The fax doesn’t say what Gerald did. It just says the same thing it said yesterday.
Tomorrow.
Except now tomorrow is today.
Cooper’s got the fax folded up again and tucked in his breast pocket, just under his star, as he walks down the main strip past the general store. He spots Spiro, who’s out front, in his apron, unpacking the morning’s shipment of supplies. Looks like they got mangoes; Cooper makes a note to grab a few before they get snapped up. He gives Spiro a friendly wave.
Then he sees Fran and Isaac rushing out of the library, just down the block, in a hurry. Fran looks harried, tugging Isaac by the hand. She’s got three books in her other arm. He waves her down.
“Morning, Fran.”
“Hey, Cal,” she says, distracted.
Cooper tousles Isaac’s hair, then looks her over. “Everything okay last night?”
“Yes, in the end. Isaac was home. Scared out of his wits, but okay. Walt Robinson came over later to check in on us. I assume you sent him by. Thank you for that.”
“What happened, Sheriff?” says Isaac. “I heard a gun shooting.”
“Now how do you know what a gun sounds like?” says Cooper.
“From movies.”
“Just an accident,” says Cooper. “It’s taken care of.”
“Morning, Sheriff,” comes a woman’s voice from behind them. Cooper turns and sees it’s Dawes. She’s walking toward them, up bright and early, carrying a cardboard box under her arm.
“You headed to the station?” Cooper says. “I’ll walk with you.”
“No, I’m just getting ready to head off to Abilene.”
“You really got Mallomars in that box?” says Cooper.
Dawes laughs. To Cooper’s ear, she sounds nervous. “These are just some supplies I asked Spiro to order for me.”
“I bet it’s full of Mallomars, and you just don’t want to share.” Cooper winks at Isaac. “That wouldn’t be very nice, now would it?”
“They’re personal items.”
“Come on, Dawes, are you going to make me confiscate it?”
“They’re”—Dawes leans in—“feminine items.”
“In a Mallomar box?”
Dawes shrugs. The sun to her right now feels hotter than it’s felt in a long time.
“What’s a feminine—” says Isaac.
“I understand, Deputy,” says Cooper. He glances at Fran. “You found the book?”
“Yes, at the library.”
“What’s with the other two?”
“Just something that looked interesting—”
“All those books you have at home,” Cooper says, “I’m surprised you still go searching.”
“Good morning, Sheriff.” Cooper turns at the voice and sees Bette Burr approaching, with an envelope in her hand.
“We’ve got a regular town meeting happening,” he says.
“Just on my way to the commissary to check out the new supplies,” says Burr. “That’s today, right? The new shipment?”
“Sounds like you’re finally figuring out how this place works,” says Cooper. “Any luck with Mr. Wayne?”
“Not yet,” says Burr.
“If you don’t mind,” says Dawes. “I’ve got to get—”
“Of course,” Cooper says. “You’ll be back tonight?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“I want you here by the time I get back from my trip.”
“Understood.”
Cooper turns to Fran. “I may have some news for you later.”
“You know where to find me,” says Fran, who smiles, then tugs at Isaac’s hand.
Cooper gives each of the women a quick nod and, the impromptu meeting implicitly adjourned, the four of them head off on their separate missions: Fran with her son, Bette with her photos, Cooper with his folded fax, and Dawes with her stash of purloined mail and her secret box of bullets.
16.
THE TORN BLACK GARBAGE BAGS taped by Orson over the smashed back windows of the car rattle frantically as Dawes speeds south on the highway. But the noise doesn’t bother her; it sounds like freedom to her.
This is her first trip away from the Blinds in the six weeks since she started working there. Frankly, she’s surprised that Cooper agreed to let her take the furlough. She understood the deal when she took the job; you live onsite for the length of your contract, and leave only in case of emergency and only at Cooper’s discretion. He seemed to change his mind about her trip awfully quickly but then, as he likes to say, gift horse, mouth, and so on. She wonders as she drives how it’s going to feel to be back among strangers. Abilene isn’t exactly a raging metropolis, but, compared with the Blinds, it might as well be Times Square.
The Aveo jitters whenever the needle brushes sixty, but she presses the gas all the same. This drive reminds her of the last time she was in a hatchback, fleeing from somewhere—driving away as fast as she could from Atlanta with her every worldly possession crammed in the back of her car, squeezed in under glass. What she couldn’t fit in the hatchback she left behind on the sidewalk because, fuck it, she wasn’t staying a moment longer. Not with him. Not with the stink of booze on his breath and the sting of his fist on her jaw. Not when the other bruises hadn’t even had a chance to heal yet. Not when her life became lies on top of lies, bruises on top of bruises, excuses on top of excuses, for him, for her, for how she looked, for how he acted, for how they lived. She’d always grown up hating liars, then she married one, then she became one. It’s hard not to lie when you’ve got new bruises all over your face all the time. And there are only so many believable excuses for being banged up. She got good at concocting them, but they do run out eventually. So she ran out. Eventually. In hindsight, she just considers herself lucky to have found a job where they let you change your name.
She guns the Aveo to sixty-five.
Caesura’s residents aren’t the only ones in hiding.
Lindy.
I wait.
Lindy.
I watch.
Lindy.
I guard.
The job opening was a miracle, really, a way forward, and thankfully her résumé was strong enough to land an interview. And there wasn’t much competition—it turns out not many people want to up and relocate to a place where you forswear all contact with the outside world. But she did—she was glad to. She signed on for two years, with an option for more. For her, this town was a place to catch her breath and plot a way forward. And let’s see that fucking asshole find her in the middle of the Texas plains, working under a brand-new name, in a compound cut off by design from the outside world. She didn’t expect to play Junior Sherlock once she got there, and certainly not so soon, but now that she’s got the deerstalker cap on, as Cooper likes to call it, she finds she likes the way it fits.