by Susan Wiggs
“Fancy meeting you here,” said a disembodied voice.
Michelle peered through the steam, and there he was, sitting chest-deep in the pool, wearing nothing but a smile. She tried not to think about that smile, or the way the dampness curled his hair, or the beads of water on his shoulders. “I had a little talk with Alice at the hospital today,” she said.
His smile disappeared. “Then I guess you’d better have a seat.”
“Maybe you could get dressed, Sam—”
“Or you could join me.” The smile sneaked back across his lips.
She sank down on a flat rock, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were married.”
She heard a trickle of water, and suddenly he was gliding toward her, taking her hands away from her face. She should leave now, just get up and ride away, but she felt stuck here, unable to move.
“I would have told you, Michelle, but we haven’t had that much time to talk.”
“We’ve had time to do a lot more than talk.”
“Yeah.” His hands—damp, warm, insistent—peeled off her gloves and unzipped her jacket. “Yeah, we have.”
The rising steam and the heat and his touch filled her with a strange and helpless lassitude, and everything she’d planned to say simply evaporated. With slow and deliberate care he removed her boots and socks.
“It’s my fault my marriage to Alice didn’t work out.” His whisper rasped in her ear, and then he kissed her in a leisurely way, imprisoning her by her own desire. It was a powerful drug, the taste of him, the taste of passion.
“She claims her needs… weren’t met.” She forced the words out even as she surrendered, peeling off sweater and jeans, letting the delicious shock of cold air and hot water race over her bare skin.
“She’s right. I couldn’t give her what she needed.” Long slow slide of his hands down over her body as he drew her deep into the silky water, secretly heated in the heart of the earth. “Because I gave it all to you.”
* * *
Sam had always been one to think on a matter before deciding what to do. But the thing was, all the thinking in the world never seemed to do a damned bit of good. He always came around to what his gut told him to do in the first place. The second he had figured out the truth about Cody, he had been consumed by fascination. He wanted to know the boy, be near him, be with him. Circumstances had handed him a way to do that—if he could get Michelle to agree to it.
Still sitting in the thermal pool and squinting through the thick wisps of steam, he watched her getting dressed. His body reacted as fast as it had when he was eighteen—maybe faster. Because now he knew from experience that sex like they’d just had didn’t come along every day.
He figured he ought to be dressed when he broached the topic of Cody, so he made himself chill out, waded to the shore, and dried off before the numbing cold hit him. Yanking on jeans, socks, and boots, he kept stealing glances at Michelle. She was beyond beautiful, always had been, but now that he was coming to know her again, he saw something more in this woman. Years ago, he had seen the promise. Now he saw the way time and caring and motherhood had molded her, softened her. Though she was slender, her breasts and belly had the sweet roundness common to any woman who had ever given birth and nursed a baby. It didn’t seem to matter how much time passed. The mother-shape was always there.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked, slightly suspicious, still flushed from the hot springs and from their lovemaking.
He tugged a gray UT Athletic Department sweatshirt over his head. “Do you have to ask?”
She sniffed, but not before he caught a flash of amusement in her eyes. “I didn’t come out here looking for sex. I came looking for answers.”
“So the sex was just sort of a bonus, I guess,” he said.
“Very funny.” She put on her boots and started walking toward the horses.
“Michelle, wait.” He followed her, jumping from stone to stone to keep clear of the steaming mud. A few elk, only slightly perturbed by the presence of humans, sidled off toward the woods. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
His tone must have touched off her suspicions, for she turned to him with her eyes narrowed and her arms folded across her chest, unconsciously protecting herself. “What is it?”
He figured he’d best just get it said. “When you and Gavin go in for the surgery, I want Cody to stay with me.”
He knew she was going to object before she even said a word. It was there in her narrow-eyed, guarded expression. He didn’t wait for her to speak, but went on, “I’ve been thinking about it for days, and it’s a good plan. He can—”
“I already have a plan for Cody,” she said. “He’s staying at Blue Rock. Tadao and Jake are there, and now Natalie. They—”
“They are not his family.” Sam tried to keep his temper, his desperation, in check. “His flesh and blood. He’s got me and my mother. He needs a chance to know us. The timing’s right, Michelle.”
She took a step back. “No.”
“What are you worried about?” he asked. “I want to spend some time with my son. How can you object to that?”
“Because I don’t think you know what you’re asking.” She spread her arms. “You just dismissed your marriage to Alice with a shrug, more or less. You split up with her after a year. And now you want to take on a son?”
The barb dug deep, but Sam wouldn’t let his pain show. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to make him mad, hurt him, so he’d back off. Suddenly, he saw her so clearly that he wanted to hug her. “Aw, Michelle, you don’t need to be afraid.”
Her chin came up. “I’m not afraid.”
“You are. You’re scared Cody and I will become best friends and he’ll forget the person who walked the floors at night with him, and fixed him birthday cake, and stood in the rain at all his soccer games.” Sam walked over to her, took her hand, pressed his lips to it, and kept hold. She tasted of the mineral springs. “You don’t need to worry. A kid will always choose his mother. Trust me on this.”
He stepped away and jammed on his hat. He hadn’t meant to say something so revealing. “Come on, Michelle. You’ve had sixteen years. I’m asking for a week.”
She unlooped the lead rein of her mare, then raked her fingers through the horse’s thick winter coat. “Where are we, Sam?” she asked him. “I need to know that before I decide.”
He knew she wasn’t asking for directions home. They had come to a place where there were no more secrets, no hesitation. But with their new closeness came vulnerability on both their parts. He didn’t know for certain he could become a family man overnight. His experience with his mother had taught him the tender hurts of commitment and responsibility. But he wanted to try. They were opening themselves to trouble—but also to joy, if they could make this work. Sam was sure of it.
“Well?” she asked, waiting. “Where are we?”
He held her horse’s head while she mounted and stood looking up at her. “At the beginning, I guess.”
* * *
The restaurant called Trudy’s was one of the few good things about Crystal City, Cody decided. His meal of a giant cheeseburger and fries, followed by chocolate cream pie, had been a welcome change from the macrobiotic stuff his grandfather’s nutrition specialist served.
Too bad his parents had ruined it by dropping a bomb on him right after dessert.
He scowled into the darkened display window of the Northern Lights Feed Store. He had asked to be excused after dinner, and for the past fifteen minutes had been wandering down Main Street, which was basically the only street in town. At one end lay city hall and the library, which appeared to be the only place other than Trudy’s that stayed open after dark. At the other end was an old movie house with an abandoned shop adjacent to it, the glossy windows practically begging for someone to throw a rock through them.
His mom said Gavin owned the Lynwood and might do something with it one of these
days, but for now it was as empty as a Sunday afternoon. A few kids came and went from the library, and the sight of them—guys pushing and jostling each other, girls with schoolbooks hugged to their chests—only lowered Cody’s mood. Day after tomorrow he would be starting school, which added insult to injury.
Hunching his shoulders up, he moved along, passing the shop where Tammi Lee Gilmer worked. His mom and Sam were probably wondering where he’d gone. He pictured them sitting across the table from each other at the restaurant, maybe holding hands and looking worried. Hell, let them worry. He had promised to stick around, said he just wanted to get out for some air. Fat chance—the Greyhound bus was idling across the street, puffing diesel fumes into the night. The lighted header over the bus bore enticing destinations: MISSOULA-SPOKANE-SEATTLE.
Man, what he wouldn’t give to hop on that sucker right now. Digging in his pocket, he found a flattened pack of Camels. Two left. When those were gone, he didn’t know what he’d do. How did kids get their smokes in a town where everyone knew everyone else? He lit up, letting the match burn for a minute while reading the matchbook cover: “Alone? Scared? Broke? Dial 1-800-RUNAWAY…”
“I should be so lucky,” he muttered under his breath, then took a deep drag of the cigarette. Around the first of the school year, he had taken up smoking in order to hang out with Claudia, and it had worked. She’d noticed him, bummed a cigarette, and within a few weeks they were going out. He wondered what she was up to now. They’d only been apart for a week, but he was already worried she wouldn’t wait around for him. The thought pissed him off so much that he nearly plowed down a couple of kids coming out of the library. He said a brusque, “Excuse me” and propped his hip on a cold steel bike rack in front of the building. There were only a couple of bikes chained to the rack. Must be hard to ride on these pitted, icy streets. Why did people live in Montana anyway? he wondered, blowing out a stream of smoke.
“Hey, Cody,” said a familiar voice.
He looked up to see Molly Lightning, her arms laden with books. He held his pose at the bike rack. “Hey.”
Her gaze fell to the orange-tipped cigarette in his hand, and he felt stupid all of a sudden. Stupid and self-conscious, the way he had when he’d first learned to smoke. Trying to act nonchalant, he dug for the nearly empty pack. “You want a smoke?”
“No.”
He’d known without asking that she didn’t smoke. Ah, well. At least she wasn’t going to be all sanctimonious about it.
She seemed ill at ease as she glanced up and down the street.
“You waiting for someone?” he asked, trying to be discreet as he dropped the cigarette and ground it out in the damp snow. Good move, he thought peevishly. Half of a perfectly good smoke, and now it was gone.
“My mom’s supposed to pick me up at eight.” She gazed at him with unmistakable interest. She might have a crush on him, he thought, and the idea pleased him.
At the other end of the block, three guys in baggy pants and big parkas made a racket, laughing and shoving each other. One of them picked up a rock or a chunk of ice and hurled it at the marquee over the awning of the Lynwood, punching the air in victory at the sound of shattering lightbulbs.
“Jerks,” Molly said softly.
Cody felt a little better to hear her echo his own thoughts. “Who are they?”
“Guys from school. Billy Ho, Ethan Lindvig, Jason Kittredge.” The threesome crammed themselves into the cab of an old El Camino and roared off into the dark. “Everyone thinks Billy is so cool, but I think he’s a jerk. He was on juvey probation last year for stealing, but that only made kids think he’s even more cool. He didn’t even get kicked off the football team.” She fell silent, looking worried, as if she had said too much. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Um, can I take those books from you?” Cody asked, hoping he didn’t sound too dorky.
She smiled the way she had the first day they’d met. Sort of shy, but also a little bit sexy. “Thanks,” she said, transferring the stack of library books to him. “I didn’t want to put them down in the snow.” She smelled really good, like soap and fresh air. Cody hoped the cigarette smell didn’t cling in his jacket. “So what are you doing out here?” she asked.
He nodded toward Trudy’s in the middle of the block. “My mom and… Sam McPhee took me to dinner. I just wanted to walk around a little.” She didn’t say anything, but listened with an expectant quality. “My mom’s going into the hospital to donate a kidney to my grandfather,” he blurted out.
He braced himself for her shock and disgust, but she surprised him. She simply smiled again, and said, “Cool.”
“I guess.” For the first time, Cody started to think maybe it was kind of cool. “But,” he added, his rush of candor continuing, “while they’re in the hospital next week, they want me to stay at Sam’s. They sort of left the decision up to me.”
“So what are your choices?” she asked.
He liked it that she seemed genuinely interested. He had planned to call Claudia tonight and get her take on all this, but she didn’t know the people involved. It was easier standing around talking to Molly, face-to-face. “I can stay at Blue Rock with Jake and Tadao—they work for Gavin.” He rested his chin on the top book. “Or I can go to Lonepine.”
She grinned and put her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding? Like there’s a decision to be made? Sam’s your dad, and he’s got a horse farm. It’s a no-brainer.”
Saturday
Chapter 28
Tammi Lee Gilmer didn’t usually get Saturdays off work, but she had arranged to be off in order to pick up her car at McEvoy’s Garage. Setting a freshly lit cigarette on the cluttered bathroom counter, she took a round brush and teased some loft into her hair. No one teased their hair anymore; she knew that. Hell, no one smoked anymore. But that sure didn’t stop her.
She knew Sam didn’t like her smoking, but he never said a word. He had stood by her, helping her break so many other habits that the cigarettes probably seemed minor in comparison. She picked up the cigarette and took a drag, scowling at the amber burn mark it had made on the edge of the faux marble countertop. It was disgusting, really. She should quit.
Tomorrow.
Today, she wasn’t going to beat herself up over it. This was something it had taken her years of AA to learn. She had to forgive herself, to avoid sinking into regrets about the past. It was an everyday battle for her.
She did her makeup and put on a pair of jeans and a loose sweatshirt. She still fit into her size-eight Wranglers, and she was proud of that. Yet deep inside her dwelt a strange longing that seized her at the oddest of times. It was a longing to be soft and doughy, maybe like LaNelle Jacobs, who owned the quilt shop. She secretly dreamed of being like LaNelle: plump and bespectacled, with forearms that jiggled and a double chin, wearing a housedress and a bib apron and sensible shoes. Smelling of talcum powder and Jergens lotion and freshly baked bread.
Tammi Lee walked outside, lifting her face to an overcast sky and feeling the tingle of the nineteen-degree temperature on her face. Yeah, it was insane, but she wanted to be one of those plus-size blue-haired women. Because when you looked like that, it told folks you knew your place in the world. It meant you’d raised a family, making pancakes for them on the weekends and reading bedtime stories to the kids. It meant you’d made a house into a home, putting up curtains and picking out the right color for the walls and buying flats of petunias for the garden every spring. It meant you had grandkids who came running up the walk to the front door because they couldn’t wait to see you. It meant you had a husband who had several annoying habits, but you loved him anyway because he was your whole world.
God, what she wouldn’t give to fit into a life like that, instead of into her size-eight Wranglers.
She felt a familiar buzzing heat inside her and started walking down the street toward the center of town. The buzz was a warning; it was the craving, the dark desire that had consumed her for
so many years. One drink, that was all it would take. One drink, and the buzzing would quiet and she’d feel normal again.
She quickened her pace, clenching her hands into fists inside her jacket pockets. Maybe she’d better give her sponsor a call. This was a weak moment; it had come out of nowhere. They always did.
Yet as she walked, the cold had a calming effect on her, and the sick, thirsty moment passed. She had the life she had. God knew it was more than she deserved. By the time she got to the garage, the craving had settled to a dull roar. “Hey, Tom,” she said, stepping into the overheated, grease-scented office. “Am I all set?”
“New water pump did the trick,” he said.
She paid him in cash. She used cash for almost everything these days, because writing checks had never brought her anything but trouble. Sam had given her a debit card drawing on his own account, but she avoided using that. Giving her her life back was enough; she didn’t want to take more from him than she already had.
A block from the garage, she pulled into Ray’s Quik Chek to get a cup of coffee and the latest Enquirer, hot off the press. Sam gave her grief about all the gossip rags and movie magazines she bought, but she loved them.
The new Enquirers were still wrapped in plastic binding. As she poured herself a cup of coffee, Ray opened them up and sold her one, along with People and her own reserved copy of Country Billboard. She went to her car and sat there sipping the coffee, waiting for the blower to heat up and paging through the magazines.
A giant picture of a 108-year-old Titanic survivor occupied the front page of the Enquirer, but a small inset at the top caught her eye.
“Ho-ly shit,” she muttered, nearly dropping her coffee. Her hand shook as she set the cup in a holder and opened the paper to page two. A file photo of Gavin Slade and Michelle, looking as golden and fit as Peter and Bridget Fonda, caught her eye. Next to that was a blurry shot of someone on a stretcher being wheeled into County Hospital. On the same page, a grainy black-and-white picture showed Michelle Turner and Sam, caught in an embrace in the middle of a snowy street. The headline read: Daughter of Dying Movie Idol Seeks Solace with Lonesome Cowboy.