Twenty
She felt like a criminal, tying the old mare to a tree in the woods surrounding the sawmill, waiting in the shadows during the shift change. Men, covered in sawdust and dust, were taking off hard hats, lighting cigarettes, laughing and joking as they walked through the chain-linked gates and into the parking lot.
On the other side of the fence stood a huge sign. It indicated that AUTHORIZED EMPLOYEES ONLY were allowed inside and suggested that A SAFE WORKPLACE IS A HAPPY WORKPLACE. Rigs of every shape and size were scattered across the pockmarked asphalt—Jeeps and trucks and station wagons and sedans. Saws screeched and forklifts with heavy loads of lumber rolled through the huge stacks of raw lumber, milled and planed, ready to be shipped.
Cassidy watched as the men left, younger ones tearing out of the parking lot in flashy cars, older men with families in dusty, dented trucks.
The new shift was arriving, and Cassidy spied the pickup she was looking for, an old Dodge that had once been turquoise but now had splotches of gray primer on the fenders and tailgate. Chase McKenzie’s truck.
He unfolded himself from the cab and stretched the kinks from his back. Her heart began to pound triple-time at the sight of him, so much like Brig and yet so different. Telling herself it was now or never, she waited until most of the men had passed through the gate before she called to him.
“Chase!”
Squinting against the lowering sun, he turned. “Yeah?”
“It’s me—”
A smile grew against his square jaw. “Cassidy. What’re you doin’ down here—no, don’t tell me, your father wants everyone in your family to know firsthand how to work the green chain.”
She shook her head and he must’ve noticed the worry in her eyes because his grin slowly faded. “This is about Angie, isn’t it? And Brig.”
“I—I wondered if you’d heard from him.”
His eyes darkened to a dusky shade of blue. “Not me, and if Ma has, she’s kept it to herself.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t hide the defeat in her voice and kicked at the gravel with the toe of her boot.
“I, um, I know that you were…well, interested in him.”
She glanced up sharply, wondering if he was teasing, but he was serious.
He hesitated, looked off in the distance, then as if weighing all the options, added, “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“And your mother?”
“You’ll have to ask her yourself.” He shook his head and looked suddenly world-weary. “But no tellin’ what she’ll say; she’s, uh, she’s not taking this well.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he said softly. “So am I.”
She started to turn away, but he grabbed her and strong, work-roughed hands circled her good wrist. The tips of his fingers seemed to press against her pulse.
“Look, I know this is hard and…and it’s probably not my place to say this, but I’ll do what I can for you and…well, if you ever need anything—I know that sounds silly considering your station and mine, but I’m serious—if you ever need anything, you can count on me.”
She swallowed hard and gazed into his troubled eyes. “Thanks…I—I won’t. I just want to know about Brig.”
A shadow passed over his face, and his jaw tightened just a bit. “You got it,” he said, before he released her and jogged across the parking lot, forcing his hardhat onto his head as he passed through the open gate.
The trailer, having seen better days, was beginning to rust. Cassidy felt an overriding sense of guilt for having grown up in the mansion her father had built for Lucretia while Brig and Chase had lived here, in this run-down old single-wide for all of their lives.
Heart in her throat, she drove her mother’s sedan along the gravel lane and stopped behind Sunny’s car. The fake cat eyed her with glassy disinterest, and Cassidy tucked the keys in her purse. She’d taken the car without permission, while Dena and Rex were in Portland, because she couldn’t stand the not-knowing any longer. She’d prayed all the way that she wouldn’t be stopped by the police, as she still didn’t have a driver’s license. She’d gotten lucky. So far.
Nervous sweat collected at the base of her neck, and she waited for a second, until the dust had settled on the windshield. She felt a breath of wind against her back, though the windows were rolled up. Nerves. Just nerves. Gritting her teeth, she knew she couldn’t put off her mission forever and she didn’t have much time; even now her folks might be returning. She forced herself from the car.
The front step of the McKenzie home was a dusty crate and the rusting metal sign swinging over the door was faded and pockmarked from bullet holes.
“It’s now or never,” she told herself, raising her fist to pound on the door.
Before she could knock, Sunny opened the door, her eyes dark and haunted, deep lines of worry guarding her mouth. Her hair seemed to have grayed in the past few weeks.
“You’re the Buchanan girl.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, and I wanted to talk to you, to apologize for the way you were treated at my house. I—I’m sorry.”
The door opened wide. “Your father blames Brig for the fire. For your sister’s death.”
“No, it’s the sheriff and my brother—” What was the point? She leveled clear eyes at the older woman. “I don’t.”
A smile flickered on Sunny’s lips. “But your father, he favored your sister and he feels as if a part of him has been ripped from his soul. He needs to blame someone.”
“I—suppose.” Cassidy felt a chill of premonition as she stared into Sunny’s intense brown eyes. Sunny McKenzie was interesting but a little scary.
“Come in. Please.”
Inside, the trailer was as faded as the outside—the linoleum had a path worn through it; the shag carpeting was dull and thin. Cassidy had trouble seeing Brig—so wild and free, a rebellious soul—living here in such cramped quarters. A radio near the sink was playing gospel music. Sunny snapped it off.
“You want to know about him,” Sunny said, motioning to a plastic chair near the table. “About Brig.”
“Yes.”
Sunny’s eyes glistened. “Don’t we all? He hasn’t called, he hasn’t written, and he’s far away. Perhaps dead already. I can’t tell.” Sadness stooped her shoulders.
“He’s not dead.” Cassidy would never believe that Brig wasn’t alive.
“I hope you’re right.” Again the sad smile. “But I see great pain for him and”—she shook her head—“and death. Fire and water.”
“Look, I don’t know about your visions or whatever they are. I just came here because I want to talk to Brig to find out if he’s okay, so if you hear from him—hey!”
Suddenly Sunny reached forward, grabbing Cassidy’s good hand, clasping it between her callused fingers and closing her eyes. Cassidy wanted to draw away, to pull her arm away, but she didn’t dare move as the dark-eyed woman stared past her shoulder to the middle distance, seeing her own vision.
Skin crawling, Cassidy bit her lip. This woman was so unlike her sons—so creepy. Outside, the wind began to pick up and the palm-reading sign groaned loudly.
Cassidy’s heart nearly stopped.
Sunny sighed.
“I—I will always believe that Brig is alive,” Cassidy said, finally wrenching her arm away. “He’s alive and fine and will come back to Prosperity and prove that he’s innocent.”
Tired brown eyes stared up at her. “There is only pain in the future,” Sunny said, seeming suddenly weary. “Pain and death and you, Cassidy Buchanan, you will cause it.”
“No—” Cassidy said, already reaching for the door. It had been a mistake to come here. For once the sheriff was right; Sunny should be locked up, put away in a mental institution to blabber about her visions to other patients. “Just tell Brig I care about him, that I’d like to know he’s all right, that—”
“It’s already written. You’ll marry my son.”
“Marry him?” she repeated, sweating anxiously, her heart pounding. “But he’s gone—you even said you thought he might be dead.” She found the doorknob and yanked hard. A gust of wind shoved the door from her hand and it banged against the wall with a thud.
“Not Brig.”
“Wh—what? Not Brig?” The woman was certifiable. Cassidy stumbled down the sorry step and sprinted to her mother’s car, but Sunny’s voice followed after her, like a shadow she couldn’t outrun.
“Cassidy Buchanan,” it warned above the rising wind, “the man you will marry will be my other son.”
Oh, God, no! Get me out of here! She fumbled for her keys.
“Someday, daughter, you will become Chase’s wife.”