Chapter 9
He had to use the bathroom then talk to Ferg and Eamonn, so she went down ahead of him and sat there under the dim streetlight with the engine running and the heater hustling the icy air out of the cab.
He wasn't quick, and when he did come down, he went right back up to get the department credit card.
There was too much time to think.
It hadn't been some laying-down-of-the-law, establishing-of-boundaries powwow. At least that hadn't been her plan. Before she'd gone in there, she'd thought it through from the moment she entered, to the moment she left, out of a job. She hadn't expected him to fire her, but she'd planned to go far enough that he'd be grateful when she told him it was time for them to part ways.
Instead, somehow, she was waiting for him again, headed with him once more into the black northern night.
She'd said some things she didn't mean, and she hadn't said some things she did mean, and she'd said some things she did mean but hadn't meant to say, and had forgotten a couple of the things she didn't mean but was prepared to say anyway, for effect.
It was all screwed up, always now.
When he finally got into the truck, she expected him to try to kiss her. She'd prepped herself for what she needed to say to avoid it, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to, not when he'd already had his arms around her. First they'd kiss, she thought, then she'd rephrase.
But he didn't try.
He just got in, and he thanked her for waiting, and he asked her if she was cold, or hungry, or if she wanted him to drive, and when she said no, no, and no, he smiled, and she thought he was going to touch her someway, but he didn't do that, either.
"What happened with Baker's mother?" he asked as they turned onto the dark, snow-lined highway.
"You mean once she put the kitchen knife down?"
"Really?"
"Yup. Foil on the windows, the whole deal."
"She let you in?"
"We talked through the screen," she said.
"For that long?"
There it was. There was the part he couldn't hide. He didn't trust her, either. He couldn't stop himself from doing the math, from trying to figure out if she'd stayed away longer on purpose. Well, she hadn't, at least not after she'd considered and rejected the idea of driving south on 25 and not stopping until she hit Denver.
She told him about Eileen Baker, bird-weight and house-dressed, and anxious. Her DMV records claimed she was 46, but her body was going with 60. There was the smell of stale beer on her breath and dense cigarette smoke emanating from the gloom behind her, but she seemed sober enough. She told Vic she'd been waiting for her, that she'd called three weeks ago about the pygmies in the sagebrush.
"Anything about the son?" Walt asked.
"Vague answers. She had other concerns."
"But he lives there."
"Yeah. She confirmed that."
There was a patch of silence, an opening.
She could backpedal on everything else later, but the one that required urgent attention was, If we're doing this thing. That had been a mistake, an adlib that had come from some source she hadn't considered and changed the trajectory of the scene.
It had to be addressed, but she didn't want to kick him in the stomach out of nowhere. She didn't want to do anything to hurt him anymore, which was why this had to stop before it got out of hand.
He started talking again, about Henry. She hadn't asked. He said it was still awkward between them. For a second she took her eyes off the road, and when they landed on his in the half-light of the instrument panel, she had the odd sensation that she was falling. She looked quickly back to the road. He kept talking, unaware.
Maybe he was lonely without Henry, and with Cady so busy. And without her. It served him right for not realizing what she'd given him all that time, for taking her for granted. But she didn't want to be like that.
When she'd first met him, he was less distracted and guarded, more present. He was sad and beaten down, but he was there. It was comfortable and familiar between them from the beginning, like they'd already knew each other from some other time and place. She was sure it was the same for him.
Until the curtain drew closed behind his eyes, she never realized how much of their communication had been silent and visual. When it began to change, she had some murky sense that he was retreating from her specifically, but it couldn't have been. There was Branch getting shot and Fales hounding him and Henry in jail, and through everything, his wife's murderer out there somewhere. It was the combination that had made him retreat to the point where being with him was like constantly needing to sneeze and never, ever getting there.
During the second hour of the trip, he told her how proud he was of Cady and about the work he was doing on the cabin and about a seven-pound salmon he caught the week before he came back to work. He said he had it in the freezer. He said she'd be surprised what he could do with a salmon, but he didn't invite her over, and he didn't mention the powwow or this thing. Not once.
Magic Body and Lube had stayed open late for him. She waited in the truck while he paid and they brought the Bronco out. Leaving it running, he came over, exhaling white mist. She rolled the window down.
He rested his arms on the frame and leaned in so she could feel the waves of cold rolling off the bare skin of his face. She stayed where she was, her nose too close to his.
"Thanks, Vic," he said.
"No problem."
He was looking at her, from one eye to the other, as if following something back and forth, and he leaned in a little more. She thought this is it, and her organs fluttered, but she kept her mind on the task at hand: first the kiss, then the clarification. But he stepped back, and he patted the door with his gloved hand.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
"I'm off tomorrow."
"Saturday then."
She nodded and smiled. As he walked away she considered calling out to him, stopping him, but for what? Letting him down easy didn't appear to be necessary.
He was already opening the door. She opened hers.
"Walt!"
She crunched across the icy layer of packed snow, and they met in the middle, in the headlights of the two vehicles. He smiled down at her, and she felt a little dizzy, but he didn't say or do anything.
"What are you doing?" she said.
His brow crinkled. "What do you mean?"
She could kiss him. That would be counterproductive, but it was an option.
"I didn't mean some of what I said."
"Which parts?"
"This thing," she said.
"This thing."
He seemed to understand, though even she didn't know what she meant.
"We were good friends to each other," she said. "For a while."
"We were."
"So maybe that's the thing."
"Okay," he said. "I understand."
"You're not that bad."
"Thank you."
"And a lot of people do hate you."
He nodded. "I would have pointed that out, but I didn't want to interrupt."
"You still got elected."
"That's because I get the job done."
She concentrated hard on his face, those eyes, and the chin, his mouth. He was teasing her.
"Truce," she said, but she had no idea what she meant by that, either.
"Of course."
"All right."
"All right," he said.
"See you Saturday then."
"Saturday."
She stood there as he turned and walked back to the Bronco, and she watched him get in. He sat with the door open watching her through the windshield.
The cold was seeping in through the soles of her boots. He tilted his head to the side. That was it.
She crunched across the parking lot and around the driver's side, and he turned towards her in the seat, knees out the door. She froze, full eye-contact, then carefully, she put her hands on his knees and as she stepped forward between his legs, slid them down to his thighs.
He gasped or sighed or something airy before she pulled his head down. She kissed him with purpose and clarity. When it was over, she bit his lower lip, not hard, and he groaned, and she gasped.
He grabbed her hand before she could turn to go.
"I know," she said. "I should make up my mind."
He ran his thumb over her knuckles.
"You don't have to make up your mind, Vic. I don't need you to make up your mind."
He let go, and she walked lightheaded back to the truck.
She got in, and she closed the door, and for another moment or two, she watched him watching her. Then she put the truck in drive and turned around, and as she pulled out of the driveway, she sneezed.
