WHERE’D YOU GET THAT BIG, white diesel?” Danielle asked. “And what do you mean, I’ve got to move off this property?”
“I don’t know which question to answer first.”
“I’m due at the motel in half an hour.”
“I don’t guess anybody’ll be checking in at nine on a Tuesday morning.”
“They’re not paying me to guess when folks check in or out. I’ve got to be there in case.”
“I’ll meet you back here tonight,” Walker said.
“Owen’s coming by.”
Lord almighty. He tilted his head back, fluttered his hand over his heart and smirked, a snort bursting through his nostrils.
“To check the heater,” she said.
“Right. Here’s the deal. You aren’t going to need a heater because you’re going to be living in town instead of this crappy metal cage. I’ve got to haul it off so’s I can sell this place.”
“Does Owen know about this?”
“No. And if you want a cut, that piece of information will not escape your lips.”
He kept his eyes on the dirt so he wouldn’t get dizzy while she paced a circle around him, waving her coffee mug.
“Walker, I’m not giving up my home and moving, or getting mixed up in any deal with you unless you marry me.”
Marry! Was she crazy? The word gave him the heaves. Why, they could barely exchange a sentence without driving each other’s blood pressure to the point of busting an artery.
“Now wait a minute,” he said. “We’ll sign a simple contract.”
“And stick me with hiring a lawyer to chase you around long after you’ve blown the money? I’d be a fool. Community property is the only way to insure I get what I’m owed.”
“And all my debt, if things go bad.”
“I’ll take my chances. After I pocket my share, we’ll get a quick, no-contest divorce.”
She grabbed her jacket and swept past him, the scent of some flower floating off her, confusing the seasons.
“I’ll think about it,” he called after her, his words lost against her ’96 red Jeep Cherokee rattling down the trail, license plate hanging on by one screw, tail pipe scraping the dirt.
He plucked a flask from his back pocket and sloshed whiskey between his teeth, licked his lips and wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. Those apples did look just right for picking. Okay, ladder and boxes. Right about here, under that low branch so laden it might snap any minute. He climbed four steps, reached out his arm and admired the rosy fruit in his hand. Might just take a bite. Mmm, mmm. He tossed the rest over his shoulder and shifted the box, making certain it sat firmly, and gently stacked the apples, careful not to bruise them. He paused for another swig, taking in the pasture rolling half a mile to the east fence line and beyond, all the way to the highway where Danielle’s jeep looked about the size of a ladybug. A red-tailed hawk patrolled the field and a slight breeze shifted the leaves, sunlight dancing a light step between the branches. For a stretch, Alibi Creek went underground, but still fed the cottonwoods and boxelder that blazed two yellow streaks along its route. Suppose a man saw the world from up here every day. Suppose the law required everyone walk on stilts. They’d have to raise ceilings and windows. Doors would be taller, way taller. The air’d be cleaner. You couldn’t smell the earth. That might be better, but probably worse. Best take this box down before it gets too heavy. Marry Danielle again! Jesus. That would sure get her off this property, but right into his bed. Maybe they could work that out. Situate her down the hall in Lee Ann’s old bedroom until they dissolved the marriage in a few weeks. He pulled the box toward him and swung it to the side, lowered his left foot to catch the rung and missed. He yelled “whoa!” and toppled sideways, apples pelting his face and arm, and did a quick somersault, landing on his feet as if he’d practiced the fall a hundred times.
“Christ almighty.” Just thinking about Danielle threw him off balance.
“Here we are, Mother,” he said, placing the first of the boxes on the kitchen table. “Grace, there’s plenty. I put a box in your car.”
“Scissors,” Mother said.
“Why, thank you, Walker,” Grace said. “I’m just getting ready to head home.” She bent toward Mother’s face. “See you tomorrow, Kay.”
Walker opened the cookbook to the page he’d marked with a toothpick. While the oven pre-heated he got a beer, reached into his wallet, took out a crumpled piece of paper and dialed the number on it.
“Keith Lampert? My name is Walker Walker. Right, same name first and last… unusual, yes… I’m a friend of Pat Merker. I believe he told you I’d be calling… let’s see, I think he’s got a few more weeks. He said you were looking to invest in some property in southwestern New Mexico. We’re in Alibi Creek…seventeen miles as the crow flies from the Arizona state line, about a two-hour drive through beautiful mountains from Round Valley. I do think it’s about the best land for the best price you can find, an exceptional piece—two sections, 1,280 acres, house and barn. Well, we prefer to deal in cash…you would? Let’s see, I’ll check my calendar…Wednesday will be fine. Give me your email address and I’ll have my wife send directions. All right then, Vera’s Café in Brand at one o’clock.”
He opened the pantry and took an apron off the hook. Yes indeedy, the future looked promising. There was a little work to be done before Wednesday—a trip to Sierra Vista with a quitclaim deed, a marriage, lining up Dee and Scott to move Danielle’s trailer up the canyon behind Mother’s house. Good thing those boys have strong backs. Those cinder blocks by the barn will work for a foundation, provided that piece of junk can survive the move in one piece.
“Okay, Mother, here we go,” he said, tying the apron behind his back and rolling up his sleeves. “First, peel, core and slice the apples….”