In deference to his son's recent burial ordeal, Judge Bill Stokes had called in a favor to an old friend. He wished it could have been to bring someone to justice, but it wasn't. He would have preferred an influential word with the Clark County DA or the judge assigned to the case, but the investigation was over, and there would be no trial, no justice for his youngest son. Instead, the good judge was forced to settle for arranging a private jet to convey Nick from Las Vegas to Dallas.
The phone call had been brief and to the point and had been the point at which Bill truly understood that no matter how brave a face he wore, Nick was still struggling with what had happened.
Nick himself recalled the conversation as well, but for a different reason. It was possibly the first time he'd been short with his father and not been reprimanded. His mother had been all but badgering him to come home and visit his family, to spend some time away from Las Vegas and relax and recuperate. Apparently his constant but polite no had her upset.
"Your mother is upset that you won't come home." Bill usually took a similar approach to assisting his wife in influencing their children.
Nick had sighed. "I'm sorry, Cisco," was all he could say, all he planned to say. He wouldn't budge – there was no way he could.
"What's the problem, Pancho? Why don't you want to come home?"
Again, Nick sighed. "I do want to come home," he replied, and it was true. He constantly missed his family, his brother and five sisters, their spouses and children, and his parents. He had grown up with people who loved him close by, and in Las Vegas he had precious little contact with living people about whom he cared. "I just . . . I just can't."
"Pancho, your mother-"
"Cisco," he had said sharply, "do you honestly expect me to get in a God damn airplane?"
For a long moment there was silence on the other end of the phone. "I'm sorry, Pancho. I didn't realize. . . ."
"Don't worry about it."
"Do you want to come home, Pancho?"
"Yeah . . . I do."
"Then let me make a few calls, all right? I'll get you here if you want to come."
A week later he found himself in a spacious private jet, bound for Dallas, and for the first time in weeks was looking forward to enjoying himself. At the airport a rented Hummer was waiting for him, and with a smile he took the familiar route to his parents' ranch. In the driveway countless Stokeses waited for him in the dust, and once the Hummer was parked he slid out and right into his mother's arms.
She cried soundlessly for a moment while she held him, and he whispered into her ear. "It's okay, Mama. I'm okay."
She put on her smile as she pulled away. "I know, Nicky," she said quietly. "I know."
Then he was all but mobbed by all of his other family members – particularly by his youngest nephew, Cole, who wrapped his arms around his thigh and squeezed, refusing to let go.
Nick was chuckling once everyone had had a hug, or a kiss, or a handshake, and cleared away. For a moment, there was calm, and Nick forgot all about coffins and handguns and being covered in dirt.
And then, between his youngest sister and one of his uncles in what could be described as a clearing in the forest of Stokeses, Nick spotted her. His smile melted and his head swarmed as long-forgotten horror started to flood his conscious.
"What the hell is she doing here?"
Nick heard his mother's gasp and his father's sharp snap to attention. He knew everyone had stopped to stare at him in shock; not only was what he said rude, but he cussed in front of a six year old.
He stared hard at her, at her fading silicone smile, and knew that she knew that he remembered. The clerk from church who everyone loved . . . it was a secret . . . he'd get in trouble. He didn't want to burden his already burdened parents, now did he?
Well . . . did he?
The question lingered unasked even now . . . some thirty years after the horrible night he'd never forget. She was different now; old, but polished in that way that all Southern women seemed to strive for. His eyes involuntarily went to her hands, the ones he had nightmares about for a full year, then to her face, which had the gall to smile saccharinely at him, her eyebrow lifted in a quizzical, concerned expression.
Anger started to bubble up into Nick's throat as his father tried to smooth over his rudeness. "I'm terribly sorry, Sue Ellen. . . . Pancho's had a long trip in," said Bill, patting Nick's upper arm. "Please forgive him."
Nick felt his father's hand tap his arm, but didn't take his eyes off of Sue Ellen. How dare she come here? What business could she possibly have after all this time? And especially now, right now, when he was still fighting to sleep, when the therapist he finally began seeing was asking questions he didn't want to answer? He had come to Dallas to rest, to recover, to spend time with his sorely-missed family. He hadn't seen her since he went to college and his mother mercifully stopped dragging him to church. He glared at her as his family started to chatter, and after a moment or two, she looked away.
For the first time in his life, Nick had the urge to hit a woman. There was little doubt in his mind that if she were a he, his fist would already have connected with her jaw. But Nick had been a Stokes for far too long to let that fantasy linger any longer than a second. He felt the phantom weight of the badge he used to wear on one side of his chest and the weight of the name he bore on the other; the weight of the gun he usually carried on his hip, and perhaps too late, the weight of his father's stare.
He didn't know. He wouldn't ever know. It wasn't necessary, and especially not now.
Nick forced a smile at his father. This seemed to comfort the judge, and he turned away.
"Nicky," said his mother, linking her arm through his, "Sue Ellen agreed to watch Cole while we go have some supper. I made reservations at your favorite Mexican place."
Nick's smile immediately melted. "Over my dead body," he thundered at Jillian.
Her eyes widened briefly. "Nicholas, what is wrong with you?" she all but growled.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them, it was with a smile. "I mean, uh . . . I haven't seen Cole in a long time. Let him come along."
For a moment, Jillian narrowed her eyes at Nick, but decided not to push the issue of her son's odd behavior toward their old family friend. Returning his smile, she replied, "Nicky, Cole's bedtime is in an hour. He's a little boy who needs his sleep."
"Well then let me stay here with him," tried Nick. "Y'all go out and enjoy yourselves . . . me and Cole can hang out with the horses a while and then we'll watch a movie."
"Nicky . . . all your family came to see you tonight," said Bill. "You'll be here for two full weeks; there's plenty of time to spend with Cole."
"It's okay, Uncle Nick," said Cole, who looked up at him. "I don't mind staying with Sue Ellen."
Nick met Sue Ellen's eyes, an then turned to Cole. "You ever stayed with Sue Ellen before?" asked Nick.
"No, but I don't mind," he replied, with the kind of brightness only a six year old had. "You and me can ride tomorrow, Daddy promised." He and Nick both turned to Billy, Nick's one and only brother and Cole's father. Nick looked up at Billy.
"Let's just stay here, Mama," he said, his eyes locked with Billy's. "I need to rest . . . I need to catch up with everyone. Starting with Billy and Cole."
Billy nodded. "I think that's a great idea," he replied, much to Jillian's confusion. "Maybe Sue Ellen wouldn't mind taking an order up to the restaurant and bringing it back here. Cole can crash in Nick's room and in the morning they can head out early."
For a split second, Sue Ellen looked as though she'd just swallowed a horse, but when Jillian turned to her, she put on her plastic smile again.
"Oh . . . would you mind, Sue Ellen?" asked the matriarch. "I wouldn't ask, but . . . I think Bill's right. Nicky's had a long trip in . . . and it's late already."
"Absolutely not," Sue Ellen replied readily. She and Jillian, followed by most everyone in the driveway, then went into the big house chattering, happy enough that their son, brother, uncle, or nephew was safe and well. Billy lingered in the driveway with Nick. Cole had relinquished his leg to chase his older cousins into the house.
There was silence for a while, and when Billy was sure everyone was out of earshot, he turned to Nick and in a low voice said, "I'm glad you'd rather stay."
"Yeah?" asked Nick, tilting his head. He knew his own reasons, but had never told them to anyone.
Billy nodded. "Yeah. I'm uh . . . I'm. . . ." There was a pause while he decided on the right word. "Grateful."
With that one word Nick knew that he was not Sue Ellen's only victim. Stunned into silence, he stared at Billy for a long moment. "You weren't gonna. . . ."
"Leave him? Hell no." Billy shook his head vehemently. "I was gonna send him home with his mama if it came to that."
Nick nodded, then looked away. He creased his brow before looking up at Billy again. "How'd you know?"
Billy smiled sadly. "I knew the morning after it happened, Nicky. I knew she'd been here, alone with you. You didn't come down to breakfast that morning."
Nick couldn't look at Billy anymore. He focused instead on the front of the house, making a vain attempt to memorize each individual brick.
"You don't know how much I blamed myself for that. For not saying something; for not doing more to protect you. But I was . . . afraid. I still thought I'd get in trouble for it happening in the first place and more trouble for letting it happen to you."
There was more silence as the clouds cleared overhead to let the sun set in peace. After a moment, Billy spoke again.
"When Dad called me to say he was goin' to Las Vegas . . . when he told me about what had happened to you . . . I felt sick. I was terrified, Nicky, for you – but as selfish as this sounds, I was afraid for myself, too. I thought I'd never get the chance to say that I'm sorry that I never said anything about . . . about her. If I had you wouldn't have had to go through what I went through."
Tears were streaming down Nick's cheeks, but he willfully ignored them. "Don't apologize," was, for a moment, all he could think to say to Billy. Then he turned and met his brother's eyes. "It wasn't your fault."
The last remnants of sun shone on Billy's wet face. "It wasn't yours, either."
(c) 2009 J. H. Thompson