Autumn Blue (21 page)

Millard sighed, searching his brain for a tantalizing bit. “There’s this one part further on; how does it go? Something like:

Tyson was practically drooling, his head stretched toward Millard like a coyote poised outside a rat hole. Millard shook his
head. “Wish I could remember the rest. I’ve got that book around here somewhere.” He glanced around the room as if it might
be in plain sight, his eyes falling on the clock. “Look at that. It’s almost noon and I haven’t even done the crossword.”
He shook his paper open. “You might want to get yourself some lunch.”

Ty stood and stretched before heading for the kitchen. “Do you want me to bring you some chili?”

Millard looked up, surprised by the offer. Spring thaw. The ice had begun to melt the night he and the boy wrestled down at
the freight yard. Ty’s tears had fallen on the cold ground between them, and there had been a gradual thinning and cracking
ever since. “Yes, that would be fine,” Millard said. “There’s some of your mother’s bread in the freezer. Why don’t you pop
a couple of slices in the toaster, and I’ll see if I can’t find that book.”

AFTER DINNER
that evening, Millard took his garbage out, dropping the neat bundle into a can next to the back porch. The temperature had
dropped to thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit according to the thermometer mounted by the door. Stars shone against the black sky
like ice crystals. He inhaled the scents of mountains and woodlands, exhaling a fog of steam. A hoot owl called from the woods.
Millard cupped his hands together at his mouth and blew out a mimicking call. He waited. A few seconds later the owl answered.
Millard stepped up to the back door, pushing it open a crack. “Hey, Tyson. Come out here for a minute.”

The boy joined him on the porch, shivering. “What’s up?”

“Listen.” Millard raised his hands and wooed the owl again. A hollow answering call came from the darkness. Was it closer
this time? He repeated the plaintive sound and waited until they heard the owl’s response. “He’s moving in,” Millard said
before blowing another note between his thumbs. The owl answered. “He’s in the middle of the pasture now. Probably in that
lone maple.”

“Do it again.”

Millard complied. This time they heard a distinct flapping sound and then saw the massive white wings gilded in moonlight.
The owl lit in the spruce tree at the corner of the backyard, bouncing a limb like driftwood riding a wake of water.

“That is so cool,” Tyson breathed. “Show me how to do it.”

Millard took the boy’s hands in his, shaping them into a sort of conch shell. “Make your lips like this,” he demonstrated,
“and blow from your cheeks.” They worked on it for several minutes, but the strange sounds that came from Tyson did nothing
for the owl. Disappointed by not finding the mate of its dreams, it soared down toward a fence post and then out of sight.
“You can work on it tomorrow,” Millard said.

As frigid as it was out there, Tyson seemed in no hurry to go inside. He stood staring into the glittered sky with his arms
wrapped around himself, his breath dissipating like smoke in the glow of the porch lamp.

“You got a good lick in today,” Millard said. “Two pages of math and the start of a poem. I knew you could do it.”

Tyson shot him a sideways glance. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.” Millard too was under the spell of the starry sky. “I’m proud of you, son.” As soon as the words came, he felt
an uncomfortable sensation, like pit gravel had just passed through his throat. Had he ever said them to Jefferson? Ever?

Ty looked up at him, seemingly surprised, and a guarded softness fell over the boy’s face. It was the look of a battered dog
on the verge of taking bread from a kind stranger, his heart pulling him forward, every muscle in his body reining him back.

Millard cleared his throat. “And I want you to know something. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe I’m just a gullible old man, but I don’t
think so. I can’t figure it out, but I don’t think it was you who stole from your mother—or the woman in town.”

Moonlight glistened from the wetness brimming in the boy’s eyes.

“I believe you, Tyson. God help us if I’m wrong.”

S
IDNEY FORCED A SMILE
, giving her son a little wave as his head disappeared inside Deputy Estrada’s patrol car. Ty had been ready on time that
morning, his lunch packed and all set to go. Sidney had ushered him out the door to meet the deputy before the man had any
reason to tread again on her front steps.

Just as the deputy reached for his door handle, Micki drove into the driveway. He pressed his body against the side of his
car as she pulled around him, parking her boxy Ford SUV to one side. He opened his door and began to slide in.

“Wait!” Micki called as her blond head popped out of her vehicle. “I could really use some muscle before you guys get away!”

Sidney groaned. Oh, Micki. She trudged reluctantly down the steps.

“Hi, Sid!” Micki ran around to open the back of her Expedition while Ty and the deputy came around. “My husband helped me
get this in here,” she said. “It was a lot heavier than I thought.” She turned to face the deputy. “I’m sorry.” She held out
her hand. “I’m Micki, a friend of Sid’s.”

He dipped his head as they shook hands. “Alex Estrada.” He glanced back at his vehicle briefly, a subtle sigh and squaring
of his shoulders indicating to Sidney that he really didn’t have time for this. “What have you got here?”

“It was my grandmother’s buffet.” She tousled Ty’s hair. “Sidney’s going to help me paint it. You know, with birds and vines
and things, although I’m thinking maybe a rooster theme on this one. She’s never done roosters, but she’s an artist. Have
you ever seen any of her work?”

Sidney attempted to give her friend the glare that meant “Shut up,” but Micki didn’t look at her.

Deputy Estrada glanced at Sidney. “Did
you
paint that furniture in your house?”

“Oh, she did all of that,” Micki answered. “I love the way she antiqued it by rubbing black over the red.”

“I noticed that,” he said without smiling. “Nice job.” He pushed up the sleeves of his dove-gray sweatshirt, revealing solid,
muscular forearms, then lifted and yanked the buffet toward him, acknowledging Tyson, who stood off to one side. “I’ll slide
it out. You get the other end.”

Sidney could see that it was going to be too heavy for Ty. She stepped forward, reaching for a corner of the heavy piece.

“He doesn’t need your help,” the deputy barked.

Ty flashed an angry scowl at Estrada as Ty got between his mother and the end of the buffet. She stepped back, watching him
hoist it with a strength that must have come from his hatred for the deputy, every visible muscle in her son’s neck and even
his face rigid. She wanted to step in to help if for no other reason than to defy the deputy, but something held her back.

“Where do you want it?” Estrada asked. He swung the furniture around as if it were made of Styrofoam and began stepping backward.

Sidney had hoped to work on the back porch, but she didn’t want them to have to carry it that far. “It’s not going to rain.
Right here in the front yard is fine.” Ty grunted as he lowered his end to the sparse lawn near the front walk.

“Thanks, guys,” she said.

“You saved the day,” Micki said. She tried to pull Tyson into a hug but he went as rigid as a totem pole. “What’s the matter,
tough guy? Are you too cool for me now?”

He gave her a patronizing half smile, obviously embarrassed, his eyes darting toward the deputy.

Estrada dipped his head toward Ty. “Okay, let’s go.” He turned back toward the car and Tyson followed.

“I’ll pick him up today,” Sidney called after them. “What time?”

“Three o’clock.” The deputy gave a slight, almost indiscernible wave, slipped into the car, and pulled out of the drive.

The sight of her son in the patrol car still made her stomach clench.

“Oh, my gosh,” Micki breathed as the car rounded the bend. “He is an absolutely beautiful hunk of man!” She idly ran her hand
over the smooth top of the buffet. “I saw him in uniform that one day, the day Ty got arrested, but of course I didn’t notice
then. I was too busy trying to hold you together. I noticed he’s not wearing a ring.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! I can’t believe you’re even going there. He’s a jerk, Micki. I don’t care what he looks like; it’s what’s
inside that counts. He’s a dark and bitter man. Can’t you see that? I don’t know what his problem is, but it runs deeper than
this thing he’s got against Tyson. It emanates from him—like when you eat too much raw garlic and everyone around you knows
it for days.” She shuddered. “I don’t want him around here. Ty has to deal with him, and so be it. This process is supposed
to be painful. But I don’t want the girls exposed to the man’s negative aura. I can’t wait ’til Ty’s community service hours
are fulfilled. After today he’ll have done twelve out of forty.”

Micki shrugged. “Any word from Jack?”

Sidney raised an eyebrow as she pushed herself up on top of the buffet. “He called last night and I invited him over to watch
football on Sunday. We talked for a long time and he was so sweet. I feel like he’s opening up more, starting to trust me
again. Up until now he’s been smart, like a big fish that’s been caught before and thrown back. A little wary. I could tell
he was keeping his options open.” She flashed a wry grin. “You’d be shocked by the number of manipulative single mothers out
there who would do just about anything to get Jack Mellon walking behind their lawn mowers.”

Micki snickered. “But you have a prior claim.”

“I have no claim. All I know is he was great with the kids last Saturday. He insisted on taking the girls bowling after his
peewee game got washed out, and then he brings them home and plays Sorry! with them while he watches the sports channel. He
even got Ty to sit out in the living room with us for a while. He was certainly in no hurry to leave.” She raised her eyebrows.
“And I got
the look
.”

“The look?”

Sidney nodded. “You know what I’m talking about. The way Richard Gere looked at Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
when she wore that classic polka dot dress with the white gloves and wide-brimmed hat.”

“Oh. What were you wearing?”

“My jeans and a T-shirt. But that’s not the point. It’s that look of appreciation—and longing. That’s it. Lancelot and Guinevere.
Did you see the original
Camelot
?”

“Okay, I think I’ve got the concept. But he hasn’t kissed you yet.”

“He hasn’t so much as held my hand. I’ve considered sticking a slice of pepperoni on my forehead to speed up the process.”

Micki snickered. “Give it time. If it’s meant to be, it will happen. Where are the girls?”

“At soccer this morning and then skating over in Dunbar this afternoon. Gena Denton picked them up. It’s Kayley’s birthday.”

Sidney’s eyes swept the panorama of blue-green mountains and blazing fall leaves against a clear blue sky. Autumn had always
been her favorite time of year. She made a mental note to snap some fresh branches from the red vine maples along the east
fence to replace the ones on her dining room table, which had curled into crisp fists on spindly arms. With a deep breath
of cool mountain air, a rush of joy tingled through her body. She stood, lifting her face to the sun and twirling. “Woohoo!
It’s Saturday! No work, no kids, no nasty sheriff. It’s just you and me, girlfriend. How about a cup of hot spiced cider?”

They brought a tray of cider and sliced pumpkin bread out to the small porch, setting it on a wooden step a safe distance
away from the paint project at hand. Micki brushed the worn and slightly battered oak buffet with a watermelon green base,
while Sidney practiced painting colorful roosters onto a piece of board with her acrylic paints.

“My landlord agreed to buy some shrubs for this place as long as I’m willing to plant them. I tried for a real lawn, but he
claims that all these patches will eventually fill in.” Sidney dabbed rusty red onto her current rooster’s flowing tail. “What
I really want to do next spring is get some used brick somewhere and make a little patio. Then I’ll get some of those sawed-off
oak barrels for planters.”

Micki stood back from her buffet, paintbrush in hand. “Does this need two coats?”

“No; let it dry. We’re going over the whole thing with a glaze after I get the roosters on, remember?”

“Okay. So what are you going to plant in your barrels?”

“Geraniums, sweet alyssum, cherry tomatoes, basil. I like marigolds, but so do the slugs. I swear they even get into my hanging
baskets somehow.” She pushed the board away to critique her work. “We must have jumping slugs around here.” A vision of the
slimy creatures springing like jack-in-the-boxes from the damp ground on a moonlit night made her laugh. “If I could catch
them, they’d make a great circus act. The Leap-ing Slugs of Ham Bone and their daring trainer, Ms. Sidney Walker.”

Micki guffawed. It was never hard to get Micki chortling right along with her, even when something wasn’t all that funny.
Sidney held her rooster sampler up for her friend’s inspection.

“I love it!” Micki pointed at the one in the middle. “This is my favorite. I like the shading.”

“Okay. I’ll make that the large one in the center.” She wiped her hands on a damp towel and tossed it to Micki. “The cider’s
cold. You want some anyway?”

They sat on the porch, sipping spiced cider while crumbs of moist pumpkin bread fell between their legs. “You know what else
I’d do with my trained slugs? I’d take them over to Deputy Estrada’s house, wherever that is, in their fancy custom-made circus
slug carrying case and command them to slime his windows.”

Micki’s giggle burst out in a spray of cider and she began to choke.