He didn’t give me time to finish. Strike three.
“Oh, I know all about you. Jefferson told me you’d be coming.” The sheriff propped his foot on one of the stools running alongside the bar.
I was getting a little tired of hearing that everyone knew I was coming, but I didn’t comment. The giant seemed more interested in talking to himself than anyone else, so I saw no need in interrupting.
“That old man said he made a good living out of this place, but I don’t see how. After September there’s no one out here during the week but what I call the Nesters. I come out and check on them regular just to make sure one of them hasn’t died or started up some other kind of trouble in my county. No matter how much of a nothing this little lake settlement is, it’s part of my jurisdiction. I make a point of knowing what’s going on in my county.”
“Nesters,” I squeaked like the chorus in a doo-wop band.
Sheriff Fletcher grinned. “That’s what I call the people who live out here year-round. Misfits mostly. Folks people in town wouldn’t put up with.” He walked toward the passthrough and continued his lecture. “Now on the weekends you’ll find lots of fishermen and a few of them mountain-bike riders showing up if it’s not raining.” He winked. “I don’t allow any of them four-wheeling trash. Cut up the trails, you know, and make all kinds of noise.”
He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes just a fraction as though it occurred to him that I might be one of them.
Luke backed through the swinging door with a tray of fresh, hot pies. He took one look at the sheriff’s back and returned to the kitchen. With the next swing of the door, Nana came out carrying the same tray. They’d switched so fast it reminded me of the little doors on a cuckoo clock.
“Sheriff Fletcher, I’d like you to meet my grandmother,” I said, wondering why Luke hid in the kitchen and wishing I’d been smart enough to join him when I’d heard the sheriff’s knock.
Nana set the tray down on the counter.
The lawman turned slowly, not taking his gaze off me until politeness forced him to acknowledge Nana.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” Nana said. “I’m glad you dropped by. I was hoping to get someone to try my pies. I haven’t made them in years, but I think I remembered my momma’s recipe.”
Removing his hat, he nodded toward her. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
I was “darling’” and my grandmother was “ma’am.” I couldn’t help but wonder if it was age, or the pies, that garnered respect from the sheriff.
He walked over and picked up one of the miniature pastries. “I’d be glad to test them for you.”
Five minutes and four pies later, Sheriff Fletcher and Nana were talking as if they’d been friends for years. Neither seemed to notice when I picked up the broom and stepped out onto the porch.
I could still hear their conversation. Nana asked if he had kids and Fletcher listed all the grand points of his sixteen-year-old son, Dillon, before adding, “I got a daughter who married right out of high school, but my boy is going to go all the way through college. Criminal Justice, you know. I’ll bet in ten years he’ll be in the FBI. I taught him to shoot when he was five and he knows the law as well as I do. He’s been begging to go with me in the squad car since he could talk.”
Nana packed a few pies for the sheriff and as she walked him to the porch he told them he’d be back on Monday. As he drove away, she whispered, “Luke said he doesn’t like that man.”
I looked up from sweeping, hating to admit that I agreed with the lake bum I’d found hiding under my bed. “Did Luke say why?”
Nana watched the sheriff’s car clear the gate. “Said he thinks he’s better than folks around here.”
“Luke sure does a lot of talking to you. He never says more than a few words around me.” In truth, I could swear he’d been avoiding me as much as possible.
Nana shrugged. “Maybe I listen.” She walked back into the house. I didn’t have to ask where she was going. I knew it would be the kitchen. Her soap opera was about to come on. She’d fix her one cup of tea for the day and sit in front of the little TV. Then, when it was over, she’d go back to work, fretting about the soap opera stars’ problems as if they were her own.
While the TV blared, I found a quart of green paint and spent the hour painting trim around the old shelves. If we got kicked out of here tomorrow, at least I would leave the place better than I found it.
I wasn’t surprised Luke had disappeared. A few hours of work was probably more than he wanted to do, otherwise why else would he live at the lake? There was a hardness about him and I wondered if it was a shell, or went all the way to the bone.
Not that it mattered. He wasn’t my type.
I laughed suddenly, realizing I didn’t have a type. Unless you count losers. I remembered one guy who’d gone four dates before he talked me out of my clothes and then never called again. The loss of him didn’t matter as much as the feeling that he thought I must not have been worth the bother. I couldn’t even say he was my first love. I was twenty-six and never had a first love. A few one-night stands I regretted. A few boyfriends who left before they had to use the “L” word. A few almost, who never worked out.
No loves.
After supper, I curled into the bay window seat and watched the sun set. The lake seemed so still, so lonely. I leaned back against the windowpane and listened to Nana run her hand across her wind chime. She’d hung it in the kitchen just as she always did. As always, the music it played made me smile and feel at home.
A while later, she passed by and kissed me on the head. “Good night, dear,” she said. “I’m turning in. Sleeping is always good on cool, cloudy nights.” Her old hand patted my shoulder three times. I love you without words. “Are you heading up?”
I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay down here for a while.” I lifted the blank ledger as if it contained something inside for me to do.
Nana turned and climbed the stairs.
Just after dark I noticed a fire burning in the pit out by the dock. The day had been endless. We’d cleaned both upstairs and downstairs. While Nana had washed and hung clothes on a line out back, I had explored the outbuildings. One had worthless tools in it, another parts of old boats. Behind the buildings, several old cars had been parked and left to rust. None looked like they would be worth hauling into Lubbock to try to sell.
The only thing I’d found of interest was a fat cat. He stared at me awhile, then decided to follow me inside. Nana called him General and offered him milk. From then on he was more at home in the kitchen than we were.
I grinned. Having a pet made it seem even more like home.
As a fog settled in around Jefferson’s Crossing, I went up to bed. The air felt heavy with the smells of the day- paint, baking, and cleaners. Our rooms were stark, almost cell-like now that we’d thrown all of Uncle Jefferson’s junk away. I promised myself I’d let Nana buy a few pots of those plastic flowers she liked at the dollar store and maybe some curtains. A few touches would help.
After an hour, Nana was snoring and I hadn’t closed my eyes. I decided I’d landed in purgatory. Somehow, we were stuck in a location that wasn’t heaven or hell. We had food and a roof, but no dreams. Once I got the place clean, I had no idea what I’d do.
Drive into town and look for a job, I answered myself, then frowned. Part of me didn’t want to leave.
I climbed out of bed and walked to the window. In the years of traveling around, I’d somehow forgot to pack my dreams in one of the moves. When I’d been in school, I’d always felt I was waiting to live-that somehow life lay just around the corner ready to take my breath away. I’d be working in a famous art museum somewhere, talking to creative people, jetting off with friends or at worst teaching at a fine private school and saving my money to travel with Nana in the summer months.
Nowhere in those dreams had there been endless, mind-numbing jobs and people who thought becoming floor manager would be the ultimate measure of success. Not one dream had even hinted at an old lake house on a muddy bank in the middle of Texas.
Staring out at the water, black except for the reflections of firelight dancing along its ripples, I longed for the beauty of the masters. As I stared, the tall form of Luke moved against the firelight that seemed muted in the foggy night.
My curiosity rose as he lifted the basket I’d tossed all the useless mail in that morning. Slowly feeding the fire, he let the catalogues and magazines tumble into the flames.
“He’ll set the whole north shore on fire,” I whispered as I grabbed my flannel shirt and ran for the stairs.
