Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology

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Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology Page 73

by Christine Bell


  “Or your dad,” he finished with a breathless laugh. “Everything okay between you and Mattie? She didn’t give you too much trouble?”

  “Mattie was fine. She took a shower and slept like a baby.” I should know. I’d sat up half the night watching her.

  He nodded again and stared off thoughtfully in the distance. I’d had enough of his caginess and was ready to ask in what the fuck was going on, but then he started talking again. “We’re sure gonna miss her when she’s gone.”

  I set the tomatoes in the passenger seat and slammed the truck door. “What you mean?”

  “She’s supposed to start some farming internship up north of the Metroplex. Some co-op thing. No pay, but lots of experience and free room and board. She leaves after the first of the year. Can you believe it? A farming internship? Back in the day, I think they just called that free labor,” he finished with a laugh and another shake of his head.

  Yet another thing nobody had bothered to tell me. “How long will she be gone?”

  “Six months,” he said with a shrug. “She’ll be back—” he sighed and cleared his throat, “—before we even have time to miss her.” He laughed again and said, “You know what these to call organic farming back in the good old days?”

  “You’re scaring me, Marsh.”

  “Farming. Just farming.”

  We both laughed and for a minute, it was like it used to be, easy. Comfortable even. Then the outside Christmas lights went off and his front door swung open. And there was Louisiana with a smile on her face, nursing Moses in front of God and the whole entire neighborhood see. I respectfully turned my head, catching Marsh’s eye in the process. “Sorry.”

  The peaceful expression on his face and the smile he gave me said it all. He’d found peace or made peace with it all. With where he was and what he had. I couldn’t blame him. I was too busy envying him, and I envied him so much it hurt, and that made me angry. Made me want to take a dig at him. “You thinking about taking Coach’s job?”

  “Huh? What?” He peeled his eyes off Louisiana long enough to frown at me.

  “Coach’s job,” I said again.

  “No, I dunno. They offered it to me, but it doesn’t feel right.”

  “Morning, Boomer! Marsh, honey, you better get in here before you catch your death. The last thing you want is Santa Claus bringing you a cold for Christmas.”

  I blew out a heavy breath and said, “Morning Louisiana.” I’d called her Louie out loud just once. Marsh had had a fit, so I stuck with Louisiana.

  “Want coffee?”

  I shook my head and gave her a little wave. “Time for me to get going. Merry Christmas, Louisiana.” I patted Marsh on the shoulder and gave him a dude-hug. “Think about it. And Merry Christmas, brother.”

  “I’m pretty happy where I am…and same to you.”

  “We good?” I asked softly as we broke apart.

  “Always.” Much as I envied him and what he had, the answers I’d been looking for were coming into focus.

  I climbed in the truck and texted Joe: I’ll sign the contract, but not till after Christmas. At least that’d get one person off my back. Then I dropped my cell phone in the console and headed home. I ran upstairs to put on clean clothes and brush my teeth, then sat down to breakfast with my parents.

  “You never did make it by the fire department yesterday,” my dad said between bites of runny egg smeared on toast.

  “You never told me Miss Molly died.” I added hot sauce to my own eggs and began eating.

  “I’m sorry Boomer,” Mom said. “We just didn’t want to upset you.”

  “And coach retiring? Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  Dad scowled at me over the top of his coffee cup. “What’s this about? Cause it ain’t too hard to tell you got something on your mind.”

  “This is still my home.” I spoke around the sinking feeling in my gut. In some ways, Bluebonnet had never felt less like home. Maybe I was reaching. “And Miss Molly and Coach, they’re people I care about.”

  “You couldn’t have gone to her funeral anyway,” Dad said. “It was on a Thursday. You were in Arizona. Playing the Cardinals.”

  For a brief, white-hot second I wondered if he was jealous. After all, he’d put that first football in my hand. And pushed and pushed. Then I let it go. If I’d learned nothing else today, I’d learned my jealousy was on me, which meant his jealousy was on him.

  “It still would’ve been nice to know,” I said softly.

  Mom sighed and Dad huffed. “If you care so much about coach, what didn’t you go by and see him yesterday?”

  “I ran late with Marsh’s kids. I’m going today, and then I’m going by the fire department see your guys like I said I would yesterday, and after that, I’m coming home to help Mom and the church ladies wrap presents for Sunday. And I think I might see if Mattie wants to go by the dancehall with me tonight to celebrate her last day on the job. I leave on Monday so if there’s anything else you need me to do before I go…”

  “Boomer, that’s very sweet of you.” Mom stood and grabbed the carafe to fill our coffee cups.

  “What about that new contract?” Dad asked.

  “It’s handled.” We glowered at each other.

  “And the ladies and I can handle wrapping the presents.” Mom’s attempt at getting us back on track.

  “I want to help,” I said.

  “You bought the presents.” She gave me a pointed look while nodding as if to drive her point home, even as she filled my cup. “That’s more than enough, son.”

  “I know.”

  Mom refilled Dad’s cup while he just sighed. I assumed he’d also gotten one of Mom’s pointed looks.

  My visit with Coach Weiland was short and to the point, driven as much by curiosity as respect. He jokingly offered me his job and I just as jokingly turned it down. We both knew, hell, the whole world knew, I had a contract on the table. Only a fool would give that up to coach high school football. And I was a lot of things but not a fool. I had plans for that money. Big plans.

  “Maybe in four years?” I joked while shaking his hand.

  He shook his bald head and said, “They’re thinking of bringing in an outsider.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  He took a seat and leaned back in his chair, looking around his office at the posters and calendars and plaques on the wall. Detritus of a thirty year career. “You know, I tried to get Marsh to come over here couple years ago. He’s great with the kids, and I know he’d be great with my players.” He wet his lips, raised one bushy white eyebrow, and gave me a pointed look.

  “You want me to talk to him?” I offered even though I already had.

  “I think him and Reggie could do a hell of a job together.”

  Plus no outsiders went unsaid. “I’ll try, but I think he’s pretty happy where he is.” I shrugged and added, “Why don’t they just make Reggie head coach?” Hell, he’d been here for five years. Lord love Coach Weiland, anybody who could put up with his cranky old ass for five years deserved to have the baton handed to them.

  Coach’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “You know the answer to that, son. To a lot of people, Reggie’s still an outsider.”

  Welcome to Bluebonnet, Texas. Not that we were any different than any other small town. If Reggie had been third or even second-generation, there wouldn’t have been any question about him becoming the new head coach. Reggie Lofton had joined the coaching staff five years ago when his wife Anna Beth took over as the new middle school principal. His son was a freshman, but rumor had it he was already getting looks from college scouts.

  Speaking of college scouts, I had one more order of business for Coach Weiland. I wanted to know everything I could about Bailey and her brother, and I had a lot to do before heading back to Houston.

  Including convincing Mattie to go out with me tonight.

  “Tell me about James Ramos.”

  I made it to the fire station in time for lu
nch with my dad and the guys. If they sensed the tension between us, they kept it to themselves, and I ducked out shortly after to spend two hours listening to my mom and a gaggle of church ladies fuss over the Christmas presents I had picked up for some of the town’s less fortunate families. My buying presents was one of the worst kept secrets in Bluebonnet, especially after I was dumb enough to include Texans jerseys. I’d stopped trying to keep it a secret after one little boy had looked me straight in the eye and said in the most serious tone possible, “I’m a Raiders fan.” Then he’d handed me back the jersey. I’m not sure who’d been more embarrassed, me or his grandmother.

  Anyway, lesson learned. No more Texans gear.

  I spent the afternoon assembling bikes and matching them with their color-coordinated helmets. I also played errand boy, fetching scissors, tape, more wrapping paper, and coffee whenever the ladies needed it. They put as much fuss and effort into wrapping the presents as they would have presents for their own families. Of course, I doubt Mom would have let them get away with anything less.

  Dad came in about six, carrying bags from Miz Mae’s Café. He looked me square in the eye and said, “I got you the meatloaf.” Then his lips twitched as he shoved one of the bags into my hand.

  The joke wasn’t lost on me. Mom was a great cook, except for her meatloaf. I’m not sure how you screwed up meatloaf, but she always had. And we’d always silently eaten it. There were some things you just didn’t complain about, and Mom’s meatloaf was one of them. That was as close to a peace offering as he’d get and we both knew it.

  So me and Dad were okay again. At least for now. By the time the ladies had cleared out and Mom had freshened up, we had dinner on the table.

  “You should have invited Mattie for dinner,” she said as she took a seat. “Since y’all are going out tonight.”

  I’d decided while assembling the bikes that it was probably best to spring our date on Mattie. No, it wasn’t nice, but if I called and asked, she’d just start rambling about what an asshole I was and hang up on me. Needless to say, if Mom knew what I had planned, she’d have a fit and probably take a chunk out of my ass. “There’s always Sunday supper.”

  Once the dinner mess was cleared away, I got cleaned up, put on a fresh shirt, and said goodnight to my parents. I was halfway to the truck when I realized I hadn’t heard my phone ring all day. I panicked briefly, then recalled I’d left it in my truck. All day. Shit. Fuck it. I’d made it this long without it. If there was an actual emergency, Joe and the coaches knew to call my parents.

  “Night, Boomer,” Mrs. Ford called from her front porch.

  I turned and gave her a wave and a smile. “Night, Mrs. Ford.”

  I regretted my impulsiveness the minute I spotted Mattie through her living room window. She was curled up in the oversized chair with an afghan that was probably as old as she was pulled over her legs. She stopped watching TV long enough to check her cell phone, then glanced up at the window. I breathed on the clear glass and wrote ‘HI’ backwards. She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she threw back the blanket. Tonight she wore a flannel shirt over her tank top and a pair of cut off sweatpants. I watched her cross the living room, then met her at the front door.

  “What are you doing here, asshole?”

  “I’m here for our date.”

  “Fuck you, Boomer.” The frown on her face didn’t hide the hurt in her eyes. “That’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I…thought we could celebrate your last day as a lunch lady.”

  “Maybe you should’ve thought to call first.” She’d blocked the opening with her body.

  “I lost my phone.” It wasn’t a complete lie. I had lost my phone–all day. Then I found it again. But she did need to know that. “Maybe I left it here?”

  She shook her head the tiniest bit. “I didn’t see it, but if I do, I’ll drop it off at your mom’s.”

  She went to close the door but I stopped her with my hand. My very expensive hand. I really didn’t want her slamming the door on it. “One hour at the dancehall. That’s it. One hour, we say hello to Susie and the cousins, we drink a beer, and I bring you home.”

  She sniffed and ground out from between clenched teeth, “I had a really shitty day.” Then her chin started to tremble, and I watched in horror as a tear slid down her cheek. The last time I’d seen Mattie cry was at her mother’s funeral. She hadn’t even cried at Marsh’s wedding, not even when Louisiana had gotten up and made a drunken, yet heartfelt, speech about how much she loved Marsh. Even I’d gotten a lump in my throat at that, but not Matilda Lucile Johnson.

  I took my hand out of the door, and leaned back to give her some room. “Let me make it up to you. Come on.”

  “I just don’t feel like being around people right now, Boom Boom.”

  I knew I had her when she called me Boom Boom. “How about we just go for a drive then.”

  She sniffled again and looked up at me through wet, dark eyelashes. “Can I bring my wine?”

  “You can bring anything you want.”

  7

  Matilda

  The last person I’d expected to see on my front porch this evening was Boomer, so when Marsh had texted me asking why Boomer’s truck was parked in front of my house I guarantee I was a hell of a lot more surprised than my brother. I hadn’t even answered him. Just looked up to find Boomer writing on my living room window with his finger. And now here I was, for the second night in a row. But this time I wore sweats, and one of Marsh’s old flannel shirts, and I can’t even lie, I was clutching on to my wine bottle for dear life. “Sorry about the dancehall.”

  “Susie will understand. And there’s always tomorrow night.” He flashed me a grin as we pulled into the Texaco just a few blocks from the dancehall. “Be right back.” He put the truck in park and ducked inside, returning a few minutes later with a six-pack of beer. Fifteen minutes later we stopped again just outside the gates to Rosewood Ranch. Boomer climbed out, open the gates, drove us through, and then climbed out close them again. “Just like the good old days,” he assured me.

  “Yeah, except without the fire department and the police.” And without my big brother breathing down my neck and threatening any boy who came near me. Rosewood Ranch had been empty for so long that nobody knew who owned it anymore, but back in the day, we’d had bonfires out here. And kegs. And fights. And races. And it stood to reason that more than a few babies had been conceived out here. Until my junior year when some asshole had set one of the fields on fire, and Boomer’s daddy and old Sheriff Townsend had put an end to it all.

  Boomer drove out into the middle of the old bonfire field and parked. He opened the door but before he could climb out I said, “Where the hell are you going?”

  The field was so grown over, the weeds would probably hit me mid-thigh, and I wasn’t exactly dressed for traipsing around in the middle of the night. “Fuck, Boomer, it’s cold. What the fuck are you doing?”

  He leaned in and grabbed his beer and said, “I’m getting in the back.”

  “Are you crazy? It’s like forty degrees out there.”

  “I brought blankets,” he said as he reappeared and reached over the seat.

  My eyes followed his hand and watched as he lifted the promised blankets. “Those are mine, Boomer!”

  “I know. I grabbed them while you were changing.”

  “You asshole.”

  He just grinned and said, “Hand me your wine.”

  I slowly leaned over and passed it to him; he disappeared again with the wine bottle and blankets. My palms began to sweat despite the cold from the open truck door. I clenched fistfuls of my coat and counted to ten in my head. Being along with Boomer, in the dark, was a bad idea, especially after what had happened this morning. I should’ve stayed home. Even if it meant sulking all by my lonesome.

  Finally, Boomer reappeared. “You coming?”

  I was if I wanted my wine, and I wanted my wine.

  We settled in t
he back with the blankets wrapped around us. Boomer had fixed a cozy little spot in the truck bed for the both of us, but I wasn’t that far gone. That’s stupid. That drunk. Or that crazy.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, as I took the warmest blanket and my wine bottle and retreated to the other side of the bed. At least that put a couple feet between us, unlike this morning. Which I hadn’t forgotten. And I guess he hadn’t forgotten either, judging by the way he smiled at me over the lip of his beer bottle.

  I followed suit, working the cork out of my wine bottle and taking a long pull.

  “You want to talk about it,” he asked when I came up for air.

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Greta was a bitch to me all day.” I took another sip of wine while thinking I should probably slow down. I hadn’t thought to bring a second bottle. I sniffed and burrowed deeper in the blanket as a stiff breeze blew across the field. Then I took a tiny sip.

  “So—”

  “You know, it’s not like I expected party with a cake and balloons, or even a fucking card. Though it would have been nice.” I looked over at him, and he was sipping his beer, so I kept talking. “And it’s not like I went to work expecting special treatment since it was my last day and all.” He still hadn’t said anything, just kept nodding his head. I took another small sip of my wine, and added, “but I swear to God, Boomer, she rode me like a fucking two-dollar hooker–” I patiently waited for Boomer to stop coughing. “Are you okay?”

  He waved a hand in the air, but kept coughing for another minute or so. Finally, he said, “Next time warn a man.” Then he coughed again and cleared his throat.

  “About what?”

  He held up the finger and took a long pull off of his beer before he spoke again. “She rode you like a two-dollar hooker?”

  “Oh, well, she did. She was all, “Mattie do this…Mattie wash that”. And then she just…complained. All. Day. Like all day. She even complained about how I opened the green beans. Which by the way, are disgusting. Have you ever actually looked at canned green beans or canned spinach? Or canned anything? Canned vegetables are disgusting, Boomer, and have almost no nutritional value.” He grabbed another beer from his bag and eased closer while I talked. I was no dummy, though, and kept my feet in front of me so that our bodies formed a little square. I took another sip of my wine and said, “I wouldn’t eat them. I never eat them. That’s why I grow my own. I mean, I guess if it was, like, the zombie apocalypse or something and I didn’t have time—”

 

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