Purgatory Ridge

14

JO WAS AWAKE long after Cork lay sleeping beside her. She watched moonlight gather on the windowsill and spill into the room. The minutes of the alarm clock on the nightstand crept by like a procession of condemned men. At midnight, she slid from the bed and stood at the window, staring into the night. The branches and leaves of the big maple in the front yard shattered the light from the street lamp in a disturbing way, and the quiet of the night felt suffocating. She went to the rocker in the corner and sat down. When Stevie was a baby, Jo had spent many nights rocking him there. Cork had taken his turns, too, losing sleep as they dealt with ear infections, upset tummies, and nightmares. She didn’t miss those sleepless nights, but she grieved their simplicity, when the comfort of holding was all it took to set things right. She wanted to do that now. Just hold Cork, and have him hold her, and in that simple way make everything all right.

He’d come home late with Stevie asleep in his arms, and he’d explained that they’d hiked through the woods to visit Meloux.

All this time? she’d asked.

He went on, explaining that they’d also visited Harold Loomis, and he related his talk with the night watchman. When he finished, he looked at her as if he expected praise because he’d solved the mystery of Charlie Warren at the mill.

Instead she’d asked, What do you think you’re doing, Cork? She hadn’t meant her voice to be so cold, but it froze the happy look in his eyes and killed the smile on his lips.

She closed her eyes and heard her words again.

“Jesus, Jo,” she whispered miserably. “What were you thinking?”

She felt sick with regret. She knew she had no one to blame but herself and no reason for the coldness except her own fear.

She leaned across the moonlit room and spoke softly, “Cork, I’m so sorry.”

She wished that instead of chiding him, she’d been able to tell him how afraid she was, how everything still felt so fragile between them. The truth was that she didn’t trust it was love that held their marriage together. She couldn’t believe that after such grave pain as they’d given one another love could ever grow strong again.

That evening, with Stevie in his arms, Cork had only confirmed what she’d already guessed. He missed being a cop. For a long time, she’d sensed he was restless. She hadn’t been sure what it was until the bombing at Lindstrom’s mill had brought it into the open. It was so obvious now. She wanted to be able to support him if he chose to run for sheriff, but the prospect of an election concerned her, for selfish reasons.

More than a decade before when she’d come with Cork back to his hometown, she was the first woman to hang an attorney’s shingle in Tamarack County. She’d struggled long and hard against a lot of prejudices directed at her as a woman and an outsider. She’d succeeded in establishing a good practice and an unimpeachable legal reputation, but it hadn’t been without some cost. Because she’d often taken on clients no other attorney in the county would touch-among them, the Iron Lake Ojibwe-she frequently found herself at odds with the prevailing sentiments in Aurora. Although she felt respected, she also felt that most people held her at a distance, just waiting for the day when she’d screw up royally. What no one knew-no one except Cork-was that she’d already blown it big time. There was a long black moment in her history in Aurora, but she’d been able to hide it for almost two years. She was afraid an election, especially a bitter one, might dredge up that history for public display. In another, larger place, her mistakes would be little more than a footnote in the news. In a place like Aurora, they could wash her life away. She and Cork never spoke about that part of their lives, their separation and what had precipitated it. They had-by tacit mutual consent, Jo believed-agreed to move on and let the past be buried. She was afraid that if Aurora knew the whole of her history, she and Cork would be forced to face the past straight-on. Under such scrutiny, could any marriage long survive?

All these things she wanted to tell Cork, but she was afraid to begin a conversation whose end she couldn’t foresee.

She left the rocker, walked around the bed, and knelt near her husband. He was such a good man, so different from any other she’d ever known. Softer in a lot of ways. When she’d first met him, he’d been a cop on Chicago’s South Side. He’d seen more than his share of brutal things, yet there was something good and beautiful at the heart of him that hadn’t been touched by the brutality. Whenever she’d looked into his eyes, it was as if she could see all the way down to that beautiful heart.

His eyes were closed now, his breathing a little irregular. He turned, mumbled in his dreaming. Jo reached out and touched his cheek. In a voice so soft he could not possibly have heard, she promised, “I’ll try, Cork. I swear to you, I’ll try.”