Her face had mellowed, no longer drawn in sharp lines, and a burnished quality had replaced guile and grief in her dark eyes. The look evoked a memory of his mother’s eyes. Against all odds. Hope.
“Marie Bursac,” said Harry.
Jesse smiled. “Smart, aren’t you? It’s Jessica Marie. And Bursac was my mother’s name.” She shook her head. “I knew you’d come eventually, but I really thought you’d dress better.”
“Sit down. Put something on.”
“Which should I do first?” Stretch marks drew faint ironed-on purple bruises down the curve of flesh below her 290 / CHUCK LOGAN
navel and delicately webbed above the nipples of her breasts. “Bud send you or are you on your own errand this time?” she asked.
Too hot in the trailer and her naked optimism smelled faintly perfumed and as flimsy as the wrapping paper on the couch. He began to sweat. “Is Becky in danger?”
“Becky’s onstage.”
“She says you should stop the divorce. Don’t take the money.”
“My God.” Painted thoughts rolled on her eyes like fruited symbols on a slot machine. She stopped them on the jackpot. “The money’s all I’ve got. They’re just kids, they can’t understand that.”
Unnerved by her lapse of tenses, Harry shifted the rifle, keeping the muzzle angled away from her. She put her hands on her hips.
“If you’re going to shoot off your gun, go ahead. If not, get out of the way. I have to get dressed. I have an appointment with a lawyer.”
“Did you know that Chris thought he was a homosexual?”
She walked past him, moving the rifle away with her index finger.
“C’mon, Harry. You mean that silly business with Mitch Hakala?
That was just boys playing. That’s old thinking from the Kinsey days. Calling a boy queer just because he has an experience to or-gasm with another boy.”
“Did Karson seduce Chris?”
Jesse sniffed. “My God! Are you serious? Don Karson is a…prude.”
“There was a fight last month at the lodge. You called the cops because Chris was threatening Bud. And you let them go hunting together?”
“That wasn’t me. Larry and Bud worked that out.”
“Whose idea was it to go hunting?”
“You’re thinking city. It was supposed to be a way to make up.
And it gave Larry an excuse to spend some time with Chris.”
“Goddamnit! Emery’s out there hunting your daughter like she’s some animal.”
HUNTER’S MOON / 291
“Yup. She’s got his full attention, just like she always wanted.
Good old reliable Larry,” she said sarcastically. “Reliable now for Becky. For Bud. For Chris…sure wasn’t there for me, that’s for sure.”
She shot a venomous look out the windows. “Made me drive that goddamn Ford all these years. Every woman in town’s got something better. Giving orders all the time. All because I wouldn’t marry him.”
She caught herself. “The man is a drag.”
“Tell me about Tip Kidwell.”
The painted drum rolled in her eyes. “I’m like you, Harry. I never look back.”
He shook his head. “You’re some kind of goddamn monster.”
“Oh yeah?” She glided past and trailed a hand across his jeans.
“Who’s that for? Godzilla?”
Damn. Put them in the same room and the flute started.
He leaned the rifle against the wall and lowered himself to the rocking chair in front of the wood stove. Jesse moved off the porch, into the trailer, and hangers rattled in a closet. He yanked off the silly camouflage and unzipped his parka. Snow melted off his boots and ran in giddy rivulets along the shiny oak grain.
Jesse reappeared in panties light as foam on her shadowed tummy.
She pulled on clean ironed jeans and tucked in a crisp beige blouse and stroked her hair with a brush. She tossed her head. No braids.
No bra. Free.
Snowflakes began to crash silently against the tinted windows.
“You make a lousy go-between, Harry. You’ve been out of touch, Bud and I agreed on a figure,” she said brightly. “One zero zero zero zero zero zero. How do you like those measurements?”
“Bullshit.”
“Hey, I talked to his lawyer. Bud said you used to go out with her. She sounded like a real nice girl.”
Her smile mocked and her husky voice did that bourbon trickle in her throat. “Is she? A real…nice…girl?”
292 / CHUCK LOGAN
Now there were Christmas lights in her eyes as she laughed at the expression on his face. “Bud’s coming up. We’ll settle it all then.”
“Not if I can help it,” he said.
“You can’t stop it. It’s ticking along like a Swiss clock. I’m finally getting out of here. Away from Larry Emery.”
She pulled on a pair of snow boots with tufted liners, put on a bright red parka, and slung a purse over her shoulder. New clothes, new purse. Harry inhaled expensive leather and the mysterious interior scent of cosmetics. Her soap and body lotion. Her crazy smile like burning wires.
She withdrew a tube of lipstick. “Come with me,” she said impulsively.
“Huh?”
“To Mexico. You have a passport?”
“At home. In Saint Paul.”
“Go get it.”
“So I won’t be around when you guys kill Bud?”
“You’re so melodramatic. You’re just like Jay. Your head’s all jammed up. Didn’t you ever just want to be…happy?”
Harry squinted at her. “What’s with Cox? First he gets in a fight with me at the bar, then he acts…real friendly?”
“Decided you were just stuck in the middle.” She knelt before him and put her hands on his thighs. Looking into her sparkling eyes, it occurred to him how wrong he could be. Nothing shrewd. No cares.
All she could think of was her ticket out.
Blaming her. Emery. Could that be his ticket out. From the simple truth? He saw in the alluring mask of her face a mother who couldn’t accept that her son had been cut down.
It hadn’t really hit her yet. She’d taken her tragedy to the mall and went shopping. Doubt eclipsed him as he felt all the lives toppled over by the bullet that killed Chris.
He lurched forward, seized her shoulders, and shook her.
“He’s dead. Chris is gone,” said Harry. Nothing showed in her eyes but the bright images of
