Geneva came out of the house with measured steps, wiping her palms on the towel hanging from the front of her belt loops.
“Hey, Gen, what’s up?”
“Same old, same old.”
“Where is everyone? Inside?”
“No. Brent took them to Wal-Mart in Rapid City.” I followed her to a picnic table in front of a cluster of chokecherry bushes heavily laden with the bitter red fruit.
“I wanted to have uninterrupted time together to talk.”
That weird spidey sense that I’d recently developed kicked in. “I thought I was here to talk to Molly?”
“No. I want to talk to you.”
It wasn’t like Geneva to mask her motives. “Talk about what?”
“Everything that’s been going on around here.”
“Everything meaning…”
Geneva scowled at me. “Gee, I don’t know-Albert, Levi, and Sue Anne all turning up dead on your property. And I believe the only one you didn’t discover personally was Albert.”
Okay. “I know-”
“You’ll get your turn to talk, but can you just listen to me to first?”
I nodded warily.
She picked at a cracked piece of barn-red paint on the picnic table. “Dawson getting appointed sheriff seven months ago shocked a lot of people. None of us knew how sick your dad was. Guess we all figured if the invincible Sheriff Gunderson really was that bad off, then the prodigal daughter would return home.”
Prodigal? That was bitchy. I waited for her to regale me with snippets of gossip on who in the community had decided I’d been reincarnated as the Wicked Witch of the West for not holding bedside vigil or Dad’s hand as he’d died. But her snappy tidbits didn’t come. Consequently, my back snapped straight.
“You haven’t been around for years, Mercy. Yet, the more things change, the more they stay the same.” Geneva looked me over like I was a soil experiment. “Strange thing is, you’ve probably changed less than the rest of us.”
“Meaning what?”
“You’re still waltzing around, no real responsibilities. Coming home when you feel like it. Traveling to exciting places all over the globe.”
Whoo-yeah. Mideast hot spots were all the rage. The discos were hopping and jam-packed with celebrities. The exclusive spas were first class. The shopping was to die for.
WTF?
I expected her to grin and say, “Just kidding,” but I was doomed to disappointment when she remained mum.
Was she serious? No responsibilities? My days consisted of carrying out executions. How did her days compare? Rounding up cattle, checking the outlying fences for dry rot, hanging clothes on the line, whipping up a batch of chokecherry jam. The potential for deadly mistakes was considerably less in her world.
“Aren’t you going to argue with me?” she demanded. “Remind me that you have serious responsibilities, too?”
It was like she was baiting me. “Why should I defend myself? You’ve already made up your mind as to what type of irresponsible person I’ve become. Or have always been.”
A small sneer curled her upper lip. “You know, at times in the last twenty years, when you’d come back on leave, I felt sorry for you. Other times I’ve been incredibly jealous. I’ve never allowed either feeling to affect our friendship.”
Until now, apparently.
“I should be happy you’re here and happy there’s a possibility you’ll stick around permanently.” A wistful look was there and gone. “Sometimes I still feel like that crazy high school girl with nothing to worry about besides dances and rodeos and whether Dad would let me drive the car Saturday night. And other days it seems I’ve been a wife and mother my whole life.
“But you’ve done everything you set out to do. Left the family homestead and let someone else handle the responsibilities and drudgery. Traveled extensively.” She twisted her wedding ring around. “While I stayed here.”
“Geneva, you never wanted to leave South Dakota. You wanted to marry Brent and live on the family ranch. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just didn’t fit with how I wanted to live.”
“So why do I feel you’re rubbing your life and your accomplishments in my face?”
“What?”
Geneva leaned forward; her eyes were cold and cruel. “What’s it like to play at running a ranch? To have financial security? Not be forced to sell off chunks of your property just to pay your taxes? To employ a tribe of peons to do the chores? To appoint an accountant to keep track of the ranch finances? To hire a maid to cook and clean and wash your clothes?
“Do you have any idea how much that pisses the rest of us off? You showing up like nothing’s changed? Acting like you own this county? Driving around in your dad’s pickup or your fancy-ass sports car as if you don’t have a care in the world? We are all struggling, Mercy. Us. Your friends. The people you grew up with. And it’s like you’re… mocking us.”
I heard my molars crack I’d clenched my teeth so hard.
Geneva continued spewing poison. “If you decide to sell to one of those out-of-state hunting outfits-rumor has it they’ve offered you millions of dollars-the value of our ag land will increase. And unlike you, we won’t have a choice. We’ll be forced to sell. And it’ll be all your fault.”
If anyone else had spouted those nasty accusations, I would’ve walked away, without refuting their stupidity and without looking back. Instead, I remained in place, letting the hatred brimming in my best friend’s eyes burn me from the outside in, like I’d been dunked in lava.
I took a minute to let my temper cool. “You finished?”
Geneva nodded. Cautiously.
“Again, I’m not going to defend myself. But I will remind you why I haven’t been here for the last twenty years ‘playing’ at being a rancher.
“While you’ve been home, surrounded by the people you love, even when doing the drudgery and chores you supposedly despise-canning and cooking and cleaning and washing diapers-with unfettered access to clean water, fresh food, a real bathroom, and a real bed, complaining in your air-conditioned house about the high price of gas and electricity, and about the ridiculousness of war as you sit in front of the big-screen TV, I’ve been in Afghanistan and Iraq. Living in the desert. Eating sand. Getting shot at every damn hour of every damn day. Watching old, crippled civilians and young, hopeful soldiers die right in front of me. Wishing I could have one normal day of joyriding around in a vehicle where I’m not afraid a car bomb will go off and blow me and a hundred others into bloody chunks. While you’re complaining how life hasn’t treated you fairly, I haven’t been on vacation, Geneva. I’ve been in hell.”
The corner of her eye lifted, a cross between a wince and a twitch, but besides that, her face remained a porcelain mask. And I wanted to see it crack.
“We all make choices. You made yours, I made mine, but you have no right blaming me for a damn thing. And just because I don’t constantly whine about my responsibilities doesn’t mean I don’t have any.”
“I can blame you for one thing.”
My dark gaze hooked hers.
“From the moment you came home things in this area have been a nightmare.” Geneva ticked off the points on her fingertips. “Albert Yellow Boy was found dead on your land. Levi was murdered on your land. Molly’s friend Sue Anne was killed on your porch. And last night someone lit your buildings on fire. Maybe the gossip about your family being cursed is true.”
“You blaming all that on me, Gen?” I never imagined Geneva and I would grow apart. As the reality of the situation glared me in the face, a deep sense of loss started to sink in.
“Also, I am warning you to stop contacting my daughter. Sue Anne was murdered the very day she talked to you. The day before that you’d talked to Molly. She feels you bullied her into betraying her friend. She’s scared.”