Luke Brueggemann sat on the living room sofa and looked up when Joe came in. He was wearing his uniform and cradling a can of Pepsi between his knees. He looked at him expectantly, his eyes wondering why Joe hadn’t called him.
“I called your room,” Joe said. “I left a message. In the future, you need to be prepared or let me know your cell phone number.”
At the same time, though, Joe was grateful Brueggemann hadn’t been along to see Nate Romanowski.
His trainee plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and punched numbers. Joe’s own phone burred in his pocket and he leaned back to pull it out but Brueggemann said, “That’s me. You have my number now.”
“Okay.”
“Did you find anything up there?” Brueggemann asked.
“Nope,” Joe said, as he turned and hung his jacket on a peg in the mudroom and put his hat on the shelf. “Somebody’s idea of a prank call, I guess.”
Brueggemann shook his head. “I’ve heard that happens.”
Joe sat down in a chair facing Brueggemann and said, “It does.” Then: “Why are you here?”
The trainee grinned and his face flushed. “I got your message when I got back to my room. So I threw on my uniform and waited for you to pick me up. When you didn’t, I started driving up here thinking I’d meet you here. But when I got here, you were gone.”
As he talked, Marybeth came into the living room from the kitchen, shaking her head at Joe. “My husband has forgotten what being a trainee is like,” she said. “Even though it should be scarred into his memory. It sure is scarred into mine.”
“I said I left a message,” Joe said, sitting back in the chair.
His wife looked casual and attractive in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, making her look young, Joe thought. She wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses Joe referred to as her “smart glasses.” It was obvious she’d taken pity on Luke Brueggemann.
She said, “I saw him sitting in his truck out on the road, so I invited him in and fed him some dinner,” she said. “I told him you’d be back soon. I didn’t think it would be two hours.”
Joe shrugged.
“I tried to call you on the radio,” Brueggemann said, looking away from Joe so as not to pile on too much, “but you must have been out of range.”
“I guess so,” Joe said. He’d turned his radio off when Nate had appeared in the woods.
“Anyway,” Marybeth said, apparently finished with her admonishment, “Luke here helped April with her math and listened to Lucy recite some of her part from the play. So all in all, a nice evening.”
She winked at Joe to show Joe she was teasing. Joe shook his head at his wife. Those items would have been on his agenda for the evening.
To Brueggemann, Marybeth said, “Remember this when you get married and move your new bride to your game warden quarters in the middle of nowhere. Advise her that you are always on call so she won’t be angry when you suddenly have to leave the house at any hour. In fact, before you get married, have her give me a call.”
“Don’t do it,” Joe said to Brueggemann. “Keep her in the dark. It’s better that way.”
The trainee looked from Marybeth to Joe, and to Marybeth again.
“I’m kidding,” Joe said.
Brueggemann visibly relaxed and realized he’d been played by both of them. “You had me going there,” he said.
“And another thing,” Joe said. “Don’t ever go out on a call without your trainee.”
“Ha! I never would.”
Marybeth sent Brueggemann back to his room at the TeePee Motel with leftovers, which the trainee was enthusiastic about.
“I’ve been eating too much fast food and microwave soup and drinking too many sodas,” he said. “A home-cooked meal is pretty nice.”
“Anytime,” Marybeth said.
Joe told Brueggemann he’d call him in the morning.
“Are we going to check out those elk camps?” Brueggemann asked at the door.
“Maybe,” Joe said. “It depends on the weather and circumstances. Everything’s fluid at all times.”
Brueggemann nodded earnestly and shut the door.
“I like him,” Marybeth said, giving Joe a delayed hello peck on the cheek. “He’s an eager beaver. He reminds me of you when you started.”
Joe nodded, and realized how hungry he was. He asked, “Did you give him all of the leftovers?”
“Oops,” she said.
While Marybeth cooked Joe an egg sandwich in the kitchen, he said, “Nate was out there.”
He noticed how her back tensed when he said it. She looked over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove. “I had a feeling about that,” she said. “In fact, I knew we could have reached you by cell phone, but I didn’t suggest it to Luke. I thought if you’d hooked up with Nate, you probably wouldn’t want your trainee showing up.”
“You’re right about that,” Joe said.
“So how is he? Was he … involved with those men they found in the boat?”
Said Joe, “Nate’s injured, but he claims he’s okay. And yes, that was him who shot those men in the boat. He says they tried to ambush him and it was self-defense.”
Her eyes got big and she started to ask Joe a question, when she suddenly looked around him and said, “Hello, Lucy. Time for bed?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “I wanted to say good night.”
Fourteen-year-old Lucy was in the eighth grade at Saddlestring Middle School. She was blond and green-eyed and lithe — a miniature version of her mother. She was still getting used to not having her older sister Sheridan in the house, but was using the occasion to bloom into her own personality, which was expressive and good-hearted. She was growing into an attractive and pleasant young lady, Joe thought.
Joe said, “Sorry about missing your speech tonight.”
“It wasn’t a speech,” Lucy said. “It was the first act of the play. I’ve got to have it memorized by the end of the week.”
“And how’s it going?”
“Good,” she said, and flashed a smile.
Sheridan had been an athlete, although not an elite one. Lucy had opted for speech and drama, and had recently been chosen for one of the female leads in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
“My character is Lucy Pevensie,” Lucy said, and cued Marybeth.
Marybeth said, “‘The White Witch? Who’s she?’”
Lucy’s face transformed into someone younger and more agitated, and she said, “‘She is a perfectly terrible person. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia though she has no right to be queen at all, and all the fauns and dryands and naiads and dwarfs and animals — at least all the good ones — simply hate her. …’”
When she finished, Joe said, “Wow.”
“I always think of Grandma Missy when I say those lines,” Lucy said. “She’s my inspiration.”
Joe laughed and Marybeth said, “Get to bed, Lucy. That was a cheap shot.”
“But a good one,” Joe said, after Lucy had padded down the hallway to her room, pleased with herself for making her dad laugh.
“Don’t encourage her,” Marybeth said.
“Yeah,” sixteen-year-old April said, as she passed her sister in the hallway. “She gets enough of that as it is.”
April was wearing her tough-girl face and a long black T-shirt she slept in that had formerly belonged to Sheridan. Although the shirt was baggy, it was obvious April filled it out. Joe caught a whiff of wet paint and noted that April had painted her fingernails and toenails black as well.
April had come back after years of being passed from foster family to foster family. She’d seen and done things that couldn’t be unseen or undone. Marybeth and Joe had thought they were on a path to an understanding with April, and then Marybeth had discovered April’s stash of marijuana.