"Thank you, Tom, for doing this," he said. "I was wrong about getting an outside lawyer involved. I still find it hard to believe, but it looks like they were going to let the poor kid take the rap. With this guy McKnight on our side, maybe he stands a chance."
That night, for the first time in many years, Tom dreamed about Diane. It was a kind of updated version of the dream he'd had again and again during the year before she went to the gas chamber. The one that used to leave him cowering in the corner of his bedroom, shrieking and clutching his head until the whole house was awake. It had never actually been about the moment of execution. The terror had been more insidious, a kind of creeping prelude: sitting with her in a darkened cell, footsteps coming closer down the corridor, a shadow below the door, an eye at the grille, the click of a key in the lock, the door beginning to open.
It was Karen O'Keefe who kept him level as the weeks went by and summer turned to fall. She was often away, doing research or shooting interviews for Walking Wounded. But whenever she was in Missoula, staying with her mother, she would drop by two or three times a week. They would have lunch or supper and then spend a couple of hours going through some of the research material for their film about the Holy Family Mission. She had in mind a dramatized documentary and had written an outline that Tom liked a lot. And she had delved around and turned up some interesting new material, including photographs Tom never knew existed. Better still, she had located a journal kept by one of the Italian Jesuit priests who had run the place.
They went for walks with Makwi, who seemed to like her just as much as Tom did. The three of them even occasionally went running together. It was all still strictly platonic, though not without substantial restraint on Tom's part. As for Karen's, he couldn't be sure. She seemed to like him a lot. And by now he knew much more about her. She was thirty-three years old and for the past seven years had been living in Vail, having an affair with a ski instructor who had apparently always kept promising to leave his wife but never did. Finally Karen did the leaving instead.
Tom remained confused about what he felt for her (or, more accurately, what it was appropriate to feel, for lust was an unruly beast and not so readily restrained). But what the hell. They enjoyed each other's company; she was fun to be around and she made him feel younger and more alive than he'd felt in years. The important thing was, he no longer doubted her motives. She made no secret of her continued wish to meet Danny and, should he prove willing, to interview him for Walking Wounded.
The opportunity would probably come at Thanksgiving. Danny was flying home to spend the holiday with Gina and Dutch in Great Falls. Relations were now so amicable that Gina, remarkably, had invited Tom to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. He was touched but not sure he was ready for this and had gratefully declined, saying he'd already accepted a previous offer. Danny was going to come over to Missoula at the weekend. Apart from the minor matter of timing, the alternative offer turned out to be real, for the very next day Karen invited him to her mother's Thanksgiving dinner.
"She's been driving me crazy, asking when she's going to get to meet you. She says if you don't show up she'll come by and grab you."
"I don't know which sounds the more exciting."
"Dinner, believe me."
For at least a decade, Tom had treated Thanksgiving and Christmas as if they didn't exist, turning down so many invitations nobody asked him anymore. Had it not come from Karen, he would certainly have turned this one down too. But when the day came he was glad he hadn't.
Lois O'Keefe looked at least five years younger than Tom knew she had to be—and so like her daughter it was uncanny. She had a wicked wit and teased him from the moment he arrived, mostly about the late and, it seemed, not unduly lamented Maurice.
"Tell you the truth, Tom, it was Norm who bought the wretched creature."
"Norm?"
"My ex-boyfriend. He absolutely doted on him—rather more than he did on me, as it turned out. They even had the same blue eyes. After Norm absconded, I found that a little disconcerting. As if the sonofabitch was still there, staring at me, checking up on me. Are you an absconder, Tom?"
"No, I think I'm technically an abscondee."
"Ah, well, there we are. We have something in common. Here's to all abscondees."
Apart from Tom and Karen, the other guests were a charming ragbag of the divorced and the displaced. There was a sweet elderly aunt from Chicago, a heart surgeon from Vancouver who was clearly one of Lois's old flames (according to Karen, there were a fair few of these), a University of Montana botany professor and her hunky but rather slow-witted boyfriend, and a suave, sad-eyed New Yorker called Gunter who did something incomprehensible with other people's money and seemed slightly ashamed of it.
Tom sat between Lois and Karen and felt honored. The food was delicious and the conversation fun.
"So, Lois," he said as she served him a second slice of pumpkin pie. "I hear you're moving to France."
"Oh, I don't know."
"She changes her plans all the time," Karen said. "Last week it was Provence. This week it's Tuscany."
"Ah, Tuscany." Gunter sighed into his glass.
"What's wrong with France?" the heart surgeon said. "I mean, apart from the French."
"I adore the French," Lois said.
"They sure don't like us."
"Nobody likes us. Tom, if you don't mind my asking, I mean, I know you've lived here most of your life, but are you still a Brit or...?"
"Lois, I don't have the faintest idea what I am."
Everyone laughed.
"I still have the passport, if that's what you mean."
"But what do you feel?"
"You sound like my therapist." He thought for a moment. "To be honest, I've never really felt I belonged anywhere or to any country or tribe. Which isn't to say I haven't wanted to belong. Anyhow, nobody likes the Brits either anymore, so we're all in the same sinking boat."
"Nonsense. I love the Brits," Lois said decisively. "Whenever I get the chance."
"Mother," Karen groaned.
Lois raised her glass.
"Here's to the good old sangfroid."
They all dutifully joined in the toast.
"What does sangfroid mean?" the professor's hunky boyfriend whispered.
"It's French for cold-blooded," Tom said. "Like reptiles."
"Nonsense," Lois said. "It's much stronger and more dignified than that. It means... composure."
As Tom left, while Karen stood behind her mother, grinning and shaking her head, Lois held on to his hand and gazed into his eyes and said how much she'd enjoyed meeting him.
"We didn't get to talk about your wonderful Indian book and that fabulous film. There was so much I wanted to ask you about. I'm only over the hill—"
"You can say that again," Karen quipped.
"Ignore my insolent daughter, Tom. Promise me you'll come again when all this noisy rabble isn't here."
He promised and she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks.
Danny and Kelly drove over from Great Falls two days later for lunch. He looked less pale and drawn and had put on a few pounds in the month or so since Tom had last seen him. They gave each other a long hug and then Danny introduced Kelly. She was small and pretty and when Tom shook her hand she gave him a shy smile with a look in her eye that showed she knew a lot more about him than he did about her.
The conversation over lunch was a little strained. The court hearing hung unmentioned but defiant in the air around them. Tom asked Kelly about her family and her work. She was the daughter of a Marine Corps sergeant and had some sort of civilian administrative job at Malmstrom Air Force Base and seemed very smart. The two of them clearly adored each other. Every so often, without looking, Kelly would reach out and hold Danny's hand.
Over coffee in the living room Danny cleared his throat and announced that the two of them were engaged to be married. They weren't going to make a big deal of it, he said, just do i
t quietly, after Christmas. Kelly blushed and Tom said what wonderful news it was and went off to rummage through the kitchen cupboards for a bottle of champagne he knew to be buried there. He found it and put it in the freezer and while it was chilling Karen arrived. Tom had invited her to join them for lunch but she said it might be better if she just dropped by afterward.
She'd brought along a stack of documents about the Holy Family Mission and some tapes for him to watch. This was intended to signal the nature of her relationship with Tom, that it was strictly work, though Tom could see in Danny's eyes that the boy wasn't entirely convinced. The three of them sat chatting while Tom dusted the champagne glasses then they all drank a tepid toast—Tom with soda—to the forthcoming marriage, whose date had yet to be fixed.
As if working to a script, Danny asked Karen what kind of films she made and she told him about one or two of them, playing down the radical element, and finally, ever so casually, mentioned Walking Wounded. Tom watched his son carefully—and a little guiltily—to see if he suspected some sort of setup but he didn't appear to. And Kelly, bless her heart, even suggested that Karen should interview Danny for the film.
"Look what they're doing to us all," she said, taking his hand. "You risk your life for your country and this is how they treat you."
Danny patted her knee as if to say that was enough. But when Karen was leaving he asked for her phone number and gave her his.
Defying all protest, Kelly said she'd clear up and wash the dishes. It was obvious she wanted to give father and son some time together so they put on their coats and took Makwi for a walk. They went up into the forest and halfway along the trail Danny asked if Karen was his girlfriend. Tom laughed, a little too loudly, and said absolutely not, they were just working on the mission film together. Danny looked relieved.
"I thought she seemed, well, you know, a bit... young."
"Absolutely."
"I don't mean..."
"It's okay. I agree. Hell, I could be her dad."
They reached the raven rocks and sat there awhile staring out across the valley. There were ribs of snow along the distant ridge, the blue winter light fading fast. Tom asked about the final preparations for the hearing and Danny said he and McKnight had gone through everything over and over again. They were as well prepared as they could be. He said McKnight was bullish about their chances but that was probably how he always was.
"Well, he doesn't often lose."
"Dad, the case against me is pretty heavy. When Delgado gets up there on that stand... The guy hates my guts."
They were silent for a moment. Tom put his arm around the boy's shoulders.
"Just tell the truth, son. It'll be okay."
Danny nodded.
"There's something else Kelly and I wanted to tell you. I couldn't really say it in front of Karen."
"Oh?"
"Kelly's going to have a baby."
Tom didn't know what to say. Danny was watching him carefully.
"Wow. Is this, you know... I mean, was it planned?"
"Yes, of course it was."
"How many, I mean when is the baby—"
"She's twelve weeks. It'll be early June."
"Well, that's terrific news, son. Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"The timing's kind of interesting."
"Dad, the timing's what it's all about. If the case goes to court-martial and they find me guilty, then... Well, you know what the sentence could be. Kelly just wants to make sure we—she has some kind of, you know, someone to..."
Tom pulled his son toward him and hugged him. Damn it, he was going to cry and he so wanted to be strong for the boy. He swallowed and managed to hold back the tears. And then he laughed and gave Danny a slap on the back.
"Hell," he said. "I'm going to be a grandpa."
It was three weeks later that the Marine Corps delivered their early Christmas present. Brian McKnight got a phone call informing him that the murder charges against the other defendant, Eldon Harker, were being dropped. There had been some kind of deal. Harker would be testifying against Danny. It changed everything. The hearing was rescheduled for the beginning of May.
Chapter Twenty-Two
THINGS GOT better before they got worse. Though looking back on it later, after everything exploded, Tommy would realize that things had never been right and would blame himself for being stupid ever to have thought otherwise. He was probably just blinded by some lingering infatuation with Red McGraw, the cowboy hero who didn't exist, who couldn't do his own stunts, couldn't even ride a horse properly and was as fake and fatuous as his costume and the six-gun he twiddled on his finger. If only Diane could have met Cal before she met Ray, then everything would have worked out and they could all have been happy.
Tommy wasn't so blind that he hadn't noticed the tension during the first couple of weeks of the shoot. He was aware—the entire crew was aware and talked about it the whole time—that Ray and Mr. Redfield weren't seeing eye to eye. And he could sense the tension between Ray and Diane, saw how he looked at her when she was having fun on set with John Grayling and how rude he'd been to Cal that evening when they came back late from their trip to see the rock paintings. The walls of the little house they were staying in were thin and almost every night Tommy could hear Ray and Diane shouting at each other.
But then everything seemed to calm down and for the next few weeks everybody was happier. Mr. Redfield didn't make Ray do so many takes anymore and there weren't those long waits while the two of them walked off on their own and everyone had to stand around while they argued. Though once or twice since then Tommy had seen Mr. Redfield sigh or give Mr. Kanter a secret look that showed he wasn't as pleased as he wanted Ray to think.
Tommy meanwhile was having the time of his life. Every day he learned something new from Cal, whether it was about riding or wrangling or wildlife. Best of all, he liked to get him talking about the Blackfeet and the history of his family, the things they did and believed in, their hunting rituals and their ceremonies, the pipes and medicine bundles, all that kind of stuff. Cal even taught him to speak a few words of the Blackfeet language and sometimes in the evening when they rode out into the desert, just the two of them, to exercise the horses, Tommy would ask Cal to test him.
"Okay, what's the word for mountain lion?"
"Omachk-atayo."
"And what does it mean?"
"Big howler."
"Good. Wolf?"
"That's easy. Makwi."
"Moose?"
"Darn it, I always forget that one."
"Sounds like a sneeze."
"Siks-tsisoo!"
"Very good! And what does it mean?"
"Something coming through. Black! Black coming through."
"Hey, Tom, you're doing real good. What's the word for friend?"
"Nitakau."
They were riding side by side and Cal reached out and put his hand on Tommy's shoulder and said the word again.
"Nitakau."
It was after one of these rides, just two weeks before the Arizona shoot was due to end, that Tommy found out about Ray.
It was getting dark and Cal was over at the far side of the corral seeing to one of the horses who'd taken a knock to the leg earlier in the day. Except for the hopeless old security guy a couple of hundred yards away at the ranch gate, there was nobody else around. Or that's how it seemed. Tommy had just put their saddles in the barn and was coming out the door when he heard a woman's laugh then someone hushing her. The sound had come from the roped-off parking lot about twenty yards away where they kept the trucks and actors' trailers. There were no lights on in any of them and Tommy began to think he must have imagined it, that all he'd heard was one of the horses whinnying or an owl or a coyote or something. Then he saw the door of Ray's trailer open and a woman step down from it. He froze. She looked around but didn't see him. Then she hurried off. It was Leanne; there was no mistaking it.
"Okay, young man, let's get you home,"
Cal said. "Your mom'll be wondering what I've done with you."
Tommy didn't say anything. Cal obviously hadn't seen her. They got into the pickup and Cal started the engine and switched on the lights. As they drove past the trailer, Tommy looked sideways and saw, without any shadow of a doubt, Ray's face peeping out the window.
They caught Leanne in the headlights and she turned and smiled, shielding her eyes. Cal slowed and asked her if she needed a ride and she said thanks but no, she was just out for a walk.
When they reached the house, Diane came out to meet them.
"Don't you two ever get tired of each other?" she said.
Cal laughed and said goodnight and drove away.
Diane had Tommy's bath all run and ready for him and he lay in it worrying over what he'd just witnessed. The scene belonged to a world he wasn't old enough to assess. Maybe he was wrong and there was an innocent explanation. Since he spent most of his time with the wranglers, Leanne didn't have too much to do and had become a kind of assistant—mostly to Diane, but also to Ray. She'd go into town and get things from the store for them, take messages, that kind of thing. Maybe that was all she'd been doing at the trailer. Then he remembered other times he'd seen the two of them together, how Ray was always teasing her and making her giggle, how he'd seen him only yesterday on set, closely examining the palm of her hand, pretending to read her fortune. Sometimes you just knew things by the way people looked at each other. Maybe he should tell Diane. He should definitely tell her. But what if it wasn't true? Sometimes telling her things about Ray only got him into trouble. Like the other day when he'd repeated a joke that he'd overheard Ray telling Denny: What do you tell a woman who's got two black eyes?
I don't know.
Nothing. She's already been told twice.
Tommy didn't understand it but Denny had laughed loudly so he knew it had to be funny. But when he tried it out on Diane, she got angry and told him never to say it again.
He got out and dried himself and cleaned his teeth at the sink. Diane was sitting on his bed, going on about something funny John Grayling had told her. Tommy pretended he'd been listening. He put on his pajamas and climbed into bed.