Рита Браун - Probable Claws

“Sobering.”

“I guess. It’s the way of the world. Every now and then I’ll go back through the family Bibles, the birth dates, the death dates, the notes. I am proud of my people. They worked hard. Some thought backward, I guess, others were forward-thinking, but they did their duty; they knew life promised you nothing.”

“Not a current attitude.” He sipped his drink.

“Fair, we had a frontier. We could always go west until we hit the Pacific. I think attitudes began to change. We started to look inward. Industrialism began to affect everyone and everything. Cities grew large then huge.”

“Now that you mention it, you’re right. Once we hit the West Coast there was no longer an escape valve.”

“You know, honey, we’re just too big. Too many people. We’re starting to get in one another’s way.”

“How about China or India? Talk about getting in one another’s way.” He jumped slightly when a log popped loudly. “Sounded like a gunshot.”

“Did.” She laughed then changed to a more somber mien. “Hearing that gunshot, a pop like the log…I’ve grown up with rifles and guns, I know the sound, but to hear a pop then see Gary crumple. I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I wish I could tell you something helpful. I hope in time the memory will fade. Sometimes I think all the violence in the media, news, films, TV stuff, I feel like we’ve been narcotized to violence. It makes me wonder why violence is entertainment, you know?”

“I do, Sweetie. We’ve had friends die in car accidents, some to cancer far too young. Central Virginia is not a particularly crime-ridden area but stuff happens here. This was a friend, someone I admired and liked. It haunts me,” she said.

They sat in silence for a while.

“Coming down harder.” Fair glanced out the window.

“It’s so dark.”

“The light reflects out a bit. This storm is bigger than the weatherman predicted.” He sighed. “Life in and by the mountains. We have our own weather system.”

He drew her closer to him. “Can’t get cold if I’m close to you.”

She smiled. “Flatterer. Have you made any New Year’s resolutions?”

“No. I should but I never keep them.” He smiled sheepishly. “One year I vowed to go regularly to the gym.”

“I never could figure that one out. You’re in great shape.”

“My work keeps me pretty fit, so does farming, but there’s muscles you don’t use, and I never stretch. I figured the gym would keep me limber. Oh, then there was the year I promised to read Remembrance of Things Past. That lasted two chapters. Better to forget the whole thing.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “My resolution is to live every moment. No plans for the future. Live in the here and now. Be grateful for you, this farm, my friends, my four-footed friends. Be grateful for my health.” She snapped her fingers. “Could be gone like that.”

Harry, five years out from breast cancer, felt she was cured, but she no longer took health for granted.

“Good resolution. I’ll try it, too.”

Harry rose, stirred the fire, walked to the window. “I can barely see the ornamental cherry tree by this window. Must be coming down two or three inches an hour.”

“I’m sure The Weather Channel will know.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No. I’ll be hungry in the morning,” he replied.

“I hope we have power in the morning. All it takes is one car to skid off the road, take out a pole.”

“Maybe that will happen on the other side of the county, not our side.”

“Yeah, sure.” She grinned, continuing to look out the window. “Hope all the foxes, deer, bear, birdies are tucked up.”

“You know they are. They’re smarter about the weather than we are. Come on and sit back down. I miss you already.”

She snuggled next to him. The cats each claimed a lap, Tucker flopped in front of the fireplace.

—

Cooper, snug in a large county SUV, parked in the lot where Routes 250 and 240 separate, one going straight into Crozet and the other veering slightly south of that. Fortunately, there wasn’t much traffic. After a few hours of this, her shift about to end, she turned for home, driving west on Route 250. Sheriff Shaw told her not to worry about getting the car back to the station. Just take it home, come back out in the morning.

Heading down 250 she passed the small shopping center with Harris Teeter and the BB&T bank, kept going. As she kept heading west, she noticed across from Legacy Market and the BP station, a car halfway down the road. She called in the site. It would need to be towed off the road. She put on her flashers, got out, pulling on her jacket, took out her flashlight. No one in the Toyota Yaris, brand new, too.

Eager to get back in the county SUV, she called out, “Anyone here?”

The wind drowned out her voice. The snow fell so thick, so fast. She could barely see her hand in front of her face. Nonetheless, she walked along the roadside on both sides in both directions for fifty yards. Nothing. She couldn’t even make out the lay of the land. If anyone had turned off the road, she’d only see them if she came right up on them.

She called as she walked. No response.

Finally she gave up, returned to the SUV, gratefully opened the door.

There had been a few accidents. She hoped it wouldn’t be hours before a tow truck showed up. Luckily Jason Harvey, down on Route 151, just finished up a small mess at the 151 and 250 stoplight, took the call, headed east on 250 for Cooper.

She saw the tow truck, whispered, “Thank you, Jesus.” She got out of the car.

“Hey, Jason. Happy New Year.”

“You, too, Coop,” he called out the window as he maneuvered the big tow truck to hitch up the Yaris.

“While you’re lining that up, let me check the glove compartment. I should have done that in the first place.” She opened the door, nothing locked, read the papers, flashlight in hand.

The new vehicle belonged to Enterprise Rental, rented by Henrietta Bolander, address in Church Hill, Richmond.

Coop trained the beam on the front seat, nothing there. Then she checked the rear. Nothing. The keys, still in the ignition, had a button to unlock the trunk. She figured she’d better check it. So she pressed it. The trunk lid popped open.

Walking around she shone the light.

“What the…?”

Gary Gardner’s file books were stacked in the trunk. She wasn’t entirely certain as to the number of files he had in the first place, but the trunk was full of them. Wearing her gloves she opened one box. Papers. Building codes.

“Jason, take this and impound it, will you? Lock it up and give your dad the key. I’ll pick them up from him tomorrow or whenever the roads are okay.”

“All right.”

“It’s not exactly county policy but I don’t want to take a chance with this car.”

“What’s back there. Gold?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. As she climbed back into the car, she noticed all the lights went out. Total darkness except for her headlights and those of Jason’s tow truck.

She wondered if she should have put the file boxes into her SUV, then realized they should be fingerprinted first as well as the trunk. Who was to say when the power would come back on?

Well, that was life in the country, but she knew it would be a long, cold night.

9

January 1, 2017

Sunday

Snow curled off the snow blade, a white cascade. A large blade attached to the 80 HP John Deere tractor handled the eight to ten inches of snow from last night. The snow stopped but the mercury edged ever downward and the sky remained dark gray. The depth varied according to wind exposure. Fair needed to go over the long drive twice, clear out the path to the barn. Then he went out on the road, no traffic, performed the same clearing for Cooper, who rented the old Jones place. That farm, two miles from Harry, was considered a close neighbor in the country. No lights shone in the kitchen, the electricity was still out. Horse chores done, Harry slowly followed her husband in her 1978 Ford F-150. Old, no computer chips, you had to turn the hubcap centers to lock the wheels in four-wheel drive, the gearshift was in the center of the cab. Thanks to an extra low gear, almost a creep gear, she churned through the snow. She could pretty much get through anything with the old truck. Also the ground clearance was helpful. Even with plowing off two inches, snow packed in places, stuck to the roads.