by Fiona West
“I have to go, I have a date.” She hadn't thought his face could fall any harder; she was wrong. He looked crushed. Why did I say that? It made her angry that she could still hurt
him . . . she wanted him to be indifferent. Needed it. If she wasn't going to be able to get over him, he could at least do her the courtesy of acting like he didn't care. I will get over him. I will. It hadn’t helped that she’d never seen him with anyone else in the nine years they’d been apart; they’d both left for college immediately after their break-up, and then he’d been mostly absent from the Timber Falls social scene. He’d moved to Salem a few years ago; he probably hit trendy bars there or in Portland instead of Annie’s.
His expression had mostly returned to normal, but there was still a tightness to his jaw that she didn't care for. “Okay, sorry to keep you. See you tomorrow. Thanks.”
She didn't leave. She could drive away now, go get ready for her date, the one she'd just callously announced to her high school boyfriend that she was going on. Her mind released a string of curses that she'd have to confess at church the next time she went. Drive away. Just start your car. Go.
His kicked-puppy gaze had attached itself to her heart. He was going home to an already-cooked dinner, his laundry was done, his bookshelves dusted . . . but no one was going to shoot the breeze with him over spaghetti and meatballs. He would eat alone, rinse his plate, put it in the dishwasher and go to bed.
“How was your day?”
“Oh, you know.” He put his elbow on the open window of the very expensive car and rested his chin in his hand.
“No, I don't know. I don't really know what you do, except that it makes ginormous amounts of money.”
Carter chuckled. An actual laugh, not a humorless scoff or a broken snicker. It was soft, but it was there, and her heart went gooey. Laugh again. You should laugh every day, even now, even when your mother is sick. Someone should be around to make you laugh.
“Well, since you asked, I'm an actuary at Greenleaf Insurance in Salem.”
“I thought you worked for your dad?”
“I tried. I . . . it didn't work out.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “What does an actuary do? It sounds like somewhere birds live.”
He laughed again. “That's an aviary, Tin—Ms. Lopez. The Society of Actuaries, to which I belong, defines an actuary as ‘part super-hero, part fortune-teller, part trusted advisor.’ So I'm basically magic.”
“That must be why they pay you so well,” she said, stroking her chin as if she had a beard. “I knew I picked the wrong profession.”
“I don't think so. Mom seems happier than she has in a long time. Seriously.”
“She just likes the way I do her hair . . .”
“I offered to buzz it for her, but she declined,” he said, straight-faced.
Martina gasped. “You wouldn't dare! Her hair is so gorgeous. She'd look like Demi Moore in that war movie.”
Carter cracked a smile, then sobered. “Have a nice time on your date, Ms. Lopez.”
“You have a nice evening, too.”
Fat chance, she thought, cranking the window back up, flicking her headlights on, driving back down the long sandy lane to the highway. She'd told Winnie half an hour; she only had fifteen minutes to get there now. Going home was out of the question; she'd just touch up her makeup in the car. Not ideal, but she'd noticed Greg watching her a few times at the hospital. Okay, he was looking at her backside, and he wasn't subtle about it. She had one of those rear ends that just . . . popped. It wasn't her fault she was curvy . . . and it wasn't her fault that her scrubs didn't really hide anything. And to his credit, he always blushed when she caught him staring.
He was laughing when she walked in. Winnie was telling a story that apparently had both men in stitches; it surprised her. Winnie wasn't usually such an entertainer, and Greg wasn't usually so easily amused. He seemed to keep to himself, mostly. He had no intention of staying in Timber Falls, that much she knew. He was from a small town in Washington, up near the Canadian border, she thought. Bluecreek? Chewelah? Something like that. It was nowhere she was interested in living, that was for sure. There was no Walmart up there. She needed Walmart.
“Hey, Martina,” Greg greeted her, standing as she approached the table, one hand on his flat belly. Well. That was gentlemanly. She liked that all day. He pulled out a chair for her, and she lowered herself gratefully into the worn wooden chair. “How was work?”
“It was good,” she sighed. “Willow was in a good mood today. But I was ready to get out for a bit, thanks for meeting me.”
“Sure,” said Winnie, “we were just saying that it's good to hang out outside of work.” Winnie's phone rang. “Excuse me.”
“Uh oh,” sighed Daniel. “I know that tone.” He turned to Martina. “Don't suppose you could give me a ride home?”
“No problem at all,” Martina assured him. She hadn't really come out to drink, just to socialize. It was nice to be with people. Young people. And it was nice to be putting her plan into action to use Greg. She winced internally as he smiled at her. Using him was the wrong word . . . well, maybe it wasn't. Maybe she shouldn't really be doing this. Still, he'd likely get some fun dates out of it, and she'd work her job for Carter until Willow died, and then Greg would move on. Problem solved. She didn't need a fairy tale prince, just someone to be faithful to until she got over Carter. So he was useful, but maybe she wasn't using him, exactly . . .
“How was your day?” she asked him, and he let out a long sigh.
“Dr. Baker gave us another one of her infamous pop quizzes. None of us did too well.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” she cooed, as she slid her hand over his and gave it a squeeze. “Would you like a study buddy? I could probably find some time for you over the weekend.” There. It wasn't subtle, but neither was Martina. She knew what she wanted, and she didn't mind asking. Greg's eyes widened a little, then he smiled, a slow smile that implied he knew what she had in mind.
“Yeah, I think . . . I think that'd be good. Thanks.”
“Great, let me give you my number.” She held out her hand for his phone, but she could see Daniel smirking at them out of the corner of her eye. She liked Daniel; he was good for Winnie, who was much too uptight despite being a very capable provider and a good friend. But he'd better not mess with her plan, or she'd have to put him in his place. Greg brushed her fingers with his as he passed it over to her, and it gave her a pleasant tingle on her skin.
“How about you, Daniel? How was your day?”
“Good, no, it was good. Well, okay.” He put his forehead down on the table. “I'm okay,” he said into the scratched wood. “Just fine, everything's fine.” The other two chuckled.
“I felt the same way when I was working on my Master's,” said Martina, feeling sympathy for him. “It'll get better. Once you're just working and not trying to study all the time and plan a wedding, too.”
“I hope you're right,” Daniel said, sitting up, but Winnie was approaching the table with a grimace.
“So Evelyn's headed to the hospital . . . I couldn't talk her out of it, I'm so sorry.”
“It's okay,” Daniel said, sitting up, giving her a winning smile. “Go! Care! Reassure! And don't forget your cape.” Winnie smiled back as she tipped down to give him a kiss.
She glanced at Martina. “You can give him a ride home?”
“For sure. I'm sticking to water tonight.” They waved to her as she hurried off.
“How’s your new job, Martina?”
“It’s pretty good,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I still can't figure out how he even knew to ask for me. I mean, I just started working there. I don't think I was even on the website yet.”
Daniel raised his hand guiltily. “I have a theory about that . . .”
“I'm listening.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Kyle treated Willow when she came into the ER with that brok
en wrist. He was the one who referred them to Dr. Rose. I know he's stayed in contact with Crash; he felt bad that he was dealing with all this on his own. He's always thought highly of your medical skills; he probably told him you'd be available for hire soon.”
Well, that explains it. Martina let her gaze fall to the table, fingering the scratches thoughtfully.
“I'm sorry,” Daniel said. “He's not always so socially aware, so he probably didn't realize that he was doing anything that might be uncomfortable for you.”
“No, no. It's fine. How could he have known? I appreciate him trying to help both of us. It's a great job, for the most part.” She glanced at Greg, who was listening with interest. She didn't want him to know she was still hung up on Carter, so she smiled and changed the subject. “So Greg, do you like football?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Wrong answer,” Daniel laughed into his glass as he took a sip.
“Wrong answer?” Greg asked, perplexed. “Most women don't care too much for football. They want to do stuff on Sunday.”
Martina sipped her sparkling water. “As far as I'm concerned, Sundays are for leftovers, a hot bath, football, and sex. Not necessarily in that order.”
“A woman who knows what she wants. I'd be happy with that. I hate shopping.”
“Oh no, you misunderstand: I still go shopping. I just do it online at half time, unless I'm otherwise occupied at half time.” She winked at him, and both men laughed.
“How long is half time, anyway?” Greg asked, popping some peanuts into his mouth.
“Twelve minutes. Don't ask how I know that.”
They laughed again, and Martina slid her foot against Greg's under the table. His gaze darkened a little, and she just smiled at him.
“How's your new house?” she asked Daniel.
“Great,” he sighed. “I just wish I had more time to do all the little projects that need to be done.”
“Like what?” asked Greg. The two men dragged the conversation off toward home repair. It was a direction Martina couldn't follow, which was fine with her, since the Chiefs were playing the Broncos. She watched the game over Greg's head, nodding occasionally when it seemed like they wanted her agreement. After an hour, the game was over, her drink was gone, and Martina was tired. Daniel read her fidgeting and finished his beer in a giant gulp.
“Ready, pretty lady?”
“Ready,” she confirmed, then turned to Greg. “I'm so glad you could come out with us. I'll see you this weekend, right?”
“Yes, me, too.” His gaze was warm and affable, not aggressive or lecherous in any way, and her conscience started poking her with a pointed stick. Saying it wasn't polite to use such a nice man. Saying she should just deal with her own emotional baggage without stringing Greg along. She slapped the thoughts away and smiled at him, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek as she left. Daniel nudged her with his shoulder as they walked to her little car.
“So, you and Greg, huh?”
“Yup,” she said, popping the p. “Me and Greg. Greg and me.”
“I'm surprised. He doesn't quite seem like your type.”
She turned to meet Daniel's gaze. “And what is my type?”
“Fast, brash, confident. Alpha in the streets AND the sheets.” In other words, High School Crash.
She waved a careless hand. “That's old news. Those guys never stick around. I'm ready to try the nice-guy thing. It worked for my friend Winnie.”
He ignored her attempt to distract him with compliments. “But you know Greg's not sticking around. So why start something? Itching to leave Timber Falls?”
Horror gripped her at the very suggestion. “No! Of course not. Daniel Durand, how dare you.”
He held up his hands. “I'm just asking. Sure sounds like you're trying to hitch your wagon to a horse who's leaving town. You were laying it on pretty thick back there. Don't usually see you go after someone like that.”
Martina pursed her lips, her tires crunching over the gravel. She wasn't sure if she should trust Daniel with this. Then again, Winnie already knew, so he would likely find out eventually. “I just need a stand-in.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment. “Like, for a movie?”
She laughed. “No. I need a reason to stay away from Carter. And I won't cheat.”
Daniel stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So Greg is what? Insurance?”
“That's a fair assessment.”
“Just don't play with his heart, okay? Keep it light. Greg's a really nice guy. I don't want to see him get hurt.”
“I promise I will show him a good time, no strings or hearts attached.” She smiled, but privately, his comment troubled her. She was afraid of the same thing. But better that than me losing my job or worse, throwing it all away for someone who doesn't really care about me. “So,” she queried, “when are you two going to make a baby?”
“Seriously? We haven't even gotten married yet, Martina.”
“I know. And it'll all be perfect and beautiful, but now it's time to talk about snuggly little bundles of joy. I request three.”
“Three?” Daniel laughed. “And are you going to come over and feed and change these little bundles of joy?”
“Gladly. I love babies. They remind me that life goes on, that nothing can stop the world from turning.” Not even death, not even heartbreak. It was a fact she wanted to be reminded of frequently in her line of work. She loved working with geriatric patients, but it wasn't easy emotionally. Holding babies was her self-care.
“Hmm.” Daniel seemed unconvinced. “I think babies are a bit down the road for us. I'd just be happy if the lawn was mowed and the washing machine worked right.”
“You know, you could pay someone to do these things for you.”
He sighed. “It may come to that.”
She pulled onto his road. “Thanks for coming out tonight. It was nice.”
“It was nice.” He held up his fist for a bump, and she touched their knuckles together, then they both made soft explosion sounds.
“Oh! Before I forget, can I get your mom’s number? I need to make an appointment for Willow.”
“You can just call the salon.”
“I’d rather have a moment to explain what Willow’s going through. It’ll help the appointment go smoother.”
Daniel nodded slowly. “Right.” He pulled out his phone. “You ready?” He turned the screen so she could see it, and she copied the numbers into her own phone.
“Thanks. Have a good night.”
“See you.”
“Bye.” Martina waited until he'd gotten inside the Craftsman home. She let a little twinge of jealousy sit in her stomach instead of pushing it aside. She'd love to be married, starting a family. Owning a house. Her career was great, but she felt like she was starting over every time she leveled up. Expectations; she'd expected to feel more settled by this time in her life. And she'd expected to feel more fulfilled by her job than she did. On a deep level, a soul level, it wasn't enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ON FRIDAY, MARTINA parked her little Corolla on Hoover Avenue in downtown Timber Falls at a spot with an open meter, then came around to open the door for Willow. A giant pair of scissors was painted on the sign for Shear Brilliance, the salon Farrah Durand had started a few decades ago. As she’d promised, Farrah was waiting for them at the front rather than the normal receptionist.
“Willow,” she greeted her warmly, “how are you, lady?”
Her patient beamed at the greeting, but said nothing. Martina was glad she’d warned Farrah, because she didn’t miss a beat.
“Farrah, I’m Martina. It’s nice to see you again.” They had met before, of course, but it didn’t hurt for Willow to hear her stylist’s name, and the last time she’d been in was for prom, and she didn’t expect Farrah to remember that.
“Nice to see you, too, Martina. Come on back, and we’ll get you girls right.” She gestured to an older lady with wetted brown hair, gray at the temples,
getting a haircut. “You remember Hattie?”
“Of course I do,” Willow smiled, stooping to give the woman an air kiss on the cheek. “How are you, Hattie?”
“Oh, just fine, just fine. And you?”
“I’m doing well, thank you.”
“Your husband’s keeping things running smoothly as usual at TFPP. I barely even have to attend the board meetings.”
“Yes, he’s always been a whiz at business,” she replied graciously, and Martina worked hard not to roll her eyes. She thought it maybe didn’t work, because Hattie turned her attention to her next.
“And how are you, Ms. Lopez? Martina, isn’t it?”
Martina opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “Yes. I’m fine, thank you,” she finally whispered. She wasn’t normally intimidated by anyone, but she had no idea Mrs. Meyer-Bagsby, the unofficial mayor of Timber Falls, even knew who she was. This woman was kind of her hero: she’d survived the unexpected death of her husband and gone on to take the reins of the business herself, learn all its ins and outs, and yet she’d never become corporate or cold. She was a maven. Her silence didn’t seem to faze Hattie.
“Your father’s Christmas trees look lovely this year; I drove by the farm the other day on my way to Mr. Powell’s.
“Thank you, I’ll tell him. He’ll be pleased to hear it.” In fact, he’d be so tickled, he’d probably use it in the promotional literature. Hattie approval was big in Timber Falls.
“So what are we doing today?” Farrah asked, securing a cape around Willow’s shoulders. “Same as usual?”
“That sounds good,” Willow nodded. Both women were glancing at Martina for confirmation, and she smiled at them.
“Go for it.”