Dakota Blues (22 page)

“Fine. I have to go.”

“When are you coming back?”

She hung up.
Albuquerque by dark. That’s all I care about.
K a r e n unfolded the map and reviewed the rest of her route. After a polite half-hour of visiting, she’d be back on the highway and away.

She unloaded Frieda’s bags and checked one last time for anything that might have been forgotten. The van seemed so empty now, cleared of Frieda’s bags and her mother’s heirlooms. The box of needlework was gone too, back in Cheyenne. If only she had waited until Denver to organize the van. On the other hand, if it had been any heavier she might not have been able to outrun the Bronco.

But the needlework. And oh, God, the family photo albums.

Karen went through several tissues before locking up. Inside the house, she dropped the bags in the entryway and massaged her lower back. All the tension of the morning seemed to have settled there.

The house was huge, but she could hear distant voices. A double set of staircases wound upward to the second floor. To her left lay a sunken living room capable of handling forty people and to her right, a formal dining room table surrounded by a couple dozen chairs.

Following the sound of Sandra’s laughter, Karen wandered through the dining room and into the kitchen, past the Subzero refrigerator and Viking range, past the butler’s closet and wine racks, and through the door to the solarium.

“Mom, you’re here, next to me, and Karen, you sit at that end.” Sandra gestured at a distant chair while a dark-skinned woman set out plates heaped with aromatic bread, a half-dozen cheeses, three stacks of deli meat, and a separate tray just for fruits and vegetables. The condiments spun around on a lazy Susan in the center of the table.

After the woman went back in the kitchen, Sandra took the chair at the head of the table, folded her hands and bowed her head. “Lord, thank you for bringing my mother all this way safely, and for the bounty with which you have favored us. Amen. So, Karen, what are your plans?”

“I think I’ll have the ham.” Karen reached for the platter of cold cuts.

“Funny.” Sandra filled three glasses with white wine.

“Not usually,” said Frieda.

“To answer your question,” Karen said, painting a slice of bread with mayonnaise, “I’ll be leaving right after lunch.”

“You don’t have to go so soon,” said Frieda. “Spend the night here. Start fresh in the morning.” She poked Sandra in the arm. “Don’t you think?”

“Well of course she can stay. We’ve got lots of room.”

“That’s nice of you, but I need to get on the road.”

Sandra’s face stretched into a determined smile. “I think Mom’s right. It’s a long way to Albuquerque, and a woman traveling alone in the dark is a recipe for disaster. You are more than welcome to stay.”

“It’s been a long day already,” said Frieda. “If anything happened to you it’d be on my conscience.” Her eyes met Karen’s, and Karen saw the Bronco.

She held up her glass. “I accept. Thank you.”

“Good,” said Sandra. “Now, tell me about your trip.”

“Nothing to tell.” Frieda took a bite of her sandwich. In the quiet they could hear her chewing.

“What about you, Karen? Was it worth it, driving such a long way in that old van?”

“I didn’t think I would like camping very much, but your Mom made it fun. I’m glad we did it.” Karen smiled at Frieda, who rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t in favor of that, not for a minute,” said Sandra. “Mom, you could have gotten on a plane and been here in two hours. Now look at you. You’re exhausted.”

Frieda stuck a finger in her ear and grimaced. “You don’t have to shout. I’m fine. Now, when are Jessie and the baby getting here?”

“I’m not sure. More wine?”

“How can you not be sure?”

“She had to cancel and reschedule. They’re on standby.” Sandra refilled their glasses. “You know how kids are. They never answer their cells.”

“They’re on standby with a baby? I can’t see Jessie going for that program.”

“Not literally. I meant they’re coming later.” Sandra set the wine back in the ice bucket. “I can’t wait to show you the house. You’re going to love your room. I just finished redecorating.”

“I don’t need anything special. Any room will do.”

Sandra’s hand splayed over her heart. “I want you to have the best.”

Frieda glanced at Karen, who pretended to be interested in the clearing of the empty dishes.

“Come on. Let me show you.” Sandra stood up. “We’ll start on the east end of the house.”

An hour later, after another glass of wine and an explanation of every design choice their hostess had ever made or considered, Karen closed the door of the guest room and fell on the bed in a coma.

By the time she awoke, the light angling away from the windows told her it was late afternoon. She dressed, noticing for the first time the tastefully appointed furnishings. Sandra maybe could have found a more practical hobby, but she did have talent. The oak cabinetry had been distressed and lacquered in a cinnamon finish, and the hardware brought to mind a prosperous ranch in big sky country. Karen’s bare feet were comfortable on the warm wood floor, and the walls were hung with paintings of wild horses racing across wind-scarred mesas.

On the patio, Frieda sat in a patch of sun and watched a foursome finish up at the ninth green. Aspens and pine trees lined both sides of the fairway, and the clubhouse dominated a hill in the distance. Karen dragged a heavy metal chair next to Frieda. “How’d you sleep?”

“I didn’t. Couldn’t stop thinking about our trip.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“I feel like crap,” Frieda nodded, “but I’m glad we went. I’m glad I got out. Let’s leave it at that.” They sat listening to the distant voices of the golfers and the clank of food being prepared somewhere behind the closed door.

“Something we do need to talk about.” Frieda leaned forward, her voice dropping. “I’ve been thinking about how to say this. You know I’m not getting any younger. I’ve had health problems recently, and–”

The door opened and Sandra stepped out, bearing a tray. “Sun’s over the yardarm. Who’s ready for appletinis?”

“Oh, God. I’m barely awake,” said Karen.

“This’ll fix you.”

Frieda frowned. “I don’t like martinis.”

Sandra placed a glass in front of her. “You’ll like this.”

Karen sipped her drink, trying to guess what Frieda wanted to say. She seemed withdrawn as if burdened by her thoughts.

A metal club clinked against a golf ball. Karen watched a foursome chipping up toward the green, and felt a longing to be out there herself. One of the players had a long lanky body, his broad shoulders and nipped-in waist starting a glow of warmth in her belly. Grateful for her dark sunglasses, she closed her eyes, remembering the texture of Curt’s face, the light stubble scattered across his chin the morning after. Even if she never saw him again, she was glad for the nights they spent together. The martini went down bright and cold, and she turned away from the course. “Do you play, Sandra?”

Sandra shook her head. “Why waste a perfectly good day?”

“It wouldn’t take all day if you played with the niners.”

Sandra looked up from her martini. “The whatters?”

“Most clubs have women’s groups that only play half a round– nine holes. Niners. It’s a good idea if you’re new to the game or don’t have the time for a full round. You get a little bit of fun and socializing.”

“Have you been talking to Richard? He’s always on me to join some group. I did all that when he was just getting started in his career, but now I don’t have to.”

The housekeeper set a tray of appetizers on the table.

Sandra leaned in close. “Thank you. We’ll call if we need you.”

The woman untied her apron. “Mrs. Bonner, I have to go pick up my daughter from day care.”

Sandra, dismissing her with a wave, reached for a cheese-topped cracker. “So tell me about your wild adventures, Mom.”

“We saw a lot of beautiful scenery and met some nice people.”

Sandra took a nibble and shook her head. “This
crostini
is too done.”

“Mine’s good,” said Karen.

Frieda poked at a limp carrot. “Let it go, Sandy.”

“I pay a lot of money for her services.”

“The food is fine.”

“It’s not up to my standards.”

“Anyway.” Karen looked from one to the other. “I enjoyed Dickinson.”

Sandra stared at her. “Then maybe you can tell me, what is the attraction? That dump has such a hold on Mom.”

“I guess that’s why she never visits,” Frieda said to Karen. “Last time she came home, Jessie was a teenager. I took her down to the old pool and she found a bunch of kids to play with. I love that girl. If Jessie knew I was here, she would have come.”

“They’re coming. I told you.”

“Tell me this,” said Frieda. “What exactly do you do all day?”

Sandra stared at her mother, and Frieda stared back.

Karen inched her chair back. Maybe she could sneak up to her room and read.

“I’m busy all the time. For Pete’s sake.” Sandra crunched a cracker smeared with cheese. Part of the cheese stuck to her lip.

“Busy’s not important. Being happy is. Remember that time you and your friends went to Mexico for a week?”

“I was young and stupid back then. I’m lucky I didn’t get in trouble.” A timer sounded from inside the house and Sandra jumped up. “Dinner’s ready. Richard said to start without him.”

Karen pulled Frieda’s chair back and together they trudged toward the kitchen. Inside, they found chicken enchiladas in
verde
sauce, with black beans and sweet corn cake on the side. Nobody spoke as they loaded up their plates. Soon Sandra was off on some tangent about redecorating the master suite, something about the Renaissance period.

Frieda dawdled with her food, nodding as Sandra talked. Then she put down her fork. “So Jessie and the baby aren’t coming.”

“They are coming, I just don’t know when. We have a wonderful
flan
for dessert.” Sandra scooped up the last bits of tortilla from her plate.

Frieda gripped her plate. “What’s your best guess?”

“A couple weeks?” Sandra bolted toward the kitchen.

“Stop.” Frieda’s voice rang out across the room. She folded her napkin and threw it down on her plate. “Don’t play me for stupid. They’re not coming, are they?”

“It’s not on purpose. Jessie said she would try, and I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“You told me more than that to get me to come here.”

“I said Jessie might be here and you should come and visit. Show a little flexibility for once in your life.” The kitchen door swung shut behind her, sweeping back and forth and finally stopping.

Frieda folded her hands in her lap. “I feel like a fool.”

“I’m sorry.”

“All the crap I put you through, and your mother’s stuff and all…” Frieda shook her head.

“Don’t beat yourself up. Why don’t you make the best of it? Hang around for a few more days, smooth things out between you and Sandy, and then go home. Or if you’re too pissed off, I can take you to the airport tomorrow.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

Sandra interrupted, carrying a silver tray loaded with dessert. “Here we go. Coffee and
flan
with caramel sauce.”

“I’ll just have a little decaf,” said Karen.

Sandra set the tray on the table. “Why do you have to be so negative, Mom? No matter what, everything is always bad.”

“I was happy back home in North Dakota before you tricked me into coming out here.”

“I didn’t trick you.”

Karen wondered if she could make a move for the hallway unnoticed.

“How can you be happy? You’re all by yourself in the middle of nowhere. What if something happened?”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“If you lived here, I could help you.”

“I don’t need your help, or anybody’s. But if I did, I have neighbors in Dickinson, and lots of friends, too. It’s not like I’m a hermit. Which you would know if you ever came to see me.”

Sandra looked at Karen in frustration. “You know how it is. Tell her.”

Karen shrugged. “She does have a pretty good social network, and the people in Dickinson watch out for each other.”

“Great. Now you’re both against me.” Sandra turned back to Frieda. “This is the first time you’ve come to see me in fifteen years. You always say it’s too hard for you to travel but here you are, driving cross country and camping, for God’s sake.”

“Karen took real good care of me the whole way.”

“And how well do you even know her?”

Karen finished her coffee. “Think I’ll turn in.”

“You don’t have to go,” said Frieda.

“Maybe she should.”

Karen left the kitchen but their voices followed her up the staircase.

“Very hospitable of you, Sandra. Thank you very much for treating my friend so rudely.”

“She’s had three heart attacks,” Sandra hollered after Karen. “Did she tell you that?”

If those two didn’t back off, it would be four. Was Sandra trying to kill her or was she just plain stupid?

“Leave her out of this,” said Frieda. “My health is my own business.”

“It’s my business too, Mom. I care about you.”

“And you show it by tricking me into coming all this way to see you?”

“That’s right. That’s what I’m reduced to, tricking my own mother to get her to come see me. And you know what? I was stupid enough to think you might like it here and want to stay. But no, you’d rather live in the sticks and be all by yourself when you die.” Sandra began to cry.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’re ninety, goddammit.” Sandra’s sobs continued.

“So what? Nobody lives forever. I’m not afraid.” Frieda’s voice lowered. “Come on, Sandy, toughen up.”

“I’m not like you. You go where you want and do whatever you want. You always have.”

“You act like you’re half dead, and you’re only sixty. You’re a very capable girl, there’s no reason you can’t do whatever you want.”

Sandra broke into a wail.

Karen closed the door to her bedroom, wishing she were in Albuquerque. Morning couldn’t come soon enough. She put on her nightgown and checked her phone, shrugging off the disappointment over not finding a message from Curt. Peggy called, but Karen wasn’t in the mood to hear about the fabulous world cruise her old friend was taking. Maybe tomorrow.