The Husband Show
Page 22
He needed to get back to Willing, but it was going to take a few more days. Jake huddled against the building to block the sound of traffic and dialed again.
* * *
AURORA SPENT MONDAY night in one of Meg’s cabins, the one with the modern wall-hanging she had quilted and donated for the renovation last fall. She liked lying in bed, Winter curled up beside her, looking at the uneven rows of fabric stitched with black thread.
She’d lost all of her quilts. There were a few survivors that suffered from smoke damage; Aurora would keep them for now, but knew she’d have to get rid of them eventually. That smell was almost impossible to get rid of.
Winter had lost her iPad in the fire and her cell phone in the park when she’d dropped it on the sidewalk in the rush to see where the fire was.
Aurora listened to Winter’s gentle snores and tucked the soft sheet over the child’s shoulders. Meg had gone to Jake’s to get more clothes for the girl. Lucia had offered beds at her house, but Aurora yearned for someplace more quiet. Winter wouldn’t leave Aurora and had been glued to her side since she left the stage. Loralee had sent the cabin’s occupants to Iris, who lost two guests who said they couldn’t possibly sleep with the smell of smoke in the air and had departed to the Super 8 in Lewistown. Shelly had remade the beds and cleaned the cabin for them, all the while weeping because Les had burned his hands while helping put out the fire.
Aurora supposed it would have been easier to just stay with Iris, but she would have had to talk to people there. The little cabin, with its tiny kitchen area and queen bed, gave her the privacy she needed to think things through.
Tomorrow she would meet with the crew and the sheriff and the county fire marshal. Half the roof of the Dahl was gone, as was the back end of her apartment. The new construction had fared better, but some of the framing would have to be redone, as did the new roof.
Everything was insured.
Everyone kept telling her that as if it made it all right.
It didn’t, of course.
* * *
IT TOOK JAKE three days to return on what would have been karaoke night.
He would go straight to Lucia’s because, according to Sam, everyone would be gathered for dinner.
“We’ll be glad to have you home,” his brother had said into the phone last night. “Winter’s doing okay, but Aurora is very quiet.”
What did “very quiet” mean?
He thought that sounded ominous. Jake had been in only one long-term relationship, with Winter’s mother, if you could call six months long-term. But he assumed Aurora was heartbroken to lose the top half of her bar.
“There’s going to be a fund-raiser,” Sam said. “She has plenty of insurance, but the quilt group wanted to do something more personal. To show community support.”
“I’m there,” Jake assured him. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there,” Jake promised. He’d taken a flight out of Austin at two-ten, which put him into Billings a little after six o’clock. A couple of hours of driving and he’d be in Willing, hopefully while Aurora and Winter were still at Lucia’s.
Winter greeted him as if he’d been gone for a year, uncharacteristically throwing her arms around him and screaming with joy.
Aurora, seated between Winter and Tony, didn’t move. She stayed in her seat, a half-eaten piece of lemon meringue pie in front of her, a full cup of coffee next to her plate.
Jake realized that staying away for two weeks might not have been the best decision, no matter how important it was for the future. The little boys all greeted him with various degrees of excitement, as did Lucia and Sam.
He put his hand on Aurora’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded.
“Thank you for taking care of Winter.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We’re staying at Meg’s,” Winter babbled. “Did I tell you that? The cabin’s really cool. Like camping but not like camping, you know? My phone is gone. So’s my iPad, but Aurora said she’d buy me a new one. We’re going to Lewistown tomorrow. Or we might order one online. We haven’t decided.”
“I’ll take care of that,” he promised. “Why aren’t you staying at the apartment?”
“Winter was afraid it would burn down, too,” Lucia explained.
Jake lifted the shopping bags. “I brought presents,” he announced, and distributed four pairs of cowboy boots to the children. Winter’s were aqua and tan, with feathered stitching.
“I love them,” she said. “You know that’s a riding heel, right?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re riding again for a while.”
She ignored him and tried them on.
Lucia laughed as Matty clomped past in his new boots. “That was really sweet of you, Jake. Have you had dinner? I can fix you a plate.”
“I’d like that.”
Tony bounced off his seat. “You can sit here, Uncle Jake. I’m gonna go play.”
“Thanks.”
He couldn’t wait to get Aurora alone. He hadn’t been able to talk to her since the fire and had had to settle for relaying messages through Lucia. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her it would be okay, but he’d seen the Dahl as he drove through town. It looked terrible, as if it had had part of its head blown off. It would take months to reconstruct, and that was if the building itself was sound enough to salvage.
“I saw the Dahl,” he said, watching her take a careful sip of her coffee. “Can it be rebuilt?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I hope so.” She was pale. Very pale. He shot a worried look at Sam, who nodded as if to say yes, there’s a problem. “Aurora? I’ll help. We’ll all help.”
“Me, too.” She attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m still trying to figure out what to do next.”
“Jake?” Lucia called from the kitchen. “Come out here and tell me how much you want of this chicken.”
He did as he was told.
“I’m worried about her,” Lucia whispered. “I don’t know if it’s shock or depression or what, but she’s too quiet.”
“I don’t blame her for being shocked. Or depressed.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, have you seen that place? What if they’d been in there when the fire started? I’m having nightmares just thinking about it.”
“She wasn’t there, because she was at the finale party, performing with the Wild Judiths.”
He brightened. “Really? She played in public?”
“She had intended to surprise you,” Lucia said, handing him a plate fresh out of the microwave. “But you weren’t there.”
“I have a good excuse.”
“You’d better, because that woman out there didn’t think you were coming back.” Lucia glared at him. “And I was beginning to worry myself. I thought you were happy here. Are you going back to Austin? Going back on the road? What’s going on?”
“Wait a sec. I can explain.” He watched her rummage through a drawer and then hand him a fork. “Thanks.”
“Go eat.”
“Okay.”
“And talk to Aurora. She needs you.”
“Right.” He followed her into the dining area and sat down beside Aurora, who sipped her coffee and nibbled at her pie.
“How was Austin?” Sam asked, giving him a nod.
“Good. We raised a lot of money.”
Winter stood next to his chair and leaned against him while he ate. “Do you want to stay in the cabins, too? I can ask Meg if she has room.”
“Honey, we have a place. You have your own bedroom, right there on First Street.”
“The fire was caused by the carelessness of the construction workers,” Aurora said, sounding weary. “You’re two blocks away from any construction. You need to be with your father now.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Aurora insisted. “You and I both know you’ll be fine with your dad.”
“Thanks for taking such good care of her,” Jake said. “I didn’t plan to be gone so long, but—”
“Two weeks,” Winter reminded him. “You were gone for two weeks.”
“I had business to—”
“It’s okay,” Aurora interrupted. “You don’t have to explain anything.” She stood and collected her dirty dishes. “Thanks again for dinner, Lucia. Can I help you clean up the kitchen?”
“Absolutely not,” Lucia said. “It’s Sam’s night to clean up.”
Winter laughed. “Cool.” She turned to her dad. “So I’m not going home with Aurora?”
“No.”
“Your things are in my car, honey,” Aurora reminded her. “Why don’t you go get them?”
“I’ll do it,” Jake said. “I’ll walk you out.”
Winter gave Aurora a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Me, too,” she said, resting her cheek on the top of Winter’s head for a moment. “I enjoyed your company very much.”
Jake followed Aurora out the front door and down the steps to her car. She opened the back door and bent to retrieve Winter’s bags.
“Aurora.”
She stopped and turned around to look at him. “I can’t do this now.”
“Do what?”
“Deal with you.”
“No problem.” He gently tugged her against him and wrapped her in his arms. Her body was stiff, but he felt her relax against him as he held her. “I’ll come by in the morning. I’ll bring coffee.”
“No.”
“Okay. Lunch, then. Or dinner tomorrow night? Just the two of us? I want to help with the Dahl. And I have something—”
“No,” she said, pulling away from him. “This isn’t a good time for me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do and I don’t think getting involved with someone is a good idea right now.”
“I think we’re already involved.”
“I don’t have time for you, Jake. I can’t worry that you’re going to leave me, or that you’re going on tour for six months, that your life is really in Nashville or Texas or that you’ve met someone else, someone young and available for the night, wherever you are.”
That stung. He drew back. “What are you talking about?”
“While you were gone partying with ‘Garth’ and playing with ‘Trisha,’ I was taking care of your daughter and practicing with your band. My house burned up and my business is probably gone, too. None of that is your fault, but maybe if I hadn’t been distracted I would have kept a better eye on the construction guys. Maybe I would have been more on top of things, instead of learning ‘Orange Blossom Special’ and being a stepmom.”
“I want to help—”
“You can go anywhere you want,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’ll keep Winter here with me, because I care about her and she cares about me. But I’m not going to feel alone, not the way I’ve felt the last few days. I’ve been really alone, Jake. Because I loved you.” She opened the door to her car and got in. “I don’t want to be in love with you. It’s just not a good feeling. It’s dangerous and I don’t like it.”
With that she slammed the door, started the engine and was gone, leaving Jake standing at the curb with his daughter’s suitcases and blue satin pillows.
* * *
“CAN’T YOU DO something?”
“Like what?”
“Tell her you’re sorry,” Winter demanded. “Tell her you love her.”
“She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“That’s why you have to keep saying it.”
They were eating lunch at Meg’s, in the midst of a busy lunch hour with a BLT special, along with cups of creamy corn chowder. Jake had chatted with the old guys at the counter, commiserated with Shelly about the baby’s sudden onset of sleepless nights and thanked Les for helping so much with the fire before taking a seat at a booth underneath a window facing the parking lot.
The burns were minor, the young man assured him. And Shelly was bandaging them for him every day.
“A win-win,” Jake said.
Les tilted his hat toward him and winked. “You bet.”
“You need a grand gesture,” Winter explained, after Les had moved back to his seat at the counter. “The way they do in the movies.”
“This isn’t Downton Abbey.” Jake had grown weary of being badgered by an eleven-year-old child, a daughter who thought she knew a lot more than she did about love and relationships.
“Of course not.” Winter sniffed. “That’s not a movie, that’s television, and that love story was much more subtle, with lots of smoldering looks. We do not need smoldering looks.”
“I could give you one.”
“Ha.”
“Finish your lunch,” he ordered. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Like what?”
He ignored the question. A man was entitled to his secrets, even if there was no longer any reason to keep them. He’d intended to surprise Aurora with his new business, something that had made so much sense when he saw the sign on the program in Austin that he couldn’t believe the perfection of the timing.
“Do you really want to live here?” he asked his daughter.
She looked up from her soup and gave him one of her serious, what-is-he-really-asking-me looks. “I’ve told you a million times.”
“I do, too.”
“So, fix it with Aurora.”
“I intend to,” Jake said, resolving to make it happen. “But it could take a while.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” she said. “I have faith in you.”
“Yeah?”
His daughter grinned. “Yeah,” she drawled, imitating his accent.
Well, that made one of them.
* * *
FOR BETTER OR worse, she was famous again. Mike Breen had used research skills he didn’t know existed and ferreted out the real story behind Aurora Jones. It hadn’t helped when he’d overheard Hip discussing the Pietro and its glorious sound.
Even Mike, small-town reporter and a man distracted by love and fame, could put two and two together and sniff out the story behind the story. So when the newest edition of the paper came out, the Dahl’s fire was the headline and number one story. Underneath that he’d described the great success of the prefinale party and the ratings of Monday night’s show.
There were photos of the volunteer fire department putting out the fire. There was a grainy picture of Jerry, his arms around newly engaged Mike and Cora before the fire and before the music.
And then, Aurora noted, at the bottom of the front page, was a photo of “violin virtuoso” Aurora Vandergren’s first appearance onstage in five years. Her hair covered her face, her bow was blurred, but the photo wasn’t terrible. The article underneath detailed her childhood, marriage, parents’ deaths and subsequent early retirement from the world stage. She sounded quite mysterious and extremely brilliant.
Intimidating, even.
The final sentence was the kicker: Aurora Jones, as she is known in Willing, is the owner of the Dahl, the structure whose future is uncertain after the fire that destroyed its second story last Monday night.
She reached for the phone and called Mike. “My future is not uncertain,” she snapped.
“The Dahl’s future,” he replied. “That’s what I meant, Aurora. The Dahl. Has it been declar
ed safe to rebuild?”
“Yes,” she lied. “Of course.”
The truth was she had no idea. That was to be decided this morning, after the county inspector assessed the building. For now she huddled in the cabin, her sweet little cave of a cabin, and hid from a curious town. She hadn’t replaced her cell phone, relying on Meg’s generous offer to take messages for her at the café.
“Everyone asks for you,” Meg had told her last night. “We’re all worried about you.”
“I need a few more days,” she’d said. “Then I’ll be fine.”
“You’ve been hiding in here for almost a week, Aurora.”
“I went to Lucia’s Thursday, remember?”
“She thinks you’re depressed.” Meg held up her hands as if to ward off the protest. “Not that you don’t have the right to be. It’s just that we hate to see you like this. Is there anything we can do to help?”
Aurora had shaken her head. “No. Tomorrow I meet with the inspector. And the builder. And the insurance people.”
“There are a lot of people who are rooting for you,” Meg insisted. “Come on out and let us help you get through this.”
“I will,” Aurora said. Another lie. How could anyone help? Five years ago she’d lost her parents, her unborn baby, her husband and then her career. And she’d survived, because she was an heiress who could afford to buy a huge SUV and drive west and buy a business on a whim.
She’d built a new life for herself, and now that business had burned down.
It wasn’t the end of the world. She’d experienced the end of the world years ago. This wasn’t it.
What she hadn’t expected was that this new pain, this new disappointing loss, would hurt so much. She’d dared to believe she’d found a man who would love her, who she could love back.
She’d believed she’d found a home and a place in the world.
A safe place.
With an interesting and talented man who understood her.
And a child who needed her.
She’d dared to believe she could be happy again, and look what had happened.
“You have to come out of here,” Meg had said. “It’s not healthy.”