Desperate Measures (35 page)

Pete drove his rental car over the shale road leading to the lake house. He was home. Home being a house he was going to set foot in for the second time. That's bullshit, Sorenson, he told himself. It isn't a home. It's a damn house with furniture. He was driving at a slow crawl when he saw, through the pines, the outdoor lights. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until it exploded from his mouth with a loud swish. Annie was here. “Thank you, God,” he murmured. It was going to be a nice Christmas after all. Annie would cook, they'd eat, they'd open presents and sit in front of the fire and talk about old times, and he'd tell her all about the past months. She'd want to talk about the store and how well it was doing. He loved to reminisce. Annie preferred the here and now, but always agreed to the Memory Lane talks.

Pete tapped on the horn, three light taps and then one longer blast. That should bring her on the run. The wreath was pretty. He loved big red bows. His mother always used to put red bows on his birthday and Christmas presents. He heaved the sack of presents for Annie out of the backseat along with his bags. He wondered if Leo had received the Federal Express presents he'd sent out two days ago from Montana. Damn, he was going to have to make two trips. Where the hell was Annie?

Pete struggled to the door, tried it. Locked. He set everything down and looked under the mat for the key. He frowned when he fit it into the lock. Maybe Annie was snoozing. He looked around for her car, realizing for the first time that it wasn't parked in front. Stupid, she probably put it in the garage, that's what garages were for. Without noticing it, he kicked the Federal Express envelope that had been propped against the door as he entered the foyer.

“I'm home,” Pete shouted. “Where's the wine, the welcoming hug? Annieeee!”

Jesus, was this the same house he'd walked through with Annie back in September? He kicked at the door with the heel of his shoe to shut it. His jacket dropped in a heap on the floor.

He saw the Christmas tree, drew a deep breath to inhale the fragrant fir. There were three presents underneath, with huge red velvet bows. He clapped his hands like a kid. He whirled, wanting to see it all at once. Unbe-liev-able!

The sofa was large and could seat six comfortably. It was one of those deep, curl-in-a-ball sofas that welcomed sleep. Deep hunter-green fabric with a thin string line of beige running through the nubby material. The easy chairs were beige with hunter-green stripes, and were picked up in the soft, luxurious carpet that was two shades lighter than the furniture. The drapes looked like they were made from burlap sacks, with wide, dark green stripes.

All his personal belongings had been unpacked and placed around the room. Everything was exactly where he himself would have placed it if he'd done the unpacking.

The fire was laid, all he had to do was spark it. He did. When he was on his feet, his eyes were drawn to the wall over the fieldstone fireplace. He sucked in his breath before the tears rolled down his cheeks. In a bright red frame was a blown-up picture of himself and his parents. He was holding on to his surfboard. “Annieeee!” He backed away, staring at the picture from every angle. The frame matched the red shirt he'd been wearing that day. “Annieeee! Goddamn it, Annie, answer me!” he shouted. Maybe she was taking a bath and couldn't hear him.

In the kitchen he cursed. Annie must have gone through his photo album. He closed his eyes. It was so like his mother's kitchen it was scary. Shit, he couldn't handle this. He backed out the door and headed for the steps, calling Annie's name as he went along.

He opened one door after the other. Each room was decorated to perfection. He knew his room immediately when he saw the huge four-poster. He'd had a bed like this once. The spread was plaid with red stripes running through it, and it had fringe all along the bottom. Just like this one.

His favorite picture of himself and Maddie was on his night table. His and her chairs with ottomans were side by side. Two magazine racks were along each side of the chairs. An exquisite Tiffany lamp separated the two chairs. Here too a fire was laid in the fireplace. The wall above held a second blown-up photograph of himself and his parents. His father was holding a huge catfish, he had a three-incher on his line, and his mother was making a face. He loved the picture. Jesus, Annie. “Annieeee!”

This was for
now
. It wasn't a Maddie room and it wasn't a Maddie and Pete room. He knew instinctively that Annie had done her best to make it his to ease his aching heart.

Son of a bitch, where was she?

Pete ran down the steps and out to the garage. The emptiness stared back at him. “She's not here. She fucking well isn't here!” How could that be? They were supposed to spend the holiday together. Who said so? he asked himself. Did you invite her? Did you specifically ask her here? “Never presume, never assume, Sorenson,” he seethed, back in the kitchen.

Because there didn't seem to be anything else to do, Pete opened the refrigerator. Food. All kinds of food. He opened the freezer. Frozen dinners. “I'll be dipped in shit if I'm going to eat a frozen dinner by myself on Christmas Eve,” he snarled. His clenched fist banged down on the kitchen table. He recognized the legal folder. The closing papers on the house. His arm swept them onto the floor.

His chest hurt and his eyes were burning unbearably. His pain eased slightly when he thought about the store. Annie would arrive late. He was so relieved with the thought, he felt light-headed. He dialed his old number. He listened to Annie's message, his throat constricting.

“Pete, welcome home. Merry Christmas. I hope you like the house. Be sure to water the tree every day. A quart should be in the stand at all times. This message is for you, Maddie, in case you call. Pete's new number is 203-555-4632. . . . Call me before you leave, Pete.” He cried then for all the would-haves, the should-haves, and the could-haves. His throat hurt when he finally blew his nose in a wad of paper towels.

Never assume. Never presume. He thought about Maddie and Annie and wanted to cry all over again.
Barney, I need you.

Pete picked up the telephone and called his uncle. Leo picked up on the second ring. “Leo, it's Pete. Merry Christmas. Listen, I know it's late, but if you aren't doing anything, why don't you have your chauffeur drive you up here. I don't want to be alone. I'll explain what happened when you get here. If you want to come.” He listened to his uncle's voice and knew he was doing the right thing. “I'm sorry the invitation is last-minute. Can you make it?”

“I'm on my way, boy.”

Pete felt like a hot air balloon with a slow leak when he sat down on the kitchen chair. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring, but it didn't. He was off the chair searching for a local phone book. When he found it in one of the kitchen drawers, he flipped to the section on churches. He called every number until he found one that was reasonably close and was having a midnight service.

Leo was going to be his first guest. Christmas dinner. But first he had to carry his bags upstairs to his new room, and after that he had to put all of Annie's presents under the tree. He'd even brought presents for Maddie. He would put those in his dresser drawer. He even had a present for Leo, which he'd planned to take to his uncle the day after Christmas. “You are a shitful person, Pete Sorenson. If you can't give a present on time, what's the point?” he said aloud. It would be on time now. Upstairs, he dumped his bags in his room, then came downstairs again. He was about to pick up the bags of presents when he spotted the Federal Express envelope. Maybe it was from Annie. Maybe it was from Maddie. He picked it up to see the sender's name: Leo Sorenson. He ripped at the tab and withdrew a long red envelope. A Christmas card. He hadn't sent out cards, even to Annie or his uncle. It was a simple card. A baby seal with a tear in its eye stared up at him. Inside the card said PEACE and was signed by Leo. Airline tickets fell out of the card. Two tickets to Australia with an open date going and coming. Land reservations with open dates to Bell's Beach. He bawled like a baby. When his shoulders finally stopped shaking, Pete walked over to the tree to put all his presents under it. Leo was going to get a kick out of the Stetson. He'd probably get a huge belly laugh out of the red reindeer socks and the soft shearling slippers.

“Get it together, Sorenson, this is Christmas. It's going to be whatever you make it.” Damn it, he'd been counting on Annie, looking forward to spending his favorite holiday with her.
Where was she, what was she doing?
He refused to think about Maddie.

Pete wiped his eyes on his sleeve the way he'd done when he was a kid. “This is now,” he muttered as he selected a Christmas tape for the stereo. Bing Crosby's mellow voice rang through the house. Pete's thumb shot in the air. “I have a turkey to defrost, stuffing to make, and a pie to bake. And a Merry Christmas to one and all!” he bellowed.

 

It was a snowy fairyland, the kind of setting artists captured on Christmas cards. Evergreens, their branches bowed with feathery light snow, gave off a heady, pungent aroma. The moon, a silvery half circle, bathed the snow-covered mountains in a glorious, shimmering spectacle of delight.

Spirals of smoke spewed upward from the squat row of bunkhouses. The barn, a magnificent edifice, stood square and dark amid the plowed mounds of snow. Dim yellow light from the frosty windows spilled outward to create a patchwork quilt.

The main building—or the big house, as the ranch hands called it—stood sentinel as though guarding the outer building from the silence that surrounded the ranch spread.

It was Christmas Eve.

Inside the bunkhouse six ranch hands and two “city slickers” played cards and drank Johnnie Walker red. Most of the hands, with the exception of the six remaining men, were in Cheyenne for the Christmas holiday. These six playing cards would go to Cheyenne for New Year's when the others returned. The “city slickers” would remain.

Everything was battened down for the night. The special furnace and the warm pipes inside the monstrous barn kept the animals warm and snug.

The perimeters of the ranch appeared to be at peace.

The big house was also quiet, but well-lighted. It smelled of wood smoke and fragrant pine. It was a drafty old house full of leather, open-beamed ceilings, and wide-planked floors.

Inside, cuddled near the open fire, Maddie and Janny toasted the holiday with homemade wine that had the kick of a mule.

“To Christmas and heavy receipts at Fairy Tales,” Maddie said, holding her glass aloft. “And to your Unitec stock, may it go up, up, up.”

Janny drained her glass. “Don't you ever think about anything but money?” she said sourly.

“What would you suggest I think about? Pete? His old dear friend Annie? Nester? Those killers? Besides, didn't anyone ever tell you Christmas Eve is one of the heaviest-selling days of the year? Sales during the Christmas season can keep a retailer alive and well when his year sales are soft.”

“I wonder if there was a Christmas party at Merrill Lynch,” Janny mused. “I would have bought a new dress and hit on the broker I told you about. He made my toes tingle, and he believed in Unitec too.”

Maddie gulped at her wine. “I've noticed something, Janny. You seem to be taking this all very well. Why is that?” Maddie asked bitterly.

“Because I have no other choice. I could have held out back in Utah, done my time, so to speak, and I can do it here too. After the trial I'll make my decisions. You're fighting it, Maddie. Give in already and accept that things are the way they are.”

“We're slaves,” Maddie shot back. “We cook three meals a day for ranch hands. We're so tired at seven o'clock, we go to bed because we have to be up at four to make bread. We're getting a hundred dollars a week, and we have yet to be paid, and even if we were paid, there's no place to spend the money. There's no phone, no television, and there's a radio that plays on Sunday morning. Deliberately, I'm sure. We're snowbound and have to wait for a thaw. I've read
Field and Stream
, all nine issues, at least a dozen times each. I am on my second reading of
Moby Dick
. I can recite whole paragraphs by heart. Another thing,” she spat, “I hate the name Olive Parsons.”

“I wish you'd lighten up, Maddie. All we do is go over the same old things, day after day. I'm getting tired of it. I want to go to sleep. It's my turn to make the bread in the morning. Maybe you should take my turn and you can punch out your hostility on the bread. It's Christmas Eve, Maddie, peace on earth, goodwill toward man. We're alive, we're healthy, and we're safe. We have a roof over our heads and our stomachs are full. I wasn't going to say anything, but if you don't—if you can't—cope, then I'm going to ask to be moved.”

“After what we went through?” Maddie screeched.

“After what
you made us go through. The answer is yes.”

“But Fairy Tales . . . Pete . . .”

Janny sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Maddie, you did not own Fairy Tales. Pete put up the money, paid for the stock, paid the rent. Yes, your retail background was put into use, yes, you got it ready. Pete will keep it going somehow. He's a money person, like I am. He knows it will be a thriving business someday. Anyone with a brain can run a store. As for Pete . . . we talked about this so many times, I don't know if I can go through it again. One more time, Maddie. He's going to wait it out. No one in their right mind would expect someone like Pete to cave in and . . . join us in this godforsaken place. Use your head. He loves you. You love him. If that love is strong enough, he'll be there for you when you get back.”