by Katie Powner
He threw some leftover meatloaf into the microwave and flipped through his mail. It was at dinnertime when he missed Caroline the most. For twenty years, she’d been there to sit next to. To talk to. To share food and life with. And now he had nothing but an empty table and a small plate of nuked meatloaf.
The words to “Sweet Caroline” played in his mind. Though he was a die-hard country fan, Neil Diamond’s old song had a special place in his heart. He used to sing it at the top of his lungs when he’d burst through the door upon coming home from work, much to Caroline’s chagrin. What he wouldn’t give to see her roll her eyes at him just one more time. Have her swat his arm and say, “Good to see you, too, honey.”
An elk bugle sounded. He shook away the memories and scanned the kitchen. Where had he put his phone? He checked the counter, his pants pockets, and under the pies. Who would be calling him at dinnertime?
The bull elk continued its high-pitched call, and he tracked the sound with his ears.
“Oh.” Mitch hurried to the CINCH jacket he’d hung on the back of a chair and shoved his hand down the pocket. There it was.
“Hello?” He didn’t even look at the screen in his rush to answer.
“Dad?”
This was a surprise. A smile grew on his face. “B.B. Hey. How are you?”
“You know no one calls me that anymore, right?”
“I know, I know. Bea. Sorry. What’s up?”
“Just checking in.”
Mitch pulled his meatloaf from the microwave and sat down at the table. His daughter didn’t call often. Not since getting married. He was still getting used to that. It had been hard enough when she left for college less than three months after Caroline passed away, but then to have Jeremy come along and—
“Did you have a good day at work?”
He set his fork down. Something about her voice sounded off. “It was fine. Is something wrong?”
Besides the fact she lived hundreds of miles away and he never got to see her, of course.
“We’ve just got a lot going on. Jeremy’s company shut down unexpectedly last Monday, and we found out our landlord is selling our building. The new owners plan to kick everyone out and renovate since it’s in such bad shape.”
Mitch stiffened. “What? He lost his job?”
“You make it sound like he got fired, Dad. No. The company folded.”
“So he has no job.”
Silence.
Mitch pushed meatloaf around on his plate and tapped his foot. Jeremy was a good kid, especially considering the sorry excuse for a family he came from, but Mitch had long suspected he would have a hard time providing for his daughter. What exactly did one do with a degree in marketing, anyway? And now Mitch’s only child was in distress, and there was nothing he could do about it from halfway across the country.
“They’re just kicking everyone out?” He pushed back from the table and began to pace. “Is that legal?”
“It’s a month-to-month lease.”
“Huh.”
“Anyway, I thought maybe—”
“You need somewhere to go.” Mitch stopped midstride. Maybe there was something he could do, after all. “You’ll come here, of course.”
“Dad, I don’t know.”
He raised his eyebrows at the phone. What choice did she have? There would be no open arms waiting for them on Jeremy’s side of the family, and they’d never find another apartment in Santa Clara without a job. How any young adult was supposed to afford housing these days was beyond him—even with a job.
Thank goodness they hadn’t started a family yet.
“Temporarily.” He gripped the phone. “You’ve got to live somewhere, B.B.”
And if the temporary turned into something more permanent, all the better for him.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Bea asked.
It had been a tough pill to swallow when Bea told him she and Jeremy were going to live in California. Seriously, California? Montanans made jokes about people who lived there. But Jeremy had big ideas about working in Silicon Valley.
Just look how that turned out.
Mitch began making a mental checklist. Stock the fridge. Wash the sheets. Move the patio furniture out of the carport and into the backyard. He’d make everything perfect. Perfect enough that Bea would think twice before leaving again.
“Dad?”
“Yes.” He looked around his lifeless, empty kitchen and smiled. His baby was coming home. “I’m sure.”
FOUR
Bea shifted in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable, but there was only so much she could do after two days in the car. She almost wished they’d powered through and driven the seventeen hours from Santa Clara to Montana all at once, just to get it over with. At the same time, she wished they’d taken a whole week to drive up here. The closer they got to Moose Creek, the less ready she was.
She turned to look at Jeremy’s cat in his carrier in the back seat. Ha. At least Steve had finally fallen asleep after three hours of yowling.
“You doing okay?” Jeremy reached over and squeezed her knee. “Need a break?”
“I’m fine.” She adjusted her ponytail and pushed her back against the seat. “Just tired.”
Once the decision had been made to relocate—temporarily—to Moose Creek, she had taken her time packing up their small apartment. Their rent was paid through September, so there’d been no need to rush. Jeremy had helped her decide which few things to keep and which to give away, but he’d been strangely quiet about the whole moving thing, choosing instead to talk about the baby this and the baby that and the baby’s name and the baby everything.
She loved how excited he was. Honest. But the queasiness in her stomach and uncertainty in her heart kept her from enjoying all the planning as much as Jeremy did. What was her dad going to say when he found out she was pregnant?
“Tomorrow’s Monday, so you should be able to call and make an appointment, right?” Jeremy glanced her way with eager eyes as if he knew she’d been thinking about the baby.
Bea shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“You have to go to the doctor.”
“I will.” She messed with the buttons on the dash, searching for a new radio station. “But there’s no hurry. Dad doesn’t even know yet.”
“You’re not telling him tonight when we get in?”
“Uh . . .” She hesitated. The baby wasn’t going anywhere, and she wouldn’t be showing for weeks. Plus, they currently had no means to actually pay for a doctor visit. No sense in freaking her dad out right off the bat. “I want to keep it between us a little longer.”
“Okay.” Jeremy didn’t sound convinced.
He turned left off the interstate, and Bea stiffened, her heart sagging at the sight of landmarks she’d known for years, tainted now by loss. The Prickly Pear trailhead where she and her mom used to go hiking. The wooden Heifers 4 Sale sign along the highway where she would take her mom for a picture every Mother’s Day for laughs.
Bea’s breathing became shallow, and she fought to keep control. Nothing was the same anymore. Not without Mom. It was a mistake to come back here.
Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “What’s up with the country music?”
She blinked. Blew the air from her lungs. It didn’t matter how she felt about it, there was no turning back. They had nowhere else to go. “We’re almost there, that’s what.”
If the roadside signs didn’t indicate Moose Creek was only a few miles away, the radio would. Moose Creek picked up exactly three FM radio stations: two country and one classic rock.
Jeremy groaned at a song about a big green tractor. “I can’t stand this stuff.”
“You’ll get used to it.” She lifted one corner of her mouth. “And I should probably warn you my dad is a big fan.”
Jeremy ran a hand through his thick sandy hair. “One more strike against me.”
“There aren’t any strikes.”
He shot her an incredulous look.
“You know that’s not true. Your dad doesn’t approve of me.”
“How do you know that? You’ve only met him twice.”
“I could tell. And now I’m unemployed with a baby on the way.”
Bea looked out her window, not wanting to admit Jeremy might be right. Her dad had expressed concern about what their future was going to look like when she told him she was going to marry Jeremy. “You’re so young,” he’d said. “You’re moving too fast.” She’d scoffed at the time. What right did he have to an opinion about her future after emotionally abandoning her when she needed him the most? Yet now here they were, needing him to take them in.
No, she definitely wasn’t ready to tell him about the baby.
“There’s so much open space here.” Jeremy scanned their surroundings. “Where are all the buildings?”
Bea studied the fields and hills and farmhouses, trying to see them through her husband’s city-born eyes. “On the other side of the mountain.”
Moose Creek, population 756, didn’t boast many buildings of its own. The tallest structure for miles was the water tower, hovering over the town like a fat mother hen trying to tuck all her little chicks under her wings. Trying to keep them safe, keep them from wandering off into the big, bad world.
The small town had the essentials—a market, a gas station, a school—but Ponderosa, just over the Bridger Mountains, was close enough that most people drove there if they needed a Walmart or a hospital. Moose Creek couldn’t support such places. Didn’t want to either—until someone was having a heart attack and the clinic was already closed for the night, that is. Or the pass was socked in with snow or fog or both, and you had to decide how badly you needed that forty-eight pack of toilet paper from Costco.
Jeremy applied the brakes as they approached town, and the speed limit dropped to twenty-five. The car slowed, but Bea’s heart rate sped up. Moose Creek looked so . . . tired.
“It’s nice,” Jeremy said.
Bea gave him a tentative smile, aware of the descriptors he could’ve used. Like rustic. Or Podunk. “I love this time of year.”
September in Montana was her second favorite month, right behind June. In September, everything was still alive and vibrant, before the leaves fell seemingly overnight, leaving behind skeletal trees and dirty snow piled up on both sides of the road. Nothing could beat June in Moose Creek, when the grass was green, the foothills blue, and the mountaintops white, but September came pretty close.
Jeremy glanced from left to right as he drove, taking in the town. The cross tattoo on his forearm rippled as he gripped the wheel. “Where is everybody?”
“It’s Sunday,” she said. “Turn right after that cinder-block house.”
He turned onto an unpaved road. The low-profile tires on their Toyota Matrix hit a pothole, and their heads jerked forward.
Steve yowled.
Jeremy grunted. “Yikes. Should we notify the city about that?”
Bea laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. People didn’t know the meaning of the word pothole until they’d lived in Moose Creek. “You know my dad works for the city, right?”
“Oh. Right.”
She pointed. “That’s it there on the left. The gray house.”
When Jeremy steered the car over to park in front, she laughed again. “No, you have to flip around and park the right way.”
“It’s a one-lane dirt road, Bea. Who cares which way we park?”
“Officer Darryl.”
“It’s no big deal.”
It was often the littlest things that were the biggest deal in a small town, but she let it go. Her eyes focused on the old gray house. Grandpa Rand’s truck was parked in the alley. She hoped they hadn’t been waiting long. When she’d told Dad they planned to arrive around five, he insisted he’d have dinner ready and that Grandma and Grandpa would be there, unable to wait even one more day before seeing their only grandchild again.
Bea’s heart squeezed. She had missed them all. Her little family. But it had been easy to stay away and avoid all the memories. Easy to pretend the new life she’d found for herself had been her choice.
Not anymore.
Jeremy grabbed the cat carrier and a suitcase from the back seat while Bea carried her purse. The remainder of the few belongings they’d brought along could wait. How strange to be starting over already, after only a year of marriage.
She walked around the car and stood in front of the house, her mother’s absence striking a near physical blow. She would never throw open the front door to greet Bea ever again. Never pull her in for a hug and say, “There’s my girl.” Never hold the child growing inside her.
Bea swallowed. “‘The house that built me.’”
Jeremy stopped a few steps ahead and looked back. “What?”
“Nothing.” She forced herself forward. “It’s just an old Miranda Lambert song about going home.”
He stood close and talked softly. “You okay?”
He was always asking her that. Always concerned about her welfare and happiness. She should be grateful, but sometimes . . .
She struggled to smile and nodded, wanting him to believe she was okay. But really, she had no idea.
FIVE
Mitch studied his mother as she sat in his favorite armchair, unusually still. Her arms were thin, belying their strength, and her short-cropped silver hair clung to her head like snow on the Crazy Mountains.
“When’s Bea coming?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. She’d already asked three times. She must be more eager to see her granddaughter than he’d realized. Not that he could blame her.
“Any minute now.”
A knock sounded on the front door as it swung open, proving Mitch’s point. He sprang to his feet. “They’re here.”
He scuttled around the armchair and down the short hallway. He hadn’t seen Bea since her wedding day, just over a year ago. He’d invited her several times to come up for a visit, but she’d always had an excuse. They were busy. They were settling in. They were trying to save money. She’d never reciprocated the invitation.
He rounded the corner and held open his arms. “B.B.!”
His daughter’s brown hair had grown long. Her cheeks were rosy. She accepted his hug, and he held on tightly. She looked so different. So grown up. So much like Caroline. If only his wife could see her now.
“Mr. Jensen.” Jeremy held out a hand as Mitch released Bea and turned to him. “Good to see you.”
Mitch took the offered hand and pumped it hard. “Jeremy.” His eyes dropped to Jeremy’s other hand. “Is that . . . a cat?”
Jeremy lifted the carrier. “This is Steve.”
Mitch blinked. How had he missed the fact they were bringing a pet with them? “You have a cat.”
Jeremy glanced at Bea. “I thought you were going to talk to him about it.”
The red in Bea’s cheeks deepened. “I guess I forgot with everything going on. I’m sorry.”
Aha. Mitch eyed the carrier. Folded his arms across his chest. Opened his mouth. Closed it.
They had a cat.
“Beatrice.” His mother appeared and grabbed Bea’s hands. “Look at you. Mylanta.”
Bea hung her head a little, as if self-conscious. “Hi, Grandma.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” June said. “Come in, come in.”
She pulled Bea through the entryway and down the hall to the kitchen.
Mitch turned back to Jeremy. It didn’t appear there was much he could do about the cat situation at the moment. He narrowed his eyes at Jeremy’s arm. “I don’t recall your having a tattoo.”
“Oh. We, uh . . .” Jeremy cleared his throat. “We got matching ones for our anniversary.”
Mitch’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he stared at his son-in-law. “Is that right.”
He pictured some husky biker type in a leather jacket marring his daughter’s
fair skin with a dirty needle and shuddered. What had possessed Bea to get a tattoo? It must’ve been Jeremy’s idea.
This was not how he’d pictured Bea’s big homecoming.
A little sternness crept into his voice. “I hear you’re out of a job.”
“The company went under.” Jeremy shifted on his feet. “But—”
“What do you plan to do now?”
“I have a few ideas.”
Ideas. Boy, oh boy. “You can’t eat ideas, Jeremy.” That might’ve been too stern.
Jeremy’s eyes flashed. “I’m aware of that, Mr. Jensen.”
Mitch pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to lay into the kid. He really didn’t. Jeremy was respectful and kind, and Mitch actually liked him. He clearly loved Bea. But that didn’t mean Mitch was okay with him marrying his daughter at such a young age and allowing her to drop out of college. She’d been on her way to earning the first college degree in his family until this guy came along.
He took a deep breath. There were a lot of things he hadn’t gotten to say before the wedding. Bea hadn’t given him the chance. But maybe it was time to have it out with his son-in-law. Lay it all on the table.
His mother called from the kitchen. “Time to eat.”
Mitch glanced down the hall and saw Bea sitting at the table, watching him.
Then again, maybe not.
Mitch chewed his bite of apple pie—and chewed and chewed. Much like the one he’d brought home Monday, this pie was chock-full of undercooked, tart apples. He glanced around the table as his mother handed plates to everyone else, wondering if they were going to notice. Maybe they wouldn’t. With enough vanilla ice cream on top, it wasn’t so bad. But what had gone wrong with the recipe? His mother’s pies were usually cooked to perfection.
June finished passing out the dessert and put her hands on her knees to look under the table. “And don’t think I forgot about you, kitty.” She plopped a small scoop of ice cream onto a spoon and set it on the floor. “There you go.”
Mitch gaped. His parents had always been adamant about three things: you go to church every Sunday, you respect the mountain, and you don’t let animals in the house. Animals were meant to serve a purpose. Dogs were for herding cattle and guarding the house. Cats were for keeping down the mice population in the barn. They were not pets, they were fellow workers, and no amount of begging as a child had persuaded his parents to change their minds about that.