Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  Though uncomfortable sharing his private life with anyone, Matt described Lane’s layover in detail. He shared their discussions, the contents of the letters, and the kiss. Barney knew instantly that Matt struggled most with the memory of that kiss.

  “Why does the kiss bother you so much?”

  “I had no right. We may never— I knew that the chance of us was a long shot and I did it anyway. It’s just like before when I was with women. It was all about me and—”

  The snort stopped Matt cold. “Oh, honestly, Matt. Can you truly say that there was nothing behind that kiss other than you ‘getting some’ from your girl?”

  “Barn!”

  “I’m serious. Sometimes I understand Lane’s irritation with Christians. We look for ways to make any behavior sinful no matter what it is!”

  “But—”

  Without letting Matt continue, Barney barged onward with his reproof. “Matt! You love the girl. She loves you. There is a very serious rift between you, but you didn’t drag her behind that building to satisfy your own lusts. You cared about her feelings, you showed her your concern and care for her, and you kissed her.”

  “And if this never goes anywhere—”

  Barney put his arm around Matt’s shoulder and walked him to the door. “Then it never goes anywhere, and no one sinned. You both put your hearts on the line, but the lines couldn’t meet.”

  “Wow.”

  “I’ll send my bill later. Go back and write again.”

  ~*~*~*~

  To: lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: Fools rush in—

  Lane Honey,

  That’s right, honey. I plan to try several pet names and see if any fit. For the record, honey doesn’t, but that’s what you get this time. Honey, ain’t it sweet?

  Well now, Honey, I have to tell you; I was really frustrated by your email. Ok, I lied; I was ticked—royally. Frankly, I took it personally. I saw it as a rejection of me, not one of Jesus, and I hope I am right in that it wasn’t. (A rejection of me that is—if it was I’d be looking pretty stupid right now with this honey bit).

  Why do sugarplum and snookums suddenly try to find their way under my fingers? Sheesh! How pathetic is that? I’m mocking my own pet names with even more nauseating ones. Honey clearly won’t cut it Smootzie Poo. (That’s from Monster’s Inc. and not my own irrational creation.) I think that this pet name thing will lighten up the mood of these emails on days when you’re not in the mood.

  Anyway, I’m writing because I refuse to give up on you and me until the day you become Mrs. Someone Else’s Honey, and I refuse to give up on you and Jesus until the day you die.

  How’s that? You didn’t think I had it in me, did you? I know you and your family think I’m just a panty-waisted city boy, but I’m being John Wayne in this one, and I’m not letting the girl get away without a fight.

  There. That’s all the aggressiveness I have in me today. Honestly, Lane, I’m scared. It’s not an easy thing to admit, but when you read one day that the girl in every one of your favorite childhood books is willing to take a chance on the most important thing in your life and then the next day she kicks it in the gutter, it kind of makes a guy nervous.

  So, I want to leave you with this one thought. If there is a God, and you say you believe there is, did we get our capacity to love from Him or from somewhere else?

  Your Sugarpiehoneybun,

  Matt * cough *

  ~*~*~*~

  Tad watched amused as Lane snickered through her email. She’d been so sullen and grumpy for the past two weeks that he’d finally written Matt to see what happened. Matt’s terse, “All I know is that she hasn’t written me since she got home and found out your parents are going to church again” bothered him. The fact that she was reading Matt’s email and laughing told him that she’d avoided it for some time.

  “Hey, Tad. You have to read this. Matt went loopy!”

  A glance at the email brought a smile to Tad’s face. Matt was showing the exact kind of assertiveness that Lane needed and respected. The last thing Lane needed was a guy who just accepted a situation as it is. She needed a man who would take charge when she wasn’t being reasonable and not let her be detrimental to herself.

  “For once, someone told you what you need to hear rather than what you wanted to hear.”

  “Don’t push, Tad. I’ll take it from him, but I won’t take it from you.”

  Tad waited until he got her attention and then smiled into her eyes. “I’ll take that.”

  While Tad went in search of something for an early dinner, Lane replied to Matt’s email. She erased several, closed the laptop, and then tried again. After spending half the evening ignoring it, Lane tried again.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  Subject: Schmootzie Poo?

  Mattsy Wattsy,

  You deserve it. I’ll have to watch the movie. I’ve missed much in my cinematological education, but I can remedy that. I fully intend to understand what kind of movie could produce such an affected and stomach churning pet name.

  I’ll be honest; I didn’t think you’d try anymore. I was upset the day I sent that last email and knew I deserved a, “You’re not worth this yo-yo ride, I’m getting off” that I really thought your reply was a “Dear Jane” type thing. Then as the subsequent emails followed, I was afraid to open them thinking that you hadn’t given up on me, but now you were. I wanted to ignore you and call you and… I’m not sure how to explain it.

  I don’t think I’m going to try. How about a simple, “I’m sorry.” And I truly am. I want to tell you something else. I know the day will come, sooner than I expect, that I regret saying this, but I’m going to do it for my own good. I’m glad you didn’t give up on me, and I really hope you never do. There is a side of me I keep stuffed down deep that wants your Jesus to be the kind of Jesus that you say He is. My Jesus isn’t someone I want to acknowledge. I do believe we got our capacity to love from God. God created us, so of course, part of His attributes rubbed off on us.

  Show time in an hour. I’ve got to go check out the mics and the acoustics and things. I’ll write again.

  Such a girl sometimes,

  Lane

  Twenty-Two

  Lane left her room that Saturday evening confident in her ability to separate her former life and her present one. She determined to try to see and acknowledge positive changes in her parents’ lives once she was back at home. This is where Steinbeck had it right. The best laid plans…

  After three days stuck in Spokane while the roads home were cleared from a blizzard, Lane arrived on Friday to find their barn decorated for a party, the smoker full of beef, and the wood stoves blazing. Tad entered into the preparations for a church party eagerly. Lane was not amused.

  While the barn rang with song, laughter, and children’s games, Lane watched from the living room of the house. The barn doors were shut, but all five of the stovepipes sent steam into the night air assuring Lane that all were warm and hearty inside. Occasionally young people arrived or left; a few waved at her or beckoned her to join them. Tad brought some guests into the house, but Lane’s extreme cordiality was enough to tell him that his sister was at her breaking point.

  Saturday strained Lane so severely that it sent her over the edge. The family spent the day cleaning up after their guests, reminiscing, and Lane never felt so detached from the one thing she always thought would be secure. Warren sensed that she was near emotional collapse over something, and Tad’s explanation about the emails between Lane and Matt had been misleadingly encouraging.

  When Lane snapped at her mother and then stormed from the room, Warren sent the family to town for lunch. He knocked on her door and without waiting for a response said, “Lane, I’d like to talk to you in the living room, please.”

  Lane entered the room, relieved to see that it was empty and the cars were gone. It was
time to lay it on the line for her father. “Everyone gone?”

  “I thought it best. We need to talk. I can’t have you snapping at your mother Lane. You’ve never been so disrespectful to anyone before this.”

  Lane’s shoulders squared. “You’re right. I was wrong, and I’ll apologize. I’ve been thinking—”

  Relief flooded Warren’s features making Lane falter. “Dad, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m leaving.”

  His face, frozen with shock, looked angry to her. She started to rise, but his voice stopped her. “Why? I don’t understand, Lane.”

  “That’s why. You don’t understand, and I don’t understand you. This isn’t home anymore. This isn’t the refuge from religiosity anymore. This is becoming the Brethren take two! I can’t take it!”

  Warren stood and stared out of the large picture window that overlooked the Argosy valley. “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. I— I think I’ll go to Rockland and talk to Matt. Maybe he’ll have an idea.”

  With every ounce of self-restraint that he had, Warren ordered his voice into an even keel and tried again. “What about Tad and your schedule? You guys are booked until next summer and get more requests every day. You’ll need to do another CD if this keeps up.”

  “I’ll continue. I’ll just meet Tad in the cities from wherever I am.”

  “You don’t think you’ll stay in Rockland?”

  Lane stood and shook out her jeans. “No. That I am sure of. I do know that I’m not telling anyone where I’m going for a while. I’ll see Tad, and I’ll come home with him occasionally if I’m still welcome. I just need a break.”

  Warren crossed the room in a few short steps, wrapped his great arms around his daughter, and held on, unwelcome tears splashing against her hair. “You’ll always be welcome, Lane. Always. There is not a single thing that you could do or say to change that. No matter what. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, Daddy. I—” Lane choked a bit and tried again. “I understand.”

  Warren looked down at his daughter wondering when she’d become such a strong and stubborn woman. “Will you have enough money?”

  Sniffling, Lane nodded, quickly blinking back tears and putting on a brave face. “I’ve got my savings account, and of course, the money from the performances. I’ll have to let Jude raise our fees and book as many things as Tad’ll do if it gets too expensive.”

  “When you get to Rockland, you get Matt to take you somewhere and negotiate a deal on a good car. I’ll cover it. I want you to have reliable transportation no matter where you are. Keep the cell phone too.”

  Before Lane could reply, he gave her one final kiss on the head and strode from the room. She watched him storm down the steps and out to the Jeep. He was checking the sheep paddocks to make sure the animals were warm enough and not smothering one another. Leaving the familiar would be difficult.

  ~*~*~*~

  Monday night, Matt dragged himself up the stairs. It’d been a long day at work. Two injuries meant double the work for the rest of the crew and overtime. His muscles screamed for relief. His feet were killing him and even more than his mother’s meatloaf, he craved a Coke and two ibuprofen tablets.

  Lane, sleeping on his couch, was the last thing he expected to see. He shook himself out of his jacket and hovered around the heat register rubbing his hands together and watching as her hair fluttered with each gentle snore. He spoke her name gently, but she didn’t stir.

  His hands still screamed from the cold. He’d forgotten his gloves that morning and walking home in freezing weather wasn’t a very good way to keep the body happy. With one last glance at Lane, he reached for clean clothes and hit the shower. His laptop called to him, so he booted the machine on his way out the door.

  Warm, clean, and well fed, Matt watched Lane sleep as he read the emails from Warren and Tad. His heart hurt for the entire Argosy family. Before he could reply, she stretched and rolled in her sleep.

  “Lane? La-ane. You in there?”

  He snapped the laptop shut and went to sit beside her as she struggled to open her sleepy eyes. “Whe— hey! You’re home. You were late. Your mom said you’d be home by six, and when you weren’t—”

  “Trouble at the factory. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sure you got word from my family.” She pointed meaningfully at his laptop.

  “They didn’t say why. I’m glad you came. I’m glad you trusted me enough to come, but why?”

  She tried to explain several times and nothing made sense to either of them. Finally, she shrugged and said, “Matt, I’ve lived my whole life in one small town, and had one small circle of friends. Those were ripped away from me. Then I had my family. Right now, I feel like my family has been ripped away, too, and that left you. So I came to you.”

  Jake and Carol found them snuggled into one corner of the couch watching the late news. Carol had talked of nothing but Lane’s arrival, making their bowling night a bit exciting for the wives and tedious for the men. She hadn’t known if Lane would still be there or not.

  While Jake entertained them with stories of the night’s bowl, Carol quickly changed the sheets on Matt’s bed and dragged Lane’s suitcases into the room. “Okay guys, I have to be up for work tomorrow; I’m going to turn in. I changed the sheets on Matt’s bed so everything is nice and fresh for you. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Lane’s face turned scarlet. “I—um—”

  “Mom, do you have any spare sheets and a few blankets? I’ll be sleeping out here tonight.”

  “Oh, no! I can—I mean I didn’t plan to stay! I’ll get a cab to the Towers or, ugh that’s kind of expensive. You said there was someplace closer and less expensive?” Her eyes pleaded with Matt to get her out of the awkward situation.

  “That’s crazy. Matt has a nice big bed, and you guys—”

  Matt interrupted before his mother could make things worse. “Mom, Lane would be more comfortable with the bed to herself. I appreciate it, really. Neither one of us is prepared to share a bed at this point in our relationship.”

  Wordlessly, Carol nodded and shuffled down the hall. She overheard Matt apologizing and explaining that his mother still wasn’t used to a Matt that treated women like ladies and made up her mind. She grabbed her pillow and marched into Matt’s room pulling his most used pillow from the bed.

  “Here, Matt, take your pillow and go sleep with your father. Our bed is big enough for you guys not to fight over space. I’ll bunk with Lane.”

  Though Matt began to protest, Lane stood and took the pillow from Carol, smiling at her. “Thank you! That is very kind. Goodnight, Matt. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Maybe we can have lunch together.”

  Before he knew what hit him, Matt watched his mother and Lane disappear behind his bedroom door, giggling like two schoolgirls at a Friday night slumber party. “Well, Dad, looks like you get stuck with me.”

  “Just don’t put your cold feet on me like your mother does and we’ll be fine.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Saturday, Lane and Matt went with Jay Brown to buy her a car. They wandered through dozens of lots and looked at hundreds of vehicles until finally a two-year-old Camry caught everyone’s eyes. Silver and sleek with less than ten thousand miles, the car was a dream to drive.

  That night, Lane loaded her bags into her new car and drove from Rockland. Matt asked repeatedly where she was going and what she would do, but she refused to answer. She promised to email when she stopped for the night, but before he could ask again, she rolled up the window and pulled away from the curb.

  She got on the Rockland Loop and exited forty minutes later in Brunswick. Driving one-handed, Lane pulled directions from her purse and consulted them as she drove down busy streets, rounded corners, and finally sloshed down a street that was like a winter fairyland with snow-dappled branches arching overhead. A tasteful sign signaled that she’d arrived.

  Stafford House was larger than the website showed. The
gatekeeper’s house was twice as large as she’d expected, and the main house was a mansion. She pulled into the parking area and turned off the car. Home. It didn’t look like any place she’d ever lived, but now she was home.

  Charity Stafford welcomed Lane warmly. The gentle elderly woman hustled her into a downstairs room off the “gathering room” and showed her the kitchen, the back porch, and the dining room. By nightfall, she was settled into the house as a resident and acquainted with the other tenants.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  Subject: Stopped for the night.

  Hey Matt,

  I’m here. Everything is ok. I’m tired, but I wanted to thank you and your parents for your hospitality and for being so good to me. I have my cell phone. Please call from time to time. I’m not used to being on my own. I’m afraid I’ll find the transition uncomfortable. Lonely.

  Thankful for friends like you—

  Lane

  Twenty-Three

  Dawn rose over Tallahassee. Tad and Lane slept in their hotel room as though nothing had changed in the past month. This was their second engagement since she’d moved away from Montana; the first had been awkward and the audience felt it. However, Lane’s frustration at the dismayed comments of the organizer solved the problem for future performances.

  She’d turned from the curtains, marched up to Tad and demanded, “Just get it out. Let me have it. Tell me what you think of my decision, and let’s get this over with. Another performance like that and we’ll be out of jobs!”

  It worked. Tad railed at her and after a heated exchange of pieces of mind, the siblings collapsed into fits of laughter over Tad’s mixing of his meaning. They had a new facet of their relationship to polish, but it looked like it’d be a beautiful one once it shone properly.