by Becky Wade
Her cell phone rang, the sudden sound startling her. She flipped the phone face up, confirming two suspicions. It was after ten thirty at night. It was Ty calling.
Since his injury three days prior, he’d called her often. He’d gotten grumpier and become even more blunt. All of which she could deal with far better if this weak, melty feeling would quit coming over her whenever she thought of him. A cowboy had been stampeded by a bull, called her eyes crazy pretty, and—boom—she’d gone to mush. Disgusting! She brought her phone to her ear. “Hello?” A purposefully businesslike tone.
“I want you to move to Holley.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“I’ve been real patient about this whole thing, but now I mean business. I want you to move here.”
“Seriously? Huh. You don’t say.”
“Do you have five hours? I’m about to go over all the reasons, again, why you and Addie should move here.”
“Thanks, but I don’t really want to hear them.”
“Well, I’m going to tell them to you anyway—”
“I’m considering it, Ty.” She said the words calmly. They held enough power, however, to stretch silence across the line. She could sense the weight of his surprise. “I’m considering moving to Holley.”
“I’ll have a truck at your door tomorrow.”
“I only said I was considering it!”
“Well, consider this. If you don’t move here, the house I just bought you will have to sit empty.”
Her spine snapped straight, and she frowned at the reflection of herself visible in the sliding glass door. A puff of curly hair on a slim frame. “You bought us a house?”
“I thought about just emailing you a copy of the deed, but I didn’t want to be pushy.”
“In your case, the not-pushy ship sailed long ago.”
“School’s starting in three weeks, sweet one. I wanted to have a house ready in case ya’ll decide to come to Holley.”
“You bought us a house. Seriously?”
“You can hang your hat on it.”
She assumed that was Texan for yes. “When you’ve mentioned buying us a house in the past, I’ve advised you against it, Ty.”
“It made me happy to buy it, Celia.”
“I think you’re using the gifts as a shortcut to get what you want.”
“Is it working?”
“Absolutely not.” She chewed the edge of her lip, curiosity overcoming her desire to remain impervious. “What does the house look like?”
“It looks like a cross between a shoebox and a dollhouse. I don’t like it a bit, so I figured you’d love it.”
She smiled and tapped her pencil on the tabletop. Her gaze ran down the computer’s list of her withdrawals. “Here’s my concern.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s just say that we relocate all the way across the country. Maybe Addie and I take a liking to our new house. Maybe it’s even possible that you can find me a job—”
“Oh, I can find you a job. I’m like a king down here.”
She snorted.
“I’m still waiting,” he said, “to hear the concern part.”
“I’m concerned that you can’t afford to be so generous anymore. It looks to me like your career is kaput.”
She could hear him shifting, as if readjusting his position in bed. “I’m embarrassed to have to tell you this, Celia. I really am. I was hoping to keep it a secret, because my image as a dumb hick cowboy is important to me.”
“I’m pretty sure nothing will ever threaten your image as a dumb hick cowboy.”
“I’ve had . . . a little bit of luck with the stock market.”
Celia knitted her forehead.
“The BRPC paid me well, but let’s just say the stock market has paid better. Way back in the early days, I invested what I made off riding, and then that made money and then that made money and so on.”
“Do you have a financial planner, or do you invest the money yourself?”
“Myself. But if you tell anyone in Holley about this, I’ll be mad. I’ll have to . . . I don’t know, pay you back by taking Addie to a PG movie.”
“You’re a stock market investment guru?”
“I can easily afford a car that’s the size of a Coke can and an itty-bitty house.”
“Will you email me some pictures of the house?”
“Yes. Will you move to Holley? Soon? I want to see you so I can argue with you in person.”
“Will you email me the pictures tonight? Like, in the next ten minutes?”
“Man, you’re bossy. I have a blown-out knee, you know.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t have some sort of computerized device right beside you in bed.”
“I know something else I’d rather have right beside me in bed.” His voice had a smooth-rough timbre. Like hot, nutty caramel.
Desire coiled in Celia’s stomach. She’d have chided him for the comment, except that chiding only encouraged him. “Just email me the pictures, showboat. Your sweet-talking has no effect on me.”
“You sure? My sweet-talking is known to work pretty well on most females. No effect on you whatsoever?”
“None,” she lied.
“What if I were to tell you how much I like your—”
“Nope. No effect whatsoever.”
Once they’d disconnected, she pulled up her email. She hit the button to retrieve mail over and over until at last an email from Ty arrived. Celia downloaded the images of the house.
Oh. She stared, rapt, at a small Victorian. It had been painted French blue, with paler blue trim and lots of old and intricate white gingerbread accents. Instead of rectangular roof shingles, it had small shingles that formed half circles at the bottom. The porch’s snowy white fence and posts wrapped around the front and one side of the house.
It looked like the kind of backyard playhouse a millionaire’s little girl might have dreamed of. Only bigger.
The next image showed a close-up of the entry. The front door had been crafted from beautiful old mahogany and inset with four square panes of beveled glass.
The final photo pictured what must be the living room—a cheery space full of windows. Sunlight cascaded in, illuminating a fireplace and mouth-watering wooden floors.
Swiftly and uninvited, a deep love for the place clutched at Celia’s heart.
Ty—the terrible scoundrel, the bum-legged charmer—didn’t play fair.
Over the next few days, Celia and Addie shared some serious conversations about the realities of moving. Celia pointed out the differences in climate. The loss of Uncle Danny, Addie’s friends, her favorite parks, their apartment, the pool.
Addie assured Celia that except for Uncle Danny, she’d give the rest up. For them both, Danny was the deal breaker. He’d moved to Oregon specifically for them, to be their family. How could they abandon him? Whenever Celia thought about doing so, her stomach twisted. She relied on him, but he also relied on her.
When Danny dropped by their house a few evenings later, Celia pulled him into her backyard garden, closing the slider behind them. “Has Addie mentioned anything to you about the possibility of us, um, moving to Holley, Texas?”
“Yeah, she has. Are you thinking about it?”
Looking at him, Celia’s courage faded. Why had she wasted her time and Addie’s hope even considering the idea of Holley? They couldn’t leave Uncle Danny. “Don’t worry, I don’t think it’s going to happen—”
“Worry? I’d love to move to Polly, Texas.”
Celia’s attention honed on him.
He shrugged then smiled, the whites of his eyes bright against his tan. “I’m ready for a change, you know? I’m not used to staying in one place too long. It’s not good for my adventurous vibe.”
“You’d be willing to move with us?”
“Wherever you go, I go. We’re a team.”
Gratitude and love coursed through her.
“Besides, the dating pool here has run d
ry, C. In a bad way. Did I tell you that it didn’t work out between Sandy and me?”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I could deal with her ventilator’s squeaky little wheels and the tube under her nose and all, but when she told me she doesn’t like the beach because its too windy?”
“You knew right away she wasn’t the woman for you.”
“I bet they have some fine women down there in the Lone Star State.”
In bed that night, Celia’s mind was filled with the decision that hung before her. She had her finances to consider. Schools. The packing and unpacking. That gingerbread house. The question of whether she could stand to live so close to Ty. The question of what would be best for Addie.
“Daddy’s hurt, and he needs us.” She recalled Addie speaking those words at the bus stop the day she’d run away. The breeze had stirred strands of her hair and emotion had glittered in her eyes. “We have to go to Texas.”
Celia shifted onto her side, then her stomach. Finally, she flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She’d just made her choice, a realization that caused her pulse to pick up speed.
In the end her decision had had little to do with the gingerbread house and everything to do with the thing she cared about most in the world: her daughter’s well-being. Addie’s contentment was her only goal, and in Holley, Addie would be able to live near Ty. She wouldn’t be split across a country, always missing him.
Celia might come to regret every microfiber of this decision. Probably would, in fact. But there were no guarantees in life. You had to navigate the path the best you could, try to discern what was right, and then hope mightily for the best.
They were going to move to Texas.
Chapter Twelve
Celia and Addie sat side by side and held hands as their 737 made its final descent into the Dallas–Fort Worth Airport. A bright and cloudless afternoon sky surrounded them. Below, a metropolis waited.
From her middle seat, Celia could see freeways, a cluster of skyscrapers in the distance, tracks of homes, lakes, and brushstrokes of brownish vegetation. No hills or thick swaths of green trees. No bowl-you-over natural beauty. She swallowed a queasy ball of second-guesses and moved her attention to her daughter.
No uncertainty there. A grin stretched Addie’s cheeks as she pressed her forehead against the porthole-style window and devoured the view.
The plane turned, righted itself, turned. The landing gear moved into place with a grind and a thump, then at last they landed with a set of bumps. Addie shot Celia a look of breathless delight. “We’re here!”
“Yes.” Texas. A state famous for barbecue, ranches, the Alamo, and the assassination of JFK.
Addie bounced, buzzed about Ty and Ty’s house and Holley, then returned to gazing out the window.
Celia rested her head against the seat back and let her lids sink closed. Everything had happened too fast. She’d decided to relocate just ten days ago, ten days that had passed in a blur and left her with a sentimental burn in her throat.
When she’d turned in her notice at work, her boss had immediately promoted the girl who’d been holding the position under Celia’s. Her replacement was so adept that Celia had been asked to stay at her post for only one additional week.
Her boss had assumed she was doing Celia a favor. But in some respects, Celia would have preferred to work longer so that she’d have had more time to say good-bye to the town that had been her home since the age of eighteen.
From halfway across the country and convalescing from a blown-out knee, Ty had organized their relocation at warp speed. He’d had movers at River Run carrying her bed from her apartment before she’d been ready. He’d bought them plane tickets before she’d given final approval to the flight schedule. He’d called and asked Uncle Danny, without her permission, if they could stay with him their last few nights in Corvallis so that the truck with their stuff and the person driving their Prius cross-country would have a head start.
Celia and Addie waited to deplane, then walked through the terminal to a revolving door leading into the baggage claim area. A middle-aged man stood a short distance away. He wore a neat black suit and held a sheet of paper that said Sweet One.
Hysterical, Celia thought darkly.
She and Ty had haggled over the issue of who would pick them up from the airport. Ty’s doctors had forbid him from driving, and Celia had asked Ty not to send his family. The Porters were a large group, strong-willed, and probably not very kindly disposed toward her. In the end, Celia had agreed to let Ty send a driver to meet them at DFW.
She approached the man and gave him an apologetic smile. “I think you might be here for me.”
“Your name, ma’am?”
“Celia Porter.”
His eyes crinkled with good-natured humor. “I am indeed here for you.” He took their carry-ons and led them toward the automatic doors. When they exited the heavily air-conditioned airport, they walked into greenhouse-humid, furnace-hot outside air. It enveloped Celia with such ghastly power that she cut to a stop and wheezed. Addie looked around, beatific. Their driver continued on.
What was this temperature? 115? 150? Hot enough to slow cook a roast, that’s for sure.
Addie took her hand and tugged. “C’mon, Mommy!”
They followed their driver into a covered parking area. Celia had been expecting a simple town car, but the man stopped next to a . . . a stretch limo. Its long white body had been covered at all angles with gaudy cartoon-style artwork depicting broncos, spurs, ten-gallon hats, stars, and footballs. The slogan Everything’s bigger in Texas scrolled across the side in cursive. Texas flags whipped from all four corners and longhorns had been mounted on the car’s front, like the masthead of a ship.
Addie giggled.
An embarrassed blush darkened Celia’s cheeks. She’d been on Texas soil for less than thirty minutes, and already she wanted to kill Ty.
“I wish Uncle Danny were here, Mom. He’d like this car.”
“Yes, he probably would.”
“When will he get here?”
“He said he’d be here by your birthday.” Danny had opted to hit the open road and spend several days en route between Oregon and Texas, stopping wherever spontaneity led.
The driver held open the limo’s rear door for them, and Celia had no choice but to bundle Addie into the yee-haw limo and scoot in after her. Was it safe for a child to ride in this thing? The Texasmobile had space for twelve adults, two flat screens, and a bar. She and Addie took the spots at the rear. In the event of a collision, Addie would be thrown forward twenty feet.
“Isn’t this fun? Look at this!” Addie pointed to the carpeted ceiling and the LED lights embedded in it.
Once she’d gotten Addie into her booster and fastened their seat belts, the car started forward. Air vents pounded Celia’s face and chest with artificially cold air.
What have I done, moving here?
Addie spent the next hour peppering Celia with questions, sipping ginger ale on the rocks, and flipping TV channels.
Eventually, the city’s sprawl fell away. Fields opened around them, and a good while later they passed Holley’s city limit sign.
Celia’s first impressions: space and flatness. Electrical poles marched down the road, upright and symmetrical. Open, slatted fences enclosed plots of land—some bare, some dotted with horses or cattle. They passed an old clapboard church with a historical placard out front, a few windmills, and a sign advertising a cowboy church held at the Swingin’ S Ranch. Holley’s police station, city hall, and volunteer fire department all shared the same parking lot.
Eventually, the limo hung a left onto a street that felt far more country than residential. Ty didn’t live in a neighborhood of homes so much as a neighborhood of ranches. As the street carried them further from civilization, Celia spotted occasional houses set back amid the dip and roll of trees and acres.
“Are we almost there?” Addie asked for the twentieth time.
“I think so.”
“Is this where Daddy lives?”
“It looks like it. See?” Celia pointed to a mailbox inscribed with Porter. They turned onto a paved drive that took them gently uphill. A fenced pasture hugged the road on the right side. The left side had been left to fend for itself. No sign of a house yet.
Inside Celia, nervousness hummed. She’d spoken with Ty often but hadn’t laid eyes on him since his last visit to Corvallis.
She glanced down and smoothed her white peasant shirt. The flat-front turquoise shorts and T-strap sandals she’d chosen to wear with it had seemed presentable when she’d picked them. Now she wasn’t so sure.
A house came into view—big and expensive, with simple landscaping that could have been managed by sprinklers and a mowing crew alone. Too new, in Celia’s opinion, to have much character. Brown brick covered a majority of the exterior, smooth stucco a minority. Other than the dark wooden posts and buttresses that framed the front entry, there wasn’t much decorative detail about the place and certainly no feminine touches.
Celia and Addie unfolded from the limo into the fist-punching heat. Addie’s hand whispered upward and found Celia’s. Her girl, who’d been so confident, looked to have been stricken by a sudden case of self-consciousness.
The front door opened, and a couple hurried out. Ty’s parents, maybe? They were about the right age. A hearty-looking brunette wearing beige capris, a melon-colored cotton top, and sensible sandals led the charge. A slim cowboy, neat as a pin, followed her.
Celia and Addie walked toward them, tense. These two had reason to dislike her, Celia knew. She only prayed they wouldn’t make their dislike obvious in front of Addie.
“Welcome,” the woman called, waving. “Oh, have we been looking forward to this! John and I’ve been waiting there in the front room all afternoon, thinking you might drive up at any moment, and here you are.” The couple drew within speaking distance. “I’m Nancy, and this is John. We’re Ty’s parents.”
“I’m Celia.” The person who married your son in a twenty-four-hour Las Vegas wedding chapel, then hid your granddaughter from you. “Nice to meet you both.”