SUNDAY OCTOBER 28, 2007
IN THE MORNING SHE BREWED coffee, showered, and put on a fresh pair of pants with a beige turtleneck and re-packed her suitcase. She straightened the covers, hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and pulled a chair next to the window. On TV, overly enthusiastic news anchors reported depressing events in between annoying commercials. She’d forgotten to bring food, but that was okay—she’d forgotten to be hungry. For three hours she sat, stood, peered between the drapes, and paced. At noon, she parted the curtains and remained stationed at the window.
Jimmy parked his truck beside the silver Honda in front of 106. He knocked twice.
Lee Ann grabbed her bag and purse and hurried down the outdoor staircase, past the three maroon doors and three windows of 100, 102, and 104. The temperature must have dropped below ten degrees. Her breath shot out of her mouth in gusts of steam which froze in tiny beads on her upper lip. Further down the sidewalk, a maid was layering fresh linens on her arm from a cart.
“Please, I’ve lost my card to room 106 and have forgotten my glasses. I’m late for an appointment. Can you let me in?”
A lamp hung over a round table, a plastic grocery bag stuffed with clothes, a black suitcase, and a six-pack of Bud huddled at its center—one in Walker’s hand, of course. Jimmy shot a glance at Walker and bolted outside, leaving him standing beside the table getting into his jacket.
“For Christ sake, Lannie, shut the door. It’s freezing out there.”
She took two steps toward him. What a get-up. Shiny shirt, polyester pants, new belt, and dirty white running shoes. And a Dallas Cowboys baseball cap!
“Jimmy told you I was here,” she said.
“If you’ve come to take me home, forget it.” He raised his arms above his head and dropped them by his sides. “Lannie, Lannie, marching through life with God’s guidelines stamped like a badge on your chest. Trouble with you is, you believe in something too strong. Then you got to defend it.”
“You believe in nothing, so think you can do anything.”
“And you hate me for it.”
That’s right. He had it wrong, though, assuming himself to be the only target of her resentment. She kicked those polyester pants. For the rules. Again. For the guidelines. And he took it, like the eight-year-old brat in the bathroom when he’d stolen money from Mother’s bureau. She stopped, out of breath. His eyes focused on the door, his fingers playing a tune on his thighs. The runt was thinking of running. If she had a lasso, she’d tighten it around his torso, drag him to the chair, shove him into it, and scream that she’d never let him out of her sight, or give up chasing him until justice was served.
She said, “Mother died.”
Any twitching on his part stopped.
“I’m not giving you your half of the ranch unless you return Owen’s money. He deserves his rightful inheritance.”
His smirk had vanished.
“When?”
“Last Tuesday.”
He paced a circle, rubbing the back of his neck.
“The service is Wednesday. You are going to fly home with me and be there. You are going to give Owen the money. I will deed you the northern half of the Walker Ranch and if you ever step one foot on my half, I will shoot you.” She held up her cell phone. “I can call Lyle right now to inform the Iowa police where you are and have you apprehended.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes. Watching An Affair to Remember. Cary Grant. She seemed peaceful.”
“Tear jerker,” he said. “All those films…maybe she understood the words and actions, maybe not.”
She said, “Seven Year Itch….Rear Window….On the Waterfront….Hud….Bridge on the River Kwai….Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner…”
He added, “Some Like it Hot….Lawrence of Arabia….From Here to Eternity….For Whom the Bell Tolls….True Grit….To Have and Have Not….”
“That’s enough,” she said.
A card on the dresser listed taxi services.
“Hopefully, we’ll get to the airport early enough to catch a flight back today.”
“I’ve got a car,” he said.
“Not anymore.”