Three Lives of Jury - Chapter 31
Jealousy, murder and a town called Jury. A 40-year saga of life and the afterlife
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Three Lives of Jury - table of contents
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“There’s a big volcanic field all around here, a lot of unique formations formed centuries ago, caused by lava bubbling up, cooling, bubbling to the surface and cooling over and over again. It’s a geologist’s orgasm.” Shutterstock photo
Chapter 31
Frank woke first. He always woke early to a clogged chest and a desperate urge for the bathroom.
He rubbed his face to life and trudged down the hall at Lucy’s cabin, remembering the previous night as a colossal bore. It was bound to turn out that way when Lucy and Whit started drinking, wine for Lucy and scotch for Whit, leaving Frank stuck facing a long evening as the cabin’s lone temperate occupant.
He found the bathroom and noticed the room across the hall, Whit’s designated room, was empty.
They hooked up, Frank grumbled. The very first night, and they hooked up. He shook his head in disgust as he relieved himself, then scrubbed up at the sink and let the hot water run, breathing in the steam. Back in his room, he found a meal replacement drink in his bag, slipped on his oscillation vest, and sulked while the vest did its work.
As he always did, Frank begged off alcohol last night and cringed through the Lucy and Whit show, both of whom could barely complete a sentence by midnight, their faces uncreased and unbothered by inhibitions.
They talked in rambling, circuitous stretches about inane stunts they pulled in their youth, and chortled over stories about their year of living together at the Alma house, their secret escapes into the orchard to set off fire crackers or to experiment with vaping, how they roamed the downtown streets at night while Matt and Wanda slept, and how they broke the glass at the abandoned restaurant on Fourth Avenue.
Frank, sober Frank, saw them clearly as they fell about the living room, far less amusing than they imagined. To them, Frank barely existed in the past, even though he had walked with them to school and home again for most of that year.
He withdrew, disappointed and sullen, and when his ears perked up at mention of his name, it was to hear Lucy poking fun of his serious, frowning face.
“Frank Kappens, Buzzkill Frank. Wake up over there.”
Frank nodded and grimaced to make her go away.
Lucy was not discouraged. “Come on Frank. Tell us what you want to do in the next couple of years, besides that outreach centre. You must have dreams.” She sat back in her chair eyes closed, waiting for the reply.
But Frank wanted only to reminisce about Mud Valley, and Lucy and Whit were clear they didn’t want to discuss that. Frank believed they were embarrassed by their behaviour that night. What else? How they could pretend otherwise or that anything was more important to their lives than that night in Mud Valley?
They must feel the awe of it; the power of how I killed Reams, and oh, those slick moves. They must remember those.
Frank’s fever the night in Mud Valley affected his memories. Most of what he recalled, he gleaned from descriptions he was told afterward. But Lucy and Frank knew the real story and he longed to hear it again, to bathe in the nostalgia of it.
Lucy and Whit had other plans. They were deep in their own stories and he had stopped listening more than an hour ago.
Still, Lucy’s question lifted Frank’s mood a little.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he said. He watched Lucy for a moment as she sat on a chair against the wall. Her eyes were closed, her breathing soft and regular.
He jumped to his feet. He had a story too, one that didn’t involve Mud Valley.
“Remember the time you fell through the bleachers at a football game and broke your shoulder, Whit?”
“Ugh, stop. That really hurt. It wasn’t actually broken though. I was surprised it wasn’t because I couldn’t move it for a long time.”
Frank continued, “and remember after, how Lucy pounded Milt Billington’s face with a metal bar for pushing you?”
“What?” Whit sat up. “Is that true?” he asked, realizing information from Frank was a fair degree away from iron clad.
“You didn’t know?” Frank’s nasally whine became more annoying when he giggled. “She found a pipe or a stick or something, took it up into the stands and laid into Billington. Just walked up to him and bam!” Frank slammed one fist into his opposite hand for the sound effect. “You never heard about that?”
Whit shook his head. “If I did, I forgot. Jesus, really?”
“Fucking right. She knocked out a few teeth and cracked his orbital bone, probably more shit too, that I don’t remember. Don’t you remember? It wasn’t too long after we came out from Mud Valley, a month maybe? There was talk about charges and shit like that, but nothing ever came of it, probably because cops were too busy trying to pin us for the Mud Valley murder.”
Lucy opened her eyes and blew loudly. “I did a lot of shit back in the day.” She took a long drink from the wine glass on the table next to her. “I was one angry girl back then.”
“Understatement of the year. What about when you threatened to kill Sandra Mackenzie with a knife.” Since Mud Valley talk was off-limits, Lucy’s violent outbursts were Frank’s next favourite topics. It’s one of the big differences between him and Whit. Whit washed everything away, antiseptic. Frank wanted to show Lucy he wasn’t afraid of that side of her.
Lucy shifted in her chair, stretching her mouth open, testing her lips, feeling numbed by the alcohol. “Jesus, I don’t want to talk about that. What about that cool jeep your mom bought for you, Frank. How long did you keep it?”
“It lasted forever. Even after I got another car, I kept the jeep in my mom’s back yard for years. It bugged her something crazy. It got under her skin, and every time she looked out the kitchen window and saw it under a tarp, she’d phone me to do something about it. Heh-heh, heh-heh.”
Lucy leaned forward. She asked Frank if he still gave self-defence classes at the Grotto, which he had mentioned earlier.
Frank stood up again. “Sure, it’s important that I maintain my fitness. I got to keep everything tuned up.”
He set up to demonstrate a spin kick, but in mid-spin he tumbled and kicked over a lamp on the end table, leapt to his feet in full assault stance, clattered over a couple of glasses on the coffee table, then fell backward and knocked a picture off the wall. He straightened up, checked his elbows and knees for injuries and said good night.
Now the morning after, he removed the vest and pounded his chest, in anger, not for therapy. Whit had to be in Lucy’s room and it froze his heart more than it should. Yet even while understanding he had no rightful claim to feel mistreated, he crept down the hall and out into the living room. Lucy’s bedroom was off the far end, opposite the front door. He noticed the door was wide open. He could easily sneak a look.
He slunk along softly, softly, shoulders tight, hoping the floor didn’t creak. He passed in front of the sofa, passed the coffee table he had nearly destroyed last night, and moved next to the wall. He risked a quick glance, just a flash, then ducked back behind the wall.
They were in there all right. He saw two bodies, but they were on top of the covers and fully clothed. He peeked again, longer. Yep, Whit was sleeping on his stomach, all this clothes on, and Lucy lie beside him, with her back toward Whit, wearing jeans, top and even still wore last night’s jacket.
Frank retreated to the couch. They had simply passed out because of their drinking. Sex had nothing to do with it. He cheered inwardly, his heart lightened.
He drew up a scenario that suited him. Whit and Lucy must have crashed into bed shortly after he left them. They were drunk, nearly unconscious, and had fallen onto a convenient mattress, in no shape for love. Whit had probably fallen over snoring and Lucy climbed in next to him and fell asleep.
The rest of the house awoke bit by bit. Whit wandered through the living room on his way to the bathroom and jumped in the shower.
Lucy showed her face next, mumbled good morning and filed out the door with a towel over her shoulder. Frank watched her go. She crossed the yard to the outdoor kitchens and turned on a hose, washed her face and brushed her teeth, before lifting the hose to let the water pour over her head and face, soaking her, clothes and all.
She towelled off and approached the group she noted yesterday, sat in a circle with them, gestured, presumably talking, then rose, shook their hands and returned to the cabin.
The three ate breakfast together, toast, marmalade, bananas, which Frank supplemented with power bars and granola from his own stores, and then Lucy marched out to meet her clients and perform her treatments.
Over the ensuing days, a routine took shape: breakfast on the deck or in Lucy’s kitchen, after which Lucy would disappear “to tend to business.” She had fewer requests for help than usual for this time of year. Word spread that lawyers were trying to shut her down and some visitors were afraid to make a trip that might prove for nothing, in case she had been forced to quit.
But Lucy doubled down on her efforts, expanding her schedule to accommodate more people. Her lawyers counselled her to push, push, push her own brand and she asked volunteers to paint artful signs in the name of Lucy Kloot, which they put up all over the RV park, the tenting area and the hot springs. She tacked her schedule to posts and fences and next to the large map of the grounds at the base of the hill.
She offered day-long guided hikes along lesser known wilderness trails and led short botany walks, usually for the elderly, where she pointed out useful plants along the curated pathways closer to the hot springs.
While Lucy was leading tours, Whit and Frank killed time around Lucy’s cabin, or soaked at the hot springs. Sometimes Whit went for hikes on his own, not wishing to intrude on Lucy’s excursions.
Frank borrowed Whit’s truck at times, which was parked at the mobile home park, and vanished for the afternoon. Whit concluded he was spending afternoons in his room at the lodge, which he and Lucy knew about, but Frank appeared to want to keep secret, so they didn’t mention it.
Every day, Whit phoned his lawyer for news about Erin and Sarah. Every day, he ended the call downcast. International law is the slowest of all law, the lawyer said as he asked for Whit’s approval to bring in a new law firm based in Calais to work the case from that side of the ocean.
“Whatever it takes,” Whit told him. He wasn’t sure where the money would come from to pay for it, but he’d deal with that later.
Frank offered his services, saying he could ask his contacts to find someone who could go over to France and bring the girls back.
“Thanks, but we’re not there yet,” Whit told him.
Whit and Frank stayed at Lucy’s longer than expected and before they realized, two weeks passed.
Whit liked the peace. He could exist without strings, untouched by work obligations and family relationships. He didn’t worry about food, rent or taxes. Life provided and he chose a fresh path every hour.
Whit liked the peace. He could exist without strings, untouched by work obligations and family relationships. He didn’t worry about food, rent or taxes. Life provided and he chose a fresh path every hour.
Frank meanwhile, did what his body needed. He breathed. The pure, cool air strengthened his lungs, even as he grew weaker. He felt childish for his earlier behaviour, for feeling hurt at the sight of Lucy and Whit standing too close to one another for his liking.
Lucy, meanwhile, was thankful for the diversion the two old friends offered. Frank was Frank, as always. She hardly remembered their night together, all dark shambling beneath the covers.
Whit’s reappearance, though. It rekindled the sense that she’d been missing something elemental in her life. She recognized her happiness didn’t depend on Whit, but she couldn’t deny he made her feel better and he broadened her horizons.
She practised judging him critically, hoping to prejudice her thoughts against him, finding annoyances that would turn her off. His fingernails were dirty, he sniffed loudly and he was maddeningly pragmatic.
Lucy had less trouble deciphering Frank because Frank appeared to be the same person he’d always been, only older and sadder. Death clung about him, not a ghost, but Lucy saw that he was dying and she believed he deserved what kindness she could give.
Whit knew it, too. They talked about it when Frank was out of hearing range. Whit suggested they take Frank to a hospital, which they later suggested to Frank. Frank’s outrage told them the hospital was out of the question. The overly dramatic protests made one more reason for Whit and Lucy to be concerned.
“In fact, this trip to see you makes sense when you think of it as Frank taking a farewell tour,” Whit told Lucy when they were alone.
Three weeks passed, then four, then five.
They chatted in twos or threes over coffee, tea, lemonade, wine and beer.
Lucy’s would-be clients occasionally appeared outside the cabin seeking assistance and Lucy helped when she could. They were minor illnesses, joint stiffness or ennui. A few came to hear their fortunes and were sent away after being told that wasn’t Lucy’s speciality.
It shaped up to be a quiet season. The desperate, the most anguished whose souls were slowly being eaten away by vengeful spirits never showed. Not one appeared at Lucy’s door or tried to book an appointment.
Lucy, Whit and Frank started hiking together. Lucy planned short jaunts so Frank could keep up, but after two walks, Frank bowed out.
“I’m going to stay put and soak in the waters. Why don’t we do that? We can all just go over to the hot springs and soak for the afternoon.”
“I can’t.” Lucy rubbed her middle finger where it always hurt, right at the big knuckle. “I’ll attract too big a crowd if I go, and then it won’t be fun for anybody. I haven’t actually sat and soaked in my own pools for years.”
“Yes, of course,” Whit said. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He looked at Frank. “If you’re OK soaking for the day, maybe we could take off on a longer trek, and you can show me the dragon’s crystals, those lava formations I’ve heard about. How far is that?”
“Sure. It’s hard though. It’s a pretty steep climb for a good 45 minutes, then the trail settles down.” Lucy pointed off to the south. “It’s about 10 K that way.”
“Well, I’m up for it. You OK entertaining yourself for the afternoon around here, Frank?” Whit clapped Frank on the back.
“I guess,” Frank grumbled.
Lucy and Whit hit the trail’s hardest part at the hottest time of day. The sun was straight up, the trees offered little shade, the humidity was fierce and insects relentless.
They climbed the slick, wet trail by grabbing what they could; branches, weeds and each other. The forest floor was overgrown with ferns and moss. The rotten smell of decaying life permeated the thick air. Finally, they reached the crest of a hill. Then the trail widened and the ground levelled. Whit heard water crashing; rivers raced and bogs oozed on both sides.
“How much farther?” He leaned against a big cedar to catch his breath.
“The tough part is over,” Lucy said. “About another hour.”
“Jeez, I dunno if I’m going survive it.”
“It’ll be easier now.”
“I fucking hope so.” He wiped his forehead and took a drink from his pack. “What’s the story of these dragon crystals anyway?”
“Dragons’ eggs,” she corrected him. “Lava formations, not real dragons’ eggs.”
“Um, thanks. I got that.”
“OK, what else? There’s a big volcanic field all around here, a lot of unique formations formed centuries ago, caused by lava bubbling up, cooling, bubbling to the surface and cooling over and over again. It’s a geologist’s orgasm.”
“If it’s such a big deal, how come I never heard of it before?”
“Oh, excuse me. Remind me to send a memo to all geologists that they need to inform you of all future discoveries.”
“All right, all right.” Whit pushed her onward. After a few minutes of quiet, he said, “Hey, mind if I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“About the hot springs. Actually, it’s about all the property you have around here.”
“OK?” Lucy said. “What about it?”
“What happens if you lose it all?”
“I won’t lose it.”
“Yeah, yeah, think positive and all that, blah, blah, blah, I know. But have you thought about a Plan B?”
“No, because I am not going to lose. There’s no fucking way I’m going to lose.”
“That’s not what the other side thinks.”
Lucy turned back to face Whit. “I won’t lose it, Whit. It’s mine. It was my father’s and now it’s mine.”
“But did your father really own it, Lucy? Or was he just squatting on some free land he found? You told me what he was like. Why do you believe he did this legit? If he did, it would be only time, based on what you’ve said before.”
“What’s your point, Whit?”
“I don’t know Lucy, maybe that you should have a back-up plan in case it doesn’t go your way.”
“It’s going to go my way.”
“Why? Just because you say so doesn’t make it true. Just because you have no other option, doesn’t make it true.”
“Fuck you.” Lucy swatted his ball cap askew. “No options? Right, I have no options. I guess I’ll just settle down and become a good little wife, be some rich guy’s fuck toy.”
“That’s not what I mean, Lucy. And anyway, you’re way too old to get a rich guy.” Whit smirked and walked around her, knocking her hat off as he passed.
“Why, you old fucker.” Lucy froze, watching as he pushed farther ahead. “You’d love it, wouldn’t you? You’d love to keep me around the house naked in the kitchen, wouldn’t you? Here’s a news flash, you don’t have enough money to keep me.”
“Dream on, dream on,” Whit called over his shoulder.
They arrived at a narrow white bridge straddling a frothing stream where roaring water made talk difficult.
A few steps beyond the other side of the bridge, there it was. The dragons’ eggs, rounded lumps of rock poking through the rock face in bright silver and dull grey. On the ground below, pieces lay strewn about, sharp obsidian rock and volcanic glass cast out from the earth.
“Holy shit. Cool.” Whit stooped for a better look. The wall behind him was about three metres wide and 10 metres high. In the centre at the bottom, parts had been chipped away, probably by souvenir hunters. The ground Whit was standing on was a crumbled shamble of particles ranging in size from pea to cantaloupe.
“I have to take a couple of pieces back,” he said and took off his pack to load.
Lucy reached out a foot and pushed Whit in the centre of his back. He hung to the edge for a moment and Lucy thought he might regain his balance, so she reached out and shoved him again with her boot.
He crashed into the water, a calm pool at this spot, sheltered from the current by the edge of the bridge foundation. He felt his body being pulled under, but only for a second before he gained his balance and stood. The water reached mid-thigh.
“How’s that for Plan B?” Lucy yelled over the roar of the water, laughing. “I’ve got options like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve got options that would scare the shit out of you if I told you about them. I’ve got options that make this amazing wall of crystals look like cheap wallpaper.”
Lucy noted Whit’s scowl but she didn’t care. She leaned in closer to make sure he heard. “Your options, however, appear pretty limited right now.”
Whit handed his pack to Lucy and stood arms at his side. “OK, OK. You got me. Point for Lucy Kloot.”
“Point? You mean game, set and match.” She grabbed his arm to help him climb up the loose rocks back onto the narrow shore.
Whit stomped up to dry land and made the bridge. He tore off his boots and socks and dried his feet with his shirt, which he’d also taken off. The noise of rushing water made the silence between them practical. Whit put himself back together and starting walking out.
Lucy grabbed up her things and followed.
The return trip went much quicker than the walk in, partly because of Whit’s irritability but mostly because it was downhill.
Back at the truck, Whit tore his boots off again and rubbed his feet, groaning.
Lucy guessed he was playing for attention and ignored him.
“I have another option for you,” Whit said. “How about I option these boots up your ass.” He shook the boots in Lucy’s direction but he was grinning.
Lucy held up her hands. “Sorry, but in my defence, you really should have known better than to trust me.”
When they got back to the hot springs, Frank was absent. They debated whether to look for him, or wait for him at the cabin. Lucy wanted to wait.
“I think we should look. Or I can go look and you can wait here. You know how it is with him. He might be sick, or he might be picking a fight. Either way, I should probably go.”
“So he can tell us how he saved our lives again? That sounds like fun.” Lucy failed to see why it was their responsibility to care for a middle-aged man who, in theory, knew how to look after himself.
“Well.” Whit paused at the top of stairs leading from the deck and looked down into the ground. It was late afternoon. Shadows from the trees were crawling steadily into the clearing. He laughed, “When you put it that way, fuck it.”
“I’ll get a beer, let’s give him a few more minutes.” Lucy had reached the doorway to the cabin when Frank came rattling out from the trail in a golf cart, which he’d convinced an unofficial member of Lucy’s staff to let him use.