“You can’t have us both,” he said angrily.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated. She seemed to be forcing the words from between clenched teeth.
“Don’t call again.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” With that, she slammed the phone in his ear.
Buffalo Bob banged the receiver down with such fury it was amazing the telephone remained in one piece.
That settled that. It was over.
After tonight, Merrily would never come back. He stalked away from the phone, and then turned abruptly. He could punch in two numbers that would automatically redial the number of the last person who’d called.
Buffalo Bob couldn’t let the relationship end. Not like this, not in anger. He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have asked about there being another man. If there was—although he prayed it wasn’t true—he wanted the chance to fight for Merrily. Wanted the opportunity to prove himself.
He punched in the numbers and waited. Barely a second passed before he heard the phone ring. A deep sigh of relief eased the tension between his shoulder blades.
Three rings, and no answer.
“Come on, baby,” he urged, “pick up the phone. Let’s talk this out, you and me.”
Five rings, no answer.
“Merrily, dammit, don’t end it like this,” he said to himself.
Seven rings, no answer.
Eight.
Nine.
He issued an expletive that would’ve made his mother wash out his mouth with soap if she’d been alive to hear it.
“Hello.”
Buffalo Bob was so stunned he didn’t know what to say. “Is Merrily Benson available?” he asked, polite as a preacher.
“Who?”
“Merrily Benson.”
“Listen, buddy, this is a pay phone outside a restroom.”
“Where?” Buffalo Bob demanded.
“A bowling alley.”
“I meant what city,” he said, losing patience.
“Santa Cruz.”
“Where?” he said again, louder this time.
“California.” Then the man hung up.
Four
Dennis Urlacher had given a lot of thought to making peace with Sarah’s daughter. He just didn’t know how to do it. He’d made numerous attempts to be her friend, to gain her confidence. Each effort had backfired. Their relationship was worse now than it had ever been. Calla was belligerent, disdainful and downright rude to him. Because he loved Sarah, Dennis had taken everything the little brat dished out. No more.
Sarah never had told him why she’d come to his house a week earlier, but Dennis had pretty much figured it out. She’d had a fight with Calla. He’d held her, made love to her and let her sleep in his arms while he watched her, treasuring every minute they could be together.
Close to midnight, she’d awakened, flustered and upset that he’d let her sleep. He stood by silently while she’d hurriedly dressed, then he got dressed, too, and drove her home. They’d kissed, and she’d sneaked inside, almost as if they were both teenagers, fearing a parental confrontation.
Dennis hadn’t seen or talked to Sarah since. That was her usual pattern. They’d make love and afterward she’d avoid him. He didn’t like it, but didn’t know how to break the destructive habit they’d fallen into.
From his gas station, Dennis watched the school bus roll into town, which signaled that classes were out for the day. Buffalo Valley and Bellmont had come up with a plan that enabled each town to keep its schools open. The Bellmont school taught the elementary and junior-high students, and Buffalo Valley was responsible for the high-schoolers from both communities. It meant busing a lot of kids in a lot of different directions, but the plan had worked, and both schools were doing well.
Dennis gave Calla half an hour to make it home. Then he left Bruce Buechler, his employee, in charge of the station, and he walked quickly to Josh McKenna’s house. He rang the doorbell.
Calla didn’t keep him waiting long, and he could tell from her expression that he was the last person she’d expected to see. “My mom isn’t here,” she announced curtly. She would have closed the door if he hadn’t stopped her.
“I know.”
“My grandpa’s at the store.”
“I know that, too. I came to talk to you.”
She stared at him, frowning. “But I don’t want to talk to you.”
“The least you can do is hear me out.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a bored look. “Okay, fine. What do you want?”
“Let’s sit down, shall we?” He gestured toward the porch swing.
“I prefer to stand.”
He sighed. “All right,” he muttered. Although he realized that it gave her the advantage, he took a seat and let her stand. “As you already know, I care deeply for your mother.”
Calla snickered, and Dennis gritted his teeth.
“Your attitude toward the two of us is tearing your mother apart.”
“You think I don’t know that you’re lovers?” Calla said scornfully.
Dennis stiffened. “What happens between your mother and me is none of your business.”
“You two make me sick.”
“Perhaps when you’re an adult—”
“An adult?” she repeated, sounding vastly amused. “You think my feelings toward you are going to change?”
“I’m hoping you’ll be a bit more tolerant.”
Her chin came up a defiant notch. “Don’t count on it.”
This conversation was not going the way Dennis had hoped. “As I started to say, your attitude is hurting your mother. She loves me.”
Calla pinched her lips together and stared into the street as if mesmerized.
“What’s it going to take for you to understand that I only want the best for you both?”
Her gaze flickered toward him as if his words had caught her off guard. “Then stay the hell out of our lives.”
“I’m not willing to do that. Perhaps if you told me what you find so objectionable about me…”
“For starters, you’re five years younger than my mother.”
“That doesn’t bother us, so why should it bother you?”
“Because it does.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah.” She faced him then, hands lowered to her sides, fists clenched. “I have a father.”
He wasn’t sure what she was saying. “Yes,” he urged, wanting her to elaborate.
“You think you can take his place in my life.”
Dennis’s head reared back in surprise. “Calla, no! I don’t think that at all.” So that was it. She feared he was going to interrupt the limited relationship she had with Willie Stern. “I wouldn’t