Mayson woke to the crackling fire and Tyler looming over it. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
Appreciation warmed his eyes as he turned. “I couldn’t let Thanksgiving pass without calling my family. They received your letter. Hunter Leigh said it was like a boulder being lifted from their shoulders.”
“Are they being watched?” She sat up.
He nodded. “Between the cops and the media they haven’t had a minute’s peace since Friday.”
“What if their phones are tapped?”
“I didn’t mention where we were. Besides, we’ll be leaving tomorrow if those new IDs arrive.” He grimaced. “They want us to surrender. Schuyler envisions retaining the world’s best defense lawyer. He doesn’t understand it’ll take more than Perry Mason to bail us out. I saw no point in shattering his illusion.”
He called his mother Hunter Leigh; his father, Schuyler. She inferred from this a close relationship. “I promised Lou I’d help with dinner,” she said as she rose. “Just relax and I’ll be back later.”
She returned later to take her shower. Tyler’s boisterous singing in the bathroom told her she’d have to wait her turn. She knocked crisply.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” he shouted over the shower.
Smiling, she intruded just the same. “You should see the turkey. It’s bigger than you! And Lou showed me how to snap beans. I did the whole pot!”
He whistled. “And I thought a perfect GPA at Columbia was something.”
“I peeled the potatoes, too.” Her twinkling eyes fell to the sink. Quickly filling the cup with icy water, she slung it over the curtain.
“I can’t believe you did that!” he growled. As his hand shot around the curtain, she squealed, dodged, then burst out the door, giggling. Finally the shower shut off and she detected the soft rustle of his dressing. Why? He always shaved first, then primped in his boxers.
“Are you all right in there?” she asked.
“Go to hell.”
“Lou told me about Dale Markham. His mother, Doreen, is Crenshaw’s older sister, who left Pine County fifty years ago to marry a Minnesota man she met during World War II - an army recruiter at the Draft Board where she worked. The last Lou heard, she was still living in Snow Peak near her family.”
He emerged, dressed. “Snow Peak is where Morris discovered his ‘get rich quick’ scheme, and also where Leopold went after putting a bullet in his head. The Markhams must know something. We’ll just have to go find out what it is.”
“I see. Just drive up in our new car? Or should I make airline reservations?”
“I get your point.”
“Then explain how we can get off this mountain, much less reach Snow Peak a thousand miles away.” She sighed. “I’m the one charged with murder. You’re just an accessory. Maybe your father’s lawyer can get you off with a light sentence.”
He glared at her strangely. “Mayson, we’re not going to prison. Haven’t you grasped that yet?”
Of course, she was just resisting it. “Look, if you want to go to Minnesota, fine. Now get down to the Adkins while I shower. Lou needs you to pop the champagne.” Watching him grab the keys, she cautioned, “Those are to the Prelude. We’re using the Beetle now.”
“I know. I just need to check something.”
When he returned, she was already singing cheerfully in the shower. Slipping into the bathroom, he filled the Prelude’s jug with icy water, then slung it over the curtain. “You big gavonne!” she screeched at the shock. “I’ll get you!” But the door had already slammed, his laughter fading as hers rose.
The Adkins table was dressed with their best linen and china. “Straight from that fancy Nashville store,” Lou beamed. “Has its own catalogue and everythin.’” The holiday bird, roasted to a golden brown and festively trimmed with cinnamon apples, sat in a silver tray. Earl, looming over it in his shiny blue suit and wide burgundy tie, grumbled impatiently, “Don’t see why you got to dress so dadblamed fancy just to eat dinner in your own house. And where’d that girl run off to? Don’t she know we’re waitin?’ “
“Don’t be rushin’ everybody!” Lou scolded. “It ain’t like you got a train to catch or nuthin.’ “
Tyler winked at her in her peach dress, her silver curls wearing the wild flower he’d picked on the way over. “So Earl, that should be some game down in Dallas, huh?”
“Halas coached the Bears,” he snorted. “It’s them damn Cowboys and Redskins playing today.”
“He said Dallas!” Lou yelled. “Can’t you hear nuthin?
’” Mayson breezed through the door. “Sorry I’m late,” she smiled meekly.
“Don’t matter,” Lou said. “Nobody’s in a rush ‘cept that cranky old fool I’m married to.” She studied Mayson closely. “I declare, if you ain’t the most beautiful young woman to ever grace these mountains. What you say, Charmer?” she glanced at Tyler.
The return of her lustrous, mink-colored hair had stunned him. She wore the purchased gray flannel skirt, white turtleneck and navy sweater. A garnet silk scarf and gold earrings enhanced her delicate beauty, which he suddenly found unsettling. Unrequited seconds crept by as he struggled, speechless. Did words exist to describe her supreme beauty, and if so, should he find them? Finally he asked, “Shall I pour the champagne?”
“Reckon so,” Lou nodded. “Ain’t no one else coming I know of.”
Filling four goblets, he gave them each one and then toasted the festive occasion. Lou gawked at him in awe. “How do you make them words come out so orderly and pretty-like?”
Just seconds before, he’d been at a loss for even one. “Practice,” he smiled.
As they sat at the table, Earl offered the blessing and then the plates were filled with helpings from Lou’s extravagant spread. The conversation flowed beyond reach of Earl’s deadened ears, but he didn’t seem to mind as he cleaned his plate and helped himself to seconds. Tyler nodded at Mayson’s plate. “You don’t like the white meat?”
“I like the dark better,” she replied.
So had Kara. She’d squirreled away drumsticks from Castlewood’s table, for later when they curled up for the last game. She’d nibble, gnaw, pick and then with the game’s first miscue, point the drumstick at the TV and yell, Tyler, if you ever called a stupid play like that, I’d be humiliated!
“Don’t you want more turkey?” Mayson drew him back.
“No thanks.” He then recalled her contribution to the meal. “More of those great snap beans, though. Earl, how about you?”
After dinner, they gathered around the TV with their pie and coffee. The game seemed much farther away than Texas Stadium on the tiny black-and-white screen. “Earl!” Tyler shouted. “Are you a Skins fan?”
“‘Course!’” he growled. “Ain’t no other team to root for in these parts.”
“Ain’t gonna root for them Cowboys,” Lou huffed. “They may be America’s team, but by darn, they ain’t Tennessee’s. Ain’t that right, Earl... Earl!”
“The pie’s good, I done already said!”
“Damn fool!” she sighed. “I might as well be talkin’ to the wall.”
Shreds of precious history were gathered as the afternoon drifted. “Ain’t nobody in these mountains who don’t remember that college girl’s murder,” Lou said. “And there’s been a lot of speculatin’ over who done it, but that’s the first I heard tell of them boys. And I ain’t sayin’ they didn’t do it, but if so, it’s a mighty well-kept secret, which means Jasper Crenshaw done what he promised them rich families.” She sighed, “Them college kids was all the same. Folks would see ‘em in town, just like them weird Halos, all just faces, one no differn’t from the next. Too high and mighty to associate with regular folks.” She crossed her thick arms. “Wouldn’t surprise me none if it was them judges who kilt the girl. Judges ain’t no better’n sheriffs in my book.”
“Who are the Halos?” Mayson asked.
“Not what you’d think by their name. Sure, they wear them plain black clothes like the Dunkards, the menfolk sportin’ beards, the women, those silly caps, but they ain’t the same.”
“I’ll tell you how,” she said as she rocked in her chair. “You ain’t never seen no Dunkards treat their women like the Halos treat theirs. Orderin’ them around like they was slaves or somethin.’ And makin ‘em carry the heavy shopping bags. Ain’t no tellin’ what they do to ‘em back in the mountains. Beat ‘em with whips most likely, if they raise their voices or put supper on the table a minute late. They’re weird all right, and what’s more, they’re mean... Huh,” she grunted at the game now. “It’d be a darn miracle if the Skins beat the Cowboys in their own house. Can’t call it a backyard no more when they play inside. Did you play, Charmer? You’re sure big enough.”
“Quarterback,” he nodded.
“That figgers. Seems the quarterbacks are always the goodlookin’ fellers.” She looked at Earl, who’d nodded off, his chin in his chest. “Old fool will soon be snoring loud enough to wake up the whole mountain - everyone but him, anyway.”
“What else do you know about the Halos?” Mayson asked.
“Ain’t much more to tell. Folks don’t know much, which suits them just fine, I reckon. They don’t associate with nobody less they have to. Like buyin’ things in town they can’t make or grow theirselves. They live deeper in the mountains than other folks care to go, which I reckon’s why they picked it. They mistrust anyone who ain’t a Halo - and the government, too. Don’t matter which kind, they hate ‘em all.”
Mayson watched the Redskins celebrate their second touchdown. Tyler was grinning, and so was she. Seeing him happy made her happy.
“So what’s a Halo?” he asked. “An acronym, I assume.”
“An acro what?” She stopped rocking to squint. “Don’t think we use them big words even if we have to put up with that fancy university. But if you’re askin’ what Halo stands for, it’s Holy Army of the Last Order. Them weird birds figger they’re God’s soldiers, ‘cept I doubt He’d claim ‘em, if you could ask. Jimmy Dale says they’re a paramilitary group, which the best I can figger makes them enemies of the government... See,” She grunted at Earl’s snoring. “Ain’t that the most obnoxious noise you ever heard?”
They followed her back into the kitchen as she put the coffee on. Tyler asked, “I don’t suppose Crenshaw was very close to his sister, since she lived in Minnesota?”
“Big sisters usually dote over their baby brothers,” she replied. “And Doreen weren’t no differn’t. But you’re right. She didn’t come home too often after gettin’ hitched to that Army feller.”
“Were they close enough that Crenshaw might’ve confessed some of his shady dealings?” Mayson asked.
“If he’d tell anyone, it’d be Doreen,” Lou said as she poured the coffee. “She was far enough away not to be gossipin.’ Not that Doreen did much anyway. She was as quiet as Clara was a chatterbox. Clara was Jasper’s wife and Pine County’s biggest busybody. If he shared any secrets with her, he’d been crazier’n hell.”
Tyler sipped his coffee. “Do you know anyone still around who’d remember much about TSU in the early fifties?”
“Well, I reckon I did know some folks who worked over there, ‘cept it’s been forty years, you know. Let’s see,” she rubbed her chin. “There was Maxine Gates. She worked in the dining hall. Cancer took her the same as Clara Crenshaw. And the Welton boys did somethin’ but I can’t recall what. Don’t matter, though; they’s dead, too.” She watched his mind working now. “You ain’t figgerin on doing somethin’ stupid like going over there? They’d grab you sure as shootin.’ “
He shook his head. “Assuming our judges were there, the records would’ve been purged long ago. What we need is someone who remembers.”
“Let me think on it.” She studied Mayson leaning cozily against him. “He might not ‘a said nuthin’ Sugar, but you done my scarf and earrings real proud. Keep’em, they look a sight better on you than me.”
“Lou, I couldn’t.”
“Hush now. I ain’t gonna hear another word.” Astonished, Tyler watched Mayson embrace her.
As they returned to the living room with their coffee, Mayson groaned, “Wonderful! Just in time for the halftime news.”
Their pictures above the anchorman’s shoulder, he reported the manhunt’s startling new developments. “The President’s revelation that the fugitives, former Wall Street attorneys, are suspects in a conspiracy to disseminate classified FBI records to major New York crime families has for now quieted criticism of his administration’s handling of the operation. Further, the recent murder of Morris Mendelsohn, a law partner of Supreme Court nominee, Lamp, is also believed to have been a desperate attempt to prevent the conspiracy’s exposure.”
They looked at each other in shock as he continued, “One prominent figure, a well-known supporter of the President, had this to say...”
The scene shifted to Seth Harrington inside a busy airport terminal, his silver pompadour meticulously coifed, his blue eyes glowing with a self-righteous obsession. “Quite honestly, I haven’t paid much attention to this affair. Like most taxpayers, I leave such matters to the professionals. However, the media — and I hope you don’t take this personally, Mr. Michaels — doesn’t hesitate to interfere in matters that doesn’t concern it. Nevertheless, the President has now come forward to explain his administration’s actions and quite persuasively, I believe.
“Let’s just hope the media’s curiosity has been satisfied, and that these fugitives are apprehended soon, so we can get this behind us. There’s so much more than FBI operations to occupy us in this exciting time, one being the Lamp nomination. Let’s pray he’s quickly confirmed.”
As the report ended, Mayson shook her head. “Classified FBI records, Mafia investigations — how can they get away with this?”
“Because they’re the FBI.” Tyler’s jaw quivered angrily. “The Justice Department, Supreme Court, Christians for a Moral America.”... And the President? The silence echoed. Did they want to know or not?
“So what you figger to do?” Lou asked.
“Run like hell,” he replied.
“Why not stay here? Them John Laws ain’t comin’ back.”
“They’ll be back, all right, just as soon as they’ve eliminated the rest of the county.”
“Then how you can prove them judges kilt the girl, if you’re runnin’ all over the place?”
“By people providing the critical facts,” Mayson said. “Lou, isn’t there anyone you can remember who was connected with TSU in the early fifties?”
As she rubbed her chin thoughtfully, Tyler asked, “Did Norris have an alibi for the night of the murder?”
She remembered that part, at least. “He told the jury he was fishin’ over at Maynard’s Pond. Working days at the University, I reckon he didn’t have no other time to fish, ‘cept at night.”
“There wasn’t anyone to corroborate this?”
“No one but them catfish and croakers. And if they could talk, that lily-white jury would’ve been more likely to believe them than a nigger.” She sighed. “Things was differn’t in them days. Black folks was niggers, which meant to prejudiced busybodies like Dottie Smith and Ellen Jackson, they was lower’n dirt, who, even if you could understand ‘em, you couldn’t believe half they said.
“Dottie and Ellen was on the jury that sent Edgar to the chair. And it didn’t matter to them, anymore’n the others, that he swore he weren’t nowhere near the white girl that night. I heard him the same as everybody else, ‘cuz I was in the courtroom that day. But they weren’t about to believe him. They had nuthin’ on their minds but puttin’ him on the road to Knoxville. And sure’ nuff, that’s what they done.”
“Norris’s friends in campus maintenance didn’t testify?” Tyler asked.
“What could they say?”
“For starters, that others had access to the shovel used to bury the girl, his habit of night fishing, the innocent nature of his relationship with the girl, and his good character.”
She beamed in admiration. “I reckon he’d been better off if you’d been born to defend him, instead of that little weasel, Jake Nevers. Jake had no backbone. And if you’d seen him slink around that...” Her eyes flashed suddenly.
“What?” Mayson asked.
“Somethin’ Charmer just said — about how them boys on Edgar’s crew coulda’ helped. There was this one feller — the craggy-faced drunk from Luke’s. Earl and I’d see him there after Thursday night bowlin’, always drunk, his tongue a-flappin.’ One night, I remember him talkin’ about how he wished there’d been somethin’ he coulda’ done, like tellin’ the jury what a fine man Edgar was. Only it was after the trial, with Edgar already countin’ time in the death house.
“I remember thinkin’: ‘Ain’t it a little late to be worryin’ about such things?’ And why in tarnations hadn’t he put a bug in Jake Nevers’s ear, if the weasel couldn’t figger for hisself that Edgar’s crewmates might be able to say somethin’ on his behalf?”
“Do you recall the man’s name?” Mayson asked.
“‘Course. Wally Vernon’s the craggy-faced varmint. Don’t shut up longer’n it takes to suck down a cold draft. I ain’t seen him in years, although I ain’t heard he died, neither. You two figgerin’ on talkin’ to him?”
Tyler shook his head. “If he worked with Norris, I’m sure our powerful friends have already gotten to him. They may even be watching, in hopes we do the same thing.”
“Then you want me to talk to him?”
He glanced at Mayson. They couldn’t ask her to do that, even if she was willing. “Thanks, but it’s too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than harboring you two?”
She had a point, but not good enough to justify putting her in more danger than she already was.
She scoffed, “So then you figger just to run off, and ignore the fact that Wally might know somethin’ that can help?”
“You know,” Mayson said now, “if Vernon has been contacted, he’d assume others had, too. And if one — like Lou here — happened to approach him to compare notes, I doubt for a second he’d be suspicious.”
Lou winked at Tyler. “You got yourself a real smart one, Charmer. Sweet as pie, too.”
“A sweet pain in the ass.” He drew her against him.
Lou watched Mayson’s eyes instantly glow. If the love bug hadn’t bit her, she reckoned like Earl swore, the critter didn’t exist. Charmer, she wasn’t as sure about. He was ‘fectionate enough now, but had been acting strange all afternoon. Like his mind was some place he wasn’t.
“Lou, I was just thinking out loud,” Mayson said. “I didn’t really mean for you to consider contacting Vernon.”
“Don’t have to,” she grunted. “I done made up my mind while you two was moonin’ over each other.”
Tyler watched her grab the phone book. “Damnit, Lou...”
“Don’t you be damnin’ me, young feller. You’re a big’un all right, but not so big I can’t take a switch to you.” Licking her thumb, she flipped pages until she found the number.
“Shouldn’t you talk to Earl first?” Mayson glanced at her snoozing husband.
“What for? The darn fool ain’t ever stopped me from doin’ what I set my mind to. And the odds ain’t no better he could this time neither.” She squinted as someone now came on the line. “Billy’s that you? Sure, I remember them tall tales of yours. Now get Wally on the... Oh, he is, huh? Well tell him to call me when he gets back. If he’s at Toot Hinker’s, more’n likely he’s drunk, but I want to jaw with him anyhow. Now take down my number.”
As she barked it out, Tyler nuzzled Mayson’s neck. “Billy must be deaf, too.”
“That was Billy Springer. Him and Wally rent a place near the campus. He says Wally’s eating turkey at Toot Hinker’s. If he ain’t too drunk, he’ll call when he returns. If he is, I’ll call him. What kinda’ stuff you reckon I ought to ask?”
“First, if he’s been questioned,” Tyler replied. “Second, what they asked, and what he told them. Third, no matter how he answers one and two — find out what he knows that you haven’t already told us. Only don’t get too specific. Dance around some to disguise your intentions. Otherwise, we might find an army of Feds up here within the hour.”
“Ain’t nuthin,’” she grunted. “I’ll pick Wally clean ‘fore the ole buzzard knows what...”
“I’ll be damned!” Tyler burst as the game’s score flashed. “The Skins are gonna beat Dallas!” It was a quiet, sullen crowd watching the final minutes in Texas Stadium. “Schuyler’s putting a fresh log on about now,” he smiled. “And pouring another Scotch.”... And Kara would be dancing around the Castlewood study, drumstick in hand. She made him promise that if the Redskins won another Super Bowl, to drink a toast for her. She said she’d be watching. Had she, when they’d won four years ago? He’d toasted just in case.
“Schuyler’s his father,” Mayson explained.
“A boy callin’ his daddy by his given name,” Lou scolded. “I ain’t never heard of such a thing.”
“He calls his mother...” Mayson stopped as Tyler left the room. He’d been distant all afternoon, and she had no clue why.
At the kitchen window, he studied the moon glowing over the dark mountain ridge. Eight years ago they’d been in Pasadena as the Redskins clawed their way to a Super Bowl championship. As the horn sounded, Kara had sprung from her seat and said, “If football’s played in Heaven, it must be just like this!” He wondered.
“I’m leaving.”
He turned to Mayson, her arms stiffly folded. “All right.”
“Does that mean you’re coming, too?”
He nodded, very tired suddenly. Yet when he reached the living room, Lou’s frown explained that she’d already left. “Didn’t say it, but her feelings were bruised a bit.”
“Then I better get up there. Thanks for having us, Lou.”
“Say, where’d Macon run off to?” Earl glanced around now.
“It’s Mayson, you darn fool!” Lou shouted.
“Ain’t that what I just said!”
They’d go on like this until one died, Tyler realized. Then the other would hear the cabin’s silence, and remember. He knew, and wished so badly that he didn’t.
“It’s a heavy ghost weighin’ on you,” Lou said. “Holidays are good and bad like everythin’ else. Bad, ‘cuz them ghosts can play hell then. That’s what your eyes are tellin’ me now. But what makes it worse, and I ain’t tellin’ you somethin’ you don’t already know, is that Mayson’s feelin’ your pain, too, ‘cuz her heart’s done hooked itself up with yours. ‘Cept she don’t know what you two is hurtin’ over, unless you told her, and I ain’t bettin’ a dime on that.”
Gazing at his hand on the door, he smiled, “Lou, you must be the smartest woman in these mountains.”
He embraced her and then started across the dark camp. Passing the Beetle, he grabbed his bag from the glove compartment as he’d meant to that morning.
The cabin’s deep chill soon greeted him, as did her soft crying behind the bathroom door. Nervous, he went over to knock. “I didn’t tell you before, but you really blew me away when you breezed in this afternoon. I had no idea you were changing your hair back. I love your hair, you know.” If he enjoyed occasional moments of eloquence, this definitely wasn’t one. “Mayson, you looked beautiful. I mean, you are beautiful. The most beautiful woman I know.”
The sobbing stopped now, but the bathroom silence deepened.
When she emerged minutes later, he was gone, a bag resting on her pillow. Inside were her Jams, JBs and a card. Smiling, she studied the card’s touching scene: a little boy and girl, hands clasped, as they gazed up at the moon. Behind them was a festive table, with turkey and all the trimmings. What would Thanksgiving be without a best friend? the card read. It was inscribed, To Mayson, my best friend. Tyler.
Quietly, she slipped it back into the envelope.
The cabin was black, the TV on, when he returned. A fire blazed in the hearth, a wool quilt covered the bed and Mayson, like a cozy cat, was curled up watching football. “What’s that?” she nodded at his bag.
“I ran into Earl. Lou had sent him up with our supper.” He sighed. “As if we can eat after that spread this afternoon.”
“Thanks for the JBs and Jams and the card. I didn’t... I mean if I’d known...”
“If you’re trying to say they don’t give Thanksgiving presents in Brooklyn, it’s all right.”
Her large, dark eyes held him solemnly. “Tyler, am I really your best friend?”
“I wouldn’t have given you the card otherwise.”
“Oh...”
He could almost see her fragile emotions grappling over the meaning of her new status. Yet how could he clarify it? He knew only what his heart had labeled this fresh feeling — one felt just once before.
“There must be something else on.” He grabbed the remote and flipped to an Eastwood western. Wrestling out of his jacket, he dropped on the bed to unlace his boots. As she switched back to the football game, he turned and asked, “Why’d you do that?”
“Because I was watching it.”
“Right,” he grunted. “And who’s playing?”
“The Dolphins and Patriots, who happen to be tied for first in the AFC East.”
He slashed his laces, unimpressed. “Have they said how Joe Montana’s doing?”
“No, but I wouldn’t expect them to.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I’m certain their viewers are more interested in active quarterbacks than retired ones. Specifically, a rookie named Jake Fielder, who because the Dolphin vet is out with a torn ACL, is getting his first start. And so far, he’s lived up to his billing as a first round draft pick.”
As he turned to gape at her, she continued, “Coming from UCLA, with its pro style offense, everyone knew Fielder had a strong arm, quick release and excellent scrambling ability. But how many college QBs, even with his credentials, have what it takes to make it in the pros?
“So far, he does. He’s shown tremendous poise against the Patriots’ pass rush, but he hasn’t confronted a safety blitz yet. I expect he will, however, if the Patriots’ front four keeps giving him all day to pick up his secondary receivers... Tyler, did you face many safety blitzes at William and Mary?”
A revelation far more startling than Jake Fielder’s pro potential now rippled over him. “I, ah... not that many... Why the hell didn’t you tell me this?”
“About Fielder? I thought...”
“No! About football -— how you know so much.”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
Her eyes held a fresh intelligence that hadn’t existed a few moments before. How could this not be important?
“Tyler, you loved football. But now it makes you sad. Did a cheerleader break your heart? Was Kara a cheerleader?”
“Please Mayson, don’t.”
“Sad to mad,” she frowned. “You move from one emotion to the next, and I’m not allowed to ask why. That doesn’t seem fair.”
“What is?” he shrugged.
This was the inner darkness she’d suspected. And if she was ignorant of its cause, she at least knew its effect on him. One she refused to accept, as her lips now touched his.
One kiss drifted into the next: warm, sweet and for him, soothing, she hoped. For her, it was crippling, leaving her a rag doll as their lips parted.
Laying her back, he marveled again over her new hair. “It’s growing,” she rolled a lock in her finger. “How long do you want it? The same as before?”
“You be the judge of that.”
Pouring coffee from the thermos, he stretched out beside her. “Who are we for?”
“Does it matter?”
“Only when the Skins are playing.”
She sipped her coffee. “Then we’re diehard fans, right?”
Gazing at her nestled inside his arm, he recalled her reaction to his comment on New York football. “And when they play the Giants?”
“We’re Skins fans, even then.”
“Mayson, best friends don’t ask each other to give up their favorite football team.”
“Nor put their lives on the line. When one needs help, the other is just there, like you were for me. Besides,” she said as she stroked his nose, “it’s hardly a sacrifice converting to Redskinism. Since you’re among its faithful, my commitment flows naturally.”
Or, like a piece of cake. That’s what Kara would say.
The game flew by as they sipped coffee and snuggled inside the warm quilt. Her sharp commentary returned the game’s richness and color that had been missing for so long. She knew football as well as Kara had, with the same fiery passion. “You’re right,” he nodded as Fielder led the Dolphins to victory, with a last-minute touchdown drive. “The rookie has a hell of an arm.”
“So did you,” she quickly added. “You couldn’t have piled up seven-thousand yards and sixty touchdowns otherwise.”
As the game ended, she settled back inside his arm. Grabbing the remote, he channel-surfed over anything smelling of news. The threat was constant. Their odyssey could end any moment with a siren-shrieking procession. They didn’t need a news flash to remind them they were living on the edge.
Soon, they slipped into the safe harbor of Gilligan’s Island. Then the cozy warmth of the Petries’ New Rochelle home. The zany, yet unthreatening world of Lucy and Ricky Ricardo. Had the past really been better, or did it just seem that way?
He drifted into a place where memories were sweet and discovery was exhilarating. A place where the old and new merged.
She knew only that he’d slipped away. Where, she had no clue. Nor did she ask. Certainly he wouldn’t tell her. And she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.
They stumbled next into Mayberry. “Do you remember this one?” she asked. “Barney gets everyone over at Andy’s because he thinks Andy’s getting married.”
“I remember...” Lavinny’s cookies, a warm fire on a crisp autumn afternoon at Castlewood. Ozzie and Harriet came next. “Do you think a family like the Nelsons ever existed?” Mayson asked. “Their world is so calm and orderly. When something goes wrong, they’re so unflappable: ‘Gee, Harriet. Darn Dad. Golly, Ozzie.’” Her chin settled in his chest. “Don’t you think they ever wanted to say ‘shit?’ “
His fingers dabbled in her hair, as he smiled. “Can’t you imagine Ozzie coming home from work, being handed Ricky’s report card and shouting, ‘You stupid goddamned sonofabitch! I’m gonna break your ass!’ “
“TV screens would go black all across America,” she laughed. “Believe it or not, I’m hungry.”
Jumping up, she lifted two turkey sandwiches from the bag, then two drumsticks. “Wasn’t Lou thoughtful to...” She suddenly recalled his question at the table. Her answer? Dark meat. Earl’s bag had contained two sandwiches, but not two drumsticks. Tyler had returned to the Adkins with a special request.
He caught her pensive glow. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she shrugged. “Let’s eat.”
Later, she slipped into the bathroom to prepare for bed. He smiled when she emerged looking like a delicate scarecrow in his football jersey. “For some reason, it fits better this evening.”
“Because I’m a gridiron wizard?” Impulsively she dove, attacking him with relentless tickles. When he squirmed, she tickled harder. When he cussed, she giggled louder. Furious minutes passed until she finally straddled him. “I win!”
His eyes found her delicate, apple-like breasts inside the loose jersey. “How do you define ‘winning?’ “
“Because you can’t get up. You do admit you can’t?”
“Like hell.”
“Then try!” Her eyes gleamed.
“When I’m ready.”
“Now! Let’s see you!”
“It wouldn’t be very nice of me to embarrass you during your victory celebration.”
“Embarrass me? How?”
“By swatting you off like a gnat.”
“In your dreams. Now come on, try.”
He sighed, “Just remember you asked for it.” Like a panther, he slipped from her grasp and slung her, kicking and squealing, over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” She pounded, as he strutted about the cabin. “I hope you realize this doesn’t count.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you started before the three count. Now we have to do it all over again.”
“Like hell.” He stopped at the window. The Adkins cabin still glowed in the darkness. “I wonder what’s for breakfast?”
“Tyler, put me down before I really get mad.”
He carried her into the bathroom instead. “Just close your eyes,” he stood over the toilet. “This won’t take long.”
“You wouldn’t...”
“I most certainly would.”
“Wait! Maybe we can negotiate.”
“Negotiate, hell. I won.”
“We’ll call it a draw... No, a timeout. Then we can decide who won later.”
Later. Kara’s strategy, until the day it no longer existed. Putting her down, he shut himself inside the bathroom.
“Tyler?” She knocked instantly. “You’re not mad about the timeout, are you?”
“Of course not.” His eyes closed over the sink. Did any of this make sense? What was he doing here?
“Tyler, come quick!” she shouted. “Bullitt! A poster movie — Steve McQueen. Fast cars. Chases. Hurry!”
He emerged to find her perched on the quilt, as she pointed at Steve McQueen crawling into his hot Mustang. “You won’t like it.” He dropped beside her.
“A poster movie? How could I not?”
They were soon absorbed in the movie. With her close, the world suddenly became safe and comfortable. But also transient. Kara was eternity. She hadn’t died, just moved into the next life, where they’d one day rejoin. It terrified him to imagine anything else.
When the movie ended, he turned off the TV; she, the lamp. As they embraced in the darkness, her slender leg slipped inside his. “Tyler, we may not survive this odyssey. Any minute, sirens could shriek over the mountains.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“Suppose you knew you’d die an hour from now, and could spend it any way you wanted — how would you?”
He realized he was being set up. “I don’t know. How about you?”
“I asked first.”
“Yes, Mayson, but it’s your question, and I believe you deserve the first crack.”
“Tyler, I hate it when you do this... How many women have you slept with?”
“Counting you?”
“Not sleep. Sleep!”
“You mean sex — and it’s none of your business.”
“Dozens?”
“Even if there were, no honorable man would answer a question like that.”
“You mean no honorable man would sleep with so many women.”
“I admit I’m not proud of everything I’ve done in life,” he sighed.
“Then it is dozens! Maybe a hundred. Tyler, have you slept with a hundred women?”
“I’m going to sleep now.”
As he rolled away, she crept over his shoulder. “Is it a hundred? A simple yes or no will do.”
Nothing was simple with her. If he’d learned anything, it was that. “How the hell should I know how many? I don’t keep records or collect notches in my belt. What kind of egotistical bastard do you think I am? Now go to sleep.”
“That means you have. A hundred women!”
“If it was, no doubt you’d throw it in my face every chance you got.”
“I would not. Then it is a hundred?”
“I just said I’ve never counted.”
“Approximately, then?”
Would he be insane to exchange a few hours sleep for an eternity of persecution? “Maybe. Now go to sleep.”
“A hundred. Tyler...!”
“Goddamnit, Mayson, go to sleep.”
The darkness became quiet... and sharp. Razor sharp. He knew his cue. “Are you all right?”
“Of course not.”
“Then do you plan on discussing it, or should I prepare to spend the night chasing these absurd notions that sweep through your mind at the drop of a hat? Just tell me which.”
“Not if you insist on being hateful.”
“Fine.” He smacked his pillow. “I asked. I can’t do anymore than that.” Closing his eyes, he counted.
“Tyler?”
Twenty-two seconds. “What?”
“If you’ve slept with a hundred women, why haven’t you tried with me? Am I that undesirable?”
“There you go again, baiting me with another false assumption. I’ve never said you were undesirable. I’ve said you’re beautiful. Furthermore, I’ve kissed you a dozen times, which proves it.”
“But you don’t want sex, which proves I’m undesirable.”
Didn’t his astonishing tolerance count for anything? His keen grasp of her cue cards, like the one flashing now?
Drawing her into his arms, he gathered his thoughts. More than desirable, she was shadowed by something vast, undefined. And until it was defined, there could be no sex. Then what could he say that wouldn’t confuse or hurt her? The truth, which came easily, as it usually did. “Mayson, if there’ve been a hundred... none has brought me the satisfaction of just holding you like I am now.” Excluding the first, who neither time, nor circumstance, could disturb.
She trembled softly in the darkness. And when he finally slept, she whispered, “Tyler, you’re my best friend, too.”