probably why I resisted it so single-mindedly. Anyway, she’s gone. Now you can expunge her, too.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is. All you need to do is remember what a snake she was.”

  Some snakes are rather beautiful .

  Mel sighs. “Let’s change the subject.”

  A-okay by me. “I’m surprised you made it back so early.”

  “Jerry had to be at work by nine.”

  “Work? Hope he wasn’t as hungover as I was.”

  “Me, too. I got pretty wasted, didn’t I?”

  “I doubt we’d be having this conversation otherwise.”

  Mel must’ve worked up quite an appetite because when the waitress comes over she orders steak and eggs, with hash browns and toast. The portions are Idaho size. I manage to consume about half of an enormous Denver omelet, but Melody actually finishes every bite. I watch incredulously as she wolfs it down, wait until she’s done to observe, “You should have sex more often.”

  “No kidding.”

  I think back to the ski trip we took in December and how on the way to Tahoe from Sacramento I mentioned picking up a guy in a bar. He turned out to be not so nice, and I had to threaten him with pepper spray to get out the door. Mel chastised me for being so reckless as to sleep with a stranger. I don’t indulge that habit very often. Too easy for things to go wrong, like they did that night. But earlier in the day I’d discovered that the guy I’d been seeing, mostly as a plaything, was in love with a girlfriend I knew nothing about. One thing I refuse to accept is being cast in the role of “the other woman.” It felt like getting even.

  “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”

  She hesitates, but then says, “Uh, I guess.”

  “Was that, like, your first one-night stand?”

  “Tara, how well do you know me?”

  “Pretty well. At least, I thought so until Jerry.”

  “Don’t you think I would’ve told you if I’d ever done something like that before?”

  “Seriously? I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter, anyhow. Another question. Would you ever do something like it again?”

  Her cheeks blossom a lovely cherry color. Still, she looks me straight in the eye. “Who knows? I’ve heard it gets easier with practice.”

  “Did you aim that directly at me?”

  Her simple answer is to glance away. But after a couple of beats she says, “Let me ask you something. Were you more surprised that I went for him, or that he went for me?”

  I have no good honest response for that, so I’m happy when the waitress interrupts to ask if we’d like anything else. We decline and I hand her my credit card. As she waddles away, I ask Mel, “Do you still want to go for a hike?”

  “Might as well. We’ve got a couple of hours with nothing else to do but watch soap operas.”

  There’s a nice walking trail between downtown and Three Island Crossing State Park, basically the place where the Oregon Trail crossed the Snake River. It’s tepid on the outbound, but by the time we turn around, the temperature is closing in on ninety degrees. I arrive back at the room dripping sweat.

  I’m glad we went. We mostly walked in silence, breathing in air carrying scent unique to this peculiar landscape. Vague familiarity hit me square in the solar plexus, and each exhale brought the slow release of persistent recollections that have stalked me since I was little. This is where they belong, and hopefully they’ll remain interred here, along with Mom. Funny, but now I can clearly see that she belongs in this place.

  Mel and I take turns showering. It’s my second of the day, but exertion sweat is stinky sweat, and we’ll be sharing close quarters on the ride back to Boise. It’s past checkout time when we finish, so we pack up our few belongings and head on over to the cemetery, where we find a semi parked out in front of the big wrought-iron gates.

  The grave is open, a gaping hole in the prairie, and Will stands beside it, hat in hand. He looks up at our approach, a
nd I’m surprised to find him tearful. “You both came. That’s good. That’s real good.”

  “Um, where is she?” I ask.

  “She’ll be here soon, arriving by hearse. The funeral parlor is in Mountain Home. She’s been resting there since yesterday. I talked to the local priest. He’s gonna say a few words.”

  Hearse and priest appear in tandem just before one, and so does Alvin, in a dark blue suit and polished cowboy boots. There are quick introductions all around before the casket is rolled graveside for the lowering. The priest’s words are, indeed, few, the ceremony short and free of flowers.

  “Bye, Junie. Godspeed,” says Alvin at the end, and that seems as good a benediction as any.

  Will stays behind to make sure someone’s planning to close the grave. I don’t understand his sadness, but it’s palpable. “I think he really loved her,” I comment.

  “What did I tell you?” says Melody. “There must have been something good between them.”

  I can’t reconcile Mom with “good.” But I no longer think of her as evil. Alvin helped with that, and so did Will. They gave me a sense that she was human, at least at the beginning and ending of her life, and not completely responsible for everything in between.

  Maybe that means you’re human, too.

  I’m really starting to wish that little voice inside my head would shut up for a while. I take the wheel for the drive back to Boise. We’re halfway there when Mel, who’s been totally silent and obviously lost in thought, finally asks, “Do you think less of me?”

  Truthfully, I haven’t been thinking about her at all. My mind’s been grappling with the idea that I have one less person to hate, not to mention the one I’ve most despised, now that the dirt is settling back at Glenn Rest Cemetery. “Less of you for what?”

  “For last night. I know how you feel about infidelity.”

  “Justified in certain circumstances. How long has it been since you had sex with Graham?”

  “I don’t know. Months.”

  “And how long since you’ve had sex that made you smile the way you were smiling this morning?”

  No hesitation. “Years.”

  If ever, is my educated guess.

  Silence balloons again, to the point of suffocation. I could suggest—one more time—that she dissolve her marriage, free herself to find someone to love her, honor her, and make her come regularly. But she’s really going to have to reach that conclusion on her own. Hmm. Wonder how Graham would feel if he found out about last night? Pissed? Jealous? Would he shoulder any of the blame?

  As if reading my mind, Mel says, “You won’t tell Graham about this, right?”

  “Who, me? Like Graham and I talk about anything, let alone something I have no right to disclose? Girl, that confession is completely up to you, and if you’re intent on keeping your marriage intact, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  Methinks the guilt train is steamrolling down the tracks.

  But now she says, “I kept Jerry’s number.”

  “Why?”

  Her shrug is audible. “In case I ever come back to Glenns Ferry? I have no idea.”

  I don’t voice my opinion that sex should rarely be the ultimate goal. Better to utilize it as a catalyst. It’s a powerful means to an end sought. I do, however, try to assuage her conscience a little. “Hey, Mel? Don’t beat yourself up. Lust is simply a dynamic of human nature.”

  “Lust is a sin. Not only that, but a deadly sin.”

  A little late to worry about that now. “There are seven of those, I’ve heard. Everyone succumbs to at least one over the course of their lifetime.”

  We pull into the Hampton Inn near the airport midafternoon. Hamptons are rarely my first choice, but there aren’t a lot of others, and this room is a hundred times better than the one we stayed in last night. Mel decides to take a swim in the indoor pool. I tell her I’ll join her in a few, but I want to touch base with Cavin.

  I call his office first. His receptionist informs me he had to go home to deal with something but offers no details. I try his cell, which goes to voice mail. “Just me, checking in. Hope everything’s okay.”

  I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I do have some shorts and a tank top that will work. I’m ready to catch up with Mel at the pool when Cavin calls back.

  “Hi, honey. How did it go?”

  “As good as it could. We planted Mom, and before you know it, she’ll be fertilizing a fresh patch of grass. Believe it or not, I even met a man who used to date her. He gave me a little perspective, and I managed to silence a ghost or two.”

  “The trip was worthwhile, then. I’m happy to hear it. But I want you home. I’m definitely missing you.”

  “Is everything okay? Rebecca said you had to leave work early?”

  “Oh. Right. Nothing major. I had a cancelation and some free time, so I had the Escalade smogged and registered. The notice came in the mail.”

  “Thank you, but I could’ve managed it.”

  “You don’t mind that I drove your car, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Except, I kind of do.

  twenty-two

  T HE TRIP HOME IS uneventful, other than for a slight delay on our first flight due to a late-arriving crew. Still, we have plenty of time in Vegas to make our connection. I promised Mel I’d skip the alcohol this morning, and she guilt-tripped me into avoiding it last night, too. Instead, after dinner, with the sun solidly down, we dropped the top on the convertible and cruised slowly through the prettier streets of downtown Boise.

  When I mentioned the fact that Cavin had registered the Cadillac without my even asking, she commented, “I doubt Graham would even know how to manage it. That job has always fallen to me. Of course, since I work at home, my time is never completely my own.”

  “You could simply refuse to handle all the minutiae.”

  “I could, but then it wouldn’t get done.”

  “You sound like me.”

  “More and more. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  “Well, I’ve got a decent idea what Graham would say.”

  “I do, too. He’d say you’re a rotten influence.”

  “Hey, what’s a big sister for?”

  We left it exactly there.

  Mel and I catch separate flights to separate cities to return to our separate homes, with one new thing in common—at least a small sense of sympathy for our dearly departed mother, thanks to Alvin and Will. As Melody and I part ways, I tell her again, “Make yourself happy, would you, please? Life is too short to feel consistently dissatisfied and divorce only stings till the final papers are signed.”

  And sometimes it doesn’t sting at all.

  I arrive at the house late afternoon. Eli and Kayla are outside on the front step, smoking something decidedly not tobacco. They don’t even try to hide it when I pull into the driveway and exit the Beamer.

  “Why are you doing that out here?” I demand.

  “It’s too windy on the other side of the house,” explains Eli.

  “So why not confine it to your room, like you usually do?”

  He shrugs. “We needed a little fresh air. My room smells a little . . . musty.”

  He means musky.

  “Well, I’d prefer you don’t announce your bad habits to the entire neighborhood.”

  “No one around but us juvenile miscreants,” he jokes.

  “What’s a miscreant?” asks a foggy-eyed Kayla.

  Eli answers her before I can. “Context, girl, context.”

  But it’s obvious that stumps her, too. “Delinquent,” I supply before changing the subject completely. “Is your father home yet?”

  “Nope,” says Eli. “He called and said he had to run an errand after work, but he’d bring takeout for dinner. Nice homecoming, yeah?”

  My thought exactly.

  “He was out kind of late last night, too,” he adds.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah,” Kayla adds, giggling. “While
the cat’s away or whatever.”

  Again?

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to unpack.”

  I turn, and as I walk back to my car, Eli comes up behind me. “Let me get your suitcase for you.”

  Wonder if Kayla can see how the front of his jeans actually touches the back of mine, encouraging little rushes I must learn to ignore. Despite their being kind of nice, they are madly improper, and I nudge forward. “Thanks, Eli, that’s nice of you.”

  “No problem.”

  He extracts my bag from the trunk and carries it inside. I follow, and when I pass Kayla, still sitting on the step, she says, “Wonder where Uncle Cavin went, don’t you?”

  I ignore her question, though I very much do want to know what my husband was up to last night.

  Eli lugs the suitcase back into my bedroom, puts it on the bed, then turns, inching closer. “Anything else I can do for you? Drink? Snack?”

  A cloud of his scent settles around me. It’s an oddly enticing potpourri—marijuana, Ivory soap, Old Spice, and a hint of whatever perfume Kayla wears—and the overarching theme is primal male.

  My breath catches, but I manage a hoarse reply. “I’ll take it from here, thank you. I’m feeling a little drained, so I’ll probably lie down for a while.”

  “Gotcha.” He reaches toward me, rests two fingers lightly against my cheek. “Burying someone must take a lot out of a person.”

  His touch is tender, something I’ve rarely experienced in four-plus decades on this planet. I close my eyes, swaying slightly at the energy exchange. When I open them again, he is kissing distance and I fight an overwhelming desire to see how that feels.

  Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong person.

  I take a step back and his hand drops. “Actually, a backhoe did most of the work. That ground’s too hard for a shovel. I just didn’t sleep very well. My sister snores.”

  He grins. “So does her daughter, who’s probably pissed that I’m taking so long. In fact, I’m surprised she hasn’t come looking for me.”