I didn’t see Case or the Rawleys at all on either Sunday or Monday. My period did start on Sunday, to my relief, as now I had something upon which to blame my tears. I spent half the day lying in bed in a half-headachy funk, pressing a pillow to my belly in an effort to alleviate my cramps, too out-of-sorts to drive over to the grocery store to buy a bottle of ibuprofen. I stared alternately at the ceiling fan above the bed and out the window at the sky, which was quilted over with thick gray clouds until early afternoon, when I shuffled to the kitchen to make myself a pot of coffee and munch some banana bread.
The sun peeked out even more as I was driving over for dinner at Al and Helen Anne’s, along with Mary and her husband Joe, who I quickly discerned let Mary do all the talking for the two of them. Al was all excited about Tuesday evening, getting himself worked up enough that both Helen Anne and Mary scolded him. I reassured Al that I would make the best argument I was able, using the evidence I had at hand, and that we would work together to convince people to stay in Jalesville.
“I don’t know what I will do if we lose out to Yancy,” Al said, unbuttoning his collar as Helen Anne served coconut cream pie. I wondered at where my fiery feminist spirit had been misplaced; in college, I scoffed at traditional male/female roles, would have been unduly troubled by a wife serving her husband this way, along with their guests. And yet I didn’t get the sense that Helen Anne felt demeaned by these unspoken expectations; as I watched, she placed her hand lovingly on the back of Al’s neck as she refilled his coffee cup, and he winked at her in response.
If you fucking start crying right now…I warned myself fiercely.
“We won’t,” I said, forking a bite of pie into my mouth. I added, “I just wish there was a way to make up the jobs to people around here. Al, if I was wealthy I would just buy the plant and reopen the doors. According to what I’ve read last week, it’s still operational. It’s just sitting there empty and unused. Why?”
“Coal mining is still a huge industry in these parts,” Helen Anne agreed. “The plant closing was terribly ill-timed. People didn’t know what to think.”
“It’s not the first time Jalesville’s been out of work on a large scale,” Al said. “Back in the early eighties, times were just as tough.”
“We’ve always pulled through somehow,” Mary said. “But the kids are getting seduced by the big cities these days. They aren’t settling around here anymore.”
“My own included,” Al said. He tipped his chin at me, his faded-blue eyes serious as he said, “Tish, I know better than anyone that this isn’t your problem. You’re a trooper and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all your effort here.”
“Thank you,” I told him, sincerely. “I really do want to help.”
“Don’t think this means I’m not going to try to convince you to stay with everything I have,” Al said, going back to his pie.
Mary nodded emphatically. She said to her husband, “Joseph, wouldn’t it be lovely if Harold wasn’t yet married?”
Joe touched a finger to his hearing aid and asked, “What, dear?”
“Our grandson, Harold! If he wasn’t married to that Denise, he could court Patty here!”
Al hid a laugh behind a bite of pie and I giggled a little, unable to help myself; Harold had stopped into the law office to bring his grandmother something just last Wednesday. He was fair and sweet-looking, shorter than me by a good six inches, his nose basically at breast-level, and had flushed as pink as a slice of watermelon when I walked over to shake his hand. Undoubtedly Mary had informed him that she wished he was still single.
To Al I said, “I appreciate your compliment, a great deal. I just can’t imagine living outside Chicago. I’ve been planning that since I was eighteen and first attended the U of M. My dad is so proud of me…”
“As he should be,” Al said. “I remember Jackson. Handsome devil. Not a bad sort though, unlike most lawyers.” As though offhandedly (but I was well-trained enough to spot a calculated question) he asked, “What do you think of Ron Turnbull?”
“I consider him my future boss,” I said carefully, knowing that Al was his good friend. I said, “He wasn’t around much when I worked at Turnbull and Hinckley the past two summers. My father respects him a great deal.”
Al pursed his lips as though in thought. He finally said, “You’ll think this is a ploy, but I promise it’s not. I’m not positioning here, just being truthful. He’s fairly despicable.”
I was more than a little stunned, but I asked calmly, “What makes you say that?”
“Just a feeling. Nothing that would hold water in court, I assure you. I can see that now – Judge, may I present the evidence? A gut feeling, sir, a gut feeling.”
I was more troubled than I would show him, even though I was more than astute enough to understand that men didn’t ascend to Ron Turnbull’s level without a certain amount of ruthlessness. All justified, right? I finally said, “I know it won’t be easy. But I’m ready. Dad thinks I can climb the ladder relatively quickly.”
Helen Anne said, “Just consider the toll it will take on you.”
I had, and then some. I said, “I’m ready for that.”
Al said, “You’ll be exhausted. You’ll be constantly jockeying for position. No one will support you there, because they’ll want the same thing you want.”
I said, “I’ll just want it most, that’s all.”
“I believe you,” Al said, watching me carefully.
Mary said, “Albert, let the girl alone. Let her eat her dessert, for heaven’s sake.”
That night I lay in bed, staring again between the window and the ceiling fan, which was motionless in the chilly room. I had the window open to the sounds of the night outside; I listened to crickets and the whisper of a breeze and thought about calling my sisters. But I didn’t know what I wanted to say to them. I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling; I had put on a good show for Dad, who’d called shortly after I’d arrived home from Al and Helen Anne’s. I could be as false-cheerful as anyone; whereas Mom would have asked within five seconds what was wrong, Dad bought everything I fed him about feeling great.
I rolled to my other side, brushing heavy, tangled hair from my face. I thought about what Al had alluded to, regarding Ron, who I thought was Al’s friend. I thought about the way Case’s hands looked as he played his instruments. I thought about the way Case touched his horses, with such unconscious love. The way his eyes looked in the glow of the sunset light, in the orange of the fire. The way his deep voice sounded and how I wished he would say my name. The way his lips curved into a half-grin when he subtly teased me. I thought of the story he’d told me, about learning to play on the old violin that his ancestor had carried to war, and then west. How he cared about his land, his town.
I flopped to my back and crossed my forearms over my eyes, hard. And at some point, I must have finally fallen asleep.
***
I was a little bit of a wreck by Tuesday, noon. I had spent the morning pouring over my notes, rewriting here and there. I chewed the end off two pencils, considering walking the few blocks to the grocery store for a pack of smokes. I was alone in the office when the bell above the door tingled and my heart absolutely detonated. I turned around as calmly as I could, but then my heart clanged for a completely different reason – in pure alarm. For there stood Derrick Yancy, dressed as though for a court appearance, dark hair glossy and teeth all showing.
“Counselor Gordon,” he said in greeting, his eyes moving fast as a hand flicking aside a mosquito, down over my breasts and belly and then back to my face.
I felt my eyes narrowing even as I asked with overt politeness in my tone, “How can I help you?”
“Oh, there are numerous ways you could help me, I have no doubt,” he said, all innuendo, but then he changed tone briskly, coming at me with, “I know you think you’re doing these people a favor, but you’re mistaken. I offer them cash money for property that is essentially useless to them. Your little champion act isn’t going to serve them well when they can’t pay their property taxes.”
I squared my shoulders and drew a subtle deep breath, not about to let him get me worked up. It was something I’d been cited for time and again, in school. Temper, Patricia, I heard Professor Torres saying. I said calmly, “I’d prefer to address the topic this evening, at the meeting. You’ll be there, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, and for the second time since meeting him, I experienced the sensation that he was standing just slightly too close for comfort. Damned if I would step back or away. Then he surprised me by asking, “Would you care to join me for lunch? My treat, of course.”
I blinked at this question. What was he playing at? Did he actually think he could change my mind with this none-too-subtle seduction act? Given his slick good looks, not to mention his real estate fortune, I was certain that this bit had gotten him laid numerous times. He was bored, I suddenly realized, bored in a place he considered the end of the earth. Second son, sent here by the elder Yancys to charm his way into easy sales for them while Daddy and older brother remained in the comfort of Chicago; major potential chip on his shoulder. I realized he was waiting for my response, and I said, “No, thank you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Good day,” I added pointedly, and then his toothy grin grew wider.
“Until this evening,” he said, and took his leave.
***
That evening I drove across town with my heart feeling like a bird in a painfully small cage. I had spent an hour getting ready and looked as lawyerly as I could possibly manage; I felt as though I was on the way to argue before the appellate court from first-year, green as spring leaves, wet behind the ears, all of that.
Stop this, I told myself harshly. You’re a graduate. You’re smart. You’re prepared. You’re tough. You…you need a better mantra.
I was dressed in my favorite silver-gray jacket-and-skirt combo, the skirt of the strictest pencil variety above nude silk hose and ultra-respectable nude heels, all chosen for me by Lanny’s personal shopper in Chicago. The jacket was fitted perfectly to my waist, latched with a single hook-and-eye just at my belly button. The blouse beneath it was a rich indigo blue; a man I’d dated for a few weeks second-year told me that it made my eyes glow. Tasteful diamond studs, quarter-carat each, my hair twisted high and neat at the back of my head. My make-up was appropriate for an evening appointment and I was wearing Dad’s graduation gift for the first time, a beautiful, understated Cartier pendant timepiece, pinned discreetly to my left lapel, just above the fullest part of my breast.
I only fussed with a loose strand of hair for a second after I’d pulled into the parking lot of the city offices, noticing Case’s maroon truck immediately amongst dozens of others. Gotta Ride, Gotta Play. I hadn’t set eyes upon him since Saturday night, eating s’mores and hearing about his first kiss. When I’d left so abruptly. Since then I had seen him only in my very vivid and near-constant imaginings, in which he slowly licked melted marshmallow from my fingers, and then kissed it from my top lip…
Stop! It’s unprofessional, and you can’t afford to lose focus right now!
But he’s right in there! He’s right in there, so close.
Quit wondering what he’ll think of what you’re wearing!
Shut up, I told myself fiercely, entering the brick building where I had been many times now, with Al. There were people crowded in the wide foyer, talking excitedly, sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups, kids darting between elbows. I saw immediately that I was a tad overdressed and felt more than a few curious stares directed my way, though I was able to greet many people by name. I pasted on my most pleasant expression, the one that people who knew me well realized masked complete self-consciousness, and threaded my way through the throng to room 105, where the meeting was scheduled to be held.
It was stuffy and crowded here too, scented with a melee of brewing coffee, aftershave, cologne, perhaps a hint of sweat. I saw at once that Derrick Yancy had set up at a front table, briefcase and laptop and his shiny hair-and-teeth combo. As I emerged from the back of the room, he extricated himself from two men I didn’t recognize, surely his henchmen, and made his way directly to me, all the while offering the smile that I was sure had spread many pairs of legs for him in the past. Ick.
“Counselor Gordon,” he said, offering a hand. I calmly transferred my black leather briefcase to the opposite hand so I could shake his, keeping my grip firm, trying to ignore the blatant uneasiness he caused in my gut. I had nothing to fear from him.
“Derrick,” I returned, determined to openly take him down a notch or two. “Good evening.”
His grin widened as he ascertained my obvious intent and he said, all manners on the surface, “You’re looking particularly well this evening. Breathtaking, really.”
I withdrew my hand even as his fingers tightened around mine. If this bastard thought he could intimidate me in this fashion, he didn’t know who he was messing with. I returned lightly, “I wish I could return the compliment.”
He laughed then, and I had the eerie sensation that had we been unobserved he would have done something way out of line to assert his assumption of power over me, like slide his hand around and cup my ass. He said, “As expected.”
I stepped around him, feeling his eyes follow me, and set up at the front table to the right, where Al had clearly already arrived, though he was nowhere in sight. I saw a pamphlet placed beside Al’s briefcase, not something I recognized as belonging to him. I picked it up to realize that it was an informational brochure for Capital Overland; there was Derrick Yancy and his brother on the front, at a groundbreaking ceremony somewhere, smiling for the camera with their wingtips braced delicately on shovels. It was the kind of thing designed to encourage goodwill towards a bloodless business entity. I very nearly chucked it to the floor before realizing that this would be the ultimate display of immaturity. Instead I set it to the side, facedown.
I looked up at the large clock on the wall, which read 6:51, only nine minutes until the meeting would begin, but I was far too restless to sit. I neatly arranged my things and turned back towards the outer doors, intending to mingle if it killed me, when my heart stopped. It just plain stopped for the space of a regular heartbeat, and then surged to life as though delivered an electric charge.
Oh my God. Oh. My. God.
Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare…
But it was already too late, and besides, he was staring right back at me, and though his face was not hidden in the shadow of a hat brim, it was just as unreadable as ever. No jeans and t-shirt in sight this evening. The man before me, the space of a room away, dozens of residents of Jalesville milling obliviously between us, was so formally, intimidatingly handsome that I felt kicked in the gut. His red-gold hair, trimmed close to his head, caught the lights, nearly throwing sparks.
He was clad in gray dress pants that fit him as well as his faded jeans, belted at his lean waist, a shirt of palest lavender tucked in beneath an open sport coat of the same shade as his trousers. His top collar button was undone and he was not wearing a tie, as though this would prove too much a concession to formalwear, and I almost smiled.
Before I realized I had taken a step, I was walking up to him. He watched me approach with no change of expression, his auburn eyes steady and totally inscrutable.
“Ms. Gordon,” he said in his deep voice then, as though our first names were too casual for this particular moment. Not that he’d yet spoken my first name, as I was one hundred percent aware. He was freshly shaved, his lips appearing full and soft above the strong lines of his chin. He had such a firm chin, marked with a narrow white scar that I had noticed before. His eyelashes were long, remarkably red-gold, creating a sharp contrast with his brown eyes. The freckles lightly sprinkled over his cheekbones were muted by the deep tan of his skin; I would bet money in the winter they were more visible.
Bowing to his lead, I responded formally, “Mr. Spicer. How are you this evening?”
You sound so breathless!
Snap out of it!
“Well, thank you,” he said. Just a hint of a smile lifted the side of his lips and suddenly I felt myself smile in response, radiantly. It came out of nowhere, my real smile, and he blinked once and seemed to draw a deep breath through his nose, taking me instantly back to the moment outside the bathroom at Camille’s wedding. I gained control of my face and swallowed hard. I could not think of one damn thing to say. Right at this moment Case seemed far removed from the person with whom I’d roasted marshmallows on Saturday night.
Thank God for Al, who came bustling through the door, eyebrows in perfect, worried arches over his faded-blue eyes. He caught sight of me and said, “Oh thank heavens, Tish, I’m glad to see you. I didn’t think you were here yet.”
“Al, are you all right?” I asked him, reaching to catch his elbow.
“Yes, yes, just fine,” he said, tucking my hand politely to his side, and then, “Case, good, you’re here too. People listen to you. Isn’t Clark coming? Oh, there he is, thank heavens. And there’s Hank…” he indicated the councilman, who was wearing a string tie and a pair of jeans along with his sport coat. “Tish, are you ready?”
Al was going to have a coronary. I said apologetically, my eyes flashing back up to Case’s, “We better sit…”
He nodded, still quietly studying me as though he was trying to read my thoughts, but Clark came near and commanded everyone’s attention. I was relieved to see him here, ready to talk sense into everyone, Garth and Marshall both on his heels. There was a shifting in the crowd as Hank Ryan moved towards the front of the room and then a rush of organized chaos as everyone attempted to find a seat. I led Al to the front, taller than him in my heels, and lost sight of Case until we were seated; it was only as I covertly turned in my seat to scan the murmuring crowd, some people fanning themselves with Capital Overland pamphlets, that I noticed he and the Rawleys were behind Al and me, three rows back.
“Good evening, friends,” Hank Ryan said, tipping his hat brim. “I’d like to thank all of you for finding time to come out this evening. I know you all have questions and I would like to allow time for all of those.” He had a commanding voice, a deep tan, and wore cowboy boots that had been around a very dusty block. I sat a little straighter in my seat, feeling a trickle of sweat slip between my breasts. He went on, “Now, we all know each other well. I don’t know that I see an unfamiliar face in the crowd, with the exception of Albert’s new associate, whom I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting.” He looked directly at me and I lifted my chin, my heart throbbing. Hank Ryan continued, “Ms. Gordon, welcome. And I believe most of you know Mr. Yancy, who represents his father’s business dealings in Jalesville.”
To the left of Al and me, I saw Derrick shift in his chair and knew without a doubt that I was not wrong about the chip on the shoulder notion. His father’s interests – how subtly demeaning, as though he was a child dressed in daddy’s clothes, playing at business.
“My longtime friend Al Howe asked for this meeting, so we’ll leave it up to him how to begin.” Hank Ryan looked to Al, raising his eyebrows.
“Mr. Yancy may have the floor first,” Al said graciously, in his lawyer voice, different than his ordinary one. He may have looked like a kindly grandfather, but he was nobody’s fool; I suspected that people often underestimated him, but he used this to his advantage.
Derrick looked our way and nodded, rising smoothly to his feet and moving to shake Hank’s proffered hand. He then faced the crowd as Hank took a seat to the side.
“Good evening, folks,” Derrick said, smiling at the assembled faces. It was so quiet in the room that I could almost hear the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock above his head. The room was stuffier than ever with so many bodies packed into the space; a little kid giggled and then there was a sighing murmur through the crowd, displacing the tense silence. Derrick continued, in a tone meant to reassure, “I know that many of you have heard from me before now, have had a chance to read through the literature I’ve provided in the past few weeks. I know many of you by name. I have felt welcomed into this community, to be honest.” He sounded so sincere I nearly believed his ass. “I would like to maintain a positive relationship here, as I’ve said from the get-go. Highland Power closed its doors six months ago, leaving many of the residents of this area unemployed. I empathize. But admittedly, I see this as an opportunity. It’s win-win. You get money up front, the capability to then relocate to a place with greater employment opportunities.”
“What if we don’t want to move? We’ve lived here for three generations,” said a man from the back of the room.
Derrick clasped his hands, nodding as though he truly cared about this question. I noticed he had neglected to mention just how he would win in his little scenario. He said, trying for a reasonable tone, “I understand. I even empathize, as I said. But staying on land that will continue to drain your finances, with so many out of work as it is, will only hurt your family in the long run. I’ll purchase your land, pay you, and then you’ll have choices again. The ball is back in your court.”
Here goes.
“Mr. Yancy, I have a question,” I said then, and was proud of the way my voice emerged with a confident edge that in no way hinted that internally I was a mess of nerves.
His eyes flashed to me and he smiled charmingly, holding out a palm in open invitation. His entire posture suggested that I bring it on, that I dare.
“Explain your rationale for choosing this particular area of Rosebud County, if you would. Prior to this year, your land purchases have been primarily in south central Wyoming.”
“That’s quite true, counselor,” he said.
My notebook was open before me, though I had memorized all of the names and dates already, information swirling through my mind. I said, “Your first inquiry to purchase property was on January eleventh of this year, via email, to Hoyt Church, who has since sold to your company. Interestingly, only three weeks prior, Highland Power closed its doors with no intent to reopen in the near future, leaving well over a third of the residents of Jalesville without employment.”
“My offers are even more a godsend then,” he said, without a flutter of discomposure.
“How fortunate for your company,” I said calmly. I let that sink in for a beat and then asked, “What is your intent for the property you are purchasing?”
“I can’t see how that’s your business, but our plans include resale,” he replied smoothly.
“What of the town itself?” I pressed.
“The town will be unchanged,” he said.
“Unchanged?” someone snapped from the crowd. “When more than half of our residents have moved away? It will be a ghost town.”
Derrick couldn’t quite contain a shrug. He said, “Consider that in a bigger city you’ll have so much more opportunity.”
“That’s an easy claim for you to make,” I said, leaning forward, over the table. Al was looking between Derrick and me, resembling a spectator at a tennis match. “Former residents of Parkton and Cedar Gap, Wyoming, which represent only two of the nine towns your company has purchased in the state of Wyoming since 2009, have not fared well since their relocations. Thirty-eight, and these represent only the families I was able to find since last week, have since declared bankruptcy.”
“Surely, as a lawyer, you can see the fallacy in that logic,” Derrick said. “As though you could prove that they wouldn’t have declared bankruptcy had they refused to sell to our company.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, as though conceding. “I couldn’t prove that unequivocally. But that’s not my point. The bottom line is, these people were relocated from acreages similar to the ones you’re attempting to buy here in Jalesville. Relocated from their homes. Many of them had lived on their property for generations, also similar to this area. And for what?” I was standing up before I realized I had moved. I braced my fingertips on the table, leaning forward in what was an unmistakably aggressive posture, though I maintained a level tone as I said, “You are failing to grasp the real issue here, Mr. Yancy. This place matters to the people gathered here tonight. To you, this place is a speck on a map, a potential for profit. But this is their home. Their community.”
There was a ripple of murmured commentary at my words. I felt a small spurt of pure righteousness and held Derrick’s increasingly less composed (though he veiled it well) gaze. His mouth compressed, a subtle flash of anger that he quickly submerged. I knew I had found a weak spot with the timing of the power plant’s closing and Capital Overland’s immediate presence in the area. There was more to it than I knew; I had seen how Derrick’s eyes tightened briefly at the mention of the January inquiry, but I couldn’t press this advantage until I learned more.
“But I need money now,” said someone else, in the void left after my words. “I can’t wait around for the plant to reopen.”
“What if I’ve already sold? Is it too late?” asked another.
“Capital Overland paid up front,” said a woman. “I’m happy to have the money.”
“As you should be,” Derrick said to this woman. “As should all of you.”
I sensed more than saw Case stand up, three rows behind me. Derrick’s hostile gaze moved at once to him. I turned to see Case, who stood with shoulders squared and eyes steady, direct. Not quite threatening, but close. The crowd quieted as Case spoke then, and I felt a swell of pure gladness; his act of standing seemed to suggest (at least to me) that I had his complete support.
“Mr. Yancy, where are you from?” Case asked, his deep voice calm. He sounded truly curious.
“Chicago,” Derrick snapped. “How that matters is hardly —”
“It is relevant,” Case interrupted. “Were you born there? Do you have roots there?”
Derrick remained stubbornly silent, regarding Case with an expression of arrogant distaste that suggested this wasn’t worth his time. After a tense silence, he said, “I was born in Manhattan. What of it?”
“Nothing, to you perhaps,” Case said, standing with his hands caught loosely on his narrow hips. My heart was wild in my chest at just the sight of him. Case went on, “I was born here. In this very town. My family has lived on our acreage since long before my grandfather was born. Since it was homesteaded in the late nineteenth century. I have roots here, that’s what of it. That land is all my brother and I have in the world and you would have to shoot me where I stand before it would be for sale.”
Without even glancing at Derrick, I had the horrible sense that he was even now plotting that very thing, more than willing to shoot Case where he stood. I couldn’t tear my eyes from Case, who held Derrick’s gaze unwaveringly, his face almost stern in its intensity. Despite everything, I felt a pulse low in my belly at the sight of this, the insistent pull of my raging attraction to him.
It’s all my brother and I have in the world, he had said.
Oh Case, oh God…
I wanted to tell him, You have me. You have me in the world.
But of course that was absurd. I knew it.
Clark, still sitting, said, “I agree with Case absolutely. I won’t agree to sell.”
Case looked around at all of the people he certainly knew by name, saying earnestly, “We have to see this through. This town means something to all of you, I know it does. I know it to the bottom of my heart. Think how you’d feel if it was gone, bulldozed for some fancy goddamn vacation homes. Can you imagine never seeing each other again? What of that?”
There were a few grudging laughs, and a man said, “That might not be a totally terrible thing. I mean, my ex-wife does still live in town…”
More laughter, but then someone else said, “Spicer is right. We can’t give up on our homes. I can’t imagine relocating. It’s the last thing I want.”
Al faced the crowd and said, mildly, “The sales don’t have to be final, people. We call that in the business the ‘weasel clause.’ I can help to rescind the agreements, if you’re willing.”
There was a burst of startled chatter and Derrick Yancy had turned a pale shade of red.
“Folks,” said Hank Ryan, lifting his hands into the air in a call for attention. “Let’s come back together.”
“You people are buying into something that doesn’t exist,” Derrick said, having tentatively regained his cool. “Money is what you need, not romantic nonsense. It’s the modern era. Text, instant message, keep in touch on Twitter. It’s not as though you can’t make a phone call. What you can’t make is your next mortgage payment.”
There was a sobering slack in the chatter. Sensing his advantage, Derrick pressed, “Don’t mismanage your money. Save it, invest it, move to a place where you can find work.”
“Such as?” I asked him. “Name us all a place where there’s work, at this moment.”
“Do I look like the chamber of commerce webpage for the state of Montana?” Derrick snarled at me. There was so much anger in his tone that I felt as though he’d struck my face; three rows behind me, Case’s shoulders squared even more and I sensed that he intensely disliked the way Derrick had just spoken to me. Derrick looked out at the crowd and said next, “I have roots here, indirectly, more than you could know. An ancestor of mine was cheated of land here, long ago.”
This was interesting. I made a mental note to add that to my file of information as the crowd grew noisy with chatter at this news. I looked back over my shoulder then, directly at Case, who happened to be looking right at me. I experienced the nearly-overpowering urge to elbow people from between us and run straight to him. Would he collect me close against his chest, if I dared to do such a thing? He sent me the briefest hint of a smile; was that admiration on his face?
The official meeting disbanded shortly thereafter; I tried to be patient, talking with Al and the people who flooded around us to ask questions. I kept tabs on where Case was, without appearing obvious, taking note of his position in the room. Nearly a half hour passed before the room began emptying. Derrick had left five minutes ago. Hank Ryan chatted with me for quite a while.
“You’re not still considering selling out, are you, Ryan?” Al asked him.
“I’ve been on the goddamn fence,” Hank said. “But shit, where else would I go? The city isn’t for these bones.”
“You keep reminding yourself of that,” Al said.
“Tish, you did a great job tonight,” Clark said then, coming up beside me. He shook Al’s hand.
“Thank you,” I told him, trying not to be impolite and let my gaze rove past him, desperate to see if Case was leaving. Would he avoid me? Where was he? Then I saw him, near the side of the room, talking with Garth and Marsh.
“We’re homeward bound. Have you had supper?” Clark asked.
“Yes,” I said, and it was mostly true. If you counted a handful of saltine crackers. I meant to eat a little better when I got home.
“We’ll plan to see you Friday then,” Clark said.
“Yes, for sure,” I told him. “I’m glad you were here tonight.”
Clark winked at me and then headed out. The room was slowly emptying of residents. On the far side of the room, it appeared that Case was planning to take his leave as well. In a frantic rush of need, I scraped my things together, stuffing notes and pencils.
“Al, I’ll see you tomorrow!” I said, and then forced myself to walk.
“Great job tonight!” he called after me.
There was a jam in the flow of people and I tried not to look as concerned as I felt, that Case would leave without saying good-bye. I couldn’t see him now and sweat misted all along my skin. A notebook slipped out of the side of my partially-unzipped briefcase, sliding to the floor.
“Dammit,” I muttered, shuffling things in order to attempt to stoop delicately in my heels and skirt to fetch it; I felt like crying and hated myself.
“That was some fearless work,” he said then, surprising me as he came up beside me, bending to grab my errant notebook before I could. As he straightened I felt everything within me come all at once alive and pulsating.
“You’re still here,” I said, and I sounded foolishly grateful.
Case handed me the notebook and I held tightly to his gaze with my own.
“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked. We were both still holding the notebook, between us, our fingertips close, before he surrendered it to me.
“Of course,” I said, trembling and all a-flutter.
Case took off his sport coat as we walked side by side down the hall leading to the foyer, rolling back the sleeves of his dress shirt, looking more like the cowboy musician I knew, but I liked it. I liked it far more than I could even begin to admit. And I loved the way he’d spoken so calmly and yet with such controlled fire, going after Yancy along with me. I thought about what I had learned tonight, not the least of which that Case was a man of conviction. He was forthright. He stated his opinion with dignity, though I suspected he would be more than willing to take the gloves off, if push came to shove.
I respected that immensely.
And, if I was totally honest, it made me hotter than fucking hell.
At the door, he moved ahead to open it for me, and I used this as an excuse to look up at him, saying, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said easily, as we walked outside into the balm of the summer evening. The sky was crystalline with starshine and I took a moment to breathe deeply; I was close enough to Case as we descended the stone steps that I could smell his aftershave, something rich and pleasantly spicy, coming from him. I fantasized about putting my face against his chest.
The parking lot was emptying now, people backing out, taillights flashing as the residents of Jalesville headed for home. I thought of all the people who were worried, worried deep in their bones, that the places where their families had put down roots, carved a life for them generations earlier, were now threatened with displacement. How many of these people were driving home tonight thinking about the fact that they may very well be displaced by this time next year? That they would have no choice but to sell to Capital Overland, in the end.
Case and I reached the sidewalk in front of the courthouse and I paused, watching people climb into their vehicles, feeling helpless. Had I done anything to help this evening? Case remained at my side, and I had the sense he was watching me from the corner of his eye, even as he kept his gaze in the same direction as mine.
“I just wish I felt like I’d done some good tonight,” I said, unhooking my jacket at the waist. I was sweaty and my jacket felt too tight so I shrugged out of its confines; beneath it, my indigo blouse was limp. It fit like a fancy tank top, leaving my shoulders and collarbones bare, though still far more conservative than any of my usual summer outfits.
Case turned to me and said, his voice deep and steady, “Hey. You were incredible in there, if you don’t mind my saying. Yancy was doing his best to take you out at the knees, but you didn’t let him push you around. That’s impressive.”
His words buoyed my stomach, my heart; had I been fishing for a compliment? I curled my jacket around my forearms and said, “Well you were pretty damn impressive yourself. You care and people sense that.”
He shrugged, looking into the distance, at the outline of the mountains on the western horizon; it was so hard for me to tell if my words had any impact upon him at all. He said quietly, “I do care. This place is my home. I know it doesn’t mean shit to someone like Yancy, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s all most people around here have. We have to stick this through, together.”
He means himself and the other residents, not you!
Tish, you idiot.
“You’re right,” I said. The air around us was growing quieter as cars and trucks vanished down the road. I heard crickets then, and the beating of my own heart, which seemed absurdly amplified, as though I had my ears plugged, as Case turned his chin back in my direction and tipped it down to look in my eyes. His shoulders in their pale shirt were wide and strong against the dark sky. He stood with his own jacket caught over his forearms, held to his stomach. He was wearing his stone face again. I couldn’t draw a full breath.
He said, “This was a worthwhile evening, and you should be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said, hardly more than a whisper.
More time crept past as we couldn’t seem to look apart or find an excuse to say good-night. He lifted his right hand from beneath his sport coat and my heart absolutely leaped, but he was just fishing the keys to his truck from his pocket. He said, “I play this evening, so I better get going.”
“Out at the fairgrounds?” I asked, even though I knew well that’s where he was headed; I was concocting shallow excuses to keep him a little longer. I wanted him to ask me to come and watch him play, too shy to do so otherwise, even though the fairground was very near Stone Creek.
He nodded.
I was pulling at strings to keep him here with me. I said, “I’ll have to text Camille and Mathias about this evening. They’ll want to hear about it.”
He smiled then, his gaze moving up and to the left, back into time, and he said, “I wish they lived out here. It seems like yesterday that we all met. That was such an incredible night.” His eyes flashed again to mine and my heart stuttered painfully, as he added, “For a number of reasons.”
“They miss it out here, I know,” I said, looking intently at him.
“Yeah, I miss them too. I felt so at home with them, the both of them.” He seemed in a hurry then, shifting his sport coat over his left shoulder and holding out a polite hand to let me lead the way. I did, feeling as deflated a leftover party balloon. It was only a handful of steps to my car; there, I fought the terrible urge to catch his shirtsleeve.
I filched my own keys from my purse and forced a cheerful tone as I said, “Have a good evening then.”
“Good-night,” he told me. I was probably imagining I heard a note of regret in his deep voice. Yes, clearly I was imagining this, as Case barely paused before continuing towards his truck, several rows over. I stood there, all abject, with no good reason for this at all, when my heart flared with something like hope; he had paused and turned halfway back towards me, and asked, “See you at the Rawleys’ on Friday then?”
“I’ll be there,” I responded.
Three days away, I thought as I drove home to Stone Creek.
Friday is three whole days away.
You’re crazy as a jaybird, girl, I heard Gran say, my dear great-grandmother, who’d died almost ten years ago now.
Crazy as a fucking jaybird, I agreed.
I showered for a good fifteen minutes, then snuggled into a long pajama t-shirt and curled up on the couch with my notebook, looking over my notes on Capital Overland, adding the bit about the alleged Yancy ancestor, who’d been cheated out of land. But a pair of auburn eyes kept appearing in my thoughts, distracting me, until I finally sat with both hands pressed to my face, letting myself think of Case, and how he’d appeared tonight.
I want to be watching him play, right now.
I want to be close to him.
To further torture me, I could hear the sound of music across the creek from the fairgrounds, although I couldn’t tell if Case was singing at the moment.
I want to be near him.
I have no right to want these things.
When would he get home tonight? Would he go straight there after singing? His home, his family’s land, now his and his brother’s, all they had left in the world, Case had said. Were the chili-pepper lights glowing? Did Buck and Cider come from the barn and poke their noses over the top of the corral to greet him when he pulled into the yard? What if a black 4x4 was even now prowling his property? I sat up straight at that, knowing I had to tell him.
But what excuse would you use?
Why were you out at his place on Friday evening, anyway? Miserable, I set the notebook aside and wrapped into my own arms, unable to answer that question.
Hours later, deep in the night, a storm rolled over Jalesville, the thunder grumbling a low-pitched threat, rain spattering the windowpanes. It wasn’t quite enough to wake me, instead incorporating into my dream, where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. And in my dream, I was holding Case’s head to my breasts, my fingers in his hair, and his mouth was open over my nipples. I couldn’t get enough of his hot, suckling kisses upon me, the feeling of them spiraling outward through my entire body, and the growl of the thunder was my desire; I begged and begged him for more, panting, my breath coming in hard gasps, even as he held me to him with strong hands spread wide across my back.
I woke up to an especially frightful crashing and fell directly off the couch. Heart hammering like a blacksmith on acid, I lay flat on my back and tried to make sense of what was happening. My body was rigid with tension; I’d come awake in the middle of a powerful orgasm. I could hardly move for the sensations rioting through me. Lightning sizzled, backlighting the curtains, followed by another tremendous, building-rattling burst, and I jerked to a sitting position, a wave of dizziness rippling through my head.
“Holy shit,” I said, as my apartment was once more filled with unearthly blue-white light. “Oh, holy Jesus.”
My dream was still happening in my head, and I closed my eyes to get back to it, shaking as I cupped my breasts, naked and taut beneath my pajama shirt. I shuddered and bent forward, and somehow understood that I would see Case before Friday. I knew it, and this knowledge filled me with enough strength to climb back onto the couch and sleep until morning.