by Meg Maxwell
Olivia didn’t like any of that. What the hell was the point of anything, then, if you couldn’t write your own destiny, be the captain of your own ship? She pressed her face against Sweetie’s fur, the old cat’s purring a comfort. Sometimes she believed what her mother had—that life had a plan for you and all the little detours were part of that plan. The things-happen-for-a-reason point of view. And sometimes she was like Carson—pragmatic, logical, about the here and now and what made sense. The you-decide team. Carson would say that if her mother had supposedly known Olivia’s father wouldn’t stick around, then she could have chosen not to sleep with him and create a life. But she had anyway and, oh, look! Then again, Carson seemed to be coming around—slowly—to the idea that her mother may have had special abilities.
What Olivia believed was this: her mother had fallen in love, had known it was doomed, but also had known there would be a daughter who she would love more than anything. In a way, her mother had both broken her own heart and healed it.
“I don’t know, Sweetie,” she said to the cat, giving her a scratch on the head and taking a sip of her tea.
The doorbell rang, startling Olivia. She went to the front door to find Dory standing there.
“Dory, is everything okay?”
Before Dory could answer, a black SUV pulled up to the house. Carson.
He came up to the door and saw Dory. Looking a bit uncomfortable he said, “Sorry to interrupt. To be honest, I just got a call from Beaufort and he’s pretty broken up.” He turned to walk back down the porch steps. “I’ll let you two talk.”
“No,” Dory said to Carson. “I know you’re a good friend of Beaufort’s and close with Olivia. And I know Olivia won’t feel comfortable breaking a confidence and telling you what I told her, so I’ll tell you myself.”
“Come into the living room, both of you,” Olivia said. She led the way and gestured for Dory and Carson to sit. Carson chose one end of the sofa; Dory sat on the chair across from it. Olivia bit her lip and sat next to Carson.
“Carson, what you might not know,” Dory began, “is that the reason I accepted Beaufort’s marriage proposal after dating such a short time was because he offered to save my family business, Drummond’s Bake Shop. My mother died recently and her bills took my accounts. There’s nothing left and the shop is next to go. But Beaufort said he would save the shop if I married him.”
“I’m very sorry about your mother, Dory,” Carson said. “To have your family business in jeopardy on top of a such a loss must be very painful and very difficult.”
Olivia found herself reaching over to touch Carson’s hand. That was a kind thing to say.
Dory nodded, the sadness in her blue eyes heartbreaking. “Tonight I found out why Beaufort proposed. It was part of a whole plan to present me as his wife from the wrong side of the tracks, so that he’d look less privileged and more accepting, more like a regular guy instead of a wealthy one-percenter type. His ‘people’ wanted him to have a wife with a certain look—petite, blonde, nonthreatening with a good backstory. Who knew my growing-up in the Blue Gulch trailer park would be so appealing to a future politician?”
Carson frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Beaufort.”
Olivia didn’t know Beaufort Harrington well, if at all, but he’d always seemed like a follower rather than a leader. Perhaps his mother was behind all the plans. Based on the news articles and photos, Olivia wouldn’t doubt it.
“Well, he has his ambitions,” Dory said. “And I can’t fault him for picking and choosing his wife based on all that when I said yes so that my family business would be saved.”
“But now your family business won’t be saved,” Olivia said. “What are you going to do?”
Dory pulled a folder from her tote bag. “My hopes are in here. A business plan. Six months ago, when I saw the writing on the wall about the bakery, I presented a plan to my bank for a loan and was turned down. But after seeing how you and the Hurleys run the food truck, why it’s so successful, I have new ideas. I wrote up a new plan tonight and I’m going to present it to my bank tomorrow. I have a good feeling about it.”
Whether Olivia’s ham-and-cheese po’boy with honey mustard helped spur Dory to rely on herself or whether Dory just realized what she really wanted and needed, Olivia was happy for her friend.
“In any case, Olivia, your mother was right. I don’t love Beaufort. You know what I do love? My bakery. I need to do this myself. I’m going to save Drummond’s Bake Shop.” She stood and stopped for a moment to pet Sweetie, who was weaving between her legs, then headed for the door.
“Good for you, Dory,” Olivia said, hugging her friend.
“Best of luck to you with the shop and the loan,” Carson said.
Dory smiled and left, and Carson narrowed his eyes at Olivia.
“So your mother was the one who put it in her head not to marry Beaufort?” The frown was back.
“Carson, that’s the least of what happened. Dory doesn’t love Beaufort. Beaufort doesn’t love her. A marriage based on a deal has been canceled. That’s all.”
He leaned back on the couch. “So we have people making important decisions with legal and lifelong significance based on a fortune-teller’s prediction. We have people making decisions based on necessity. What the hell ever happened to getting married because you fell in love?”
Olivia sat down beside Carson. “I’m holding out for that.”
“I should hope so,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Huh,” Olivia said. “So you do have faith, after all.”
He frowned. “Faith? What are you talking about?”
“You do believe in love.”
“I believe in marrying for the right reason,” he said. “The right reason is love. That doesn’t mean I believe in love anymore. I don’t. I used to, but not anymore.”
“You love Danny. You love your dad.” I wish I could add myself to that list, Olivia realized, her heart clenching.
“I believe in facts. I believe in people walking the walk. My son has my unconditional love—you bet he does. My father changed. He earned my respect back. He earned my love back.”
Olivia glanced at him, the hard set of his jaw, the flash of intensity in his eyes.
“When my son was so frail in the NICU at birth and the doctors weren’t sure he’d make it, I kept caressing his tiny fingers through those window holes in his incubator and thinking over and over if only his mother were still there, Danny would know it, he’d feel her there, feel her love, and he’d get better. I thought the reason he was getting worse was because he knew his mother had given up on him and walked out.”
Oh, Carson. She bit her lip and wanted to put her arms around him, but he looked like he might bolt at any moment so she stayed quiet. This was a time to listen, not talk.
“But you know what happened?” he said, turning to face her. “Danny did start getting better. Because I was there, because his grandfather was there. Because of the fantastic nurses and doctors. He got better and I realized his mother being around or not had nothing to do with it. He’d be fine. And so would I.”
She got it now. This wasn’t about faith or love or lack thereof regarding either or both. This was about Carson Ford’s refusal to let himself need anyone or anything.
“When my ex-wife was pregnant,” Carson said, “she had her fortune told at a carnival in Oak Creek. For ten bucks she was told she’d have a daughter who would be perfect and look just like her. Jodie ran around buying pink layettes and nursery decorations. Instead, our son was born eight weeks early and sickly and looked exactly like me. I don’t think Jodie ever got over the ‘betrayal.’” He shook his head. “I loved Jodie, but after that it was easy to let go of the love.”
“I can understand that,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. And now she
knew a bit more why her mother’s profession and his father being involved with a fortune-teller affected him the way it did.
“Tell me something, Olivia. Why didn’t your mother tell you who your great love would be?”
Talk about a change of subject. A subject she didn’t want to discuss—not with Carson. Not with the man she loved. Olivia glanced away. “She must have had her reasons. She did tell me my last boyfriend wasn’t the one. And he wasn’t.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy? You dumped him?”
“He fell in love with someone else and proposed, like, a day later,” she said, wincing at the memory. “That was the end of us.”
“I think your mother never told you who your great love is because she had no idea. The way it should be. No knows these things in advance. My dad will find that out when we finally find your aunt.”
“I think my mother did know,” Olivia said slowly, testing out the words on her heart. Could Carson be the one? Her great love? If he was, he sure was making it difficult. “There was no need to tell me who. No need to lead.”
“Like your mother did with my father,” he muttered. “She led him right to your aunt. And now look how close we are to finding her. A total setup. I’m still not sure what all that means, Olivia. But I know you’re a very honest, good person. And from everything I’ve learned about Madam Miranda, she was, too.”
Olivia nodded, appreciating that. “My mother must have had her reasons for putting it the way she did to your dad, the clues to Sarah’s identity. And I think the reason was that she knew it was time. In that she was running out of time herself, and because it was time for Sarah to come home. Time for Sarah to be with her own great love. And time for your father to find his. They happened to be one and the same.”
Carson closed his eyes. She could feel him internally shaking his head even though he sat ramrod-straight.
“This is what I know about life and how it works, Olivia,” he said. “If you’re there, if you show up, if you do the work—you might get what you want. That’s how things happen. Period. Not via a crystal ball.” And this time he did bolt up. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and let out a breath. “I need to get home to my son.”
She didn’t know how to argue with what he was saying. There was no argument. He was right. But he was ignoring the whole other side of the coin. Hope, faith, love—need. All things you couldn’t see or touch. You felt those things.
She walked Carson to the door and opened it. She half expected him to rush out without saying goodbye, but he stopped in the doorway and turned. He reached up his hand and touched her face, and then gave her something of a nod before walking to his car.
Unsettled, her heart heavy, Olivia shut the door and sat back down on the couch. She pulled Sweetie up onto her lap and held her close and knew with total crystal-ball clarity that she’d fallen in love with Carson Ford. She picked up Sweetie and walked past the red velvet curtains into the fortune-telling nook. The real crystal ball in its holder sat on the table. She leaned over to look inside it but saw nothing, just her reflection and Sweetie’s face. “Is Carson the one for me or am I headed for heartbreak?” she asked.
She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one.
Until Sweetie let out one meow and nuzzled her cheek.
“Is that a yes or a no?” she asked the cat.
Sweetie nuzzled again. Olivia liked to think that was cat for yes. But a moment later, Olivia was back to “unclear at this time” like from the old Magic 8 Ball she and her friends used to play with at sleepovers. She wasn’t so sure she would ask again later, though. Maybe sometimes it was better not to know a thing about what would happen.
Chapter Ten
Carson spent the next morning with his son. After making Danny his favorite chocolate-chip-and-banana pancakes for breakfast, they went to the playground, then the library for story hour, then home for a nap. When Danny woke up, they played hide-and-seek in the backyard and a little T-ball, then headed in to await the sitter. Carson didn’t want to leave the little guy. He gave Danny a big hug, very aware that he was about to pick up Joey Johnson for the trip over to confront his father.
I’ll always be here for you, Carson thought, giving Danny a kiss on the head before heading out.
He’d needed today. Much of it spent with Danny and now on his work. Some time away from Olivia and fortune-telling seemed the ticket, until he realized all he was doing was thinking about her. At the playground, he heard a caregiver singing a song to a toddler falling asleep in her arms, and he’d found himself wishing Olivia could be there with them. And when he’d pushed Danny on the toddler swings, he felt strangely bereft, like something was missing. Someone. Olivia. He wanted her beside him, singing that meatball song and wearing that skirt with the bulldogs on it.
What he really needed was a bracing cup of coffee and to focus on his work, which this afternoon meant taking Joey to the rodeo barns. He had no idea what to expect, how this was going to play out, and he’d made sure to call Joey’s mom last night to make sure she knew it might not go well and that Joey needed to be braced for that.
When he arrived at the Johnsons’, Joey was waiting for him on the steps. Carson waved at his mom, who was standing at the window, and off they went. Joey was silent in the car on the way there, holding a letter in his hand from his mom to his father. Joey had explained the letter said that his mother wanted nothing from Steve Johnson except for him to open his life to let Joey in, that she would drive him out to visit once a week or more, depending on what they were both comfortable with.
As Carson pulled into a spot at the rodeo grounds, Joey fell apart. The boy’s shoulders began quaking and he just sat there crying, holding his letter.
Carson turned off the ignition and turned to face Joey. “Hey. You know what the most important thing about today is? No matter what happens? That you’re here. That you tried. No matter what happens, Joey, you’ll always know that. Trying is everything.”
“But what if he doesn’t even recognize me?” Joey asks. “Or what if he does and he just walks away?” Tears fell down the boy’s freckled cheeks.
His heart clenching, Carson repeated, “You’ll know you tried. That’s all you can do sometimes. But that way you’ll have no regrets because you did what you could. You’re a great kid, Joey.”
Joey wiped under his eyes and took a deep breath. “Is it time?” he asked, looking up at Carson, then at the dashboard clock. His father got off work in a few minutes.
“It’s just about time,” Carson said. “Let’s go.”
Every figurative finger crossed, he walked Joey out to the barns. Two men came out first, their Stetsons pulled down low against the bright sunshine, and he could feel Joey practically jump beside him. Neither man was his father, though. Then another cowboy, and a cowgirl carrying a saddle.
Finally, a couple minutes later, as he and Joey were just steps from the barn, another man came out. Steve Johnson. He was carrying a knapsack over his shoulder and wearing a black cowboy hat.
Joey stopped in his tracks. “Dad?” he said, almost in a whisper.
Steve glanced over their way and froze. “Joey? My God, Joey?”
Joey nodded and the two walked toward each other, Steve throwing down the knapsack and running over to his son.
The cowboy hugged him tight. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”
“It’s me,” Joey said.
Carson explained who he was and that Joey had hired him to track him down solely so that the two could have a father-and-son relationship, that this wasn’t about anything else. Joey handed over the letter, and at the obviously familiar handwriting, Steve froze, then opened it and read it. He put in his pocket.
“I’m sorry for just leaving you,” Steve said, looking down at the ground. “I didn’t mean to stay away. I just had som
e problems I had to take care of. And then one day became a week and then a month and then a year, then more. And I never felt like I could come back.”
“Why?” Joey asked. Carson could tell from the boy’s expression that it was the question he wanted answered more than anything else.
“I guess because I’d been gone so long and thought you hated me. You’d have every right.”
“I don’t hate you,” Joey said, his voice breaking. “I miss you.”
“I’ve missed you like crazy,” Steve said, pulling him into another hug.
Carson directed the two to a picnic table by the barns to talk privately. A half hour later, they came over to where Carson waited. Steve said he was going to call Joey’s mom and make arrangements to pick up Joey every Saturday. Carson was so damned happy for Joey he almost did a fist pump. Sometimes, things really worked out. Carson liked those times.
He extended his hand and Steve shook it. “I’m very glad to hear it.”
The entire way back home, Joey talked nonstop about the things his dad had told him, how he’d learned how to be a cowboy and had even won a few bronc-riding competitions. He’d asked a ton of questions about Joey, how he liked school and what he was learning and what he liked to do after school.
“Wow, can you imagine if I didn’t hire you to find him?” Joey asked, his manner, his voice, his whole bearing completely different than on the way over. “He’d still be gone and I’d still be always wondering about my dad. Now he’s coming to pick me up on Saturday for a whole day together.”