My Lucky Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “I don’t think so. You want to talk? Then tell me what’s in Boulder.”

  She shrugged. “A spa, shopping. The usual.”

  “Have you been there before?”

  “Never. I hate flying, so I usually go somewhere tropical for my trouble.”

  “But not this time. Ah . . .” Ben gave her the same speculative look she’d used on him. “You must be meeting someone important.” He remembered her panic on the elevator and could only imagine what it had cost her—and what could have possibly motivated her—to get on a plane for two hours.

  “Oh yeah,” Tara said without much enthusiasm. “I’m meeting the love of my life.”

  Lucky guy, Ben thought sarcastically. Poor sap, was more like it. And maybe the guy had realized that too. Ben knew Tara had tried and been unable to get in touch with the person she was supposed to meet. He felt the tiniest particle of sympathy for her if his hunch was right and she had been or was about to be dumped. Having experienced that himself right around the holidays, he knew it wasn’t something anyone—even the most annoying woman on the planet—deserved. Maybe that was why she’d been so incredibly annoying. It would certainly explain a lot. He wondered what she was going to do if her guy wasn’t around anymore.

  “So you’re off to a romantic, snowy holiday.” He tried to imagine Tara cruising downhill on a snowboard and couldn’t. She was more of the sit-by-the-fire-and-look-pretty type.

  Tara sighed. “Not really. There isn’t a guy. Just some girlfriends. We were supposed to meet at a spa.”

  Girlfriends? A spa? She’s got to be kidding. He didn’t buy it for a minute. “Really?”

  “Really.” She shrugged as she met his gaze for a second before turning away, her eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. She looked almost sad—dejected. His theory flew out the window.

  “Must be some spa or some friends for you to have boarded a plane three days before Christmas, at the height of crowds and airport congestion.”

  She shook her head. “Neither. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

  Yeah. “No. I mean, friends are important. Sometimes we’re closer to friends than family. I can see why you’d want to be together for the holiday. I’m just surprised, remembering how bad your claustrophobia was. I can’t imagine you felt real great on the flight.”

  “I threw up.” She smiled again as she looked at him. “Almost all over the obnoxious kid sitting next to me—the one I’m pretty sure took my wallet, the little brat.” A spark of anger flickered in her eyes.

  Ben struggled to keep up. In the space of a few seconds he’d witnessed three major emotions from her. If nothing else, Tara was proving to be good entertainment on the drive.

  “Almost? You didn’t get him?” He returned her grin, hoping to avoid the rage he knew was there, just below the surface.

  “No. The flight attendant brought a bag just in time. It took her half the flight to get my drink, but she got there fast enough to save the kid’s designer jeans. Still, he was pretty disgusted—that was something.”

  So by the time I met her at the airport, she’d really had an awful day. “Well, you’re a good friend,” Ben said. “And I bet after this experience, you’ll insist your girlfriends spend Christmas at your place next year.”

  “Maybe,” Tara said, vague again. “But I don’t want to think about next year right now. It’s too depressing.”

  He knew what she meant. With both of his parents gone now, and things strained between him and Dallin, he’d spent the last few Decembers alone. Like every other month of the year. True enough, he admitted to himself. Though most of the time the solitude didn’t bother him. His work was often a lone venture, and he could only say that the time afforded him had been good for building up his business and reputation these past few years. And of course he wasn’t completely by himself. He had the pigs, who, it turned out, were quite good company.

  “I usually fly first class,” Tara was saying. “It makes a big difference. Had I known how awful I’d feel on the flight, I would never have come.”

  “What would you have done instead?” Ben asked, his curiosity overriding his earlier feelings about not talking to her the entire trip. He wanted to know what other single people did at Christmas. And why were the holidays such a big deal, anyway? He always enjoyed the opportunity to remember and celebrate the birth of his Savior, but in spite of that, why did it always have to be such a melancholy time of year?

  “I wanted to visit my mom. But . . .” Tara breathed in then exhaled heavily, “she’s on a cruise.”

  “You should have gone too,” Ben said. “That is, unless you’ve got motion sickness to match your claustrophobia.”

  “No.” Tara leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  Ben glanced at her and saw the sadness was back. Without her animal-print clothing and gobs of makeup, she didn’t seem to be the same brash woman he’d offered to help at the airport. Even her red hair appeared toned down, turned to a dark auburn, on mellow mode with her temper at the moment.

  “It couldn’t have been too expensive.” He wouldn’t soon forget the uppity way she’d behaved when he’d offered her forty-seven dollars and an hour in Sears.

  Tara shook her head, sending strands of that long auburn hair floating around her face. “I told you, I make plenty of money. I didn’t go because I’m tired of being the inconvenience in her life.”

  Ben wasn’t sure how to respond to that. A long time ago he’d known what a bummer it was to have a mom that thought he was an annoyance. But he’d been just a kid. He could only imagine the hurt that might cause an adult. He glanced at Tara and caught her looking at him—and looking nothing like the woman he’d argued with last night.

  “I hate that feeling, that unwanted feeling.” She paused, her face coloring ever so slightly, as if she’d just remembered where she was and who she was talking to. Turning away, she said, “But I don’t suppose you know what I mean.”

  You’d be wrong there. But Ben wasn’t about to tell her that.

  “Boy, how did we get here—you extracting my life story from me? We are definitely discussing your issues with Dallin after this.” The insecure Tara of a moment before was gone, the sassy woman back. Ben wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. But there was no way they’d be discussing Dallin or anything else personal.

  How did we get here, in the middle of a civil conversation?

  “I think I liked it better when you were annoying,” Tara said. “At least you spoke to me then.”

  “I annoy you?” Ben asked. “How?”

  “Oh yeah.” Tara smiled at him once more, this time without appearing coy.

  “Tell me how I’m annoying.”

  “You’re just different, the first farmer I’ve ever known,” she said.

  “I don’t usually hang out with big city girls.”

  “Really?” she said with mock astonishment. “You prefer to stay at home and play with your pigs.”

  “I do.” Pigs don’t talk back.

  Tara shook her head again, this time in a confused, I’ll-never-understand-it sort of way. “Guess it takes all kinds.”

  “Yes, it does,” Ben agreed. It most certainly does.

  Eleven

  Shortly after Tara told Ben much more than she should have, Cadie woke up and had to use the restroom. Ben radioed Ellen, and they all stopped at the nearest rest area, where the bathrooms were not only freezing but beyond disgusting as well. Tara decided she could wait until they stopped for lunch.

  They got back on the road again, this time with Sam for company. Tara was both glad and sorry for the exchange. Sam kept to himself for the most part, so long as she continued providing whatever snack or toy he demanded from the backpack Ellen had sent with him. But with Cadie not around to distract Ben, Tara worried their conversation would stray back to her pathetic life. And she didn’t care to share any more of that with Ben. She wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten her to open up as much as she did in the first p
lace.

  Since moving to LA, she hadn’t really been a talker, mostly because there was no one to talk to. The friendships she’d formed down there were superficial at best.

  And what did that say about Ben? He wasn’t exactly her best buddy, either. Worst enemy came closer to the truth when she thought about the previous day and night. Yet for a good half hour they’d enjoyed each other’s company, and she’d trusted him enough that she’d started to share her personal angst.

  No more, she promised herself. At least not unless he spills the beans about Dallin. And she knew that wasn’t likely. Ben might have been a good listener, but so far he wasn’t much for talking about himself.

  Interesting. A guy who listens to me and doesn’t spend all day bragging about himself. When was the last time I dated someone like that? Never. She chalked it up to old-fashioned farm values. The image of Ben bending low in his overalls then holding out his hand to help her into a buggy made her smile.

  “What are you smirking about over there?” Ben asked, giving her a curious look.

  “Not much,” Tara said. “Just wondering how to get you to open up. So I’ll feel like things between us are a little more even, you know.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Ben pressed his together to prove his point.

  “All right.” Tara moved to plan B, the more indirect route. Ben didn’t realize who he was dealing with. She was expert at getting guys into a conversation. It was the first law of dating. Even if she didn’t like the guy and could tell things were going nowhere, she could always get a man to talk long enough that she got a dinner out of the evening, making it worth the time and effort she spent getting ready.

  “Forget your brother-in-law. Tell me about the rest of your family. Where do your parents live? Is your dad a farmer too? Do you have any siblings besides Ellen? Does this penchant for numerous pets—” Tara nudged the hermit crab cage away from her leg for about the twentieth time “—run in your family?”

  “Man. Twenty questions.” Ben made a face.

  Tara shrugged. “There’s nothing else to do.”

  He stared at the road ahead of them. “Guess you’re right. Hmmm.” His brow wrinkled as he considered her questions.

  “My parents are both deceased, but they lived in a little town called Richfield. My dad had a lot of acreage, but he didn’t do much farming, though my mom had a garden that could feed the whole block.”

  “Go on,” Tara said.

  “There are fifteen children in our family.”

  She gasped. “Fifteen?”

  “Yep.”

  “No wonder your mother is dead—no disrespect,” she hastily added.

  “No offense taken,” Ben assured her. “As for pets, if you count the chickens, we had at least a dozen of those, too, though not all at the same time. And I think that makes us just about even on family history.”

  “You can’t stop yet,” Tara protested. “You have to at least explain the fifteen kids. Are you the oldest? In the middle? Boys, girls? Were your parents crazy?”

  “Second youngest,” Ben said. “Ellen came about a year after me, though we’re only eight months different in age.”

  “Huh?” Tara gave him a confused frown.

  He grinned but didn’t offer anything else.

  Tara thought about what he’d said. “Ellen was adopted?”

  Ben nodded.

  Sam shook his empty cracker bag in her face. “More.”

  “I agree,” Tara said, taking the bag from him. “Ben should tell us more about his family.” She dug through the backpack Ellen had put in the truck that morning. Finding the goldfish crackers, she refilled Sam’s bag.

  “More, please,” she said, holding the bag just out of Sam’s reach and imitating the way she’d heard Ellen speak to him.

  “More, please,” he repeated, reaching for the treat. Tara handed it to him, thinking it was the first satisfactory dialogue she’d had with a child since her arrival.

  “Can you hand me one of those water bottles, please?” Ben asked, pointing to the still-open container.

  Tara gave one to him, opened one for herself, then drank over a third of it at once. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. Better be careful, she warned herself. Who knew how long till they stopped for lunch, and already she felt like she could use a bathroom. After taking one more tiny sip of water, she put the bottle back in the box and crossed her legs.

  “How long have your parents been gone?” she asked.

  “Dad’s four years now. Mom is three. She died almost a year to the day after he did. We all know it was because she missed him so much.”

  Tara was silent for a minute. “What was it really? Was there an accident or something?”

  Ben shook his head. “No accident. They both just got old. Mom was fifty-four when I came. Dad was fifty-six.”

  “Your mom had a baby when she was fifty-four?” Ben’s family sounded weirder by the minute.

  “She adopted me when she was fifty-four. I was seven.”

  “Oh. So both you and Ellen are adopted?”

  “All of us were adopted. All fifteen kids, plus a few more that were temporary over the years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our parents did foster care. Some of the kids they cared for eventually went back to their families. The ones who didn’t stayed and got adopted.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.” And it was. Tara found herself wishing she could have met Ben’s mom. It would have been interesting to find out what had possessed her to adopt fifteen kids and then what had kept her sane through raising them all.

  Her mind jumped tracks fast, circling around to Ben’s issue with his brother-in-law. If Ben and Ellen aren’t related by blood . . .

  “So when did you meet Dallin?” she asked casually.

  But Ben was on to her. “You’re not even close,” he said. “Ellen is my sister, blood or not. She always has been and always will be.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Tara smiled in spite of her frustration at being foiled again.

  “I thought you were going to try to get some sleep today.”

  “What? Are you tired of me?” she asked in a wounded voice that wasn’t entirely pretend.

  Ben looked over at her. “No. Actually I’m not. You’re pretty good company. Better than old Sam here.” They looked down at Sam and noticed, for the first time, what he was doing with his fish crackers.

  Tara watched, somewhat disgusted, as Sam put the cracker in his mouth, got it good and slimy, then removed it and stuck it on his jeans.

  “Whatcha doing there, buddy?” Ben asked.

  “Lake.” Sam pointed to the ring of fish on his pant leg. “Fish swimming in the lake.”

  “Of course.” Ben slapped the steering wheel and let out a snort. Tara had to look away to keep from laughing.

  “Why?” she asked. “And how could your parents raise fifteen children? Fifteen fish-on-the-jeans kids, fifteen pairs of feet jumping on the couch, fifteen sticky marshmallow-on-the-face kids? Why would anyone do that? And how did your mother stay sane while she did?”

  “That’s a valid question,” Ben admitted. “And the only thing I can tell you is something I heard my mother say over and over again throughout her life.”

  “Yes?” Tara leaned forward, eager for this paragon of wisdom, this deep family secret, he was about to impart.

  “It’s all about joy.”

  “That’s it?” she asked. “What does that even mean?”

  “I suppose we have to figure that out for ourselves. But for my mom this—” He inclined his head toward Sam and his pant leg lake of fish crackers, “—was the joy.”

  Twelve

  Shortly before noon traffic began to back up and slow on the highway. They’d made good time to that point, but within a few minutes they were bumper-to-bumper with the cars in front and behind at a complete standstill.

  This isn’t good. Tara had hoped they’d be stopping for lunch—and more i
mportantly, a bathroom—soon.

  Ben put the truck in park. “Be right back.” He opened his door and jumped out, letting in a blast of icy air in his place. Tara reached forward, twisting the knob on the heater to high.

  As he watched his uncle leave, Sam began fussing. He reached down swatting at the fish stuck to his pants, sending many of them Tara’s way.

  “Don’t do that.” She grabbed for his hand. “I don’t want any fish. You keep them.”

  “No fish. No fish,” he cried, letting out a howl like a wolf. Tara peered out the window, trying to see how many cars in front of them Ellen’s van was. If Sam was going to whine, maybe they could trade back for Cadie.

  Ben’s door swung open, and he climbed in the truck. “I’m not sure what the delay is, but it looks like a long one. Cars stopped in front of us as far as I can see.”

  This is so not good. Tara crossed her legs again and tried not to think about the water bottle and two cups of hot cocoa she’d consumed that morning.

  Sam continued to fuss, so Ben unfastened his car seat and picked him up. “You want to steer the truck for a while?”

  The little boy nodded. Ben turned the ignition off, sat Sam in front of him facing the wheel, and let him go for it, adding sound effects as necessary.

  Tara rolled her eyes at them. “I’m surprised you don’t have fifteen kids of your own. You’re very good with them.”

  “No kids. Just pigs—which sometimes don’t seem too different.”

  Remembering the way Ellen’s kids had attacked the marshmallows and chocolate the night before, Tara agreed.

  “What made you decide on pigs—on Ohio?” she asked. “That’s clear across the country. I’d think you’d want to be near family.”

  “I did until a few years ago. But after my parents died, I needed to get away. I’d served a mission for my church in Ohio, and I liked it a lot. It seemed the logical thing to go back.”

  “Do you ever wish you hadn’t?” Tara asked. Once, the logical thing to her had seemed moving to LA, but there were times she wasn’t so sure that had been the right choice.