Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  “Like caregiving.”

  She nodded.

  “Has he actually been diagnosed?”

  “He won’t allow it. He says ‘Let’s just be happy while we can.’ So it’s hard when I get a run. He doesn’t like me to leave.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Meet with Brian, help Grady keep control, and then fire up my truck and get the hell out of Dodge. Life goes on, chica.” Bracing herself on the chair arms, Rita stood.

  I admired her determination but wondered if it was false bravado. She was walking a fine line between her need for independence, and her concern for Grady. I hoped she found a realistic middle ground that made her happy.

  I stood and stretched, my backbone crackling in the most delightful way. “I think I’ll Uber over to Laguna and have lunch. There’s a place I used to go when I was working. It has a patio overlooking the harbor.”

  “Take Grady’s truck,” Rita said. “That way, you can wander around all afternoon. See your old stomping grounds. Afterwards, maybe we can have a drink and debrief? You can help me figure things out.”

  “I would love to. Over martinis?”

  “Exactly.” Rita’s eyes cut sideways. “Unless Grady’s there.”

  “Of course. We’ll play it by ear.” I went back to my room. Since I was all dressed up already from the meeting at Grady’s work, I planned to follow up my lunch with a shopping trip to Fashion Island. There was an expensive lingerie boutique there, and if I brought home just the right outfit, Curt might lose his mind. In a good way.

  Before heading out, I called St. Joseph’s in Dickinson to check on the situation at the church office. I hadn’t spoken with Father Engel since that day on the golf course in Palm Springs. To my delight, Lanie answered the phone. Father had taken my advice.

  “Yeah, I didn’t really give him a choice.” Lanie’s rich laugh resonated in her large body. “I acted like you had already promised me the job.”

  “Oh, yeah. Lying to your priest. Smart play.”

  “I know, right? Anyway, he’s not here, if you wanted to talk to him. He’s out making community visits. Today is nursing homes. Tomorrow’ll be hospitals. I put him on a schedule. No more of this running around, wasting a bunch of time, acting all random. Which totally stresses him out anyway.”

  “You’re what that office needs, Lanie. How’s John?”

  “Oh, crap. Don’t ask.” Lanie’s husband almost lost his hand in a farming accident several years ago. He’d been unemployed ever since. “I’m tryin’ to motivate him, but ever since the disability ran out, he’s been moping around the house. Says he needs to be there for the kids, but that’s not true. Mostly he watches TV.”

  “Does he like to read?”

  “Surprisingly, he does.” She said it with such loving resignation we both laughed.

  “I have a book for him, about a quarterback who remade his life after an injury.”

  “Aw man, thanks, Karen. And thanks so much for this job. We’d be in the poorhouse otherwise. Hang on a sec.” Lanie greeted a walk-in and came back to me. “Father should be getting in around five. Do you want him to call you?”

  I said no, but promised I’d visit when I got back to Dickinson and crossed Father Engel off my list of people to worry about.

  Grady’s truck was so big it was scary, but at least it was new and beautiful and had all the latest amenities. I turned up the radio and headed to the harbor, eager for lunch and to see my old haunts again.

  When I got back to Grady’s house, loaded down with shopping bags, it was almost time for dinner. One bag contained frilly unmentionables I expected Curt to remove with his teeth, as well as some nice clothes to wear in public. It was such a pleasure to buy them since there was only one really big store in Dickinson, and its name started with a W.

  The voice of Frank Sinatra led me to the patio, where I found Grady and Rita slow-dancing to The Summer Wind. The two of them swayed back and forth, unaware that I was watching. Grady, smooth in movement, spun Rita out for a graceful twirl. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t look away. They were so good together.

  When the song ended, they kissed on the lips, and Grady pulled Rita to his chest. When she opened her eyes, she saw me. Pulling him by the hand, they met me halfway across the patio.

  “Look.” Rita held her hand out. She wore a modest gold band on her ring finger.

  Hiding my shock, I hugged them both. Grady didn’t resist, but he didn’t exactly return the hug, and I wondered if he’d forgotten me again.

  “How about we celebrate with a nice dinner at the Montage?” He put an arm around Rita’s shoulders. “The three of us.”

  “You two go,” I said, knowing I’d feel like a third wheel.

  “No way. You’re coming.” Rita’s smile seemed authentic. She honestly looked happy.

  Still, after our conversation a few hours ago, I didn’t understand what had happened, and I felt uncomfortable.

  “We’d be honored if you joined us,” said Grady. For the first time since I’d been there, he made eye contact with me and held it. My heart softened.

  That evening I put my hair up, slipped into my little black dress, and borrowed a fawn-colored pashmina to ward off the cool night air. As I dressed, I felt a pang, knowing I’d be seeing the Montage again. Years ago, when I was still in love with my first husband, he and I used to have dinner there whenever one of us had received a promotion or had something to celebrate. The Montage was achingly sentimental.

  In the living room, I found Rita already dressed and waiting. “Don’t you look fabulous?”

  “We both do.” I gave a little twirl. “Want me to be the designated driver?”

  “No way.” Rita took my hand and dragged me to the front door. “Look.”

  At the foot of the steps, a black stretch limousine sat waiting. The driver, seeing us, sprang out and opened the rear door just as Grady came up behind us. He bent down so Rita could straighten his lapel. The three of us descended the stairs like royalty.

  When we arrived at the Montage, uniformed staff held open the doors to the foyer. Grady, looking sharp in a tweed sport jacket, and with a woman on each arm, paraded us through to the restaurant.

  We’d arrived at the height of the dinner hour, and several groups stood in front of us at the reception podium. When the maître d’ saw us, he broke into a grin, tucked his reading glasses into a breast pocket, and reached out both hands to Grady. “Capitán.”

  “Hello there, Ed. Long time, no see.” Grady’s eyes crinkled.

  “You’re looking well, Boss.”

  The two men clutched each other’s forearms, beaming with great affection. When they broke the clinch, Grady introduced Ed as a construction boss he’d worked with for many years. The man bent to kiss first Rita’s hand, then my own, before leading us to a table in front of the fireplace. He and Grady chatted briefly, giving Rita time to whisper that the two men had built the Montage, as well as many other notable projects. I was impressed. This gave me a sense of Grady, who’d made his mark on the area and was well-respected.

  The waiters bustled around, filling our water glasses and doing what waiters do. As I scanned the menu, Rita tucked her arm through Grady’s. “I’m so glad to be here. This was a great choice.”

  Grady reached for her hand, his thumb caressing the ring. “It’s a fine evening, isn’t it?”

  I held up my glass. “I’m very happy for you both. Here’s to a rich and happy future.”

  We touched glasses.

  “And you got to see Ed again,” said Rita. “What a surprise. I always wondered what happened to him. He was always such a nice guy.”

  Grady nodded. “Nice young man. He’ll go far.”

  My hand froze on my wine glass.

  Rita frowned. “Honey, I said Ed.” She gestured with her chin toward the front of the room. “The maître d’. Your friend.”

  Grady looked around the room. “Oh, uh huh. Gorgeous place, if I do say so myself.” H
e turned back to Rita, grinning.

  I didn’t know if he was playing us or not.

  Our server arrived, bringing bread and fussing. Rita glanced at me, then away. She gave the waiter her order and gazed at the fireplace, her fingers twisting the new ring around and around. I felt a chill and pulled the pashmina up over my shoulders.

  Dinner ensued, and for the next blessed hour, the chef’s alchemy helped us forget what we feared.

  Later that night, after Grady went to bed, Rita and I met on the patio, both of us frumpy and comfortable in coats and sweatpants. We sat on the wicker sofa and put our feet up on the coffee table, our legs draped in heavy Mexican blankets. Rita had fixed us an amaretto and cognac concoction, straight up, that reflected the warm amber light of the flames. The night was biting and damp, but the sky was clear. Twelve hours to the southwest, Belle and Fern would be thinking about what to have for breakfast. I imagined them lounging in the sunrise, savoring a mimosa and watching the morning clouds change from mango to peach over warm turquoise waters. I felt restless in a way I couldn’t describe.

  I turned to Rita. “Will you go on a honeymoon?”

  She didn’t answer. In the far distance, a cruise ship inched across the navy-blue velvet of the Pacific. Illuminated by a thousand lights, it reminded me of a wedding cake.

  “So, at lunch, Brian showed me the books,” Rita said. “Red’s been doing secret development deals without Grady’s knowledge. If a deal pans out, Red skims the profits. If it doesn’t, the loss comes out of the company.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “Uh huh. And he’s been hiding this for at least four years. Brian only noticed because of recent losses.”

  “Did you tell Grady?”

  “When I got back from lunch. He acted like it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

  “Did he understand?” I took a sip of my drink and felt the bite of alcohol on my tongue. Poor Grady.

  “I’m sure he did, but what a thing to process. They’ve been friends for such a long time. Grady said Red’s probably in debt, probably desperate.” Rita leaned forward, grasping her glass in both hands. “I knew he wouldn’t do anything, but if somebody didn’t stop the bleeding, Grady would be ruined.”

  “So to have legal access...”

  “I told Grady I’d quit driving and marry him if he made me a partner in the company.”

  “And he said yes.”

  Rita grinned. “He was thrilled.”

  “So now you’re a property developer. What do you know about construction?”

  “Freakin’ nothing,” said Rita. “I know. What a nightmare, huh? But Grady promised to teach me everything I needed to know, and there’s Brian.”

  “Right.” We fell silent. Brian.

  “And as time goes by, I’ll learn enough to hire and manage the people I need. If I have any problem with that, I know who to call.”

  “Anytime,” I said. Rita sounded enthusiastic. She was about to embark on an exciting new chapter in her life, and with her determination, I felt sure she’d be a success. “Will you sell the Peterbilt?”

  “What else? I can’t put her in the barn. She needs to run.” Rita sighed, a jagged exhale. “That hurts. I love being out on the road, the long empty stretches, the changes in elevation going cross-country, seeing different cities. And the truck—when I sit up so high, knowing I’m safe, having all that power—it never gets old. To be sitting behind that big Cummins, I feel like a superhero. When I get down out of the truck, I feel small and—”

  “Juvie.”

  “Yes. That truck healed me.” She finished her drink. “But it’s time to move on, Karen. That happened years ago. I’ll find a good therapist—Betty will know one, or somebody at the shelter. I’m tired of running. I need to land somewhere.”

  “This is a pretty good spot.”

  “And I saw Heather today, on the way back from lunch.”

  My stomach clenched. “How is she?”

  “Weak. Sad. She’s going to need a friend.” Rita stared into the fire. “When I was a child, my brother and I were homeless a lot. My mom was drugged out and my dad was in prison. We were supposed to be in the care of my mom’s relatives, but it was safer on the streets. Ernesto and I protected each other. And, now and then, random people would step up. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t have made it.”

  “So you’re going to help Heather.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” She rearranged the blanket over our legs, and we sat back and talked until we were both yawning.

  In my bedroom, I went over and sat in front of the window with the lights off. Eager as I was to get home, I was reluctant to have my new friendship with Rita fade into the background of my life, as with the rest of the CRS Ladies. When I returned to North Dakota, I would redouble my efforts to maintain my friendships, an art I’d only begun to cultivate when my life fell apart at age fifty. Our camping trip to South Dakota seemed even more important now, and for the first time since Frieda died, I felt a flutter of excitement at actually taking the Roadtrek out on a long journey—the journey to be with friends. To relive the old days in Moab and Key Largo, and to revel in the company of the CRS Ladies again.

  On the other hand, the thought of leaving California made me sad. I’d spent a third of my life here; my roots ran deep. A Midwesterner by birth, I’d grown to love the Left Coast and her magnificent ocean. I wondered if Steve still lived here, and what happened to his life after we divorced.

  I packed my suitcase and went to bed. Although I felt a bit mixed up about the idea of Rita and Grady marrying, in a way, it had all worked out. She’d be able to put down roots, finally, and she’d be taken care of, even as she took care of her dear friend, the soon-to-be husband who was not the love of her life. Grady would be in good hands, and Heather, and all the people who depended on the Laguna food pantry to get through their rough stretches.

  I thought about tomorrow’s flight to Denver, and even though I was homesick and desperate to feel Curt’s arms around me, I missed Jessie, too. I couldn’t wait to see her, and Ryan, her boy genius of a husband, and their adorable children. I’d mostly only seen them in video calls. Four-year-old Christopher was intense, fascinated by anything mechanical, and a complete handful. My sweet Sunshine, now seven, was introverted and bookish. I hoped she would remember me from the time we lived together in a trailer in Florida.

  In the morning, Rita drove me to the airport. The ebullience and determination of the night before had vanished. She seemed quiet and wan as if she hadn’t slept well. On the way, we recalled all that had happened since I arrived in Palm Springs, from Fern’s broken ankle to Grady’s decline, from frustration to joy to uncertainty.

  “It’s been a roller-coaster ride,” said Rita, “and it’s going to continue for a while.”

  “Curt always says, ‘Life is beautiful, but it is a ticking bomb.’”

  Pulling up at the curbside loading zone, I remembered the camping trip.

  Rita wasn’t that excited. “I won’t have my truck anymore.”

  Touchy subject. Which I changed immediately.

  “Come on, girl. Think big. Buy yourself a nice new RV. If you can drive a semi, you can handle a big, beautiful motor home, and I’m pretty sure Grady wouldn’t mind.”

  She stared out the windshield, but her face had unlocked. A tiny smile flickered. “Or I could just buy it myself from company funds.”

  We looked at each other for a second. Then we burst out laughing. I hugged her one last time, dropped my bags curbside, and joined the masses swarming into the terminal.

  Chapter 18 – Jessie

  THE DENVER AIRPORT was a small city, throbbing with a low rumble of voices and equipment, and teeming with fast-moving crowds. I followed the pack up and down escalators and on and off the train to baggage claim. There, I spotted Ryan, holding an electronic tablet with GRACE written on it. He wore a chauffeur’s cap, a real one, with a gold braid over the brim and everything. I laughed and hurried forward t
o kiss him on the cheek.

  “Where’s Jessie?” I asked.

  “Home.” He swung my golf bag over his shoulder and picked up my suitcase. All the way out to the curb he jabbered on about a course he played somewhere, but I had to trot to keep up with him and barely heard what he was saying.

  On the curb, the hatch popped open on the back of a black SUV, suitable for the Secret Service. Even over the airport’s din, the sound of shrieking children reached my ears. Ryan opened a door, and I peered inside. Sunshine, a curly-haired seven-year-old, lurched toward the back seat, wrenching her scarf out of her brother’s grip. Christopher screamed with rage. A worried-looking poodle mix yelped, her pink rhinestone leash attached to Sunshine's wrist.

  I slid onto the cool leather seat and said hi to the driver, a blond kid wearing a rasta cap and sunglasses. The girl sat down. The boy fell silent. The dog tucked her nose into a crevice.

  “Hello, Sunshine,” I said.

  “That’s Princess. She’s very shy.” Sunshine returned to her book.

  She seemed not to recognize me, and I felt a little stab of disappointment. I’d fed and diapered her, back when she and Jessie lived with me in Key Largo. Took her for walks, sang to her, and kissed her boo-boos when she knocked something against something.

  In all the years since we’d only ever seen each other during video chats with their mother, but not in person. I hoped she warmed to me during my short stay in Denver.

  I turned around to say hello to her brother and was hit in the face with a teddy bear. Christopher grinned at me, his plump cheeks rosy.

  “Stop it!” Sunshine tossed the bear behind her. “He just ate a whole bunch of cookies.”

  Ryan landed in the front seat and slammed the door. “Everybody in?”

  “Now we are.” The driver put on his blinker and steered us smoothly into the flow of traffic.

  I tapped Ryan on the shoulder. “So, what’s wrong with Jessie?”

  “She has a migraine,” said Ryan. “Mother-induced.”