Chapter Twelve
Jalesville, MT - March, 2014
MINUTES LATER THE ROAD WEST OUT OF TOWN HUMMED beneath the tires as I drove with a single-minded purpose – that of reaching my home. I refused to conceive of the idea that it would not be there when we arrived. Camille kept silent and I saw nothing but her somber profile from the corner of my right eye as I roared along the narrow gravel strip called Ridge Road, where I had lived since last summer with Case and our animals. Where our old doublewide sat neatly at the base of a soaring, tree-lined ridge, where I fed my horses and chickens and cats and rabbit, where I’d been happier than ever before in life. It would all be there. The cramped, messy, heavenly space I shared with Case; our beautiful brand-new barn, the blueprints for our new cabin sprawled across the kitchen table.
It took no more than five minutes of driving before I spied the familiar silver mailbox that Case’s mother, Melinda, had stenciled with their last name when she was still alive. Relief fell like warm rain over my shoulders. I ignored the sharp stabs of gut instinct warning me to hit the brake and turn the car around.
Camille spoke for the first time since I’d started the engine. “Tish, what if…”
But I couldn’t listen.
My green and white trailer appeared exactly as I’d left it earlier today but was encased now in darkness, the kitchen light creating a bright square to counteract the night. I saw Case’s maroon truck and additional relief all but punctured my lungs – but my Honda was not parked in its usual spot, instead replaced by a vehicle I didn’t recognize. I cranked open the door almost before I’d thrown the car in park. Case was only steps away.
“Tish, wait…” Camille jumped out of the car in my wake but nothing was going to stop me now.
I jogged up the steps and threw open the screen, then tugged at the inner door, heart thrusting through my breastbone. It was locked. Dogs immediately began barking.
“Case!” I shouted, with increasing alarm. “Are you there? Case, it’s me, I’m home!”
Two or more people had been talking inside. I heard my husband’s deep, authoritative voice only a few feet from me as he demanded, “What in the hell? Who’s there?”
I began crying in earnest, pounding on the scarred wooden surface. “Case!”
I fell inward, straight onto our kitchen floor, as he yanked open the door. Literally at his feet I stared up at the astonished expression on his face. I didn’t hear Camille’s breathless explanation as she appeared in the doorway on my heels, I didn’t hear the startled exclamations of the woman seated at the table or Case ordering the dogs to get back. I heard only the panic coursing through my veins.
Case did not recognize me.
I hardly recognized him.
Leaner than I’d ever seen him, cheekbones knife-edged and prominent, thick scruff on his jaws and brows drawn inward with confusion. His eyes were bordered by deep shadows. He smelled boozy and I realized he was drunk. Or, was two-thirds of the way there. He wore a threadbare long-sleeved t-shirt and dirty jeans, his steel-toed work boots. His hair was cropped close to his head, severely short. He appeared wiry and menacing and stunned.
But none of this mattered. He was my Case, my Charles Shea Spicer, and he did not recognize me.
Reality began reasserting itself, pulling no punches.
The woman at the table knocked over her chair as she stormed to her feet and stood with fists planted on her hips, firing her words like missiles. “Who is this? What is this about? Case, I swear if you’ve been fucking this bitch I will kill you once and for all!”
I realized dumbly that I knew her; her name was Lynnette and she’d once been married to Case. He ignored her angry tirade and instead crouched beside me. His eyes were achingly familiar, his beautiful cinnamon-brown eyes with their red-gold lashes, and I lifted to an elbow, desperate to force recognition. He was confused as hell, I could plainly see, but somehow, some way, he had to know me. The awareness between us was too strong to deny. He was studying me intensely, the way a person would a painting that required deciphering to comprehend. His brows drew together, creating a deep furrow between them.
“Case,” I begged in a whisper, unable to resist reaching for him. My hand fluttered through empty air and alighted on his right knee, closest to me. He was warm and hard, so very familiar, and I wanted to die in that moment, knowing that to Case, in this particular timeline, I was nothing but a stranger – and a crazy one, at that.
“I knew it!” Lynnette cried, but neither of us looked her way.
“Please,” I begged, almost soundless, my throat obstructed by pain. I clung to his knee with one hand. “Please, it’s me. It’s Tish. I’m your wife…”
“What…”
“It’s me. I love you so much, you just have to remember…”
Case stood abruptly and stalked outside, severing our tenuous connection. Camille darted to the side to avoid being trampled by his angry movements while I scrambled after him, dogging his footsteps to the corral, where Cider was nosing the top beam. Behind us, in the trailer, Lynnette was hollering like a tornado siren but I didn’t care. She was lucky I hadn’t attempted to kill her once and for all. Case increased his pace and I ran to catch up, stumbling in my heeled boots.
“Stop!” I pleaded, grabbing for his arm. We had reached the corral and Cider issued a friendly whooshing sound, stepping in our direction. Having reached the extent of his escape route Case turned to face me, running
