Front Page Love

by Paige Lee Elliston

  “That won’t take more than thirty seconds.”

  “Somehow, I can’t believe that, Julie.”

  In half an hour, Ken made another trip to the kitchen. An hour after that, Julie went in and brought out large bowls of Cherry Garcia.

  Julie was surprised when she glanced at her watch and realized that she couldn’t see its face. The sun had set, but the conversation flowed on easily, interspersed with laughter. They discovered similarities between themselves, and, equally important, differences. Julie expressed her love of writing and admitted that she dreamed of one day crafting a novel; Ken told her he wanted to retire from police work at fifty and open a bookstore.

  Ken checked his own watch after seeing Julie peering at hers. “Almost 11:00,” he said. “I had no idea it was so late. You must be tired.”

  “A bit. It doesn’t seem like we’ve been out here that long.” She stood.

  “Wait—hold on. Sit back down for a minute.”

  “Well . . . OK. What’s going on?”

  Ken stood in front of his chair but didn’t move any closer to Julie. He cleared his throat needlessly. “I’ve enjoyed tonight a lot. A whole lot. I’d like to do this type of thing again—with you, I mean. I like being with you. You’re easy to talk to, and you listen.” He waited for a moment and then went on, his words more rapid but not to the point of tripping over one another. “The problem is that I don’t know what your relationship with Danny is. I don’t know how close you are, how much time you spend together, whether there’s a commitment. And if you and Danny are serious about one another, I won’t make a fool out of myself and lose a couple of people I’d like to have as friends.”

  Julie took a long time to respond. When she did, she spoke slowly, as if feeling her way into what she wanted to say. “I have feelings for Danny. But I’m not certain I’m in love with him. And I’m not sure, either, how Danny feels about me. He’s a hard man to understand at times, and he doesn’t show affection easily.” She took a breath. “We’re not . . . well . . . committed or anything, if that’s what you mean. I wish I could give you a better answer, Ken. You deserve a better answer.”

  She took another breath. “I’ve had a good time tonight too. You’re easy to talk to, and you make me laugh. I’ve enjoyed being with you.” She stopped there.

  “Am I hearing a ‘but’ coming on, Julie?” Ken asked.

  Again, it was a moment before she answered. “No,” she said quite distinctly, although for some reason the words wanted to stick in her throat. “No, you’re not. It’d be fun to see you again. I’d like that.”

  She could hear the smile, the relief, in Ken’s voice. “That’s great,” he said. “I’d better get going now. Before I mess up whatever this is.”

  “Good idea,” Julie said. There was a smile in her voice too.

  Julie fumbled with her ringing cell phone. “Julie Downs.”

  “Hi, Julie. Remember me?”

  “Um, no, I don’t,” Julie said with a laugh. “Refresh my memory.”

  “I was at your house for dinner a couple nights ago. We had steaks and sat outside talking for several hours.”

  “Wait, you’re the short guy, right? The accountant?”

  “Close, but not quite,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m tall and I’m a police officer—Officer Townsend.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right—of course I remember you, Curt.”

  He laughed again. “Close enough. The reason why I’m calling is because the Rialto is running Young Frankenstein and Blazing Saddles back-to-back Saturday night—kind of a Mel Brooks retrospective. I was wondering if you’d like to—”

  “I love Mel Brooks films! What time?”

  “How about I pick you up at 7:00?”

  “Great. See you then, Carl.”

  Julie’s piece on the impact of the drought on the cattle and horse industries in Coldwater was a big success. So were the topics she pursued through the next couple of months—youth and the drought, the effect on wildlife, phony rainmakers and charlatan shamans, and the perspectives of the federal government, among others. Circulation from news boxes and store sales increased appreciably each time her articles appeared, and there was a boost in home subscriptions after the News-Express ran her third piece. Advertising revenues were up slightly, and one of Julie’s stories was nominated for a prestigious yearly award by the Montana Journalism Society.

  The drought continued as autumn began to nudge at the sky-high temperatures that Montanans thought would never end. More and more business owners boarded up their stores in Coldwater and the surrounding area. Hay and feed prices skyrocketed, and ranchers began selling off cattle they could no longer afford to feed. The General Motors dealership in Coldwater closed its doors for the final time, after months of listless and then nonexistent sales. The movie theater where Julie and Ken had laughed their way through the Brooks films failed after over forty years of bringing westerns, comedies, and action-adventure to young people and family groups in Coldwater. Even Drago’s—a fixture in the town—was scrambling to stay in business. It seemed as though the Bulldogger was the only entrepreneurial effort making money in Coldwater.

  Julie’s life was full—or at least extremely busy. Her work was going well. Story ideas from readers flooded her email daily at the News-Express, and many of the ideas were strong and viable. Drifter was carrying more weight than Julie liked to see on him, but she was a believer in the horseman’s saying “Summer fat is worth a winter blanket.” Using the horse more was simply impossible in the endless heat.

  Though she wasn’t able to exercise her horse as much as she liked, she was spending a lot of her free time these days with Ken Townsend. Her feelings for him—a guy who couldn’t possibly treat her better in any way—had grown, she realized. But at the same time she knew that Danny was still very much on her mind and in her heart. They still spent time together, and they always had a good time. She was drawn to him, yet he made no attempt to move closer to her, to become a larger part of her life.

  Is there something about me that makes Danny hesitant to commit? If so, why won’t he talk about it?

  Danny exhibited no jealousy whatsoever concerning her time with Ken Townsend. And, although Ken said that he realized she’d eventually have to make a choice, he was in no particular hurry. Nevertheless, Julie noticed that the few times she’d mentioned Danny to Ken, there was quick mote of concern visible in his eyes.

  Danny’s invitation to return to the Tozek pond for another afternoon of swimming was a welcome one. Julie had things to do and calls to make, but she gladly put them aside. The temperature was again in the mid-nineties, and the thought of the chilled water and some time spent doing nothing but talking and resting was hugely appealing. She put a piece of good cheddar, a half loaf of Italian bread, a plastic milk container she’d filled with water and frozen, and four bottles of cold springwater in a drawstring bag and was ready to go.

  This time, Julie picked up Danny and his Appaloosa with Drifter already loaded in her trailer. Dakota, she noticed, had gained some weight he didn’t really need.

  “I know,” Danny said when she commented on it. “I cut back on the sweet feed, but that’s not the problem. He needs exercise, but with things the way they’ve been, putting miles on him would probably do more harm than good. Probably to both of us,” he added. “I was inoculating Sam McKee’s ewes the other day out in his smaller pasture. I found myself facedown in the dirt—didn’t even know what hit me. I just kind of fainted. I suppose it was my fault since I’d left my hat in my truck. It scared me, though—and reminded me that this kind of weather is nothing to play around with.”

  “I talked with Sarah Morrison yesterday,” Julie said. “She told me that the ER at Coldwater General has been a madhouse with dozens of sunstroke cases. Not just kids playing outside too long, either—people who should know better. Farmers and other folks who know what the sun and heat can do.”

  Danny smiled. “Today will be different, Julie. Let�
�s make a deal: no discussing my job, your job, or the drought. Let’s just float around on the pond and forget about everything.”

  “You’ve got a deal. No complaining, no whining.” She held out her hand, and Danny took it. They shook pseudo-formally to seal the agreement. Then, they both laughed.

  After driving out to the Tozek farm, Julie pulled off the road in the same place she had almost two months ago, and they unloaded their horses. Danny worked the gate and closed it after they went through. Myron Tozek’s land looked more desiccated and desolate than it had at their earlier visit. A feeble breeze that sprang up periodically was enough to raise dust devils of the dried soil that danced for a dozen feet or so before sifting back to earth when the wind deserted them. Both of the horses broke sweat almost immediately.

  “I guess we walk these boys out and back,” Julie commented. “Even a slow trot is too much for them today.”

  “Concentrate on how good that water’s gonna feel. That’ll make the half mile shorter,” Danny said.

  The pond had shrunk by about a quarter of its size since they’d last been there. The willows looked as if they’d gotten smaller too—their leaves a bit less green, and the rough grass around them moving toward brown. The tips of underwater weeds could be seen at the surface of the pond close to shore. The shore itself was a muted green in places where algae had gotten a start when the water receded. A group of teens on the far side of the pond looked listless too—they sprawled on towels lethargically, only three of them in the water.

  Neither Danny nor Julie spoke for a minute.

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Danny finally said.

  Julie forced a smile. “Different, is all.”

  Julie was the first into the water. The weeds close to shore scraped against her legs with a creepy, slimy sensation. When she was in up to her waist, she dove and stroked to the bottom. The layer of tepid water was deeper this time, but once again, closer to the bottom, the frigid springwater very pleasantly shocked her body. The abrupt transition from sweltering hot to winter cold was exhilarating, transforming. Suddenly, it seemed like a very fine afternoon.

  She glanced over at Danny off to her side. He was smiling, a small section of his teeth showing through the clear water as he absorbed the sweet respite from the heat. He saw her looking at him and stuck his thumbs into his ears and wiggled his fingers at her, at the same time squinching his face into a mask. Julie laughed, inhaled water, and had to push herself to the surface, where she gasped for air and continued laughing.

  After swimming for a while, they got out to sit on their towels and have a snack. The milk container’s solid ice had turned to a liquidy slush, but its temperature kept the bottles of springwater refreshingly cool. The bread was slightly soggy from condensation on the bottles that surrounded it but still retained a satisfying crunch. The cheddar was excellent.

  Danny, leaning back on his towel, munched happily on cheese and bread. “This is the best gift I’ve gotten in a long time,” he said.

  “Gift?” Julie asked. “What’re you talking about? It’s just a throw-together snack.”

  “But,” Danny announced, “today’s my birthday. So—this stuff is a gift.”

  Julie sat stunned, a piece of cheese stopped halfway to her mouth. “Your birthday?” she asked incredulously. “Today’s your birthday?”

  Danny’s smile began to slide away. “Well . . . yeah. It is.”

  Months of frustration with Danny’s hot-and-cold behavior bubbled up out of Julie. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. “I have never come across a person as selfish and as closed off as you are, Danny.”

  “Selfish? I don’t know what you’re talking about! How have I been—”

  “Yes, selfish!” Julie nearly shouted. “Don’t you think hiding inside yourself, hiding away from people who care about you, care for you, is selfish? You couldn’t even tell me your birthday was coming up, could you? It would have been really terrible if I’d gone out and gotten you a gift—maybe even something you’d like. You couldn’t let that happen—it’d mean you were actually letting another person into your life. No, that’d be impossible for you.”

  Danny’s face looked as if he’d taken an unforeseeable slap. “Julie—c’mon,” he protested weakly. “It’s no big deal. Birthdays are for seven-year-olds. I didn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  Julie knew that holding back now would have been like trying to hold back an erupting volcano. “Maybe birthdays are for kids—but relationships are for adults! Did you ever stop to think that maybe I wanted to go through some trouble to do something nice for you? That I would’ve actually enjoyed it?” She shook her head. “Of course not! Why would you ever think about something that silly, that foolish? If you did, it might mean that you cared for someone, Danny—someone other than yourself.”

  Again she shook her head, but slowly this time, tears glinting in her eyes. “I’ve had it with you, Danny Pulver. I’m all finished playing your insane mind games. Find another woman to pretend with, ’cause I’m all done.” Julie got to her feet and pulled her towel from the ground, tipping the rest of the food and the unopened bottles of water onto the dirt. “I’m leaving. Get your horse and I’ll drop you home.”

  Danny stood slowly, looking very confused. “I . . . I really don’t understand what all this is about. If I’ve done something to hurt you, I’m sorry—but I don’t know what it is. A stupid birthday? This doesn’t make any sense. C’mon, honey, let’s—”

  The tone of Julie’s voice and the fire behind her words were as sharp and stinging as a cut with a quirt. “Don’t you call me honey unless you mean it!”

  “Julie . . . I . . .”

  But he was talking to her back. Julie stomped off to where she’d tied Drifter, tugged her jeans, boots, and T-shirt over her wet bathing suit, and swung onto her horse. Drifter, eyes wide and ears pricked, danced in place, picking up on Julie’s wrath. She reined his head around and set off at a lope toward her truck and trailer, regardless of the heat and the penetrating clutches of the sun. Only after her horse broke a heavy sweat did Julie check him to a walk.

  Drifter was loaded into the trailer and Julie behind the truck’s steering wheel staring straight ahead when Danny reached the road. He led Dakota into the trailer, secured the rear gate, and climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Look,” he said as Julie drove away from the shoulder, “I’d like to—”

  “Not now, Danny,” Julie answered without looking at him. “I just can’t talk to you right now.”

  “I don’t understand what . . .” He stopped and let the sentence die. Julie felt his eyes on her face as she drove. “Whatever,” Danny said, resignation and now a touch of defensiveness in his voice.

  That was the last word spoken between them. Julie stopped at the mouth of Danny’s driveway; he left the cab and slammed the door, unloaded Dakota, and closed the gate.

  Julie drove off. Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror. Danny wasn’t watching her as she left—he was leading his horse to the pasture gate.

  The road shimmered for a moment in Julie’s vision, but after she wiped her eyes on her arm, the problem was gone.

  The trailer wasn’t going anywhere overnight, Julie decided. The backing and maneuvering of it into its place was more trouble than she cared to undertake just then. She eased Drifter down the ramp and put him in the stall she’d prepared that morning. He still had some sweat on his hide so she worked him over with a grain sack, for once ignoring his grunts of pleasure.

  I’ve known Danny for almost three years—and I don’t know him at all. It wasn’t the birthday. It was everything. I was right. He’s selfish and closed into himself and barricaded away from me and everyone else in the real world. It was time for this to happen. In fact, what took place today—what I said—was long, long overdue.

  “Hollow,” she said aloud to the silence in her kitchen as she sat at the table. “I feel hollow.” Her eyes wandered about the room, stopping on the open cupboa
rd next to the sink, where the side of an economy-sized bag of Milk-Bones was visible. Sunday appeared in her mind. I’m not going to allow myself to do this, she chided herself. It’s counterproductive. Why mourn over a guy who was never really there? I have options, I have a good life, and I have . . . options.

  Julie got up from her chair, stepped to the cupboard, and closed it quietly but firmly. The wall phone was only a couple of steps away. She looked at it for what seemed like a long time. She took the few steps and stood in front of the telephone. Her right hand moved toward the receiver slowly, as if she were lifting a weight. She put her index finger on the little lever and pulled it into the off position, silencing the ringer. Any calls that came in would go to her recorder—she could listen to them or skip past them or delete them tomorrow or whenever she cared to. There was a finality to the hushed click of the lever that brought a lump to her throat. She went to her purse, removed her cell phone, and keyed in the call transfer command, sending incoming calls to her home number. Then she crossed the kitchen and sat again at the table.

  A thought—or perhaps it was more of an image—insinuated itself into her mind. Julie saw herself as a whining, demanding woman who insisted on running not only her own life but the lives of the people she cared about. The image made her cringe.

  Is that what I’m doing? Have I built this silly birthday thing into a monumental statement that Danny never intended?

  Julie began to rise but sat down again. Her mind raced. What have I done? Have I hissy-fitted myself out of the life of the best guy I’ve ever met?

  The next few days were difficult. Julie went through her home chores and her work obligations competently, even carefully, but without feeling, without emotion.

  This is the way a robot feels, she thought, not missing the point that robots, by definition, have no feelings. I did the right thing, the only thing I could do. I couldn’t live like that any longer. At least now I don’t have to wonder about Danny Pulver and his feelings—or his lack of them. Better now than later. Better the hurt than waiting for something that would never happen, hoping it would but also knowing that it wouldn’t. Pain goes away. Maybe I overreacted—but maybe I didn’t.