by Claire Adams
She leaned forward. “I assure you, I am not one of those women who are incapable of keeping a secret from their husband. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“I’m the reason that he went to prison. He basically saved me that night. He came across me and that guy in the parking lot.”
Allison’s eyes widened. “So, you’re the unidentified woman! I remember all that now. Everyone was wondering who she was, and then we figured she must’ve been someone who was out here on vacation or something. But it was you? Holy shit. Wow.”
“But you can’t tell anyone.”
“And Ollie doesn’t know?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t know. And—”
“Wait a second—that’s why your restaurant is called Ollie’s? You named it after him?”
“Yeah, I did. I know it sounds totally weird.”
“No, it’s actually kind of sweet. Except that he doesn’t know about it. Wow, Wren, I had no idea.”
“Cooking was the only thing that could keep my mind off of everything that had happened,” I said, thinking back to the first few years I’d been in Carmel. I’d had various jobs, but I’d spend all my free time cooking. There was something soothing about being in the kitchen, stirring, mixing, measuring. Sometimes I’d follow a recipe, sometimes I’d make it up. I wasn’t doing it for anyone else except for me, but word got out that the stuff I made was good. I’d donate cookies or muffins to the bake sale, or bring stews and soups to neighbors in the winter. And when I got the call from my mother that my grandmother had died and she’d left me a small inheritance, I knew I wanted to put the money into opening my own restaurant. And I knew exactly what I wanted to call it.
“Well that’s just crazy,” Allison said. “I mean, wow. How’d it go?”
“It went fine until I realized who it was, and then I kind of freaked out and ran into the kitchen, and by the time I came back, he was gone.”
“This isn’t that big of a town. I’m sure you’ll see him again.”
“He’s working at Wilson Ranch.”
“Then you’ll definitely see him again. This is kind of like something out of a movie!” Allison had an excited look on her face, one I was used to seeing when I’d tell her about the latest guy I’d gone out with. “I want to come down there the next time he’s there.”
“Will you stop it? He’s not some sideshow freak or something that you can just come down and gawk at.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just… I’m just curious, is all. My life is so fucking boring and predictable. I need some excitement!”
I didn’t lead the most exciting life by any stretch of the imagination, but I had the feeling that since Ollie had come around, things were about to get a lot more interesting, though whether that was going to be in a good way or not, I still wasn’t sure.
I decided that I did need a professional opinion. I’d gone home after talking with Allison and tried to distract myself with cleaning, then with trying out a new recipe, and finally with taking a nap, but when all of those things failed miserably, I called Dr. Mike.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” I said, “but I need to see you. There’s some things I need to talk about, and I don’t think I can wait until my next appointment.”
“Are you having suicidal ideations?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“Do you feel like you you’re going to hurt someone else?”
“Hurt someone? No! Why—”
“Then you could actually wait until our next appointment.”
I paused. “Well, yes, you’re right, I mean, I’m not going to spontaneously combust or something if I have to wait, but…”
“As it so happens, I did have a client cancel. I was going to leave early, but if you’d like to take that slot, you can. It was for four o’clock.”
“I’ll be there at four,” I said. “I’ll be there five minutes early, in fact.”
“Four is fine. I’ll see you then.”
I felt a sort of calm descend upon me once I was lying on that couch. Neither of us had even said anything yet, aside from the usual formalities of hello.
“So,” Dr. Mike said. “Tell me why you had to come in today.”
“He came into the restaurant,” I said. “He came into my restaurant, that I had named after him, and I didn’t recognize him.”
“Do you think you should have recognized him?” he asked.
“Of course I should have! I mean, shouldn’t I have?”
“Seven years is a long time.” Dr. Mike had an infuriating way of never actually answering my questions, with say, a validating response. I wanted to hear him say, Yes, you absolutely should have recognized him! Or No, there’s no way you could be expected to recognize him. But he wouldn’t give me anything like that. He wanted me to come up with the answer on my own.
“He didn’t recognize me, either.”
“Is that what you were hoping for? For one of you to recognize the other?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at the ceiling. There were no flecks to affix my gaze to this time. I really didn’t know what I’d been expecting. Would I feel better if he’d recognized me? If I had recognized him? It was quite possible I’d feel worse. What if he hated me? What if he blamed me for the fact that he’d just spent the past seven years of his life in prison? If I hadn’t gone out that night, if I hadn’t been foolish enough to sit with those guys and then go out with one of them by myself into the parking lot, then Oliver Boardman would not have spent any time in prison. “This whole thing is my fault.”
Dr. Mike sighed. We’d been through this before—me being to blame for the whole thing.
“I thought we’d moved past this,” he said. “The victim is never to blame.”
“But I realized when I saw him that I’m not the only victim. And am I even a victim? Because nothing bad actually happened to me. He’s the victim. He lost seven years of his life because of me. And now he’s out of prison and he looks so…he looks so... I don’t know, exactly. Not scared, but—out of place, I guess. And it’s all because of me. I want to make it up to him, somehow.”
“You can’t change the past, Wren.”
“I know that. And I’m not trying to; I’m trying to do something about the current situation. Should I give him free meals for the rest of his life?”
“Wren.” Was I imagining it, or did Dr. Mike sound annoyed?
“I knew he’d get out of prison eventually. And I always thought that I’d want to see him, just to make sure that he was okay. But now that he’s come in, and I’ve seen him, he doesn’t actually look okay.”
“What do you mean? Did he tell you this?”
“No, he didn’t tell me. And honestly, to anyone else, he’d probably seem fine. But there’s... I don’t know, I can just sense some sort of sadness, I guess. Or guilt. Or sadness and guilt coming from him.”
“And who’s to say you’re not projecting your own feelings on to him?”
I thought about this. The whole idea of projection was really irritating because it seemed impossible to know if it was really happening or not. But I didn’t think it was just projection.
“I don’t think it’s just that,” I said.
“But you don’t know.”
“Does anyone really know anything?”
Dr. Mike sighed. I knew he was probably regretting telling me that I could come in. In a way, I was regretting coming in too, because I realized the only way I could feel better about this was if I saw Ollie again. And that wasn’t going to happen sitting here in this office.
I stood up. “I just remembered I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Dr. Mike raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands together. “Is that the truth?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not. But don’t worry—I’ll pay you for the full session.”
He started to say something else, but I left the office before he could finish. I
drove to my restaurant, which had been closed for at least an hour now. I unlocked the door and went inside, enjoying the quiet. Really, the whole reason this place even existed was because of Ollie. I needed to make these past seven years up to him, somehow. I just wasn’t quite sure how to go about doing that yet.
Chapter Six
Ollie
I’d finished with the morning chores and had just turned Bebop back out to pasture when I heard Garrett calling my name. I turned as Bebop moseyed off to graze.
“He’s glad you’re back,” Garrett said. “Saw you out there earlier. Could never tell you’d spent the last seven years not on a horse.”
“It feels good to be back in the saddle,” I said. “Feels good to just be outside again.”
“I bet. And I appreciate all the hard work you’ve done, just in the short time you’ve been back. But I got a little side project for you to work on, if you’re interested. Follow me.”
I followed him toward the barn, expecting it to be some sort of repair project, maybe new roofing, something that would keep me away from the guests. I was trying not to be paranoid, but every time someone looked at me, I felt as though they knew exactly who I was, where I’d been, what I’d done.
But Garrett kept on going past the barn, the one of the corrals out back. It was a smaller paddock, and there was only one horse within its confines, a tall, rangy roan that immediately gave us a suspicious look as we approached.
“No one’s had much luck with this fella,” Garrett said. “Thought maybe you could see what you’d be able to do with him. His name’s Ditto.”
“Good-lookin’ horse,” I said.
“He is. He’s a smart one, too, and has a great conformation, which is why I don’t want to give up on him just yet. But he’s unseated every rider that’s been on him so far, and he doesn’t trust anybody.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
Garrett nodded. “Good. And hey, why don’t you come on up to the house later for supper? Marie would like that. She’s making pot roast.”
“All right,” I said. I looked back at the horse, which had moved as far away from us as he possibly could. “I can do that.”
I went back up to the barn and cleaned tack for a few hours, and then I decided to drive into town and stop back into that place—Ollie’s—again. I kind of got a kick out of it, having the same name as me and all. And I’d been thinking about that girl, Wren. I wasn’t sure why, other than she was the first woman I’d really had contact with since I’d gotten out, and now it was like she had imprinted on me or something.
I felt a little nervous walking in, but then there she was, pouring coffee for some guy in a wide-brimmed Stetson, and she looked up right as I walked in.
“Well, hello again,” she said. She sounded genuine, as though she were actually pleased to see me, or, at the very least, not displeased.
“Hey,” I said. She gestured to one of the empty seats at the bar and was filling a coffee mug without me even having to ask.
“It’s on the house this time.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” My tone sounded accusatory even though I was really just curious. Was it supposed to be this hard to talk to other people?
“Last time you were here you left a five-dollar bill for a one-dollar cup of coffee.” She smiled. “That’s a generous tip and all, but you barely got any service at all, so that’s why this one’s on the house. I didn’t even offer you the half and half before.” She slid a little silver pitcher with a lid on it to me.
“I take it black. Thanks, though.” I was about to ask to look at a menu when the guy with the Stetson looked over.
“Ollie Boardman,” he said. It was Keith Wilson, one of Garrett’s sons. He’d gained a lot of weight since I’d last seen him, the fabric of his shirt stretched to the max to contain his bulk. It was weird seeing him in a hat like that; he’d never been that interested in anything to do with the ranch. “Thought I recognized that voice of yours. So, how’s life out of prison treating you?”
This wasn’t a friendly conversation; he was speaking loud enough for everyone in the whole restaurant to hear. I could feel gazes turning toward me. Wren stared right at me, and I couldn’t read the expression on her face.
“It’s fine,” I mumbled.
“You kill a man with your own two hands, and you’re out in what—seven years? I’ll be damned.” He slapped the counter and spun around on the stool to address the people sitting at the tables. “Isn’t that something?”
I ducked my head and wished I could disappear into that cup of coffee. Like I could just shrink myself down and dive into the hot black liquid and disappear. I felt a little seed of anger plant itself right inside my chest. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to give it power, because I was afraid of what might happen if I did.
I could tell by the expressions on the people’s faces that they weren’t sure if he was joking around or not. They glanced over at me, wondering if someone who looked like I did really had it in me to kill someone. Aside from the tattoos covering my arms, I thought that I looked like any other guy who might’ve stepped in there.
“Were you gonna order anything else, or are you ready for the check?” Wren asked Keith loudly. She didn’t wait for his response before slapping the check down in front of him.
He gave her a look like he was about to say something, but then he reconsidered and leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. He threw down some bills, hitched his pants up, and then walked out. I waited a minute, hoping he’d get into his truck and leave.
“I should go,” I said, standing up.
“No way.” Wren reached out and touched my forearm; I jumped as though she’d shocked me. She gave me a quizzical look. “There’s no need for you to leave. Don’t let a guy like that run you out.”
I hesitated, but then sat back down. It seemed that the other diners had gone back to eating; maybe they thought that Keith was making the whole thing up.
“He’s not lying,” I said, keeping my voice low. The other people’s conversations were loud enough that I didn’t think they’d be able to hear me. I wasn’t sure why I was even telling her this, other than I felt like I had to. “What he said is true.”
It was hard to read the expression on her face. She just held my gaze for several seconds. “I know,” she said finally.
So people did know. But maybe it was a good thing, that way, it wouldn’t be such a shock.
“It’s really just something that I want to move on from,” I said. “I’d really just like to forget about the whole thing.”
“I hear you,” she said. “There’s plenty in my own life I’d just like to forget about, too.” There was something in her voice, something about the way she said it, that made me think she might be able to understand if I told her everything.
I should have known that Keith was around for a reason; when I walked up to the main house for supper that night, he was there, and so was his older brother, Jacob. I could tell by the expression on his face when I walked in that Jacob wasn’t any fonder of me than Keith was, but he was at least going to do what he could to disguise it.
He shook my hand and smiled coolly. Unlike his brother, he hadn’t put on a ton of weight, and he’d aged rather well. Of course, last I’d heard, he was working as some paper pusher at some bank in Denver, not toiling outside under the hot sun.
Marie was there too, and at least she seemed glad to see me. She was Jacob and Keith’s stepmother; Garrett’s wife had died when Keith was two, and he’d married Marie a few years later. Jacob and Keith had always been cordial to her, but they had never seen her as their real mother, even though she’d been there for most of their lives. She and Garrett had never had any children of their own; I didn’t know if that was by choice or circumstance.
“We’re so glad to have you back working here,” Marie said, giving me a hug. “How has it been going so far?”
I saw Jacob and Keith exchange looks
.
“It’s been good,” I said. “I really appreciate what you and Garrett have done for me so far.”
She stepped back from the hug but still held onto my upper arms. “I promised your mom I’d watch out for you,” she said. “Though you do look like you’re doing quite all right for yourself.”
“He’s twenty-five, Marie,” Keith said. “A grown man, in other words. I don’t think he needs you to look out for him.”
“You hush,” she said. “Let’s sit down and eat while the food’s still hot.”
We sat down, Garrett at the head of the table and Marie to his right. Jacob sat at the foot, and I sat next to Marie, across from Keith.
“So, you’re working here now,” Keith said as he scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Isn’t that something.”
“We needed one more wrangler, and Ollie needed a job,” Garrett said, giving Keith a level look. “Simple as that. Besides, I didn’t see you rushing to help out.”
Both Keith and Jacob had always hated ranch work, and neither had ever made any attempt to pretend otherwise. I doubted either of them had even been on a horse in the past decade.
“Just because I’m not interested in working here doesn’t mean there aren’t other people you could’ve hired,” Keith said.
I looked down at my plate.
“This is not the sort of conversation we’re going to be having right now.” Garrett looked to Keith and then Jacob. “Do the two of you understand me? Last time I checked, I was the owner of this place, and the two of you didn’t want anything to do with it. Ollie’s put in more hours working here than the two of you combined. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
“It’s financial suicide,” Jacob burst out. “What do you think is going to happen if word gets out that you’ve got a convicted murderer here working for you? You think that people are going to be flocking to come here for vacation?”