The Choice Read online

  “Here we are; home sweet home.”

  Through fresh eyes, she could see the magic of this place. The front porch listed. The overhang leaned heavy on one side, and Marcie glowed at this magnificent, peaceful sight. “Watch the top step, the front board’s cracked. Jesse, Sam with your weight you’ll probably go right through it.”

  Time stood still. That special feeling you get when you return home staggered Marcie, until she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry. Shaking, and a little misty eyed, she opened the front door. It was the same but different. As if now she could appreciate the beauty of this place. She loved the large square kitchen with the fir log walls. The corner wood stove, a small, modern propane fridge and stove and her granny’s nicked oak table filled the center of the room.

  “You always leave your door unlocked?” She wiped her eyes, so lost in thought she didn’t realize Sam stood right behind her.

  Before she could respond, a car rumbled down the driveway. Marcie wandered back outside. Peggy in her spry, eighty-eight year old body, climbed out of a rusted brown Hyundai, making a beeline straight for Marcie, wearing blue polyester pants, a short-sleeved striped shirt and sturdy beige shoes, similar to what nurses wore. She was an image in her floppy straw hat with a long yellow scarf draped over the top and tied under her chin.

  “What happened to your head?” She retained the southern accent from her youth. Years ago when someone on the island commented on it, she articulated in a very matter of fact way, to lose it was to shake her roots, and that she wouldn’t do.

  “I fell and hit my head, but it's fine.”

  “You need to be more careful. Put some lavender oil around that cut, and then you’ll be healed in no time without a scar. You’ll still be pretty as a picture. Now listen, the reason I’m here is part of the First Responders. Old Mike Stuckey took a fall off his boat onto the dock and broke a vertebra in his back. He’s flat out for a while. When I went over there, he had nothing for food in that camper he’s living in. I opened the fridge, and he’s been using it as a safe.” Peggy continued dramatically, splaying her hands wide to enunciate each point.

  Marcie felt screws tighten in her stomach when she realized the interest Diane, Sam and Jesse projected. Her back was hot, and she stood center stage.

  “Now, I’ve managed to line up enough volunteers for the next five days, till Sunday anyway, to cook his meals. He’s out of everything, even his pot. Rob’s graciously offered him a bottle of rum and a bag of pot, but I told Rob you need to monitor it so he doesn’t mix them and overdo the rum. Sandy’s going to feed the cat. And to top it off when I was there, Mike asked for a six-pack of beer, but I told him, I’d chill it at my place and take him over only two a day. That’s enough.”

  Sam’s arms were crossed, and he sidled closer to Marcie. His face tightened, and if she didn’t know him so well, she’d be shaking in her boots. They had to be thinking the worst. She wanted to stop Peggy, but she gave up and closed her eyes, trying to rub away the worry lines between her brows.

  She could hear shuffling in the dirt. Diane and Jesse stepped forward. That was when Peggy’s head shot up, her face agog, as she darted her head first to Diane and then Jesse, before they landing straight on Sam. She scrunched her lips together and stepped closer to Sam, peering through her outdated thick glasses.

  “Who’re you, are you Marcie’s boyfriend?” She gave him no time to respond. “You got yourself a new man? Finally, saw the light and kicked out that no good scoundrel you been dogging around.”

  “Peggy, this is Sam and that’s Diane and Jesse. Her hand trembled. Worried about how they read Peggy, not well obviously by the way they each appeared to slip into their own cop mode. None of them showed a flicker of emotion. She wanted to yell at Peggy, “stop talking, they think you’re a drug dealer.”

  These are my… Sam, what are we anyway?” This time she passed him the ball before her throat jammed up.

  He stood stone faced, giving nothing away by his shadowed, tight eyes.

  “We’re involved.” His arms remained crossed in front of him.

  “Hmmm, well sonny, I guess that’d be another word for sleeping together, boyfriend, girlfriend, shacked up. Afraid I’ve heard it all in the thirty-six years I was a schoolteacher down south. Makes no difference to me, just treat her right, she’s a good girl. Any fool paying attention can see sparks zapping back and forth between you two. Now listen Marcie, I’m here to ask you what can you do for old Mike?” Peggy could throw you in a second the way she changed the subject. And so dramatically, the way she used her hands to speak fluently, as much as the words that flowed from her mouth.

  “I won’t be staying, so I can’t do anything for him.” Then she remembered, “I’ll give him some essential oils and herbs that should speed up the healing. It’ll help with the pain some, so he’s not popping pills, at the same time clear his head. And Peggy, he really shouldn’t be smoking pot, especially when he’s flat out. It’s bad for the digestion.”

  “Ah Marcie, I missed you girl. Just give me what you can.” Peggy’s voice echoed across the property, as Marcie slipped inside the cottage.

  Marcie kept her distilled oils and herbs in a small hand-carved cupboard, which hung beside the kitchen window. She grabbed a small bottle of each, when a shiver raced up her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. She jumped, wondering if someone followed her in. “Geez, what the hell.” There was no one there. She squeezed the bottles in her hand and hurried out.

  Sam turned to her as the screen rattled. She saw Peggy take the opportunity to size Sam up while conversing with Diane and Jesse quite intimately.

  Marcie caught only the tail end of the conversation. She was on a rant about the government’s atrocities and a black military chopper, which had shown up a few weeks ago, landing on the Miller’s 160 acres. The cops had repelled down their lines. “What do they think? One call from the Millers and we all know they’re here. Oh and Marcie, I forgot to tell you, next Saturday’s the annual Las Seta awards. And old Mervin Phelps is up for the slowest driver on the island. Do you know he actually broke ten miles an hour, his top speed, just last week in his shiny red Escort.”

  “Wow, he’s speeding. I’ll be sorry to miss it. Is it at the Fireman’s Ball?”

  “Yes, and the MC hosting will be our esteemed Lance Silver.”

  “Lance Silver, you don’t say? Hey Marcie, I think we should go. It’ll be fun. What do you think? Diane, Jesse, bring some friends?” It was the first time Sam had said anything spontaneous since Peggy arrived.

  “You know Lance? He’s quite the entrepreneur, you know. He just hauled over a big combine on that new barge of his. Says he’s going to be a wheat farmer now. Here on Las Seta, can you imagine? He’s such a growing concern.” Peggy leaned back allowing a deep rumbling laugh to flow out of her.

  “Here you go, Peggy.” Marcie handed her both bottles. “Now tell Mike just a teaspoon of this herb; make it into a tea. The oil, drop it on his shoulders and spine.”

  Peggy plopped both bottles into her bulky canvas bag, looped over her arm. “Why don’t I hold onto this herb, and send it round with each one whose turn it is to feed Mike. And they can make the tea for him. Now listen Marcie, is this guy here going to treat you right and give you the respect you deserve? Or is he just using you for sex?”

  Sam choked beside her. Diane actually snickered under her breath, and she thought Jesse was going to pass out from laughing so hard. And Peggy, well, she beamed in mischief.

  “Well you’re a big girl, Marcie. This time use that head God gave you. You’re still young enough to get it right. Make your granny proud.” Then she hugged Marcie and climbed in her car with a huge wave, before backing up in a giant circle and roaring up the driveway.

  She’d never told Sam what she did, selling her herbs and oils as a natural healer. She’d need to clarify a lot, after Peggy’s visit. On top of that, she realized he might have the wrong impression about the island folks.<
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  “Interesting lady, what’s this First Responders society of hers all about? Supplying illegal substances?”

  “It’s about looking after your neighbors, Sam. When someone’s in trouble, this is what a community’s supposed to do. Step in and help. She’s not a drug dealer. She’s a fabulous lady who was the first to show up on my doorstep when Granny died. She helped me, made things easier for me in my grief. She handled the arrangements. And that’s another thing I’d like to do before we go. I’d like to go and visit Gran’s grave and make sure it’s being tended. Which, I’ve no doubt with my neighbors here, it’s being cared for diligently.”

  “Nice speech, Marcie. How many people here on this island are growing marijuana, and let’s start with the herb you supplied her. And this Rob who’s supplying a bag of dope to the injured guy.” Diane and Jesse flanked Sam; their arms crossed.

  Okay, this wasn’t good. They had the wrong impression.

  “I grew the herbs in my garden. It’s what I do, Sam, for a living. Granny was a healer, and she taught me. I grow oregano, sage, thyme, lavender, peppermint. You know all those things you buy in the store. Well, they have natural healing properties. I grow and sell them. I don’t take drugs, legal or illegal ones. The herb I gave Peggy’s ground up peppermint leaves. It helps digestion. The pot from Rob Peggy mentioned, I think you already know Sam. There are people on this island who grow marijuana for their own use. That’s all Rob does. He’s not a dealer. Feel free to look around this property, but you’ll find no marijuana plants here.”

  Marcie didn’t wait for a reply. She went back inside, bumped by an uneasy vibe, which escalated when she stepped through the doorway. She kept moving farther into the cottage, through the wooden archway dividing the kitchen and cozy front room. She paused before the wide picture window in this once comfortable, easy space, filled with an overstuffed sofa and cozy furnishings, her inside place to meditate. She stepped around a side table and ran her hand over the packed four-shelf bookshelf, once again nauseated by an uneasy feeling. She moved down the short dark hallway with light pine finished walls and touched the cross, the only adornment outside her granny’s room, one of two tiny bedrooms across from each other. Both bedrooms contained a small closet, double bed and a dresser. The bathroom at the end of the hall was small but modern. A new addition added to the cottage ten years prior. The original loo, as her granny so fondly called it, was an old outhouse out back, one to this day, Marcie still used.

  She pushed open her bedroom door, and the knots in her stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right. But what? Her gut ached when she realized her peaceful tranquil space had been invaded.

  “Marcie.”

  She started. Sam stood behind her.

  “You okay?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, something’s wrong, I think someone was in here.” Her voice trembled.

  Sam brushed past Marcie into her cozy bedroom with walls of muted lavender, adorned with a dream weaver above the bed, framed sketches of a wolf, bear, and eagle mounted on the walls and a small plate glass window, scrutinizing everything the way a cop does. “Anything missing? Come on Marcie, look around you, has anything been moved?”

  His tone turned all business, demanding, but at the same time helped her focus.

  She scanned her room from the doorway. On her neat pine dresser was a small hand carved jewelry box. A small kerosene lamp sat on her bedside table. Her grandmother's patchwork quilt covered the double size bed. “No, no, I don’t think anything’s moved. It’s just a feeling that someone was in my room. Can’t you feel it? You know, when you go into someone’s house, or someone comes around you who’s not a good person, and you get that icky heeby-jeeby feeling? And then you feel your hair prickling up the back of your neck because there’s something dark about them?” She jammed her fingers through her hair. How could she get him to understand? “That feeling’s a warning and I’m getting it here now.” Her hand shook as she rubbed her stomach. “Whoever was here left that ick behind. This isn’t a good person.” Marcie waved her hands in the air, trying to send it away.

  “I’ll look around outside.” Marcie didn’t realize Diane hovered behind her. She left, and for the first time, Marcie wasn’t hiding the spiritual side of herself. This is who she was.

  Jesse searched her granny’s dark windowless room. “Marcie, where’s the light?”

  “You’ll have to light the kerosene lamp in the kitchen, there’s no electricity here.”

  “Leave it Jesse, go help Diane look around outside.”

  And then Sam was beside her, holding her arm, being ever so much her knight in shining armor.

  “You believe me?” Astonishment filled her heart with a sense of unfamiliar wholeness and yet, scared the hell out of her. The caring in his eyes instantly switched over to watchful protection. No man had ever looked at her that way. He didn’t need to say the words now, she already knew. She wanted so badly to be held by him, except his wary distrust was like an old, miserable dog between them. It’d be the hardest thing she ever did. But now she knew there was a chance after all, to shake the doubt, to repair what she’d done.

  He squeezed her arm, not hard. In a way, it was safe for him to touch her. Granny always said her place, her land, was magical. And all who set foot with good intention would heal.

  Sam led her back to the kitchen. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. The murky, invasive feeling wasn’t as strong here.

  “Nothing outside, it’s pretty dry so I can’t see any tracks. The long grass’s trampled out back. Oh and I saw your sheep.” Diane was fast and thorough. Jesse tromped in behind her.

  “Not mine, believe it or not, there’s feral sheep on this island. They turn up when you least expect it.”

  Sam rested his hands on her shoulders, in a familiar way. “If someone was here, they’re long gone. Maybe you should think about locking your door.”

  She needed to think of something else, so she pulled away. “I’m going to put some coffee on. Can we stay a while? I want to get some things in order here before I pack some clothes.”

  Sam rummaged through her tincture cupboard. She knew what he looked for. “Just so you know Sam, I don’t smoke marijuana. I don’t have any, never did. You should find a good supply of oregano for colds and flu, thyme, sage and peppermint. All legal last I checked. But since you don’t trust me, please search the entire cabin.”

  His hand stilled. When he faced her, his shoulders softened.

  “Marcie, you need to understand, I’m not doing this to hurt you.” He sounded rather defensive.

  She cut him off before he could finish. “I know you’re not, and I do understand why you need to do it. What I did was stupid and wrong. I also made you a promise. To tell the truth and not withhold anything.”

  Sam leaned back against the counter, and Marcie stood across the kitchen. She wanted to take a step toward him, but feared the strong pull. So, she stood there, her gut twisting into knots. Sam covered his arms across his chest. The window of opportunity slipped away. Stop being such a coward.

  “You got any food? I’m getting hungry.” She looked up at him and smiled. There was some effort in his eyes. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but he hadn’t turned away. He shielded her in a way a man does for a woman he cares about.

  “As a matter of fact I do.” She brushed past Sam to the row of pine cupboards below the narrow fir counter, next to the sink. “Your choices are macaroni or homemade soup: ham and bean or turkey vegetable?”

  “You can your own soup?” Sam grinned boyishly “You continue to surprise me. Hey guys, want some homemade soup? I’ve never had homemade soup someone canned. Jesse, has your wife ever made you homemade soup?”

  “No Sam, my wife works like me. We share the cooking. But if you’re going to heat some up, I’ll eat. Guess there’s no chance of grabbing a burger around here.”

  Everyone frowned at Jesse. “Well how’s a grown man supposed to survive on just s
oup?”

  “It’ll do you good.” Sam glanced down at Jesse’s large belly.

  Jesse scowled and joined Diane seated at the old nicked table, her notepad wide open, reviewing something she’d written.

  “No soup for me, but I’ll take a coffee. Thanks, Marcie.” She held up her palm cutting through the chatter. “Listen guys, we need to sit down and go over Marcie’s involvement with Dan McKenzie. We’re getting sidetracked. Also, I need to know everything about his business partner, Richard McCafferty. And what Dan’s link is to Lance Silver.”

  “Richard’s a friend of mine, he’s not like Dan.” A vice-like wave stomped out any hope of not involving her friends. “Diane, let’s talk about me, and what I did. I’ll tell you anything, just leave Richard and Maggie out of this.”

  Diane, Jesse and Sam focused in on her. They weren’t going to back off. So she turned away and focused on making coffee.

  “Who’s Maggie?” Sam abandoned the soup he was stirring on the stove and leaned heavily against the counter beside her. She was pinned.

  “Maggie’s Richard’s wife, she’s not involved in any of this.”

  “Right now Marcie, nobody’s being left out. Let me tell you how this is going to go down. You’re going to tell us about everybody. All your friends, Dan’s, and everyone who’s growing marijuana on this island, the mainland, and whether you think they’re connected or not is irrelevant. I want to know every deep, dark secret about everybody. Don’t hold anything back. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Sam.” Admonishment laced Diane’s tone. When Marcie glanced over, Diane’s face seemed filled with gentle support. “Honey listen, we’re not going to hurt anyone. We need a clear picture of all the players, including bystanders. What you may not think is relevant could be key in our investigation.” Her voice softened with understanding.