by Katie Powner
My heart stops beating. Or maybe I stop breathing. Or maybe I’m dead. I reach to stick my hand in my pocket—to search for my penny so I’ll know I’m alive and this is real—but it isn’t there. Did I lose it? It was in the grass, but I went back for it.
I’m wearing a thin green gown. There is no pocket. A bitter chill washes over my body. I almost ran into the parking lot with no clothes on.
“Perhaps you’d like to go into the bathroom to change now,” the doctor says, as if reading my mind.
I have a weak recollection that he mentioned this before he began talking to Mitch and Rand. I have a stronger recollection of vehemently refusing.
“Unless you have any questions?”
Ha. Do I have any questions? Everything is a question. I shake my head and stand unsteadily to my feet. Mitch hurries to my side to help me. I look at his face.
When did he get so old? He was just a baby. I had him in my arms, wrapped in a blanket, as Rand drove the truck over to Wilsall to visit his parents. He’s a baby in my mind. Forever a baby.
My baby.
As I reach the bathroom and Mitch holds open the door, the doctor is telling Rand about some kind of test Rand must schedule, and I know I will have to come back here. I know as sure as the mountain stands that this isn’t over.
The door clicks shut.
FOURTEEN
Is that a mullet?”
Bea jabbed Jeremy with her elbow and giggled. “Don’t stare.”
“Sorry.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve just never seen one in person before.”
They reached the top row of the gym bleachers, and he helped her take off her coat. She tucked her purse down by her feet and sat behind a kid wearing a gray T-shirt that read, Education is important, but welding is importanter.
She’d forgotten how uncomfortable the bleachers were. “The whole varsity football team is doing the mullet thing, I guess. For good luck.”
“Where’d you hear about that?”
“At the store.”
“Right. Of course.” Jeremy sat down with a groan. “Oof. It hurts.”
“What does?”
“Everything.”
He’d spent the last two days working twelve-hour shifts on the belt down at the Duncan place. Last night in bed he’d told her he’d never had sore forearms before. She’d found it kind of funny and endearing but also troubling. His life had been so different from hers up until now. None of that had mattered when they first met. He’d made her smile again. Made her believe there was life after death. But now she was beginning to wonder how much they actually had in common.
A whistle blew, and the volleyball game started. She spotted Amber and her son near the bottom of the bleachers, and Amber’s words ran through her mind: “We should meet up for lunch sometime.” Maybe it would be nice to catch up with Amber. They’d never been close before or anything, but they were about to have a lot in common. She touched her belly.
Jeremy scanned the crowded gym. “Does anyone around here do anything for fun that doesn’t involve school sports?”
“Yep.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Hunting. Skiing. Fishing.”
“Okay.”
“Rodeo. Snowmobiles. Hiking.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “I get it. But all those things happen outdoors.”
“So?”
“So the outdoors is pretty cold around here.”
Bea patted his knee. “I hate to tell you this, but it’s only the beginning of October. It’s going to get much, much worse.”
It had been a mild fall so far, but snow had dusted the tips of the Bridgers like powdered sugar ever since the freezing rain, and she could feel winter in the air.
“How much worse?” Jeremy asked.
“Ever felt forty below before?”
His eyes widened. “Forty below what? Zero?”
She nodded. “That’s how much worse.”
The storms she’d seen in Atlanta had been different from anything she’d experienced before, but it rarely froze there. Let alone fell below zero. And the weather in Santa Clara had been predictable. Mild.
Montana was a different story. In the spring and fall, the temperature could swing fifty degrees in a twenty-four-hour period. In the winter, you could go days without seeing the thermometer top zero. And the summer? There was no telling what the weather might do during a Montana summer. A girl had to be ready for anything.
Atlanta and what happened there crossed her mind, and she shuddered. A girl had to be ready for anything living on her own in the big city, too.
That was a different kind of survival.
A tall blond girl hit a spike for the Moose Creek Spuds, and the crowd cheered. Bea spotted her dad entering the gym and waved as he headed in their direction. They had driven separately this time, at Jeremy’s insistence, and he had embarrassed her to no end by activating the car locks on the Toyota in the parking lot. The loud beep-beep had caught everyone’s attention as they turned to see who thought it was necessary to lock their vehicle outside the school.
Why had she given up her Blazer for a Matrix again?
They’d always locked their car in Santa Clara, of course. But in Moose Creek? Dad never even locked the house unless he went out of town, let alone the truck. Same with Grandpa and Grandma. “Got nothin’ worth takin’,” Grandpa Rand told her once.
Jeremy watched the volleyball fly back and forth over the net. “We’ll be gone before the weather gets that bad.”
Bea squirmed. Would they? How could he be sure? If they ended up stuck here longer than expected, would Jeremy be okay with that? No Starbucks or movie theater. No RadioShack. He was being a good sport now, but winter was coming. If Jeremy was questioning gym time already, how was he going to handle basketball doubleheaders?
As Dad climbed the bleachers toward them, she forced the conversation in a different direction. “Did you see that chocolate cake in the lobby? With Heath pieces on top?”
Jeremy nodded. “Are they having a bake sale or something?”
“A silent auction, I think.” She scanned the game program and read aloud from the blurb on the front. “‘For Breast Cancer Awareness Month this October, we are raising money for Susan Mullins, who is currently at the Cancer Center in Seattle receiving treatment for breast cancer. Please check out the items in the lobby and make your bids. The silent auction will close at eight.’”
Her voice stumbled over the words breast cancer, and she steeled herself against a slew of bad memories. She couldn’t cry, not with Dad about to join them. She’d learned the hard way he didn’t know what to do with her tears. And from what she’d heard at the store, Susan’s cancer had been caught in the early stages. Before it could metastasize.
She was lucky.
Dad reached them and took a seat next to Bea. His expression looked as sick as she felt, and he awkwardly patted her knee. “Such a shame about Susan. I hadn’t heard. I put a bid on that big chocolate cake.”
Bea nodded. He would do all he could to support the Mullins family. The whole town would. “That’s the one I want.”
A strong chocolate craving had kicked in the moment she’d laid eyes on it. She’d never wanted a cake so badly in her life.
Jeremy leaned close so only she could hear. “There are five tables full of baked goods out there. How’d he know you’d want that one?”
She tried not to look at him like he was crazy. What else did she love more than chocolate cake? Did Jeremy know her at all?
“It’s my favorite. Just . . .”
“What?”
Just like my mom. The words stuck in her throat. Mom had come to every single one of her volleyball games. Had sat up here in this same spot and cheered for Bea no matter how long she sat on the bench or how many mistakes she made. And if she were here right now, she’d stop at nothing to win that chocolate cake.
“Never mind.”
The first set of the match ended with Moose Creek on top 25 to 18.
As the teams switched sides, fans chatted and stretched and moved around the gym.
Jeremy pointed with his chin. “Look. There’s another one.”
A second mullet strolled by, and Bea laughed. “If it helps us make the play-offs, I’m all for it.”
Jeremy stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. Check to make sure Dad still has the highest bid on that cake.” She winced as he walked stiffly down the bleacher steps. Hopefully, harvest would go quickly this year. Everyone was scrambling to get their crops in before the first hard freeze, which could come any day.
She turned to her dad. “How did the appointment go?”
He’d mentioned this morning that he and Grandpa Rand were taking Grandma to an appointment in Ponderosa today. At the time, her mind had been preoccupied by her own appointment, which she had finally scheduled and was a mere four days away. Plus, she’d felt like she was going to die and had been trying to act normal so he wouldn’t notice the cold sweat on her forehead or how nauseated she was. But now she wanted to know more.
Dad hesitated. “It was fine.”
“Is Grandma okay? What was it for?”
Bea couldn’t even picture Grandma June in a doctor’s office. She’d given birth at home. Set her own broken finger with a switch from a lodgepole pine. Stitched Grandpa Rand’s leg with sewing thread and whiskey after a run-in with some barbwire. She was the kind of woman who believed in taking care of herself. And yes, her finger was still crooked, as was Grandpa Rand’s scar, but you didn’t live your whole life in rural Montana if you weren’t willing to remove an errant fishhook from your own neck.
She glanced over at Dad when he didn’t answer right away. “Is she okay?”
“They need to do more tests.”
Bea’s stomach clenched. She’d heard those words before. “Is it . . . ?”
“No.” Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, B.B., I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not cancer.”
Breathe. Okay, breathe. It wasn’t cancer.
“What, then?”
Dad looked down at the court. “We were at the neurologist. Grandpa’s worried about, uh . . .”
Bea frowned. About what? Why was it so hard for him to say it? All kinds of emotions began bubbling up inside her, roiling in her guts in an unfamiliar way. “A brain tumor?”
“No, no. Like I said, it’s not cancer. She’s just having trouble with her mind.”
What was that supposed to mean? Bea thought back to her and Jeremy’s visit to Grandpa and Grandma’s house a few days ago. Grandma had been a little forgetful, but otherwise she’d seemed totally normal.
“There’s nothing wrong with her mind.”
“She was really agitated when we got to the office. She wasn’t herself.”
“Well, of course she was agitated. She hates doctors.”
“It was more than that.”
“You and Grandpa agreed about this?” Bea stuck her hands under her legs. How could they both believe Grandma was losing it? It didn’t make sense.
“We just want to be sure.” Dad kept his eyes on the game, refusing to look at her. “Don’t you worry about it.”
A spark of anger warmed her chest. How many times had he said that when Mom was sick? “Don’t you worry about it.” How many times had he blown off her questions?
Jeremy reappeared and began his ascent to the top row. A hollow spot opened up in Bea’s stomach as she thought about her mother. Maybe that’s what this whole thing with Grandma was really about. Dad always blamed himself for not insisting Mom go to the doctor sooner. Get help sooner. Now he was overcompensating with Grandma and seeing things that weren’t there.
“Side out, Spuds,” Dad shouted. “Come on.”
He was well-versed in volleyball lingo. He’d been at all her games, too.
She took a deep breath and let it out. Grandma June was fine. Dad was worried for nothing. Once they ran more tests, everyone would see. He’d be able to put his mind at ease.
Jeremy reached their seats and gave her a bewildered look. “There’s a peach cobbler out there going for almost two hundred dollars.”
Bea set thoughts of Grandma aside and nodded. Moose Creek wasn’t a wealthy community, but they took care of their own. And the most important thing in her life at this moment started with choco and ended with late. “Did you check on my cake? Is Dad winning?”
Jeremy sat down with a smug smile. “Not anymore.”
The second set was tied 22 to 22, yet Mitch tore his eyes from the volleyball action to stare at his son-in-law. “What do you mean ‘not anymore’? Who’s winning?”
Jeremy held his eyes without flinching. “It’s my job to give Bea what she wants.”
“Is that right.” Mitch frowned. “And what do you know about jobs?”
“Guys.” Bea looked back and forth between them. “Don’t.”
Okay, maybe that had been a low blow. But Jeremy was the one who’d decided to turn this into a competition.
Mitch stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Dad.” Bea gave him a meaningful look. “Stop.”
No way. Not a chance. “It’s for a good cause, B.B. Those cancer centers aren’t cheap.”
He scrambled down the steps before she could reply. Some nerve that kid had, trying to outbid him. As if he could without anything moderately resembling gainful employment.
The set ended with Moose Creek losing 26 to 24 as Mitch entered the lobby. A handful of people milled about the tables, perusing the goods. There were sugar cookies decorated like volleyballs, piles of Rice Krispies Treats, and plates of fudge. Brownies of every shape, size, and flavor imaginable—ooh, were those mint?
Mitch shook his head. Only the cake mattered now.
He laughed to himself as he read Jeremy’s bid. Only five dollars more than his? He’d put an end to this right now.
He wrote a number one hundred dollars more. “That ought to do it.”
A short woman appeared at his elbow. “What’d you say?”
“Oh.” He felt his face flush as he glanced over at Marge. “Hi. Nothing.”
She had a knack for showing up at the worst possible times. He uncharitably thought of her as Meddlesome Marge in his more juvenile moments.
“That looks delicious.” She leaned over the bid sheet, her ample bosom brushing the paper. Not that he was looking at her—uh—chest, but it practically knocked the sheet off the table.
She caught a glimpse of his bid, and her eyes widened. “I had no idea you loved cake so much.”
“It’s for Bea.”
“Ah.” Marge smiled. “It must be nice having her back.”
Guilt stabbed him. Marge’s kids were spread out all over the country and hardly ever came to visit. He’d heard they blamed her for her and Bill’s unamiable split. But after living next to them for years, Mitch knew if there was any blame to be shoveled out, it should land squarely as a pile of dung on Bill’s boots.
“The house is so quiet when there’s no one around,” Marge continued. “Even when I take three shifts a week at the hospital, I still feel like I’ve got nothing to do. You know how it is.”
Oh, he knew all right. The oppressive silence of an empty house. The imagined wisp of his wife’s voice as he walked into a room. The dull and persistent ache of loss. Of missing her smell and her laugh and her everything.
His throat tightened. He’d never considered how similar Marge’s loss was to his. He tried to swallow his grief and coughed.
Marge nodded knowingly and patted his hand. “You got any big plans for your birthday?”
His what? Oh yeah, he would be turning forty-three soon. How had she remembered that? He certainly had no idea when her birthday was.
He squeezed the back of his neck. “Hadn’t thought about it.”
She gave the bid sheet a meaningful glance. “Well, it looks like someone should bake you a chocolate cake.”
He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Maybe so. And if they do,
you’ll have to come over and help us eat it.”
At his words, her expression revealed a subtle shift, and Mitch mentally kicked himself. Why on earth had he said that?
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “That would be lovely.”
It was suddenly difficult to breathe. He must walk away. Right this second before something bad happened. Move your feet, Mitch. Move!
He took a step toward the door. “I better get back in there.”
With a grumble, he turned and fled before she could answer. Boy, oh boy, was he an idiot. He hurried into the gym and took a deep breath, consoling himself with the fact that he would most likely not have a birthday party anyway, so he would most likely not have to worry about Marge attending. Most likely. But the whole incident had his insides jumbled up worse than the tools in his toolbox.
Maybe he should talk to someone about this. Someone who could give him some perspective on why he would do such a dumb thing. Frank was no longer an option, so who? It definitely couldn’t be big-mouth Ralph. Mitch needed someone with more discretion. And wisdom. Ralph was not overly blessed with either of those qualities.
The third set was ending as he collected his wits and returned to his seat. Moose Creek had lost another close one, 25 to 20. They’d better get their act together, or the match would soon be over.
He caught Jeremy scowling at him and indulged in an internal self-congratulation. Jeremy would never be able to outbid him. Mitch might’ve pulled an ill-advised move with Marge, but he was winning that cake, darn it all to heck.
He checked his watch. Aha. It was almost eight o’clock.
Bea furrowed her brow at him as if she knew what he was thinking. “Was that necessary, Dad?”
He held up his hands. “Did you know there’s a layer of toffee frosting inside the cake?”
Her mouth opened. “You’re kidding me.”
“It says so on the sheet.”
The fourth set began. Jeremy stood. “That’s it.”
Bea grabbed his arm. “Just leave it.”