by Katie Powner
Bea shrugged. “It was okay. Different.”
Mitch had never been to California. Had Bea missed him as much as he’d missed her? “I guess we don’t know much about each other’s lives the past couple of years, do we?”
The look she gave him seemed filled with some kind of longing and also sadness. He was tempted to blame her for the fact they weren’t as close as they used to be—she was the one who couldn’t get out of Moose Creek fast enough—but his heart remembered the state he’d been in after Caroline died and wouldn’t let him.
They stared at each other for a taut moment, then both spoke at once.
“I hear you got a tattoo.”
“I miss Mom.”
Her eyes widened. He cringed inwardly. They both spoke again.
“I miss her, too.”
“I’m not sure it’s any of your business.”
She said it nicely, but it stung. He wanted to know why she would do something like that. He wanted to know what she was thinking. But she’d brought up Caroline. She’d tried to get him to talk about her, about what happened, lots of times after Caroline’s funeral, but he never knew what to say. Looked like he hadn’t come very far in that department.
A moment of significant expectation hung in the air between them. He should tell Bea how hard it had been for him since Caroline had passed. How alone he felt. How sorry he was for all the things he’d kept from her and how he wished . . .
“They’re not just random tattoos, Dad. They’re meaningful.”
The moment passed. Regret stung his throat, and he gulped it down. Who was this woman who used to just be his daughter but now had an entirely separate life? It felt strange that she could go off and do something like get a tattoo without his knowing about it. Without his permission or approval. Without a second thought. Even though she’d turned eighteen three years ago, he was still struggling to accept that she was an adult. “What do they mean?”
“The two wedding bands circling the cross represent the way we want our marriage centered around our faith.”
“Oh.” Her words poked at something in his heart. They sounded like something Caroline would say. “I saw Jeremy’s on his arm. Where’s yours?”
Her face reddened. “Dad.”
He pushed off the table and raised his hands. “Okay, sorry. None of my business.”
Returning to the fridge, he pulled it back open to give his daughter some space. He tinkered with the mechanism inside the freezer door for a minute, then called over his shoulder, “Have you guys had dinner?”
Steve meowed.
He peered around the freezer door. “Bea?”
She was gone. He should’ve said something about Caroline. Should’ve asked Bea how she was doing instead of bringing up the tattoo. Way to go, Mitch.
A knock sounded at the front door, and his stomach sank into his shoes. Oh, great. He didn’t have to answer it to know who it was. He closed the fridge and wiped his hands on his jeans. The knock came again.
“All right, I’m coming,” he muttered as the words to Travis Tritt’s “T-R-O-U-B-L-E” played in his head.
He forced a smile—a small one, nothing that might be mistaken for enthusiastic—and opened the door.
“Yoo-hoo!” Marge clutched a familiar glass pan between two potholders. “Janice told me how busy you and Ralph have been all week.” She blew hair from her green eyes and grinned. “I brought burrito casserole straight from the oven.”
He didn’t want another Marge dinner. He hated pretending he didn’t notice the hopeful look on her face every time she stopped by, or the disappointment when he didn’t invite her to join him. But his stomach grumbled, betraying him.
“You must be starving. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.” She pushed her way into the house. “Let me just set this down on the counter for you. It’s hot.”
He stood in the doorway for a second, wondering how it had come to this, then resigned himself and closed the door. A man had to eat.
He followed Marge into the kitchen, racking his brain for something to say, but the only thing he could think to comment on was the weather, and he was sure she didn’t want to talk about that.
She set the pan down and turned to him. “How about that winter storm warning, huh?”
He almost laughed. Maybe she did want to talk about that. “It’s a storm advisory, technically. But yes, it could get messy.”
“I’d rather have snow than that freezing rain.” She began cutting the casserole into squares with a serving spatula she’d magically produced from nowhere. “It’s miserable.”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. What should he say? Did he want to get into a conversation? He couldn’t very well shove her back out the door.
“So, Marge . . .”
She looked up at him expectantly. He swallowed. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he spun around as Bea and Jeremy came into the kitchen. Bea’s face stiffened when she caught sight of Marge.
Bea gave him a weighty look. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Mitch’s neck muscles tensed. She hadn’t been interrupting anything. There was nothing to interrupt. He hadn’t asked Marge to come over here. Hadn’t asked her to bring food yet again. But as he caught Bea’s eye, he suddenly felt as though he’d done something wrong.
NINE
Bea had heard the expression “green around the gills” before and was pretty sure that would describe her current condition. She buckled herself into the Toyota with a groan.
Jeremy started the car and gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“It’ll pass.”
She pulled a Saltine from her pocket and nibbled on it. She’d learned to always keep some crackers in her coat in case the nausea got bad.
“I wish you’d go see the doctor.” Jeremy navigated a pothole and turned down Town Road. “Maybe they could give you medicine or something.”
“I don’t think that’s how morning sickness works. But I’ll call next week.”
She rolled down her window and leaned an arm out. There was a chill in the air this morning that hadn’t been there yesterday, but it felt good on her flushed face. How long was this morning sickness stuff supposed to last? Mom would tell her everything she needed to know, if she were here.
Bea pictured Marge standing in the kitchen and frowned.
They reached Main Street, and Jeremy pulled up to the Bridger Brew Coffee Hut. “I miss Starbucks.”
“It’s only been one week.”
“And fast food.”
“There’s a Subway inside the gas station.”
“That doesn’t count.”
Jeremy ordered his drink, then pulled back onto the road and pointed. “What are those flags for?”
Blue-and-gold flags lined Main Street from one end to the other.
She spoke around another bite of cracker. “It’s Friday.”
“So?”
“Game day. The Moose Creek Spuds play the Whitehall Trojans tonight.”
“Football?”
“Yep.”
Jeremy squinted at the flags flapping in the brisk wind. “They’re called the Spuds?”
Bea rolled her eyes. “I know. It’s because of all the potato farms south of here. Other schools make fun of us.”
“Why not the Moose Creek Mooses? Meese? Okay, I see why.”
She smiled at him. “It’s not so bad to be a Spud. Everyone loves potatoes.”
“I thought potatoes came from Idaho.”
“At least fifteen states mass-produce potatoes, Jeremy.” She gave him a playful whack on the shoulder. “Don’t you know anything about agriculture?”
He grinned. “Um, no. I don’t.”
“Idaho produces the potatoes people eat. Our valley grows seed potatoes. And sells them to Idaho.”
“So this is where French fries begin?”
She leaned her head against the inside of the door. “Something like that.”
“And what is tha
t shop over there?” He pointed his latte in the direction of a tiny store with the word ANTLERS painted on the window in white block letters.
“Marty Van Dyken owns that place. He makes sculptures and furniture out of antlers.”
“That sounds really cool.”
Bea turned away as the shop disappeared from sight. It was cool. Mr. Van Dyken created amazing and unique art in that shop. But there wasn’t a single customer in sight.
When they reached the edge of town and picked up speed, Bea closed her window but couldn’t stop looking out. The leaves had turned to bits of sunshine trapped in the trees, and the beauty filled her heart with longing. She massaged her stomach and breathed slowly, willing the nausea away.
Jeremy focused on the road ahead. “I’ve never been to a high school football game.”
She tore her eyes from the fall colors and sat up straighter. “How is that possible?”
“I never played sports.”
“But didn’t you go watch your friends play?”
“None of them played.”
It boggled her mind a little. At Moose Creek High, everyone played sports or had friends who did. Sometimes the only way to field a team was if every eligible student turned out. And on Friday nights in the fall, there was only one place to be.
“We should go tonight.”
“To the game?”
“It’ll be fun. I can’t believe you’ve never been.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Sure, if you want to.”
As they drove the rest of the way to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in comfortable silence, Jeremy fiddled with the radio and grumbled about how all country songs sounded the same while Bea mentally sorted through her clothes. Nothing she brought from Santa Clara would be warm enough for a Montana night in October. Neither Georgia nor California had required heavyweight wool socks or thermal long johns. But some of her old stuff was still tucked away in the closet. She’d have to dig out her Romeos. The rugged slip-on shoes would keep her feet from getting wet if it rained.
As the weathered ranch house came into view, her heart swelled. Grandma and Grandpa weren’t the most affectionate people, but they’d always doted on her. She used to sleep over for weeks at a time in the summer and ride horses and help with the cows. Grandpa always had a piece of candy tucked in his pocket for her, and Grandma always told the best stories.
Bea scrunched her lips to one side. No one would ever be able to replace her mother as a confidant, but maybe Grandma would be willing to listen to some of Bea’s troubles. It would be nice to have another woman to talk to.
Jeremy took the gravel drive nice and slow. “These tires aren’t used to roads like this.”
She pointed. “There’s Rattler.”
The old stock horse stood at the fence, black mane blowing and ears perked. Though they’d owned half a dozen horses in the past, Rattler was the only one her grandparents kept when Grandpa retired.
Jeremy parked the car. “That’s quite a name.”
“A lot of horses are afraid of rattlesnakes.” Bea smiled to herself. “Rattler stomps on them.”
Before they were out of the car, Grandma June was on the bottom porch step, waving and calling out, “Oh, Mylanta, look who it is. Randall, come see who it is.”
Bea wasn’t used to seeing Grandma June get so excited. She was always steady, like the mountain. And like the mountain, she was unmoving. A strong-willed rancher’s wife. Bea’s mother had been a strong woman, too, in her own way, but different from Grandma June. Affectionate and soft and always looking at things in new ways. It wasn’t until Bea was a teenager that she realized how remarkable it was that Grandma June and her mother got along so well.
“Hi, Grandma.”
Grandma June squeezed Bea in a side hug and eyeballed Jeremy. “You look hungry.”
Jeremy smiled. “I could eat.”
Well, that was about the same as telling her the only thing standing between him and utter starvation was a plate of her corn bread. She rose in height a good two inches and made her declaration. “We’ll have pancakes.”
Bea bit back a groan. Grandma’s pancakes were even better than her corn bread, with homemade brown-sugar syrup to boot. Yet Bea’s stomach protested the thought of eating anything heavier than a cracker. Grandma would be offended if she didn’t fill her plate, though. Bea would need to keep Grandma talking about other things so she wouldn’t notice.
Bea and Jeremy followed Grandma up the porch steps, reaching the front door as Grandpa Rand appeared.
“Hi, Grandpa.”
His face looked weary, but his eyes sparked when they caught sight of Bea. He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “Good to see you.”
He shook Jeremy’s hand, and they all proceeded inside.
Jeremy eyed Grandpa’s belt. “That’s quite the buckle you got there.”
Grandpa raised his eyebrows. “You like that?”
“I’ve never seen one so big.”
“I’ve got twenty more bigger’n this.” Grandpa stifled a grin and jerked his chin toward his office. “Come on.”
Grandma and Bea shared an amused look as the men disappeared down the hall. Bea used to play with the buckles as a kid, organizing them by shape and size. With a glance back over her shoulder, she followed Grandma into the kitchen. Grandpa’s buckle collection was extensive and each one had a story. If she was going to have a few minutes alone to talk with Grandma, now was her chance.
Grandma gave Bea a big smile as she tied on an apron. “It’s so good to have you back, Beatrice.”
She wasn’t back exactly. Would Grandma understand if she said she didn’t want to stay in Moose Creek? Better to start with an easier question. “Is Grandpa doing okay?”
Grandma opened a drawer and started digging around in it. “Of course, dear. He’s fine. Are you okay? You look a little peaked.”
She should’ve known Grandma would notice. “I’m . . . fine. I just . . .”
“What?”
Bea chewed on a fingernail. “I just was . . . uh, wondering. Did you ever have a secret you were scared to talk about?”
Grandma stopped measuring teaspoons of baking powder into a bowl but didn’t respond.
“What I mean is,” Bea tried again, “what if you knew the truth might change what someone thought of you?”
She imagined what her father’s face would look like when he heard the news about the baby. If he thought her choice to get married at age twenty was irresponsible, what was he going to think of that?
A fiery feeling sparked in her chest. What right did he have to think anything of it? He’d told her he cared about her with his words, but his actions after Mom died had said otherwise.
Voices carried into the kitchen from the hallway. Had the belt buckle appreciation party ended already? Bea gave her grandmother a desperate look, hoping for something, anything that might give her some guidance about talking to her father. No one knew him better than Grandma.
Grandma’s eyes seemed to stare at something far off behind Bea’s head. “Secrets are like pennies . . .”
“What?”
Jeremy and Grandpa entered the kitchen. Grandma shook her head and focused her eyes on Bea’s face. “You’ll be fine, dear. Everything is fine.”
Bea nodded dumbly, disappointment vibrating inside her. But what had she expected? She hadn’t really talked to Grandma in two years, except on the phone at Christmas and her birthday. Maybe she could come visit another day and try again.
She turned her attention to her husband. “What did you think of Grandpa’s collection?”
“Impressive.” He grinned a big dopey grin. He was so cute when he did that. “The Montana state one with the blue stones was my favorite.”
Bea returned his smile. “That was always my favorite, too.”
Grandma pulled the griddle from a bottom cupboard. “So, Jeremy, tell me all about Colorado.”
He gave Bea a quizzical look.
Bea chuckled. “California
.”
Grandma set a whisk and large spoon on the counter. “I’ve never been there, but I always thought Colorado would be a nice place to visit.”
Bea frowned. “California, Grandma.”
Grandma continued her preparations as if she hadn’t heard, and Bea caught Jeremy’s eye. He shrugged, unperturbed. Bea supposed it was normal for Grandma to start getting a little forgetful and confused as she aged. She was only human, after all. But she wasn’t that old. Bea considered trying one more time to correct Grandma, but when she glanced at Grandpa Rand, the dejected look on his face changed her mind.
Pancakes soon appeared on the table as Grandma continued to chat away. She asked about Jeremy’s family—a subject he delicately sidestepped—and mentioned his cat multiple times, though she kept calling him Stanley. Grandpa Rand rarely spoke, content to listen to the words flying around him. It had always been this way. Every so often he would open his mouth, and the whole world would stop to hear what he had to say. Most of the time, though, as their life puttered down the highway, Grandma was the driver, and he was in the passenger seat.
Until Jeremy asked how Grandma and Grandpa first met.
Grandma flicked her wrist. “Oh, we’ve always known each other from town.”
“You both grew up here, right?” Bea asked.
Grandpa Rand’s eyes lit up. “Sure, we’d always known each other, but the year your grandmother came back after spending the summer at her aunt’s in Chicago—”
“Her aunt’s?” Bea sat up straight. She’d never heard this story before.
“Miss Gladys Fennel. Like the seed.” He offered a crooked grin, made all the more charming by a missing tooth on the left side. “Anyway, she was a sight for sore eyes when she returned, I tell you what. She wasn’t just some kid from town to me no more.”
Grandma went still, looking at him, and for a second, the years melted away from her face. She was a young girl again, falling in love with an older man. Bea could see it. The tenderness and longing. The hope. The fear. Bea understood.
“There was no going back after that, was there?” Jeremy asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“No, sir.” Grandpa shook his head. “None at all.”
Grandma passed a hand over her face as if wiping away the memories and jumped in with more questions for Jeremy. Whenever she wasn’t looking, Bea slid some of her pancakes onto Jeremy’s plate, and he happily ate them. Thank goodness he had a big appetite.