“Weather’s bad.”
“I’ve driven in worse.”
By the time Sister and Gray had reached Sam and Dalton, Dalton had managed to dislodge the truck, which was now parked on the shoulder.
Sam, sprawled on the front seat, was out cold.
“Dalton, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Dumb luck. I happened to be heading home this way. Given Sam’s record, I thought if the sheriff found him, he’d lose his license for good.”
“And be put in jail.”
“Perhaps that’s not a bad thing.”
Gray took a deep ragged breath.“I know,” he said as he fought back tears. “I thought he’d beat it this time. I really did.”
“Gray, drive my truck. I’ll drive the Toyota with Sam in it.”
“No, we’ll do it the other way around. If he comes to and pukes or gets belligerent, you won’t have to deal with it or clean it up.” He paused as snowflakes whitened his salt-and-pepper hair. “This is it. This is the last time I help him. I can no longer be my brother’s keeper.”
“Gray,” Sister put her hand on his shoulder. “You did more than your share for him. More than your share by far.”
Gray dropped his head, then looked up,“Getting worse, the storm.”
“I can follow you to wherever you’re taking him.”
“Thanks. We’ll turn left at Owensville Road, and I know you’ll go straight to get home.” Sister smiled. “Thank you, Dalton.”
“No need.” He nodded and climbed back into his Land Cruiser, a vehicle that can get through just about anything.
Sister followed Gray as he negotiated the twisty road, snow blowing across it as the winds intensified. She was sick at heart for Gray and for Sam, too.
Gray helped his brother to bed at the old home place. He and Sister took off Sam’s clothes, tucked him in, and put a wastebasket by the bed in case he did get sick and couldn’t make it to the john.
“I’m not staying with him. I’m afraid I’ll kill him when he wakes up.”
“Good decision.” She looked down at Sam, oblivious to the grief he was causing, and felt a rustle of anger at him. “Come home with me. You don’t have to entertain me or vice versa, but tonight’s the kind of night when you need a friend.”
He lightly placed his hand on the back of her neck.“You’re a good woman, Jane.”
That night as the winds howled, Sister held Gray as he fell asleep. She stayed awake for another hour and thought about the miseries people inflict upon others when they won’t be responsible for themselves.
CHAPTER 37
China lined the two cupboards. Glasses sparkled next to them. A glass display case up front across from the checkout counter protected antique pieces. On the left side of these treasures, men’s furnishings and ladies apparel stood out from the paintings and paneling. On the right side hung hunt whips, both knob end and stag horn, professional thongs—eight-plaited or twelve-plaited—and beyond, bridles and saddles, their vegetable-tanned leather emitting a satisfying fragrance.
A change of venue usually stimulated Sister’s brain. So that morning she took Gray and drove the ploughed-out and ever-overcrowded ribbon of Route 29 north to Warrenton, a town she loved, where the courthouse alone was worth the two-hour drive, to visit Horse Country. Fauquier County, its rolling foothills, restrained estates, was currently braving an onslaught of Washington, D.C., money. Like lemmings, Washingtonians scurried out Route 66 West, hooking left on Route 29, down to Warrenton. This trip without heavy traffic could be accomplished in an hour or even less; with traffic, it was anyone’s guess. Like Loudon County, infested with developments where verdant land used to delight the eye, Fauquier staggered and faltered. The money was too good: people sold or subdivided their estates.
Each time Sister drove up to Horse Country to visit Marion Maggiolo and her staff, like a family really, Sister felt her credit cards burning in her pocket.
Gray, spirits somewhat restored, rejoiced in Sister’s company. Marion, who knew Gray from his days of hunting in Middleburg, was pleasantly surprised to see how attentive he was to Sister. The two friends caught up for a while before Marion went back to her office and Sister started shopping.
She picked out a blue tattersall vest, and a shirt off the men’s pile, then she discovered a pair of gloves that had been handmade in England. A true glover put these together: it wasn’t two or even four pieces stitched together, but over twenty. The stitching was done in such a way that the threads never touched the inside of the hand. Between the third and last fingers a special patch was sewn on, just where the reins rubbed. The soft inside palm also had another layer, cut to conform to the lay of the thumb. The spectacular gloves made of Capibara leather carried a spectacular price. Sister touched them, pressed them to her nose, put them back, picked them up.
“Dammit!” She cursed under her breath, picking them up for the last time and placing them with her ever-growing pile on the counter.
Gray, his own credit card in hand, perused her pile.“I thought you were just coming to visit Marion.”
“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” She pointed to his mass of breeches, socks, stock ties, and shirts resting on the counter. “And I see that you, too, bought these gloves. Gloves that cost as much as a car payment.”
They burst out laughing as Wendy, behind the counter and a fixture at the store, totaled up their bills.
Charlotte strolled by, and in her hand was a lovely Moroccan bound book, its rich burgundy leather soft to the touch. She ran a bookstore; gorgeous antique hunting volumes and other equine objects were her speciality.“While you’re spending money.” She dangled the book in front of Gray.
“Ask Momma,”he read the title aloud, a classic from the nineteenth century.“Charlotte, you’re such a temptress.”
“Yes, everyone says that about her.” Wendy kept ringing up items.
Gray addedAsk Mommato his pile.
Driving back down Route 29, they laughed at their impulsiveness.
Gray took a deep breath, slapped his hands on his thighs.“I worked hard enough making it. I might as damn well spend some of it.”
“Hard to resist those gloves.”
“I know.” He whistled appreciatively.
“We’ve driven all the way up; we’re driving all the way back. I can’t stand it. What did Sam say when he was restored to his senses?”
“When he called this morning on my cell phone,” Gray paused. “First, I didn’t tell him where I was. Second, I didn’t tell him you and Dalton helped him. He’ll find out in good time. Third, do you have your seat belt on?”
“I do.”
“He swore he did not take a drink.”
“What?” She was incredulous.
“Swore on our mother’s soul!”
“But he was blotto. Gone.”
“He swears it. I asked him what he remembered. He said he left the AA meeting with two other men, whom he couldn’t name because he’s not supposed to tell.”
“How convenient.”
“Right. And the next thing he remembers is waking up in bed, head thumping, stomach churning.”
Her voice softened.“Do you believe him?”
“Jane, he’s lied to me for close to thirty years. It’s hard to believe him.”
“That it is.”
“And I didn’t feel like talking about it when we left. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It’s just,” he rested his hands on his knees, “I’m so sick of it.”
“I understand.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“For what?”
“For picking me up in a snowstorm, for driving up to Garth Road, for driving back and putting Sam to bed, for putting up with me last night.”
“I like your company.”
He breathed in deeply, turned to her, and ran his left forefinger along her right cheek.“I like you, Jane. So much.”
They drove in silence to where Route 29 and Highway 17 converge, 29 going south and 17 stretching on to Fredericksburg.