* * *
Two hours later, Hope was still smiling as she poured Hazel some coffee from the thermos she’d brought along and handed her a homemade glorious morning muffin.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Hope said, sighing contentedly. “I really needed to get away.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s really not a—” Hazel, who had just bitten into her muffin, stopped in the middle of her sentence and groaned with happiness. “Wow. I mean—Wow. This is maybe the best muffin ever. Seriously, this is like incredibly good. And still warm! What did you do? Get up in the middle of the night to bake?”
“Not exactly,” Hope said. “I was too excited to sleep.”
“What? You mean you stayed up all night?”
“Really, Hazel, you have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this. These last four weeks have been really tough.”
As Hope told her sister about the frustrations, roadblocks, and the fight, as well as the self-doubt she’d been dealing with since taking the job, the frown lines that pleated Hazel’s forehead got deeper and deeper. Finally, she lifted her hand to interrupt Hope’s litany.
“Hang on. You get into your car every day after work and cry? Every. Single. Day. Hope . . .” Hazel took her eyes off the road long enough to look at her sister pointedly, her eyes silently asking if Hope understood how pathetic that sounded.
“I know, I know,” Hope sighed. “But I never cry in front of anybody—though I have the feeling that’s exactly what they’d love to see happen, some of them anyway—and I never let myself cry for more than ten minutes a day.”
“Ah, Mom,” Hazel said, shaking her head. “She may be gone, but her spirit lives on. Still, maybe this isn’t the job for you. What’s the point of having insurance if the work is so stressful it makes you sick? And a fistfight—weren’t you afraid?”
“No. The guards were there before things got too crazy, it was over in a minute, and the inmate who started it is banned from my classes. So I don’t have to worry about her anymore. Really, it’s not that bad,” Hope said.
Hazel cast another questioning glance in her direction. Hope laughed.
“Okay. It is that bad. But I can’t quit, Hazel. I can’t. I won’t give Rick, or the inmates, or David Hernandez the satisfaction.”
“So that’s why you’re going to stay in a job that makes you cry every single day? Out of stubbornness?”
“Don’t knock stubbornness,” Hope said, hugging her arms tight to her chest as she took a sip from her coffee cup. “It’s spurred me on to conquer all kinds of obstacles. And you, too.”
“It is kind of the family inheritance,” Hazel admitted, “the gift that keeps on giving. But I’m worried about you. Besides, there’s a difference between leaning into your stubborn streak to raise a family or build a business and doing so to hold on to a job you hate with a bunch of people you don’t care about, just for spite.”
“It’s not just for spite,” Hope said, slumping farther down in the seat. “I do care. That’s the problem.”
“About the inmates? Why? They’ve been awful to you; you said so yourself.”
“Not all of them. Some of them seem like they’re on my side. Steph stood up for me and got a black eye for her trouble.”
“Steph? What’s she in for?”
“Drugs.”
“Dealing or using?”
“Both. A lot of them have drug convictions. Some are in for theft as well, but usually they stole to fund their habit. There’s some minor stuff too, check kiting, shoplifting. Nita’s in for substance abuse and vehicular assault. Tonya ran an identity theft ring, a big one, so I hear.”
Hazel’s brows shot up. “And she’s in the minimum-security prison?”
“Unless somebody’s done something really terrible—murder, terrorism, that kind of thing—the security level is determined by the inmate’s behavior on the inside, not the crime she committed. If they behave themselves, they can stay in minimum. If they mess up, they’re shipped back over to medium.”
“So I take it that the lady who started the fight, Nita, went back to medium?”
“Not this time. It runs on a point system. She’s been pretty good for a pretty long time. If it happens again, she’ll be sent back.
“She’s the one who really seemed to want to see me fail. It doesn’t make sense,” Hope said, shaking her head. “Why would she? She hardly knows me.”
“Well,” Hazel said, stretching out her right hand and waggling her fingers to indicate she wanted another muffin, “not to point out the obvious, but if these were the kind of women who always did things that made sense or played according to the rules, they wouldn’t be in prison, would they?”
“True. Anyway, they’re not all out to get to me. Some of them are just neutral,” she said as she peeled the paper liner off a muffin and handed it to Hazel. “They don’t seem to care one way or another. Or maybe they do? I just can’t tell. I know they’re thinking something. But what?
“That’s the thing that’s keeping me there. I just wish I could . . .” She paused to take another drink of coffee and find the right words. “I wish I could get to the bottom of these women, figure out who they are.”
“Careful what you wish for. You might be better off not knowing.”
Hope shook her head. “I don’t believe that. What was it Nancy called them? Wounded birds. But birds just the same—beautiful creatures, born to soar and sing. But something happened to them along the way. They got hurt, damaged. Now they’ve forgotten how to fly.”
“And you’re supposed to help them remember?”
“Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but yes. I took the job because I like teaching crafts and needed the benefits. But I’m staying in it because I really think this is where I’m supposed to be.”
“Teaching the caged birds to fly?” Hazel asked, arching her brows.
“Something like that. A few of them, at least,” Hope said softly, thinking about Mandy, the petite, dark-haired girl who never spoke unless spoken to yet seemed so determined and so different from the others.
Though they’d exchanged perhaps a dozen words, this wasn’t the first time Hope found herself thinking of this strange and quiet girl. In those moments, Hope felt, with a certainty she could not explain, that Mandy was the reason she was there, the one she had to hang on for, no matter what.
“Of course,” Hope said, sighing, “it’ll be easier to help them if I can come up with some class projects that actually interest them.”
Hazel laughed. “Explored the limits of origami cranes, have you?”
“The limits and then some,” Hope said. “When we get to the festival, I want to check out the wool-roving and felting demonstrations. Hopefully, I’ll get ideas for some interesting projects.”
“Well, I’m going for the ranchers,” Hazel declared.
Hope shot her sister a doubtful look.
“Ranchers?”
“Yep,” Hazel replied, jutting out her chin. “I am sick and tired of dating men who are prettier than me. A grizzled, muscle-bound man with a beard, that’s what I need. Somebody tough, honest, hardworking, and straight shooting. An outdoorsman, somebody who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, a man who puts his brain in gear before his mouth and doesn’t speak unless he has something important to say.
“A grown-up,” Hazel clarified, plucking her coffee cup from the console and tossing back the last swallow with a grim determination. “Who is single.”
“Oh, I seeee,” Hope said, drawing out the word. “That’s why we had to be on the road at the crack of dawn. So you could be there in time for the ‘Secret Life of Sheep Ranchers’ lecture and meet the Marlboro Man of your dreams.”
“Hey,” Hazel said with a small scowl. “It could happen.”
Hope gave her sister a sympathetic look.
“Let me guess. The guy from the gym? Jim? He’s married?”
Hazel set her lips into a line. “Jim from the gym. Really marri
ed. As in twelve years, two kids, and a house in the suburbs’ worth of married.”
“Oh, Sis. I’m sorry. That hurts. But better you found out now, right?”
“Better if I’d have found out three weeks ago, before inviting him in after dinner and letting him stay for breakfast.”
Hope winced but didn’t need to say anything.
Hazel sighed. “I know. It’s my own fault. I make rules for myself, then I break them. Serves me right, getting my heart broken.”
“You’re heartbroken? When I asked if you were serious about this guy you laughed and said no.”
“Fine,” Hazel groused. “My pride is wounded, then. The big jerk. It wasn’t exactly heartbreaking, but it was embarrassing. I mean, you think a guy really likes you, then find out that he was only playing you and you fell for it. It’s humiliating.
“But,” Hazel said stoutly, “after I find myself a hardworking, straight-shooting, strong and silent sheep rancher from Idaho and tell him what that jerk did to me, not to mention his wife and kids, he’ll hunt Jim down and pound that slimeball into the ground.”
“Shear him like a sheep!” Hope added.
“Brand him!” Hazel exclaimed, pointing to her forehead. “Right there, with a big letter A. Then everybody will know what a cheating, two-timing scuzzball he is.”
“Dang straight,” Hope said, smacking her hand against the dashboard to signal her support. “Marlboro Man will teach him a lesson!”
“Yes, he will,” Hazel crowed. “My hero!”
When their laughter died down, Hazel switched on the radio and started looking for a station, then sang along to Taylor Swift, crowing about her eventual triumph and the misery of men who are perpetually mean.
Hope joined in on the chorus. When the song was over, she broke the last muffin in half and offered a piece to her sister. “Oh, I couldn’t,” Hazel said, then took some anyway. “So, enough about me,” she said, shoving a crumbling piece of muffin into her mouth. “Let’s talk about you.”
“We were talking about me,” Hope replied. “Mean girls in prison and crying in the car, remember?”
“That’s just work. I meant your real life. How’s the family?”
“Good,” Hope said. “Liam called a couple days ago, all excited about some big contest he entered. He made it into the second round. If he wins, he’ll get a check for ten thousand dollars and they’ll show his three-minute film before the main feature at movie theaters all over the country. He was pretty excited.”
“Good for him. I would be too. And the twins?”
“They’re good too. Well”—Hope chuckled—“I’m assuming Rory is good. He’s so busy with his residency that I hardly ever hear from him. But Reed drove down to see him a couple of weekends ago. Sounds like he’s doing all right. McKenzie and Zach are fine. Both busy with work. Zach’s still waiting to hear about the promotion.
“I’ll tell you the truth: A part of me almost hopes he doesn’t get it. McKenzie is already working all the hours God gives her. I don’t think it would be good for both of them to be working so hard. But, aside from that, everybody’s fine.”
“And Rick?” Hazel asked in a way that made Hope think he was the one she’d been interested in all along. “What’s he up to?”
“Believe it or not”—Hope laughed—“he’s taken up golf.”
“I don’t believe it,” Hazel replied. “Football, rock climbing, jumping naked out of an airplane with a knife in his teeth—that I could believe. But . . . golf? I mean, what would his rugby buddies say? Rick’s always been such a macho man.”
“A macho man who bakes bread and absolutely adored his mother,” Hope reminded her. “That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about him. Rick can’t be bound by stereotypes. Part caveman. Part Julia Child.”
“Now there’s a mental image,” Hazel said, shuddering. “Golf, huh? Well, if it gets him out of the house—”
“That’s what I keep saying. He’s lost about ten pounds, has gotten a little bit of a tan, and seems a lot less miserable.”
“What’s his handicap?”
“No clue. But it ought to be pretty good,” Hope said. “He spends enough time playing.”
“How much time?” Hazel asked.
“You mean actual hours? I don’t know. But he plays nearly every day, usually doesn’t get home until after me. What?” Hope asked, feeling Hazel’s eyes boring into her.
Hazel shifted her gaze back to the road.
“Nothing.”
Hope rolled her eyes. “What? I know that look, Hazel. Spit it out. Say whatever it is you’re trying so hard not to. You know you will in the end.”
“No, no,” Hazel protested. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”
Hope let out a frustrated sigh.
“Okay, fine,” Hazel said. “It’s just that—doesn’t it seem weird to you? A month ago getting Rick to leave the house practically required setting it on fire. Now he’s a dedicated golf nut? Playing every day and not getting home until after you do?”
Hazel turned toward her sister, searching her face.
“Hope. Nobody hits golf balls in the dark.”
“Not in the dark,” Hope said. “In the afternoon. It’s cheaper.”
Hazel gave her a blank look, as if she didn’t understand the comment.
“Playing golf in the afternoons is cheaper. It’s like . . .” Hope hesitated. “It’s like going to a restaurant for the Early Bird special, but in reverse. The early tee times are in high demand, so they offer a discount to people who are willing to play later.”
Hazel’s expression was unchanged.
“Hazel. Rick is not having an affair. Come on!” She laughed. “You know him. We both do. Rick is the most monogamous man on the planet.”
Hazel twisted her lips, frowning thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right,” she said, finally. “I mean, it’s Rick, right?”
“Exactly,” Hope said with a smile, her sister’s more convinced tone quelling her momentary flutter of anxiety.
Hope fiddled with the radio dial, searching for an upbeat station with a clearer signal, then reached into her purse, pulled out her phone, and dialed Rick’s number. He’d been asleep when she left, so she hadn’t said a proper goodbye.
“No answer?” Hazel asked.
Hope lowered the phone from her ear. “He’s probably asleep. Or in the shower.”
“Probably,” Hazel agreed. “It’s still pretty early.”
Hope slipped her phone back into her purse, then turned the volume on the radio up a bit and hummed along. Spotting a gas station, Hazel pulled in and then hopped out of the car to fill the tank. “I’m going to zip into the bathroom and grab another cup of coffee. You need anything?”
“Nope. I’m good. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the tank.” Hope watched her sister cross the parking lot toward the service station, tottering along on a pair of her “casual” heels that were only three inches high. As soon as Hazel was inside, Hope pulled out her phone and dialed Rick again.
Still no answer.
Where was he?
Chapter 18
Kate came around the side yard, carrying a mug of hot coffee and a plate of freshly baked homemade oatmeal cookies to Rick, who was nailing treads onto the once dangerously wobbly stairs he was replacing.
“They look wonderful!” Kate exclaimed as she handed over the coffee.
Rick took a quick sip from the mug and then stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“They’re not going anywhere, that’s for sure,” he said. “The support posts are anchored in concrete footings that go down two feet. And I used a premium composite decking with a lifetime guarantee. Come back in fifty years and these steps will still be here, just as sturdy as ever.”
“I’ll have to trust you on that. At this point in life I’m on the twenty-year plan,” Kate said. “Even that, I suspect, is being wildly optimistic.”
Rick flapped a hand, waving off her prognosti
cation. “What are you? About seventy?”
“Seventy-four.”
“Well, you can’t tell by looking at you. I’m betting you’ll live to be one hundred, at least one hundred.”
“Thank you. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to hang around that long. But it’s nice to know that, when I do go, it won’t be in a porch step collapse. Really,” she said as he bit into a cookie, “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done—replacing these steps, fixing the railing in front, replacing the broken doorbell, the grout in the kitchen. Oh, and the toilet! How could I forget? Here I thought it was just a little leak and it turned out the whole thing had to be replaced.”
“Well, we didn’t have to replace it,” Rick reminded her. “But with it being so old and the seal ruined on the O-ring, it wasn’t any more trouble to replace it than repair it. I’m just glad we got to it before the floor started rotting. That really would have been a headache.”
“We? You’re the one who did all the work. All I did was pay for the materials. Rick, the day you pulled over to help me with that tire was one of the luckiest of my life.” Kate’s smile became wistful. “With Lyle so sick those last few years, I guess I didn’t realize how much things had deteriorated around here. Anyway, I’m so lucky to have met you. I’ve come to think of you as my guardian angel.”
Rick chuckled, his mouth still full of oatmeal cookie.
“Trust me. I’m no angel. Just ask my wife.”
“Well, then she must be an angel, letting you spend so much time over here, helping a poor old widow woman,” Kate said, making her voice crackle like a crone’s and resting the back of her hand helplessly on her forehead for a moment before resuming her usual cheerful tone and demeanor. “But seriously, are you sure your wife doesn’t mind you spending so much time over here?”
“Nah,” he said, and popped the last bite of cookie in his mouth, then washed it down with another slurp of coffee. “Like I told you before, she’s at work all day. Coming over here and working on your place keeps me out of trouble.”
“Even so,” Kate countered, “there are probably plenty of things you could be doing around your own house.”
“Not really,” he said. “It’s so new there’s nothing that needs doing. That’s one of the things Hope didn’t like about the place. She’d rather have bought a fixer-upper. Couldn’t see why at the time. For twentysomething years, I never did anything but work at the office or work on the house—never had time to just sit. Taking on another fixer-upper was the last thing I wanted to do.
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