by Katie Powner
“Are you okay, buddy?” Every muscle tensed as she scooped him up and examined him. “Are you hurt?”
She should’ve never agreed to watch him. Should’ve never turned her back. What kind of babysitter was she?
Oh, God, let him be okay. Let him be okay. Oh, Lord. Oh, God.
His face was red. Giant tears rolled down his cheeks. The screaming continued. She couldn’t see any visible injuries, but how would she know if he was okay or not? Tears formed in her eyes, as well. This time she didn’t fight them. Let them come. She was going to be a horrible mother just as she’d long suspected.
“Yoo-hoo. Bea?”
She knelt on the floor, rocking Hunter as he cried. Should she take him to the doctor? How was she going to explain this to Amber?
“Bea. My goodness.”
Bea looked up. Marge stood in the hallway, hand on her chest. Where had she come from?
“I knocked, but no one answered.” Marge took a step closer. “Then when I heard screaming . . .”
“He f-fell off the c-couch.” Bea’s chest heaved. Never in her life had she been so happy to see her neighbor. “I only looked away for t-two seconds.”
“Oh, honey.” Marge scurried over and joined her on the floor. She gently pulled Hunter from Bea’s arms and kissed him on the forehead. “Who do we have here?”
Bea sniffled. “H-Hunter.”
“Okay, Hunter, let’s have a look at you.” Marge talked softly to him as she carefully examined his arms and legs, his back and head, with the practiced movements of someone who worked with kids for a living. Hunter quieted and began to hiccup. “Where does it hurt?”
Snot ran from his nose, and he rubbed his eyes. Bea realized her fingernails were digging into her palms, and she shook out her hands.
“I think he’s fine.” Marge looked over at her. “I bet it scared him more than anything. Good thing you have this nice thick carpet in here.”
Bea’s brow furrowed. “He’s fine?”
Marge nodded. “Completely fine.”
“But he’s been crying for over an hour. He wouldn’t stop. I put him down to take a quick break, and—”
A small sob cut off her words. How could she have been so self-absorbed? Her thoughtlessness had endangered her friend’s baby.
Marge stood Hunter up at the coffee table and stuck one hand in front of him to play with. While he pulled at her fingers, she placed her other hand on Bea’s shoulder.
“I couldn’t get him to stop,” Bea said.
“Sometimes babies just cry. He probably misses his mother. Maybe he’s extra tired. Maybe he has a tummy ache from gas.”
“You got him to stop.”
Marge shrugged. “He needed a distraction. And I have a lot more experience than you. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Bea watched Hunter poke Marge’s hand. “I should wash his face.”
“You go get a washcloth. I’ll stay with him.”
Bea scrambled to her feet and ran a washcloth under warm water in the bathroom. As she wrung it out, she took a deep breath. Then another. Hunter was fine. Amber would be back soon. Her life was not over.
Holy hormones.
She returned to the living room and held the washcloth out to Marge.
Marge didn’t reach for it. “You go ahead.”
Bea knelt beside Hunter but hesitated, sure he would start crying again if she touched him. But something needed to be done about the snot that had smeared all over his face and was starting to crust over. It had carpet fuzz stuck in it.
She carefully wiped his face. He pulled back, tossing his head back and forth, yet he didn’t cry out. It took a couple of tries, but she got it all off.
“There.” Marge smiled at the baby. “Good as new.”
Bea resisted the urge to check the time. Probably only ten minutes or so until Amber’s return. An awkward moment stretched between her and Marge as they watched Hunter play at the table.
“Thanks,” Bea finally said. “For your help.”
Marge waved a hand. “Sorry for barging in like that. I just got worried when I heard all the commotion.”
“No, I’m glad you did.”
“It wasn’t locked.”
“It never is.”
Marge pushed a mass of wild curls from her face, revealing long earrings made from turquoise stones. They caught Hunter’s eye, and he grabbed at them.
“No, no.” Marge gently moved his hand away. “No touch.”
“What did you need?” Bea asked. “I mean, what did you come over for? My dad’s not home.”
Marge blushed. “I know. I came to ask you about your plans for his birthday. I thought . . .”
She let the words hang there, pregnant with meaning. Bea stiffened. She thought what?
Bea forced her neck muscles to relax. Marge wasn’t her enemy. She was her neighbor. A neighbor who had just helped her through a crisis. That the crisis turned out to be largely imaginary didn’t negate the fact Bea was thankful Marge had shown up when she did.
“I hadn’t thought much about it.” Bea watched Hunter play. “I guess you could say I’ve had other things on my mind.”
“I’d like to help.”
Bea coughed. Her mom used to make a big deal out of Dad’s birthday. She would prepare his favorite dinner and invite Grandma and Grandpa and Pastor Frank and his family. The crowning detail, though, had always been the homemade German chocolate cake. Every bit of it from scratch. A little hole opened up in her stomach. Had anyone made Dad a cake the past two years? Grandma June must have, right? Bea had been too preoccupied with herself to think about it.
“I don’t know if he’s made any plans.”
Marge tickled Hunter’s tummy, and he laughed. “He hasn’t. He”—she seemed to be trying hard not to look at Bea—“told me.”
Had he now. What else had he told her? It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t made any plans. It was surprising that he’d mentioned that to Marge.
A small prick of panic poked at her chest. She didn’t know how she felt about her dad and Marge talking. And there was no way Grandma June would be making Dad a cake this year. It was up to Bea. She wasn’t much of a baker, but she knew where the recipe was, even though Mom had known it from memory and hadn’t taken it out of the box in years. Bea could figure it out. Jeremy would help.
What if she ruined it?
“He hasn’t mentioned anything to you?” Marge asked.
Bea wasn’t about to tell her that she and her dad weren’t talking much lately.
“It’s on a Sunday, right?” Bea calculated the days in her head. “We’ll probably do something after church.”
Marge’s voice turned airy, as if she was trying hard to sound nonchalant. “And is there anything I can do?”
Bea’s mind raced. Had Dad invited Marge? She acted like she was coming, but why would she be? Why would he want her there?
Her heart rate sped up a little. Did he want her there? Were they . . . close? No. Dad wouldn’t have anything to do with another woman. He’d loved Mom too much. Bea couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. But then . . .
She remembered the time she’d come home to find Dad talking with Marge over in her yard. The time she’d found them chatting in the kitchen. All the times Marge had stopped by with food . . .
Marge was looking at her, waiting for an answer. If Mom were here, she would thank Marge for her offer and assign her a task. She would be completely sincere about it and impeccably kind and polite. Then again, if Mom were here, Marge would not be.
Bea cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump forming there. “Would you want to bring a salad?”
Maybe not exactly how Mom would’ve done it, but it was something.
Marge’s eyes flickered with some kind of question, though Bea wasn’t sure what it could be. “Sure. Is there anything else I can help with?”
She put an awful lot of emphasis on the word else. Bea fought a grimace. She was trying to be nice here, yet
Marge wasn’t making it easy. Did she think Bea incapable of putting a meal together?
“A salad would be helpful,” she said flatly.
Marge put on a big smile. “Of course. I would be happy to. What time?”
“Noon?”
“Perfect.”
Bea couldn’t believe what had just happened. It should be her mom sitting here with her, not Marge. She turned her attention back to Hunter. “Looks like he’s over his shock.”
Marge pushed herself up off the floor. “Yes. What a doll. Well, I better be going.”
Bea stayed put, not wanting to leave Hunter for even a second.
Marge reached the hall and turned back to wave. “Bye now.”
Bea raised a hand and whispered, “Thank you,” as Marge disappeared around the corner. Yes, it should’ve been Mom here with her, helping her through this, coming to her aid in a crisis. But Mom wasn’t here. Wasn’t going to be here ever again. Instead, it had been Marge.
Bea checked the time. The two hours had come and gone.
Hot coffee.
THIRTY-TWO
First down . . .”
Jeremy shouted in unison with the crowd, “Spud Town!”
Bea grinned and nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re really getting into this.”
He smiled back. “It’s senior night.”
Every year, the school gave a special introduction to each senior student from the team during the last home game of the regular season. The crowd always cheered extra loud, and the mothers always tried extra hard to hide their tears as it hit them that this was the last season of high school football their babies were ever going to play. But miracle of miracles, this wasn’t the Spuds’ last game. Moose Creek was going to the play-offs.
Dad sat on her other side, as usual. He’d already told her all there was to know about Grandma’s appointment earlier in the day, which hadn’t been much. It had taken some convincing to get Grandma to lie down for the CT scan, but they’d gotten it done. The office said they would call to set up an appointment to discuss the results early next week. Dad had said it seemed like Grandma was doing better. She hadn’t had any incidents since getting home from the hospital.
Jeremy glanced at his phone and nudged her shoulder with his. “Look at this.”
He held it out, and she leaned over to see a small rustic table with an antler base. “Is that . . . ?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “Mr. Van Dyken decided to take my advice. He sent me a friend request this morning and posted two pictures. This one and another of an antler wall clock. They’ve been shared almost twenty times.”
“Wow.”
“Each.”
Bea rarely went on Facebook, but it seemed like an impressive start. When Jeremy began tapping intently on his screen, she scooted closer, caught up in his excitement. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m asking him to send me that video I told you about. The one he made for his grandson. If I have some spare time, maybe I could edit it for him.”
She gave him a half smile. “He’s lucky you moved to town.”
He smiled back. “How was work, by the way?”
She’d come straight from the store. “The usual. MacGregor brought up the assistant-manager job again.”
Jeremy’s expression gave nothing away. “He’s known from the beginning you wouldn’t be sticking around.”
She picked at the hem of her coat. That had been the plan. But things were different now, weren’t they? She couldn’t leave Moose Creek with Grandma struggling the way she was. Couldn’t leave Dad to deal with it all by himself. And if they were going to stay, she might as well have a good job. “He’s offering benefits. Paid time off. Health insurance.”
“Bea.” Jeremy’s eyes crinkled. “We’re only going to be here for two more months.”
What could she say? They’d had an agreement. But Jeremy still had no job, and Grandma . . .
An unfamiliar weight settled on her chest. This was how small towns did it. How they sucked you in. By getting ahold of your heart one way or another and not letting go. It was what she’d feared from the beginning.
How had she gone from not knowing how to return to not knowing how to leave?
“Maybe we need to talk about our plan again.”
Jeremy kept his eyes on the game. “We did talk about it. For hours.”
She saw no way they would be going anywhere anytime soon. Even if Jeremy got his as-yet-unspecified company up and running, their most reliable income was in Moose Creek, along with their best prospect for health insurance. Yet she was afraid to say so. Afraid he would accuse her of taking her dad’s side. Afraid of seeing that look on his face again—the one she’d seen after texting her dad in the snowstorm instead of him.
“I heard Joe Miller talking about the housing market at the store today.” She looked at Jeremy from the corner of her eye. “He’s a real estate agent. He said housing prices have gone up eight percent in Moose Creek over the past couple years and fifteen percent in Ponderosa. Can you believe that?”
Joe had also said wages had not increased to keep up with the change. Jeremy didn’t respond. Instead, he joined in as the cheerleaders led the crowd in a cheer.
On her right, Dad started getting restless as the opposing team moved into the red zone.
“That was a hold,” he shouted. Then he glanced over at her. “I see Jeremy finally learned how to dress.”
She cringed at his tone. Why did he care, anyway? It was true that Jeremy was getting the hang of how to stay warm in Montana, but it didn’t matter tonight. It was a balmy forty-two degrees.
“You won’t have to worry about the cold tomorrow.” She steered the conversation in a different direction.
He nodded. “If the forecast is right, it’s going to be the warmest opening day I can remember, which is too bad. We need cold weather to drive the animals down the mountain, you know.”
“But you’re going anyway?”
“Of course. I just wish your grandpa could go with me.”
A twinge of sorrow squeezed her heart. While growing old was a part of life, it still made her sad to see her grandparents losing their strength and abilities. When she was a kid, she’d thought they could do anything.
Dad leaned forward to catch Jeremy’s eye. “You ever shoot a gun?”
“No, sir.”
“Huh.”
Bea shot Dad a look. “Don’t start.”
He jumped to his feet. “That was a facemask. Come on, refs. Call it both ways.”
“Sit down.”
He acquiesced and looked over at Jeremy again. “You ever play football?”
Jeremy sighed. “No.”
This time Bea jumped to her feet. “I’m going to go stretch my legs.”
“Okay, B.B. Sorry.” Dad raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll stop. I was just trying to make conversation.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jeremy said.
“No, thanks.” Bea scooched around her father’s knees. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. And it’s just Bea now, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.” Dad let her pass. “Way to go, Jeremy.”
“What did I do?”
Bea made it to the aisle and stomped down the bleacher steps, not waiting around to find out how Jeremy and her dad would resolve their little spat, or whatever it was. Why couldn’t they just get along? Why did her dad always have to take digs at Jeremy like that?
Behind the bleachers stood a small concession stand and a large shed where they stored equipment. As she passed the shed on her way to the school, she noticed a couple standing in the shadows behind it, talking.
Was that Amber and Axel? Bea didn’t see Hunter. Amber had been almost thirty minutes late picking him up earlier today, but Bea hadn’t been able to bring herself to be upset about it after the whole couch incident.
She paused for a second, wanting to call out and say hi to her friend but not wanting to intrude. Their voices g
rew louder, and Bea took a step back. No way did she want to get in the middle of an argument. But then Axel grabbed Amber’s arm, and Amber yelped in pain.
“Let go!” Amber cried.
For a second, Bea froze. The dark shadows cast by the shed turned into the treelined sidewalk Bea always took back to her dorm room in Atlanta. She’d been with her roommate all evening. Only for the last couple of blocks was she alone.
A man had appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her arm. “Let go!” she had cried. He’d clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to pull her deeper into the trees, but her one panicked protest had been enough to draw the attention of a small group of people a block ahead of her. A guy in a Georgia Tech sweatshirt had started running in her direction with no hesitation, his arm raised, and he shouted—
“Hey!” Bea’s hands formed into fists as adrenaline coursed through her veins. “Leave her alone.”
Just what Jeremy had said that night. Oh, God, if he hadn’t been there . . .
“Bea.” Amber pulled free of Axel’s grip and crossed her arms. “We’re just talking.”
“Beatrice Jensen? Is that you?” Axel turned to Amber. “This is the friend you’ve been hanging out with?”
Bea moved a couple of steps closer and glared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Having a private conversation.”
“Get out of here, Bea.” Amber’s face was impossible to read in the shadows. “I don’t need your help.”
Bea wasn’t so sure. She wanted to march right over to her friend and grab her hand. Tell her she didn’t need to take any crap from this guy. Ask her where her son was. But she held her tongue and unclenched her fists. Had her own memories caused her to overreact? Axel didn’t look threatening anymore, only annoyed.
“Fine.” Bea took a few steps back. “But I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Amber nodded. As Bea turned away and hurried into the school, Amber’s yelp of pain continued to ring in her mind. She wanted to let Amber know she was concerned. Wanted to ask her what exactly Axel’s intentions were. Wanted to make sure her friend was okay.
But she still really needed to pee.
Bea’s eyelids drooped as she lay beside Jeremy in bed, watching Netflix on her phone while he worked on his laptop. She tried to focus on her show, but the click-click-click of the keys as Jeremy typed seemed to pound out the words she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind. “I need you to choose me. I need you to choose me.” The same words that had been hanging over her head every day since the snowstorm.