Ben turned to face Tara. “You’re telling me that clothing you wear for one day is going to cost me two hundred dollars?”
“At least,” Tara said. “But you’ll get your money back. Think of this as a loan.”
“It’s not the loan part that’s bothering me,” Ben said. “It’s ridiculous that you’d spend so much on jeans and a sweatshirt.”
Tara shrugged. “Sorry. But that’s the way it is. In the city, things are different. As I said, I’m sure farm country—or wherever it was you got your overalls—isn’t the same.”
“The place I bought—” Ben paused, then a slow, sly grin lit his face. He turned away, put the car into gear, and drove forward.
“Oh, no,” Tara said, alarmed by his sudden smile. “No overalls for me.”
“Of course not,” Ben said. “You can have your jeans and sweatshirt.”
“Sweater,” Tara amended. She wasn’t about to show up in Boulder wearing fleece.
“Sweater,” Ben agreed, turning toward her. “Maybe even cashmere, if you’d like. And we should get you a jacket, too. A nice leather one. Maybe some shoes as well; those heels aren’t going to be practical if you end up having to change a tire.”
“You’re scaring me,” Tara said, noting the positively evil glint in Ben’s eye, reflected by the stoplight.
“Don’t worry.” Ben reached out, touching her sleeve as she’d touched his. “I’m grateful you took the time to educate me on what it costs to outfit a woman from LA. And now I’m happy to show you what it cost to outfit my mother here in Utah.”
* * *
“One hour. Forty-seven dollars,” Ben repeated as he parked in front of a large, white building.
“What is this place?” Tara asked, once again not making any move to get out of the van.
Your first lesson in humility. “It’s a great store. Lots of name brands.” Ben hopped out of the van and came around to Tara’s side. He intended to walk her into the store—partly so he could make sure she didn’t slip and fall in her ridiculous shoes and cause him even more trouble, and partly so he could see her reaction when she realized where he’d taken her.
He opened her door and held a hand out.
She continued to look at him suspiciously but allowed him to help her from the car.
“Deseret Industries,” she read as they made their way to the building.
“DI for short. You can find anything here.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Tara said. “Must not be a chain.”
“Oh, they’ve got them in Utah, Idaho, Arizona,” Ben said. “The Church runs them. People donate their clothing and other items, and the employees are often people who need job training or other support.”
“Wait.” Tara stared at him. “Did you say donate? People donate their clothing? Is this a—a thrift store?”
“Yep. You’d better get going. Sometimes it takes a while to pick through things here. It isn’t every day you come across a real find—like these overalls—right off the bat.” Ben nodded toward the store.
“You want me to shop here for—used—clothes?”
“The correct term is secondhand, and yes, I do. You’ll be able to get everything you need for forty-seven dollars. And I expect change when you’re done.”
Tara was speechless as they continued to walk toward the entrance. Ben was grateful for the slushy parking lot and glad he’d held on to her arm after she got out of the van. It made half-dragging her a little easier. Oh, how he’d love to see her shopping in there. Why not? he thought. He’d planned to go to the auto parts store and look at chains for the moving truck while Tara shopped, but they could do that afterward. The opportunity to see Ms. Stuck-up having to shop secondhand was too much to resist.
As soon as they’d made it inside the store, he let go of her and went to get a cart. When he returned a minute later, she stood in the same spot, a dazed look on her face as she took in the racks of merchandise, the shoppers, the cashiers. Her gaze settled on a family with about a half dozen ragged-looking kids. Their cart was piled high with clothing and toys, and the children clamored around their parents excitedly as they made their way to the register.
Tara’s eyes followed them through the entire checkout process, right up to the point when the father handed the cashier a commodities form.
So she’s not just rude to me, she’s just plain rude, Ben thought. Has no one ever taught her it isn’t polite to stare? He was about to explain it himself when she turned to the right and the women’s section. They both stopped short as she caught him watching her, and he caught her once again with misty eyes.
Cry all you want, sweetheart. Those tears won’t work on me. “Nothing here is going to bite, you know.”
Tara nodded, her lips pressed together as if she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Was she really that appalled that it brought her to tears? Good grief. He felt more disgusted than ever with the female by his side. It was tempting to steer her toward the ugliest stuff he could find. Heck, she deserved overalls. Muck-covered, filthy ones at that.
“What size are you?” he asked, as they reached the first rack of jeans.
“I can find my own clothes,” she said, but her voice was shaky.
“I doubt it.” He looked her over quickly then began sorting through the racks, throwing things into the cart every so often. Years of back-to-school shopping with his large family had made him a pro. Shopping at DI had always been a group effort. He well remembered finding clothes to fit him, as well as helping to find things for his siblings. And, of course, that help had been reciprocated. Many hands make light work, his mom had always said on those trips. Thinking back on those days, he remembered that it hadn’t seemed like work at all, but an exciting once-a-year opportunity for “new” clothes, with a trip for store-bought ice cream afterward.
When he had a good ten pairs of jeans for Tara to choose from, he led her to the dressing rooms. “Try these on. I’ll go find some sweaters.”
Surprisingly, she obeyed, grasping the hangers and going willingly into the tiny room. Ben searched the sweaters nearby, purposely avoiding the especially gaudy ones, though, given the outfit she’d arrived in, the more outlandish things might have been more to her liking. He’d found a brown cardigan and a navy V-neck, when a soft pink pullover caught his eye. He checked it for stains and, seeing none, threw it in the cart and headed back to the dressing rooms. He dropped the sweaters over the door.
“I’m going to look for shoes now. You want to tell me your size for those?”
A weary sigh came from the other side of the door. “Eight and a half. Please tell me you’re not going to pick out my panties next.”
Ben nearly laughed but caught himself just in time. He pictured Tara leaning her head against the wall, imagining the worst.
“Thanks for reminding me. I’m on it,” he said then walked away before he did laugh.
The boots were really picked over, and there was nothing remotely close to her size, so he had to settle on a decent, though ugly, pair of sneakers. Before returning to the dressing room, he snuck over to the women’s lingerie—just for fun. He hadn’t really believed Deseret Industries sold used underwear, but there amid the slips and other articles was a circular rack of some particularly unattractive women’s panties. Gross. Even he drew the line there. But Tara didn’t know that, and the thought of teasing her was too much to resist.
Feeling more than a little embarrassed, Ben made his way around the rack, picking out the ugliest underwear he could find, a sickly green pair that would have easily accommodated two Taras. With a twisted smile, he stuffed them in one of the shoes and handed them under the dressing room door. Less than five seconds later, it flew open, nearly smashing his nose. He jumped out of the way just in time.
“Absolutely not.” Tara shoved the underwear at his chest. “Jeans are one thing, but if you think I’m going to put on someone else’s—”
Ben burst out laughing. Tara’s eyes narrowe
d as she glared at him. “Is this all a big joke to you? Do you think it’s funny I have no clothes to wear, that my wallet was stolen, my credit is in jeopardy? Is it amusing the airport closed and stranded me here? Is it simply hilarious that I’m at your complete mercy, with no one else to turn to?” Her voice cracked. “Do you find it hysterical that I’m not only impoverished right now but all alone? Even that family over there—” Her gaze drifted to the registers. “Even they have more than I do. They have each other.”
Her eyes were flooding with tears again, but before Ben could say or do anything, she’d pulled the dressing room door shut and locked it.
Sorrrry, he thought. He should have known she couldn’t take a joke.
You should be sorry. His mother’s voice spoke in his head. That was mean, Benji. And you’re not a mean boy. The first nigglings of guilt began. But she annoys the heck out of me. He knew exactly what his mom would have said to that.
You don’t have to make the situation worse. Rise above it; don’t stoop to her level. He didn’t think it was possible to stoop to whatever level—or planet—Tara was on. He didn’t live like her—in some ridiculously fast lane where profanity motivated people and underwear cost forty-seven dollars. But, by his own admission, he hadn’t tried to make things easy. If anything, he’d hoped to dissuade her from coming with them tomorrow. It was going to be awkward enough seeing Dallin again tomorrow night, and he didn’t need a grumpy female getting on his nerves all day leading up to what was bound to be a stressful reunion.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said, after a minute. “I was joking. You don’t have to wear used underwear. I’ll take you someplace else to shop.”
“Just go away,” Tara said. “Give me my hour like you promised.”
Ben stared at the door, feeling bad and wondering if she really wanted him to leave. A second later, when the shoes sailed over the door and hit him on the head, he decided she did.
Eight
Ellen sat on the floor and ripped open a bag of marshmallows. “Who wants a s’more?” she asked then began placing them in the small hands waving in front of her.
“Me. Me. Me. Me. Me,” Sam, her three-year-old, chanted.
Ellen caught Tara’s eye. “Would you help him with one?”
Tara shrugged. “Sure.” She scooted off her sleeping bag and onto the tarp Ellen had spread in front of the fireplace.
“Bring your marshmallow to Tara, and she’ll help you.” Ellen’s voice was calm, even with all three children and the two dogs clamoring around her.
Tara took a roasting stick from the hearth. “Do you do this often?”
“About once a month in the winter,” Ellen said. “The rest of the year we use the fire pit outside. The kids love it.” She sighed. “One of the many things we’ll miss about this place.”
Sam plopped himself in Tara’s lap and shoved a marshmallow up near her nose. Tara gasped. “So I see.”
“Just don’t let him get that close to you once he’s eaten one,” Ellen warned. “He’ll be a big, sticky mess. Remember, kids, you have to stay on the tarp. Mommy won’t have time to clean up any messes in the morning.”
Is she kidding? Tara thought, wondering how they could possibly pull this off without graham cracker crumbs in the carpet, chocolate on the walls, and melted marshmallow goo everywhere. She stabbed Sam’s marshmallow onto the stick and held it toward the fireplace, only to have one of the dogs snap the marshmallow off.
Chloe, the eighteen-month-old, laughed hysterically and fell back on the tarp, her diapered bottom landing on the plate of crackers Ellen had just set down. Sam screamed and jumped up to go after the dog.
Ellen reached out, snagging Sam by his pajama bottoms. “Let Coulter have it. We’ll get you another one.” She handed him two more marshmallows and sent him back to Tara.
Sam stuffed one in his mouth and gave the other to Tara. This time she held the stick out of reach until there was a clear line to the fireplace. Cadie, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, hopped around the perimeter of the tarp.
“How many marshmallows do you have in there?” Ellen asked, reaching out to pat Cadie’s puffy cheeks.
“Four.” Cadie opened her mouth to show her mother the sticky balls of white stuffed inside. Tara looked away, disgusted.
Chloe still half sat on the graham crackers and was doing her best to get the chocolate bars out of their wrappers.
“No more,” Ellen said, sounding amused. She took the chocolate and marshmallows and put them on the mantel.
Sam sat beside Tara, his eyes large as he watched the flames. Tara found herself mesmerized by them too. All in all, she had to admit this was a cozy little gathering. Ben was outside getting the truck ready for tomorrow, so she didn’t have to deal with him. And the kids were quieter right now with their mouths full of chocolate and marshmallow and their eyes drooping with sleep.
When she’d fixed two s’mores for Sam and he’d toddled off to brush his teeth, Tara roasted a marshmallow for herself and enjoyed a treat she hadn’t had in years—if ever. She really couldn’t remember. Camping hadn’t exactly been her mother’s thing.
“Hey, did ya save any for me?” Ben asked, coming in through the front door, stamping snow off his boots.
“There’s plenty,” Ellen said. “With Dallin not here, we haven’t even used half a bag.”
“I miss Daddy,” Cadie said, returning from the bathroom with Sam.
“We’ll see him tomorrow.” Happiness lit Ellen’s face.
“Yep.” Ben didn’t seem as enthused. “With a little luck and prayer. The chains I bought will fit the truck tires. If we don’t have to use them, we’ll just return them in Denver.” He walked toward the fire, and Tara stiffened and looked away. But she needn’t have worried about another confrontation. Ben seemed equally eager to avoid her and sidestepped so as not to come anywhere near.
They’d barely spoken since the DI incident, though he had taken her to Target so she could purchase new underwear, socks—and a tube of mascara, which she hadn’t mentioned to him.
Cadie plopped down in front of her mom. “I want to see Daddy now. I want him to come here. I don’t want to go to Denver. I don’t want to move.” Her voice grew whinier with each statement. Over her head, Ben and Ellen exchanged concerned looks.
Ellen stood and took Cadie’s hand, leading her to one of the sleeping bags spread in a circle around the family room. “You’re tired, sweetheart. Let’s tuck you in bed.”
“This isn’t my bed.” Cadie folded her arms across her chest and pushed her lip out.
Tara finished the last of her s’more as she observed the drama from the sidelines.
“I don’t want to sleep here. I want to sleep in my room. I want my things back. I—”
“Shhh.” Ellen pressed a finger to her lips then used her hand to smooth away the hair from Cadie’s forehead. “We talked about this, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But it’s what we needed to do. And tomorrow we’ll be with Daddy again. We’ll be in our new house. And all your things will be there.”
Instead of responding positively to her mother’s soothing words, Cadie reacted with anger, trying to hit and kick her mom while alternately sobbing and yelling.
Tara looked on, her decision to never have any children solidified. But Ben did more than watch. He strode forward and plucked Cadie right from the floor and her temper tantrum.
He carried her across the room to the bar separating the family room and kitchen. Setting her down on the high counter, he leaned forward, one hand on either side of the hysterical child.
“Cadie.” His voice was firm. “Stop crying and look at me.”
She shook her head.
He straightened and backed up, as if ready to walk away. Cadie’s response was immediate, her slender arms reaching out to him. But Ben didn’t move any closer. Tara watched, wondering what he’d do next. For the second time that evening, she found herself captivated by family drama.
At the store earlier
, she’d been baffled by the attitude of the family as they made their simple purchases. The children had been happy and excited—grateful, even, as she’d heard several thank-yous as they watched the cashier ring up their toys and clothes. The parents had seemed happy too, though how they could be—living in such destitute circumstances that they had to shop at a place like that—was beyond her.
It had been such an odd moment, an odd experience—unfathomable a few days ago. But there she’d been, Tara Mollagen, in a thrift store in Utah, watching a poor family and being struck with the realization that they were happy. While she was not. She wasn’t even just unhappy. She was miserable. It had been enough to bring tears to her eyes—again.
She’d tried to figure out why, to get a grip and decipher what was wrong with her, as she tried on jeans alone in the dressing room. And the realization she’d come to had hit painfully. She wasn’t sad because she was buying used jeans—though that certainly didn’t make her list of great experiences. Nor was she miserable because she was in Utah—though that wasn’t great either. She was depressed because her life was disappointing. Because nothing ever changed. Because she did the same things year after year after year, and no one ever noticed or cared. None of it mattered.
I don’t matter . . . to anyone.
I don’t matter to anyone. The sentiment repeated itself in her mind as she watched Ben and Cadie. The little girl obviously mattered to him—or Ellen did at least, as he was taking the time to help out with her daughter. But Tara sensed it went beyond that and that he really did care about his niece, a six-year-old whom he saw infrequently.
He wasn’t her father, and Tara wondered if he should have even interfered. She glanced at Ellen and saw that she’d moved on to tucking in her two younger children. She didn’t appear to mind Ben’s assistance. Tara swung her gaze back around to Ben and Cadie, who was now sniffling.
He stepped closer to her, speaking in a quiet tone. Tara strained to hear what he was saying. Sure. Talk all nice to the bratty kid. But when you were talking to me earlier . . .
My Lucky Stars Page 6