Finding Justice (Dancing Moon Ranch Book 12) Page 3

  Mario looked to where her silver, 1995 Honda Civic was parked alongside the cabin, and said, "I'm guessing that's the same car you had twenty years ago."

  Julia looked at Mario with a start, surprised he'd pegged it with the car she'd bought just prior to the bombing, and which, over the years, spent increasingly more time being parked. "I'm not a car person," she replied. "All I need is something to get me from point A to point B."

  "If you're sure," Mario said. "I need to go to Portland tomorrow morning and check in at the Federal Building, and it would save a lot of hassle."

  "I'm absolutely sure," Julia replied. "And if you want to pick up some groceries for me on your way back, that would be much appreciated." It would be more than appreciated. It would accomplish the thing she hated most, going to the grocery, where aisles were lined with shelves filled with cans, boxes and bottles. Her logical mind told her the shelves were perfectly safe, but in an instant, her phobic mind could distort those shelves into moving, twisting, bending forms, closing in around her. It only happened once, but the shakes and sweats and pounding heart, and the trembling that took over her body and immobilized her for the better part of ten minutes in the grocery, while customers looked on, was enough to make her visits scarce, and short.

  "Just give me a list," Mario said.

  "I'll have one ready for you tonight," Julia replied.

  Mario smiled again, a wonderful smile she was certain few had the pleasure of seeing because the lines in his face told her otherwise. She was glad to be the recipient of that smile.

  "I'd offer to bring something along," Mario said, "but all I have are Granola bars."

  Julia laughed. "Bring them if you want. I haven't fed a man in years and you might not get enough." Which was the understatement of all times, she realized, and wondered how she could make a meal for two out of the meager rations in her small cupboard.

  "I'll survive," Mario said. "So I'll see you around…?"

  "Six, if that's okay," Julia replied, and felt a little flutter of anticipation.

  "Six, it is." Mario gave her a very appealing half-smile this time, like he was pleased too, and turned and walked away.

  Julia stood for few moments to watch him from behind. He walked with confidence—back straight, head high, shoulders squared—the way a man who feared nothing walked. So her biggest question to herself was, why would a man like Mario want to burden himself with a woman who feared things that had no reality except in her mind. But even if she was able to keep Mario from knowing about her phobias during his visit, if things began to develop into a relationship and he tried to hold her and kiss her, she could react the way she had with Cole, when even the feel of his arms closing around her made her feel threatened.

  Yet, over the years, she'd wondered if it would be the same with Mario, whose arms had literally kept her from having a breakdown.

  CHAPTER 3

  Four hours later, Julia stood back and admired her table, which was set with burgundy placemats and color-coordinated cloth napkins, and included a pair of myrtlewood candlestick holders with burgundy candles in them. The items had been packed away for two decades, stored in a plastic container, along with other table items she'd bought when she was soon to be a bride, and her mother kept for her for reasons that no longer applied, except her mother probably thought they were a last thread to a life that might have been. But on packing for their move to Korea, her mother presented her with the container. Now she was glad to have it.

  She also made a table centerpiece out of the tips of fir branches she'd picked up outside and tied with a red ribbon that came on one of the Christmas presents the Hansen family had waiting for her the day she arrived. Another present had several sprigs of fake holly with shiny red berries on them, so she slipped them out of the package and tucked them into the fir spray. She'd never been one to fuss over things like table settings, but she wanted this night to be special, because the man who was coming was unlike any man she'd ever met, and ever hoped to meet.

  The downside of her meal was the menu. She'd managed to make a casserole from three frozen tamales covered in taco sauce and grated cheese, and once baked, she'd sprinkle it with crushed corn chips. Three tamales would hardly hold a big man like Mario, which was actually two tamales because he'd feel bad if she didn't eat one of them, so she baked cornbread muffins from a box mix, and she planned to include canned creamed corn as a side dish.

  She gazed around a room filled with Christmas cheer, even a fire flickering in the wood stove. A few days ago her grandfather arrived with a small tree, which she set on an end table in one corner of the room, then trimmed with candy canes and cookies Grace brought over—an assortment of bells, stars, and gingerbread men, each wrapped in clear plastic, that some of the guests had decorated for the lodge tree, a custom that went back to the early years when Grace started the tradition. And resting against the end table were an assortment of colorfully-wrapped presents. It seemed everyone in the family wanted her to feel welcome, and she did. Yet, during Christmas, three years before, she almost took her own life because her fears had become overwhelming, the thought of insanity too close. Because she was starting to have hallucinations.

  The phobias had come on gradually. At first she didn't perceive them as phobias. She thought of them as a non-existent thing that lived inside her since the bombing, and would eventually fade and die. But it didn't fade and die, and in her mind there was no place to run from the ogre. That's what she began calling the thing that had robbed her of her hopes and dreams. She knew her soul was still there, because the fear of being swallowed up in claustrophobic darkness remained. So she began to hate her soul, that tiny voice inside that spoke to her of things that could have been, of a life that had been possible before the bombing.

  Time worsened her phobias, which no one seemed to understand. But all this paled in comparison to the hallucinations that began to plague her. Hallucinations she knew were not real, like shelves in a supermarket closing in around her. That's when she knew the ogre had won because it was taking the only thing she had left. It was taking her mind.

  She'd read that when considering suicide you should wait and take time to reevaluate your decision, but by Christmas, three years ago, she had already been thinking about it for some time. By then, agoraphobia had become a part of her life and she dreaded going places, feared interacting with people, came up with reasons to stay home. Above all, she hated the tiny, persistent voice inside that kept telling her with time everything would be okay.

  What time? Already seventeen years had passed. So she began to have a new fear. With time there might be no separation between her and her hallucinations. They'd take over her mind and become the reality, and she'd be locked up and she'd lose the option of suicide. So at age thirty-eight she gave God an ultimatum. She said, "I don't know where you are or if you exist, but if you're out there, you have until my thirty-ninth birthday to fix me or I'll kill myself. I've heard you're not okay with that, but I'm not asking, I'm telling, and as far as I'm concerned, you and that cloud you sit on surrounded by angels can take a hike!"

  Strangely, things seemed to get better after that, like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her Children's Club video games became important, her desire to help kids cope with their fears through her games, overruling her fear of what could lie ahead for her. That glimmer of hope, that tiny voice inside that kept whispering to her, had not yet died. The tiny voice of her soul. So she made peace with her phobias and hallucinations and decided to live with them and do her best, which she was. As long as she wasn't required to stray too far from home.

  Sharply at six, Mario arrived, with a bottle of wine displaying the Whispering Springs label in his hand. Holding it out, he said, "You told me you liked white wine so that's what I brought."

  Julia stared at the bottle, having no memory of talking about wine during those pitch-black hours while trapped in a nightmare that seemed to have no end. The problem was, she never drank alco
hol of any kind now, aware that people with phobias often turned to alcohol or drugs to deal with their symptoms.

  "You do drink wine, don't you?" Mario asked, when she made no attempt to take the bottle.

  Deciding one glass wouldn't hurt, Julia said, "Yes, wine would be nice. The label caught my attention since it's from the winery here." She took the bottle from him and set it on the table beside a basket of cornbread muffins.

  "Your cabin looks nice," Mario commented, as he stepped inside. "I don't bother putting things around at Christmas, but I like it when someone else does."

  "Then I'll make a decoration for your cabin door, just to let everyone know Scrooge isn't staying there," Julia said.

  Mario laughed. "I doubt that will change their minds, but it would at least confuse them."

  Although Mario was joking, Julia knew there was some truth to his words. On a professional level, she knew the Hansen family appreciated his dedication to keeping Jeremy and Billy safe, but they probably never tried to know him on a personal level, although she suspected he wasn't a man who'd cozy up to people. But she knew the kind of man he was in his heart, and she loved the idea of making a decoration for his door, and doing other things for him, things to brighten his world because she suspected it was a lonely world. "I hope you're not very hungry," she said. "I've been too busy to grocery shop and the cupboards were kind of bare."

  Mario tossed a couple of Granola bars on the table. "That's okay. I came prepared."

  Julia looked up from the Granola bars to find Mario smiling. "Good, because you'll probably need those. And if you're serious about picking up some groceries when you go to Portland tomorrow, I'd really appreciate it."

  "Get me the list."

  Julia took a folded paper from the kitchen counter and handed it to him.

  After taking an inordinate amount of time to study a two-column list that stretched a page long, Mario said, "I take it you don't shop very often."

  "You're right," Julia replied. "Grocery shopping's at the bottom of my list of favorite things to do. Actually, just above spending five hours stuck in traffic on the freeway, so I shop about once a month, which is why dinner's a little skimpy tonight."

  Mario folded the paper over a couple of times and shoved it in the front pocket of his jeans. "I'll be fine," he said. "Marshals learn survivor skills. They come in handy at times."

  When Julia caught his slight smile she knew he was kidding, which had the effect of revving up her heart, and making her face feel hot, and her breath quicken, all symptoms of her phobias, but in a totally different way because she knew she wasn't heading for a panic attack, and that made all the difference. It was odd that such similar reactions could be positive in one instance, and negative in the other.

  "What's going through your head?" Mario asked. "You're frowning."

  Julia blinked several times, a habit she'd developed when searching for a plausible explanation for some facet of her behavior. "I was just thinking that I'm glad you're here. I've thought about you often over the years."

  "I've thought about you too," Mario said.

  Julia took a moment to digest that. She'd assumed over the years, that Mario hadn't given her any thought because if he'd wanted to make contact with her, as a marshal, he could have found out who she was, and where the EMTs had taken her, but he didn’t. "I'm surprised," she said. "I always figured I was just a hysterical woman you were trapped with."

  "You were, but you were also engaged," Mario said. "I figured your fiancé wouldn't appreciate some random marshal hanging around. I might have looked you up if I'd known the engagement was on shaky ground. You didn't mention it at the time, only that the wedding was two months away. What happened?"

  Mario held her gaze and waited, and Julia realized he was expecting an explanation, which she had no intention of giving him, at least not the real reason for the breakup. Instead, she shrugged, and said, "We discovered before it was too late that we weren't right for each other. Meanwhile, make yourself at home and I'll serve dinner." She turned away and busied herself at the stove and hoped the subject of her broken engagement wouldn't come up again.

  She wasn't sure what she wanted from Mario at this point, but she was sure she wanted to stay connected with him after he left, so when she'd finally overcome her phobias, which she was determined to do by spring, maybe the time would be right to move to the next level in a relationship. From Mario's last comment, he seemed open to the idea. He would not be a difficult man to love. Maybe she was already halfway there. But for now, she didn't want knowledge of her phobias to drive him away.

  "Get me a corkscrew and a couple of wine glasses," Mario said.

  Julia rummaged through the kitchen drawer and found a corkscrew, which she handed to him, and while he uncorked the bottle, she took two stemmed wine glasses out of a cabinet over the counter and set them on the table. After lighting the candles, she looked at the cozy setting, a table for two, letting her know she wouldn't be eating alone. A little frisson of pleasure brought a smile to her lips.

  "You want to tell me what that's about?" Mario asked.

  "What?"

  "Your smile."

  Julia shrugged. "I was just feeling happy. The place looks Christmassy." It was odd feeling happy. More than happy. Buoyant. She wished the week would never end. Such a small thing, Mario's presence in her life, if only for a few days. She sensed that even after he'd leave, her life would in some way be better than before he arrived, maybe because, if there would be a chance that he'd be in her life, she'd have an even stronger incentive to take control of it.

  Meanwhile, she smelled tamales cooking, or more correctly, over-cooking, and rushed to open the oven door to the small stove. To her relief, the meager fare was still edible, but when she lifted the small casserole out of the oven, she saw that the tamales had decreased in size. "I seriously hope you're not very hungry," she said in a morose voice. "Everything shrunk."

  When she approached the table, Mario looked at the bowl between her oven mitts, and said, "That's plenty of food."

  "For one maybe, but it's not all for you. I get one of those tamales," she replied, while setting the casserole on a hot pad.

  Mario laughed. "Okay, confession time. I ate a sandwich before coming."

  "Are you serious?"

  Mario gave her a wry smile. "I'm a big boy. It takes a lot of food to keep me going."

  Julia found herself scanning the length of him, both aware and appreciative of the way he looked in the same snug black T-shirt and jeans he was wearing earlier. He hadn't changed for dinner, which could be either a positive or a negative she decided. Positive because he felt relaxed and comfortable, or negative because he hadn't bothered because it didn't matter.

  "Okay, you just gave me the once-over," Mario said. "I don't get invited to dinner much, so maybe I didn't follow the rules."

  "There are no rules," Julia replied. "You're here and that's what's important, so sit down and pretend this is the last course in a seven-course meal." She placed a small bowl of creamed corn on the table then took her place opposite Mario, who looked steadily at her between the flickers of dual flames, and said, "I'm thinking if you came to Portland with me tomorrow, you could shop for all those groceries on your list while I'm at the Federal Building."

  Julia felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of entering a supermarket, which she quickly quashed by saying, "I have work to get out, but you don't really have to do my shopping. I didn't realize I needed so much until I started making the list."

  "Shopping's no problem. After I finish at the Federal Building I'll have all day," Mario said. "I just thought I'd like your company."

  Julia tried to force herself to say 'yes, I'll come because I'd like your company too,' but one of her greatest fears was of being trapped in a freeway tie-up, with all exits cut off. Even thinking about it made her anxious, as did the thought of long grocery aisles lined with tall shelves.

  Dismissing those troubling images, she turned h
er attention to the dinner, and said to Mario, who seemed to be waiting for her to begin, "Go ahead and serve yourself. You can fill in the empty spaces in your stomach with corn muffins."

  While Mario was dishing up the tamales, along with several spoonful's of creamed corn and a couple of muffins, she said, "Since you'll be doing all my grocery shopping, maybe you'll come for dinner again tomorrow night for a real home-cooked meal, everything fixed from scratch, and you can add to my list whatever you want to eat."

  Mario looked thoughtfully at her, and said, "I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a long time. Maybe I'll take you up on that."

  Holding his steady gaze, Julia replied, "When you were looking after Jeremy and Billy, didn't you eat with them, or with your sister and brother-in-law?"

  Mario shook his head. "Once I get witnesses settled, I live away from them, but close enough to keep tabs. Jeremy and Billy didn't need watching, but I had to live near Billy's sister and brother-in-law to make sure they didn't do something to jeopardize themselves. As for meals, I find a good café in the area and eat with the regulars, or microwave frozen dinners in my apartment."

  "Then there's no one in your life to do things for you?" Julia asked, a thought that tugged at her heart. There was nothing she could imagine more satisfying than to be the means of filling whatever loneliness Mario might have.

  Mario shrugged. "I've been a loner so long I don't relate so well on a personal basis. I'm also pretty set in my ways."

  "So am I," Julia said, "but I still like someone to share a meal with. So, if you had your choice of anything to eat, what would it be?"

  "Sausage and sauerkraut, and a mound of mashed potatoes," Mario replied.

  "You're Italian," Julia said. "Sausage and sauerkraut's German food."

  "I branched out when I was fourteen and my sister and I went into witness protection," Mario replied. "Hilda and Otto, the German couple who owned the ranch where we were placed, and which we later inherited, were older and had no kids, so they took us under their wings, and that's the kind of food Hilda fixed."