Выбрать главу

“Mama, there has to be something. Sounds? Sights? Just be quiet for a minute and try to think.’’

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the driver’s window.

Willie Nelson’s “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” drifted over from the speakers of someone’s CD player. The crack of a cow whip rang out. Cheers and whistles came from a makeshift barrel-racing course on the far edge of camp.

“I’m sorry, Mace,’’ Mama finally said. “When I shut my eyes, all I can see is a maze of tree limbs and the ground coming at me.’’

I felt for her. She wasn’t shying from the attention she was getting now, but she must have been awfully scared in those woods on the runaway Shotgun.

“All right, did you notice any people, then? You weren’t too far from the cook site. Did you see Johnny Adams, for example?’’

She shook her head.

“How about anyone in the Bramble family? Wynonna was in that crowd of people that gathered around where you fell off.’’

“Jumped off, Mace.’’ She turned sideways to glare at me. “I jumped off on purpose.’’

“Whatever, Mama. Did you see Wynonna before you saw the bees?’’

She started to say no, and then clapped a hand to her cheek. “Wait! When I was riding through the woods to holler to y’all, I saw Trey! He was half-hidden in some trees. And Mace, I think he’s drinking again.’’

I felt my heart sink.

“He pulled a silver flask out of his pocket, and poured half of it into a plastic cup from the lunch wagon. He looked around, real sneaky-like, and then took a big swallow.’’

“Maybe it was vitamin water, or something like that,’’ I said lamely.

She looked at me with pity. “Oh, honey, don’t do that.’’ We both remembered her Husband No. 2.

“And then Belle walked up to him,’’ Mama continued, sounding more certain as her memory filled in the blanks. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Belle looked upset. When Trey took out the flask again, she put her hand on his arm to stop him. But he shook her off and poured in the rest of it anyway.’’

“What’d Belle do?’’

“She turned and ran off into the trees. She had a camera case around her neck.’’

“What about Trey?”

“No, he didn’t have a camera.’’

I stopped my eye-roll before it started. “I meant, what’d Trey do next?’’

“Oh. Nothing. He just slid his back down the tree, swayed onto the ground, and took another big gulp from his drink. I’m sorry to have seen that, Mace.’’

“That’s okay, Mama.” I leaned over the seat and patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve done real well in remembering. How long was all this before the bees?’’

“I’d say five or ten minutes, maybe a little more. After I saw the two of them, I stopped to talk to that nice gal that Maddie knows from teaching school. She and her husband were sitting on a log, sharing their lunch. Sharon’s her name. Or maybe it was Karen,’’ Mama’s eyes rolled toward the car’s roof, like the name might be up there. “They both got cherry pie for dessert.’’

I knew I’d better lasso her back to the point, or I’d soon know how they liked their pie along with Sharon or Karen’s life history.

“What about noises, Mama? Did you hear anything unusual?’’

“You mean beside a swarm of bees?’’

She closed her eyes again, trying to remember. When she opened them, they were wide.

“Right before the bees, I did hear a funny noise. It was a slapping, like someone hitting their horse with a riding crop. I remember thinking no one should have to beat on an animal like that. It was loud, like this.’’ Just as she struck Sal’s leather seat hard with her hand, a rapping on the back windshield made both of us jump.

“Sorry.’’ Doc Abel leaned his head into the open window across from Mama. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just came to see how my patient is doing.’’

Mama waved her hand. “I’m fine, Doc. I sure do hate for anyone to make a fuss.’’

Yeah, Mama hates a fuss like Paris Hilton hates a party.

After Doc did a quick check of Mama’s ankle, I said, “C’mon in and have a seat.’’ I opened the car’s door and scooted over.

“Don’t mind if I do.’’ He thudded onto the back seat, and the Caddy seesawed with his weight. “The older I get, the more it takes out of me to go traipsing around in the woods. I don’t think I’ll make this ride again next year.’’

“Nonsense, Doc,’’ Mama said. “You’re still in fine shape.’’

I wondered if her fall had knocked Mama’s eyeballs loose.

“Well, thank you, Rosalee. But I’m fifty pounds too fat and twenty years too old. I’ll be seventy-nine on my next birthday, you know.’’

“I hope you plan something special. Tell me, does Mrs. Abel make a big deal out of your birthdays?’’

I had to admire her technique. Mama probably had Doc in mind for one of her bingo buddies, if he wasn’t married.

“My wife died many years ago,’’ Doc said. “In the year or two after I lost her, I didn’t have the heart to take up with someone else. But the more time that passed, the harder it got to imagine going out and starting all over again with dating and the like. I always kept busy with my work. Now, at my age, who the hell would want me?’’ He chuckled, but his eyes looked sad.

“Didn’t you have any kids? No grandkids?’’ Mama asked.

“My wife and I only had one child. A girl. She died in a car crash up near Holopaw when she was in her twenties. It was such a senseless loss. My wife never really got over it. She got sick herself within eighteen months of our daughter’s death. Cancer. She just didn’t seem to have the desire or the will to fight for her life,’’ he said.

Mama reached over the seat and put a gentle hand on his cheek. Her own cheeks were wet with tears. “Oh, you poor thing. I am so sorry.’’

My eyes felt hot. You never imagine when you meet somebody what kind of private heartache they’ve endured. I wished I could cry, or offer comfort, as naturally as Mama does.

“What was your daughter like, Doc?’’ I questioned him, staying in my emotional safety zone.

A smile lit his face. “She was lovely. And smart, too. She’d just finished college, and planned to follow my footsteps into medical school. She looked a little like Belle Bramble, that same fiery hair. She was just about Belle’s present age when she died. I think that’s why I’ve always been so fond of Belle. She reminds me of my girl, Lilly.’’

Doc seemed happy talking about his daughter. I was just about to ask him another question, when we heard a Bronx honk across the campsite.

“I’m back, Rosie! Maddie’s tent is up and I’ve got just the thing for a pre-dinner snack,’’ Sal yelled, holding up a foil-wrapped paper plate like a trophy. “This coconut cream pie’s got your name on it.’’

Doc opened the car door and eased his bulk outside. “I’ll be on my way, ladies. Maybe I’ll see y’all at dinner. Rosalee, stay off that ankle as much as you can, hear?’’

Sal, eyes twinkling at Mama, said, “Guess that means no dancing tonight, huh Doc? Me and Rosie won’t be cuttin’ a rug?’’

“Not unless you’re doing it with a pair of scissors,’’ Doc laughed.

As he walked away, he whistled that now-familiar tune. Off-key, of course. But as sad as Doc had seemed, it still sounded good.

I watched Sal—plumping Mama’s pillows, replacing her melted ice with a fresh supply. He unwrapped the pie and loaded a bite onto a plastic fork. Then he started feeding her, as if she’d wrenched her wrist and not her foot. It was kind of nauseating, but also sweet.

We’d had our differences, Sal and I. And the sound of that New Yawk accent still grated on my Southern ears. But he took such good care of Mama, treating her as if she were a pack of precious jewels. And Mama clearly loved being cosseted. Between bites, she beamed at Sal as if he were George Clooney and Brad Pitt rolled into one. And he beamed right back.