The Backwoods

well contoured, strong arms, broad-backed. Dark eyes glittered in an appearance of youth that should’ve disappeared a decade ago. If anything he looked late twenties instead of mid-forties. The only difference, now, was his hair. For all the years she’d known him, Ernie had had a nearly military cut, but now he’d grown it out shoulder- length. When she finally found words, she blurted, “Your hair!”

He looked sheepish. “Yeah, I growed it out fer the hell of it; now everybody likes it, so I guess it’s here to stay.”

She came down the stairs and gave him a hug. “Ernie, did you find the fountain of youth somewhere out in the woods?”

“Huh?”

“You look the same as you did years ago. You look great.”

The remark embarrassed him; he almost blushed. “Aw, well, thanks, Patricia. You look really fantastic your own self. I like your hair shorter that way; ain’t never seen ya with it like that.”

“It makes me look more like a lawyer, I guess.” Then she remembered his first comments. “And, yeah, I did plan on getting here this afternoon, but I wound up dillydallying. Had breakfast in Richmond, lunch in Norfolk. I burned the whole day driving around.”

He seemed instantly uncomfortable. “Well, yeah, that sure is understandable—that you wouldn’t be in any hurry to get here. This old backwards town’s gotta remind ya of . . . well . . . you know.”

His stilted compassion was sweet, the way he awkwardly talked around her obvious motive. Naturally she hadn’t been in any hurry to get back to the place that made for the worst memory of her life. It didn’t bother her, though, which seemed strange. Nor was she bothered by the obvious difficulty that Ernie was having in keeping his eyes from roaming her obviously braless bosom. He’d always had a thing for her. Always. The silliest thought occurred to her then: Maybe I subconsciously didn’t wear a bra because I knew it would rile Ernie up. . . .

But that was ridiculous.

If anything, his darting eyes flattered her, even caused her to want to tease him a little. No harm in that. The poor lug is probably still nuts about me.

“So how’s yer, uh, yer husband?”

“Oh, he’s fine, Ernie. He was going to come down with me but he’s busy with his job. What about you? You must be married by now.”

More embarrassment. “Aw, no, never did tie the knot with no one. One day maybe.” But as he spoke he kept looking down. Still as shy as ever, Patricia thought. Like a little boy.

“Anyway, it’s good to see ya, Patricia,” he went on, shuffling his feet in place. “Well, not like this, a’ course, but . . . you know what I mean.”

“Sure I do, Ernie. A funeral is always the worst occasion to see old friends.”

“We all know you don’t like to come down to Agan’s Point much, but what’cha gotta know is that it really means a lot to Judy.”

“She looks really shaken up,” Patricia said. “It’ll take time for her to jump back to normal.”

“I hope she can jump back to normal.” Ernie shook his head. “She sure was crazy in love with Dwayne. No one could ever figure it out. Enough of that, though. You want me to put your bags in your old bedroom, or would ya rather—”

“The guest room down here would be better, if that’s okay.”

He seemed visibly enthused. “It’s bigger and catches the sunlight in the morning. Plus it’s right down the hall from my room, in case ya need anything.”

No wonder . . . “It’ll be fine.”

He picked up her bags and led her through the back of the house. 1 feel good all of a sudden—hell, I feel great, she admitted to herself. All day long during the drive, and even the first few minutes back in the house, a heavy oppression seemed to be hunting her. Now it was all gone. Maybe this trip won’t be as bad as I thought

“Really bad about Dwayne,” Ernie made conversation.

Patricia couldn’t take her eyes off the strong, tapered back as they moved on. “Oh, yes.”

“He wasn’t a good man by any stretch, but no man deserves to die like that. I believe that ya get what’s comin’ to ya in this life. What goes around, comes around. But that? Jesus.”

Patricia touched his arm, urging him to stop and turn. The contours of his silhouette opposed her, the strong legs in tight jeans, the bulging biceps. She frowned at herself. “I didn’t know the details until just now—she told me when I put her to bed. He was decapitated?”

“Somebody cut his head clean off, I guess.”

Strange way to say it. “You guess?”

“That’s what Chief Sutter told Judy. Judy wasn’t up to seein’ the body, so he did it for her, for proper ID ‘n’ all. But there’s all this talk now.”

“What kind of talk?”

“Rumors about somethin’ really wrong about Dwayne’s body, and I mean . . . somethin’ more than just losin’ his head.”

Patricia couldn’t imagine. What could be more wrong than losing your head? It was something she could look into, though. As a lawyer, she was an expert at expediting Freedom of Information Act requests. There must be a death certificate and an autopsy report. . . .

“But that’s probably all it is when ya get right down to it—just talk. You know what this place is like. People got nothin’ better to do than run their mouths ’bout every little thing that ain’t their business.”

One rumor generates more rumors, she knew too well, and at the end of the line there’s no truth left at all, just distortions . “It’s really odd, though, and Judy does have a right to know all the details concerning her husband’s death.”

“I went down to the county morgue myself and tried to see the body, but it had already been cremated. Then I asked to see the autopsy report and they told me it was confidential,” Ernie said, pronouncing the last word confer-din-shul.

We’ll see about that confidential part, Patricia vowed.

The guest room was cozily decorated and large, with fat, tapestried throw rugs and tasseled drapes. It felt unlived-in, which was what she wanted. French doors, closed now, showed a charming little porch over looking backyard flower beds. In the moonlight she could see the flowers swaying in a night breeze: pansies, baby breath, daisies.

“Will this do ya?” Ernie asked. “There’s a smaller room on the east wing.”

“No, this is perfect, Ernie.”

“And you can open the windows if ya want, catch the breeze off the bay most of the night. It comes right through the pine trees, brings that scent right into the room.”

“I just might do that.” She sat down on the high bed, testing the mattress. Suddenly the day’s long drive caught up to her, and she couldn’t wait to fall asleep on the comfy bed with the moon on her face. “What time are the services tomorrow?”

“Noon. I’ll be fixin’ breakfast at eight.”

“That sounds great. See you in the morning.”

“Night.”

She leaned over to untie her sneakers, and in the fringes of her vision noticed his shadow still there. Before she even looked back up, she could guess the reason. I’m leaning over . . . and I’ve got no bra on. Ernie was getting an eyeful.

Then she looked back up at him with the thinnest smile. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me, Ernie?”

His eyes darted out of her cleavage. He quickly cleared his throat and said, “Oh, yeah, just that it’s great to have you back in town for a while.” And then he rushed out of the room and closed the door.

Men. But some would say she was asking for it, wasn’t she? Wearing no bra, with her bosom? But then part of the tease in her returned. I guess it’s not that big a deal. At least I gave