by Becca Maxton
“Not at all,” Ben answered. “I’m enjoying having her here. Although I did make her cry this morning.”
“What’d you do that for?” He scooted his chair back and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. Carefully opening the door, he stuck his head in to confirm she was still asleep. Curtains closed, the room semi-dark, she faced the other direction, lying on her side. He slipped into the room and put an afghan from the rocking chair over her, closed the door, and went back to the kitchen.
“I didn’t do it on purpose…exactly,” Ben said.
Jim sat down again. “Start at the beginning. How did Sunday go?”
“Good. I went to church and then the senior center. They had chocolate cream pie.”
“I meant how did Sunday go for Sofia?”
“Fine. She sleeps a lot. She mentioned she called home and misses her mom and her friend.”
“I bet.”
“She’s been through a lot. Who can blame her?”
“What happened this morning?”
“I thought maybe some good old-fashioned outdoor work, like gardening, would be a healthy thing.” Ben pulled at his shirt collar. “She’s been telling me a little bit about her brother each day.”
“Dad. She has a broken wrist.”
“It wasn’t about the gardening. I thought it would be a way to coax more out of her. She’s so quiet. It’s all bottled up in her. I know a little bit about grief, you know.”
“I know you do.” Jim waited for his father to continue.
“We wrapped her arm in a plastic bag. That way she wouldn’t get her cast dirty. I showed her how to feed the chickens. Then we worked in the vegetable garden together. She asked me why dirt smelled so good.” Ben chuckled. “I asked her to tell me something more about Anthony. Has she told you much about her family?”
He shook his head. “I met her parents in New York. They’re nice people. Sofia looks just like her mother.”
“She’s from a good family, big with all the grandparents, uncles and aunts and cousins always around. Even so, she and her brother and parents, they were like a tight little unit, especially on Christmas mornings.” Ben took a kerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his eyes. “Just the four of them.”
Jim swallowed the lump in his throat. “Are you sure you made her cry and not the other way around?”
Ben blew his nose and laughed. “You wait until you’re as old as me. Tears come easy. It reminded me of the five of us before your mother died. A family can disburse and you’d give anything to get that tightness back.”
Jim put a hand on his father’s shoulder when his chin quivered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” Ben cleared his throat. “I think Sofia enjoys telling me about Anthony’s antics. How they’d race to the Christmas tree when their parents gave them the go. She’d let him win every time. He’d unwrap his presents in a frenzy, where she’s more cautious.” Ben tapped his fingers on the table. “It got to be around lunch time, so we headed to the barn to store the tools. We were standing in front of the washbasin side-by-side. Her hand was black with dirt. I don’t know why I didn’t give her a glove. Anyway, I held her hand beneath the water and soaped it with my own. I could tell she was crying, without even looking at her. So I dried her hand and put my arm around her.”
“And you said what Mom used to say.”
Ben nodded. “Weeding. It makes space for new dreams to grow.”
Jim blew out a breath. “We’re not exactly the poster family for dealing with our emotions. Is that why renovating the lodge is so important to you?”
“I want it to be something you all contribute to. The ranch has never been that. I want the lodge to bring the three of you kids together again.”
“You know Jett will want to fix it up and flip it.”
“That’s why you’re in charge. It stays in the family.”
Jim sighed. “Sofia’s been seeing a doctor in New York, a psychiatrist. I’m going to mention Cindy Wheeler. Maybe she’d want to talk to her.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Thirty minutes later, his dad left for his Monday night card game. Jim stood at the stove, re-heating soup he’d picked up from Patsy’s Diner on the way over. He set the timer on the oven to warm homemade rolls his sister stocked in the freezer for his dad. Daydreaming, he stirred and pictured Sofia stretched out on the bed with him. Her hair draped across his chest as she descended with light kisses. His ever-growing hard on made him feel like a teenager.
“Whatcha doing?”
Soup splashed on his hand when he dropped the spoon. “Ouch.”
She gave him a sympathetic look, walked to the stove, and peered in the pot. “Are you making soup?”
“Yes, and bread.”
“What time is it? Did you father already leave for his card game?”
“It’s five-thirty.”
“You’re kidding. I’ve been asleep over four hours. Was your dad upset? We were going to take the horse out.”
The crease on her cheek left behind by heavy sleep, combined with mussed up hair, made him smile. “He gave strict instructions to let you sleep as long as you needed. You can help me brush the horse after supper.” He moved around the room, pulling bowls and glasses from the cupboards. “Can you stir the soup while I set the table?”
“Sure.” Sofia moved to the stove. “This is nice, just you and me.”
A minute later, he rested his hands lightly on her hips, turning her toward the table. “Sit.” He ladled the soup to her first, then himself, and poured two glasses of milk. He caught her watching him as he worked. After putting the pan in the sink, he sat at the table. Lifting a spoonful of soup, he blew on it, looking across the table at her.
“You’re smiling at me funny. What?” Sofia asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me. Do I look weird?” Her cheeks flushed with color. “Bedhead? What?”
“You look fine. You have beautiful hair.” Jim put his spoon in his bowl without taking a bite. “Did you decide about staying longer?”
She pulled her roll apart and dipped a piece in the butter on her plate. “Yes, I’d like to stay. Especially since I talked to my folks yesterday and I’m still on the media marquee. Where has slutty Nurse Nightingale disappeared to?”
He smirked. “No one called you slutty. Did they?”
“Have you ever been on social media?”
He resumed eating. “Don’t look at that crap. People are cruel. I thought we’d get started tomorrow on the lodge.”
“Sounds good.”
“Speaking of people, I wanted to mention someone you might enjoy meeting.”
“Like a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly.”
“A contractor for the lodge?”
“No.”
She frowned, looking up from her soup. “Who do you want me to meet?”
“It’s a doctor, like the one you had in New York. She’s local. Her name is Cindy Wheeler. Her dad, Brady Wheeler, was my dad’s best friend. They grew up together here. Anyway, Brady died a couple years ago. Cindy is his youngest.”
“I take it your dad told you I cried gardening today?”
“Actually, he cried while telling me about you crying. It wasn’t easy, but I somehow managed not to cry myself.”
She burst out laughing. “You make me laugh, Jim. I forget to be depressed for a few seconds.”
“I’m glad.” He smiled, taking another roll and dipping it in the last of his soup. “Doc Wheeler’s sister died when she was five. When they were five. She’s a twin. I don’t know if that feels the same as something like your situation…”
“I can still talk to Dr. Platt by phone. It’s not the same as in person, I guess.” She stood, taking her bowl to the sink. “I’ll think about it.”
Jim cleared the table, bringing the rest of the dishes to the counter. “Let’s leave cleanup for later and go to the barn.”
Outside, he stood at the fence w
hile Sofia grabbed her jacket inside. When she arrived, he helped her get the sleeve of the windbreaker over her cast. His dad’s ancient horse walked around the far side of the corral, bending occasionally to nibble on scattered tufts of grass. Jim reached in his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag containing several apple slices. The horse lifted its head and trotted over.
Sofia stepped back as the horse approached. “It’s like a dinner bell.”
“Don’t be scared. You’re going to feed her the apple so she gets to know you better. Move back up.”
“That’s okay, I’ll watch you. I’ll learn now and do it tomorrow. Or never.”
“Nice try,” Jim said. “Here, I’ll show you. Make your hand flat and hold your thumb in, don’t let it stick out or she might bite it.” He held her hand and put an apple piece in the middle of her palm. “Go ahead and offer it. She’ll take it.”
He stood behind her as she fed the horse several pieces of apple. She backed up, bumping against him when the horse nudged closer. “She’s happy, she wants to get closer to you.”
He reached past Sofia and ran his hand down the center of the animal’s head. Then took her hand and ran it along the same path. “Come on, let’s take her in the stable.”
After another twenty minutes guiding Sofia through brushing the horse, he led the way back to the house.
Inside, she washed her hand, then stretched her arms above her head, clasping her hand and cast together.
“Tired?”
“Hard to believe after a long nap, I know.”
“Why don’t you take it easy.” He gestured toward the living room. “I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher and join you in a minute.”
“Next time I’ll clean up after supper.”
“Deal.”
A few minutes later, he found her curled up on the couch, listening to his dad’s favorite radio station. Country classic WXCZ. “Do you like this music?”
“It’s growing on me. I listened to it yesterday. I like the storytelling. I know a few songs, like some Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson.”
“Do you want to dance?”
She uncurled her legs and put her feet on the floor and stared at him. “Not a single man,” she said, emphasizing each word by slashing her hand through the air, “in my family, dances. Wait, that’s not true. Voluntarily. If forced at a wedding, then yes. Like father of the bride stuff. But that’s it.”
He flashed a lopsided grin. “So, no?”
Sofia stood. “Are you kidding? Yes, I want to dance.”
“Do you know how?” He kept a straight face in response to her glare. “Because if not, you could stand on my feet and I’ll try to teach you.”
Rolling her eyes, she stepped close and clunked her cast on his chest and put her other hand out. He immediately struggled with finding a way to move to the accelerated beat of the song currently playing.
“I thought you could dance.”
“You’re the one staring at your feet the whole time.”
“You’re huge. If you step on my foot, I’ll never walk again.”
He pulled them to a stop. “This song is about to end. Let’s see if the next one is slower.” He didn’t move his hand from her hip as they stood staring at each other.
“Well, this isn’t awkward at all.” She laughed.
“Have patience, this will be good.” He listened to the first few bars of the next song. It was familiar…
Oh, shit. Of course. That corny song about a woman who makes a guy glad he’s a man when they’re in the sack.
Her forehead rested on his chest as she shook with laughter.
“No laughing,” he said, even though he did too. “Listen to the words. She’s always a lady.”
Sofia snorted.
“That’s not very ladylike.”
When the song ended, she stepped back, taking her cast off his shoulder and let go his other hand.
“Had enough?” He sucked in a breath when she moved close again, her eyes steady on his.
“I know this song. It’s romantic.” She wrapped her arms around his middle. “I promise not to make any untoward moves on you.”
Nice. Kissing distance. All I’d have to do is dip my head.
At the sound of the back door opening, he repressed a groan, stepped away and turned off the radio.
What idiot had the bright idea to have her stay here instead of my house?
Chapter 8
For her first day of working on the lodge, Sofia made herself wear jeans and a button -down shirt with a collar instead of the yoga pants and t-shirts she’d been sporting around Ben’s house. The bathroom didn’t have a scale, or she would have weighed herself. Her jeans were looser than she remembered. As if confirming food wasn’t much interest, she accepted Ben’s offer of coffee when she entered the kitchen but declined breakfast.
“What kind of things are you and Jim doing today?” Ben asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe making some phone calls. I’m excited to see the lodge though. I’ve heard about how it was Catherine’s studio and some of her sculptures are still in the basement.”
Ben held up his finger as the crunch of tires on gravel filled the air. “That’s Jim. Maybe I’ll stop by this afternoon.”
“That’d be great. See you later.” Sofia pulled the strap of her camera bag onto her shoulder and headed outside.
Jim came around and opened the door of his truck. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” Sofia climbed in. “I love this new truck smell,” she added when he got in.
“It smells a lot better than the lodge, fair warning. It’s been closed up so it’s dusty, and there’s a mildew issue.”
“Gross. Well, that’s why you have to fix it up. I brought my camera, so I can take some pictures.”
He put the truck in drive. “It would be cool to have some before, during, and after photos.”
“I may not be here for much of the during and after, but I can get you started on before. What’s the plan for today?”
He checked both directions at the end of the drive and pulled onto the main road. “We’re going to ease into it. There are two inspectors coming and some other guy who wants me to drive him around the entire acreage. It’s all related to permits. There’s an upstairs in the lodge that was never used when my mother was alive. I want to check that out to see what shape it’s in. I don’t recall how many rooms are up there, maybe eight. Oh, and I asked a couple contractors to come out and look at the foundation so I can get quotes.”
“That’s easing into things?” Sofia laughed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Since I don’t know when each guy will arrive, I thought you could be available in case I’m driving the property or finishing up with one when another arrives.”
“So, kind of run interference?”
“Yes. But now that I’m thinking about it more, having you take photos of everything inside and out is a great idea. Not just for capturing the transformation, but I can do some research, talk to people online, and have your photos to work with.” He glanced her direction. “Is that boring, asking you to do the thing you always do?”
“Photography? Not at all. I’m glad I can be useful. Tomorrow, I’ll bring my tripod. I might be a little limited today with the whole one-handed thing.”
Jim made a turn and the road climbed. The trees grew in size and density. Her ears popped.
“If you get tired today, your hand or otherwise, don’t sweat it. Just take a break whenever you want. There’s a nice deck if the dust gets to be too much.” Jim gestured like he erased a blackboard. “Except for the railing, which is rotted. Maybe that’s not so safe right now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sofia said as the road twisted, went back downhill again, and they crossed a bridge over the river. “Is that the Talking Fish River still?”
“Yes, it’s the only river to speak of around here. This is the area where the flooding was the worst in seventy-seven.” Jim pointed. “Right there
is where the Wheelers’ car went over into the water and they lost Doc Wheeler’s twin sister, who I mentioned to you.”
“I can’t imagine. The bridge looks so sturdy.”
“In those days it wasn’t built from steel.”
“I have been thinking about your suggestion to speak with her. It takes some time to build trust with a new doctor. I haven’t decided. I did email Dr. Platt in New York. She knows Dr. Wheeler.”
“She does? Small world.”
“Well, knows of her. Dr. Wheeler is the foremost authority on sibling grief. It’s a somewhat ignored area. When a child dies, people focus on the parents, who are experiencing an unimaginable loss. Less attention goes to the siblings.”
“Do you feel that way? Like you’re being ignored?”
“No.” Sofia watched a bird float on the wind in the distance. “Maybe it’s because we’re all adults. I feel like I’m in it with my mom and dad. But I…” She sighed and rubbed one thumbnail over the other.
“What?”
“I feel guilty.”
“Because you’re alive and he’s not?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. Anthony never got to do some things he planned to. Things my parents hoped for. Now that he’s gone those expectations are on me. Does that make sense?”
“Perhaps. As long as those things don’t prevent you from what you want also.”
Sofia shrugged. “I’ll just have to figure out how to do it all.”
Jim turned onto a short drive where Sofia could see the lodge ahead. Two story, with beautiful wood siding, it was much larger than she expected. Pretty stonework became visible around the foundation as they got closer, as well as a stone chimney. An a-frame room at one end had floor-to-ceiling windows and an enormous deck running around the back of the building. The building was surrounded by Aspen trees just starting to turn gold. The location didn’t feel isolated, but wonderfully private. This would be an artist’s dream spot, let alone a vacation getaway if that’s what Jim had in mind for the lodge.
“Wow, this is amazing,” she said, getting out of the truck.