A Match Made in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  Fortunately, it was dark and the night-light on the porch was dim, so Curt wasn’t able to see that she looked at his chin when she gave him her thanks for carrying her suitcases. She knew it wasn’t the best of manners, but it was good enough, especially considering Curt only grunted in response to her thanks, so she might as well not have even bothered saying it anyway. He didn’t give any hint that he’d like to come inside either which, when Doris June thought about it, made her decide he was halfway rude. The man should at least hesitate before stomping off to his pickup, just in case someone wanted to invite him inside for a cup of coffee or something. Not that anyone did, of course.

  With all the thanking, however, Doris June didn’t remember her worries about her mother growing senile until she’d hauled her shopping bag full of puzzles into her mother’s house and then gone back outside for her suitcases. She didn’t even know what clues she should look for to determine her mother’s state of mind.

  “You’ve changed the cloth on top of the piano,” Doris June said, when she stood beside her suitcases and looked around the living room. She doubted if that was enough to signal a problem. Maybe the fact that her mother hadn’t changed the carpet in the past forty years should worry her more than the one single thing she had changed.

  “Change is a good thing,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she gave her daughter a meaningful look. “We don’t have enough of it around here.”

  That was a good sign, Doris June thought. If her mother’s mental ability deteriorated, it would be easier to help her if she was open to change. Doris June hoped her mother really meant what she’d said. “I have been thinking the carpet could be changed.”

  “The carpet?” Her mother seemed surprised. “What’s wrong with the carpet? It matches the sofa.”

  “Well, maybe a change would be good. Like you said. We could get a new sofa, too.”

  “But your father picked out that sofa.” Mrs. Hargrove looked bewildered. “He said it would wear well with children.”

  “There hasn’t been a child living in this house for over thirty years,” Doris June said, and then looked at her mother’s face and wished she’d never mentioned the carpet or the sofa.

  Her mother appeared to be on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. It’s all my—my fault.”

  “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.” Doris June didn’t know what she would do if her mother cried. Her mother never cried. That was a change Doris June had not been prepared to see. “Forget I mentioned the carpet. We don’t need to change anything. Everything’s okay. And the sofa, it’s perfect.”

  A single tear rolled down Mrs. Hargrove’s cheek. “I’m sorry you don’t have any children.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t worry about a thing.” Doris June patted at her suit. Why didn’t she have a pocket in these suits so she could carry a tissue around for times like this? “Don’t cry. Everything’s fine.”

  Doris June didn’t know what the sudden concern about her lack of children was all about, but it had to be a symptom of this senior confusion. Her mother was a strong woman. She never cried about things, especially not things like this that she couldn’t do anything about. Doris June told herself she should have come home sooner. Her mother needed her.

  “But you don’t even date,” her mother said as she pulled her own tissue out of the pocket of her housedress.

  “I do so date,” Doris June said, relieved that one of them had a pocket. “Remember that guy—Bob—I told you about him. I dated him.”

  “That was years ago.”

  “Oh.” Doris June tried to remember. Had it been that long? “Well, maybe I don’t date every man I meet, but I do fine. I’m fine with dating. I could go out tomorrow if I wanted. Well, maybe not tomorrow since I’m here, but if I was back in Anchorage, it could be anytime. I’m fine with dating.”

  Doris June breathed much easier now that there were no new tears in her mother’s eyes. And she was telling the truth. She could date that new weatherman if she wanted. All she would need to do would be to pay the bill for both of them. Which would be fair enough since she was older than him. It would still count as a date, though, wouldn’t it? Men paid on dates all the time; a woman could pay, too.

  Mrs. Hargrove put her tissue back in her pocket. “So you won’t mind if I invite the Nelsons to dinner tomorrow?”

  “What?” Doris June looked at her mother. Where had that come from?

  “Of course, it would be easier than going on a date for you,” her mother said calmly. “Just the Nelson family. You’ve known them for years.”

  “You mean Charley? And his grandson?”

  Her mother nodded. “And Curt, of course.”

  “But Curt? Won’t he be busy?”

  “Charley might have an opinion about the carpet,” Mrs. Hargrove offered just as though nothing had been said about Curt.

  Doris June nodded. She supposed everyone would have an opinion. If not about the carpet, then about her dating life—or lack thereof.

  “And it’ll give us a chance to wear our new dresses,” Mrs. Hargrove added cheerfully. “You said you got me a couple—and one for yourself, too.”

  Doris June nodded. She didn’t know why she had bought a dress for herself when she picked up the two for her mother. Maybe she thought it wasn’t fair to let her mother make a fool of herself alone.

  “Well, I can’t wait to see us all dressed up.”

  Doris June didn’t say it, but she was quite happy to wait. She could have waited for this dinner for the rest of her life. It wasn’t that she was a coward exactly. Well, not totally a coward. There were some very good reasons not to have the Nelsons to dinner and none of them had to do with her dating anyone.

  “Curt won’t come,” she said with relief. “He’ll be working late plowing. It’s his busy time of the year. Spring.”

  “Maybe I should make lasagna,” her mother said. “It’s his favorite.”

  Of course, Doris June thought to herself. Her mother would have to lure Curt here. Still, there were ways. “I haven’t had liver and onions for a long time. Isn’t that Charley’s favorite? I could drive you to Billings tomorrow if you wanted to get some.”

  “My car hasn’t been working so good.”

  Doris June didn’t wonder at that. Her mother had driven the same car since the seventies; it was bound to die at some point.

  “I’ll talk to Linda,” Doris June said. “She might have some frozen liver at the café. Or maybe she’s going in for supplies and could get some fresh for us.”

  “You really think I should make liver and onions instead of lasagna?”

  Doris June nodded. “Curt can buy that frozen lasagna anytime he wants from the grocery store. I bet they eat that once or twice a week. But liver and onions. Where can Charley get that like only you can make it? Besides, it’s good to let Charley know you’re thinking of him.”

  In the brochures Doris June had read, it said seniors needed to know they were still important. Charley could probably use some attention, too.

  “Well, of course, I’m thinking of him,” her mother said with a befuddled look on her face. “He’s Charley.”

  Doris June smiled. Things would work out just fine. “Oh, and maybe you should tell Charley what the menu is when you invite him. Give him something to look forward to for the day.”

  “He always asks anyway. He doesn’t stand on company manners anymore since he comes so often. But, since it’s a special dinner, I’ll be sure and mention that it’s liver and onions.”

  Doris June relaxed. Curt hated liver and onions. At least he had when they were growing up and, regardless of how much he might have changed since then, she doubted he had changed his opinion on that. He’d never come to dinner.

  Doris June would have felt guilty about depriving Curt of his lasagna dinner, but her mother was apparently inviting Charley to meals frequently and, knowing her mother, she was sending leftovers home to Curt and Ben all the time. In fact, Curt would probably get a pan
of lasagna within the month. He might not even need to share it with a whole table of other people. He should be happy she’d suggested the menu she had.

  Curt knew he had to go to dinner. When he had been out plowing this morning, he’d called himself a coward ten times over for not talking to Doris June on the ride back from the airport. A man who had wronged a friend twenty-five years ago couldn’t let his pride stop him from saying he was sorry. Besides, last night was as close as he had come to her in all those years and she hadn’t been able to walk away from him since she was sitting on the seat next to him.

  When he went in for his noon meal and his father told him they’d been invited to the Hargroves for dinner that evening, Curt figured God was giving him a second chance to talk to Doris June. He wasn’t likely to get another chance to say his piece if he didn’t speak to her now. He couldn’t expect God to keep granting him chances to talk to her just because he didn’t know what to say.

  After all, it was obvious Doris June wasn’t going to start things off by saying anything to him. She avoided him like he had the plague. Actually, now that he thought about it, she would be friendlier to him if he did have the plague. She’d be compassionate to a person with an affliction like that. But him? He didn’t think he could count on her natural kindness when she thought of him.

  It was a pity, because if there should be peace between himself and anyone else in the world, that other person was Doris June. He wasn’t even thinking of the flare of romantic love they’d shared as teenagers. No, he was remembering back to the solid friendship they’d shared when they were little kids.

  It was Doris June who had patiently fished the Big Dry Creek with him and explored the outlines of the old sod buildings where the first Hargroves had lived a hundred years ago. He and Doris June had history together. Doris June had known him better back then than his parents had. When they were nine years old, he had made a pact with her that they would always be blood brothers. She’d been squeamish about using her own blood so he’d generously let her use some of his.

  That should have made him realize she wasn’t anything like a brother, but he’d simply thought of her as his best friend for several more years. He still remembered the day when they were fifteen and, for the first time, he saw that Doris June was beautiful in a girl way that he’d never appreciated before.

  When he thought back, it was amazing that he’d waited until they were seventeen before he’d demanded that they elope. The couples at school were exchanging school rings to wear and he had no patience for that. He knew Doris June so well it seemed strange to ask her to be his steady girlfriend when he already knew he wanted her for his wife.

  Back then, everything was black or white. They had not learned to keep secrets from each other or to hold back in saying what they meant. In the years between seventeen and now, though, Curt had developed a healthy respect for the color gray. He wasn’t sure he would want to hear all of what Doris June had to say about him now.

  Still, a few things needed to be said.

  The bad feelings between him and Doris June shouldn’t be allowed to continue. The Bible said a man should go fix things with his brother before he sat down to sup at the Lord’s Table, and Curt looked on this dinner invitation as his chance to do that. Granted, it might be Mrs. Hargrove’s table where Curt would be eating tonight and Doris June was far from being his brother, but he figured the same principle applied.

  Even though the punch of emotions that had stirred him at seventeen when he thought of Doris June no longer hit him in the same way, Curt knew he needed her forgiveness.

  “You got a tie?” Charley had just finished shaving at the sink on the back porch because he said the light was better there. He rubbed some aftershave on his face while he talked to Curt.

  “A tie? You think Mrs. Hargrove expects us to wear ties?”

  Curt had washed up with farmer’s soap at the kitchen sink and the cuffs of his work shirt were wet even though he’d rolled them up to his elbow. Ben was sitting at the table finishing his homework.

  “And a white shirt wouldn’t be out of place either,” Charley said as he walked back into the kitchen from the back porch. “Something nice.”

  Curt rolled his sleeves down. “Seems a bit chancy to wear a white shirt when Mrs. Hargrove might serve her lasagna.” Out plowing today, when he wasn’t worrying over the mistakes of his youth, he’d been thinking about that lasagna.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Charley said. “She’s making my favorite this time. Fried liver and onions.”

  “Oh,” Curt said as he turned to walk to his bedroom. He might as well wear a white shirt. He sure wasn’t going to be spilling any sauce if that’s what would be on the table. And a tie wouldn’t be much of a problem if he had to wear one of his Sunday shirts anyway.

  There was a slight drizzle as Curt drove the three men into Dry Creek in Charley’s car.

  “We could stop at the café for pie after dinner,” Ben said from the back seat.

  “After one of Mrs. Hargrove’s dinners?” Charley asked as he turned around to look at his grandson. “She’ll have dessert. You can count on it.”

  Curt looked in the rearview mirror at his son. “Since when did you become such a fan of pie?”

  Ben shrugged. “There’s cherry.”

  “I see,” Curt said. Something was up with Ben these days, but Curt didn’t want to question him. His son was so quiet he didn’t want to press him down with questions. Besides, what kind of a question would it be to ask him why he’d all of a sudden grown so interested in pie. Most boys loved pie.

  Maybe Ben was just opening his mind to like new things, Curt thought. No one could argue with that.

  Before Curt knew it, they were all standing on the porch of the Hargroves house. Charley was getting ready to knock on the door and Curt was running his finger underneath his tie. It felt too tight, but he wasn’t complaining. Those old Biblical prophets had been big on wearing sackcloth when they were saying how sorry they were. It seemed like men always needed to be uncomfortable when they repented of their sins and Curt was hoping to gain some points with Doris June by looking as miserable as he felt about their problems.

  Charley knocked on the door and Mrs. Hargrove answered it.

  Curt noticed Mrs. Hargrove was wearing lipstick. Granted, it was a pale pink and it almost looked natural, but it was definitely there. And she wasn’t wearing her suit or one of her housedresses. Instead, she had on a turquoise dress with one of those swirly skirts.

  “Is there a problem?” Curt asked. She would be wearing black if someone had died, but he couldn’t think of any other reason for Mrs. Hargrove to be wearing lipstick. She had to be going somewhere and he knew there were no weddings around.

  “No, of course not,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she opened the screen door for them. “Doris June is just setting the table.”

  It took a second for Curt’s eyes to adjust to the indoor light. For some reason, Mrs. Hargrove had turned off her overhead light and only had the lamps turned on tonight. It was probably an energy-savings thing, Curt thought. Although, it was just as well the house was a little dim tonight. This was the first time he had been back inside this house in twenty-five years and he didn’t want anyone looking at his face too closely.

  “Always did like that sofa,” Curt said as he looked around. He used to watch television with Doris June on that sofa. He was glad to see that nothing had been changed. Things had kind of faded softly over the years, but they were basically the same. The same flowered wallpaper was on the wall beside the stairs that went up to the second floor. The brick fireplace still had the same brass poker that had turned brown with tarnish.

  “They don’t build sofas like that anymore,” Charley agreed as he walked over and sat down on the thing. Ben followed him.

  “Some people think it needs replacing,” Mrs. Hargrove said a little louder than was needed.

  Curt heard the rattle of silverware coming from the dining room and turned
his head toward that room. He was just in time to see Doris June walk out of the dining room. For a second, as she stood in the doorway between the two rooms, framed in the light, her face showed clearly.

  Curt hadn’t realized that he hadn’t really seen Doris June since she’d been home. There’d been no light in the pickup, and even when he dropped her and her mother off last night, the porch light had only shown shapes. If he had thought about it, he would have assumed her face would have softened over the years with the wrinkles and the slight paleness that comes from getting older. He would have been wrong.

  She did not glow like the young girl she used to be, but she had a confidence that made her seem even more alive. She was beautiful.

  Last night he thought he knew who she was in her conservative pantsuit and sensible shoes. But the vision before him made him forget all his assumptions. He’d pictured Doris June as living a solitary life, but no woman wore a soft, floating pink dress like that one unless she was used to dating and going nice places. He’d been ten kinds of a fool to have spent the day thinking of words to try to mend Doris June’s broken heart. She’d obviously mended that heart of her years ago and moved on past him. For all he knew, she didn’t even remember that they had packed their bags and headed out for an elopement years ago.

  Chapter Five

  Doris June was glad the Nelson men had worn their Sunday clothes. It made her feel less foolish in the clothes she was wearing. As a rule, people in Dry Creek didn’t dress up for any meal except maybe Thanksgiving dinner and here she was dressed up as if she was going to a prom or something and it was only a midweek dinner among neighbors.

  Doris June had thought she was making a point by buying the flyaway pink dress with its jagged hem and trailing sleeves. She had hoped to show her mother that there was nothing sensible about such styles. When Doris June suggested her mother expand her wardrobe to include something more than gingham housedresses, Doris June had meant her mother should also wear some sensible polyester skirts and white cotton blouses. She had not meant that her mother should dress like a teenage party girl.