Afterward, Jeb walked outside, went for a long slow walk around the town to clear his head. The park was filling up with people, the women bringing food, the men bringing appetites. From June's kitchen came the warm, fragrant smell of fresh bread. One of the advantages of witchcraft--the ability to cook without fuel or fire. He passed by Martha's house, waved at her through the window. She was just placing a pie on the sill, and he offered to carry it to the park for her, but she said it had to set awhile first.
He felt good. A couple walked past him, hand in hand, and he watched them for a moment. The only thing missing from his life was that he had not yet found a woman. A lot of the men had. A lot of witches of both sexes had
met here and gotten married, and while he was always happy for them, he could not help feeling a little sorry for himself.
Of course, no one he'd met really interested him.
Because he was still in love with Becky.
Even after all this time, he thought of her often. In his dreams, she came to Wolf Canyon. Sometimes she was a witch who had only just discovered her powers. Sometimes she was not but had trekked halfway across the continent because she missed him and wanted to be with him.
But al ways they ended up together, and while he knew that was just a foolish fantasy it prevented him from even thinking about anyone else.
"Jeb!"
He looked up at the sound of the familiar voice to see
William hurrying across the dusty street toward him, a big smile on his face.
"I've been looking for you."
Jeb stopped, waited. "What is it?"
"I need your help."
"With what?"
William's smile grew even broader. this is something I've been working on."
"For tonight?"
"I'd rather not discuss it here." William clapped an arm around his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go to the picnic first.
We'll talk about it later, back at the house."
Jeb grinned, nodded, and the two of them made their way down the street toward the park.
Now
He'd called his sister the night before, and told her about their father.
It could be put off no longer, and Miles didn't beat around the bush but told Bonnie exactly what had happened. She'd grown extremely quiet, for once in her life not interrupting him, and when he was finished she said simply, "Where is he now?"
"Still at the coroner's." He answered her next question before she even asked it. 'qlaey have him restrained, but he still seems to be... animated."
"Are you sure he's dead?"
"I'm sure. We're all sure. We just don't know, what it is."
There was silence after that.
"I think you should come down," Miles told her.
"For the funeral?
He was growing exasperated. "Obviously, we haven't scheduled a funeral yet, but Dad is dead and I thought you might care enough to right," she said. "I'm coming." But she sounded annoyed, put out, and after promising to call him once she'd booked a plane, she hung up.
She'd called back an hour later, saying that she'd be flying to L.A. In the afternoon. He asked for her flight number and the time, but she refused to give him either.
"How am I supposed to pick you up?" he asked.
"You're not. I'll take a cab from the airport. I need some time to think."
"You won't have enough thinking time on the plane? Come on, Bonnie, this doesn't make any sense. There's no reason to waste money on a cab when I can easily come and pick you up. The airport's fifteen minutes from my house, for God's sake."
"I want to be alone."
"Bonnie
Stop trying to boss me around all the time. I have some things to sort through. Can't you understand that?"
She was getting ready to hang up on him--he recognized the signs--so he backed off and they if not warmly, at least amicably. Now she'd called him from the back of the cab, telling him she was on her way, and he assumed that meant she had a cellular phone. She'd never mentioned it to him, but she and Gil were yuppie enough to invest in such an obvious status symbol, and he reminded himself not to pick on her, to leave her alone, that this was a tragic time for both of them.
Well, a tragic time for him.
An inconvenience for her.
At the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, he peeked through the front window and saw a yellow cab in back of his Buick. He swore to himself that he would not provoke her, that they would not quarrel, and he hurried out to meet his sister.
She looked tired. Her skin was pale, there were large bags under her eyes, and he found that he actually felt sorry for her. He gave her a hug, helped the cab driver remove her luggage from the trunk, then carried her suitcases inside as she followed him into the house.
He put her bags in the guest bedroom, then walked back out to the living room.
Bonnie took off her coat and sat down on the couch. "You want something to drink? Water? Tea? Coke?" "No, thanks."
He nodded, sat down in the recliner to the tight of the couch. "So how are you doing?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Fine."
He looked at his sister, suddenly aware of how much she resembled their mother. She was thinner, her movements were different, but her features and especially the expressions that passed over her face were their mother's exactly. It was ironic, because Bonnie and her mother had never really gotten along. They were too much alike, perhaps. Both highly strung and self-involved, touchy and defensive, neither of them had possessed the requisite sympathy or patience to ever understand one another. There'd been no reconciliation between them before their mother's death and, Miles suspected, no remorse on his sister's part afterward.
Bonnie smiled stiffly at him, and he smiled back. He realized that he didn't have anything to say to his sister. The questions that popped into his mind, the genetic conversation openers he considered and rejected, were all of the superficial sitcom variety--How's Gil? How are the kids? He wanted to be able to talk to her, to really communicate, but he didn't know how. She, too, seemed to be at a loss, and they sat there awkwardly, strangers who were siblings.
It was Bonnie who spoke first. "So where's Dad... I mean, his body? Downtown The coroner's office."
"Do you think I should see him?"
"Do you want to?"
= "I don't know."
"It's up to you."
Another awkward silence.
"Maybe I will take that drink," she said. "Water?"
"With" 9" ice.
She nodded, and he went into the kitchen, grateful for some time to plan out what he would say. He and his sister had never been that close, but he hadn't realized until now how much they had depended upon their father to keep the conversation alive when they were together. He filled a glass with water and ice and carried it back out.
Bonnie accepted it. "Thanks." She took a sip. "Whatever happened to the nurse? You didn't tell me."
"Audra?" Miles shrugged. "She's still working for the hospice agency, but she doesn't want to speak with me. I've tried, several times. I suppose she's already on some other: case, with a new patient." He sighed, "She can avoid me al she wants, but if the police want to speak to her, she'll have to talk to them."
"Police? Are there police involved?"
"Not yet. But they might be." He shook his head. "Who knows?"
More silence.
He thought for a moment. He'd been honest with her over the phone, but there was one thing he hadn't told her about. and he asked her to wait while he walked into his father bedroom and took out the cardboard carton containing the contents of the safety deposit box.
He set the carton down on the coffee table in front of the glass and started telling her about their father's dream, his recur ring nightmare of the tidal wave and his subsequent trip to the library to pick up occult books. Miles speculated that their dad had known what was coming, that he was some how preparing for it or maybe even trying to stave it off