The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  “Why didn’t you ask me to help you in the yard when I was younger?”

  “You were always off somewhere doodling in that sketch pad of yours.”

  Katelyn couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t drawing on something—the back of a candy wrapper, a paper lunch bag or her school notebooks.

  “Pulling weeds is therapeutic and I needed a lot of therapy after I gave up my music.” Birdie reached around Katelyn and tugged a dandelion out of the ground. “I had to have something pretty in my life to replace my music.”

  “I wish you and I had been closer, Mom.”

  Birdie brushed a loose strand of Katelyn’s hair off her cheek. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

  “Me, too.” And Katelyn meant it. Unlike on previous visits home, she felt no restlessness, no gut-tugging urgency to return to St. Louis.

  “The other day Etta asked if you’d donate a piece of artwork for the Fourth of July silent auction.”

  “That’s four days away.”

  “You must have a sketch or drawing you could contribute,” Birdie said.

  Katelyn had taken her pencil and pad down to the railroad tracks after she’d finished her shift at the store each day last week, but hadn’t decided if she’d turn any of the sketches into a painting. “I’m not ready to share my work with the public.”

  “Why don’t you show me one of your sketches,” Birdie said, “and I’ll tell you if it’s good or a piece of crap?”

  “You’re a musician. How would you know what’s good art and what’s not?”

  “After I saw your drawing of Mack, I knew you had talent.”

  “The one of him sitting on the front porch?”

  Birdie nodded. “The look of love in that dog’s eyes stole my breath. Anyone who can capture that raw emotion on paper needs to share their gift with the world.”

  “I wish you had told me that back then,” Katelyn said.

  “I’m ashamed to admit I was jealous.”

  Startled by her mother’s confession, Katelyn didn’t know what to say. She’d always believed her mom had been too busy with work, and that was why she hadn’t shown much interest in her daughter’s art.

  “I know it sounds horrible for a mother to be jealous of her own child. Any decent parent would wish for their offspring to be successful, but your talent reminded me of my lost dreams.” Birdie blinked hard. “By the time I realized how stupid my jealousy was, you were in college.”

  Katelyn appreciated the confession, but it made her sad that her mother’s envy had kept them from having a close relationship. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “You have incredible talent, daughter. You simply have to believe in yourself.”

  Believing in herself would take time. But she’d taken a step in the right direction when she’d decided to remain in Little Springs for the summer. And admitting that the place she’d always wanted to escape from was the same place that nurtured her creative side was another step toward finding the girl who’d lost her way.

  “What are you doing with Shirley today?”

  “I don’t know. We’re waiting to see if Vern asks her out on another date.”

  “Melissa thinks I should have the safe-sex talk with Grandma Pratt.”

  Birdie tipped her head back and laughed. “The ladies’ society has it covered.”

  “Do you mind if I borrow your car to go down to the tracks for a while?”

  “Not at all.”

  Katelyn tugged her gardening gloves off. “Tell Etta I’ll give her a picture for the Fourth of July auction.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  • • •

  He was watching her.

  Jackson had shown up fifteen minutes ago, when the Pecos Valley Southern Railway rattled by. Like in old times, his quiet presence comforted her. Her pencil stilled against the paper. She studied the image of the graffiti-covered boxcar and the shadowy figure inside, staring out the open door. There was no way to tell if the oval face with large luminous eyes belonged to a girl or a boy.

  “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “You might give someone a warning before you sneak up on them.” She shifted in her lawn chair. “How do you know it’s me?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “You had that same glow in your eyes when you said good-bye before you left for college.”

  “I let you down.”

  “No one let anyone down.” He rubbed his finger across her cheek. “We got lost for a while.”

  How had she gotten lost when she’d left this place to find herself? “I decided to stay here for the summer, but then, you know that already, don’t you?”

  “Vern told me.”

  “I don’t think your minister friend likes me.”

  “He can be overprotective.”

  “I stopped by the garage Friday afternoon, but it was closed.” She’d walked over after her shift at the grocery store to chat with Jackson.

  “I was at an AA meeting.”

  “You meet on Fridays?”

  “We try to meet every Friday, but we have a small group, so we change the day of the week if someone can’t make it.”

  She set her charcoal pencil down and gave him her full attention. “Do you find the meetings helpful?”

  “Yes and no.” He picked up a pebble and flung it across the tracks. “I don’t share much, but I did this time.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she said.

  His gaze swung to her. “I panicked when I heard you were staying.”

  Katelyn stood and set the sketch pad on the seat of the chair. She took Jackson’s hand and led him to the shade of their oak tree. They sank to the ground together, backs against the trunk, shoulders touching—as they’d sat all those afternoons in the past. Eyes closed, she basked in the feeling of rightness that filled her. “Why does my staying in town make you uneasy?”

  “I was fine with you being here until I kissed you.”

  Her eyes popped open. “So the kiss was a mistake?”

  “No, it confirmed that I want you as much as I wanted you back in high school.” He grinned. “And my gut tells me it’s not a good idea to get involved with you again.”

  Katelyn pulled her hand free from his grasp and cupped her elbows. Jackson was smart to have reservations about her, but it still hurt. “Why is it a bad idea for us to be together?” When his mouth went slack, she pressed him. “I’m not joking. I want to know.”

  “You just found out your husband cheated on you, and your divorce isn’t even final.”

  “What you’re really saying is that you can’t trust my emotional state right now.”

  He touched her ring. “You’re still wearing your wedding band.”

  “I don’t know why.” She reached to remove it, but Jackson closed his fingers around her hand.

  “Take it off when you’re ready,” he said.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I’m angry and hurt that my husband cheated on me. But if anything positive has come from his infidelity, it’s me recognizing that I was as unhappy and unfulfilled as he was.”

  “Maybe you’re no longer grieving your marriage, but you’re going to be making a lot of decisions about your future, and starting a new relationship right now might not be smart.”

  “You’re probably right, but I can’t stop living my life.” Not when parts of her life had already been on hold for almost nineteen years.

  “How are your kids taking the news?”

  Katelyn let him change the subject. “They’re upset, but college in the fall will help distract them.”

  “Do they know about me? That we dated?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s another reason for us not to get involved.”

  Now that Jackson mentioned it, there was n
o need to tell the kids unless something serious came of their relationship. The twins needed time to accept their parents’ divorce and their father’s new girlfriend before Katelyn introduced another man into the equation.

  “You’ve made some good points.” Katelyn turned her head toward Jackson, her lips inches from his. “But right now none of them seems to matter.” She brushed her mouth against his and he nipped her tongue. She felt his groan before she heard it—a deep rumble that crawled out of his lungs and up his throat, escaping into the air when he pulled away. Jackson frowned.

  “My kisses used to make you smile,” she said.

  “We’re playing with fire.”

  “A simple kiss?”

  “You don’t do simple, Katelyn.”

  She climbed to her feet and walked back to the lawn chair.

  After she picked up her pencil and began sketching, he spoke. “I’m glad you’re drawing again.”

  “I’m donating a picture for the July Fourth silent auction. Will you be at the park?”

  “I’ll be there in the morning to set up the tent and tables, then later that night to take them down.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She looked at him. “Why not?”

  “I told you I’m not much for socializing.”

  “You can’t live on the fringes of other people’s lives forever, Jackson.”

  “It’s been working for me so far.”

  “Has it?” When he dropped his gaze, she said, “You assume everyone still thinks of you as the son of a drunk.”

  “That’s what I am.”

  “It’s not a question of people giving you a chance,” she said. “It’s whether or not you’re willing to accept yourself for who you are.”

  “You’re one to talk. You’ve been running away from who you are since you left town.” Jackson walked off, leaving Katelyn with a few truths of her own to digest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The morning of July Fourth dawned bright and early.

  Jackson hadn’t gotten a peaceful night’s sleep since Katelyn had returned to town. He shouldn’t have encouraged her to stick around—heck, she wasn’t even trying and she was wiggling her way back into his heart.

  The sun peeked over the horizon, lighting the sky with a warm glow. He crossed the street and hiked the half block to the town park, which was the size of three side-by-side house lots. Only a handful of trees, older than the town, stood sentry over the grounds. Ladies from the church had planted a wildflower garden and put a bench from Gifford’s Resale in the middle of it. The flowers always looked thirsty and hungover from too much sun.

  Vern’s and Gary’s vehicles sat parked on the street, their truck beds loaded down with tent poles and canvas. Thanks to the Little Springs Ladies’ Society for suggesting permanent postholes be placed into the ground, there was no need to dig into the rocky, drought-stricken soil, and pitching the tents would take less than an hour.

  “’Morning, Jackson.” Gary lowered the tailgate on the truck. “Heard we might hit ninety today.”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised.” Jackson liked Gary. The fifty-year-old bachelor didn’t care for lengthy conversations, the weather being his favorite topic. They dropped the canvas onto the ground near the postholes, then went back to help Vern gather the poles.

  A half hour later they’d tied down the canvas flaps and were admiring their handiwork when Reverend Billy Ray Sanders and his wife, June, drove up in the church van with the folding tables.

  “Looks like we’re right on time.” The reverend walked to the rear of the van and opened the back doors. His wife remained in the front seat, talking on her cell phone. June offered a quick wave and a fleeting smile but otherwise ignored the men.

  The couple was in their mid-thirties and had arrived a week after Elaine’s death to conduct her funeral. The husband-and-wife team had then remained in town and assumed Vern’s duties while he mourned his wife’s passing.

  “We missed you in the coffee room after services last week, Vern,” Sanders said.

  “I had things to do.”

  Vern had admitted to Jackson that he avoided the social hour after the Sunday service because it was still too difficult for him to spend long periods inside the church without thinking of his wife. Not only had Elaine played piano for the choir, but she’d also taught Sunday school and a Bible study class.

  “Hopefully you’ll join us for coffee next time,” Sanders said.

  “Maybe,” Vern muttered.

  The reverend had agreed to take over the church for a few months, but half a year had gone by and Vern didn’t appear any closer to resuming his preaching duties.

  “Help me with this table.” Jackson walked off, Vern following. When they were out of earshot of Sanders and Gifford, Jackson said, “The reverend and his wife are ready to move on and help another congregation, but they can’t until you agree to take back the pulpit.”

  “I’m thinking about retiring.”

  “You tell everyone that, but you don’t mean it.”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “You’d miss lording it over folks,” Jackson said.

  “How would you know that? You’ve only sat in the pews a few times through the years and those were for funerals.”

  “Others have told me how good you are at saving souls on Sunday.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “If I go back to preaching, will you attend services?”

  “The Boss and I hold our weekly powwows beneath the cars in the garage.”

  “The Boss doesn’t drive a car.”

  Jackson studied the old man.

  “What are you gawking at?” Vern asked.

  “There’s something different about you.” His sponsor’s brown eyes shone brighter these days and Jackson attributed Vern’s renewed energy to dating Shirley Pratt.

  “I’m the same as I always was,” Vern said.

  No sense riling him by suggesting he might be ready to move on after the loss of his wife, but Jackson was confident that the old man was strong enough to stand before his flock and preach the word of God. Vern hadn’t had a drink since the night he’d fallen off the wagon. Jackson admitted he might have jumped the gun when he’d asked Abby to return to Little Springs to take care of her father, but he’d been worried he’d lose his sponsor and his best friend. He hadn’t considered how it would impact Abby, who’d put her life on hold to take care of her father.

  “You’ve been doing an awful lot with Shirley.” Twice Vern had canceled plans with Jackson so that he could show the older woman around the area—whatever that meant. The area consisted of a few miles in each direction. How much was there to see?

  “What’s my spending time with Shirley got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. I figured you’d want to show off to her.”

  “Show off what?”

  “Your fire-and-brimstone speeches.”

  “Did Abby say something to you about me and Shirley?”

  Jeez, he hadn’t meant to open a can of worms.

  Vern slapped his hand against his chest. “No one will ever replace Elaine in my heart.”

  “Abby wants you to be happy and I haven’t seen you this content in a long time. I think it’s because of Shirley.”

  Vern grimaced. “Shirley and Elaine would never have been friends.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Shirley’s an opinionated snob who thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, me included.”

  Jackson grinned. “She keeps you on your toes.”

  Vern’s mouth wrestled with a smile and lost. “I like that she’s unpredictable. I never know what’s gonna come out of her mouth.”

  Jackson glanced across the park whe
re Gifford and Sanders were putting the tables beneath the tent for the chili cook-off. “What does Abby think of Shirley?”

  “She doesn’t like her. But that might be because Shirley suggested Abby needed to find a husband before she became an old maid.” Vern frowned. “Why are you grilling me with all these questions?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I haven’t pestered you about Katelyn.”

  “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “What did you hear?” Jackson asked.

  “You two were seen kissing down by the tracks.”

  Had someone installed cameras near his and Katelyn’s secret spot? “It was one little peck.”

  Vern stuck his foot out. “Pull the other one.”

  Jackson wished he hadn’t confided his deepest fears to his sponsor, but Vern knew exactly how devastated he’d been when Katelyn had broken up with him.

  “Katelyn’s part of your past. Nothing good will come out of going back there, even for old times’ sake.” Vern clasped Jackson’s shoulder. “You’re a different man now that you’ve stopped drinking.”

  “Katelyn’s not the same person she was all those years ago, either.” He shrugged off his mentor’s touch. “We’re taking things slow.”

  Vern pointed a gnarled finger. “You and slow don’t mix.”

  “What do you say we call a truce and quit badgering each other about women?”

  “Gary’s got this under control,” Vern said. “I’d better get home. Shirley’s coming over to help make my four-alarm chili.”

  Vern’s chili recipe was more like one-alarm, but nobody had the heart to tell him. “I’m heading into Odessa,” Jackson said.

  “You sure you don’t want to come to the celebration this afternoon?”

  “I’ll be back in time for the fireworks.”

  • • •

  Jackson slid behind the wheel of his pickup and set the bakery box on the seat next to him—a peach pie he’d purchased from Mama’s Kitchen yesterday. He passed Doris’s house, then took the back road to the highway. As he drove across the tracks, Katelyn’s image popped into his head. She was even more beautiful at forty than she’d been in high school.