I glanced at Hope. Her eyes pleaded with me. I smiled tightly. “She’s all yours, Tubby.”
He whooped and dragged her to the crowded dance floor.
Hope’s defection spurred mine. No such luck I’d get away easy.
Our neighbor Iris Newsome cornered me. “Mercy. I’m surprised to see you here, although I am glad I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to come by. How are you holding up?”
I’m drinking more than usual and my career is toast, but besides that, I’m peachy keen.
Nah. Not a good response. “I’m taking it day by day.”
“I know how that goes.” She smiled sadly and turned to focus on Hope and Tubby twirling around on the dance floor.
Dealing with Iris always set my teeth on edge, mostly because I didn’t know how to deal with her.
When Hope was five, she was playing cowboys and Indians in the shelterbelt behind our oldest barn with her best friend, Jenny, Iris’s daughter. Somehow Jenny had managed to sneak her father’s eight-inch Bowie knife into her Barbie backpack.
Hope’s jealousy that Jenny had the real thing, while she had to make do with a plastic toy gun, spurred Hope to sneak inside and grab Dad’s snub-nosed Ruger revolver from his nightstand drawer.
After Hope captured Jenny, she’d tied her up and interrogated her. Just like on TV. When Jenny’s answers weren’t to her liking, Hope placed the gun barrel to Jenny’s forehead. Just like on TV. But unlike on TV, when Hope pulled the trigger and fired, she blew Jenny’s brains all over the barn and all over herself.
When Jenny didn’t hop up and laugh, just like on TV, Hope started to scream. She screamed until her voice gave out and she went into a catatonic state.
Dad literally picked up the pieces.
Even through their grief, Jenny’s parents hadn’t blamed Hope. They knew everyone in our part of the world kept their guns loaded; the circumstances could’ve easily gone the other way and we’d have been buying a pine box and planning a funeral.
The incident became another turning point in our lives. Dad burned the barn to the ground and purchased a gun safe. Within two months he quit wallowing in the grief and whiskey that’d followed my mother’s death and signed on with the sheriff’s department as a deputy. Hope still suffers from random periods of depression. Rather than medicating her, we all tread lightly during these episodes and use our family strength to shield her from others and herself.
The catastrophe hadn’t dimmed my love of firearms; it merely increased my respect for the deadly consequences of misuse. Killing, even accidentally, will make some people delicate, like my sister. But killing is the one thing I’m good at, even if the payoff is some sleepless nights.
Iris faced me. “I’m calling a meeting next week with Bob Peterson about some of the changes those LifeLite people who bought the old Jackson place have made.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been by there yet?”
“Ah. No.” It was hard to imagine the kind of changes that could require the attention of our county commissioner.
“It’s an abomination. Eight-foot-high electric fences and manned gates twenty-four hours a day? They’ve got to be doing something illegal, especially with so many new outbuildings popping up practically overnight… heaven only knows what for.”
“What can Bob do?”
“First of all, he can check to see if their permits are up to snuff.”
“And if they aren’t? What then?”
“He can bring it to the county commission and stop any additional building. Hopefully all of the landowners with adjoining property, who are affected by the blight on the landscape, can make our voices heard. Or at least encourage the county to enforce legal actions and heavy fines for building violations. If enough of us sign the petition to enact some sort of covenants to keep it from happening again, we can bring it to a countywide vote.”
I snorted at her casual use of the word covenants. No rancher I knew would ever consider voting for that type of restriction. Sure, they may hate what those outsiders were doing to the property, but they’d never allow their own personal freedoms to be dictated by local government. Or the local busybody.
“I got you thinking, didn’t I?” Iris asked smugly.
“No. I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“But as a landowner-”
“Which is in question right now, isn’t it?”
Her mouth tightened. “You aren’t seriously considering selling?”
I offered her a greasy politician’s smile. “I’m seriously considering peeing my pants if I don’t get to the bathroom pretty damn quick.”
Iris retreated, taken aback by my rudeness.
She was probably thinking if my mother hadn’t died, I would have better manners. Or if her daughter Jenny had lived, she certainly wouldn’t have uttered such a crude comment.
Mumbling “Excuse me,” I made a break for the bathroom, locked myself in the stall, and dug the whiskey flask out of my boot. After sucking down three gulps of liquid fire, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the burn.
Mature, Gunderson. How often in the last month had I looked to Jack Daniel’s or Jim Beam for strength? Too many.
Reluctantly I exited the stall. At the crowded sink, I glanced in the mirror as I dried my hands. Molly, the oldest daughter of my oldest friend, Geneva, winked at me and grinned. “You hiding in here?”
“Yep. Are you?”
“We both are.” She nudged the lanky Indian girl standing next to her. “Sue Anne, this is my mom’s friend, Mercy.” Molly added slyly, “She’s also Levi Arpel’s aunt.”
Sue Anne’s brown eyes widened. “Really? Is Levi here?”
I’d forgotten to ask Hope if Levi had tagged along. “I don’t know. I could ask his mom if you want.”
“No, no, don’t, it’s okay. Maybe we’ll see him around.”
“Sue Anne thinks he’s a total hottie,” Molly said. “They’re actually sneaking-”
“Shut up!” Sue Anne blushed and pushed her.
My nephew a hottie? Whoa. Hanging out with these girls for even two seconds made me feel every one of my thirty-eight years. “If I see Levi, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
I ducked out of the bathroom and considered leaving. As I debated, I saw Hope slow dancing with some guy I didn’t know. Weird. I scanned the group of kids lined up against the far wall like they were facing a firing squad, but didn’t see Levi.
“Hey-o, you are here.”
“I told you I would be, Sophie.”
“You’re not smiling. No wonder you’re standing here alone while everyone else is out dancing, eh?”
“Don’t you have grandchildren to harass or something?”
Sophie shuffled into my line of vision. “Shee. They don’t fight back. They say ‘yes Unci’ or ‘no Unci,’ where you snarl like Devlin’s pit bull. You’re more fun.”
I gave her a droll stare. “Comparing me to a dog to see if I bite? You must be bored.”
“Curse of the elders. Got nothing to do but stir up trouble.” Her wrinkled face brightened, and she waved to someone across the way.
“Well, have fun mixing things up. I’m going home.”
“Wait.” Sophie grabbed my sleeve. “There is someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Visions of Sophie’s (bad) matchmaking attempts twisted my guts into a knot. “Who?”
The song ended. A round of applause broke out.
Jake sidled up behind Sophie and squeezed her hunched shoulders. “Ready for that dance, Unci?”
“Afraid you’re too late, takoja. I’m off to sit with some friends. But Mercy told me she would like to dance.”
Talk about stirring up trouble.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Jake led me to the dance floor. Tempting to glare at Sophie, but her genuinely happy smile doused my burning look. Plus, if I stuck around, she’d probably fix me up with someone worse than Jake.