by Stacy Finz
“Don’t forget Owen,” Grace said. “He’s Don Corleone.” And they all laughed.
She’d seen all those men on the mornings she went to the Lumber Baron, gathering at the barber shop, drinking coffee, reading the paper. It was sweet.
“Clay still giving hayrides in his flatbed at the festival?” Grace asked.
“He sure is,” Pam said, and the ladies started to giggle. Middle-aged women giggling like schoolgirls.
Maddy looked around the table. “Am I missing something here?”
“Have you seen Clay McCreedy?” Donna started fanning herself.
“Chief Shepard’s friend, the one with the cowboy hat?” Maddy asked.
“There are a lot of men in this town with cowboy hats, including my husband,” Grace said. “But there is only one Clayton McCreedy.” And they started giggling again.
Maddy glanced over at Amanda, who shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I grew up with the guy—we used to share the same kiddy pool. But they . . . they’re obsessed.”
“If the man I think you’re talking about is Clay McCreedy . . . and I’m pretty sure he is . . . I’ll grant you he’s hot. But he’s not nearly as hot as Chief Shepard.” As soon as the words left Maddy’s mouth she wished she could take them back. Because now everyone in the room was staring at her.
“Mmm hmm,” Donna said. And they continued to peal with laughter.
“Now that one turned out just as fine as fine can be,” Grace said. “To come back and take care of that jackass father of his . . .”
“Gracie Miller!” Ethel tsked. “The man’s got Alzheimer’s.” Grace and Ethel were the matrons of this bunch—both somewhere in their sixties—but Maddy noticed that Ethel kept the other women in check when they went too far.
Grace lifted her hands. “I know, I know. But the way he neglected that boy . . . We should all be ashamed for not having called Child Protective Services. It’s just a miracle Rhys grew up as good as he did.”
“That’s because Tip McCreedy took him under his wing,” Donna said. “Now there was a man.” The women collectively sighed and Donna told Maddy, “After his wife Patrice passed, he raised Clay from a baby and never even looked at another woman.”
“Can you imagine if he’d still been alive when Jennifer came sashaying through this town, flashing those Pamela Anderson boobs to any man who’d give her the time of day?” Grace shook her head.
Amanda whispered in Maddy’s ear, “Jennifer’s Clay’s late wife.”
Maddy was dying to know more, but as the newcomer she didn’t want to seem nosey.
“You see Shep with those kids?” Ethel asked. “They came in the store the other day. Shep told Stu they were his and that their mother recently died. Apparently, Rhys didn’t know squat about them until they showed up on his doorstep with a social worker.” The other women hummed their disapproval. Maddy didn’t say a word.
“Those poor children,” Grace said. “The man wasn’t fit for fatherhood even when he was healthy.”
“Rhys’ll wind up caring for them,” Donna said.
Why Shep would’ve kept Rhys’s own flesh and blood a secret from him, Maddy didn’t understand. But if it was true, which she suspected it was, it made her heart ache for Rhys.
The women resumed filling candy sacks and the topic turned back to the festival. They discussed the fortune-teller booth and Maddy suggested renting a canvas party tent and gussying it up by draping it with fabric remnants and scarves. Pam liked the idea and said she had an old crystal ball lying around somewhere.
The longer Maddy spent with Pam and the Baker’s Dozen the more relaxed she felt. In San Francisco she’d inherited Dave’s friends—women who served on this or that board with him, the wife of a college buddy, his mother’s goddaughter. They all wore designer clothes and had a distinctive way of talking through their noses.
Maybe it was the fact that when she had arrived here, dismayed at finding a chemical cache in her basement, these women—practically strangers—had hugged and fed her. Maddy wasn’t precisely sure, but as conversation came to a lull and the ladies took to their task of filling bags in earnest, she blurted, “I’m getting a divorce.”
The room went so quiet all Maddy could hear was the low purr of the radiator.
“Oh, dear,” Grace said.
“I know.” Maddy’s voice quavered. “It’s terrible. But when my husband—his name’s Dave—married me, he was in love with someone else. This other woman, though, happened to be married to Dave’s cousin, Max. Max died a few months ago, leaving Gabby, the other woman, available.” Even to her ears it sounded like Days of Our Lives.
“So he left you for this Gabby woman?” Donna asked.
“Not exactly.” It was more complicated than that, she wanted to say, feeling proud of the fact that she could finally talk about it without breaking down. Even the pornographic slide show of Dave and Gabby writhing in ecstasy, playing like a constant loop inside her head, had mercifully gone dark.
“He says he loves me and has gotten Gabby out of his system,” she said.
“Oh, honey, you’re right to leave the asshole,” Donna said.
The rest of the women gasped. “Donna!” Ethel chided.
“Oh, give me a break,” Donna bit back. “You’re all thinking the same thing. I just had the cojones to say it.”
“She’s right,” Pam sighed.
Grace reached over and covered Maddy’s hand with hers. “No one can tell you what to do in a situation like this. It’s your heart and you have to follow what it tells you. But you absolutely have our shoulders. You just tell us what we can do to help, dear.”
“Well,” Maddy sniffed. “Someone could cut me another piece of that cake.”
Chapter 8
“You want a refill on that iced tea?” Sophie wiped the counter until it gleamed.
The lunch crowd at the Ponderosa had thinned to just a few tables and only Owen sat at the bar. The barber’s patronage made Sophie want to pump her fist in the air. It used to be that other than his standing Saturday bowling date with the rest of the Nugget Mafia, Owen got his lunches at the Bun Boy.
And since he pretty much ran this town behind the scenes, Owen eating alone at the Ponderosa signaled real progress to Sophie.
“Yeah, hit me again.” He pushed his glass at her.
“Slow day at the barber shop?”
“Nope. Just taking a well-deserved break.”
“Good for you.”
“Getting ready for the Halloween festival?” he asked her.
“Yep,” she said. Mariah had even decorated the Ponderosa with flashing skull lights and orange and black crepe paper.
“You two find a baby daddy yet?”
Sophie missed the shaker she was refilling and poured salt all over the counter as she nearly choked. “Owen, how do you know about that?” Jesus, you couldn’t keep anything private in this town.
“Oh, don’t go getting your panties all in a bunch, your secret is safe with me. But you might not want to talk so loud when you’re on the phone.”
She shot him a dirty look. “Or you might not want to eavesdrop on people’s personal conversations.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to do that? A man can learn a lot of interesting stuff that way. If you haven’t found anyone yet, I’m here to offer up my services.”
Sophie felt that Cobb salad she’d just eaten coming up on her. “What are you talking about, Owen?”
“Me,” he said. “Stud for hire. But in your and Mariah’s case, free. Okay, maybe a few lunches . . . and bowling.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” The man couldn’t be a day under seventy.
“Okay, forget the bowling. You gals have to make a living. Diapers and college ain’t cheap.” He downed the rest of his tea and reached for his wallet to pay his bill. “Well, whaddya think?”
“Wow, Owen. I don’t know what to say.” And she really didn’t. “Uh, it’s a super generous offer. But we already have someone
in mind.”
“Someone from that book?” Owen said, getting down off the stool.
“So you know about that, too?” Sophie asked, annoyed.
“You girls aren’t exactly subtle, pawing through that directory like it was porn. The other day Mariah left it on the bar while she was making coffee. Had a look at it myself and I’ve gotta say, if you’re going the turkey baster route, Lithuanian Man looks like your best bet—good pedigree on that one. But if it doesn’t work out—”
“We’ve got it covered, Owen,” Sophie snapped.
“Suit yourself.” And with that, he sailed out the door.
“What was that about?” Mariah came in from the kitchen carrying a glass rack and started arranging clean stemware on the shelf.
Sophie grabbed a stool on the other side of the bar. “Owen volunteered to father our child.”
Mariah let out a laugh. “Seriously? Oh, that’s hysterical.”
“No, it’s not.” Hostility edged her voice and she knew it wasn’t really about Owen and his absurd offer. “He saw the book, which you carelessly left on the bar.”
“Oh, Soph, lighten up. It’s a small town—everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Sophie said. “Because Owen gave Lithuanian Man a thumbs-up.”
“See.” Mariah let out a bark of laughter. “I told you he was a good choice.”
“Well, I think he’s a terrible choice.”
“I know, Soph. We’ve been over this what—fifteen, twenty times? My feelings haven’t changed about Nate.”
According to Mariah, friends were risky donors. They were more likely to get attached to the child and sue for custody. Unfortunately, statistics backed her up on this. And so did the courts. Judges tended to rule in favor of biological parents—regardless of promises, contracts, and lawyers. Mariah had done her research. Even though anonymous donors occasionally came out of the woodwork, fighting for involvement in their child’s life, it happened far less often.
But Sophie could swear that besides legal reasons, Mariah had other issues with Nate. The fact that she wasn’t even willing to talk about it, not even with a family law attorney, seemed so out of character for her usually reasonable partner.
So Sophie pressed. “You’d prefer to go with a complete stranger over someone we know and love?”
“Yes,” Mariah said emphatically. “You don’t even know that Nate would be willing to be a donor.”
“As long as you’re against it, I won’t get the chance to find out. Tell me the truth. Are you jealous of Nate?” They’d never broached this subject before, but Sophie thought it was high time to get everything out in the open.
“Not jealous,” Mariah said. “But definitely threatened.”
Sophie’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Her relationship with Mariah had always been rock solid. So how could Mariah feel threatened?
“Not the way you think,” Mariah said. “I’m not worried that you’re secretly in love with Nate. But think about it, Sophie. If he’s the father and you’re the mother, what do I bring to this family?”
Sophie walked around the bar and turned Mariah to face her. “You would be as much the baby’s mother as I would be. Nate being the child’s biological father wouldn’t change that. It would be the same as if we had adopted a baby.”
“No it wouldn’t,” she said. “Typically, when you adopt a baby both biological parents aren’t still in the picture. Don’t you see how it would be for me, Sophie? I would be nothing.”
Mariah could never be nothing. For Sophie she was everything. But she couldn’t force her own ideal of a perfect father down Mariah’s throat. The problem was the alternative for her was just as unpalatable.
The day of Nugget’s big Halloween festival arrived and despite forecasts of near-freezing temperatures, the weather remained clear and by Sierra mountain standards, moderate. The low fifties. Maddy had been told that on numerous occasions the cold had forced the festivities to be moved inside the community center. Because of Nugget’s elevation it was the sixth snowiest city in the nation, getting an average of two hundred inches a year.
An anomaly for California. And most unfortunate for the Donner Party.
However, thanks to global warming, Maddy could forgo the parka, and put on a fitted puffer jacket. She tucked the legs of her skinny jeans into her boots, put on a ribbed turtleneck, and flat-ironed her hair. She even took extra care with her makeup.
The entire town had gotten into the spirit of the party and the square’s shopkeepers expected a full turnout.
She parked in front of the Lumber Baron Inn, which was still cordoned off with police tape, and wandered over to the square.
Maddy gazed up at the black and orange paper lanterns and twinkle lights she and Pam had strung from the trees. The closest she’d gotten to this kind of community spirit during the holidays in San Francisco was Drag Queens on Ice. She never missed it.
They’d erected a stage in the center of the park for the bluegrass band and the square’s proprietors had set up card tables loaded with candy in front of their shops. The Baker’s Dozen had their own table, laden with goodies. Tubs overflowed with soft drinks, and Mariah and Sophie worked behind a makeshift bar outside the Ponderosa, serving beer and wine. Not even seven o’clock and the open house already crawled with people.
Owen organized a pumpkin carving contest in front of his barber shop. He wasn’t exactly friendly when he saw Maddy, but he did ask if she’d been able to go back inside the Lumber Baron.
“Not yet,” she said. “Just waiting for Chief Shepard to give us the thumbs-up.”
Pam, decked out in full gypsy regalia, read tarot cards in the tent Maddy had created. And sure enough, Portia Cane—the Baker’s Dozen’s androgynous nemesis—had constructed a toy skeet-shooting gallery at the edge of the square. She wore an Indiana Jones hat and fatigues.
At the Lumber Baron table, Maddy and Nate handed out cookies stamped with the hotel’s new logo. Not exactly homemade, but Maddy thought the shortbread, imprinted with a miniature version of a Victorian, was truly inspired. Her idea of course.
“How we doing?” Maddy asked.
Nate didn’t answer, just showed her the untouched cartons of cookies.
“That sucks.” Maddy noticed that people were lining up for the Ponderosa’s free drinks. “Maybe we should’ve done Jell-O shots.”
“Maybe,” Nate said. “But to be honest, I’m not feeling the love. Sophie warned me that we might not be welcomed with open arms.” He gave an apathetic shrug. “Hey, we got our permits.”
She gazed out over the square and saw Rhys with Shep and the kids. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he was looking down at his feet. Maddy sensed that he’d rather be anywhere than here. Sam followed him around like a puppy, emulating his walk and stance. It would’ve been adorable if it weren’t so sad. Those children had missed out on having a big brother during their formative years, and Rhys had missed out on having a family.
So far, the kids seemed to be a great help with Shep. Lina and he would walk together nearly every day to the library and market. In the evenings before Rhys got home from work Maddy would sometimes join Shep and the children on the porch. She’d offered to take them to Reno the next time she went. They were ill-prepared for the cold weather coming from central California, and the clothes they had seemed rather worn. She’d gotten the sense that they hadn’t had much money.
As she rearranged their table a couple wandered over. The woman had at least three inches on the man and wore an orange hoodie with a rather large fleece appliqué of a bear. He, too, wore a bear sweatshirt, but his wasn’t 3-D, just a screen print of Yogi and Boo-Boo.
“Hi, we’re the Addisons—Sandy and Cal,” Sandy announced, giving Maddy the impression that she was supposed to know those names.
“Nice to meet you,” Maddy said, hoping that if they kept talking something would eventually spark her memory. “This is my brother Nate. We’
re the new owners of the Lumber Baron.”
“We know who you are,” Sandy said—apparently Cal didn’t talk. Then they just stood there. Awkward, really.
Maddy grabbed one of the boxes. “Cookie?” she offered.
“No thanks,” Sandy said. Cal reached for one, but Sandy slapped his hand away.
Nate watched the whole interaction from his folding chair, tipping it backward until he balanced on two legs.
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Maddy said.
Sandy shrugged. Cal might’ve nodded, Maddy couldn’t tell. It was their turn to talk, but they continued to dawdle, hands stuffed into the pouches of their sweatshirts. If Maddy wasn’t mistaken, Cal was checking out her chest. Or maybe he was just eye level with her boobs. She didn’t want to judge.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I get the feeling I should know who you are, but I don’t.” Sue me.
“We own the Beary Quaint.”
“Oh, for goodness sake. We meet at long last.” Maddy reached across the table to shake their hands, but Sandy backed away. People in the hospitality industry usually veered toward warm and friendly. But, okay. “I’ve been meaning to come over, introduce myself and brainstorm with you guys.”
“Brainstorm? Brainstorm about what?”
“Well,” Maddy said, not wanting to sound too pushy. “I thought we could work together to bring a little more tourism to Nugget.”
“We’re not having any problems attracting guests, are we, Cal?” Sandy looked at her husband for affirmation and he shook his head like a good soldier. “The same families have been coming back to the Beary Quaint for generations. We’re booked solid for years out.”
“That’s wonderful.” Maddy looked at Nate for a little help. As the only other Nugget lodging option outside of the state park and nearby Graeagle, she was hoping they could partner up to entice the town to clean up the commercial district. Maybe together they could even convince the Chamber of Commerce to promote the city’s historical past. The Donner Party.
But no. Nate just sat there, the back of his chair resting against a tree, his hands laced behind his head. Sure would be a shame if he fell and cracked his skull open.