“Her father’s going to blame me for this,” Sam said. “And maybe he’ll be right to. I couldn’t seem to change her mind.”
“We all tried, Sam. John and I did, you did, I’m sure her sisters did. You must not blame yourself.”
He nodded weakly and shuffled toward his pickup. June got into the ambulance, up front with John.
June had no idea why people made the choices they did. This was not the first time a patient of hers had refused to be treated for a dangerous disease, nor was it the first time that denial of the illness was more catastrophic than the illness itself. But it was the first time a woman so young had made this choice. It was very likely Justine would die. And she had been diagnosed only a few months ago.
Ovarian cancer was the worst. Without aggressive treatment, it was fatal. In fact, all too often even aggressive treatment couldn’t save the patient.
Justine had brushed everyone’s worry aside and thought she was choosing motherhood over chemotherapy. In the end, June believed, there would prove to be no pregnancy—only cancer.
This was by far one of the hardest parts of being a doctor—having a patient you might have saved ignore your advice. June felt strongly that the decision to fight illness was an individual’s right, but it was often made more palatable when strong religious beliefs were involved, or when one was choosing quality of life over a painful treatment. Or in old age, when a patient was comfortable with passing on. But in this case June couldn’t help but believe Justine had been irrational. And while that might be her right, it was damn hard to accept. She wished she could turn back the clock, maybe consider a court order.
June left Justine with the emergency room nurses, who would have her admitted. “I’ll leave you in Dr. Worth’s care,” she said. “I’ll drop by and check on you later.”
Justine grabbed her arm as she would have left. “June. Don’t let Sam blame himself.”
The morning had been full and not especially pleasant. By the time June got to the clinic, the place was deserted. The clinic was unlocked, so they couldn’t be far. “Hello?” she called down the hall. No answer.
Someone might have crossed the street to grab something from the café for an early lunch or to run a quick errand. She went to Jessie’s desk to look for a note, but found none. The piece of paper she moved first right and then left, looking for a message, finally caught her attention. It was a class schedule for the community college and the name of the registrant was Jessica Wiley. Biology 101, English primer, anatomy, algebra and geology. She stared at the paper for a long time. When she looked up, Jessie was standing in the front door of the clinic holding a large plastic cup with a frothy swirl of ice milk adorning the top. She was smiling broadly.
“I got my GED and enrolled last week…just in time,” she said.
“Oh Jessie, that’s wonderful,” June said.
“I’m not sure yet whether I can make it all the way to being a doctor, but I know that for sure I’ll be a nurse.”
“Of course you will.”
“Because of you, and John, and Susan.”
“No, Jessie. Because of you.”
“My dad thinks I’m totally crazy.”
“But he’s proud of you?”
“Sure. It’s just that I don’t always follow through, you know. I dropped out of high school the minute I could. And now—” She shrugged.
“And now you know what you want,” June finished for her. She held open her arms and filled them with Jessie.
She would need help, June thought, embracing the young woman with emotion. Maybe help with her studies, maybe schedule adjustments to accommodate classes. Maybe help with tuition. It would be such a joy.
June relaxed her embrace. “Come on,” she said, putting an arm around her and leading Jessie down the hall toward her office. “Let’s talk about how I can help you.”
At day’s end, June drove out to the Toopeek home. Elmer would not leave Hudson House while there were still investigators around, and with the size of that house and the accumulation of possessions, it was going to take a good long time for them to get through everything. June needed to talk about things, and there were only a few places she would go with such a need. She often turned to Birdie, her godmother, but not with Chris and his sons still there and their household in turmoil. She turned to her dad with regularity, but he was needed elsewhere. Although she hadn’t imposed thus far, she felt she could turn to John and Susan. But right now was not a good time, even though she believed they would set aside their quarrel to help her if she needed them.
She hadn’t called ahead but knew that it would be all right. It was dinnertime and that, too, was acceptable. The lights shone throughout the house; the dining room was especially bright.
June remembered the building of this house. It had started with a small brick, mortar and wood structure that Tom’s dad, Lincoln, had built himself when his kids were very small. Then, one by one, the kids left Lincoln and Philana. Tom came back after college, after serving a short time as a Sacramento police officer, and he came back with a wife. Tom and Ursula had their own home built onto the first Toopeek structure and began to fill the place with children. Now there were nine Toopeeks in that house.
As June sat in her car looking at the house, she realized that she had always felt safe in their home, even when their home had been a hogan with a dirt floor. That was the way the Toopeeks made you feel.
Philana opened the door for her. “June! How good it is that you’re here. Ursula! June has come.”
Ursula came out of the kitchen. “Perfect! Will you eat?”
“I will,” she said. “I’m starving,” she added, only now realizing.
The sun had just gone down, but the fireplace in the great room was already ablaze, setting a cozy picture. Wonderful smells of fresh bread and meaty stew filled the air. The children, from six-year-old Bobby to sixteen-year-old Tanya, were picking books up from the long dining table and putting their schoolwork, one by one, on stairs that led up to their bedrooms. Then each one took part in setting the table, the younger ones putting out place mats and napkins while the older ones handled dishes and glasses.
Fresh coffee steamed the air and June found a mug hanging on a peg on the wall. She dressed her coffee with sugar and cream, something she’d only recently discovered she liked, and tried to stay out of the way.
“My eighth-graders are more sophisticated each year, and not always in a positive way,” Ursula was saying. “I had to send a darling little girl to the counselor’s office today so that she could have a fashion lesson. Not only do I not wish to see her belly button, I am also disinterested in her belly-button jewelry.”
“Pierces?” June asked.
“Everywhere imaginable. I’m trying to decide if it’s my right to forbid tongue pierces. If I cannot understand them when they speak, am I entitled to request they remove their little baubles?”
At just that moment, as Johnny would have passed her with a stack of plates, June reached out and snagged his sleeve, forcing him to meet her eyes. The bruise around one eye had faded to purplish-yellow, but there was a cut on his lip that looked reluctant to heal. She made a face. “You get this at football practice?”
He was mute, staring at June. Ursula was stirring a pot at the stove. Without turning around, she said, “Tell the truth, please.”
“I was in a fight. I didn’t start it.”
“I thought this was an anti-fighting family,” June said.
“It is,” Johnny said. “It’s also an anti-dying family.” He carried on with his chore.
Ursula looked over her shoulder at June and lifted an eyebrow. Clearly his mother was not happy with him. June couldn’t wait to ask Tom about this altercation.
“Will Tom be home for dinner?” June asked Ursula.
“He’s on his way now,” she said. She pulled a fresh loaf of bread from the oven; the yeasty richness of it filled the kitchen and brought Lincoln from some other part of the house. Upon se
eing June, he nodded solemnly, then took his place at the head of the long table. “I never know if Tom is only taking a dinner break or if he’s home for the evening,” Ursula continued. “He complains of being busy.”
“That’s why I’m here,” June said. “I want to talk to him about the search going on at my aunt Myrna’s house.”
“After dinner,” Ursula stressed. “I’m certain he’ll make the time.”
When Tom arrived, the smaller children ran to him, and from his greeting, one would never know he carried so many burdens. After lifting them one at a time, remarking on their weight and telling them to eat more vegetables, he went to his wife and kissed her. Next he examined Johnny’s face, made a disapproving frown that was clearly fake. Then he kissed his daughter’s cheek and thanked her for helping with the food and the younger children. Then came his parents—first his mother and then his father. Each was greeted formally, then affectionately. All this was done before he even acknowledged June.
“You’re a long way from home,” he said, smiling.
“I need a good meal.”
He looked her up and down, judging her slimness. “Desperately so, it appears. How was your day?”
“Terrible. Yours?”
“Equal.”
She reached for the mug tree and selected a large one. “Coffee?”
“Please,” he answered. He took his filled mug to the end of the table opposite his father. Once he sat, the children fell into their places like dominoes. June knew exactly where she was expected to sit and took her place. Lincoln led a prayer of thanks, broke bread and passed it, and the table conversation turned immediately to what each child had accomplished in school and at home.
This was the Toopeek family hour. There were occasions when this child or that had a job or activity and a plate had to be saved, but it was rare. The family hour was important to all of them. It was like June and Elmer’s Tuesday-night meat loaf, when they made a point of sharing their lives. Or the Hudson Sunday dinner.
I have always been made welcome at this table as if a member of this family, June thought humbly.
When dinner was done, the children did the cleanup and some of them reclaimed the table for more homework while the younger ones were excused to TV, baths and bed.
The adults took second cups of coffee into the great room to sit by the fire.
“I’m worried about my aunt, Tom,” June said. “What’s going to happen?”
“The better question is, what has happened,” he replied. “Since reading the newspaper story written by our bird-watcher, Mr. Paul Faraday, it’s very clear that he spent days, possibly weeks, looking for any remains that might’ve been hidden on Myrna’s property. He didn’t ‘stumble’ upon bones—he searched for them. When the forensic anthropologist I sent them to didn’t act quickly enough, Mr. Faraday went to the county district attorney and made a convincing argument against Myrna. All this, I believe, because he happens to be a true-crime writer and newspaper stringer on the side. He probably couldn’t identify any bird other than a chicken.”
June’s mouth hung open while Tom shared all this. “He wants a story. A book.”
“Based on a famous writer’s murder of her husband. That is what I believe.”
“But Myrna doesn’t know anything about those old bones, Tom. Dad and I asked her pointedly. She doesn’t know what became of Morton. He wandered off. We’re trying to get information from the company he worked for, but they went out of business years ago.”
“I’m afraid my bad news doesn’t stop there,” Tom said. “Do you remember the name Marge Glaser?”
“That sounds familiar…”
“The assistant district attorney who prosecuted Leah Craven for murder in the death of Gus Craven.”
“Yes,” June said. “That’s right. That case went before Judge Forrest and Leah was acquitted.”
Tom nodded solemnly. “I don’t think Marge will ever get over that. When Paul Faraday wanted some action, he went to Marge. Marge got the search warrant from another judge. She knew better than to go to Judge Forrest.”
“Judge Forrest would never have given a search warrant to my aunt Myrna’s—”
“June, your aunt Myrna would have invited them in and had the Barstows bake a pie for them. If Marge Glaser had called me, I’d have asked the sheriff’s department for assistance and gone to Myrna’s myself to explain. The way they’re all trying to keep us out of it—from the ADA to the deputies—is an insult.”
“Might they arrest her?” June asked in a fearful whisper.
“I’m afraid that’s a possibility.”
A few days passed tensely as the crime investigators made a terrible mess of Myrna’s house and grounds. The Barstows were driven nearly mad with rage over the amount of tidying up they’d be expected to do. Myrna declared she wasn’t going to do a thing to the grounds until certain they were done digging and tearing things up.
Myrna settled on John Cutler as her attorney, a disheveled young man who had actually represented Leah Craven in her murder trial. Whether Myrna did that because she liked Cutler or to further annoy Marge Glaser was uncertain. Myrna could have afforded the best criminal attorney in California; Cutler was not only young, the bulk of his experience had been gained in the public defender’s office. This worried June terribly.
“Relax, June. It’s not as though I’m actually going to need him,” Myrna had said. “This has all gotten out of control.”
Myrna seemed to be holding up well. In fact, she was probably the most stable of them all. June was upset, Elmer was angry and the Barstows were in such a fit they weren’t even bickering with each other. But Myrna merely frowned her displeasure, took copious notes and made comments like, “Aren’t they going to feel ridiculous in the end.”
In the midst of this, evidence that the harvest festival was nearly upon them began to show around town. As June arrived at the clinic one early morning, she saw the portable walls of a few booths that belonged to businesses of Grace Valley stacked up in the parking lot that separated the Presbyterian church from the café. Behind those two buildings was a large grassy yard that led to Windle River. Volunteers on ladders were stringing paper lanterns between the trees. Picnic tables moved from a rest stop on the outskirts of town sat on Rob Gilmore’s flatbed truck. During this weekend the property behind the café would become a park where people could eat their corn dogs and chicken wings and barbecue. A portable stage would be set up in the church parking lot and there would be bands—local and visiting—and dancing.
June went to the café for her coffee, but took it outside to watch the lights and decorations go up. Where had the time gone? It seemed like just yesterday it was the Fourth of July and the children of Grace Valley were marching ahead of the brand-new ambulance Myrna had bought the town. Just yesterday she’d lain in the arms of her lover. Just yesterday Justine was marrying Sam, getting well, while Jurea’s family had moved into town and she was having restorative surgery. Things were sane. Had all that really been over three months ago?
A sound caused her to turn and see Harry Shipton on his hands and knees. He groaned and pushed himself upright, grass stains on the knees of his khaki pants. She rushed over to him. “Harry! Are you all right?”
“I should wear knee pads,” he complained, brushing at his pants. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to bump into you, June. But I’d planned to do it much more gracefully.”
She brushed at one knee while he brushed at the other. “Did you trip on something?”
“My feet,” he said. “You’re a doctor, you should know. Aren’t your feet supposed to help with walking? Mine seem to do just the opposite.”
They were awfully large, she noticed. But he was very tall and needed a firm base.
“As I said, I’ve been hoping to see you. I heard about this terrible business with your aunt. Is there any way I can help?”
“The only thing I can think of is your specialty, Harry. Prayer.”
“H
ow is she holding up?”
“Better than the rest of us, I’m afraid. Even though she’s this frail, elderly, tiny thing, she’s also a tough old bird. She doesn’t let this get to her beyond annoying her. She says they’re going to feel ridiculous in the end.”
“Good for her! I know from experience. They shouldn’t play poker with her. Do you think she’d like it if I dropped in on her?”
“Oh, Harry, that would be so nice of you! I think most of her friends are keeping a distance right now—what with all those investigators around. You should see the yard! And I’m afraid they’re far from finished.”
“Isn’t there a point at which they have to concede there’s nothing to be found?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just grateful that Myrna isn’t in a worse state over it. My dad tried to get her to leave Hudson House, but she won’t hear of it, so he’s been staying there with her. Meanwhile, it’s time for the fair.”
“The best town celebration within five hundred miles, I hear. Since you’re taken, maybe your aunt Myrna would be my date.”
June was shocked momentarily speechless. “Taken?” she asked weakly.
“Spoken for,” he clarified.
She put a hand on his arm. “Forgive my stupidity, Harry, but what are you talking about?”
“You and Chris Forrest. I do have that right, don’t I?”
She laughed in some embarrassment. “No, Harry, that’s old news. Chris and I dated in high school, and don’t make me tell you how long ago that was. Even though he’s back and a divorced single father, I have absolutely no interest. The old men in town have been giving me the business about it.”
“But I got it from him,” Harry said. “Chris said you two were seeing each other.”
“No way! He said that?”
Harry rubbed his chin. “Now, let me see…I don’t want to get this wrong. What exactly did he say? Something like the best part about coming home was having you on his arm again, just like the old days.”
June growled and her eyes became narrow slits. “Why, that presumptuous—”