Festival Day 2, July 1996, Roseberry, Idaho
Conversation with Amber
MJ strides up to Amber in the ticket line. “Hey Doll!”
The blond withdraws her handful of cash. Amber’s voice is flat. “Oh hi, MJ. What are you doing here?” She inspects MJ’s modest concert T and cut-off jeans. She sniffs at MJ’s tennis shoes.
MJ notes the silent commentary—she also would have chosen saucy cowboy boots to highlight the cut-offs’ denim fringe—but the literal miles MJ walks as Event Manager require arch support. And socks. Amber’s clear lack of enthusiasm makes MJ cringe.
“I’m working here, Amber,” MJ explains. “Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t been… around… lately.”
Amber huffs a laugh. “Around? You haven’t answered any of my calls or responded to the messages I left. In months. It was so embarrassing talking to Kara, I quit calling.”
Amber’s friends scatter. Amber becomes more animated. “You ditched me! You could have at least told me why! I actually worried about you! I thought we were friends, MJ!”
The truth shocks MJ. Oh God, that is exactly what I did, she realizes. Maybe Amber runs too wild, but she has always responded to MJ’s calls. Especially in the middle of the night.
“You’re right.” MJ looks down. Shuffles. “I’m sorry. Things got really weird around here, you know? And, I changed.”
MJ squints at her friend. Amber nods but stays silent. MJ knows that she can’t really make amends—no excuse can cover her behavior—but an idea comes to mind.
“Hey, follow me up front. Bring your friends.”
Amber and Co. trail behind MJ to the Will-Call station.
MJ tells them, “This group is supposed to be on the Comp List. Will you register them, please, then pass them through? OK, thanks.”
MJ smiles and touches Amber’s arm. “Let me get this one. I have to work tonight, but you can enjoy. See you inside?”
Amber’s eyes say she’s confused. But appreciative. “OK.”
MJ doesn’t linger. Doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. She smiles, turns, and strides inside to house-center to talk with the soundman. Later, rocking out, Amber raises a plastic glass to MJ pumping at the DJ station.
*
March 1996, Downtown Cascade
Conversation with Lucky
Wringing fingers, MJ takes little sips of a soda that Lucky puts in front of her. She couldn’t be more grateful for his help in dodging the fed at the old grocery. But what must Lucky think about her break-in? He lied for her. Generally, he expects honesty.
“Pepperoni? Tomatoes?” He asks. She nods absently. “Anchovies?”
She stares at the checked table cloth.
Lucky laughs. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, MJ?”
MJ stutters. “I… I don’t know where I’m going to stay tonight. Or if I can stay here—in the valley—anymore.”
Lucky eyes MJ as the waitress appears. He gives her their order then waits until the waitress is out of range.
“Did you and Kara argue?”
Anxiety pushes MJ’s shoulders to her ears. “She gets a little crazy, you know? I just worry… If she ever hurt me, I don’t know what I’d do. I love her too much to defend myself.”
“Hurt you?” Lucky blurts. “Is she blaming you for the way Mary Beth left the Historical Society?”
She shifts uncomfortably. What she wants to say will sound ridiculous: I’m afraid of Kara. Kara is an attacker. Kara, the poisoner. I finally figured it out: She’s just like Red!
He shakes his head, that piece of hair moving to emphasize his disbelief. “I get that you’ve both been through a hell of a time… what with your parents… But what’s going on?”
MJ raises her gaze to his. He is completely sincere.
She says, “I can’t talk about this. It’s… about my dad.”
There is a long silence.
“I guess that’s your business. But no one is going to hurt you, MJ. Everyone loves you.”
His warm hand squeezes hers. She looks up hopeful.
“You could, theoretically, stay at my place...” He flushes as her fingers lock into his.
“I’d like that.”
“But I think after dinner you should go home. Talk to Kara. I’m certain there’s an explanation to whatever is bothering you. I don’t think she’d ever do anything, purposefully, to hurt you. You two just need to communicate.”
Her feet tap as she bobs her head. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” But the thought of returning does bother her.
It’s hard not to think of Kara breathing on her neck like Red used to do. Suddenly she’s finding it hard to divide the two siblings as she imagines her “argument” with Kara. MJ holding up the herb jar innocently. “It’s poisonous, Aunt K?” “No, no! Not unless you drink a whole mug!” Smile.
MJ shakes her head. Is MJ imagining things? Confusing the situation because she spent too many nights in Red’s little house of horrors? Could her sweet old aunt really be a murderess?
MJ wrinkles her brow, trying for calm, clear thinking. Like when she meditates and stares at the same pinecone from many different perspectives. Maybe if she speaks candidly to Kara—finds out what Kara believes to be true—MJ can build trust again.
But, she adds silently, MJ will be the one to make the tea.
“Don’t give up, MJ,” Lucky murmurs.
MJ offers, “I’ll talk to her and give it a couple of days.” Their pizzas are coming out of the oven when she adds, “But don’t be surprised if I end up moving to Boise.”
He swallows. “I understand. But I hope you stay.”
She bites her lip with a little pulse of surprise, as he leans over the table and kisses her cheek. His lips are soft and sweet.
He whispers, “I want to see where this goes, MJ.”
She licks her lips. Impulsively, she kisses him on the mouth before he gets too far away. “Me, too.”
His breath is warm on her face. “Humph.” His gaze drops to her lips again.
The waitress, a local mom, lands two pizzas between them as they withdraw. With a satisfied smile, she asks, “You two all good now?”
Lucky smiles up at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman smiles broadly at MJ and wipes floury palms on her apron.
“Thank you, yes.”
MJ blushes, squeezes his hand, then releases it. “Hey, I have something to show you over dinner.”
As the waitress leaves, MJ retrieves the roll of plat maps from her bag. She lays them on the table.
“Does any of this look familiar?”
“It sure does.” He flips through the maps. “Son of a…”
Underneath the maps, there are drawings for a ski villa. The old grocery, one of the few buildings left standing, is at the center of the planned development. The gazebo’s lot—turned into a city park—has its corners shorn to make pathways for golf carts.
His voice drops. “May I borrow these? I want to take them to Boise for the next restoration meeting. There’s going to be some surprised faces when I lay their plans open right in front of the planning commission.”
Kara’s conversation with MJ
“Oh thank goodness.” Kara comes to the front door the moment she sees headlights.
She stands in the open door. She calls when the girl gets out of Lucky’s truck. “MJ! I saw the fed… I was so worried about you!”
“I’m fine, Aunt K.” The girl on the walkway turns back to Lucky. “See you tomorrow?”
MJ holds both his hands like Kara’s not looking. Kara realizes something has shifted between these two.
“I’ll come by on my lunch.” Then he adds something so softly that Kara can’t hear him.
He stands still for a moment. They drop hands, and MJ comes inside.
Kara had thrown every light switch in the house after MJ left to make it more welcoming. MJ leads the way to the bright kitchen.
MJ boils the kettle of water for tea. In minutes, breath held, she holds out two mugs. Is the girl shaking?
MJ says, “Shall we sit outside?”
A raised brow. Kara nods. “I’ll get the blankets.”
Midnight Tea
The women rock on the porch. The late spring night is chill, moist with green growth, expectant. The river has just begun draining snow off the mountain.
MJ is silent.
Kara sighs. She’d have to start. Like most things in her life: On her own.
Kara tries, “He hurt me, MJ. So many times; so many ways.”
MJ clears her throat.
Kara can almost hear MJ’s thoughts: ‘But murder, Aunt K?’
Kara reminds her, “He threatened me that night you were at the Historical Society. Don’t you remember?”
MJ’s eyes unfocus. She trembles. She is remembering.
Kara continues, “He tried to break in. When I found him in the yard, he said he wanted to talk to you.” Kara recalls, trembling herself. “That you owed him.”
MJ drags a palm to her mouth.
Kara nods. “I was afraid. He tried to take my father’s rifle! So I hit him.” Kara shakes. The visions are coming back quickly now. “I told him to go away and stay away.” Kara clutches her chest. “But he came back.”
She cries. “I didn’t know what to do! There wasn’t even any ammo!”
MJ reaches over, puts her hand on Kara’s.
Kara grasps her hand, gazes with all the openness she can muster to see the past. What she’s had to do to survive a family member who abused her. She realizes MJ, for the first time, is also a survivor.
“I was afraid! For both of us. So, I killed him!” Kara stabs the table with a fist like a knife. “I killed him the only way I knew how! With love!”
MJ draws her hand back. This is harder than she expected. MJ massages her chest. Her eyebrows knit.
They look into the dark field. The last dollop of sunlight fades to green, and the light vanishes behind West Mountain, and Blue Lake, where the lean mean Red machine was drowned. The man is scattered from here to there, MJ realizes. Her heart squeezes painfully.
“Love?” MJ mangles. “What did you do? Exactly. Tell me, so I can trust you again.”
“I want to. I want to keep your trust.” Kara sobs. “You’re the daughter I never had.”
MJ waits for Kara to speak.
Early morning, October 8, 1995, Roseberry, Idaho
Conversations with a Murderer
He tries the lock before knocking on the back door.
Kara snorts awake on the living room sofa, then comes to the kitchen. She can hear MJ’s deep breathing from the other room. The girl snuck out, returned bloodied and bruised, and whimpered for an hour before falling into a dead sleep. She thought Kara hadn’t noticed.
“That you, Red?” In the kitchen, Kara’s voice raises tremulously.
From the other side of the door: “It’s me, Katherine. I need help.”
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