by Natasha Deen
“See? And Pops and Destina did the same—everyone’s taken a risk for love...everyone but me.” He kicked at the blanket by his feet.
“Jessica’s not gone, yet. You can still tell her how you feel.”
He shook his head and his dark hair rubbed against her chin. “I’ve tried, but every time, it’s like my brain shuts down and I can’t get the words out.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“Not anyone in this house.” He shifted away, rolling on his stomach, facing her. “You guys were all brave and it worked out.”
Aya winced, her eyebrows drew together and her nose scrunched up. “Honey, Pops and Destina took a chance. What Nate and I did was just stupid and rash.”
“Why?”
The impulse to dismiss his question hit with enough force to take her breath away. She wasn’t here to talk about herself—especially when he was asking questions she could barely comprehend. But as she gazed into his dark eyes, and the sincerity of his question sank in, she took a deep breath and waded into unknown waters. “Nate will leave soon. There’s no point in us trying to start a relationship.”
“Like me and Jessica.”
She winced and cursed herself. “No, honey, it’s nothing like you and Jessica.”
“Why?”
Why, indeed. “Nate has prior commitments, so do I. We’ll never be able to make a relationship work. You and Jessica, though, it could work. Maybe you’ll end up at the same college, or Fate might bring you back together.”
“Couldn’t that happen with you and Nate?”
“I doubt it—I don’t have a desire to go back to college.”
“Mom, be serious.”
She inhaled deeply, hoping her expanding lungs would dull the sharpness jabbing into her heart. Then she smiled, blinked away the tears, and said, “I think Nate travels around the country, going from one failing business to another. If I can make the farm profitable, he’ll move on, and if the farm fails, he’ll move on.” God, it hurt to say it aloud and force herself to hear the uselessness of her heart’s desires. “Plus, he has a very sick father who needs him. But who knows?” She forced a laugh. “Maybe we’ll end up in the same nursing home.”
Spencer’s eyes grew wide, serious. “I’d never put you in a nursing home. You’ll stay with me forever.”
“You love me that much, huh?”
He grinned. “Sure, plus you’ll be a built-in babysitter and cook.”
“Why you—” She grabbed him and started tickling. He screeched and giggled, then squirmed away. “Spencer, honey, I don’t want to get all heavy and philosophical with you, but if I were you, I’d tell Jessica. The great things in life take risks.”
Her son sat up and crossed his legs, yoga-style. His eyes widened until he looked owl-like, and his Adam’s apple worked up and down. “What if she doesn’t like me back?”
She stretched out and took his hands in hers. “The act of telling her isn’t so she’ll say yes, it’s about being honest with yourself and those around you. Besides, without the risk, there’s no true reward.”
“Like you and the farm?”
“What do you mean?”
“Not selling. Keeping it is a risk, right?”
Before Nate, she would have answered yes with no hesitation. Now, she wasn’t sure if she clung to the farm as an act of honor or if she was the ultimate coward and instead, hung onto the past and memories.
“Mom?”
She smiled. “Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said. Yes, the farm’s a risk—I guess I’m just wondering if it’s a good or a bad risk.”
“Which is it?”
“I don’t know, but I have about a month to figure it out—and you have a couple of weeks to own up to your feelings for Jessica. And the big question is, what are you going to do?”
He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t know. If I tell her now, it might wreck our friendship, but if I wait too long, I may never say anything...what would you do?”
She thought about Nate, and his eventual parting, the complications of love and life, and said, “Honey, I wouldn’t have the courage to do it. The truth is, Nate’s going to leave soon, and if I was really brave, I’d say who cares and just be happy with the time we have. But I’m a coward—a cold coward—and I’d rather not risk the pain of him turning me down.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes, he would. He’s honorable and noble, and those kind of guys always do the right thing.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged and hid the pain welling inside her. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, eventually. What about you?”
He frowned. “I don’t know...I have a couple of weeks...”
“In the meantime, you want to come downstairs and watch a movie with me?”
He shook his head. “Not right now...I have to think.”
“Okay.” She rose from the bed and moved to the door.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Am I an honorable guy?”
“Absolutely.”
He nodded and turned his attention to his blanket, staring at the cover as though the cotton fibers held the answer to his question.
****
Aya stared in disbelief at the slip of paper in her hand. She tried to focus on the digits and letters, but her violent trembling made the rectangular leaf shiver. Her throat was dry, her heart pounded. If this was a joke, it was a mean one, and if the letter held truth, then her life was about to take a milestone turn.
She folded everything back into the number ten envelope and rose on shaking legs. Clutching the letter to her chest, she made her way to the door. Rubbery, boneless, she stumbled from the study, down the hallway, and into the kitchen, where she found the object of her search.
“Nate?”
He turned, the wavering tone in her voice the probable reason for the concern in his eyes.
“I’m just making a sandwich.” He waved a butter knife, dripping with mustard, in the air. “Do you want one? It’s roast beef, but I can make you a vegetarian with some cheese.”
She shook her head. Shockwaves, initiated by the morning’s mail, sent jagged tremors through her body, and made coherent speech next to impossible. Mutely, she held the envelope aloft and managed to choke out, “Read.”
Lines of confusion furrowed his brow. Licking his finger of mustard, he took the correspondence and perused the contents.
“It’s a check,” he said. His eyes flicked over the information. “A rather large one...from Daniel.”
“What did you do?” The question came out hushed, whispered.
He smiled, but shook his head. “I told him to pay you.”
His presence calmed the shock from her and took the edge off her disbelief. If Nate saw the numbers, then the letter was real. She wasn’t just imagining the lucky coincidence of Daniel’s timely intervention. Aya walked to the island, climbed onto a stool. The cold wood crept through the barrier of her jogging pants and further confirmed the reality of the events. She wasn’t dreaming...but the money...
“You did something,” she told Nate. “You threatened him.”
“I don’t threaten people.” He moved back to the counter and resumed his task. “Do you want a sandwich?”
“I...I don’t feel hungry, but sure.” She glanced at the microwave clock. “It’s time for lunch, anyway...Nate, what did you do?”
He grinned. The brilliant white of his smile popped against his tanned skin and black shirt. “Why do you keep insisting I had a hand in this?”
“Because only two things ever motivate Daniel to do anything: status and fear. He married me because he didn’t want to lose status—didn’t want to be known as the guy who dumped his pregnant girlfriend. As soon as Spencer was born, though, he took off.”
“Maybe he decided to pay up for the same reason—status.”
“After nearly ten years of dodging his responsibilities?” Disbelief flooded her question. �
�I doubt it.” She watched Nate, but with his back to her, she hadn’t a clue what he thought. “You did something. He paid because of fear, and you’re responsible.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “I admit, I scared him.”
“How?”
“I told him if he didn’t pay, I was giving you a shotgun and an alibi.”
“Nate.” She laughed, a deep, from-her-toes-to-the-roots-of-her-hair, laugh. And God, it felt really good. A heavy weight had lifted from her soul, her chest, and she had Nate to thank for it. “Be serious.”
“You think I’m kidding?” He turned toward her, a plate in each hand. Setting one in front of her, he moved to the fridge where he grabbed them a soda. Then he took a seat beside her. “I can’t believe you never pursued him—almost a decade of payments. He’s disgusting.” Contempt twisted his face.
“You don’t know Daniel—or his family.” She pulled strands of alfalfa free of their bread prison and nibbled on them. “I did try to make him pay. But they have money—loads of it—and they spent it on delay tactics. Given the choice between spending my meagre income raising my child or chasing a dead-beat dad, the decision seemed clear. Still...” Her gaze returned to the small, blue rectangle that represented Daniel’s promise. “Thirty thousand dollars. It’s incomprehensible.”
“It’s about three grand for each year Spencer’s been alive. The guy should have paid everything.” He bit into his sandwich, savage, angry, and chewed on the mouthful as though he was devouring Daniel.
“I don’t care. Something is better than nothing—and this—” She gestured to the letter. “This is his promise to make good and keep up with the payments.” A deep sigh of relief lightened her chest. She grinned. “I guess we won’t need your lawyer friend, after all.”
“I guess not.”
“His payments free up my income. I can put money back into the farm; I can finally make a go at this.”
“Only for this month.” His tone warned her. “You promised if the farm didn’t turn over a decent profit by the end of May, you were selling to Mason St. John—you gave me your word.”
“And I hold to that, but Nate, with this money...I’m going to blow your mind. I promise.”
He smiled. “You already blow my mind.”
She stuck her elbow into his ribs. “In a good way, I mean. I’m going to impress the hell out of you, and you’ll want to stick around and help, I know it.”
He shook his head, the smile still curving his lips and bringing a soft light to his eyes. Nate leaned in and whispered, “You already blow my mind and impress me.”
She grinned, picked up her sandwich, and held it aloft. “To future possibilities.”
“Here, here.”
Aya bit into her lunch. The sun was coming into her life, dispelling dark clouds and bringing with it the shine of possibilities and a happy future.
Finally, things were turning around.
****
Aya stepped through the back door and into the kitchen, shucking her muddy boots on to the patio at the same time. The aroma of Destina’s enchiladas and vegetarian burritos wafted past, reminding her of the late hour of the day, and her empty stomach.
Nate and Spencer sat at the island, their heads bent over a comic book. Her heart tugged her toward them. “What are you boys up to? Where’s Destina?”
“She’s in the laundry room, and I’m trying to explain how Barbara ended up as the Oracle.”
Spencer glanced up, a curious light in his eyes that she couldn’t define. Her mind rifled through all of her “My Child’s Looks and Their Meanings” files, but the emotion illuminating his face, eluded her. What she did know, however, was he seemed content and happy, even if his wriggling on the stool spoke of a hyper edge to his feelings.
“Ah, the Batman tales.”
Nate turned his attention to her. “You understand the history?”
She smiled and pointed to Spencer. “He’s good for more than a dissertation on the Oedipal Complex.”
“Nate says I should follow Jung.”
Nate says. Aya smiled to herself, a bitter-sweet sensation filling her heart. “Carl’s theories do seem a little happier than Sigmund’s.”
“Everyone’s theories were happier than Sigmund’s, Mom. But Nate says if I go with Jung, then from now on, I can tell everyone that I’m Jung at heart.”
“Yes, but if he’s teaching you bad puns, I may have to put an end to this friendship.”
“Would you pour me a glass of juice? Please?” he asked it with a little skip in his voice.
Aya’s Mom Radar went on high alert. “Are you all right?” She watched him through narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, why?”
Her gaze inspected him with her parent filter in place, but it saw nothing to give her concern. He had good color—a little flushed, but good. However, instinct niggled at the back of her mind. Turning her attention to the man beside him, she looked for any sign from him that Spencer might be in trouble.
Nate gave her a quick, conspiratorial wink that ripped away the parent filter and shoved her hormones to the forefront. She moved to the cupboards before her lecherous inclinations got the better of her. Just as the cabinet door cracked open, she heard reptilian slithering and then a long, green snake slipped from the shelves. She yelped in shock and jumped back, her heart pounding and adrenaline slamming through her veins.
The snake, despite gaining its freedom, sat with placid grace on the countertop and gazed at her. She whipped around and saw the orchestrators of the prank laughing, and giving each other high-fives. A smile came, unbidden and unwelcome, to her lips. Parental inclination told her to be stern, but watching Spencer laughing, seeing him light-hearted and knowing Nate filled a spot in her son’s heart she never could, all she managed was a half-hearted, “Ick.”
“Mom, you should have seen your face.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe, but you should have seen yours when I got you back.”
Wrinkles of confusion lined his youthful brow. “When did you get me back?”
“After dinner, when I made you and Nate re-wash all the dishes in this cupboard, clean the counter top, and tidy the kitchen for Destina.”
“All that? Just for a snake?” His mouth twisted, gearing up for an argument.
“She’s right,” Nate said. “That’s the danger of practical jokes: one-upmanship.”
Spencer slid off his seat. With expertise she didn’t know he had, he scooped up the garter snake before it had time to flee. She leaned in and kissed her son on the top of his head. “It was funny—gross, but funny.”
He smiled and went outside.
“I hope you’re not too mad.” Nate got up and came toward her.
“Not even a little bit. Look at him.” She gestured to the kitchen window. “He’s a different kid because of you. Spencer’s got you as a friend, and he’s so happy, I swear he’s walking on a cloud.”
“You’re giving me more credit than I deserve.”
“No, I’m not. He’s got you as a confidante for all the things he won’t share with me or Pops—”
“You’ve got an amazing relationship with your child, don’t doubt that.”
“I don’t, but you’re like his very own superhero.”
Nate’s face clouded, darkened. “I’m no superhero.” The edge in his voice tightened the air.
“That’s not true. The way you’ve given of your time for my son, and all the ways you’re helping me with the farm—you’re definitely a hero.”
The darkness in his face turned midnight black. His gaze, already granite hard, fired into titanium. “I’m no one’s hero.”
She reached out to touch him, but he stepped back and walked away, leaving hurt feelings and confusion in his wake.
Chapter Nine
At four o’clock on the morning of Aya’s thirty-fourth birthday, she lay in bed, listening to the wind howl outside her windows and contemplating Nate’s behavior over the past week. A couple of ki
sses didn’t explain his silence and emotional distance. She sighed and rolled over, pulling the blankets up to her chin.
He didn’t avoid her, but no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t emerge from behind the wall he’d put between them.
C’mon, Aya, stop thinking about him. You have more pressing matters—like the farm.
She groaned and kicked away the blanket. Even with Daniel’s money, the possibility of losing the property remained all-consuming.
The darkness pressed in as a quiet, niggling voice began to whisper in her ear that selling the farm wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She pushed it away, horrified and repulsed, but the truth remained. Ever since she set the deadline with Nate, since she talked to Spencer about risk and chance, the idea of leaving Wolf Point had lightened her spirit. Not a lot—miniscule, really—and the thought of betraying the memory of her parents made her sick, but at some point in the past few weeks, her honorable intentions to save the farm had been superseded by the possibility of having the life she’d originally intended.
She rubbed her tired, gritty eyes due to seven days alternately trying to save the farm and trying to save herself and seven nights of sleep deprivation as she wondered about her character and the kind of person who gave up their family legacy.
Aya pulled the blankets around her again, and wished for sleep to take her away from the circular track she ran, the mindless debate between what was the right thing to do, and what just seemed like the right thing to do.
Sleep eluded her, but as the LCD numbers of the clock marked the passing hour, the windstorm showed its strength by ripping off a branch from a tree and hurling it through her window. She screamed, flinched as shattered glass rained on the floor and bedspread.
Instinctively, she ducked under the covers, waiting for the last of the broken window to fall.
When the only sound reaching her ears was the gusting wind, she pulled her head from under the blanket. She yanked the covers off, then cursed to herself because the action sent more glass shrapnel hurling through the air. Goosebumps prickled her skin. The thin cotton cami and pajama bottoms she wore held no protection from the cold. She groped for the lamp switch with one hand.