Mary Anne Wilson - Discovering Duncan

D. R. Bishop would be whatever he wanted to be. That was dead on. “Good or bad?” she asked, hoping to get him to talk a bit about his father, but he gave his usual condensed one- or two-word answer.

“That depends.”

Thankfully, Annie had sat back in her seat, apparently gathering her strength for another bout of conversation. So Lauren kept going, trying to get Duncan to say something she could connect with. “So, are you a ski champion or something?”

“No.”

“I thought with all the snow and cold, that being a skier around here was a no-brainer.”

“There isn’t any snow,” Annie said, active again as she sat forward. “Not a flake. Nothing.”

Lauren glanced at the woman in her rearview mirror, then at Duncan. His eyes were narrowed on her, a look he shared with his father, that way of studying what was in front of him intently, and intensely. “There’s no snow?” she asked, the lament that had been everywhere on her short visit to Silver Creek.

Annie jumped in again, earnestly saying, “It’s the driest season yet, and the slopes are all being filled by machine.” She said that as if it were something horrible. “The skiing’s just awful, and the slopes are all but shut down.”

“What about that fancy resort?”

“They can have snow in July up there,” she said.

“I guess money buys just about anything,” she said, waiting to see how Duncan responded.

He didn’t. Annie did, giving a long tirade about how the resort had tried to eat up the town, and how it drew so many outsiders. But not once had Annie said anything personal to Duncan. There hadn’t been any “connection” between them, no touching, no smiles, nothing intimate at all. And Lauren wondered what they were to each other. Obviously they were close enough to go to Las Vegas together, but there was something missing between them.

“Do you need me to take you someplace to get your car towed?” she asked Duncan.

“Rollie’s Garage on the main street,” he said. “It’s just as you get into the old section of town.”

Lauren was tired of all this dancing around with words and decided time was short, so she went for a direct hit. “So, how long have you been in Silver Creek, Duncan?”

She felt Duncan look back at her, but it was Annie who spoke up once again, answering for him. “He walked in two, maybe three months ago. He came and never left.”

That told her nothing, except that there were three or four months unaccounted for. She stared ahead at the glow from the ski runs that was spreading in the dusky sky. Talking to Duncan with Annie around was next to useless, and she figured she had to take a different tack before the car stopped at Rollie’s Garage.

They were close to town now, going past the first scattering of houses digging into the foothills at the base of the soaring mountains on either side, their lights flashing in the night. Then more buildings, a huge stone structure to the right with a lit sign near the road, Silver Creek Clinic. A few small businesses were closing for the day at the beginning of the main street. The old-fashioned lampposts lined the way, and the Christmas lights twinkled everywhere.

“There’s Rollie’s,” Annie said, motioning just ahead of them to the left.

Lauren saw the sign set between the street and an island of gas pumps. Beyond the pumps was an older building with a false-wood fronted office and to the right, three service bays with their metal doors closed tightly. A neon red Closed sign shone in the window of the office.

“It’s closed,” Lauren said, grateful for the opportunity to buy more time and take Duncan to another garage.

“Just pull in. He’s there,” Duncan said, so she had no choice but to swing off the street and over toward the office.

She had to think fast because otherwise she’d lose even this weak connection. So she kept talking, making every attempt to draw him into a meaningful conversation. “The town is bigger than I thought it would be.”

“It’s huge,” Annie said. “Just huge. When I was growing up, there were only two hundred residents, and now look at it. Although it’s not all residents, not at all. I mean, I told you about the influx of all those people for skiing and the rich ones who go straight through and hide behind the walls at the inn.”

She’d told her that three times, Lauren thought, but who was keeping count? She stopped by the door of the closed offices, let the car idle and spoke off the top of her head to buy time. “I’ll wait for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Duncan said, his hand on the door handle. “We can walk.”

“Oh, no,” she said, glancing at Annie to include her in what she said, hoping she’d help her this time. “I can’t just drop the two of you off here.”

But Annie wasn’t an ally this time. “We’ll be just fine,” Annie said quickly, before Duncan could respond. “We’re just going down the street a bit.”

While Annie spoke, Duncan opened his door to get out, and Lauren did the same thing. She knew Annie was scrambling out of the back, then heard the door close, but she never took her eyes off Duncan who was striding to the offices. She caught up with him as he raised his hand to rap on the glass window.

“You don’t know for sure if anyone’s in there, and I feel responsible. It’s so cold, and—”

He looked down at her, his face shadowed by the lights behind him. “Rollie is here twenty-four seven.”

“But he’s not here. It looks empty,” she said.

“He lives out the back. He’ll be here,” he said and rapped on the window, harder this time.

“You could have whiplash or something.” She spoke quickly, and included Annie in what she was saying. “You could both have whiplash.”

He rotated his head, then shrugged. “Nothing.” And, damn it, Annie chimed in, cheerfully saying, “I’m just fine.”

“Well, the car’s all messed up, and I feel as if I’m responsible for that.”

He narrowed his eyes even more. “You’ve got an overdeveloped guilt complex, don’t you?”

If she did, she wouldn’t be playing this game with him. “I just believe in taking responsibility.”

Annie patted her arm. “Oh, it’s not your responsibility. If anything, I was reading that darn newspaper to him about the national forests being in trouble, then businesses going belly up. I’m the one at fault if you want to lay blame.”

A light inside flashed on without warning and its glow exposed the face of Duncan Bishop. His father’s son. The same look. No neatly trimmed beard or white hair, but the strong features, the dark-as-night eyes and a size that seemed almost overwhelming. He turned to the window, exposing his profile and a peculiar arrogance in the way he held his jaw. Like his father. But the rough clothes weren’t like D.R.’s expensive, tailored suits, and for him to be standing in front of a gas station waiting for help wasn’t like his father at all.

Lauren turned to the light and saw the office was just a small room, cut in two from side to side by a scarred counter, and with walls lined with oils and greases and small car parts. A single figure was coming around the counter, a man of medium height, unremarkable in greasy overalls and with little hair on his head. He squinted at the three of them through the hazy glass, then reached for the door and unlocked it.

“Duncan? What’s going on?” he asked as the barrier swung open.

“I almost went off the road back down the way near Elder’s Curve. It tore up my tire and cut into the side of the car.”

“An accident?” he asked as his gaze flicked from Annie to Lauren, then back to Duncan. “Are you all okay?”

“We’re fine, Rollie,” Annie said for all three of them. “And I’m late.” She looked at Duncan. “I’ll get my bag out of the car and walk on home. Thanks for an interesting trip.”