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Authors: Katherine Sutcliffe
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opinion of her father would have little to do with his voting down her appointment—but because she had broken his heart twelve years ago and he had every right to despise her, which he obviously did. Her tantrum yesterday would not help matters.
She offered her hand and gave Greg as bright a smile as she could manage. "I'll look forward to your call, Mr. Hunnicutt. And thanks for your support."
He returned to the conference room, closing the door in her face.
FIVE
« ^ »
T he emergency call came at just after
midnight
from Ramona Skunk Cap. At the Mescalero reservation a herd of her goats, spooked by a coyote or wolf, had stampeded through a barbed-wire fence, snapping the nasty strands so they coiled like a hungry constrictor around the terrified animals. Dr. Starr should come quick before the animals bled to death.
Leah made herself a cup of strong instant coffee before climbing into her truck and heading down 249. Earlier she had done a passably decent job of shielding the broken window with a square of cardboard, but that did little to stop the wind from whistling in around the masking tape, of sucking at the cardboard so it breathed in and out like some living entity.
She popped a cassette into the player. Diamond's "Beautiful Noise." No memories there. Nothing to stir up the frustration she'd felt earlier in the day when realizing that Johnny Whitehorse held her future, not to mention her livelihood, in the very hands he had once used to drive her mad with desire.
So … Johnny knew she had a son.
Why had he waited until the interview to question her about it?
Did he know about the CP?
He couldn't know. Few people did, aside from Val's therapists and his teachers at school. There was her father, of course. No way was he going to discuss the issue with anyone—even her.
The truck veered to the right, then the left. The back end fishtailed as if on ice before a loud hum drowned out the trumpets and violins pumping from the stereo speakers. Leah eased the truck to the shoulder of the road and sat with the engine idling before shifting into Park and killing the engine.
Silence. Darkness, but for the streak of dim light from her headlamp that pooled on the bloated carcass of a raccoon on the road up ahead.
The door creaked and popped as Leah stepped onto the highway. The truck, still covered with crusty mud from two nights before, listed to the left like a sinking boat. The back tire lay in shreds along the asphalt. The wheel appeared bent from her having driven on it God only knew how long before realizing there was a problem. A new tire would set her back a hundred bucks. A wheel would cost several hundred.
"Damn it!" She kicked the wheel. Then kicked the fender. She walked around to the back of the truck and kicked the tailgate. Spying a metal rod lying in weeds littered with beer cans and a Burger King drink cup, she picked it up and proceeded to beat the hood, the roof, the already-broken-out headlamp, the door, then the shredded tire and mangled wheel. She beat it until the rod in her hand snapped in two, one end flying back to miss her face by inches.
"I won't cry," she chanted to herself. "Crying won't do me any good. It won't fix my tire. It won't pay for a wheel. It sure as hell won't buy me a new truck or get me that job at the track." And it would not turn back the clock eight years ago, to the night she and Richard had rented an X-rated video like two naughty and curious kids and became so turned on while watching it that they had unprotected sex.
As she stood on the shoulder of the road, the stink of the rotting raccoon beginning to filter through her senses, Leah rocked back and forth, her arms clamped around her waist, her body shivering from the cool mountain air.
Car lights rounded the bend—two pinpoints at first, looking like little round owl eyes reflecting moonlight, growing larger as the vehicle neared. The old Olds 442 roared by, sounding like a freight train. At the last
She offered her hand and gave Greg as bright a smile as she could manage. "I'll look forward to your call, Mr. Hunnicutt. And thanks for your support."
He returned to the conference room, closing the door in her face.
FIVE
« ^ »
T he emergency call came at just after
midnight
from Ramona Skunk Cap. At the Mescalero reservation a herd of her goats, spooked by a coyote or wolf, had stampeded through a barbed-wire fence, snapping the nasty strands so they coiled like a hungry constrictor around the terrified animals. Dr. Starr should come quick before the animals bled to death.
Leah made herself a cup of strong instant coffee before climbing into her truck and heading down 249. Earlier she had done a passably decent job of shielding the broken window with a square of cardboard, but that did little to stop the wind from whistling in around the masking tape, of sucking at the cardboard so it breathed in and out like some living entity.
She popped a cassette into the player. Diamond's "Beautiful Noise." No memories there. Nothing to stir up the frustration she'd felt earlier in the day when realizing that Johnny Whitehorse held her future, not to mention her livelihood, in the very hands he had once used to drive her mad with desire.
So … Johnny knew she had a son.
Why had he waited until the interview to question her about it?
Did he know about the CP?
He couldn't know. Few people did, aside from Val's therapists and his teachers at school. There was her father, of course. No way was he going to discuss the issue with anyone—even her.
The truck veered to the right, then the left. The back end fishtailed as if on ice before a loud hum drowned out the trumpets and violins pumping from the stereo speakers. Leah eased the truck to the shoulder of the road and sat with the engine idling before shifting into Park and killing the engine.
Silence. Darkness, but for the streak of dim light from her headlamp that pooled on the bloated carcass of a raccoon on the road up ahead.
The door creaked and popped as Leah stepped onto the highway. The truck, still covered with crusty mud from two nights before, listed to the left like a sinking boat. The back tire lay in shreds along the asphalt. The wheel appeared bent from her having driven on it God only knew how long before realizing there was a problem. A new tire would set her back a hundred bucks. A wheel would cost several hundred.
"Damn it!" She kicked the wheel. Then kicked the fender. She walked around to the back of the truck and kicked the tailgate. Spying a metal rod lying in weeds littered with beer cans and a Burger King drink cup, she picked it up and proceeded to beat the hood, the roof, the already-broken-out headlamp, the door, then the shredded tire and mangled wheel. She beat it until the rod in her hand snapped in two, one end flying back to miss her face by inches.
"I won't cry," she chanted to herself. "Crying won't do me any good. It won't fix my tire. It won't pay for a wheel. It sure as hell won't buy me a new truck or get me that job at the track." And it would not turn back the clock eight years ago, to the night she and Richard had rented an X-rated video like two naughty and curious kids and became so turned on while watching it that they had unprotected sex.
As she stood on the shoulder of the road, the stink of the rotting raccoon beginning to filter through her senses, Leah rocked back and forth, her arms clamped around her waist, her body shivering from the cool mountain air.
Car lights rounded the bend—two pinpoints at first, looking like little round owl eyes reflecting moonlight, growing larger as the vehicle neared. The old Olds 442 roared by, sounding like a freight train. At the last
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