by Robyn Carr
“We have a very detailed calendar. Not only do I have to keep track of jobs, the kids have to know where I am and I have to know where they are. If everyone keeps an eye on the calendar, it somehow works. I haven’t misplaced a kid yet, though I’ve come close.”
“How often do you have to get family to help?” she asked. “Because that’s the hard part for me. My mom and dad aren’t as young as they were and they still work, too.”
“I think I get help from my mom or dad or my brother almost every week. When we have to be two places at once, usually. I’d be lost without them. But I try hard as I can to give back. And so do the kids if I motivate them. As in—I promise not to hate them. Or ground them. Or confiscate phones. You know, there are two things those phones do for me that are priceless—they let the kids stay in touch so I always know where they are. And they’re great contraband for confiscation.” He laughed. “Those kids will do anything to keep their phones.”
“I know—I have the same situation. You know how I’d really love to spend my time till retirement? If money were no object?”
“How?”
“Flipping houses,” she said, grinning.
“As in—flipping houses?”
“As in, buying fixer-uppers, remodeling, selling them. Not only do I get a discount at Home Depot, you can’t imagine the stuff I’ve learned there.”
“I’ve done that twice,” he said. “Took way too much time, but if I could do it full-time, it could make money. I lost money on the first one but I learned a lot and doubled my money on the second one.”
“Have you ever thought about doing it again?” she asked brightly.
“Lola, I’m thinking about ways to make money all the time. Those kids aren’t going to stop eating up money until they qualify for Social Security.”
They talked about his remodel of his big house, his remodel jobs elsewhere; she talked about some of the work she’d done on her old house and how much she’d enjoyed the work. She had to hire help for some things but she was hands-on for most of it. She did her own landscaping and her garden was plentiful. Tom didn’t have time for much of a garden. Just keeping the yard looking decent was a big enough job and he had a big house on a small lot.
They talked about the stress of managing college tuition for the kids, how difficult it could be having an ex-spouse who wasn’t exactly on a visitation or support payment schedule, the guilt of needing to rely on family support.
And then it was four o’clock. Tom realized he’d been on her porch more than two hours, checking texts from kids now and then. “I better get going. I insisted everyone be home before five—we’re going to my folks for dinner.”
“And I have a chicken to burn for our dinner. I remodeled the bathroom almost totally by myself but I’m dangerous in the kitchen. Good cooks have to have time to putter and I’m always on the move.”
“I know what you mean.” He stood up. “You know when you asked me what I want?”
“Yeah?”
“This,” he said. “I wanted this. Thanks. It’s the best two hours I’ve had in a long time.”
“Well, go ahead and buy me another geranium sometime.”
A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.
—Mark Twain
Chapter 10
CONRAD HAD BEEN feeling pretty good about himself. He supposed the secret was out—he liked Sierra. If he wasn’t at the diner to see her, he was out at the Crossing. He’d spent a little time in the hammock with her, helped her in the garden—they’d started harvesting the first crop. He talked her into helping him work out by climbing onto his back while he hiked awhile. His reward was usually several amazing kisses.
She was completely off the crutches now but by the end of a long day her ankle was sore and she might favor it a little. No hiking yet, but Conrad didn’t mind carrying all the weight. Literally.
He was walking down the street from the firehouse to the grocery to pick up a couple of things for lunch when he was called from behind. “Connie?”
He turned to see exactly who he knew he’d see—Alyssa.
It always shook him a little bit when he saw her. She was still so gorgeous. She was statuesque and exotic with her dark hair, dark eyes. There was a time, when they were a couple, that he couldn’t believe a woman as beautiful as Alyssa was with him.
But then, she hadn’t really been with him, had she?
When he’d caught her and Chris in bed, she’d been defiant. Angry and remorseless. He had been stunned by what he thought was her stark indifference to their relationship but he would learn soon after that ugly day, Alyssa thought she was making a trade, that she’d leave Conrad’s house only to move in with her new lover, Chris.
But Christian Derringer was not going to leave his wife. And young Mrs. Derringer was not going to throw out her husband. The look of rage and rebellion turned to regret and shame as Alyssa begged Connie for forgiveness. But no, he was not ever going through something like that again. All he’d had to do was think back over her strange behavior, her panties under the car seat, her whispering into the phone, and he had quickly realized she’d been unfaithful for a long time before he realized it.
As he looked at her now, standing on the sidewalk, twisting her hands in front of her, her eyes wet with tears, she didn’t look so powerful. So bold. She looked so sad. She was five-ten. For a woman of her stature to appear vulnerable was momentarily jarring. She must have seen him walk by the beauty shop; she was still wearing her smock.
“What is it, Alyssa?” he asked.
“It’s my mother,” she said, one large tear spilling over. “Connie, it’s my mom—she’s so sick. She’s dying.”
“What?” he asked. “What do you mean?”
“She was sick and they ran a lot of tests and she just got sicker and sicker and we were so worried but by the time they narrowed it down to pancreatic cancer, it had grown and metastasized.” She bit a knuckle as another great tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “What will I do without her? I can’t get by without her.”
Conrad was filled with sympathy. He was still very close to his mother; he saw her regularly and talked to her at least every other day. And he liked Alyssa’s mother. He had even stayed in touch with her after he and Alyssa broke up, for a while anyway.
He put a hand around her shoulder and drew her to him. She leaned against him and cried and although one of his arms dangled at his side, he held her there for a moment. “You’re going to have to be very strong, Alyssa. You don’t want Rachel to have the added burden of worrying about you.”
“She’s my best friend,” she whispered.
“Have the doctors said how long they’d give her?”
“Just a matter of weeks, maybe less, probably not more.”
“You have Clay,” Connie said. “He’s a good brother, a good son. How’s your dad?”
“Broken,” she said, leaning against him again. She looked up at him with her tearstained face. “Will you visit her before...you know, before it’s over?”
“Have you arranged for hospice care?”
“Yes,” she said, wiping off her cheeks. “They’re starting visits the end of this week. I’m living at home again, to be with her.”
“You won’t regret that,” he said. “But you’re working?”
“It’s the only thing that takes my mind off it for a while. My clients have been wonderful. So supportive. And I cut my hours. Connie, will you visit?”
“Sure. Of course. Meanwhile, tell your mom I’m so sorry to hear the news. I’ll stop by one of these days, okay?”
“That would help. Thanks. My mom loves you, you know.”
“She’s a good woman. This is awful.”
“Can we just go get a cup of coffee or a soda or...”
He s
hook his head. “It’s not a good time,” he said.
“It’s never a good time,” she complained with a sniff. She wiped a hand under her nose. “Even now.”
“Alyssa, I’m sorry you’re hurting and this news is awful for me, too—I’m crazy about your mom, about your family. I’ll pay her a visit.”
“How about me? Can’t you be a friend to me?”
They’d been over this a few times; he’d been honest with her. He wasn’t interested in getting back together, he didn’t want to be friends. What they were was exes. That was all. He wasn’t mad anymore. In fact, he felt terrible for her right now. It was true—she was really close to her mother. Her mother got her through most of the sticky or difficult times of her life.
“I’m seeing someone, Alyssa. I doubt she’d appreciate that.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Listen, I’ll call your house right away. I’ll visit your mom as soon as I can. I have to get some stuff at the store—lunch. The guys are waiting.”
She dropped her gaze. “Sure. Okay. Thanks.” Her eyes still on the ground, she turned and went back down the sidewalk to the beauty shop.
He watched her go and looked around. There were at least a dozen pairs of eyes on him. Some of them he knew—Lola from the diner, Jeff from the grocery outside straightening up the sidewalk baskets, Bertrice from the bookstore down the street. But there were others he didn’t know and to them, he supposed, he was a guy who just made a girl cry.
He didn’t care. He wanted to grab his lunch groceries and get back to the firehouse. He wanted to call his mom, see how she was doing today. He’d just talked to her yesterday but it would feel good to talk to her again.
* * *
Sierra could see the street from behind the lunch counter. She saw Conrad walk past. She smiled when she saw him; she almost always smiled at just the sight of him. He had that strong but leisurely gait. That was the thing about Connie—he was sure-footed in all things. His hands were in the pockets of his navy blue work trousers, that blue T-shirt snug on his broad shoulders. He could carry the weight of the world on those shoulders and often did.
She moved down to the end of the counter and watched him pass. She saw a woman step out of the beauty shop and call to him. He stopped and turned and they walked toward each other.
Of course—the ex. She felt pretty dim-witted—how had she failed to put two and two together like that. He’d mentioned she worked in town and they ran into each other now and then. She was a hairdresser, and she was beautiful. At least from where Sierra stood, she appeared stunning. Tall, leggy, long ebony hair, sophisticated.
Then he embraced her. He reached for her, pulled her close, held her for a long time before they parted a bit, talked a little bit longer, then separated and went on their way—he went left, she went right.
What had he said? They ran into each other sometimes. No, he said if they didn’t run into each other he wouldn’t even recognize her. Oh, but he recognized her. He had held her close.
Lola came into the diner. “Hey there, how’s it going?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer but went back to the kitchen area to stow her big purse and grab her apron. She was back at the sink giving her hands a scrub when Sierra joined her.
“Did you see Conrad with that girl? Across the street?”
“That’s Alyssa. They used to be engaged or something.”
“Are they good friends now?”
Lola shrugged. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“They seemed to get along very well for...for ‘used to be’...”
Lola smiled. “Who doesn’t get along with Connie? He’s such a sweetheart.”
“They hugged. It looked kind of...romantic?”
“Oh,” she said in a sympathetic tone. “You’re interested in Connie?”
“No,” Sierra said. “I mean, sure...but not the way you’re thinking. I just wouldn’t want to get in the way of anything. I mean, it’s not just that I wouldn’t want to complicate things for him, I wouldn’t want to end up the silly one who gets let down. Know what I mean?”
“You should just ask him about it, then,” Lola said.
As though that was easily done. How do you do that? Do you say, “I saw you hugging this beautiful girl right on the street and I don’t want to be getting involved with you if you have something else going on?” But she had told him she wasn’t going to get involved, so what was she saying, then? That she was ready to get involved?
Of course she was, but she had intended on keeping that to herself until she was sure. Sure of him, sure of herself.
She mulled over every possibility for another hour, and then she texted Moody and asked if he was free anytime today for a cup of coffee. Moody texted back that he was at the bookstore and would wait for her there. After she finished her shift and clocked out, she went to the bookstore. There was one student at the back table and he had his earbuds in, listening to music while he studied. Moody was in the chair he loved most, a big book of maps spread across his knees. She said hello to Ernie, the store owner, who appeared to be absorbed in some paperwork at the checkout counter.
“What are you involved in there?” she asked Moody.
“Abandoned mines,” he said. “I love abandoned mines. I have dark fantasies of falling into them or digging people out of them. Do you have any idea how many abandoned mines there are in Colorado?”
She leaned a hip against a shelf. “No idea whatsoever.”
“Would twenty-three thousand surprise you?”
She actually stood straighter. “Jeez. I’d better watch my step.”
“You want to talk about something?”
“I want advice on something. I’ve been kind of seeing someone. Nothing serious, but still... I’m a little emotionally involved, I guess. And I don’t want to get hurt or get in the way or...or get in trouble. So here’s the thing...” She tried her best to explain about Conrad, who had become her friend and lately, her kissing friend. It was getting a little warm, she said. Tempting. And then she saw—
“Aw, Jesus, is this a girl problem? A romance problem? I hate these things. I’m no good at this! I’ve been married to Mrs. Moody since I was nine years old, approximately.”
“I have a program,” she said. “You’re my sponsor.”
“Here’s what I know. You shouldn’t start a new relationship for about a year after sobriety—you’re still too green, too fragile. But you’re a year sober, right? Right! Then if you get in one, it has to be a relationship in balance with your program or it’ll end up too rocky. If you get involved with another alcoholic, they might understand your program, and they might have all the same shortcomings and character flaws—it can be supportive or it can be a sinking ship. That’s all I know. I hate romance.”
“Oh great. Lucky Mrs. Moody.”
“She shares your pain,” Moody said. “Just ask him. Honesty and directness usually works when all else fails. And use your instincts.”
“They might be a little faulty,” she said.
“That excuse isn’t going to work much longer,” he admonished. “Your instincts are pretty good, far as I can tell. You got out of that hostel when it turned drunk, you rescued the dog, you’re good friends with Sully, and I don’t know what Conrad has going on but I always liked him and felt like he was a straight shooter. Ask him.”
“What would I say?”
“Say something like, ‘You’ve been kissing me and I saw you hug a girl. Want to explain?’ It would sound something like that. Then you have to judge it. Decide if you believe it.”
“Huh,” she said. “I was looking for something more along the lines of a guarantee.”
“Oh, were you? You came to the wrong place, sister.”
“I knew I needed a woman for a sponsor...”
“I’m not exactly upset,” she argued.
“Aren’t you? All I’m saying is—get it out of your gut before it festers.” He looked back at his big book and ran his finger along some lines on the map. “More than twenty abandoned mines right in here...”
“Moody, you are a wealth of wisdom.”
“I know it,” he said.
Even though she wasn’t sure she agreed with his advice, she did walk across the street and found that Connie wasn’t there. But Rafe was there. He said Connie took a little personal time at the end of the day. “He’s probably headed home or out to the Crossing to see you. Doesn’t he come to see you almost every day?”
In fact, he did, she said. She wondered if today might be different for some reason. So she went back to the Crossing. But Connie wasn’t there. She never paid much attention to his comings and goings and now, having seen that embrace on the street, she had herself all screwed up. She vacillated between thinking he’d been just playing her, trying to make a conquest, to thinking, what if something’s wrong and I never even asked for his phone number?
“I have his phone number,” Sully said. “Did he say he was stopping by today?”
“He never says. And I never asked.”
“Call him, then,” Sully said. He went into the little store kitchen and came back with a phone number scrawled on a sticky note. “As much time as Connie spends hanging around here, I don’t reckon he’d mind a phone call from you. In fact, it’ll probably light him up like a Christmas tree. Go ahead, make the boy’s day.”
Her call went directly to voice mail and her visions worsened. His phone was turned off because he was with someone. What did she expect, since she was so reluctant? All baggage aside, he was still a man and he probably wanted to be with a woman sometimes. She used to understand that, but then certain events changed her thinking—the struggle to stay even, sober and level. She had stopped going from high to low, from emotionally dead to emotionally wild. She had begun to worship the lack of chaos.