Both opened their arms to hug Helena, but then decided it would be safer to hug each other. Between ample bodies and ample breasts, they looked like huge Humpty Dumpty toys trying to dance but only succeeding in wobbling.
"I'm really going to miss the old guy," Paula cried on her sister's shoulder. "He wasn't so bad once we got used to the sin of Momma marrying him."
Paula never missed a chance to remind Helena that she and J.D. were first cousins. Everyone in town seemed to have forgotten except "One-track Paula."
"I'll miss him, too," Patricia added, but from the confused expression in her eyes, she couldn't remember any sin. "Even if I didn't understand what he was talking about half the time. He was always naming some place I never heard of like it was important and I should drop everything and go home and look it up on a map."
"Good night, girls." Helena held the door open as her offspring hurried out. They were her flesh and blood. The only part of her that would live on in this world. But they did not hold her heart. No one had until J.D.
Both daughters stood on the front step when she spoke again. "No one…I repeat, no one, touches J.D.'s things."
They looked at her as if they felt sorry for their mothers inability to face the facts.
Helena tried to keep her anger in check. "If either of yew do, you will never be welcome in this house again."
"Oh, Momma, you don't mean…"
"I mean every word. J.D.'s things stay untouched." Helena closed the door, wishing she could talk to her daughters without getting angry.
She walked slowly up the staircase to the bedroom that had been hers and J.D.'s for over ten years. His things surrounded her. Welcomed her. She closed her eyes and relaxed for the first time since the call from the hospital.
His robe hung on the door, his reading glasses were on an open book, his running shoes lay between the chairs by the window. He couldn't be gone. She could still smell him near. Still feel the warmth of his gaze watching her. Sometimes when they were sitting side by side, paying no attention to one another as they read or watched the birds, Helena would match her breathing to his. If she were still enough she knew she could do that now.
"Don't leave me, Cousin," she whispered across the shadows. "Don't leave me alone."
Helena closed her eyes and forgot about all that happened. The nightmare of reality ended. Need brought in the dream.
In the stillness of their room she heard him whisper, "I'm right here. Waiting. Come here, Hellie."
Helena slipped beneath the covers and into the arms of the only man she ever loved. His chest was bare and hair tickled her nose as it always did. His arm was strong about her. The smell of his aftershave blended with his favorite brand of pipe tobacco.
"Don't go just yet," she pleaded. "I couldn't bear it."
She felt his gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right here as long as you need me. Remember when I came back? I gave you that silver dollar your mother had given me to take to war for luck. I promised I'd never leave you alone. Let the storm come, Hellie, let it come. You'll always have my arms to protect you."
There were folks who believed God put oil in Texas because it was the only place on earth where the rigs could be seen as an improvement on the landscape. On a windy day tumbleweeds would blow into the eaves of a rig making it look like a skeleton Christmas tree covered in huge, hideous ornaments.
October 14
Montano Ranch
The next few days had passed in a haze for Anna Montano. The road to their ranch became a highway of cars and trucks traveling back and forth from the site of the explosion. Most were on official business but a few were simply sightseers, wanting to get closer to the spot where four men had died.
The sheriff stopped by saying he needed to talk with her, but Anna felt she had nothing to say. Carlo told her the explosion was just an accident and no matter what someone tried to make of it, that was all to be said.
Anna asked Carlo if he would handle the sheriff and he agreed. She did not want to talk to anyone.
The rig, now twisted and black, appeared to still smolder thanks to the clouds of dust from cars circling it. Anna swore the smell of the fire lingered, seeping into everything and everyone on the ranch. Or maybe the whiff of oil afire and men burned had stained her lungs, and she would forever taste the odor with each breath.
Her brother Carlo made all the funeral plans. Davis had no relatives who sent flowers, but cards from the people of Clifton Creek filled the mailbox each morning. Businesses closed for the funerals and church bells from all denominations sounded during the processions to the town's only cemetery.
As an outsider, Anna watched in amazement while a town grieved. She saw the first signs when she and Helena left the hospital the day of the accident. Randi stayed behind with Crystal for a few minutes and Meredith waited in the hospital hallway for the funeral home, but Helena and Anna walked out together. Men lined the sidewalk from the door to the parking lot. Oil field workers and cowhands stood silent. It did not matter that the rain pounded. As the women passed, the men removed their hats and stepped back into the muddy grass. No one said a word, but the respect they paid would linger forever in her mind.
By dawn, business doors along Main wore wreaths of black. From the courthouse to the cafe, Carlo informed her, no one talked of anything except the accident. Anna may have lost a husband, but the town lost one of its wealthiest oilmen in Shelby Howard. Even if he lived, he would never make it back to running Howard Drilling. Everyone agreed over coffee that Jimmy Howard was probably the brains behind the old man's success over the past few years, but Shelby had been a wildcatter. Carlo quoted what he had heard, saying they did not make oilmen like that anymore.
The folks relived all the highlights of Kevin Allen's football games and decided his years on the team were the best they had seen. J. D. Whitworth moved from retired soldier to town hero and several wondered why they had never recognized him as such. There was talk of putting up a memorial.
And Davis Montano, Carlo would tell Anna over and over, was like a son to them all. Fifth generation in the town. And that is as deep as roots go in Clifton Creek. Not just four men died in that fire, Carlo would say, but a part of the town's heart burned that day as well.
Anna rode the fringes of the ranch in the sunny mornings that followed, but the memory of steel-toed shoes and cowboy boots washed over with mud remained in her thoughts. She found it odd that she could not remember a single man's face.
In the afternoons Anna escaped, as always, to her tiny studio that had once been a sunroom. There, amid neglected plants, she painted. She caught herself still hiding her work as if expecting Davis to stop by and criticize her at any moment. He hated the dark mood of her paintings. Now the mood seeped off the canvas and into her life.
Shelby Howard's son, Trent, was among those who came to see the ruins of the rig. He stopped at the house to tell her how sorry he was about Davis. Carlo insisted she talk to the man. After all, Trent was Shelby's only son and the two families were forever connected by the tragedy.
Trent opened the conversation by informing her that the explosion and fire were not related to anything Howard Drilling had done. He implied the sheriff suspected no foul play, but when she questioned him about the reasons for the fire, he did not seem to have enough information or knowledge to say more.
Trent reminded Anna of a buzzard with his thin frame and long nose. She played a game she had found helpful around most American men. Anna acted as though she did not understand the language, so he had to spend most of his time talking to her brother. In truth, except for a slight stutter, Anna had spoken four languages fluently by the time she was eighteen, but by then she had discovered that most men were not worth talking to.