I pulled in alongside Jill’s little white jeep and a dirty, pockmarked gray truck. The truck looked familiar but I couldn’t place it since it really wasn’t at all interesting. I yanked on the emergency brake to be sure I didn’t need to chase my ride down the side of the hill and made my way to the front door. A twig wreath with plastic eggs tucked into it, left over, I assumed, from Easter, slapped up and down in my face as I knocked on the door.
The door was yanked open and Hanley Wilson stood in the entrance looking for all the world like he owned the place.
“You need something?” He took a tug on a can of beer, then let out an echoing belch.
“I was hoping to speak with Jill. This is her house, isn’t it?” I was surprised to hear myself even asking that question. I knew it was Jill’s place. I’d been here off and on over the years for syrup-making things and community events as well. What I couldn’t understand was what Hanley would be doing there.
“It is.” He turned his face away from the door and yelled inside, “Jill, you’ve got company.” He drained the can, crumpled it, and tossed it past my head and into the lawn before pushing past me, leaving the door hanging open. I stood on the threshold waiting for Jill to appear to invite me in. I felt the warm air from the house streaming past me and decided the neighborly thing would be to enter and close the door, invitation or no invitation.
“Jill, are you in here? It’s Dani Greene.” I heard some rustling in the room to the left of the central hall and followed the noise. Smoky woodstove smells filled the air, and a log popped and hissed. Despite the warmth in the room, a figure huddled beneath a brown and orange afghan on the sofa. A bit of deep brown hair peeked up above the blanket. “Jill, are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m a bit under the weather.” Jill’s voice sounded weak. I stepped just a little closer. I sure didn’t want to catch whatever she had. I might not want to challenge Grampa for the pewter pitcher but I could hold my own at Thanksgiving dinner and a brush with the stomach flu would ruin all that.
“I thought you might be. Is that why you missed the pancake-eating competition?” It was hard to imagine the effects of all those pancakes on a stomach wrestling with a bug. I felt a rush of wind beside my leg, then a flying ball of fur landed on Jill’s body. A tiger cat with a crumpled ear stared at me. Jill lurched upright in surprise and the blanket slid away from her face. My jaw dropped at the sight of her. A fist-sized purple mark marred her usually pale skin. One brown eye was swollen shut and her top lip was cracked open in two places. Even her nose looked inflated.
“Please don’t say anything.” Jill burst into tears but it looked like the act of speaking and crying was causing her even more pain. I slid a pile of magazines aside and sat on the trunk in front of the sofa.
“How could I not? Is this why you weren’t at the competition?” I dug in my pocket and found a crumpled napkin, probably from the Stack. It didn’t look used so I handed it to her. She dabbed her eyes so slowly I knew she was still trying to hide. She nodded just enough to let me know I was right but even that looked like it hurt from the wince on her face.
“Who did this to you?” I asked. “Was it Hanley?” I waited for an answer that took its time coming.
“Yes.” Jill’s voice came out muffled through her tear-clogged throat and inflated lips. “It was Hanley.”
“What in the world did he do a thing like that for?”
“He gets drinking sometimes and he doesn’t think.”
“But you hardly know him.”
“We’ve been seeing each other for several months.”
“But he’s married to Connie.” And even if he wasn’t, I couldn’t imagine what Jill saw in him. Hanley was such a loud, obnoxious kind of guy and Jill was so pleasant and soft-spoken. I would have thought someone like him would have turned her off completely.
“He says he doesn’t love her. Not like he loves me.”
“This doesn’t look like love to me.”
“This is the first time it’s been like this.” Jill snaked a slim hand out from under the blanket and rubbed the cat behind the ears.
“Has he ever hit you before?”
“No. He’s grabbed me and shaken me once or twice. Sometimes he holds on to my wrist or arm too tightly and leaves a bit of a mark. He had too much to drink up at his camp on Friday night and he let loose on me, that’s all.” That’s all. Not really a healthy standard.
“How did you meet him?” Not that everyone in town didn’t know the guy. It’s just that most tried to steer clear of him whenever possible. Considering he is the most experienced forester in Sugar Grove, and Greener Pastures is a tree farm, that isn’t a luxury I’ve had.