Any Day Now--A Novel

by Robyn Carr

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. We’re two people who really like each other but are a little unsure about things like getting involved. Because we’ve had some bad luck. So here’s how I think it should go. We’ll hang out some more, kiss some, maybe hold on to each other for a while and get all worked up and decide, what’s wrong with taking it a little further? It’ll be soft and sweet and we’ll get wrapped around each other till we can’t breathe. If it was winter and if we were in the truck—that little car of yours is out of the question—we’d steam up the windows big-time. It would be better if we were somewhere private, lying down, though. So then we’ll do it. If we do it, it will be so good we’ll talk about it for years because we were two people who thought we might not ever match up but we did. What do you think of that?”

  She was speechless. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Did you make that up all by yourself?” she finally asked.

  “All by myself,” he said.

  “And you think we’d be good together?”

  “Epic,” he said, smiling.

  “No,” she said.

  “It was worth a try,” he said. Then he laughed and kissed the dog on her head. “Molly wants me, that’s obvious.” He put his big hand on Sierra’s head and ruffled her hair as if she were a kid. “How’s the ankle feeling?”

  “Good, as a matter of fact. This week I get to put a little weight on it and if I have no problems, I can go back to work.”

  He put his hand on her thigh. “Listen, I should’ve asked before, is there anything you need—like a loan or something? It must be kind of hard being out of work for so long. I’m sure you don’t get comped at the diner, especially it not being a work-related injury.”

  “A loan?” she repeated. “Really?”

  “I didn’t even think of it until now,” he said. “You’ve got expenses and probably doctor bills and you’re out of work. I have some savings and no worries if it takes you a while on the repayment.”

  Again, she couldn’t find her voice. “Connie, you keep blindsiding me. A loan? No, I’m okay. I have some savings, too. And I’m still helping Sully, though not as much as I was—but I can sit behind that counter and ring up sales all day and night. And if I run into trouble, there’s always Cal.”

  “I thought of that, but he’s got that house. I built a house—it can really be a pocket suck.”

  “You built a house?”

  “Uh-huh. The one I live in. Just outside of town. I put money down on some land when I was just a kid—I was twenty-two. I’m still paying on it. It’ll be paid for when I’m forty-two. And the house—when I’m a hundred and ninety.”

  “Must be some house,” she said.

  “It’s a pretty simple house, but I’m a firefighter. We do all right, but we’re not rolling in dough, though some of ’em act like they are. Thing is, it wouldn’t put me out to help if you need it.”

  “Conrad Boyle, I think you must be about the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

  He grinned at her. “See, you’re coming around. That’s good.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Sierra, I’ve had ideas since about the minute I met you. I figure it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Is that why you offered me a loan?”

  He made a face. “Of course not. I thought you might need a hand, that’s all. That’s how you treat friends, Sierra. Don’t be a pill.”

  “I do like you, Connie. That’s why I wanted to be honest with you. I’ve had a lot of problems over the past few years—most of which I made myself. I’m going to be working my way out of them for a long time. I think you could do better than me.”

  “That’s very nice of you to warn me, Sierra. Now let me make up my own mind about stuff like that. And you make up yours. What you see is what you get.”

  And there’s really nothing better than that, she found herself thinking.

  * * *

  He was completely serious and she knew it. Connie Boyle wanted to be her boyfriend. And frankly, she didn’t know when she’d had an offer so good. He was completely unfazed by her confessions and seemed to like her just the same. He was, in fact, the first normal guy she’d been attracted to since she was about fourteen.

  Over the next couple of weeks, just in the course of conversation, she learned something else about him that should have been obvious from the beginning. He’d been a firefighter for seven years. And a paramedic and a search and rescue volunteer almost as long. It was in his nature to help, to serve. But also—he’d seen some stuff. Some ugly stuff.

  “It’s a little town, but we have a big highway, some vast rural land, huge mountains and a lot of people passing through. The police handle the crime but we usually get the mop-up—after a crash or suicide or even homicide, except we haven’t had one of those in a long time. If you think just because it’s a small and friendly place that nothing interesting happens, think again. All people have complicated lives, get in trouble, have problems and emergencies. We’re a busy little fire department.”

  He had a medic’s knowledge and perspective. His stories were daring and fascinating. One of their search and rescue guys fell out of a helicopter and was killed—they spent hours looking for his body. It was a freak accident—the guy with the best balance and safety record in the state somehow slid right out of the chopper. Then there was the time some dipshit blew up a house because of an unsettled debt and blew up himself in the process; he was cut in half, his upper body up in a tree three hundred yards from his lower body. An old man died alone while eating a bowl of spaghetti and it was a while before someone realized he might be sick or dead. Hikers and campers were continually lost; farmers and ranchers had mishaps with heavy equipment. They rescued a seventeen-year-old from a grain silo—usually a death sentence but they got him out. They even tracked a fugitive once—that was dicey. He was wanted, they worried about the complications of actually catching him, though he was supposed to be unarmed. “Someone just decided to cut our losses and punched him in the face. Knocked him out cold. No one can remember who did it. But he’s behind bars again.”

  “No one can remember who did it? Did it ever occur to you to check the knuckles in the firehouse?”

  With a twinkle in his eye he said, “I guess not.”

  Sierra lived for stories of his work and she realized her first impression of him was correct—he was a pretty simple man with some shining qualities. He was honest and loyal, and he was incredibly gentle, especially with Molly. Yet there was no doubting his profound strength. She began to think of him as her gentle giant.

  One day he showed up around lunchtime and asked her if she could go for a short hike. She told him that might be pushing her luck on her ankle and he said, “I thought we’d go piggyback and take the dogs. Just a half mile. Maybe less.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t had my workout today and...well, it’s a good way to stay in shape and get close to you. Let’s go. Just a half mile, come on.”

  It was his plot from the beginning, to get her up against his body like that, and they talked while he hiked. Then he put her down to rest and pulled her around to his front, put his hands on her waist and said, “Come on, Sierra. Quit stalling.”

  She put her arms around his neck and met his lips softly. Then she pulled him tighter and went in for the kill, kissing that sweet mouth of his like a starving woman. She moved over his mouth with passion, letting him tongue her lips apart as he lifted her off her feet. The spectacular kiss didn’t stop until Molly barked. He broke away from her lips, but didn’t set her back on her feet.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “You planned that.”

  “Very well, it seems.”

  “It was just a kiss,” she told him.

  “One of the best I’ve had,” he said. “Hit me again.”<
br />
  She did. Because the best part of him was that he was playful. And she was a little hooked on it.

  She hadn’t been kissed in such a long time and kissed so thoroughly—maybe never. What would Moody say? But no—she was not telling Moody or anyone. She was just going to enjoy Connie while she could, before any new disasters befell her.

  He put her on her feet. “Told you,” he said. “Good idea.”

  “Well,” she said, breathless. “That’s where the ideas stop. I’m not going any further with you.”

  “Water please,” he said. She handed him a bottle and he took a long drink, then shared with the dogs. “Ahh,” he said. “Take your time, Sierra. I’m stronger than I look. I can wait you out. But I bet pretty soon we’re going to do it.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “But a word of advice—that armpit thing you’ve got ideas about? Forget it.”

  And he roared with laughter.

  * * *

  Tom Canaday took a potted geranium to Lola’s house. Except for the time ten years ago or so that he did a little remodel work for her on the house, he hadn’t been there. He’d been aware of the place, though. It sat on the high part of town and Lola had lived in it with her kids since the boys were babies. They were still pretty young when she divorced and she stayed on.

  From the talks they’d had in the diner or when he went to Home Depot where she also worked, he knew that she’d done many of the repairs and upgrades in the house herself. In fact, one of the reasons she loved working at Home Depot was her love of remodeling. The employee discount came in handy. Every time he’d driven by he admired the look of the place as only a man who’d done most of the building and remodeling of his own could.

  It was Sunday afternoon, his kids had all scattered and knew they had to be home by five for dinner. He hadn’t mentioned to Lola that he’d be dropping by and he expected either no one would be home or everyone would be and he’d be interrupting family time, two teenage boys bouncing off the walls.

  His hands trembled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this. Never, he thought. Never, because he’d married Becky when he was just a kid and had never in his adult life courted a woman. He rang the bell, but all was silent inside. He waited, but there was no sound, no movement.

  Just as well. He put the potted plant on the table between two wicker chairs on the porch and headed down the steps. There was no card or anything. Sometime next week he’d tell her he was the one who left it.

  “Tom?”

  He jumped in surprise. Lola came around the corner of the house. She wore rolled-up jeans, an oversize man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sneakers and gardening gloves. Her dark hair was pulled back and covered with a straw hat.

  “You scared me!” he said.

  “Did you ring the bell?”

  He nodded. “I brought you a plant,” he said.

  “You did? Why?”

  He shrugged, feeling kind of dumb. “There were a couple of them on sale at the garden store so I got one for myself and one for you. I should’ve called. But, I... Ah, I can’t stay anyway.”

  “Of course you can stay,” she said, coming up on the porch. “This is lovely, thank you. And perfect. I love geraniums.” She pulled off her gloves. “Let’s have a glass of lemonade, shall we?”

  “Aren’t you busy?”

  “Not really. The boys are fishing with my dad and won’t be home till sunset. I was in the garden—I have some nice vegetables coming in. I’ll go in and get us some drinks. Is the porch okay? The weather’s so nice, I hate to waste it inside.”

  “The porch is great,” he said. And then he breathed a giant sigh of relief, which she caught because she laughed.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  He waited patiently. He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy when all he wanted in the world was for once in his life to be a little slick with a lady. And so he laughed to himself—who was he kidding? He’d never been like that. In fact, he didn’t really want to be. He sure hadn’t bought a red geranium in an attempt to sweep Lola off her feet.

  “It might not be as sweet as you like it,” she said as she was coming out the door with a tray and something under her arm. She held the tray with two glasses and a plate in one hand and with the other, snapped open a small serving table. She put it in front of them, set down the tray and took the chair opposite him. “You really have good timing—I was about ready for a break.” She handed him a glass. “I think this is the first time you’ve been to my house.”

  “I did some work in the kitchen for you about ten years ago or so,” he said.

  “That’s right, now I remember. That was a long time ago,” she said with a laugh. She took a drink from her glass. “This is a nice surprise. Thank you for the plant.”

  “I should’ve called,” he said again.

  “Why’d you come over?” she asked. “I mean, this has never happened before.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Wait, I don’t know why I said that. I do know why. We always have nice conversations when I stop at Home Depot or the diner for coffee, but it’s always busy. Half the time we can’t finish a sentence because someone needs you for something. Or else someone else wants to be in the conversation. And I started thinking, maybe I should really take you out to a movie, but then we wouldn’t get to talk, either. I thought it would be nice to have a conversation sometime without you being at work.” He sipped the lemonade. “This is good. Um, we’re both divorced. I know a lot of women and then again, not very many.”

  “Now that makes very little sense,” she said.

  “I don’t have any real close friends, that’s all. When I think about who I’m comfortable with, the people who come to mind are Sully, Maggie, Cal, a few of the guys around town. And you. I’ve been divorced a long time now.”

  “But, really?” she asked. “Really divorced? Because from what little I know, you and Becky were together regularly...”

  “That was my mistake,” he said.

  She waited.

  “I was treating it like a time-out when it was not a time-out—it was a divorce. I would be so far ahead if I’d treated it like one.”

  “That’s a little vague.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize there were other men in her life. I was naive. I wish I’d known and I wish I’d moved on a long time ago.”

  “What do you want, Tom?” she asked.

  He looked at her. He realized he loved looking at her. “Oh God, Lola, I don’t want anything! I mean, I have no expectations, I don’t. But we’re a lot alike. We’re single, we’ve been working at least two jobs, raising our kids on our own, no spouses, no significant others. I mean, you never said...”

  “I’ve dated, but—”

  “We both get help from our parents sometimes. And I have a brother who’s always there for me and you have a sister, but... I don’t want anything,” he said again. “I just know I feel comfortable with you and it’s nice to have a woman friend. Maggie’s a friend but we don’t ever have long conversations or anything, we don’t talk about our lives. You and I—we talk about our lives. Our families, our folks, our kids, how aggravating it can be sometimes when there’s no other parent in the house to back us up. We talk about this carpool nonsense, getting the kids everywhere they have to go. I don’t have anyone else in my life like you. It’s...it’s comfortable. I finally broke away from that dead marriage and realized you’re the only person of the opposite sex I enjoy spending time with.”

  “That’s very nice, Tom, but I’ve worked very hard to have an independent life, the kind I actually like. I’m not interested in dating. I don’t want a boyfriend. I get along just fine without a lover.”

  That made him smile. “That’s good. I don’t think I’m a candidate for any of those j
obs. Could we just be friends?”

  “We’ve been friends for years!”

  “I know! Don’t you think it’s a little weird the only time we ever talk is when you’re at work?”

  “It’s where I am!”

  “And you’re also here. So, Lola, how’s school going?”

  She sighed as if she found this clumsy. “I’m taking a little time off. Summer, you know—though I could pick up some classes if I wanted to. But with the kids around more...”

  “How long before you get your degree? Elementary ed, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I think it’s practical. I love kids, I’m actually very good with them. When it was time to choose a major, it was the best I could do. I should have a career, right? Something to take me into retirement. Something to spend my next twenty years on so I have a pension of some kind.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Have you ever thought about that?”

  “About teaching school?” he said. He laughed. “After all the years of homework I’ve invested in, I probably could. If I spend about twenty more years doing seasonal work for the county, I’ll qualify for a pension. My work schedule is pretty crazy, so many different jobs, but it works for me with four kids to chase around.”

  “You like it, though?” she asked.

  “Oh, I love it. I do a little of everything. I do chores for Sully in summer, I do a lot of building, mostly interiors. I plow, I pick up trash, mow fields, paint houses, do roadwork—you name it. Every day can be a new job and believe it or not, I like ’em all. Even the garbage pickup. Right now I’m almost full-time at Cal’s house—foreman on his project, which means I do some of the work myself, some we hire subs, some we work with the subs. I have to keep some days open for the county and for my friends.”

  “How do you keep track of it all?”