The Alpine Kindred by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online

noises. My son, who was now at a semirtary in St. Paul, had kept in contact with his father for the past few years, even though I'd done my best to keep them apartfor the first two decades of Adam's life. It was punishment, I suppose, for Tom's loyalty to his wife, Sandra.
    Shoulders slumped, Milo cradled his drink in his big hands. “You're right. It doesn't matter. It's not just Tom. It's me. I'm not good enough for you. I'm just a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. You like caviar. Or pretend you do.”
    The Sheriff isn't usually given to introspection, but I realized he'd spent the last seven months thinking about our relationship. If the food analogy wasn't entirely accurate, his basic conclusion was probably right. My horizons were broader than his; Milo would call me “cultured,” which he'd translate as snobbishness. Yet we'd shared some interests, and more importantly, had been comfortable with each other. I could hardly tell the Sheriff that it hadn't been enough.
    “Don't knock yourself,” I said with as much vigor as I could muster. “You're a wonderful man. Hey, didn't I fight—and win—to help you get appointed instead of having to stand for election every four years? Would I do that if I didn't believe in you?”
    Slowly, Milo turned to face me. A frog croaked somewhere in the garden, and the fountain made soothing noises. The heady fragrance of hyacinths all but eclipsed the pervasive scent of the evergreen trees. Except for the empty Fritos bag and the Coke cans lying on the grass, I could almost imagine I wasn't in Alpine. It dawned on me that therein lay the real difference between Milo and me: he could never think of being anywhere else.
    “I appreciate your efforts,” Milo said stiltedly. “We broke up just before the election. I never got a chance to thank you. Consider it done.”
    “It's done,” I said tonelessly. “I thought we were going to stay friends.”
    Milo shook his head, a gesture that seemed to drain him. “I can't do that. Not after… not when we were …”
    “Because we slept together,” I put in. “Okay, maybe I understand. But give it time. We were friends for years before we were lovers.”
    Milo didn't respond. He got to his feet, finished his drink, and stared through the twilight in the direction of a rose trellis. “It's easier to avoid you,” he finally said.
    “I've noticed.” My tone was wry, but my heart sank. “I don't have a lot of friends in Alpine,” I admitted. “Vida and you have been about it. I still feel like a stranger here.”
    “Big deal.” Milo paused to light a cigarette. “How many friends have I got? Mainly my deputies, and that's tricky because they work for me. Who else wants to be buddies with the local lawman?”
    The conversation was degenerating into a self-pity contest. “Making and keeping friends isn't easy,” I said a bit brusquely. “That's why it's stupid to throw away what we had.”
    Through a haze of smoke, Milo narrowed his hazel eyes. “I'm not the one who did it.”
    We were back where we started, which was nowhere. “I give up. I can't help you, Milo.”
    He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then chucked it into the fountain. “You're wrong, Emma. You can't help yourself.” With his long-legged stride, he stalked back toward the house.
    I decided to go home a few minutes later. No one, least of all Ed and Shirley, would miss me. But on the drive back to my house, I realized I hadn't seen Vida. It wasn't like her to skip such an event. Usually, she'd be on hand with all her senses heightened and her camera ready to roll.
    I called Saturday morning to see what had happened. Vida's explanation was, as usual, sensible: “I chose to go to Henry's party first,” she told me after apologizing for any distractions while she gave her canary, Cupcake, a bath. “I knew it would be an early evening, so I left Startup shortly before nine-thirty. I must have just missed you. Ooops!”
    I imagined that Cupcake had