What She'd Do for Love

by Cindi Myers

  He searched for a way to put her at ease. “How did you end up with the job of asking me to do this, if it wasn’t your idea?”

  “We drew straws. I got the short one.”

  “Ah.” That explained a lot. “Well, I’d be happy to help.”

  “Thanks. It’s the second Saturday of July—I think I forgot to tell you that. Does that still work for you?”

  “I plan on being here, so, yes, that will be fine.”

  “Great. Someone from the committee will be in touch.” She turned back toward her car.

  “How’s your mom?” he asked.

  “Oh.” She turned to face him once more. “She’s about as well as can be expected. She won’t rest as much as Dad and I think she should and she tries to do a lot and wears herself out. She’s stubborn.”

  “That could work in her favor as she goes through treatment.”

  “I guess so. She’s determined to beat this. And they caught it early. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier to get through it, does it?” Gone was the flirting tone; he wanted her to know he truly did care.

  “It was fun meeting your mom the other day,” she said. “She seemed nice.”

  “She is. And she likes having me close. That’s a luxury we haven’t had since I left for college, really.”

  “I had a hard enough time being in Houston, and that was only a few hours away from here. I can’t imagine being separated from my family by whole states or even continents.”

  “You’d adjust. It seemed normal to me, but I’ll admit, it’s nice to see her more often. It’s good to know she’s happy in her new life.”

  “Was it hard for you, when they divorced?”

  The real concern in her voice touched him. “It felt...unnerving,” he said. “As if the world tilted a little, in a way it isn’t supposed to. Your parents are always supposed to stay together. It made me wonder if everything I thought about my life, or at least about my childhood, was based on false assumptions.”

  “Now that you’ve had time to get used to the idea, do you still think that?”

  “Sometimes. But I’ve never been one to dwell on the past.” Growing up, his father had always advised looking forward. Actions could affect the future, but they could never change the past. And if you didn’t think about all the things you left behind, it hurt less.

  “How is it we always end up having these kind of conversations?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He certainly didn’t go around baring his soul to everyone. “Maybe it’s because you’re such a patient listener.” Or maybe it was because he felt something for her that he’d never known with anyone else.

  “Well, uh, I guess I’d better go, and let you get back to washing your truck.”

  He hated to see her leave. They’d started out awkwardly, and now that they were past that, he didn’t want this visit to end. He glanced at the soap drying on his truck. “Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

  She hesitated; he could almost see her debating whether or not to make up an excuse not to linger. Truth—or maybe curiosity—won out. “Not particularly.”

  “If you can wait just a little while I finish up my truck, I’d like to show you something.”

  “What do you want to show me?”

  “Just something interesting. Wait for me, just for a minute?”

  “All right.”

  He returned to the truck and rinsed the last of the soap, then gave it a quick dry with some old towels. He retrieved his shirt and shoes from the apartment and motioned her over. “Let’s go for a ride,” he said, and held the passenger door open for her.

  She climbed into the truck, giving him an up-close view of those lovely legs. Smiling, he walked around to the driver’s side. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Just a place I found that I enjoy.”

  She remained quiet on the short drive across town, but he didn’t find the silence uncomfortable. Christa was easy to be with. He didn’t feel the need to prove himself to her or impress her.

  He exited the road just outside of town and turned onto a dirt track that led up a small rise. At the top, he parked in the shade of a trio of oaks. Just below, a slash of raw earth marked the beginning of the new highway, and beyond that rolling hills and pastureland. “It seems like I can almost see all the way to Dallas from here,” he said.

  “Pretty view,” she said. “In the spring there are probably lots of wildflowers.”

  “There will be more when we’re done,” he told her. “Part of the project calls for seeding wildflowers on both sides of the road. Drivers will want to make the trip just for the scenery.”

  “I never thought about highways being beautiful,” she said. “I just thought of them as necessary and, utilitarian, I guess.”

  “They are that, but they don’t have to be ugly, necessarily.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d already started construction.”

  “We just broke ground this week. We have a long way to go.”

  “Are you trying to point out how foolish I am to be against the project?”

  “No.” He took her hand. “I just wanted you to see that maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear.”

  She slipped from his grasp, almost reluctantly, he thought.

  “Maybe it won’t be as bad as I fear,” she said. “And maybe you’ve already figured out—I don’t deal that well with change. I need time to adjust.”

  “Feel free to come check the progress anytime. I’ll give you a tour—answer questions.”

  “Thanks.” She stared out at the rolling landscape once more. “Did you always know you wanted to build roads?” she asked. “I mean, when you were a little boy, did you drive trucks through the sandbox and imagine yourself doing this one day?”

  “If you’ll recall, my mom says I wanted to be a cowboy.”

  She smiled. “And a fireman and a race car driver. All right, if not when you were little, what about when you were old enough to seriously begin thinking about a career. Did you try out different things before choosing engineering?”

  “Not really. I think I was in high school when I decided I wanted to do this for a living.” He nodded toward the road stretching before them.

  “What is it about roads, do you think, that attracts you?”

  “Roads take you places. They connect you with people. They lead to new experiences and help you revisit old ones.”

  “Maybe that’s why I don’t like them as much. I like to stay put, and I like things to stay the same.”

  “Then roads bring the people and things you love to you.”

  She laughed. “Do you always see the positive side of everything?”

  “It’s better than focusing on the negative.”

  “I wish I shared your optimism.”

  He took her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I think more than just the highway project has you down. Is it your mom? Are you worried about her?”

  “I am worried, but I believe she’ll be all right.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Again the laugh, self-deprecating and trying to make light of the sadness beneath the mask. “I guess I’m trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. My dad’s been after me to get serious about my job search. Every day I tell myself I’m going to update my résumé and make some calls, but I end up frozen, doing nothing.”

  “Getting laid off had to hurt. Maybe it undermined your confidence a little.”

  “Oh, it definitely did that. My dad gave me this talk about how I needed to get right back on the horse that threw me—not let a tiny setback stop me. But that’s not what’s stopping me now. It’s that I’m not sure I want to do the same kind of work
I did before. At least, not for a big firm in the city. I’d prefer to find something where I was helping people more, not just selling them products.”

  “Have you thought any more about starting your own business?”

  “Yes, but doing what?”

  “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I think you’d be good at it.”

  “How do you know?” She looked skeptical.

  “I’m not just flattering you. Moving around so much all my life, I learned to size up people quickly.”

  “I can’t imagine a life like that—never staying in one place very long.”

  “And I can’t imagine a life tied to one place all the time.”

  “Don’t you ever want to just...stop?”

  “Maybe.” Though he’d survived his own childhood all right, he wasn’t sure he wanted to raise his children the same way. “When I find the right place I might stay put,” he said. “Or the right person to settle with.”

  “Having another person to consider changes everything,” she said. “That’s why I need to figure out my job situation. Then I can worry about the relationship stuff.”

  “You’re not into multitasking?”

  “You know what I mean—if one area of your life is unsettled, how can you focus on anything else?”

  “Maybe that’s why I’m still single. My life has always been unsettled.”

  “Maybe you’ll do such a good job with this highway, you’ll impress your bosses enough that they’ll let you pick and choose your jobs. You can work in one area of the state and find a home base where you want to remain.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it exactly like that, but I do think this job will be a good career move for me.”

  “Then that’s one area of your life where you’re definitely more settled than I am.”

  “You’ll come up with something.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. And thanks for bringing me here this afternoon. Talking this out—with someone besides my dad—helped.”

  “I’m always available if you need to talk more. You don’t even have to buy a raffle ticket.”

  She laughed. The sound made him feel lighter inside—off-balance in a not-bad way.

  “Let me take you to dinner or to a movie,” he said. “We could have a lot of fun.”

  The request stole her breath. “I...I told you I wasn’t interested in a relationship right now.”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me. I thought we’d just go out, take your mind—well, mine too—off of things. Nothing too serious.”

  She hesitated, and he thought for a moment she would relent. “No,” she said.

  “Why not? We get along well. We enjoy each other’s company.”

  “I don’t think we’d suit. We’re too different.”

  “We never have trouble finding things to talk about. Aren’t you tired of staying home all the time? I know I am.”

  “There are plenty of women in town who would go out with you if you asked.”

  “And every one of them would expect a long-term relationship. Since you and I both have no plans to stay in Cedar Grove—and you’ve made it clear you don’t want anything beyond friendship—I’ll be able to relax with you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I...I can’t.”

  He turned away and put the truck in gear. “I’m keeping the offer open if you decide to change your mind.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryder. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt. I just don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn.” To hurt, you had to let yourself really care for someone. He hadn’t gone that far with Christa. Not yet.

  * * *

  “HOW ARE YOU feeling today, Mom?” Christa knew her mom hated the question, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. A week had passed since her visit with Ryder and Adele had started chemo. Christa sensed her mom wasn’t having an easy time of it, but she refused to admit it.

  “I’m fine,” Mom said. “How are you feeling? Are you sleeping all right?”

  No, she was not sleeping well, but she refused to give Mom anything more to worry about. “I’m fine. Do we still have those old albums, with all the black-and-white photos of the ranch?”

  “I think they’re probably up in the attic. Why?”

  “The Summer Festival this year has a theme of our ranching heritage. I thought it would be cool to enlarge some of those photos and use them to decorate some of the booths.”

  “I’m glad you’re helping with the festival. I know they can really use your talents.”

  “I am having a good time.” She liked working on a project that would directly benefit the town and the people she loved. “Thanks for pushing me to do it.”

  “That’s how it always was when you were a little girl.” Her mom smiled at the memory. “Swimming lessons, 4-H, even the beauty pageants—you never wanted to try anything new, then once you were involved, you loved it.”

  “I guess I’m still trying to learn to expand my comfort zone.” She’d been doing well in Houston, but apparently the layoff, and her mom’s cancer, had pushed her back into the comfort of the familiar. “Anyway, do you think we have some pictures I could use?”

  “You’re welcome to look up in the attic, though it’s awfully warm up there this time of year. Don’t let yourself get too hot.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  She pulled down the stairs and climbed into the windowless attic. Mom was right—it was an oven up here. Well, she didn’t intend to stay long. She yanked the chain to turn on the single light bulb suspended from the rafters and surveyed the stacks of boxes, old lamps and unused furniture.

  She spotted two trunks pushed against the far wall and crawled to them. The lid of the first lifted easily and the aroma of honeysuckle surrounded her, instantly transporting her to her girlhood, and long summer afternoons shelling beans or shucking corn on the back porch in the company of her grandmother.

  Grandmother Swan always wore honeysuckle perfume, the scent infused into her clothing, as much a part of her as her black hair and eyes and her accented English. Though she had come to Texas from Vietnam as a girl of only sixteen, she had never mastered the language of her new country. To Christa, her grandmother was the most exotic and interesting person she had ever known.

  She lifted an apron from the trunk, an old-fashioned kind with a bib front and deep pockets. Grandmother had worn this apron, or one like it, every day as she worked in the kitchen and garden. The pockets held tissues and wrapped pieces of candied ginger, which she shared with her only granddaughter.

  The next item she pulled from the trunk was her grandfather’s Army uniform. William Montgomery had died before Christa was born, but he was as real to her as any living person, thanks to Grandmother’s stories. He had been a soldier in the Vietnam War when he and Swan met, and, according to Swan, he was the most handsome, smartest and bravest man who ever lived.

  Next came the sky blue áo dài in which Thiên Nga had married her GI. No one ever called her by her Vietnamese name after that, using instead the English translation—Swan. Embroidered images of cranes and lotus flowers in silk and gold threads covered the tunic and trousers—symbols of good fortune and happiness for the newlyweds.

  “First time I see my Billy, I was washing shirts in wooden tub out behind the barracks. I look a mess, but he doesn’t care. He try to talk to me in English and Vietnamese. I thought he was handsome and funny and old.” Grandmother wrinkled her nose to show her disdain for Corporal William Montgomery who had been only eight years older than she was, but her diminutive size and delicate features made her appear younger

  “He comes back the next day and brings great present—American chocolate. I tell him I want to learn English and he promises to teach me. He come every day after t
hat and we fall in love.”

  A tender look came over Grandmother’s face at this point in her story, and Christa knew she was lost in memories of her soldier boy. After a bit, Grandmother returned from her memories to continue the story.

  “Billy say he want to marry me. I say yes, but when he ask for permission to marry me, his commanding officer say no.

  “Then Billy get word he being sent home. No time to marry, make me dependent. I cry and cry, thinking I will never see Billy again.”

  Even though Christa knew what happened next, her heart always beat a little faster at this point in the story.

  “Then he comes to me very early one morning,” Grandmother continued. “He say I must pretend I am fourteen and an orphan. I say okay, and he take me to a school—a place where many orphans live. A church in America has raised money to have these orphans taken there. I will go with them and wait for Billy. He will come and marry me.”

  The memory still made Christa sigh. Faced with the prospect of losing the woman he loved, her grandfather had gone to extraordinary lengths to rescue her. The story was incredibly romantic, but also a little daunting. She wanted that kind of deep, life-long love, but she didn’t know if she would be willing to risk so much for someone else.

  A drop of moisture landed on the áo dài in her lap—not tears, but sweat. Christa realized she’d probably been up in the stifling attic too long. Reluctantly, she put the clothing away and opened the second trunk, where she found the photo album.

  Her mother, who had been lying on the sofa with Jet at her feet, struggled to sit up when Christa walked into the living room with the pictures. “You don’t have to get up,” Christa said. “Lie down and rest.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Mom sat up, her expression drawn but determined. Jet moved up beside her, the little dog’s eyes full of concern.

  “Mom, it’s okay to admit you’re human. You’re not super woman.”

  “I won’t let this cancer get the better of me.”

  “And it won’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t rest when you’re tired, or admit when you feel sick. We won’t think any less of you.”