Blame the Car Ride
By
Marie F. Martin
A novel
4-D Publishing
Montana
Also by Marie F Martin
Maternal Harbor
Harbored Secrets
Ratham Creek
Don’t Mess with Mrs. Sedgewick
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my critique partners for all their patience with my typos, and for their great suggestions to help make the story better.
Angela Townsend, Dixon Rice, Jake How, Carmen Cuthbertson, and Michelle Luke. Thank you.
A special thanks to Debbie Burke and Ann Coleman for their constant and creative help over lunch once a month.
Thank you, Kathy McKay for the great job you do editing my books.
Thank you, Tom Kuffel for your help in publishing.
Blame the Car Ride is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
2018 4-D Publishing
Copyright © 2018 by Marie F Martin
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Blame the Car Ride
Chapter 1
T he first time I, Corinne A. Cooper, considered making love with someone other than my late husband was in a red Corvette lost somewhere on the eastern slopes of a Montana mountain. One wrong turn and we had entered the unfamiliar twists of a two-lane blacktop curling ahead of us through the dusk of a deep forest. Conifers and underbrush covered the high slopes. It might have been unnerving except good old Randal Thornton was still an attentive driver. He’d given me a ride to pinochle club every other Thursday for over twenty years without mishap, and I had every reason to believe he’d deliver me safely home this time, too.
However, tonight he’d gotten us adrift on this ribbon leading to someplace north and west. Without thought, teasing words escaped my lips. “Randal, wherever are you taking me?”
He kidded back, “Just looking for a good spot to park and make mad, passionate love to you.”
“Sounds fun.” The words slipped out unbidden. Where had they come from? I froze. Not daring to glance at him, I tapped my fingers together in rhythm to a country song twanging from the radio.
He remained silent for several curves before peering at me and then back at the road.
Another tight curve.
“Do you need a boyfriend?” he asked as if it was a perfectly natural question.
Mortified, I quickly replied, “No, and I don’t want one, either. I just want to live quietly and not worry about anyone else.”
“Just Corinne time, huh?” Randal sounded a little sad. He sat quietly beside me, looking the same as he had since I’d met him, only now, silver streaked his blond hair and the craggy lines in his face seemed deeper.
I looked away and down at my fingers curled together in my lap. “That’s all I can handle.”
“It’s been three years since Mel died.”
The undercurrent inside the car needed to change, and the only way to do that was to ask about his wife. “Nicole doing okay?” I dared then to look at him again.
His jaw worked, not in anger but weighing his words. “We’re going to check into some alternate care for her. Just hope we’re doing the right thing.”
“I can’t believe it. Used to be Nicole and you, Mel and me riding to card club, now it’s just us. How many years?”
Randal scratched his temple. “I think we started before the turn of the century. Don’t know, but we’ve been friends a long time.” He glanced at me, eyes soft with kinship, like I was a close cousin or maybe a sister he loved.
I did not want him thinking of me like that. Or thinking of me at all. He was married to a good friend, and here we were talking about intimate things we had no business sharing.
Thankfully, the terrain ahead and on both sides now seemed familiar. “I think we’re getting closer to the main road again.”
“We are.” He sounded as relieved as I felt.
I didn’t want the last of these miles with him to be silent. Our shared laughter was the thing I enjoyed most when we were together. We found the same odd or unusual things humorous, and I never grew tired of our easy conversations. “If I remember right, you were raised in this area,” I said to lead us back to my version of acceptability. We had to stay on an even keel, the one I knew.
Again, Randal met my eyes. “You’re in a rare mood tonight.”
“I just think it’s fun to talk about our younger years. I was raised on a farm along the base of Columbia Mountain and you grew up here in these mountains. Maybe fifty miles apart?”
“No, more like worlds apart. My dad moved us from California to Trego when I was just a kid. You know the area?”
“I do. You were really in the sticks.”
Randal grinned. “That we were.”
The tension between us relaxed in quiet conversation until he said, “Since we’re talking age, I’d better confess that I saw your birth year on your driver’s license.”
I didn’t keep many secrets, but my age and the inside of my wallet belonged to me alone. My irritation flashed, and if I weren’t a lady, I’d have laced him with some choice words about snooping, a most despicable act as far as I’m concerned. His calm profile rankled me a little more. “When exactly were you in my wallet?”
The car sped down a steep hill, and Randal pumped the brake to turn right onto Farm to Market Road, a county artery into Kalispell. After dodging a deer, he spoke. “Little touchy about your age and wallet? Don’t worry, I wasn’t snooping. Just saw the license over your shoulder when you bought us coffee at Mojo’s. You do realize I’m quite a bit taller than you.”
“You’re a snoop.”
“Never said I wasn’t.” A pleased and self-assured expression rested on his face.
Okay. Randal had answered the teasing in a safe way and dealt with my silliness kindly. How many married men would do that?
I loved him a little right then.
Chapter 2
“C orinne Cooper, don’t be adolescent,” I scolded myself as I held a second cup of coffee and gazed out the wavy panes of the bay windows. This sunny spot usually calmed most of my uncertainties while I relaxed on the cushioned seat. The old-fashioned alcove held the permanence I craved since losing Mel. He had been my anchor, and now this house was my harbor, replacing his warm, sturdy embrace.
I fidgeted with a string on the drape’s hem, jerking the emerald green thread free. How could I have been so stupid last night? Randal was married and his wife a good friend. Dropping out of the pinochle club entered my mind, but the loss of fun times around a card table also seemed wrong.
Self-reproach led to admitting I had no idea what to think about these reawakened emotions messing around not only in my mind but also in my flesh. I experienced desire for the first time since before Mel’s long illness and pas
sing. What the devil was I going to do with it? A married lover was certainly not an option. In fact, an unmarried lover wasn’t an option, either. I lived a moral life. Sure, I enjoyed the look of a handsome man, but I had kept faithful to Mel. Always would, or so I thought until my independence at age sixty-eight and the unendingly quiet house told me I needed more.
The only thing to do was discuss this whole jumble of feelings with Edwina Brewster, better known as “Edgy,” my confidant and best friend. She’d know how to handle these newly uncovered needs. And the fun part would be listening to a few her of carryover British words when she got excited over my confession.
I hustled down the front porch steps and waited on the boulevard for a string of vehicles to stream passed. Kalispell’s historic, tree-lined streets were not designed for this increased traffic. Finally, I crossed the blacktop and walked past four bungalows to Edgy’s yellow Tudor. Red roses climbing a trellis on a corner turret bloomed full in the bright July sun. She ministered to her flowers with a passion. It was her tender side, the one I admired most.
A breeze shuffled through the shady red maples lining the street. Goosebumps tightened and I rubbed my arms, surprised they were there. I was even more amazed that I kept my thoughts on flowers and trees when different, unbidden feelings were teasing my mind.
If I actually found a man, what would I do with him?
I opened the picket gate and entered Edgy’s yard. At least Whirlwind must be in the house. Darn dog had almost knocked me over last time I came to visit. Crazy pooch was part Lab and part border collie, but neither part controlled the other. His body and head twisted two ways at once. He couldn’t even stand still long enough to be petted.
The instant the doorbell rang, Whirly erupted into a frenzy. Edgy held him back as she opened the door.
I struggled past her tall body and his wiggly one into the entryway, kicked off my clogs, and padded to the kitchen.
Edgy led Whirly to the back door and pitched a leather chew bone into their fenced yard. “That’ll keep him busy for a while.” She brushed her strong hands on baggy pant legs. A sheen of perspiration showed across her forehead, even though I had been chilly just a few minutes ago. Odd.
“Whew, it’s bloody hot already,” she said. “Grab a stool and I’ll get us something to drink.”
I always had to hike one hip up and worm onto her tall bar stools. “I understand tall people like tall stools, but I need a shorter one.”
“I’ll get one next time I’m in a furniture store, which will be never. Downsizing is my new motto.” She half-filled two stemmed glasses with Chardonnay and handed one to me. “You’d probably prefer coffee this time of day, but from the looks of it we both need wine instead of caffeine.”
My hand quivered as my fingers gripped the glass. I squeezed hard enough to make sure I didn’t spill all over.
“You’re shaky. What’s wrong?”
I sipped the wine instead of answering, then slurped a bigger drink. “Thanks, I did need that.” And I really did. It had never been easy for me for me to talk about my feelings. I had spent all those years with Mel without really telling him my deepest thoughts, the underneath ones, what I wanted just for myself. Now I struggled to figure out what I needed, and, at my age, time for a new life flew away too quickly. Was I already too old? Maybe, but to live peacefully, the longings for adventure required satisfaction. I flushed with heat and told myself to loosen up. I polished off what was left in the glass.
Her eyelids lowered a tad, Edgy read my expression with a question in hers. “Who or what’s driving you nuts this morning?”
“It isn’t who or what but a need.”
She flipped her kinky permed hair back and sipped the Chardonnay. “What’s this all aboot?” Her English accent colored her question, and she added, “You know what I mean.” She squinted as her smile turned up more on one side than the other
I grinned. “You’ve been fighting your British tongue since we met, and I still can’t figure out why. I love the sounds of the words you were born to speak.”
“England was not a happy place for me. But don’t change the subject. Tell me what’s got you in a snit.”
I took a deep breath. “My body has been telling me I hunger, and last night I finally realized I long to be held again by a strong, dependable man.”
Edgy’s brows rose, her eyes widened, and a little wine slopped over the rim of her glass before she quickly set it down on the counter. “That’s the last thing I expected from you, O friend with more silver in her blond hair than I have. What brought this on?”
“Letting yours escape the dye jobs might tame your spicy tongue.”
“You’re the one who said she needed some—”
I blurted, “It’s been three years since Mel died, and I must be ready to start living again. You know any good male prospects for me?” I said those words but didn’t know where they came from, just like the ones I said to Randal in the car. They simply slipped from my lips.
Edgy fingered the gold chain that draped into the swell of her cleavage. A sly grin touched her full lips. “What makes you think I know men?”
“You talk about them more than any woman I know.”
Edgy pinched the bridge of her proud nose, drawing her large bronze eyes into a squint. “I’ll give you that, but don’t tell Fred.”
“Why would I tell your husband? I can barely talk to you about this. I never thought I’d even consider marriage again.”
“Marriage? I thought we were talking hanky-panky, love in a loft, or at least a sordid affair.”
“Edgy, you know me better than that.”
Her eyes brightened with devilment. “I know you better than you know yourself. Let’s see. Where would the perfect guy be hiding?”
“I haven’t a clue. That’s why I’m here.”
“Humm, is there a guy at your church?”
“They’re all married or too old.” I blushed as I said, “I guess I checked them over without knowing it.”
Edgy rubbed her chin. “Tell you what. We’ll visit a different church Sunday. From what I hear, the church up on top of Northridge Heights is known for its great music. Guys like that, but they like a pub more. If you’re really serious, we could go to a honkey tonk looking for the right cowboy.” She laughed in a smarty way.
Darn her hide, she just said that to see if I was really going to do this. “I’d consider a ranch hand, or better yet a farmer.” My determination not to be embarrassed strengthened. “You know my ancestors were homesteaders.”
She blinked a couple of times. “You’d go to the Blue Moon?”
I answered in a low, steady tone, “Only if you’ll come with me.”
By now, a gleam of excitement sparked from Edgy. “If we can’t find anybody at that roadhouse, we’ll find an AA meeting. There’s got to be a lonely guy there looking for love.” She scratched lightly on her cheekbone. “We could include the Dahlia Society, but we already go to their meetings and I haven’t seen one guy I’d date. Have you?”
I nodded as a sign of good faith in her ramblings but was already dreading where she’d be dragging me. It looked as though I had opened a dark side of Edgy. I just didn’t know where we’d end up. Scary.
She crossed her arms, looking satisfied that the job would be completed. “As a last resort, we’ll try the Golden Agers. They always have a surplus of old codgers.”
“I’m not in the market for an old codger, more like a man who has lived a little.”
She grinned. “Let’s see, today is Thursday. I’ll check out the big church on the hill and get their Sunday service schedule. We’ll start with biggest and work down if we have to. This might take some time, but there’s bound to be a suitable guy somewhere. Of course, there is online dating.”
“I don’t know. That seems awfully desperate.”
“You still know how to flirt?” Edgy’s brows arched.
“Maybe we should start with the bar. Might not feel so intimidating
.”
Edgy cackled. “It’s certainly easier to go to a place where there’s drinking and dancing than a place for confessing sins. You sure?”
Friday evening arrived too soon. I now regretted telling Edgy I wanted to date. Why I even mentioned it, I’ll never know. She’d quickly turned into a field commander and put my late-blooming desires into her war plan. Who knew what things she’d want me to do? And she’d be here any minute.
I reached for my phone to cancel but stopped. It didn’t feel right to go, and yet somehow it felt less right not to go. I still wasn’t making sense.
Is this how dementia starts? No, but maybe insanity.
What the heck, I might as well follow my impulses. Why not? Wouldn’t hurt anything. I tucked my silver-streaked hair into a bun at the nape of my neck, glossed my lips with rose, and stepped into a shirtwaist dress of lively French blue and white polka dots. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection in the mirror. My clothes were okay for any roadhouse Edgy might choose.
Three quick honks sounded from a car out front. I grabbed my clutch purse, closed the door, and hurried to Edgy’s sporty orange RAV4.
“Are we really doing this?” I asked as I locked the seat belt, maybe my last protection against an evening of the unknown. The anticipation unnerved me. What did I expect?
Edgy’s eyes revealed concern. “Only if you still want to. Or have your hormones cooled?”
“I’m not so sure I have any left, but, yes, I need a little excitement. Let’s go and see what mischief you’ll get me into.”
“Mischief at a joint? You’ve got to be kidding.” Edgy batted her lashes at me and then checked her fuzzy ponytail in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure you want to go dressed like it’s the 1950s all over again? I thought the reason for going was to attract a fella.”
I probably did appear prudish. “My white polka dots will shine and glimmer under the dance lights, sparkling like I’m dressed in jewels.”
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