by Karen Harter
Jack squeezed her hand. “No thinking about work tonight.”
She smiled. “Good idea.”
For the remainder of the performance, Sidney silently counseled herself back to her senses. She pretended her mind was an Etch A Sketch and shook it until there was a blank screen to work from. Alex Estrada had nothing to do with her goal; he was merely a distraction, one that she would not allow. She knew that Jack was right for her and, more important, right for her children, and nothing else mattered. So she etched the pictures in her mind that had been there before the dials went crazy superimposing wild, confusing images over her dream. Jack was the dream. A happy, healthy family complete with a dad.
After the play, Jack walked her to her car, which was parked against the south side of the school. The girls were already inside, buckled up and waiting, when he pulled her back around the corner of the old brick building. “I have to ask you something,” he said.
The light in the eaves cast deep shadows on his face. She touched his arm. “Ask me anything.”
“Is it different this time?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged and looked away, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his pants. “Am I just an old friend, someone kind of fun to hang around, or what?”
She felt a smile warm her heart. “It’s the ‘or what.’ You are a fun guy, but to me you’re more than that. Much more.”
He still looked unsure, but it was awkward. She didn’t know how much of her guts to spill. Pride warned her to definitely stop short of grabbing his ankle and pleading for an engagement ring.
“Because I can’t handle that ‘just friends’ line again,” he said. “Not down the road, anyway. If that’s what we are, I think I’d like to know right now.”
She moved closer, letting her slender fingers intertwine with Jack’s thick, stubby ones. “I want more than that.”
His forehead dropped against hers. They were almost the same height. A perfect fit. He sighed. “Did I change somehow? Why was I all wrong for you before?”
“It wasn’t you. It was me. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come to my senses.”
He chuckled. “Touchdown.” He lifted her chin and kissed her.
24
FOR ONCE, Tyson didn’t complain about going to work at Amilia’s. In fact, he seemed anxious to get there, loading the tools that Millard had given him into the backseat of the car before Sidney and the girls had finished their breakfast. The trunk was already full and Tyson had grumbled about that as he and Sidney wrestled a freshly painted dresser into it the night before. “Come on!” he said impatiently from the open front door. “Estrada is a pain in the butt if I’m late.”
Sidney held a piece of toast between her teeth as she grabbed her coat and bag, locked the front door, and rushed out to the car. The sky was a rumpled gray fleece blanket spreading as far as she could see. Ty sat in the front seat, Rebecca and Sissy in the back. Sidney backed out of the drive. “What’s this for?” Sissy asked, leaning forward and waving a handled metal blade dangerously close to her brother’s cheek.
“Give me that.” He snatched it from her. “Are you trying to cut my ear off or something?” He ran his hand over the flat surface. “It’s a trowel. You use it for finishing concrete.” He made a few smooth swipes in the air as if practicing the movements that he had learned the previous week when he and Alex poured their first two sections of sidewalk.
While the kids bickered lightly over tools and the imaginary line dividing Sissy’s side of the backseat from Rebecca’s, Sidney’s mind left the interior of the car and wandered back once again to the shadows of the old brick school building where Jack had kissed her on Thursday night. The thing she had been praying for had finally happened. He had called her twice the next day and planned to come over for dinner that night. She had no idea what to serve. He would want some kind of meat, of course. Chicken? But she didn’t want the kids to develop an appetite for that kind of protein. Should she make two separate meals?
“Mom, you forgot to turn!” Rebecca whined.
Sidney’s eyes darted to her mirrors before she pulled a U-turn. She had been heading straight for Amilia’s, forgetting all about dropping the girls off at the park field for their soccer match. They met Dennis in the parking lot where he and Andy were unloading jackets and a cooler from the back of their Expedition. The girls piled out, calling, “Bye, Mom! Love you!” as they ran toward their friends on the field.
Dennis slapped the lid of her car’s gaping trunk, which was tied down with bungee cords, and leaned into her open window. “Hey, Ty. Ever think of going into the furniture-moving business?”
Ty scoffed. “Yeah, I could make a living just off my mom—if she’d pay me.”
“I pay in muffins and kisses.” She reached out to tousle his hair, but he tipped his head away.
“I’ll be back to watch the game after a while, Dennis. Can you keep an eye on the girls?”
He tossed a bag over his shoulder. “You bet. See ya.” He threw an arm over his son’s shoulder and walked away.
She drove back onto Center Street, passing Red’s Barber Shop, the post office, Leon Schuman Insurance. She glanced toward her office on her right, relieved that Mr. Schuman had no jurisdiction over her on Saturdays. Tyson’s head was turned that way too. Was he remembering the day of his arrest, when Alex Estrada tackled him, pushing his face into the gravel of the parking lot? Her son’s eyes had burned with anger or terror, maybe both, like a captured wild animal being forced inside the bars of a cage.
“How are you and the deputy getting along now?”
Tyson shrugged. “I can handle him.”
She waited as she often did, hoping that was just the opening sentence of a paragraph.
“What does that mean?” she finally asked.
“Nothing. This job will probably be done by next week. I can put up with him until then. He said after this I can finish up my community-service hours somewhere else. Like a church or an old-age place or something.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Maybe we should talk to the pastor at the community church where we used to go. He might have something you could help with.”
He shrugged again. “Estrada said just going to church counts. Pretty weird, huh?”
“He said that? Yes, that surprises me.” It made sense, though. The Winger County juvenile legal system was geared more toward rehabilitation than punishment, it seemed. “Actually, I’ve been thinking we all should start going to church again. I miss it.”
Ty didn’t respond. She drove down Digby and backed into Amilia’s driveway. There was no one in sight. Ty jumped out, opening the back door to get his bucket of tools. “Hey, don’t forget we need to unload this chest,” Sidney said.
He heaved a sigh. “Is this the last time we’re going to move this thing?”
“Well, that depends. Amilia might hate it, you know. Not everyone likes red furniture. Just help me get it out of the trunk for starters.”
They began to pull. The short dresser didn’t budge. One of the curved legs kept getting caught on the side of the trunk opening. “Try wiggling it.” Ty wrestled it from side to side, grunting and butting his shoulder beneath it for support. The tendons in his neck became visible and his face turned red. Sidney pushed in, trying to take some of the weight off, accidentally bumping his trembling arm.
Suddenly he swore, a barrage of explosive words hitting her in the chest like buckshot. She recoiled in shock. “Damn it, Mom! Just get out of the way!”
“Ty! I was only trying to help you.”
“Well, don’t! You’re just making things worse!”
A big hand reached between them, grabbing Ty by the shoulder and spinning him around. “Don’t you ever talk to your mother like that.” Alex Estrada’s voice was restrained, but the words rolled from his mouth like boulders. “Ever.”
Ty tried to jerk his shoulder free of the deputy’s grip to no avail. “This is none of your business! I didn�
��t do anything against the law, in case you’re thinking about arresting me.”
“This isn’t about the law. It’s about respect. A man who doesn’t respect his own mother is no man at all.”
Ty rolled his eyes and looked away.
“What if those were the last words you ever got to say to her?” Something in Alex’s hushed voice made Sidney quiver and drew Ty’s eyes back to the deputy’s sober face. “Let me tell you. You’d regret it the rest of your life.”
At that Alex began to turn away, then seemed to remember the thing that had kindled the blaze he’d just stomped out. He studied the position of the chest, then hoisted it up and to one side, freeing one leg and then the other. “Okay, Tyson. Let’s get this thing out of here.”
Tyson didn’t speak. He took one side and together they slid the chest up and out, placing its legs on the cracked concrete driveway. Alex’s eyes met Sidney’s as he let out a low whistle. “You’ve done it again.”
“What have I done?”
He nodded toward the piece of furniture. “This.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re selling insurance when you have this kind of talent.”
Sidney’s laugh was subdued. She was still in awe of the way Alex had come to her defense. Tyson’s eyes fluttered sheepishly toward her in what she interpreted as remorse for the horrible things he said. Cursing had always been taboo in her house—at least since Dodge left. She still felt chilled, not just by her son’s words and blatant disrespect but by that brief glimpse of the anger that still resided just beneath his skin. Ty picked up his bucket of tools, head down, and started toward the sidewalk project.
“I’d love to do it full-time,” she said, noting Alex’s steadfast gaze on her face. “I daydream about being my own boss, having my own little store.” She smiled softly, still feeling sad. “I’ve even picked out my shop. It’s that little space between Art’s Hardware and Red’s Barber Shop where the frame shop is now. I hear they’re going out of business.”
“So, are you going to do it?”
She laughed, pulling the empty pockets of her jacket inside out. “I have zip in savings, three kids to feed, and a car that surprises me every time it starts.” She paused, giving him a quirky smile. “I could go on.”
Alex ran a hand through his thick dark hair, his other hand fondling the carved detail on the antiqued dresser. He hadn’t shaved that morning. “Well, shop or no shop, I’d really like to buy this from you.”
She tipped her head, smiling softly. “Thanks. I appreciate the gesture, but this is a gift for Amilia.” He made no attempt to leave, but stood there running his hand over the intricately painted design. “I don’t have any more pieces to paint right now, but when I find something—”
“What do you have there?” Amilia called from the porch, leaning on her walker. Today she was dressed like a hunter: red and black wool jacket, jeans stuffed into laced boots.
“Oh, Amilia!” Sidney waved. She turned back to Alex. “I don’t know if she’s going to want this. It was just a whim I had.”
“Trust me,” he said as he jockeyed the chest into his long arms and hoisted it against himself. “She’ll love it.”
Tyson was inspecting the braced boards that Alex had apparently installed during the week to form the sidewalk. The boy began to straighten as if anticipating being called into slavery again, but Alex didn’t so much as glance his way.
Alex’s jaws flinched slightly as he bore his burden up one step at a time. He dropped the red chest under the covered porch while Amilia raved excitedly. Once she calmed down, she ran her fingers reverently over the birds in the painted design. “Lovebirds. Just like Kate and Spencer. Did you take a picture of my birds?”
Sidney grinned. “Nope. I just memorized them. I always study birds. They’re my favorite thing to paint.”
Amilia hugged her. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Well, I was looking at your old TV console last time I was here and thought if it wasn’t good for anything but holding up your plants, you might like something a little cheerier.”
“Just leave it here for now, Alex. I have a mess to clean up in there.” Amilia took Sidney’s arm. “Come on inside, honey. It’s cold out here.”
“Oh, Amilia, I can’t stay. I need to go watch my girls play soccer today.”
“Just one cup of tea?”
Alex backed away before turning and stepping down from the porch. “Thanks, Alex!” Sidney called after him. He had helped her with more than one burden in the past five minutes.
He threw up one hand. “No problem.” He joined Ty and began explaining the sequence of events for their sidewalk project.
Once inside with a cup of tea in her hand, Sidney stood at the living room window and watched the man and boy at work. Tyson had to look up at Alex, who stood a head and a half taller and whose shoulders were twice as wide as her son’s. Despite their earlier conflict, they were working side by side, dumping concrete mix into a wheelbarrow and chopping water from the hose into it to make a lumpy gray batter. Someone driving by might mistake them for father and son.
Enrique ambled across his lawn toward them, the brim of his straw cowboy hat shading his eyes. “Here comes the superintendent,” Sidney commented to Amilia.
“Enrique?”
Sidney nodded.
Amilia clicked her tongue from where she sat in her big chair. “Men! He didn’t feel good this morning. Never even touched the chorizo and eggs I sent over, but now here he is out in the cold.”
Sidney giggled. “All you’ve got to do is pop the hood of a car or mix up a batch of concrete. Men appear like ants. I guess somebody’s got to stand there with their hands in their pockets and give advice.”
Amilia chuckled. “Is he wearing a jacket?”
Sidney shook her head. “Cotton shirt rolled up at the cuffs.” Enrique must have said something funny. The men laughed, even Ty. Alex gave Ty’s arm a playful slap with the back of his hand. Ty said something back to him and they grinned again. She had loathed Deputy Estrada in his stiff khaki and green uniform, the man who searched her home, questioned her integrity, and treated her son with such disdain. But this smiling man in faded jeans with concrete spatters dappling his heavy sweatshirt—he was different. “I saw Alex at the school play the other night,” she said casually.
“Oh, yes. He went to see our little Manuel. Poor little guy got run over by a bus, from what I hear.”
“Yes. Is he okay?”
“Oh, sure. He’s tough. His mother took it worse than he did. Got all worried that his psyche was bruised from becoming a spectacle in front of everybody. Alex calmed her down, though.”
Sidney didn’t know quite how to ask this, but for some reason she had to know. “So . . . is Manuel Alex’s son?”
“Oh, heavens, no. Nephew. His sister Carmen’s boy. Her husband, Paul, is a merchant marine. He’s gone for months at a time so Alex fills in for him sometimes.”
A wave of relief washed through Sidney at that news.
“I hear you were there with a man.”
Sidney almost choked on her tea. She walked over to the sofa facing Amilia and sat, though she had promised herself she would not linger. “Did Alex tell you that?”
Amilia shrugged innocently. “It came up in conversation. Would you like to tell me about him?”
Sidney was usually comfortable with Amilia, but for some reason this felt awkward. “Well, his name is Jack. We dated a couple of years ago and we’re seeing each other again.”
“Is he the answer to your prayer?”
“Well . . . yes. I mean, I think so. My kids need a man like him. He’s great with them. Always playful, upbeat. He’s like a kid himself, really. Always has to be going somewhere, doing something. Especially sports. He loves any kind of sport.”
“Is he good to you?”
“Oh, sure. He’s a nice guy. Nice to everyone.”
Amilia rocked gently in her chair without speaking.
&n
bsp; Sidney’s eyes wandered to the useless TV console beneath the window. Curled brown fern leaves were scattered around plant pots and some had fallen to the floor, commingling with dust bunnies. She would have liked to help clean the area before moving the new chest in, but the men were too busy to move furniture right now. Besides, she had to go.
“Are you in love with him?”
Sidney’s head jerked back to Amilia. This series of blunt questions had her rocking like a weighted punching bag. How dare Amilia ask such a question? They had known each other for only a few weeks. Her cheeks were suddenly warm. “I think . . .” She looked at a spot above Amilia’s head. “I think it’s too soon to know.” Why did she say that? She was only waiting for Jack to pop the big question. The sooner he was a steady fixture in her home, the better—ideally before Dodge moved back to town. Although she was seriously doubting that her ex-husband would really follow through with what may have been one of his fleeting whims.
“Good answer,” Amilia said. “Be careful about trusting yourself. Sometimes we ask God for something and immediately get busy trying to answer our own prayer. If you feel yourself sinking, chances are you’ve taken your eyes off the Lord.”
Tears came to Sidney’s eyes. She tried to blink them away, staring at the last inch of tea in her cup. She had been treading water for days, fighting to stay afloat, all the while telling herself that she was walking on water. Her faith had not been in Jesus. It was all riding on Jack. And then he had kissed her. She had lain awake thinking about that moment for the past two nights.
She hadn’t felt a thing. It was like ordering pasta primavera and being served a greasy burger on a bleached white bun.
She lifted her head. “Amilia, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
The wise woman in hunter garb smiled softly. “Practice. Listen and obey. You’ll see. And every time you see how your prayer is answered, your faith will grow stronger.”