a time when Sam’s casual clothes consisted entirely of ratty jeans and ripped-up T-shirts, when putting on shoes and socks felt, he’d wail, like a week in jail. When they’d first started dating in high school, he despised having to dress up. Forced to wear a tie, he’d groan and yank at the offensive strip of cloth, pulling it straight up in the air as if his neck were being squeezed in a noose, while he crossed his eyes and let his tongue loll.
She remembered all of that, and a lot more to boot. And that’s the problem, she thought. When you’d been married to someone for a long time, when you’d shared your life so completely, you were never able to live only in the present. You were perpetually surrounded by the ghosts of all the people that both of you had once been. The room got very crowded, very fast. Every sentence had an echo.
‘I was just glad to see that my little girl’s all right,’ Sam said. ‘And we were having a great talk – weren’t we, sweetie? – before we were interrupted.’
To Bell’s surprise, Carla allowed her father’s hug to go on. She didn’t jerk away. She didn’t roll her eyes or lean forward and make the universal ‘gag me’ sign by sticking her index finger in her mouth, which was her typical reaction to attempts at affectionate gestures by either parent.
‘Sure, Dad.’
Perplexed, Bell rubbed her shoulder while she sized up the situation. She wondered if she’d sprained something while tugging on the wheel, trying to keep from becoming a permanent part of the West Virginia scenery.
She could feel the sweat cooling on her skin.
Why hadn’t she seen Sam’s car out front? Oh, right. Her powers of observation had been compromised by the definite possibility of ending up in a heap of smoking chrome and shattered glass and motley ruin at the base of the mountain.
Sam watched her. ‘What’s with your arm?’
‘I’m fine.’ She didn’t need his concern. Matter of fact, she didn’t need anything from him.
He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he went on.
‘So seriously, Bell. About the investigation. That shooting sounds scary as hell. Any progress finding the guy?’
‘Not yet. But Nick’s working hard. And he’s getting a lot of help from the state police.’
‘Good. He needs it.’
‘Nick knows what he’s doing.’
‘Well, we’ll soon find out about that, won’t we?’
She hated her ex-husband’s tone. ‘You have a problem with how the sheriff does his job, Sam?’
Nick would’ve told her not to bother defending him. He didn’t care what Sam Elkins thought of him. Didn’t care what almost anybody thought of him. But Sam was pissing her off. What did he know about Raythune County these days?
Nothing. That’s what.
‘Things are different around here now,’ Bell continued. ‘It’s not like it was when you and I were growing up. It’s rougher. The drug gangs are vicious. Extremely well organized. And ruthless.’
‘I work in D.C. You’re going to tell me about gangs? About drugs? Please.’
‘No comparison.’
‘You’re damned right there’s no comparison.’
‘This is worse.’
‘You can’t be serious.’ A snort of disdain.
‘I am,’ Bell declared. ‘Look, Sam, drugs and drug gangs are a part of big cities – and have been for a long, long time. In D.C., you expect it. You’re not even surprised by it anymore. It’s everywhere. You’ve got junkies stopping cars in intersections, begging for spare change. You’ve got drug deals going down in public parks. But around here, it’s still new. That makes it a whole lot worse. People don’t know how to think about it. They’re seeing their children disappear right before their eyes – sometimes metaphorically, when they get hooked on pain pills or heroin. And sometimes literally. We’ve had a lot more gun violence lately. Because of turf wars, and because of desperate people doing desperate things to get drugs.’
Sam gave her an indulgent smile, the kind that used to enrage her during the dwindling days of their marriage. It was the equivalent of a head pat. She wasn’t even worth arguing with.
She found herself wishing, like she always did, that he’d gotten fat or ugly or bald. Even a small cold sore would’ve made her day. But, no. He took great care of himself. Even at forty, Sam looked as if he could return to his old job at Walter Meckling’s remodeling business, the job he’d had in high school and during his summers home from college. The job he’d been doing when he and Bell