Focused Page 10

  His mind halted and rewound to the conversation. Owens. The name and the voice in the background of the phone call echoed. “Are you staying here tonight, Chris?” That’s what he’d said. Was this jaunt really an emergency? Or planned? Had she been that ticked off?

  A proprietary prickle raised the hairs on his forearm, just for a second, then he sloughed it off. No way. Maybe she went there to face finally her sorrow over her parent’s deaths and the flood just happened. Of course it did. And Bud Owens just happened to be there, too. Maybe he and his wife were visiting. After all, he’d been married now for years, right?

  The hot water handle screeched, released a sputter, then another. The pipes squealed in a high pitch that tugged his eardrums before the flow increased to a good force. It was time to re-plumb. They’d been stalling it off for years, knowing it would put them back in debt. George and Barbara next door had rerouted theirs last fall and it ended up costing in the thousands. He’d been hoping to get Christina away for her fiftieth birthday, or their twenty-fifth. Maybe a cruise. “A cruise cures the blues.” That’s what the sign said in the travel agency window next to the bistro. Well, she was blue alright. Maybe so was he. Something had to change.

  If the company landed that bid, perhaps he’d get a hefty yearend bonus. Then they could do both, cruise and new pipes. Could he stand the tense moods until then? He had to admit the atmosphere tonight in her absence felt fresher, lighter. Kinda nice, actually. Maybe her jaunt up there would be the catalyst to finally get Mount Vesuvius to erupt and he not have to be in the path of the flowing lava. Then they’d be good to go for a while. That is, until it all started building up again. How do you stop a volcano?

  As the steamy shower poured over him, he remembered the forbidden Cubans tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. A special treat to end a bone crushing day. With a few fingers of that Scotch they got for Christmas from one of the fledglings at work who had drawn his name, the evening could be redeemed. If he sat outside on the back patio with his indulgences, she’d never know.

  * * *

  Christina stepped carefully over the path, barely illuminated by the light in the kitchen behind her and the yellow porch light ahead. The wind rustled through the oak leaves, dripping the last of the raindrops on her head as she walked. She smelled the dampness hovering in the air and noticed a small halo around the porch light, despite her new glare-free tints. Her skin felt moist with the heavy dew. She stopped to listen for sounds of life in the guesthouse. All she heard were the crickets and a bullfrog down near the creek. Somewhere over the hills a Chuck-will’s- widow called. The leaves dripped onto the path, making a flat sound in the moist dirt. Then came a cough. She noticed a figure moved on the front porch just out of the light’s reach.

  “Thought I saw your car still here.” The familiar male voice said.

  “Couldn’t leave without truly telling an old friend hello before I said goodbye.”

  “Everyone else does.”

  She stopped a few feet in front of him. His eyes caught the reflection of the bottle and glasses.

  “What the heck?”

  “That’s what your Mom said. Told her it was about time I returned an old favor.”

  Bud chuckled. “Well whatcha waiting fer, girlie? Unscrew that cap an’ pour.” He mocked his dad’s voice and plopped down on the stairs.

  She joined him. Her rear felt immediately damp. Oh well.

  She poured three fingers worth in each glass and handed him one. They sat in silence as Bud drank the first few sips. Christina left hers alone. She didn’t know whether to let him speak first or not. Please, dear Lord, guide me in this.

  She set her drink down. He downed his. He reached for the bottle and sniffed. “Paw’s getting smoother hooch these days.”

  “As I remember, you doused me with Boones Farm.”

  “Strawberry something, right? Damn, that sweet stuff was nasty.” He caught his cussing and apologized.

  “It was potent enough for me.” Christina defended the occasion and ignored his slip.

  “It was your first drunk?”

  “It was my only drunk.”

  “You’re kidding? Really? I’ll be. Not even in college? The night afore your wedding?”

  “Nope. Not my thing. See what you did. Cured me after the first bout.”

  “Your welcome.” Bud replied with a mimed tip of an imaginary Stetson.

  A raccoon rummaged through the wet leaves, chattering to itself. Christina sighed. Been there recently my furry friend. I’ve been talking to myself way too often lately.

  “Does Jeff know?”

  “Huh?” Her thoughts returned to the present conversation. “About the Boones Farm? Ah, yes, I told him.” Christina was surprised Bud remembered his name. The two couples had only met a few times in passing at the rodeo dance over the years. Even then, the tension seemed way too present. Maybe she mentioned his name earlier? “Jeff knows all about us, uh, you. . .our growing up.”

  Bud sighed and took another swig. He turned to her, the steel blues flashed with sharpness. “I never stopped loving you, you know.”

  “Bud. Stop it. You hardheaded bull.” Christina stood and put her hands on her hips. “I love you too. . .just not that way. More than that way.”

  Bud rose and walked over to the edge of the little porch. He leaned against the post, sloshing his drink in the jar. “I know. Now. I just didn’t then. Alice was a rebound.” He chugged another gulp.

  “Bud. . . I, I had no idea.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We both knew it. I was her rebound, too. Truth is, when I married her, she was four months along with Jamie.”

  “I never knew.” Christina didn’t know what to say. She sat down, rocked back on her rear and clasped her knees. Something told her she’d be a while. His tongue was loosening.

  “Yeah. I didn’t either at first. I mean that Jaime wasn’t mine. I married her anyway. We eloped. Drove all night and half a day to Vegas. But there it is. Dirty laundry out in the open.” He shuffled a boot in the drying caliche mud. “Honestly? We tried to make a go of it. Felt a second baby that we knew was ours might do the trick. Then Judy just kinda happened one night after we had a rip-roaring fight.” He plopped back down on the stoop.

  “Oh.” Christina felt that was a stupid response. But what other one was there?

  “You two just had one?”

  “Yes. I had to have an emergency hysterectomy after Josh. He’s our one and only.”

  “Bright kid, I hear tell. Like his dad,” he winked. “And his mom.” The soft blue came back into his eyes, though somewhat cloudy. For a moment they sat in silence. The leaves misted them with rain droplets as a breeze rustled through the trees.

  “You want to go see if the river’s down?” He suddenly suggested.

  “You aren’t thinking of a swim?”

  “Hell, uh, sorry, heck no. You know it’s not good to swim until the water turns green again. Besides we’d freeze our. . .hmm, tails off. All I need is to send you back into Jeff’s arms with blasted pneumonia.”

  That did it. Christina started to cry. She felt like a horse’s patoot. She felt him move towards her, then stop. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and whispered, “I’m Okay.”

  Bud bent to pour more Bourbon in her jar. She covered the rim with her other hand.

  “Please, I really don’t drink. I don’t want a repeat. It’s supposed to be your turn.” She sniffed.

  “What’s this all about, Chris?” He was the only one who could ever get away with calling her that. What started out as a tease because she was such a tomboy turned into an endearment over the years as they grew up.

  “Something. I don’t know. Lately my world’s been a little out of whack, that’s all. But I came over here so you could cry on my shoulder.” Her voice was raspy with emotion.

  “Turned the tables on you, huh?” The blue eyes danced again. Then the light behind them faded. “Talk to me about it.”

  She told
him about her escape. About her non-fight with Jeff. He sat quietly and listened.

  The katydids began to sing in the rain cooled night. Christina swirled a mud puddle around with a stick. “You know, many people said we were raised too differently. That it would never work out.”

  Bud repositioned to face her head on. His blue eyes peered into her soul, probing but not intruding. “You were never like your mother, Chris.”

  She smiled up at him. “I am more than you think. Early in our marriage, Jeff gave into my social entertaining gene.” She laughed at his eye rolls. “It’s true I have one. We’d invite couples over to barbeque in the backyard or play a game of gin rummy. It was never successful. By the time the couple arrived, we were well beyond feeling hospitable. I’d be in a panic rattling questions. Do you think the beans simmered down too much? Should I heat more rolls? Is the centerpiece too much in the way?”

  Christina shrugged. “Poor Jeff. I still recall him saying ‘Calm down, Christina. It’s just Betty and Jim, not the Queen.’ “ She gave the royal flip of the hand back and forth.

  Bud laughed and took a swig.

  “Still, the sarcasm in his voice stabbed me. I remember one time he crossed his arms folded over his chest and locked his knees in a military stance.” She sat up straight and imitated him. “He said, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t dash down to San Antonio to borrow your mother’s sterling and crystal.’ “

  “Ouch. I’ve had a few of those fights myself. Said crap just to get in a stab. Trouble is, she always pulled the knife out and slung it right back at me. Then I’d do the same until one of us stomped out.”

  Christina shook her head. “Not us. He’d grouse, I’d cower. I know it’s inbred in me to play hostess, so I found another outlet. I volunteered to be the one to organize, decorate, and more often than not, host events held at church or at Josh’s school. They usually ended the same way. Jeff fuming, me wondering why I even tried.” Her voice shook.

  Bud remained quiet and let her settle her emotions. He pushed the drink towards her. She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

  “You still into all that Bible stuff like you were in high school?” He cocked his head, looking at her T shirt to check for the little gold cross, the one she’d worn since she was thirteen.

  In a subconscious response, Christina reached for it then held it in her hand, running it back and forth on the chain. “If you mean do I pray and study His Word. Well, yes.” She dropped the cross, took off her glasses, then dabbed her eyes with the neck of her T shirt and stared at him through residual tears. Even fuzzy and slightly out of focus, his handsome face shone through. “Why do you ask?”

  “I could never figure that out about you. Everyone else who claimed they were Christians seemed too pushy. Shoving it down your throat. Repent or else. We tried it for a while after Jamie was born. Tried out three different churches in two years. Couldn’t keep up with all the rules. Then we just slowly quit trying.” He scooted closer to her.

  “But you. You have always been real. Maw and Paw, too, but they are old school. It was a part of their generation. Not ours. Still you always lived it.”

  “Bud, I haven’t been so great about doing that lately. That’s why I drove up here, I think. I always felt His presence here on the Guadalupe. I think I needed to feel that closeness again. I’ve been pushing everyone away. God. Jeff. Even my friends. I just didn’t want anyone to get so close they’d hurt me. I never ever want to hurt like I did when Dad died. Then when Mom followed him later. . .” She stopped before the tears erupted again. She’d done enough of that to last her a month of Sundays.

  “They loved each other too much to be without each other for long I guess.” Bud thought out loud.

  “Bud. That’s deep!” One look on his face and Christina knew her voice implied too much of a surprised reaction.

  “Didn’t think I had it in me, Chris?” He laughed and rubbed her on the back. The way he used to, a century ago. She didn’t mind. His touch was warm.

  “Do me a favor.” His hand stopped in the middle of her back. His voice became low and serious. “You two keep working’ it out. You keep close to your God. You’re my only hope that there’s something permanent and good out there for our generation. Don’t think I didn’t notice how Jeff still looked at you last time we caught up with y’all at the rodeo.”

  Christina was again surprised. Must be my night for them. “How?”

  “Chris. The man’s always been gaga over you. I could tell the first time you brought him up here all those years ago. The last time at Steppin’ Out, what, five or six years ago? He still had that look. I could’ve belted him.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Christina spoke. “What are you going to do now?”

  Now it was Bud’s turn to look startled. “To Jeff?”

  She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I mean, with your life. Your mother told me the circumstances. You know, Alice moving away with the kids.” Christina felt a twinge of guilt. Had she betrayed a confidence?

  Bud leaned back a bit. “That kitchen table. Mom’s place to open hearts and conversations. She told you over a cup of coffee, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah. Well, I just sold the house in Houston. Didn’t want to live there anymore. My job wasn’t all that great anyway.” Then he paused. “You and Jeff haven’t, uh . . .?”

  Christina waved both hands in front of her. “No. No, nothing like that. It’s just not having Josh around has taken some getting used to. Plus, Jeff’s new promotion has him working extra hours. We just seem to be . . .”

  “Ships passing in the night? Sounds lonely.” The warm hand moved to rub her shoulder blades. It had been a long time since anyone had done that.

  “Why don’t you come and visit?”

  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Chapter 19 Mud and Eggs

  “You sure?” Bud stared at her. He gently pressed his hand into her back. “Stay with you?”

  “Josh’s old room is vacant. You’d even have your own bath.” Christina back stepped in order to make her invitation more clear. “One of Jeff ‘s old school chums stayed in there for a week while in town for a convention. Then a couple from our town stayed for a while after they had a fire until their insurance found them housing. We like guests. You don’t mind cats, do you?”

  “Would you make me go to church?”

  “Probably. Jeff would.” She replied with a shrug.

  The hand dropped from her back and shook hers. “It’s a deal. I’ve been thinking about checking out the Austin job market anyway.”

  Later that night, Bud helped her open the shutters, turn on the power and prime the pump. The rain-cooled breeze felt rather brisk, but the dampness in her city clothes had not quite dissipated. He watched as, out of habit, she shook them for scorpions. In the Hill Country you always shook out clothes, mops, and brooms. Rule number two.

  “Good, you haven’t forgotten.”

  “Like riding a bike.” She left them to hang on the hooks outside, traditionally designated for bathing suits. The yellow aura from the bug light, unhindered by a shade, silhouetted the curves of her cheekbones, and other curves under the T-shirt. The woman had done a good job of keeping her figure. Then, as if her God sent a warning from Heaven, Bud caught the flash of her wedding ring. As she turned towards him, the slogan on her chest became visible. Don’t Mess with Texas. Right.

  He noticed she caught him looking at her. “Oohh.” Bud drawled and smiled. “I, uh, wasn’t going to comment on your choice of attire.”

  “Courtesy of long ago visitors who left the premises without all of their things. The flip-flops, too.” She stuck out a muddy foot and let out a soprano pitched “tah dah” that just might attract a hyena, if there were any such thing in the Hill Country. It resounded up the hill and bounced back flat against the bluff. That made Bud laugh.

  “What was that poem your Mom recited?” Bud was eying her foot drippi
ng with goop at the end of a calf a Playboy Bunny would still grit her teeth over. ‘Only a rose knows. . .’”

  “. . .how good mud feels between the toes.” Christina finished the verse. She slopped the flip-flops off one at a time, then rubbed her feet on the river rock porch as she grasped the doorjamb in a balance that reminded him of a ballerina’s move at the bar. Bud looked around the premise in a protective way. He wondered if he should turn his back, then couldn’t figure out why. Maybe he should get her a wet washcloth. Or not.

  “You sure you’re gonna be okay, Chris?”

  “I’m home. I’ll be fine.” She raised her head from her task and grinned the way that always melted his nerve without even trying.

  “Goodnight then.” He paused, just briefly, and then turned to walk down the path that led back through the woods to his property, and put a safer distance between them.

  Later that night Christina lay on the cot, looking out over the bluff. The almost full moon cast a soft bluish glow over a hushed earth. The river had stopped roaring, but she could still hear the rush of the current as it tried to dump enough downstream to get back into its banks. Maybe by morning, she yawned. The swishing hum became a white noise, almost shushing the other night sounds of crickets and frogs.

  What the riverfront would look like after the water receded? Would there be any grass left or would it have all washed away in the undercurrent swirls? How many times had her family painstakingly wheel-barrowed squares of sod, then one by one squished them down into the mud like Italian grape press dancers? Only a rose knows. . . Christina smirked at the memory of her high society mother in short-shorts with grass bits and dirt splatters on her calves. Just like her daughter today.

  How good mud feels…but it hadn’t in a long time. They had neglected this place too long. Remorse hung over her shoulders in the form of a shadowy shawl like her grandfather’s specter. She and her siblings had dropped the baton in the relay race against time’s endeavor to decay what was not cared for and buried in years of fallen leaves. This place was too precious, too uniquely blessed, to decompose from neglect. The obligation rose in her as a form of duty to God and Country. She started a mental to do list along with cobweb demolition and dust busting. She hoped Carl and Carrie’s clan could be persuaded, Jeff and Josh as well. Maybe a family reunion. All together, once again. A weekend of laughter, food, and work. The Fourth of July would work. Rodeo, fireworks, rakes and shovels, and of course, hamburgers and hot dogs.