“You’re talking about me as if I’m a child,” Sandra said.
“But,” Lucy said, still obviously unable to understand this, “what does this mean? You’re staying? Like…indefinitely?”
Sandra lifted her chin, ready to get to the bottom of Lucy’s web of lies and secrets. “It would seem I don’t have a home to go to in Los Angeles.”
“What are you talking about?” Mia asked.
Sandra arched an eyebrow. “Ask your sister.”
Lucy stood up in her pale yellow dress, a ray of sunshine with a gloomy face. “I…I have something I need to tell you guys.”
* * *
IT WASN’T EASY. IT WAS, in fact, exactly as hard as she imagined it would be. She told her family how she failed and she couldn’t look at them, instead staring at her feet. The grout in between the stones on the floor. And with every truth she told, every lie she reversed, it felt like she was cutting off another body part.
When she was done, she finally looked at her sister. Her mother. And to her sick satisfaction, they were reacting exactly the way she thought they would. Mia was horrified, Mom was worried—which made Lucy feel guilty.
“Twenty thousand dollars?” Mia asked. “That’s your debt?”
After Lucy nodded, Mia whistled.
“What about all the gold and gems from your studio?” Sandra asked. “That has to be worth some money.”
“I sold it to make payroll before laying off my employees.” Mom sat like a rag doll in her seat. “That’s…that’s why I was looking into selling the condo.”
“You were going to sell the condo without telling Mom?” Mia asked. “Are you crazy?”
“A little,” Lucy answered honestly. “But I just wanted to see what I could get. I wouldn’t have sold it without talking about it with Mom.”
“You sure about that?” Mia knew her so well, even in those moments like this, when she wasn’t herself.
“Honestly? No. I’m sorry. I’ve been turned inside out. I didn’t want anyone to worry. I didn’t want anyone to be ashamed—”
“Ashamed!” Mia cried, and glanced sideways at Mom. “How in the world could we be ashamed of you?”
“Because I blew it? Because I was too stupid—”
Sandra stood and grabbed Lucy by the arms, jerking her into a crushing hug. “No one talks about my daughter that way,” she whispered.
“But I was, Mom.” She sighed. “I was just so stupid.”
“Stop, please, Lucy. You weren’t stupid. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Twenty-thousand-dollar ones?” she asked while her mother wiped the tears off Lucy’s cheeks.
“Well.” Sandra smiled. “You always were an overachiever.”
Lucy smiled and hot new tears seeped over her eyelashes. “Do we need to sell the condo?” Sandra asked.
“It’s either that or I declare bankruptcy.”
“Then we can sell. You were right. I never liked Los Angeles.”
“So, you’re…you’re just going to stay here?” Lucy asked.
“It is my home,” Sandra said proudly. “When Mia and Jack move into their house, I’ll take over the cottage again.”
“And take care of Walter?” Lucy said, not able to hide her disappointment.
“He’s doing that on his own, it seems. But someday there might be children on this ranch again.” Sandra looked at Mia and Jack. Jack’s blush was about the sweetest thing Lucy had ever seen and very telling.
“I, ah, I need to go check on Dad,” Jack said, and quickly skedaddled out of the room.
“The question,” Sandra asked, “is what will you do? Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re designing again,” Mia pointed out. “You can start over.”
“I burned a lot of bridges.” She explained the attitude of the boutique owners who sent back her designs after learning she was mass-producing the horseshoe necklace. Meredith Van Loan had sent a snobby note saying, “We don’t cater to the masses.”
“Maybe they only look burned?” Mia asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lucy said. “I don’t have any materials. Or equipment. I had to sell it all.”
“Lucy,” Sandra said, “I’m not without money.”
“And I’m not going to take it, Mom. Besides, I don’t even know if I really want to do this. I don’t…know what I want to do just yet. I’m still figuring it out.”
Mia nodded. “That’s allowed, I suppose. But the taxi thing?”
“Over,” Lucy insisted. “Over before it really started, except for taking Aaron to some hockey—” She stopped. She imagined she wouldn’t be taking Aaron anywhere anymore. Tears burned hotter behind her eyes. Quickly, she blinked them away, surprised at the pain.
“Well, you’re staying here,” Mia said, wrapping her arms around Sandra’s waist and Lucy’s shoulders. “As long as you need. This place has been empty too long.”
“Thanks.” Lucy sighed, grateful for the invitation.
“Come,” Sandra whispered, kissing both her girls on their foreheads. “Let’s have something to eat.”
“I can’t, Mom. Not just yet.” She grabbed her keys off the counter.
“Where are you going?” Sandra asked.
“You’re going to go chase after Jeremiah,” Mia said, her feeling about the idea more than obvious.
“I have to try and talk to him. Explain why I lied.”
Sandra looked between Mia and Lucy. “Is there…is there something between you and Jeremiah?”
“I like him, Mom, a lot. And if I let him cool off he’ll convince himself he should never speak to me again. He’s a mess like that.”
“Maybe he’s sensible like that,” Mia said.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side that causes less bloodshed.”
If Jeremiah had his way he would never speak to her again. Never see her again. Certainly never meet her at the hotel by the highway. And the thought opened up a hole in her chest.
He’d left not even an hour ago and she missed him.
Missed the idea of him. The boys.
“I have to try.”
“Wait, honey, at least until he settles the boys down. Give him a chance to deal with what’s on his plate before you go rushing in to explain yourself.”
Mom was right, it would be selfish to go charging over there right now. She could wait a few hours. A few very painful hours.
* * *
THE BOYS STOOD BEHIND Jeremiah. Without even looking at them he knew how they would be arranged.
Ben, of course, would be slouched against the wall, under the phone, his arms crossed over his chest. His nine-year-old glare getting sharper by the second. Jeremiah knew this because the skin between his shoulder blades itched.
In the doorway, Casey would be cozied up to Aaron, and as the stress in the kitchen got deeper and thicker Casey would contemplate putting his thumb in his mouth. But then he would remember the number of times Jeremiah had yelled at him to stop sucking his thumb like a baby, and instead he’d grab Aaron’s hand.
Aaron would squeeze his brother’s hand but stay silent, just like Jeremiah had told them to—barked at them, actually—the second they’d gotten into the truck to leave the Rocky M.
How much longer would that last? Jeremiah thought, picking up the book bags that covered the kitchen table and chucking them in the corner. How much longer before Aaron starts yelling back to protect his brothers from their crazy uncle? The uncle who only pretends to know what he is doing. The uncle who yells too much, who never seems to say the right thing.
Once the table was cleared, he spun.
“Sit.” He pointed to the chairs. His temper and his confusion was a boiling-hot mess in his chest. As he watched the boys cross the room, he thanked the Good Lord that Ben didn’t mouth off. He didn’t know what he would do otherwise. He really didn’t. His back was so far up against the wall he was lost in the paint.
Ben sat, Casey an
d Aaron followed.
“Why are you mad?” Casey whispered, looking guilty and worried and scared.
“I don’t like being lied to.”
“I didn’t lie,” Casey protested, and Jeremiah took a deep breath. Counted to ten.
“I know, Case, but…but we’re having a family meeting.”
Casey looked at Aaron, who shrugged.
“It’s our first.” Jeremiah took another deep breath and reached deep inside for his heretofore unseen internal Dr. Gilman. He’d been seeing the psychologist for months now—something had to have rubbed off.
“We need to talk,” Jeremiah said. “Not yell. Not go stomping off when we get mad, we need to sit here—” He spread his hands across the faded and scarred wood of the old table. The table he grew up at, the table his sister inherited and was now his again—full circle. “And talk stuff out.”
“Good,” Aaron said, and Jeremiah fought the urge to throw his arms around the kid.
Jeremiah turned to Ben, who sneered. “Yeah, you mean me,” he said. “I’m the one who has to talk.”
“I just want to know why—” He thought about saying, “You lied to me,” but the Dr. Gilman in his head vetoed that.
Too accusatory. You’ve gone that route before.
He thought about asking, “Why Walter and why not Lucy?”
Too close to your own hot buttons and not quite the problem, is it?
“Why do you want to work with Walter?”
Ben blinked at him, as if surprised, and the Dr. Gilman in his head nodded in approval. But Ben just shrugged.
“What kind of work do you do with him?”
“We’re cleaning up all his moldy saddles and stuff.”
It was Jeremiah’s turn to be surprised. That was not fun work.
“And you like that?”
“Better than gardening.”
Careful, he thought, careful here.
“You know, you could have just told Lucy you didn’t want to garden.”
“I did.”
Jeremiah could just imagine how that went and he hung his head for a second looking for another way into the boy’s head.
“Walter tells me stories about Mom.”
Jeremiah’s head jerked up.
“What stories?” Aaron asked, his eyes alight.
“Ones about Pirate—”
“Who is Pirate?” Casey asked.
“Mom’s dog growing up,” Aaron told him. “Mom said he used to chase the mailman so much that he would leave the mail down at the bottom of the drive.”
“That’s not all,” Ben said. “Pirate nearly killed Duchess, Walter’s old dog.”
Jeremiah sat back in his chair, blown sideways by the boys’ reactions to these stories. Aaron’s eyes glittered and Ben—Ben was smiling.
You don’t talk about her anymore, he thought. You don’t want to upset the boys so you just stopped talking about your sister. Their mom and dad. They died and then you put the memories away where the boys couldn’t reach them.
You thought it was the right thing.
“First of all,” he said, sitting back. “Pirate was my dog! Your mom stole him.”
He could see on their faces that they weren’t sure what he was doing. They looked as if the ice under their feet wasn’t totally solid.
“How’d she steal him?” Casey asked.
“She used to go to bed at night with dog treats under her pillow and Pirate would sleep on her bed because she fed him all night. He used to sleep like a person, too. You know how dogs usually sleep all curled up?”
Casey jumped away from the table to demonstrate, curling up like a doughnut, while Aaron and Ben watched. Their mouths curving slowly into smiles.
“Well, Pirate used to sleep stretched out, on his back with his paws in the air. He used to push her out of bed all the time.”
“But she still let him sleep in her bed?” Aaron asked.
“Every night. She really loved that dog.”
The boys smiled at one another over this piece of their mother he’d handed back to them.
“Did I ever tell you about your mom and dad’s wedding?”
“No!” Aaron said, and Casey got up off the floor and crawled into Jeremiah’s lap. It took Jeremiah a second to swallow back the barbed lump in his throat and he pressed his lips to Casey’s curls, until the moment passed.
The boys all leaned forward, toward him as if he was fire and they were cold.
I’m sorry, he thought, I should have told you these stories all along.
“Your mom,” he whispered, “wore white cowboy boots under her wedding dress. And your dad nearly threw up at the altar.”
He skipped the part about how he and Conner, their dad, had gotten drunk as skunks behind the church before the ceremony.
“Did Mom get mad?” Aaron asked.
“Furious.”
“How’d she even know?” Ben asked. “If he didn’t actually throw up?”
“Your dad burped. And it did not smell good.”
Casey howled and Jeremiah laughed, remembering. Before he knew it, Aaron was laughing and so, remarkably, was Ben.
“I know that wedding album is around here somewhere.” He set Casey down and wandered into the rarely used den, where all the photos were kept. The boys followed and it was a good night. Magical almost. The kind of night he never thought they’d have.
Jeremiah watched the boys, heads bent over Aaron’s baby album, and he decided not to waste time feeling bad for having denied them this. Instead, he was going to go back over to Walter’s tomorrow and tell him Ben would be working with him.
Because it made Ben happy and it was about time something did.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LUCY DROVE SLOWLY over the pass, trying to formulate her argument. Trying to screw her courage to the sticking point, but her stomach was in knots.
All she could think about was how angry Jeremiah had been. How betrayed.
What did you think was going to happen? she asked herself. This is the way you handle every problem in your life, you bury your head in the sand and hope it will go away. Hope something will magically change. But all that changes is that it blows up in your face.
Honestly, she should be used to this by now.
The wind whipping through the window made Lucy more nervous, so she rolled it up and tried the radio but every song jangled and the DJs sounded like children.
What did they know about life? she thought, listening to them talk about it. What did they know about anything?
What did she?
This past year had been such a blur of worry and constantly swimming up from rock bottom. It had exhausted her and blinded her and made her doubt every part of herself. And now that the dust had settled in a way that she’d never expected, she had sudden clarity. She could see for miles in every direction.
And all she saw was Jeremiah. How he made her feel and that was too rare to let go because of pride. On both their parts.
She’d forget about logic and focus on what she was good at. Feelings. And what she’d felt had been real, and if he didn’t agree, there was no argument to make.
She parked and started up the porch steps. The house was dark, as one would expect at nearly ten o’clock at night. She hoped he was up. It was daunting to consider having to muster up the courage to try this again in the morning.
“Lucy.” His voice nearly scared her right off the steps.
“Christ, Jeremiah,” she gasped, her heart pounding under her hand.
She heard the quiet thrum of a rocking chair against the floor and then he was there—in front of her. Solemn and steady. His hands tucked into his pockets, his red T-shirt stretched taut against his chest.
“Lucy.” He sighed. “It’s been a pretty dramatic day already. Why are you here?”
“I…” Every word that came to her mouth felt selfish. I wanted to make you forgive me, like me, kiss me. I want it to go back to the way it was. “I wanted to make sure you were all
right.”
“I’m fine,” he murmured.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“We talked about Annie and Conner for two hours. Looked at pictures. The kids loved it.”
“And you?”
“Who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane?” His smile was not convincing and the tension and pain was palpable around him, like heat waves off sun-baked asphalt. She reached for him and he stepped immediately backward.
Her hand hung there, rebuked.
“I think you should leave.”
It’s okay, she told herself when her skin shrank, her heart stuttered. He’s right to be angry. You just have to tell him how you feel. “Is it because I lied?”
“No, actually. I get why you lied. I probably would have done the same thing in your position.”
“Somehow that doesn’t sound like forgiveness.”
He stepped farther away, as if containing himself and pulling back everything he’d ever shared with her. “I can’t be distracted right now. I can’t be pulled in two directions.”
“Jeremiah, you deserve a life—”
“I see a counsellor every Saturday.” He didn’t let her reply. “A shrink. With a couch and tissues…the works. And it’s a secret. No one knows. Not the boys. Not their grandparents. Because she asks me about my feelings. And I tell her. Every damn week I spill my guts.”
Lucy didn’t understand what he wanted from her. Was she supposed to denigrate him for getting the help he so clearly needed? “That’s…that’s great, Jeremiah. You’ve had a rough two years. I’m glad you have someone to talk to.”
“Yeah, well, I canceled last week. So I could have sex with you in that hotel. And I was going to do it again this Saturday. And for however many Saturdays you were going to be here. For as many Saturdays as I could get.”
He made it sound so villainous. So evil.
“I didn’t make you cancel those appointments.”
“I know. It’s me, Lucy. I can’t…I can’t have you and be what the boys need.”
“Oh, my God, Jeremiah, if you’d told me we could have had our dates on another night—”
“That’s not the point.”
“Seems to me like you’re making it the point.”
He was silent for a moment, gathering his argument, and she could only stand there and wait; she had no position anymore to convince him. No weapons to sway him.
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