Wish Upon a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

This wouldn’t be her only chance, she reminded herself. She was here, in Creedence. And now at least she knew for sure he was here too.

  She checked the time on her phone. It had only taken her five minutes to walk to the school. Judith’s house was only a few streets away. She still had time to walk there—to let Judith know she was in town and was coming back for Floyd. The older woman might have been able to keep her from talking to him on the phone, but Harper was here now, in person, and Judith couldn’t keep her from her son. Surely she could understand that. She’d had a son too and knew the pain of not being able to see her boy.

  Maybe Judith had changed, softened, and she’d invite her in and they could make a plan for when Harper could take Floyd back. She prayed for that as she hurried along the sidewalk.

  She’d memorized Judith’s address and had also paid close attention to the house numbers when Bryn had driven them down Maple Drive. Due to their limited finances and his deployments, she and Michael had never had the chance to visit Creedence. But he’d told her stories about the house he grew up in, and she knew it as soon as she saw it. He’d said their house had a huge tree in the front yard and told her how he used to crawl out his window and climb down the tree to sneak out when he was in high school.

  She double-checked the numbers on the mailbox, just to be sure, but she didn’t need to. This was it. She knew it. She could almost feel Michael here with her. She stood on the path leading up to the front door and imagined him growing up here, imagined him running through this same front door on his way to baseball practice or out to play with his friends.

  It looked like a good house—a solid two-story painted yellow with a white wraparound front porch. Christmas lights had been strung along the front eaves, and an evergreen wreath wound with a festive red bow hung from the cheery navy-blue door.

  Harper noticed a shiny, new kid-size bicycle leaning against the railing as she walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Happiness for her son for having such a great bike warred with the green-eyed monster that reviled Judith for getting to be the one who bought it for him instead of her.

  Harper took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back as the door opened and she came face-to-face with Judith Benning, the grandmother of her child and the mother of the love of her life.

  There wasn’t a lot of love lost between the two women. They’d only met a handful of times—when Judith had come back to Kansas for Floyd’s birth or a special occasion—but they had never gotten along very well. Judith had always been bitter about them eloping and not having a big wedding. And Harper was sure it irked her that she’d kept her maiden name of Evans, even though they’d given their son, Floyd Michael Benning, the family name.

  Judith had never thought Harper was good enough for Michael and had blamed her for making him stay in Kansas instead of coming home to Colorado. If she were honest, Judith probably blamed Harper for the accident too. Not that it was her fault, but he wouldn’t have been there, wouldn’t have been running that errand, if it weren’t for Harper.

  Or maybe Judith didn’t blame her. But Harper still blamed herself.

  It was apparent by the surprised, then pinched look on Judith’s face that she hadn’t expected Harper to be on her doorstep and didn’t seem to like her any more now than she had the last time she’d seen her at Michael’s funeral. “What are you doing here?” she sneered.

  Harper clenched her hands into tight fists, the nails biting into her palms. She couldn’t let this woman rile her. She needed to appear calm and friendly. For Floyd. “Hello, Judith. It’s nice to see you.”

  “I’ll bet.” The woman narrowed her eyes at Harper. Her gaze traveled up and down Harper’s body, seemingly taking in her shabby appearance.

  Harper fought to keep her hands at her sides, struggling not to fuss with her hair or straighten her jacket.

  Judith wrinkled her nose as if Harper smelled bad. “I heard you were out. I figured you’d show up here eventually.” She gazed past her onto the street. “How did you get here? I thought you sold your car.”

  “I did.” Her car had been one of the first things to go, and selling it had almost covered an entire house payment. “I took a bus to Colorado.”

  “Classy.”

  “I’m here to get Floyd.”

  “Yeah? Are you going to take him back to Kansas with you on the bus?”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning to take him home today. I need to scrape together a little money first. But I’ve got a job.”

  “Here in Creedence? Doing what? Cleaning toilets?”

  She tried not to wince. Judith’s words hit too close to home. Her job entailed more than cleaning toilets, but she knew any attempt to explain that would just end up making it worse. Best to change the subject. “I just passed the school and saw Floyd on the playground.”

  Judith straightened, her eyes widening in alarm. “Did he see you?”

  “No. The bell rang when I got there so I didn’t have a chance to talk to him.” As much as it pained her, she needed to appeal to this woman’s good side. If she had one. At this point, Harper wasn’t sure. “You must be doing a good job with him. He looked good. Happy.”

  “He is happy. He’s doing well here. Now.” Even though Judith was shorter than Harper, she still seemed to peer down her nose at her. “It took weeks for him to settle in after the trauma of you being arrested and him being taken into the custody of the state.”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t taken into custody. He watched television and slept on the sofa in the social worker’s office.”

  Judith raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m sure he was having a great time watching cartoons after seeing his mom handcuffed by the cops and taken away in a police car, and then being taken away himself and not knowing what would happen to him. That wouldn’t have been frightening at all.”

  Harper winced. She hated thinking about that night—knew that Floyd had to have been terrified. “I wasn’t making light of it,” she said, speaking through her teeth with forced restraint. This woman pushed all her buttons. “But that is in the past. And maybe if you would have let me speak to him on the phone, I would have been able to calm him down.”

  “I was the one who was finally able to calm him down. After I got him out of that town and brought him here.”

  Harper let out a slow breath. “And I appreciated that. Really. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for him the past few months. But I’m here now, and I’d like to see him and tell him I’m planning to take him home.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “What do you mean? Of course it’s a good idea. He’s my son, and my heart is breaking with missing him. I just need a few weeks to make some money, and then I can take him home.”

  “Home? To where? That little hovel in Kansas? I went to the house to pick up some clothes and toys for Floyd, and I was appalled at the poverty and filth you were living in. There were dirty dishes in the sink, and the boy’s bed hadn’t even been made. Did he sleep on a bare mattress?”

  “No. Of course not. That was just bad timing. His sheets were in the dryer, and we’d just finished eating when the police arrived, which is why the kitchen was a mess. I couldn’t very well ask the officers to give me a few minutes to clean up the dishes before they arrested me.”

  The other woman crossed her arms over her thin chest. She wore black dress slacks and a red sweater-and-cardigan twin set. Her only jewelry was a string of pearls around her neck and small ruby earrings.

  Harper could imagine how her grandmother’s small house looked to this woman, but it was home to her. And to Floyd. Nana had insisted on keeping things neat, and it felt as if every time Harper walked through the door, the house smelled like vanilla or cinnamon or a pot roast. The house might be old, and despite the mess the night she’d been taken into custody, the rooms had been scrubbed and polished
and had all been filled with memories of laughter and comfort.

  “We might not have a big, fancy house like this one, but we don’t need one. We’ll manage just fine. As long as we’re together.”

  “Together on the streets? Or in a homeless shelter?” Judith gave her an impatient sneer. “Come on, Harper. Look at yourself. You have no money, no vehicle, and I’m assuming by the looks of your unkempt clothes and hair that you have no place to stay either. Where did you sleep last night? In the gutter?”

  “No, of course not.” She’d slept in a barn.

  “It doesn’t matter. You know what I’m saying. Have you even asked yourself what you really have to offer this child?”

  Her words hit Harper like a punch to the gut. “He’s my son. I love him.”

  “I know you do. But sometimes love isn’t enough. Love doesn’t pay the bills. As you’ve already learned. You couldn’t support him without turning to illegal means. Think about Floyd for a minute. He’s happy here. He’s doing well in school, he’s made friends, and he’s even playing sports. Do you want to take that away from him? Rip him out of school and a home where’s he’s well fed and has a nice room and new clothes? You’ve already put him through the trauma of uprooting him from his home and school once. Do you really want to do that to him again? Just when he’s doing so well? Who are you really thinking about? Him? Or yourself?”

  Bile rose in Harper’s throat, and she couldn’t speak. Was Judith right? Had she only been thinking about herself?

  “Seriously, Harper. What do you have to offer the boy? It doesn’t appear that you can even take care of yourself. I was hoping you’d have it together before you showed up at my door, but it seems that once again you’re only thinking of yourself and your needs.” She pinched her lips together in a tight line. “I didn’t want to have to do this now, but since you’re here, I might as well tell you I’m filing for temporary custody of Floyd Michael.”

  The blood rushed to Harper’s ears. Filing for custody?

  “Y-Y-You can’t do that. I’m his mother.” But what kind of mother had she been lately? The empty feeling in her stomach from before switched to nausea, and she swallowed at the pain burning her throat as her stomach clenched and roiled.

  “Normally that would be enough for you to get him back, but anyone can see you aren’t really fit to raise him. Not in your current state. And you put him in jeopardy when you chose to bring a criminal into your home and let her be around your son.”

  “A criminal? You mean Brandy? She’s his grandmother.”

  “She’s also a felon. And currently serving a jail sentence. Which just goes to show you were raised in a life of crime, and illegal activities were modeled for you. That’s not going to look good in court.”

  How could she argue with that? Her mother had been enmeshed in some sort of criminal activities for as long as she could remember. “My mom won’t be around him now.”

  The other woman formed her mouth into a fake frown. “Only on visiting days, right?”

  “I am not my mother.”

  Judith raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not. You can ask anyone.”

  “Anyone like who? Who do you have in your life that will stick up for you? Who’s willing to testify on your behalf? Anyone who’s willing to travel to Colorado? I’m assuming you don’t have any real friends, or one of them would have bailed you out. So who’s going to vouch for you in court here? Not even your own mother can testify.”

  Every word she said was like a nail to Harper’s heart. She had no one. She used to have Michael and her grandmother. But now she couldn’t think of a single person who would be willing to testify on her behalf. She’d burned bridges when she’d left her job, and being a single mom didn’t leave her much time to make friends or go out.

  “You might have had some leverage back in Kansas, but you’re in my town now,” Judith continued. “Everyone here knows me, including the county judge. He played golf with my husband for years. He’s had dinner on numerous occasions in my home. I’m a deacon at my church and have served on the city council. People here know me, respect me.

  “Who do you think they’re going to choose to raise an impressionable young boy? His loving grandmother who is a pillar of her community and has the means to raise him or you, his jailbird mother who doesn’t have a home or a car, or even a pot to piss in. All she has is a meager job and a prison record.” Judith spat out the last words with venom that belied her outstanding pillar/loving grandmother status.

  “You can’t do this. You wouldn’t. My son needs me. Think about Floyd.”

  “I am thinking about Floyd. And I can do this. I’ve already started the paperwork. I suggest you don’t try to contact him. Like I said, he’s doing well here. If you show up, you’re only going to confuse him and hurt him all over again. If you really love him, you’ll leave him alone and let him be happy.” She stepped back and shut the door firmly in Harper’s face.

  Harper’s shoulders slumped forward, and she weaved as she took a step back, reaching out to steady herself as she sagged against the porch railing.

  Judith’s words whirled through her head, and Harper had no defense. Everything the older woman had said was true.

  I am worthless. And I have no one, not one single person, to stand up for me and say I’m a good mom. Or even say I’m a good person.

  Was she a good mom? Sure, she loved her son, but she was sure Brandy loved her too, in her own demented way. Was love enough? The past six months had proven that love didn’t put food on the table.

  Harper took another step back and bumped into the bicycle. It fell to the porch with a crash, and she wanted to kick it, to stomp on it, to rip the handlebars off the frame and shove them down Judith’s arrogant pearl-strung throat.

  God, she was a terrible person. Who had these rage-filled thoughts of hurting another person? A person who was trying to do the best for her son?

  She stumbled down the steps of the beautiful home. Nana’s house was neat and filled with memories, but from the outside, it didn’t compare to Judith’s with its cheery Christmas decorations, two-car garage, and giant yard.

  Judith said Floyd was happy here. He was doing well in school, making friends. Even playing sports. He’d asked to play soccer the summer before, but Harper hadn’t had the money for him to even join a rec league.

  Who was she kidding? No one was going to choose her instead of Judith and the life she offered.

  What do I have to offer him? I have no home, no place to stay, and a temporary job fixing meals and cleaning toilets.

  Harper staggered to the sidewalk, her shoulders heavy as if bearing the weight of loaded barbells. She didn’t know what to do, had no one to turn to.

  Fear and anger and rage churned inside her. She wanted to scream, to tear something in two, to hit someone. I did this to myself. I gambled away my chance at being a good mom when I threw in with my own mother.

  Heat filled her body as if she was burning from the inside out, and all she wanted to do was escape, to run. She took a few steps forward, then stumbled midstride before catching herself and propelling her body forward. Her boots hit the concrete sidewalk as her legs pumped and she ran as hard as she could.

  The scene with Judith, her terrible words, replayed in Harper’s mind again and again, each condemning word pounding into her brain with every footfall. She made it two blocks before her lungs were burning and her body wanted to quit. But she didn’t want to stop. Her chest tightened and her calves raged, but she was afraid if she stopped, she might break apart.

  She ran another half block before her body gave out and she staggered to a stop, pressing her hand to her stomach where a stitch was splitting her side. She rolled her shoulders, violently rotating them as if the fabric of her clothes irritated her skin. The bitter taste of bile filled her mouth, and she spit on the ground, fighting another w
ave of nausea.

  Stumbling on an uneven section of the sidewalk, she went down on one knee, cracking the bone onto the concrete and tearing the knee of her jeans. She rolled over on the ground, clutching her hurt knee to her stomach. Her body was spent and soaked with sweat, and she lay on the freezing concrete and felt the cold as it seeped through the thin layer of her jacket like water soaking into the sand after a wave has crashed on the beach.

  Her mom had taken her to the beach once. It had been a big deal, a road trip to California for her ninth birthday, and her mom had promised to take her to Disneyland. But the first day they got there, they’d gone to the beach and she’d waded out into the water.

  Her mom had laughed and encouraged her to run into the waves. She never warned her daughter about how cold the water would be or how fast and hard the waves smashed into the shore. Harper had run out, then realized she’d gone too far and had tried to turn back just as a huge wave crashed into her back, dragging her down and tumbling her over and over, the sand scraping her tender skin and the force of her fall snapping her wrist.

  So instead of visiting Mickey Mouse or building sandcastles, Harper had spent her birthday in the emergency room getting fitted for a cast. Her arm had been broken along with something else—the blind trust she’d had in her mother.

  Why hadn’t Brandy warned her to be careful? Why had she still been lounging on her towel, flirting with some guy and laughing at her when Harper finally made it out of the surf and lurched across the hot sand, cradling her arm to her stomach? It wasn’t until she held up her hand and her mom saw the funny bend to her wrist that she stopped laughing.

  But something had changed that day. Some thread of trust that her mom would always watch out for her, would warn her of danger and be there to take care of her, was now broken. Brandy had always been flighty and cared mainly about herself and her own needs, but Harper had believed that if push came to shove, her mom would be there. That day, she’d been pushed and shoved. And Brandy had laughed.

  That’s the way she felt today, as if she’d been slammed by a monstrous wave, spinning and turning, her skin scraping against the sand and her bones cracking against the shore.