anything. He just leaves. That’s part of it.”
Pam looked at her for a moment. “You should get away,” she said. “I’m serious. You should get out of Sweet Home, get away from Mr. Macho Man, and get out of that stupid trailer.”
“Perhaps,” Kendra said. “We could have a little wine.”
Pam went to the bar and came back with a bottle and two glasses.
“I’m serious,” Pam said.
Kendra sipped her wine. She watched as Pam’s brother pinned a dart to the board.
“You need a break. Go to Seattle for the winter, or San Francisco. Get a job.”
Kendra had had a job once, in Raleigh Hills. She had worked as a receptionist in a dental office. It seemed like another life to her now, and the prospect of doing anything remotely like it again was, at the moment, inconceivable. She placed her purse on the table and took something from inside it, a manilla envelope containing acheck for fifty dollars. She pushed the check across the table for Pam to see.
Pam looked at it, raising her eyebrows.
“I sent one of my arrangements to a floral shop in San Francisco. They sent me that. There was a note asking for more.”
“No way.”
Kendra nodded. For months now, since her miscarriage, she had been collecting things from the woods. Papery hornets’ nests, bundles of dried yellow yarrow and dried kelp, driftwood and lichens and dried bear grass, horsetail reeds and river roots. She found that these might be fashioned into arrangements. It was her belief that people might pay her for them. Still, the check had taken her by surprise. She watched now as Pam held it to the light, finally placing it on the table between them.
“I don’t know,” Pam told her. “I mean, it’s cool, but somehow I don’t think time alone in the forest is what you need.”
Behind them three men had entered the bar. “I shot the son of a bitch right through the spine,” one of the men said. He was an older man, with white hair, a red-and-black flannel shirt. “The motherfucker just kept running, up the fucking hill. Just charging.” The men bellied up to the bar. Pam went to draw their beers.
When she returned, she took one of Kendra’s hands with her own, turning it to look at the month-old tattoo.
“So what’s next? The nose ring?”
“Don’t laugh,” Kendra told her. “I’m considering it.”
“Considering it, my ass. I see you with one of those, I’ll drag you to the loony bin with it.” She let go of Kendra’s hand.
Kendra raised her glass—a mock toast. The other woman remained impassive.
“I hope you’re not going to tell me you’re still looking around for that detective.”
Kendra sighed, lowering her glass. “A lost cause,” she said. “Anyway, Travis says they wouldn’t hire a detective. They would hire a hee-dee. ”
“A what?”
“A sorcerer. I thought maybe you would know the word.”
“Jesus. They should save their money.”
“That’s what Travis said.”
“Travis McCade?”
“I was trying to get him to tell me who it was. I didn’t feel that I could ask the Doves. I figured Travis would know. He has that office.”
Pam rolled her own cigarettes and she set about rolling one now. “Did you tell him about what you found?” she asked.
“Not yet.” Kendra took some more wine. With alcohol, she could always feel it right away, the smallest amount. “He loaned me some books,” she said. “I thought, maybe, when I give them back . . .” She allowed her voice to trail away.
What she had found was a little surfboard. She’d found it among Amanda’s things, in a small box filled with costume jewelry. It was only a few inches long, made of redwood with a flat deck and a V-bottom, and she knew it to be a model of a particular kind of board once ridden in the Hawaiian Islands. She knew this because it was what Drew did. She had not known him to make miniatures but he did not deny it was something he had done. When she asked him about how it came to be with Amanda’s
Pam looked at her for a moment. “You should get away,” she said. “I’m serious. You should get out of Sweet Home, get away from Mr. Macho Man, and get out of that stupid trailer.”
“Perhaps,” Kendra said. “We could have a little wine.”
Pam went to the bar and came back with a bottle and two glasses.
“I’m serious,” Pam said.
Kendra sipped her wine. She watched as Pam’s brother pinned a dart to the board.
“You need a break. Go to Seattle for the winter, or San Francisco. Get a job.”
Kendra had had a job once, in Raleigh Hills. She had worked as a receptionist in a dental office. It seemed like another life to her now, and the prospect of doing anything remotely like it again was, at the moment, inconceivable. She placed her purse on the table and took something from inside it, a manilla envelope containing acheck for fifty dollars. She pushed the check across the table for Pam to see.
Pam looked at it, raising her eyebrows.
“I sent one of my arrangements to a floral shop in San Francisco. They sent me that. There was a note asking for more.”
“No way.”
Kendra nodded. For months now, since her miscarriage, she had been collecting things from the woods. Papery hornets’ nests, bundles of dried yellow yarrow and dried kelp, driftwood and lichens and dried bear grass, horsetail reeds and river roots. She found that these might be fashioned into arrangements. It was her belief that people might pay her for them. Still, the check had taken her by surprise. She watched now as Pam held it to the light, finally placing it on the table between them.
“I don’t know,” Pam told her. “I mean, it’s cool, but somehow I don’t think time alone in the forest is what you need.”
Behind them three men had entered the bar. “I shot the son of a bitch right through the spine,” one of the men said. He was an older man, with white hair, a red-and-black flannel shirt. “The motherfucker just kept running, up the fucking hill. Just charging.” The men bellied up to the bar. Pam went to draw their beers.
When she returned, she took one of Kendra’s hands with her own, turning it to look at the month-old tattoo.
“So what’s next? The nose ring?”
“Don’t laugh,” Kendra told her. “I’m considering it.”
“Considering it, my ass. I see you with one of those, I’ll drag you to the loony bin with it.” She let go of Kendra’s hand.
Kendra raised her glass—a mock toast. The other woman remained impassive.
“I hope you’re not going to tell me you’re still looking around for that detective.”
Kendra sighed, lowering her glass. “A lost cause,” she said. “Anyway, Travis says they wouldn’t hire a detective. They would hire a hee-dee. ”
“A what?”
“A sorcerer. I thought maybe you would know the word.”
“Jesus. They should save their money.”
“That’s what Travis said.”
“Travis McCade?”
“I was trying to get him to tell me who it was. I didn’t feel that I could ask the Doves. I figured Travis would know. He has that office.”
Pam rolled her own cigarettes and she set about rolling one now. “Did you tell him about what you found?” she asked.
“Not yet.” Kendra took some more wine. With alcohol, she could always feel it right away, the smallest amount. “He loaned me some books,” she said. “I thought, maybe, when I give them back . . .” She allowed her voice to trail away.
What she had found was a little surfboard. She’d found it among Amanda’s things, in a small box filled with costume jewelry. It was only a few inches long, made of redwood with a flat deck and a V-bottom, and she knew it to be a model of a particular kind of board once ridden in the Hawaiian Islands. She knew this because it was what Drew did. She had not known him to make miniatures but he did not deny it was something he had done. When she asked him about how it came to be with Amanda’s
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