by Cindy Myers
Fresh pain stabbed at her, not the pain of past hurts, but a fresh wound from the realization that at least some of Mindy’s accusations were true; she’d been so wrapped up in her fantasies of the life she’d wanted that she’d ignored the good in the life she’d had. If she had never felt close to her family, part of the blame was her own, for keeping such a distance.
The front door opened and she started, hoping Mindy had returned. But the pounding of tennis shoes on the stairs, followed by a slower, heavier tread, told her Charlie and the boys were home. She stood and pressed her fingers beneath her eyes, blotting the last of her tears. Then she hurried to the bathroom, splashed cool water on her face, and combed her hair. She couldn’t let them see how upset she was.
She went downstairs to greet them, hugging the boys and kissing Charlie on the cheek. “We’re having your favorite,” she told Cameron. “Macaroni and cheese.”
The boys cheered, and Charlie poured glasses of milk for the children and water for the adults. As Shelly took her place at one end of the table, she glanced at the empty chair beside her, then looked away.
“Where’s Aunt Mindy?” Theo asked.
“She had something else she had to do in town,” Shelly said. “Now, how much macaroni and cheese do you want?”
“A lot!” he said, grinning.
She served him and herself, then passed the dish to Charlie and Cameron. But instead of eating, she watched them eat, Theo carefully stabbing each noodle with his fork, Cameron preferring to shovel in the food in big bites. She loved them all so much sometimes it hurt, and the things in life that gave her the most joy were the things she did for them. How could Mindy say family wasn’t important to her?
She looked up and caught Charlie watching her, twin vertical lines creasing his forehead. She forced a smile to her face and picked up her fork. “Don’t eat so fast, Cameron,” she said. “Slow down and chew.”
At last the meal ended and the boys asked to be excused. “I have to read about Columbus,” Cameron said.
“Are there any pictures?” Theo asked. “I want to see.”
“You can read to your brother,” Shelly said. “It will be good practice for you.”
They retreated to the living room and Charlie helped Shelly clear the table. He came up behind her as she ran water in the kitchen sink. “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s wrong this time,” he said.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” She scraped plates into the garbage, noticing that Cameron has once again failed to eat all his broccoli.
“Your sister isn’t here and you look like you’re about to cry. And you hardly ate anything. I thought you two were getting along better.”
“We had a horrible fight this afternoon.”
“About the book? If she won’t take no for an answer, tell her to leave. And take that reporter with her.”
“It wasn’t about that. She hasn’t even mentioned the book in a while.”
“What, then?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to keep it together. “She said it was my fault our family was never close—that they tried to include me and love me, but that I pushed everyone away. I acted like I was too good for them—or they weren’t good enough for me.”
“She’s trying to make you feel guilty.” He squeezed her arm. “I’ve never seen you act that way with anyone.”
“But what if she’s right? What if I was the one in the wrong?”
“What if you were? You were a kid and kids make mistakes. From what you’ve told me, the wrong wasn’t all on your side.”
“I just . . .” She shook her head. “I just wonder if I’ve been looking at things from the wrong angle all these years.” If she’d been so off base about her childhood, what else had she been wrong about?
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Charlie said. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I was fine with my life the way it was. I thought I didn’t need my family, but now . . .”
“It’s probably not too late to try to mend fences.”
“But what if trying to make things up to them only does more harm than good?”
“My mother always told me that when I was facing a hard or scary decision, to think of the worst thing that can happen in a situation,” he said. “Make a plan for dealing with that, and move on. The worst thing hardly ever happens, but knowing you’re prepared if it does can be enough to make you push forward.”
“That makes sense.” She turned to the sink and plunged her hands into the sudsy, warm water, feeling for the dishrag. Maybe washing dishes would help her to sort this out. She wiped the rag across a plate. “The worst thing that could happen would be that my parents would move here to Eureka and my mom would start up the Baby Shelly publicity machine again. Reporters would be calling for interviews or showing up at my workplace to take photographs—or worse, they’d try to talk to the kids. We wouldn’t have any privacy.”
“Except you’re a grown woman now and your mother can’t run your life anymore. You can say no and make it stick.” He picked up a dish towel and began drying the plates she’d slid into the rinse water. “You get to make the rules and set boundaries, and you’ve got me to back you up.”
She loved him for saying this, but he didn’t understand the way things like celebrity took on a life of their own. “Things are already starting to feel out of control,” she said. “I can’t stop Travis and Mindy from writing their book and saying whatever they want. And Cassie is making everyone think Baby Shelly is going to make a speech or something at the play.”
“We can hire a lawyer and threaten to sue the publisher if they publish their book. Or you can decide to ignore it. What they say doesn’t have to affect you. And if any reporters come to see Cassie’s play, you don’t have to talk to them. But I’m still not sure that many people are going to come all the way to Eureka to see you. No offense, but all that happened a long time ago.”
“I hope you’re right. I just wish I could go back to how things used to be before Mindy showed up.”
“But maybe it’s good that this happened when it did,” he said. “I’m not big on psychobabble, but it sounds like there are a few issues you need to deal with.”
“You think?” She managed a smile. “I guess running away hasn’t really fixed anything if one conversation with my sister can get me so upset.” She gripped a handful of forks underneath the water. “But I’m scared.”
He caressed her shoulder and she leaned back against him. “You survived being trapped underground for five days when you were only four,” he said. “You can survive this.”
“Right.” She thought she sounded a lot more confident than she felt. She would probably survive whatever happened, but would she come out on the other side still herself? Or would the things she learned about herself in the process turn her into someone she didn’t recognize? Someone she didn’t want to be.
“The Chamber of Commerce couldn’t have ordered up a better day for this,” Rick said, as he and Maggie stood in front of the Miner offices Saturday morning, watching traffic flow into town for the Hard Rock Days festivities. Sun bathed the whole scene in a golden glow. Flowers in pots along Main Street spilled over their containers in a riot of colors and the sky was so blue it almost hurt to look at. Many storefronts were decorated with paintings Olivia Gruber had made on the glass windows, depicting more flowers, wildlife, or mining equipment. A large banner spanning the street declared WELCOME TO THE 65TH ANNUAL EUREKA HARD ROCK DAYS.
Distracted by her attempts to arrange Angela’s baby sling so the child would stop fussing and Maggie could still juggle her camera and notebook, Maggie only nodded. “What do you want me to cover first?” she asked.
“Visit with some of the vendors, maybe get a few photos,” Rick said. “I’ll cover the first half of the competition—the mucking and the sledge races. You can cover the double-jacking and single-jacking events. Get plenty of photographs, then we’ll select the best shots
for the paper and offer up the others to the competitors, for a modest fee, or course.”
She glanced down the street, hoping to see Jameso striding toward her. He’d left the B and B early, saying he had something to do, but he’d meet up with her later. She’d been counting on him to watch Angela while she worked, but she hadn’t been able to find him, and he wasn’t answering his phone.
“You’d better plan on getting some photos at Cassie’s pageant later, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” Rick said. “It might be interesting if she actually gets her big tourist crowd, all anxious to see Baby Shelly.”
“For Shelly’s sake, I hope not,” Maggie said. “She really doesn’t want to be in the spotlight.”
“I’ll bet she secretly misses it,” Rick said. “And you still owe me a story on her.”
“I told you, Rick. I intend to respect Shelly’s privacy.”
“She was just making excuses. You can’t tell me someone who grew up a celebrity doesn’t miss being the center of attention,” he said.
“Maybe there’s such a thing as too much attention.” Maggie shouldered the diaper bag that was doubling as her purse. “I’m going to head on over to the booths. If you see Jameso, tell him to call me.”
The front section of Ernestine Wynock Park had been designated for vendors, both arts and crafts booths and food. Maggie was making her way down the first row of stalls when she almost collided with Bob Prescott. “Sorry, Bob, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said.
“At least it was you and not another dang tourist.” He scowled at the crowd around them. “You can hardly move for all the people in here.”
“Hello, Maggie.” Daisy Mott joined them, a pink ruffled blouse making her look more feminine than usual. “Here you go, Bob.” She handed him a cookie the size of a saucer. “Danielle says hi.” She broke a piece off her own cookie. “The Last Dollar has a booth selling baked goods,” she said. “All the money is going to the local food bank. If you want anything, you’d better get over there soon. Everything is selling fast.”
“I’m not surprised,” Maggie said. “How are the goats?”
“Oh, they’re good. The bear hasn’t come back.”
“I told you,” Bob said. “Those rubber bullets are something they remember for a long time.”
“How much longer will you be in town?” Maggie asked.
“Actually, I’m thinking of staying in Eureka for a while.” Daisy’s cheeks were almost as pink as her shirt. “Mr. Alcott says he’ll lease me his old home place.”
“What brought this on?” Maggie asked, fighting back a smile.
“Oh, I just like it here,” Daisy said. “There’s something about this place that really grows on a person.”
“Come on.” Bob tugged Daisy’s arm. “I want to get a good seat for the first round of the Hard Rock competition.”
Maggie watched them go, amused. She wouldn’t have thought Bob was the romantic type, but Daisy apparently saw something attractive in the old curmudgeon. She moved on down the rows of booths, snapping shots of a toddler with an ice cream cone at the Elks Club booth and of two women trying on knit hats made by the Presbyterian women.
“Maggie!”
She turned at the sound of her name and saw Olivia waving to her from the booth Lucille had set up to sell merchandise from her store. Maggie made her way over to the little stall, which was filled with Olivia’s hand-painted T-shirts, handmade jewelry, and a few small paintings. “How’s business?” she asked.
Lucille turned from the cash box, after making change for a woman who was buying one of the T-shirts. “It’s been good,” she said. “In fact, this may be the best crowd we’ve had for Hard Rock Days in a while. More proof that the economy is improving.”
“There are certainly lots of tourists in town,” Maggie said. “We had to turn quite a few people away from the B and B, and I hear the motel is full, too.”
“It’s a good thing Duke left when he did,” Olivia said. “That freed up a room for more visitors.” She was watching her mother as she spoke, and Maggie was surprised when Lucille’s cheeks flamed.
“I got the impression he was pretty interested in you.” Maggie couldn’t resist probing.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Lucille folded and refolded a shirt from the stack in front of her.
“He was very interested,” Olivia said. “I don’t believe you, Mother. Twenty years of not dating, and suddenly you can’t keep the men away.”
“Oh, hush.” Lucille swatted at her.
“Tell the truth,” Maggie said. “What’s going on with you and the handsome detective from Texas?”
“Nothing.” A slow smile curved her lips. “At least not yet.”
Maggie laughed. “Are you playing hard to get?”
“I’m not playing at anything, but I’ve decided there’s nothing wrong with expecting a man to prove himself.” She looked past Maggie. “Ma’am, can I help you find a particular size?”
Maggie stepped to the side to allow more room for the customer. Olivia followed. “What do you think?” Maggie asked Olivia, keeping her voice low.
“I think Mom’s being cautious, but I hope not too cautious,” Olivia said. “I like to tease her, but I keep an eye out, too. I don’t want her to be hurt again.”
A customer claimed Olivia’s attention, too, so Maggie moved on. As she photographed customers lined up to purchase roasted corn and barbecue sandwiches from the Elks Club, she thought of what Lucille had said about expecting a man to prove himself. She’d taken that approach with Jameso, too, wary of being hurt after her painful divorce.
But maybe she’d taken that idea too far. How many times did he have to impress her before she believed him? He had skied over a closed mountain pass in a Christmas blizzard to prove he loved her. He took over management of the B and B to prove he could provide for her. Maybe the time had come for her to promise him that he had nothing more to prove.
Travis shouldered his way through the crowd around the beer tent. Half the population of western Colorado must have shown up for this festival. Was reliving the old mining days really such a big draw, or had word about Baby Shelly drawn in fans from far and wide? He hoped it was the latter. When Shelly saw how much her public adored her, she might be more willing to cooperate on the authorized biography he was supposed to be writing. Other than the tapes Mindy had made, he didn’t have a lot of material so far. And the quality of those tapes was questionable, the conversation unintelligible for long stretches of time. He’d have to tell Mindy not to shove the recorder so far down in her bra next time. Her abundant cleavage evidently acted like a muffler over the microphone.
“Travis Rowell, is that you!”
The voice startled him, and he turned to stare at a familiar figure from the not-so-distant past. “Greg!” He grasped the hand of a reporter he’d worked with at the Dallas Morning News. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m covering Baby Shelly’s big debut for the paper.” At six feet, seven inches, Greg Albright towered over Travis, and most everyone else in the crowd.
“Which paper is that?” Travis asked. “Are you in Colorado now?”
“No, I’m still with the Morning News. They thought the reappearance of a former Texas icon was worth reporting on—Baby Shelly back from the dead all over again, that sort of thing.” He looked around them. “So is she really here in this town in the back of beyond?”
“She’s here,” Travis said.
“She couldn’t have chosen a much more out-of-the way place to hide, could she?” Greg said. “I had to take two different flights, then rent a car and drive two hours to get here. Do you see her anywhere around here? Can you point her out to me?”
“No can do.” Travis squared his shoulders. “I have an exclusive with Shelly. I’m writing her authorized biography.”
Greg eyed him skeptically. “Tell me another one. I heard she doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“Her sister introduced us. She do
esn’t normally like reporters, but I managed to charm her. She won’t talk to anyone else.”
“And I imagine you have that in writing?”
He swallowed, and forced an extra heartiness into his voice. “Of course.”
Greg clapped him on the shoulder. “You always were a terrible liar,” he said. “Never mind. I’ll get someone else to point her out to me.”
Travis fought a sinking feeling. Greg would do it. He could be very charming when he wanted to; men and women found him irresistible. He’d even charmed the management of the paper into letting him keep his job, at a time when they were laying off practically all the other general assignment reporters. The man had a magic touch—a touch that might take away Travis’s best chance of paying off his debts and putting together a stake that would allow him and Trish to finally marry.
“Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t talk to Shelly.”
Greg raised one eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll let the air out of my tires?” He slapped Travis on the back, almost knocking him over. “Don’t think of me as competition. If I do get anything good from her, you can always use it in your book—after it runs in the paper.”
He nodded, miserable.
“Say, I saw Trish the other day,” Greg said. “Are you two still dating?”
He’d forgotten Greg knew Trish. Had he been trying to charm her, too? “Where did you see her?”
“I was in Zoka’s Bar and she was there with some friends. She gave me a big hug and said how happy she was to see me. She was looking great, too. But then, she always was too hot for the likes of you.”