The Good Guy on my Porch (Catalpa Creek #3)

by Katharine Sadler

  I did believe in soul mates with every bone and breath in my body, but maybe I’d never explained that to Carrie. “Not that kind of soul mate,” I said. “A soul mate like you and I are soul mates because we can eat any time of day and will read anything printed in English,” I paused considering. “Though you eat super early mostly because you think you’re sixty-five.”

  She reached across the table to swat me, but I dodged. “So you’ve friend-zoned him.”

  “Friend-zoned him? He’s my neighbor and Aubrey’s friend, how could he have been anything other than friend zoned?”

  “You can’t date him because he lives next door and is a friend of a friend?”

  I sighed, knowing she’d never understand. She was married to her neighbor and too starry-eyed from her own romance to consider how awkward life would become if I ever dated Oscar and things went south. She didn’t know about my mother, so she couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to get close to someone who was close to my friends, who could so easily destroy the carefully constructed lie that was my life. “There’s just no spark. He’s a nice guy, but I’ll never see him as more than a friend.”

  She nodded. “I get that. You gotta have the spark.”

  I smiled and patted her hand. “Look at you, just a year and a half ago you were convinced there was no need for a spark and now you’re sparking all over the place. You’re all grown up.” I clasped my hands over my heart and batted my eyelashes. “My sweet baby is all grown up.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help her smile. “I kind of am sparking all over the place, aren’t I?” And she was, not just because of Cody, though he was a big part of it, but because of the kids, too. She finally had the family she’d always wanted, her job was going well, and she was happier than I’d ever seen her. She was sitting in a BBQ restaurant with me, her hair a mess from the sweat and heat of the day, she was wearing jeans and a dusty t-shirt, and she was completely at ease, comfortable in her own skin. It made me happy to see her so happy.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you buying dinner?”

  I snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a single-income woman.” Yeah, I was tight with my money. I loved to buy books and I made a good income from the library, but I was always saving, setting aside as much as I could for the day my mother needed full-time care. A day that could arrive any moment, and bungee-jumping hadn’t been cheap. Since Carrie didn’t know about my mom, she had every right to think I was a miser, but she’d never called me out on it. “You should be thanking me for your sexy husband.”

  It was her turn to snort and almost spit out her BBQ, which would have been a tragic loss. “You didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  I straightened and looked down my nose at her. “Who suggested you take a break from dating losers?”

  “You did,” she said reluctantly.

  “And who invited Cody to go out dancing with us?”

  “You did. But that got the whole town talking and almost cost me my job.”

  I shook my head like I was disappointed. “It’s hardly my fault you can’t handle your liqueur and he had to take you home with him. I’m just pointing out that I got the ball rolling between you two. A little gratitude would not be amiss.”

  She tapped her fingers on the table and sighed. “You do have a small point.” She gave me a sincere smile. “Thank you, Dilly.”

  I relaxed in my seat, my work done. “You’re welcome.”

  But Carrie didn’t relax, her gaze sharpened. “I should return the favor.”

  I put my hands up. “I don’t do set-ups, Carrie. You know that.”

  She tapped her chin, studying me. “Don’t worry, I know your rules. I know all your rules.”

  The truth was, she didn’t know all my rules. I’d kept her at a distance, because it was the only way I could be the fun, light-hearted Dilly who supported her and never brought her down. I could pretend it was altruistic, but I knew myself better than that. I needed Carrie as much as she needed me, probably more, and I knew if I let her into all my secrets, our friendship would change and she’d no longer be the escape I needed. I lived my life by compartmentalizing everything I could and letting Carrie into my love life would be a bad, bad idea. “ I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it, but I’m seeing someone.”

  She looked skeptical and she was right to look skeptical. I loved sharing the stories of my new romances with her, because I didn’t date anyone unless our meet-cute was a good story. A girl had to worry about the story she’d tell her grandkids. Not that I planned to have kids, but still…

  “Someone from town?”

  I’ve been lying for a lot of years, but this one was hard for me to conjure up on the spot and be sure it wasn’t a lie I’d used before. Years ago, I’d created a spreadsheet to track my lies, but there was no way she wouldn’t get suspicious if I ran home to spend some quality time with my laptop before I told her about my new beau. Instead, I thought of the last romance book I read. Fight over a house two people had inherited…No that wouldn’t work. “It got off to an unusually rocky start,” I said, my mind going to Oscar for some reason. “But he’s made up for it and he’s…” Shit, what had I gotten myself into? “He’s a bit of a stuck-up sort and he wanted nothing to do with me when we met, but there’s something there, you know. He’s very rich and thinks he’s better than everyone else, but he was kind to me when my sister was ill and he—”

  “You don’t have a sister,” she said, a smile tickling her lips. “You’re describing the plot of Pride and Prejudice.”

  Darn it, I was.

  “You’re just trying to convince me not to set you up.”

  “The truth is,” I said, lying through my teeth. “I’m thinking I could use a break from dating. I need to work on me for a while.”

  She studied my face, considering, then she smiled. “You’re perfect, Dilly. You’re the most confident person I know and you’re doing exactly what you always dreamed of doing, working at the library. What could you possibly work on?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe figuring out the guy is married before I sleep with him.”

  “Which is why a set-up is perfect,” she said. “I can vet the guys before you even meet them.”

  I loved Carrie like she was my sister, but she and I were polar opposites in so many ways. I was more than a hundred percent positive she would not choose a guy I’d like. “I’m asking you, Carrie, as your very best friend, do not set me up.”

  She shook her head, her gaze thoughtful, like she already had someone in mind. “I went bungee jumping with you. You can go on one date with a guy of my choosing. Just one date.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But I will remind you that no great love story has ever begun with a blind date.”

  She shook her head. “I’m disappointed, Dilly. I thought you were all about breaking the rules.”

  ***

  I dropped Carrie off and went home. I immediately saw Oscar on the porch steps. It was early to be out sunset watching, but I couldn’t help being glad to see him. It had only been two days, but I had already started to look forward to sitting on the porch with him, talking to him, and hearing about his day.

  He was reading, his attention on his book, his lean body covered in jeans and a t-shirt that fitted to his toned muscles. Then he looked up and he smiled, and his face transformed. How had I never noticed how gorgeous he was? I was amazed he was still single.

  I was halfway down the walk when a woman stepped through Oscar’s front door and plopped down beside him. He gave her a huge smile and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight side-hug. Ah, so not single. Good for him, I thought, even as my smile went brittle and something twisted in my gut. Was I jealous? No. That would be entirely ridiculous. I was probably just unhappy about someone intruding on our sunset-watching routine.

  Oscar looked back at me and opened his mouth, just as my phone rang. I
stopped in the middle of the walk and dug it out of my purse. My aunt’s name flashed on the screen and my heart sank. I hurried past Oscar and his girlfriend, mumbling something about having to take this call and rushed inside.

  By the time I’d unlocked my door and gotten inside, my phone had stopped ringing. I shut the door behind me and called my aunt back.

  “She’s bad, Dilly. Says you lied to her.”

  “I called her three hours ago, Aunt Melly. I told her I was fine.”

  “She called your land line and you didn’t answer. Can you get over here? She’s not going to calm down until she sees you.”

  I sighed, hating the situation. I’d had such a good day. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I went out the back door so I wouldn’t interrupt Oscar and his girlfriend. I didn’t want to explain my hurry, didn’t want anyone to see me like this, frantic with worry about my mother. I cut across the neighbor’s back yard and onto the street.

  In less than five minutes, I was at my mother’s place. She lived in a small apartment in a building full of other small apartments. We’d offered once for her to live with me or my aunt if she’d just take her medication, if she’d just go back to therapy, but she’d refused. So, she lived there alone.

  I hurried up the stairs to the third floor and banged on the door. From outside it was quiet, no sign of the scene that awaited me.

  Six deadbolts were disengaged and then my aunt’s face appeared. Her expression was grim and exhausted. “She’s in the bedroom.” She stepped aside to let me pass.

  The sound of my mother’s sobs filled the apartment, and I felt like a horrible person because I didn’t feel bad for her, I didn’t feel compassion. I felt angry and resentful and sad that I couldn’t have one day, just one day to get away and do something for myself without my mother falling apart. Once, I’d taken a different approach with her, I’d told her exactly what I was doing, told her I was going out of town for a week for my senior spring break. It was the only vacation I’d ever had, a week in Florida.

  I’d come home to find she hadn’t eaten in a week. She was so weak from lack of food and dehydration that we’d had to hospitalize her. I wouldn’t risk her life that way again. I could never live with myself if she died because of something I’d done.

  She was in her small, cluttered bedroom, curled up, the covers wrapped around her, crying so hard she was barely breathing. “Mom. I’m here.”

  She looked up at me, her face worn and wrinkled beyond her years, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips chapped. “Daffodil?”

  “I’m here.” I sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her back, my earlier resentment fading at the sight of her. She was sick and all the worry, all the stress, took such a toll on her. “I didn’t hear the phone ring. I was napping. I’m sorry.” Did I lie to my mother again? Hell, yes, I did. The truth would only make her doubt me the next time I lied, and it would hurt her far more than it would hurt me. She was only forty-seven and, yet, she looked like she was sixty-seven. She was frail and physically couldn’t handle these upsets.

  She sat up and put her hand on my cheek, looking into my eyes. “You’re really okay? I was so sure. . .”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I’m here. I’m fine.”

  “Oh, thank heavens. I was so worried. I had such a bad feeling.”

  “I called you and told you I was safe, why did you call the land line?”

  She laid back down, her eyes drifting shut. “I’m so tired. You know how I get after an upset like this.”

  I patted her shoulder and covered her with the blanket. “Good night, Momma.”

  I left her room, closing the door behind me. My aunt, only ten years older than me, was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. She looked up when I walked in. “She’s sleeping.”

  Melly sighed, her blond curls bouncing as she shook her head. She was tall and thin, blond and sharp-featured, my opposite in the looks department, yet in a lot of ways she was my closest friend. The one person who knew my whole story and loved me anyway. “You know I hate to bother you, honey, but she was inconsolable, and I was worried…”

  “I know. I’m glad you called. I’m sure you didn’t plan to come over here today.”

  “It’s fine. I had the day off anyway. I was just working on my book.”

  Melly was a professor of art history at the university and was currently writing her third book on the subject. I’d read her first two books and knew more about the history of pastoral paintings than I’d ever wanted to know. Her latest book was about little-known art works by women of the renaissance period, and I was excited to read it.

  I hated how hard it was for her to travel. She did it, but I knew she felt guilty every time she left me alone to take care of my mother. She was one of the reasons I stayed in Catalpa Creek. My career didn’t require travel, but she couldn’t do her work if she was trapped here like I was.

  “I need a drink,” she said. “Want to hang out with your old aunt for a bit?”

  “I’d love that.”

  We parked on my street and walked to a small, hole-in-the-wall bar two blocks from my place. We found seats at the bar, the place nearly empty on a Sunday night, and ordered beers. Melly fiddled with the glass, before she spun on her seat to face me. I took a long swallow, because the look on her face was serious and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

  “We can’t go on like this,” she said. “She’s getting worse.”

  “She’s not.”

  Melly put a hand over mine. “How many times a day does she expect you to call her now?”

  Calling my mother had become such a habit, I didn’t keep a tally. “Four…No, six times a day.”

  She sighed. “You’re twenty-eight years old, Dilly. You ought to be able to go out of town, to travel, to take vacations, without worrying your mother is going to starve herself or drive herself crazy with worry.”

  “We’ve talked about this before, Aunt Melly. We don’t have any other choice.”

  “We could have her institutionalized. We could let someone who’s trained to handle this help her. She might even be happier.”

  “We’ve looked into that. There just aren’t any reasonable options around here.”

  “I heard of a place,” she said. “It’s new. A sort of assisted living home for the mentally ill. It’s in New Hampshire and it’s pricey, but it’s got to be better than what we’re doing now.”

  “New Hampshire? How would that even work? No matter where she is, she’s going to want to be able to see us regularly.”

  Her expression hardened, determined. “We can’t keep going on this way. It’s not good for her and it’s not good for us.”

  She was right, and I wanted my mother to be better, to be happy, more than anything. “We’ve tried hospitalization, we’ve tried medication and therapy. We can’t afford a full-time live-in nurse and there’s no long-term homes or treatment programs around here, Melly. We’ve done everything we can, we’re doing the only thing we can.”

  She rummaged around in her bag and handed me a brochure with a photo of a large, fancy brick building on the front. “Just read about it, Dilly, please. It would be tight, but together I think we could afford it.”

  “I’ve been saving for something like this, I just thought we’d have longer…”

  “I know, sweetie.” She took a long swallow of her drink. “The most difficult part will be convincing her to go, they won’t accept residents who refuse medication or who don’t willingly come.”

  The tiny spark of hope I’d felt wavered and died. “You should have led with that, Aunt Melly. We’re never going to convince her she needs help. She’s as afraid of the medicine as she is of everything else.”

  She cupped my face in her hand, much like my mother had done. “Leave that to me, sweetie. I’ll do everything I can to convince her.”

  I forced a smile, but I doubted Aunt Melly would be able to convince my mother of anything. Over the years I’d
cried and pleaded and begged for her to get help and she’d never listened. She was convinced that she needed her anxiety, that her bad feelings were the only thing keeping us safe. I was certain my mother would never change, but maybe Aunt Melly was right that something needed to change and maybe that something needed to be me. Maybe it was time to push Mom out of her comfort zone, to take back some of my life. I’d given up enough for her, hadn’t I?

  Then I remembered how she’d looked when I’d gotten back from that spring break trip, how weak and sad. I couldn’t hurt her like that again. I couldn’t cause her so much pain. “How’s the latest book going?”

  “Great. I’m headed to Italy tomorrow. Want me to bring anything back for you?”

  She’d stopped inviting me to go with her years ago, because I always said no. And that was okay. Sure, I’d love to go to Italy, to see more than my own backyard, but I was happy in Catalpa Creek. It was enough. “Do you think the pasta would make the flight?”

  She laughed, as I’d hoped she would, but there was sadness in her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  ***

  The beeping of my alarm woke me from a delicious dream of an ice cream festival in downtown Catalpa Creek. Booths lined either side of main street, each with an array of different flavors and toppings. There was even a booth with ice cream pizza. Why didn’t we have one of those? Catalpa Creek had four wonderful festivals each year, but no ice cream festival. Why was I the only genius who’d thought of it? And why was my alarm screaming at me on my day off? I rolled and slapped it off. I was just drifting back to sleep when I remembered I was supposed to hike with Oscar.

  I sat up in bed, stretched, and heard the familiar sound of rain tinking against the windows. We couldn’t hike in the rain. Smiling, I lay back down and snuggled under my covers. I was almost asleep when someone banged on my door. With a sigh, I climbed out of bed, pulled a sweatshirt on over the tank top and shorts I’d worn to bed, ran a hand through my hair, and stumbled downstairs to the front door.

  Oscar grinned when he saw me. “I wanted to make sure you were up and getting ready for our hike.”