by Marin Thomas
She turned into the community center in Pecos. For a small-town soccer game, the lot was crowded. They piled out of the car and Katelyn couldn’t help staring at Shirley’s hair. The spiked style and the reddish blond color were a shocker.
“You don’t like it?” Shirley touched her head self-consciously.
“I do like it,” Katelyn said. “I never pictured you as a redhead, but the color complements your complexion.”
Shirley’s face brightened.
Guilt jolted Katelyn. She’d been at odds with her mother-in-law for years and rarely flattered her. Maybe if she’d made more of an effort to say something nice about her once in a while, the two of them would have gotten along better.
“Ginny says the style makes me look younger.”
“She’s right.” Katelyn ignored Birdie’s snort as they walked over to the bleachers. “I see Abby.” She pointed to her coworker in the stands.
“Vern’s with her.” Birdie looked at Shirley. “Vern’s a minister. His wife, Elaine, passed away from breast cancer around Christmastime last year.”
“Glad you could make it to the game,” Abby said when Katelyn stopped at their seats. She smiled at Shirley. “You must be Katelyn’s mother-in-law.”
“Shirley Pratt.”
Vern stood, then offered his hand to Shirley. “Vern Wilkes.” He moved down on the bench and motioned for Shirley to sit next to him. “I bet Little Springs is boring as apple pie for someone from St. Louis.”
“I wouldn’t say boring, but the town is quiet.”
“I saw you eating at Ginny’s with Birdie the other day,” he said, “and you were a blonde. I’ve always been partial to redheads.”
Shirley blushed. “You don’t think it’s too short, do you?”
“The style is very becoming.” Vern leaned closer. “I’ve also always been partial to sassy women.”
Shirley opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. She’d finally met someone who rendered her speechless.
“I can’t remember the last time a high-society lady like yourself visited our town,” he said.
Shirley sat up straighter and patted the air around her head. It would take time for her to get used to losing her puffy hair.
“I heard you met the Little Springs Ladies’ Society this morning,” Abby said.
Shirley shot Birdie the evil eye. “I’m lucky I didn’t leave Sadie’s salon bald.”
Vern tipped his head back and laughed. “I appreciate a woman who tells it like it is.”
Birdie and Abby quirked their eyebrows at each other and Katelyn sensed the two had hatched a secret plan without speaking a word.
“I’m hungry for a hot dog.” Vern stood. “Can I get you ladies anything from the concession stand?” When no one spoke up, he looked at Shirley. “Maybe a soft pretzel?”
“No, thank you.”
“You’re not worried about your waistline, are you?” he said.
Shirley gaped at Vern.
“You’re a little on the slender side.” He smiled.
After Vern left the stands, Birdie nudged Shirley. “I told you that men appreciate a woman with some meat on her bones.”
“I shouldn’t have allowed Sadie to cut my hair,” Shirley said. “This style makes me look like a hussy.”
“I’ve had short hair since Katelyn turned three,” Birdie said, “and no man has ever called me a hussy.”
“That’s because you don’t wear any makeup. If not for your bosom, men wouldn’t know that you’re a lady.”
Katelyn sucked in a sharp breath.
“You don’t think I’m a lady?” Birdie leaned around Abby and raised her voice. “I’ll drop my drawers and show you my cooter.”
The giggling teenagers two rows away turned to stare and Katelyn wanted to fall through the crack in the bleachers.
“That’s disgusting, Birdie,” Shirley said.
“Disgusting is you thinking you’re better than everyone else.”
Abby stood. “I’ll see if my father needs help.”
At this rate Birdie and Shirley’s bickering would empty the stands before the end of the first soccer period.
Shirley poked a finger in her chest. “I’m the only one who has any class in this . . . this . . . shantytown.”
What happened to Shirley and Birdie being best buds the past few days? Katelyn handed Birdie a twenty. “Go buy us some nachos.”
“Spicy food is bad for my digestion,” Shirley said.
“What’s the matter? You afraid you might break wind?” Birdie stormed off.
“Your mother can be so crass. It’s no wonder you wanted to leave this place.”
“Be careful what you say about my mother and my hometown.” No one in Little Springs had a pedigree like the Pratt family, but Birdie’s neighbors and friends were decent, caring people.
Shirley jutted her chin. “I want to go back to St. Louis. Tomorrow.”
“On my mother’s birthday?”
“She won’t care.”
Katelyn’s gaze zeroed in on Birdie chatting with Vern at the snack shack. Her proud mother would never admit it, but taking a break from the Buy & Bag had lifted her spirits. Since Katelyn and Shirley had arrived eight days ago, Birdie had been acting more energetic and upbeat than at any other time when she’d visited her. The thought of her mother having to go back to work bothered Katelyn in a way it hadn’t before. Birdie had held down a full-time job her entire adult life, while her daughter had lived in the lap of luxury.
“I don’t care about your mother’s birthday party,” Shirley said. “I have nothing in common with her friends.”
Katelyn stared Shirley in the eye. “I thought you were enjoying getting to know the ladies’ society.”
“They’re unsophisticated and boring.”
Birdie and her friends were far from perfect, but Shirley was no prize, either. “They might not use their manners all the time or shop at Dillard’s and Nordstrom, but they have each other’s back when things go wrong. Where were your friends after Robert died?”
Shirley pretended to follow the play on the soccer field. “Successful people lead busy lives.”
Bull.
Birdie returned with a tray of nachos and convinced Shirley to eat one. Katelyn exhaled a sigh of relief when the two women engaged in a civil conversation. Layla waved at Katelyn from several rows away where she sat with Brian. They made a cute couple—maybe with time Layla would give Brian the chance he deserved.
Speaking of men who deserved second chances . . . Katelyn’s gaze skipped across the field and landed on Jackson, who stood behind the perimeter fence. She nudged her mother. “Why is Jackson here?”
Birdie looked across the field. “He comes to most of the games like everyone else in Little Springs.”
So why wasn’t he sitting in the stands? His baseball cap shielded his eyes from view, but Katelyn sensed he was watching her and not the game. She reached for the sketch pad in her purse. Birdie and Shirley’s conversation faded along with the cheers of the spectators. Only the skitch-skitch sounds of the pencil dragging across the pad resonated in her mind.
Jackson stood in the shadows, looking lonely and isolated. The tip of her pencil pressed harder against the paper as if sheer willpower could draw him into the stadium light spilling onto the field. Then without warning he turned and walked to his pickup, parked on the side of the road.
Her pencil froze.
Only after the red taillights disappeared from view did Katelyn sense someone else watching her. She glanced through the crowd and her gaze collided with Vern’s. His assessing stare carried a message she couldn’t decipher.
“What’s going on between you and Jackson?” Birdie whispered.
Katelyn looked at her mother. “Nothing. Why?”
“You were down by the track
s with him.”
“Are you having me followed?”
“Mr. Petty saw Jackson’s pickup parked on the dirt road behind the tracks.”
“We were catching up, Mom.”
“Exactly how far do you two plan to catch up while you’re here?”
Katelyn wasn’t used to Birdie poking around in her business. She couldn’t very well confess that before she’d drifted off to sleep last night, she’d fantasized about having a hot, messy fling with her former boyfriend.
“Jackson’s not the same young man you had a crush on in high school.”
“He told me about his drinking.”
“Then you know he followed in his father’s footsteps.”
“Jackson’s not like his dad. He stopped drinking.” Cut the guy some slack. He had a tough childhood.
“Whether he takes a drink or not, he’s still an alcoholic,” Birdie said. “You should focus on the future rather than relive your past.” She tapped a finger against the pad in Katelyn’s hand. “This is the first time I’ve seen you draw since you left for college.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately, but I have this insane urge to sketch everything I see.”
“You always wanted to have your work in an art gallery. Maybe you should turn those sketches into paintings.”
“First I need to figure out what I’m going to do after the divorce.”
Birdie’s smile faltered. “Don’t end up like your mother.”
“You mean having to get a job and work?”
“No, I mean don’t give up on your dreams.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wednesday morning Katelyn’s son phoned as she stepped onto the back porch. “Hi, honey. Did you call to wish Grandma Chandler a happy birthday?”
“Is Dad serious? Are you guys getting divorced?”
Katelyn sat down on the steps. “When did you speak to your father?”
“A few minutes ago.”
How nice of Don to break the news to his kids on their grandmother’s birthday. “It’s true.”
“What happened? I thought you two were happy. It’s not like you ever argued or anything.”
Obviously Don hadn’t had the guts to tell Michael that he’d cheated on his mother. “Your father is having an affair.”
“No way!”
The outrage in Michael’s voice warmed Katelyn’s heart. She had no intention of bad-mouthing Don in front of the kids, but their children deserved the truth. “I didn’t find out until I received the divorce papers in the mail.”
“He didn’t talk to you first?”
“No. A courier delivered the legal document to the house.” Katelyn stared at her left hand. Her marriage was over even if she hadn’t yet signed the papers. But if she took off the ring, would others believe she was looking for another man? Then again, why did she care what anyone thought?
“I can’t believe Dad cheated on you. Are you okay?”
“I’m going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Dad said the house sold already and our stuff will be moved to storage somewhere.”
“I’ll keep all of your things, including the bedroom furniture. You can get it whenever you want.”
“What are you going to do? It’s not like you can go out and get a job somewhere.”
Katelyn’s hackles rose. “I’m not helpless.”
“You’ve never had a job.”
“Your dad will make sure I’m taken care of financially while I figure out my next steps.”
“Are you staying in St. Louis or living with Grandma Chandler now?”
“I’m not sure, but I have time to decide. Listen, no worrying about me. I mean it. Focus on your studies and enjoy college.”
“Is Grandma Chandler upset with Dad?”
“She feels bad about what’s happening.”
“Grandma never liked him.”
“Did she say that?”
“No, but I could tell by the way she looked at him.”
Kids saw a lot more than they let on.
“Dad said Grandma Pratt’s moving into an apartment near the house.”
“Your father hired a caretaker to check on her every day. She’ll be fine.”
“She’s going to be lonely. She’s used to having you around.”
“It will be an adjustment for all of us.”
“What’s Grandma Pratt been up to?”
“Tonight she’s going to Grandma Chandler’s birthday party.”
“What are you doing down there?”
“I’ve been sketching.”
“Cool.”
It was cool. “And I’m working Grandma Chandler’s hours at the grocery store. She’s enjoying a break from standing on her feet all day.”
“That sucks.”
Katelyn laughed. “It’s not so bad. The ladies at the store are nice.”
“Dad told me not to talk to or text Melissa until he tells her.”
“When does he plan to do that?”
“He didn’t say, but she’s gonna flip a shit.” Michael expelled a loud breath. “Why did Dad have to go and ruin our family?”
“We’re still a family, Michael. That will never change. This isn’t what I wanted for you and your sister, but we’ll get through this. And remember I’m always here if you need to talk.”
“My friends will ask why my parents are splitting up. What am I supposed to say?”
Katelyn hurt for her son. “It’s up to you how much or how little you tell them.”
“It’ll be weird seeing you guys separately.”
“We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“Mom?”
“What?”
“Thanks for always being there for me and Melissa.”
Katelyn’s eyes burned. “I love you, honey.” Time to change the subject. “So what’s new in your life?”
“I went out on a date last night.”
“Tell me about her.”
“It was only a first date, Mom.”
“What’s her name? How did you meet?”
Michael rambled on about a girl named Sloan from Dearborn, Michigan. He’d met her at the pool in his apartment complex. Sloan was really cute. She was a sophomore and a nursing student.
Katelyn thought back to the first time Don had asked her out on a date. He’d turned bright red with embarrassment, which she’d found charming. He’d impressed her when he’d taken her to a swanky restaurant and paid with his own credit card. While they ate dessert, he’d regaled her with stories about the countries he and his parents had traveled to. A week later he’d shown up at her dorm with a beautiful, expensive art easel and he’d won her over.
“Sloan sounds like a nice girl,” Katelyn said when Michael paused to take a breath.
“What am I supposed to do this Christmas if I don’t have a house to come home to?”
“You’ll have an invite somewhere. And remember—home isn’t a house; it’s the people you love.”
“Mom?”
“What?”
“You’re really okay?”
“I’m fine.” She had to be, for the sake of her kids.
“Text me if you need to talk,” he said.
Katelyn smiled. “I will. You want to speak to your grandma now?”
“Sure. I’ll wish her a happy birthday.”
“Hang on.” Katelyn walked across the yard to the shed, where the door stood open. “Mom, it’s Michael.” She handed off the phone, then returned to the porch. A few minutes later, Birdie hollered for Katelyn.
“Come give me a hand, will you?”
Katelyn returned to the shed and poked her head inside. “Happy birthday.”
Her mother ignored the greeting. “Michael’s worried about you.�
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“I hope you said I was okay.”
“I told him that you’re one of the strongest women I know.”
She was strong when it came to advocating for others, but not so much herself. She’d always made sure everyone was taken care of. Now it was her turn to focus on herself so that her kids wouldn’t worry about her.
She pointed to the mess her mother was making. “Why are you organizing the shed on your birthday?”
“I’m looking for my guitar.”
“What guitar?”
Her mother pushed a box aside. “The one I played when I sang you to sleep at night.”
“I don’t remember you singing to me.”
“I stopped playing when you were three.” Birdie leaned over a box. “I can’t reach it.”
“Let me.”
Birdie wiped her face on the hem of her T-shirt. “The guitar case is behind the Christmas bins.”
Katelyn lifted the heavy carton and placed it on top of another. Her mother was a pack rat. “What else besides Christmas decorations do you have stored in these bins?”
“Your father’s fishing gear, his camping equipment and his bears.”
Katelyn’s dad had collected little wooden statues of bears.
“I’m keeping his things in case Michael and Melissa want any of them.”
“I see it.” Katelyn reached behind the sign advertising Santa Claus Lane and grabbed the battered case.
When she handed it over, Birdie left the shed and returned to the porch, where she sat down and pulled out the guitar. Her fingers caressed the strings. “It’s a Martin D-35 made in 1976.”
“That thing looks huge in your hands,” Katelyn said.
“It’s a larger guitar than some, but the high and low sounds on it are beautiful.”
“Play something.”
After a couple of false starts her mother’s fingers plucked the strings, and real music filled the air. “That was beautiful, Mom. What’s the name of that song?”
“I didn’t give it a title.”
“You wrote the music?”
“I did.”
“How old were you when you started taking music lessons?”
“I taught myself,” Birdie said.