Green Lake (10 page)

He had a funeral to go to tomorrow. His superior had asked him to go and represent the department. Eris told him the Lymans were bitter toward him, but in the end it meant nothing. He probably wouldn't even see them, his boss had said. Maybe so, but they might see him, Eris knew, and the prospect made him uncomfortable.

His sleep that night was fitful. He experienced dream after confusing dream, and when finally he rose from damp sheets to slake a sudden thirst with a glass of water, he saw a light in Madeleine's bedroom. His microwave clock read half-past two.

Eris looked at the cabin again and was surprised to see the silhouette of a truck parked on the side of the road just above the cabin. He strained to see if anyone was inside, but the darkness thwarted him. Just as he was ready to go and put on his pants, the truck eased away. Eris put his glass in the sink and went to bed.

When he awakened in the morning he knew immediately what was ahead of him. He showered again, brushed his teeth and combed and tightly banded his hair. He put on a fresh uniform and knew he needed to make a trip to the dry cleaners in Fayville to take care of his others. He shined his boots and dusted off his hat and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He would need his dark glasses. They hid some of the scars and kept people from looking at him too long since they couldn't tell if he was looking at them or not.

He put a load of socks, T-shirts, and underwear in the washer and gathered up his dirty uniforms to dump them on the chair while he stood over the sink and ate a bowl of flakes for breakfast. There was no activity at the log cabin. Manuel's Jeep was gone, and Madeleine would probably be sleeping in after her late night.

When he was finished with his cereal he went back to the bathroom to run his toothbrush over his teeth again, and then he checked on the washer. Five more minutes to go. He returned to his bedroom and straightened the bed, telling himself Madeleine would have seen more furniture if she had come back here. He had a king-sized bed—the only size bed his feet didn't hang over—a night stand with a lamp, a dresser with a mirror, and a bookcase full of books. Eris didn't spend money on things he didn't need. He spent very little money at all, saving most of it and only occasionally giving himself an evening out. He didn't go often because his appearance usually drew people to look at him and he didn't like it. He sometimes thought if he weren't so tall he would blend right in with everyone else.

Which only made him wonder about his mother and father, how tall they were, what they looked like, and whether he looked like either of them. He knew he didn't want his father to be one of the numerous drunks he had encountered, and he didn't want his mother to be one of the women on the reservation who looked as if life had kicked her in the face. The inner strength and resilience he took pride in had to have come from somewhere, he told himself. His deep, heartfelt sense of right and wrong and the duty he felt to himself and others ... he didn't think he had acquired those values from the Renards.

Eris did want to learn about his heritage, if only to try to find something else to feel good about. He didn't have much, but he was proud of his abilities and of the inner man he had become, even if the outer man made small children cry and women's lips curl Before he left the house he transferred his clothes from the washer to the dryer and picked up the load of dry cleaning to take to Fayville. The funeral was at the Dunsford Funeral Home in
Augusta at ten o'clock. Eris had never been there, but he would have no trouble finding the place. Augusta wasn't a large city.

He arrived at nine-fifty and found only a handful of people inside the small chapel. He entered through the back entrance and sat in the last pew, hoping the people sitting in the front pew would not turn around. Ronnie Lyman's shaved head was lowered. His wife stared straight ahead at the tiny white casket surrounded by long white lilies.

Eris's nostrils quivered as he thought of what lay inside the casket.

He hated this. He hated the whole idea of funerals.

A couple came through the door and sat down in the pew in front of him. Eris recognized two reporters sitting near the front of the chapel, pens in hand, writing down the details.

“Wonder who's paying for it?” whispered the man in front of Eris. His wife gave him a sharp look and shushed him. Eris, too, wondered who was paying. That pearl-white casket was not exactly a cheaper model.

The sound of an organ began then, and one or two long, drawn-out songs were played by an unseen organist, who warbled along with the music. Eris sat fingering his hat and wondering who the people in the chapel could be. One woman beside Ronnie had to be his mother. She had the same color hair and the same washed-out eyes. Another woman on the other side of Sheila and the girls was probably Sheila's mother. She had a look of resignation that suggested this was only one of many funerals she had attended in her life.

A minister stepped up beside the casket as the music ended and led them all in a prayer before he began to speak about the innocence and sacredness of children. Eris listened for a time, and then he stopped listening, because he heard his adoptive mother's Baptist teachings and he grew irritated by the memories it inspired. When the minister stopped speaking, attendants came to usher the group in the chapel past the open casket. Eris slipped out the back door again. One of the reporters saw him and beckoned, but Eris shook his head and got in his truck. He had decided against going to the cemetery, but something he saw as he sat in his truck with his hand on the ignition changed his mind for him.

Ronnie and his mother were the first family members to emerge. Ronnie was sobbing and his mother was trying to comfort him. Ronnie shoved his mother violently away from him and reached for Sheila as she came shakily out the door. Sheila stood like a statue while Ronnie threw his arms around her and cried. Sheila's mother put the two girls in the limousine and climbed in after them. Ronnie's mother crept over to join them. Sheila, meanwhile, had not moved a muscle, and Ronnie finally lifted his head to look at her.

Eris could read her lips from where he sat. She said, “Get away from me.”

Ronnie dropped his arms and his fists clenched. His jaw worked furiously as he looked around himself, and in that moment Eris knew Ronnie Lyman was into physical abuse. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to erupt into aggression, only the circumstances and the curious onlookers prevented it.

Sheila walked stiffly to the limousine and, after taking a deep breath, Ronnie followed her.

The funeral procession was a short one, with only six or seven cars following the hearse and limousine to Elmwood Cemetery. Eris was last in line, and he decided to stay in the truck for the graveside service and simply observe.

The wind had come up, whipping women's dresses and flapping men's jackets open and messing up carefully done hair. The tent belonging to the funeral home tossed and pitched and looked several times like it was going to blow over. When the service concluded, most people stayed for only a brief show of respect before walking back to their cars. Eris saw Sheila pick up a white lily and toss it into the open grave before blowing a last kiss to her baby girl. Ronnie put his hand on her shoulder and tried to lead her away from the grave, but Sheila shook him off. She took one little girl in each hand and walked to meet a woman who was standing by a van and obviously waiting for them.

Ronnie shouted at Sheila, and, even with the wind, Eris could hear him ask what the hell she thought she was doing.

Sheila turned back and said something Eris couldn't hear, but it was something that made Ronnie stop dead in his tracks and stare. Then he charged.

Eris threw open the door of the truck and hit the ground running. By the time he reached them, Ronnie had shoved his wife against the side of the van and was holding her by the throat with one hand and pointing in her face with an angry index finger, telling her she wasn't going anywhere. Sheila's face was turning purple as she gasped for air, and she gestured desperately for someone to take away her two screaming little girls.

Shocked witnesses stared as Eris grabbed Lyman by the shoulder and attempted to spin him around.

Ronnie held on to Sheila's neck for all he was worth, not even looking to see who was trying to peel him away.

Eris growled between his teeth and punched Lyman hard in the right kidney. “Let go, dammit.”

The hold was broken, and Ronnie buckled and fell to his knees, gasping in pain. When he looked up and saw Eris, his eyes rounded. Sheila was gagging and coughing, her face still purple, and when Eris looked to see if she was all right, her husband sprang up from the ground and hit Eris in the face as hard as he could, knocking off his glasses and sending him back into Sheila and the van and splitting one side of his mouth open. Before Eris could react, Lyman swung again, this time laying into Eris's nose and cheek. Eris took the blow, spat blood, and then barreled head first into Lyman, connecting with his solar plexus and knocking him to the ground, where he lay gasping for air while Eris moved up and put a knee on his neck.

“Don't move,” Eris warned. He looked around then. “Someone call the police.”

“I'll do it,” said the woman with the van.

“Go ahead,” Ronnie grated. “She won't press charges.”

Eris hawked blood and looked at Sheila. One hand at her throat, she hoarsely promised, “This time I will. And I'm gonna tell 'em everything.”

Ronnie squirmed violently beneath Eris. “No you won't!” he screamed, his face red and veined. “You won't say shit! You do and I'll kill you, you hear me? I'll come after you and kill your ass!”

Sheila stared at him, her eyes frightened, and Eris pressed down harder with his knee, choking off anymore sounds from Lyman.

“Be sure and add that to your complaint,” said the woman with the cell phone as she finished her call. “Murder threats are not something the courts take lightly these days.”

Eris wiped at the blood running down his face from his nose and his lip and noticed for the first time the number of people standing around and staring. The reporters were scribbling furiously. Go home,” he said loudly. “Give the police a chance to get in the cemetery.”

“You're lucky he didn't go for your gun,” someone said, and Eris exhaled a bubble of blood in response.

Slowly, the lingerers began to leave, and soon the police arrived and took over. As Eris walked back to his truck, he saw a reporter hurrying to catch him.

“Your name,” she huffed. “I need your name.”

Eris kept walking.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sherman Tanner was busy digging around Eris Renard's coleus plants when he saw the conservation officer come rolling down the road. Tanner straightened and immediately started to hurry off, but it was too late. The Indian had already seen him. Renard parked his truck beside the house and got out frowning.

“What are you doing?”

Tanner ignored the question. His eyes were glued to the blood on Eris's clothes and the swollen state of his lip and cheek.

“What in God's name happened to you?”

“Nothing,” said Eris. “Stay the hell out of my yard, Tanner.”

Tanner puffed up his chest. “I was just doing some thinning on your coleus. I didn't realize it would offend you so badly.”

“Next time, ask.”

Tanner snorted in indignation and carried his spade away from the man and his precious plants. If he was going to be that way, then just let him. Sherman Tanner didn't need anything from his yard. He was curious, was all.

Desperate to spread the news about Renard's condition, Tanner went into his house to tell his wife and give her the plants he had obtained, and then he hopped into his car and hurried down to the swimming beach, where he had seen the two pretty sisters from the log cabin go, flaunting their bare legs and flimsy swimsuit cover-ups.

He found the blonde on the sandbar with a fat paperback; the redhead was out walking around in the water.

Sherman
pretended to be strolling along the beach when he approached Madeleine.

“Why, hello there, neighbor.”

“Hello, Mr. Tanner,” said Madeleine, clearly not pleased to see him.

“Enjoying the sun, I see.”

“Yes.”

“It's smart to wear a hat, with skin like yours.”

She said nothing, only looked at him.

“Just saw the strangest thing, up at the cabin,” he began. “I was taking some of the coleus plants Renard said I could have when I saw him come driving up. Now, its past lunch, and he doesn't usually come home around this time, but, anyway, the man was covered with blood. Both his shirt and pants were splattered with it, and his face looks a mess. Not that it's so attractive to begin with, but—”

Tanner stopped when she got up and put on her sandals, and he stared in surprise as she began to run up to the path.

“Madeleine?” her sister called from the water, but the blonde didn't stop.

Sherman was only too happy to approach the redhead and tell his juicy bit of news all over again. He loved being the first to tell people things.

Madeleine was breathing hard when she reached Eris's door. It was open and she walked right in, calling out as she moved through his house. He came from a room at the end of the hall and stared at her in her swimsuit.

She moved closer as her eyes adjusted. He was bare-chested and barefooted, wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and then she made a face as she spied his lip. “Ouch.”

Eris shook his head and went back into his bathroom.

Madeleine followed and saw him lift a washcloth to the cut to clean the dried blood away.

“Let me do that,” she offered.

“I can do it,” he said, his voice irritated.

“Oh, sit down.” She placed her hands on his back and eased him to the toilet, where she put the lid down and pushed him to sit on it. She glanced at his hardened brown nipples and took the washcloth from his hands to dab gently at the split and swollen lip.

“I doubt he was bigger than you,” she said, “but I still have to ask the outcome.”

Eris mumbled something she couldn't understand, and she took the washcloth away.

“Come again?”

“I said he's in jail right now.”

“Oh. Good. Do you have any kind of ointment? It'll be easier on the lip when it starts to heal.”

“There's some in the cabinet.”

“Okay. I'll get it in a minute.” She placed a hand under his chin and tilted his head up so she could get the last of the dried blood off his face. She found herself studying the scars on his skin and unconsciously smoothing them with a finger. When she glanced at his eyes she saw him look quickly away from her, as if he had been studying her while she studied him. She smiled and lightly tweaked him on the nose, only to see him grimace in pain.

“Oops, sorry.”

She opened the cabinet and found the ointment inside. Putting some on the tip of her finger, she placed herself in front of him again, standing between his open thighs. She saw his eyes light on her breasts a fraction of a second before moving up her chest to her neck. Madeleine grasped him by the chin once more and gently applied the ointment to the cut, smoothing it over the lip and accidentally getting some on his teeth.
He was very still, she noticed. It was almost as if he had stopped breathing.

“Hurt?” she said.

“Nnnh.”

“Your cheek is going to bruise,” she said. “Not much you can do about it, unless you've got an herbal poultice handy. That might be one advantage to learning about your ancestors.”

He looked at her and said, “I want to.”

“Do you?” she said, pleasantly surprised. “When?”

“Whenever.”

“Meaning whenever you get around to it? I've checked, Eris, and I've found that most conservation officers are married with families. None of them are so devoted to the job that they keep the same hours as you do. They have their beepers if anyone needs them, and you have your beeper if anyone needs you.”

“You called the office?”

“I did. The man I spoke with told me it was impossible to be on call twenty-four hours a day every day. You should take some time for yourself this summer.”

“And provide diversion for a bored anthropologist?”

Madeleine searched his dark brown eyes and felt her spine stiffen.

“Just when I was starting to like you,” she muttered, and she stepped from between his legs and tossed the tube of ointment in the sink.

“That's the part that's bothering me,” Eris said before she could leave the room. “I think we'll both agree that a woman who looks like you usually has little to do with a man who looks like me.”

“Is that how you judge your self-worth?” Madeleine turned to ask, her voice sharp.

“It's nothing but a fact, Madeleine. I don't know what you're after, and I can't help thinking I'm slated to become some kind of summer project for you.”

Madeleine stood listening to him and in her annoyance she grew suddenly confused. She no longer knew her reasons for wanting to be around him or the impetus behind her actions, so how could he?

She met his gaze and said, “I have no explanation to offer, other than the fact that I think you're a good man, Eris.”

He stood and moved to look down at her. “Manuel told me you've had a bad time of it lately. I didn't ask what, and I don't want to know. All I ask is that you not fool yourself into believing I'm going to be your buddy, or that you'll be a little less lonely if you stroll down and chat with old Eris once in a while. I don't want to be part of your recovery.”

Madeleine looked into his earnest, swollen face and regretted the obvious discomfort she had caused him thus far. He thought she was using him, teasing him, playing with him, all to build up her own battered and bruised ego.

Maybe she was.

And maybe she wasn't. Maybe somewhere in all the sniping and foot stomping she had genuinely begun to like the silent Eris Renard. She knew she did, otherwise she would never have run all the way here from the swimming beach to see if he needed help.

But there was no way to prove it to him. She had no choice but to back off and let him be, show him she wasn't vain and stupid and desperate to be wanted by someone.

“I have been lonely, yes,” she said slowly, “but it's been a long time since I've lived alone. I don't think I'm using you, but I don't really know. I haven't asked myself why I'm drawn to you. Maybe I should do that. And if you're right, if the reason has something to do with what drove me here, then I will apologize to you with all my heart.”

They stood just inches apart, Madeleine acutely aware of the scent of his warm, bare skin, and Eris looking at her face with an expression that made the breath catch in her throat.

Madeleine forced herself to turn away and walk out of his house.