Sweet Joymaker

by Jean Oram

“Strawberry?”

  “Look at the boxes already,” she said with a laugh, knowing full well he could read.

  With a grin, Clint tapped the blue one. “Blueberry. I don’t think I’ve ever had it before.”

  “I don’t think I have, either.”

  “It’ll be our first time… together.” He opened his eyes as if it was an enormous deal and she laughed as he poured water for their tea.

  “Who was your first?” she asked, without thinking. His spine straightened suddenly, and he sloshed some water onto the counter. Maria waited, curious if he would answer.

  “You know Daisy-Mae Ray?” he asked.

  “Give me a break.” Maria snorted as she grabbed a dishcloth to sop up the spilled water. Daisy-Mae was her son Myles’s age.

  “Her grandma.”

  Maria groaned. “How is it you can always make me feel so old?”

  Clint caressed her cheek. “All while making you feel so young.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Magic.”

  She leaned in, hoping for a kiss. She was rewarded.

  A few hours later, settled on the deck with Clint once again, the cribbage board resting on the small slated table between their deck chairs declared the truth. Maria was about to get skunked by Clint. She needed twenty-one more points to get over the skunk line, whereas he needed only ten to win.

  “Who was your first?” he asked, after counting his hand and scoring his points. Four more to take the game.

  “Roy.”

  Clint glanced up at her, judging her seriousness.

  “I dated a few others, but Roy was my high school sweetheart.”

  “You married after graduation, right?”

  “We waited a year and a half.” It was normal in those days to marry young, rarer now. Her sons were all either nearing their thirties or already there. They were just starting to get serious about finding someone to settle down with.

  “So you like older women?” Maria asked casually, thinking about Daisy-Mae Ray’s grandmother.

  “She’s only two years older than I am. Daisy-Mae’s a rarity in her family, seeing as she didn’t have kids lickety-split like her mom and grandma.”

  “I suppose she is,” Maria agreed, dealing them their next hand. “I thought for a while she and Myles might end up together.”

  “I was thinking it might be Jackie.”

  Maria nodded. She’d considered that idea fairly seriously, as well.

  “Did you ever regret marrying so young?” Clint asked.

  “Not really. Do you? How old were you and Kay-Lynn when you got married?”

  “In our early twenties. I can’t remember exactly. It was after college.”

  “Is that where you met?”

  He nodded.

  “What made you leave her?”

  He looked up from his hand, his upper lip tucked under his bottom teeth as he contemplated her for a long moment. A bird fluttered by, angling as though it planned to land on the patio until it saw them and veered away. “What makes you think it was me?”

  “It wasn’t?”

  He shook his head.

  “Were you surprised?” she asked, curious about what they might have in common.

  “In retrospect, no. In the moment, yes.”

  “That was like me and Roy,” she said, starting the next round by putting down a card. “It surprised me when he voiced those thoughts. He’d gotten a lot further than I had with that line of thinking. It was unsettling how he’d allowed himself to complete that what-if. Then to keep following it until it became an actual plan.” She felt the hurt, the sting, the betrayal. She’d always shut down those types of thoughts, believing the two of them would be in it together, through thick and thin, right until the end.

  “Did you dispute the divorce?”

  She shook her head. “If someone’s that far gone, what’s the point? I wasn’t getting him back.” They finished the hand, and Clint scored the points for them both.

  “That’s game.”

  She swept up the cards, putting them back in their box and feeling like a rebel for not shuffling them first. “Nice job on the win.”

  “Is there a prize?” Clint asked. His smile made her leave her old hurts behind and return to the moment. To Clint. To laughter and joy.

  “There’s a kiss, but only if you promise to be a good sport about winning.”

  “I’m always a good sport.”

  Maria scooted forward in her chair, leaning across the small table to give Clint a kiss that had the promise of becoming more.

  She heard through the patio doors the rattle of the front door closing, then Kit calling, “I’m home!”

  “We’re out here,” she answered, disappointed in the timing.

  “I have good news,” her friend announced, sliding open the patio door. “The fundraiser needs more help.” There was a groan in her voice despite her cheeriness. Maria had never seen Kittim in a truly bad mood, and couldn’t imagine what it might be like. She had a suspicion it might feel as though the earth had fallen off its axis.

  “Oh, hi. You must be Clint,” her friend said.

  He stood and shook her hand.

  “What are you two up to?” Kit asked as Clint offered her his chair. She declined and he sat again.

  “Making out,” Clint said, as Maria replied, “Playing a game of Getting My Butt Kicked at Cribbage.”

  Kit smiled and winked at her. “Way to go, girl.” She moved back inside, calling through the open door, “I’m hungry. Do you two have plans for supper?”

  Maria frowned and checked her watch. It felt like she and Clint had just eaten lunch, but it had already been hours. She checked the sky, and sure enough, the sun was dipping toward the horizon.

  “Sorry, we ate your leftovers,” Clint said.

  “Good. I never do.”

  Maria watched him, curious if he thought they might have supper plans.

  “I was thinking a stir-fry.” Kit leaned out the glass door to address Clint. “Do you want to stay?”

  “Sure.” He stood up. “What can I do to help?”

  “You can open the bottle of white wine I have chilling in the fridge. I’m going to change out of these clothes. Maria, can you yank the appropriate veggies out of the crisper?” Without waiting for an answer, Kit headed down the hallway toward her bedroom.

  “You two have been friends a long time?” Clint asked.

  Maria nodded.

  “I can see why.”

  “How’s that?” she asked as they moved to the kitchen.

  “You’re both good at taking charge as well as taking orders. You’re a lot alike.”

  Maria chuckled. “I suppose that’s true.” Except Kit didn’t seem to be having a late midlife crisis.

  “She’s a good friend?”

  “The best.” And she had been for years—ever since they’d met here one summer and she’d borrowed Kit’s sunscreen on the beach. They didn’t see each other often, but they kept in touch.

  Clint opened the fridge, handing Maria the bottle of wine before rummaging through the other contents. He began passing her various items.

  “I can do that if you want to open the wine.”

  “Don’t trust a bachelor when it comes to vegetables?”

  “Not especially. Have you met my boys? They practically died of scurvy when I left them alone on the ranch for a few months.”

  “It was just a ploy to get you to come home again.”

  Home. What was she going to do when she returned home? How was she going to resolve this feeling of being unsettled inside? And what was she going to do about Clint?

  She placed a hand against his back as he continued his search through the fridge, and said, “I don’t know how this can work once we return to Sweetheart Creek.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The boys. The ranch. Life.”

  “Well…” Clint straightened, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’ll have to convince them you absolu
tely need me in your life.”

  “How will you do that?” she asked, curious if he was serious or not.

  “I’ll explain how it’ll be a horrible future for all of us without me around. There’ll be no lasagna or cinnamon buns, because you’ll be too bereft to cook. It’s to everyone’s advantage to have me with you.” He closed the fridge and began opening the bottle of wine, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “I see.”

  He poured three glasses while she thought over the logistics of them continuing a relationship back home.

  Clint handed her a glass, then lifted his own. “Cheers to that?”

  She sighed and clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”

  She gestured to the stack of vegetables he’d pulled from the fridge. “Are you going to surprise me with those deft skills of yours, master chef? Or do I have to cook?”

  “I will always do more than merely surprise you, Maria. You can count on that.”

  Chapter 6

  Clint had taken over the kitchen, creating a marvelous stir-fry. Afterward, Kit had fallen asleep on the couch and he’d tipped his head toward the door with a finger to his lips, pulling Maria by the hand.

  They’d slipped out and were now walking hand in hand past beach houses, admiring the wreaths, lights and other Christmas decorations.

  “Thanks for supper,” she said, swinging his hand in hers.

  “You know, I’m okay just dating. We don’t need to get married.”

  She laughed, peering up into the dark sky. “We don’t?”

  “I’m serious.” He stopped walking. “I know your boys and your family are important to you. So is the ranch.”

  She swallowed the apprehension swelling inside her. She wanted to talk about this, but was afraid where it might lead, and that she might wind up without Clint.

  “Your family needs things from you, and you want to provide whatever it is. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re integral.” He spoke faster so she wouldn’t interrupt. “But what about you, Maria?” Her name rolled off his tongue in that sweet way she loved. “Ignoring everything that pricks at your sense of obligation, what do you want? Really and truly?”

  “Really and truly?”

  “Yes.”

  “For us?” she asked, wanting to unleash all her hopes and dreams, but afraid if she opened her mouth they would all spill out.

  “One wish.” They had stopped walking near a yard that was glowing with lights. “But not about you and me. Blurt it out.”

  “I want Cole to come home.” The pain was clear to her own ears. “For Christmas, if not forever. He’s been gone too long. I miss him and it’s not right that he’s been away forever.”

  Clint was quiet for a moment and she was left with nothing but her own thoughts and emotions, wondering what kind of woman he might consider her to be. What mother allowed her son to run off and stay away for almost five years?

  Maybe she wasn’t the woman Clint thought she was.

  She knew she’d done things she’d never expected. Life unfolded. Events happened. And sometimes afterward you picked yourself up out of the dirt, pulling emotional shrapnel from your soul and wondering what the heck had just occurred.

  But when it came right down to it, a good mother didn’t allow her son to have that much space.

  “Well?” Clint asked.

  “Well what?” she snapped, immediately regretting her tone. She murmured an apology.

  He ignored it and said, “How are you going to remedy this?”

  “I thought we were talking about you and me?”

  He lifted a shoulder casually. “We got sidetracked by other things you want and need. So what are you going to do? What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You make things happen everywhere you go, and you’re a woman of action.” His tone was persuasive. “I bet you at least have an idea.”

  Maria mulled that over, her spirits lifting.

  Clint gently nudged her. He was watching her with questioning eyes. “You think maybe you could call him?”

  She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not?”

  “Words were exchanged, and I’m not sure he wants to talk to me.”

  What must her son think of her for not reaching out? For not trying? For letting Roy speak for both of them.

  “Call him,” Clint said, placing a hand over hers.

  “I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t have his current number.”

  “Do you know who does?”

  “Brant.” For too long, she had left her middle son, the sensitive one, with that burden. Where had she been in her life? Had she really been that absent for so long?

  It hurt to think, breathe, exist.

  She’d sided with Roy during a pivotal fight between him and Cole, because that’s what she’d thought she was supposed to do. She hadn’t gone after her son afterward, even though she’d known he’d been in such pain.

  When the boys were small and had started to find cracks and loopholes in their parenting front, as kids do, she and Roy had vowed to remain united. They’d been outnumbered, and knew they had to stand back-to-back if they wanted to retain control over their sons.

  They’d been good at staying united. Too good, maybe.

  The habit had been ingrained, but now Roy had moved on. Did that mean she could, as well? Did they no longer have to stand together when it came to their sons? Could she speak her mind? Reach out to Cole and mend things? She’d always thought Roy was wrong, and now their actions and identities were distinct from each other. But she couldn’t betray or undermine him like that. He was still Cole’s father.

  “Would Brant give you the number?” Clint asked.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  It was wrong to remain silent and allow Cole to be alone for another Christmas.

  Clint cupped her cheek. She nuzzled in ever so slightly and his thumb brushed her skin, causing her to shiver.

  “What would you say to him if you could phone him?”

  She was certain she wouldn’t be able to speak. That familiar voice would bring instant tears to her eyes. But she knew what she’d say.

  “I’d ask him to come home.”

  She winced against the pain. It was selfish to want him to return. If he did, it would upset April’s life, and she was just getting settled again. And it would interfere with Brant’s life just when he was finally being noticed by the woman he’d loved for years.

  Nobody else likely noticed that, but Maria had. She was a mom. She had to look out for her entire flock. But to keep sacrificing Cole felt wrong. It was time for everyone to stand on their own two feet.

  And maybe that was what she was here to do. Learn how to let them do that.

  “What else?” Clint asked. He’d pulled out his phone and was typing something.

  “A Christmas visit would be nice,” she said, tipping her chin up. She angled closer to his screen. Did he have Cole’s number?

  Because she wasn’t going to call him. Not yet. Even though she wanted her boy to know he was always welcome and always wanted.

  Clint lowered his phone, putting it into his back pocket and making her relax.

  “I hope he’s a good man,” she said, watching him. “I hope he’s treating others right.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket again and gazed at it, then turned it toward her. A text message lit up the screen, featuring a phone number. “Why don’t you call him and find out?”

  She inhaled, her fingers going to her lips. Cole’s number. He had Cole’s number.

  He’d gotten it. For her.

  Clint slowly offered her the phone. She shook her head and backed up a step.

  “I can’t. I miss him, but this is about more than me. More than him.” She was still shaking her head. “I have to think about this. I can’t just call.”

  Maria hunched over a canvas bag, stitching a candy cane wound with red strin
g onto the handle. She’d hoped taking on this task for the fundraiser would keep her mind off Clint and last night’s conversation about Cole. So far it hadn’t.

  Pressing her left hand to her lower back, she arched her spine and studied her completed work spread out on the dining nook’s table. All morning she’d ignored texts from Clint, as well as from the ranch. Kit had gone in to work and Maria had taken the time and space to think.

  So far she hadn’t come to any conclusions. Not about Cole. Not about Clint. Not even about what she wanted the next segment of her life to look like.

  The door to the condo opened, and Maria checked the time. Kit’s lunch break.

  “Those look good,” Clint said, entering the room and seeming to take all the air with him. Maria fought the urge to cross the space and slip into his arms for a much-needed hug.

  Too many thoughts. Too many emotions. And right now he looked like he always did—a rock to cling to as she weathered the storm.

  “You got a lot done,” Kit said, coming in behind Clint and scanning the table. “Did you see who I found on my walk home?” She moved past Clint and into the kitchen.

  He leaned against the wall, watching Maria. “Need help?”

  She shook her head and threaded the needle for another bag.

  “We got the first coat of blue on the scooter. You were right. It looks good. Very cute.”

  “You know what would make those bags look even better?” Kit called from the kitchen.

  “What?” Maria called back.

  “A hand-painted scene.”

  “You could paint them,” Clint said, coming closer. “Like a scene from your ornament.”

  “That was uninspired and boring.”

  “It was special, a scene from the beach here in town. People would love it.”

  Kittim entered the room again. “I agree. It would be a hit.”

  Maria laughed. “You realize he’s trying to convince me to paint something on all the bags.” She gestured toward the tall stack. The Morrison Mansion’s ballroom would be stuffed with guests on Saturday night. She couldn’t paint something for everyone.

  “But it’s a cute idea,” Kit said.

  “I thought so,” Clint agreed.

  “It would be a tremendous amount of work.”