When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

  Still shaky, she slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen for her ritual cup of Earl Grey. As she waited for the water to heat, she stared at the bright-pink fish grinning at her from the refrigerator door. In her wildest dreams, she couldn’t have imagined a day when there’d be kiddie art tacked up in her kitchen, and yet there it was.

  She turned away as the microwave dinged, then frowned as she caught what sounded like muffled mewling coming from the other side of the sliding glass doors. When the sound came again, she stepped to the door and peered out. It didn’t take long to spot the source of the commotion.

  “Well, well. What have we here?” Without thinking, Christy-Lynn eased back the door to get a better look at the miserably drenched feline. “Looks like someone forgot their foul weather gear.” Too late, she realized her error. Mistaking sympathy for an invitation, the cat squeezed between her ankles and bolted into the kitchen with another strangled yowl.

  Christy-Lynn eyed her sodden guest with dismay. “I’m afraid you’ve knocked on the wrong door, sir. It’s not personal. Pets just aren’t my thing.”

  The cat was unmoved, continuing to stare up at her with pitiful amber eyes. She heaved a sigh, her resolve beginning to falter. She hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be wet and cold and have no place to sleep.

  “All right. All right. You can spend the night but don’t get any ideas about making it permanent. And I hope you’re not expecting dinner because I’m fresh out of cat food.”

  Another yowl, followed by more golden-eyed pathos.

  “Fine,” she groaned, heading for the fridge. “I have milk. But that’s it.”

  She filled a saucer then stood by as the cat greedily emptied it. How long had it been since the poor thing had had any real food? In the pantry, she located a can of tuna, opened it, and turned it out onto a second saucer.

  By the time the Earl Grey finished brewing, both dishes were clean, and her guest had turned his attentions to matters of appearance. Christy-Lynn carried her mug to the living room and settled on the love seat to observe the stray’s careful ablutions. She was surprised when after only a few minutes she felt her lids grow heavy. She let them close, melting against the cushions. Perhaps if she slept here instead of in her bed, the dream wouldn’t find her.

  She woke several hours later to a flood of warm yellow light spilling through the living room windows. Stiff and dazed, she sat up, confused as to why she was waking up on the love seat instead of her bed. And then she spotted the orange-and-white fur ball curled on the arm of the love seat, and the events of the previous night drifted back.

  As if sensing her eyes, the cat lifted his head, blinking up with a blend of curiosity and sleepy annoyance, then stood, stretched, and jumped to the floor, making a beeline for the kitchen and the sliding glass doors.

  “Just like a man,” Christy-Lynn muttered drily, pulling back the door to let him out. “Slinking away the minute the sun’s up.”

  She watched as he darted down the back steps and disappeared from sight, then went to make coffee. Missy would be by in a few hours for lunch, her first guest since Hank had finished the kitchen updates, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

  Missy was late as usual but looked flawless in a sleeveless tunic and white linen slacks. She pressed her lips to Christy-Lynn’s cheek as she stepped through the door, leaving behind one of her signature fuchsia lip prints. “For you,” she said, handing Christy-Lynn a small gift bag brimming with tissue paper. “Just a little gift to mark the milestone. You can open it after I’m gone if you want. But right now—” She paused, grinning as she held up a plastic grocery bag. “I brought stuff to make mimosas. And before you say no, I got sparkling cider for you. Or you can just drink plain old OJ, but it’s not nearly as much fun without the bubbles.”

  Missy whistled appreciatively as they walked into the newly remodeled kitchen. “I still can’t believe what you’ve done with this place. I know I saw it while the work was going on, but now that it’s finished—wow.”

  Christy-Lynn couldn’t help beaming. It was her favorite room since the renovations. “Thanks. The farm sink and vintage hardware were Hank’s ideas. He completely nailed the look I was after.”

  Missy was wrestling with the champagne cork now, the bottle wedged between her knees. She flinched as it released with a clean, sharp pop. “Did you ever decide what to do with that spare room?”

  Christy-Lynn thought of the room next to her bedroom, crowded at the moment with the leftover bits and pieces of her decorating efforts. “Not yet, but I’m leaning toward an office. I was thinking about picking up a few editing projects again. I miss my writers. And the truth is, with the shop up and running and the bungalow mostly finished, I have too much time on my hands.”

  Missy had located two champagne flutes and was pouring the orange juice. “Maybe you should think about filling that time with some fun. There’s a guy who works with Daddy, a CPA. Nice-looking. Divorced. No kids.”

  Christy-Lynn shot her a look. “Why don’t we have some lunch?”

  Missy feigned a pout. “All right, I get it. Time to change the subject.”

  “Exactly.” Christy-Lynn pulled two shrimp and avocado salads from the fridge and headed for the deck. “Speaking of kids, where are the boys today?”

  “On a campout with the neighbor’s kids.” Missy handed Christy-Lynn a champagne flute and settled herself into one of the deck chairs. “What is it about boys sleeping in tents?”

  Christy-Lynn smiled. “I can’t help you there, but it must be nice to have some alone time.”

  Missy gave the question some thought then shrugged. “You’d think so, but I actually miss the little monsters. The house is too quiet when they’re gone, and I’m not sure I know what to do with alone time anymore. I know it’s crazy, but I like running around with my hair on fire. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give up for my kids, but I guess it comes with the territory.”

  “Not always,” Christy-Lynn said more gloomily than she intended.

  Missy’s expression softened. “You mean your mother.”

  Christy-Lynn waved the remark away. “Forget it. I didn’t mean to get all maudlin. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

  Missy’s gaze narrowed. “I’m guessing that’s not because you’ve been binge-watching the last season of Game of Thrones.”

  Christy-Lynn considered changing the subject but knew better than to think she’d get away with it. “There’s been . . . a development.”

  “What kind of development?”

  “A little girl,” she blurted quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “Stephen and Honey had a little girl.”

  Missy sat frozen, absorbing the news with a faintly stunned expression. “Well,” she said finally. “He really was a bastard, wasn’t he? How did you find out?”

  “I’ve seen her—at Rhetta’s. It was like someone knocked all the air out of me. All I could see was Stephen and Honey looking back at me.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Missy breathed, reaching for Christy-Lynn’s hand. “And you’ve been carrying this around all by yourself. Why? You know I’m always here for you, don’t you? That you can tell me anything?”

  Christy-Lynn nodded. She did know. But in the three weeks since she’d learned of Iris’s existence, she hadn’t been able to work her into the conversation. Except with Wade, of course, but that was only because she’d blurted it all out in a moment of weakness.

  “I guess I’ve been processing,” she said finally. “It’s embarrassing, finding out your husband fathered a child with another woman and managed to keep it a secret for three years. And if his car hadn’t gone off that bridge, I still wouldn’t know.”

  Missy huffed so hard her bangs fluttered. “Look, I know you’re upset, honey, and you have every right to be, but you have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  Christy-Lynn shrugged half-heartedly. She wanted to believe the words. But wanting and believing were two different things. Stephen h
ad been no saint. She’d come to terms with that, but her willingness over the years to turn a blind eye to his character flaws was hard to deny. She’d been content with the status quo, happily ensconced in a false sense of security, and in her blissful state of oblivion had enabled an affair—and by extension, the birth of a little girl whose childhood eerily mirrored her own.

  Missy was looking at her, waiting for the rest of the story—because of course she knew there was more. The woman was like a bloodhound. And so it all came tumbling out—the stomach-dropping moment she had first seen Iris, the check Rhetta had been too proud to accept, the awful moment Ray Rawlings had called his niece an abomination.

  Missy was still shaking her head when Christy-Lynn fell silent. “My God. A little girl with no parents, and that poor woman with a child to raise at her age. I honestly don’t know who to feel sorrier for.”

  “It’s awful. The house they live in looks like it would blow over in a stiff breeze. There’s no yard, no phone, no neighbors close by. But the worst is Honey’s brother refusing to take Iris if something happens to Rhetta. She could end up in foster care.”

  Missy looked thoughtful as she smoothed the creases from her linen slacks. “I know it’s awful, honey, but at the risk of sounding heartless, it really isn’t your problem. This is her parents’ fault, and it’s up to her family to deal with it.”

  Christy-Lynn stared at her lap, wadding her napkin into a ragged ball. “He called her an abomination, Missy. An abomination born in sin. Her own uncle called her that.” She swallowed convulsively, her heart aching at the unfairness of it all. “None of this is Iris’s fault, but she’s the one who’ll pay.”

  Missy let out a long sigh. “You’re up to your neck in this, aren’t you?”

  Christy-Lynn nodded, though deep down she knew the ache in her chest wasn’t only for Iris. For some terrible, twisted reason, fate had conspired to put this little girl in her path, an unwelcome reminder of the childhood she’d been trying to outrun for decades. And now, for better or worse, there was no going back.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “I am. Am I crazy?”

  “Yes,” Missy answered without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t know a woman alive who’d give a rat’s behind about a kid her husband fathered with his girlfriend. But you do—so that’s that. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a drop in the bucket, but I finally got Rhetta to cash the check. She called a few days ago to let me know she finally has a phone and to thank me again. I can’t make her understand that in every way that matters that money belonged to Iris.”

  “Hate to break it to you, honey, but not many people would see it that way.”

  Christy-Lynn remained quiet as she sipped her fizzy orange juice, weighing the wisdom of what she was about to say. If Missy already thought she was crazy, what would she think when she heard the rest? “I’ve been thinking about setting up a trust,” she blurted. “For Iris.”

  Missy’s gray-green eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “You know I’ve never been comfortable with all that money. It’s just sitting there, piling up month after month. Why not give it to her?”

  “What? All of it?”

  “I don’t know, but a good chunk. She’d have money for doctors, tutors, schools—hell, a decent roof over her head.”

  Missy shook her head dolefully. “For now, maybe. But you said it yourself, Rhetta isn’t long for this world, and her uncle doesn’t want anything to do with her. Money might come in handy today, but it’s only a short-term fix. I hate to say it, but it sounds like foster care may be the best option. At least the poor thing will be looked after and have a shot at a happy home.”

  A happy home.

  Christy-Lynn looked away. She’d said it so casually, as if going into foster care was some sort of solution. But then she couldn’t expect Missy to grasp the reality—or the horror—of what such a future might mean. People who grew up with puppies and swing sets would never understand that the foster care system, well-intentioned though it might be, could quickly become the stuff of nightmares for those trapped in it. Or that a child like Iris, with nightmares and inhibited verbal skills, would be starting with two strikes against her.

  “I realize it doesn’t fix the long-term problem. It’s just . . . what I can do.”

  “Have you discussed the idea with Rhetta?”

  “Not yet. I need to do some homework first. And then I’ll have to convince her to let me do it. I can’t even imagine what Wade’s reaction will be.”

  “What’s Wade got to do with it?”

  “He caught me off guard the day I met Iris, and I ended up blurting out the whole story. He knew Stephen. I thought he might have some kind of insight.”

  “And did he?”

  “He says Stephen had no conscience.”

  Missy scowled. “Hard to argue with him there.”

  “He thinks I’m too invested, that I’m setting myself up for more heartache and should just let it all go.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I agree with every word. I should just let it go. I’m just not sure I can.”

  “Then I guess you’d better get started on that homework.”

  Christy-Lynn blinked at her. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

  Missy’s smile was tinged with sympathy. “This is your business, honey. It’s not my place to tell you how to handle it. I just want what’s best for you. Speaking of which . . . you said something before about not sleeping well. Are you taking care of yourself?”

  “It’s no big deal really.”

  “But it is. Sleep is a girl’s best friend. And there’s no reason to do without. My doctor wrote me a prescription for some pills last year when I had some stuff going on, and they worked like a charm. I have a few left if you’re interested. I know you’re not big on the chemical thing, but it might help you get caught up.”

  “No, but thanks for the offer. I’m sure things will smooth out once I make a decision about Iris and the trust.”

  “You know, you might want to talk to Dar. She carries all kinds of oils and teas—all natural stuff. Maybe she could recommend something to help take the edge off without having to pop a pill.” She lifted her glass, draining the last of her mimosa, then stood. “I’m going inside to fix us another round. When I come back, I’ll have your present.”

  Christy-Lynn didn’t want another mimosa. She didn’t want to open her present either, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Missy no. Instead she sat quietly, staring down at the creek. She had just tossed the wadded remains of her napkin onto her plate when something caught her eye. She turned to find herself being observed by a pair of sleepy golden eyes.

  “Well, well. Look who’s back. Couldn’t live without me, eh?”

  If the cat objected to her sarcasm, he gave no sign as he sashayed toward her, tail held high. He was about to take a second turn around her ankles when Missy reappeared.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

  “I don’t. He just showed up last night, ravenous and dripping wet.”

  “Did you feed him?”

  “Just some milk and a can of tuna.”

  “Then you have a cat.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t,” Christy-Lynn countered firmly. “I’ve never even had a goldfish. But you could take him. The boys have been pestering you for a pet.”

  “Yes, they have. They’ve been pestering me for a dog. And since there’s zero chance I can pass off an orange tabby as a golden retriever, I’m afraid he’s yours.”

  Christy-Lynn glowered at the cat. “Don’t go getting comfortable, mister. I am not keeping you.”

  Missy chuckled as she handed Christy-Lynn a gift bag brimming with silver tissue. “Maybe, but he appears to be keeping you. That’s how it works, by the way. You don’t pick them. They pick you. Now open your present.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done this.”

  “It’s no big deal but hurry up. I’m
dying to know if you like it.”

  Christy-Lynn reached into the nest of tissue, groping blindly until she located a small box. She felt self-conscious as she lifted the lid and then her breath caught. “Oh, Missy . . .”

  Against the box’s black velvet interior lay a bracelet adorned with a trio of silver charms: a tiny house with a porch and chimney, an open book, and a to-go cup inscribed with the word latte.

  “Missy, you shouldn’t have, but I love it. The charms are perfect.”

  “They represent the pieces of your new life. There’s one for the bungalow, another for the store, and one for the café. It’s up to you to fill up the rest.”

  There was no missing the unspoken message. It’s time to get on with your life. It seemed to be the general consensus these days. And she really was trying. She was a million miles from her life in Clear Harbor. But the ghost of that other self was still with her, anchoring her to the past, clouding the future.

  She fingered the charms one at a time, carefully chosen symbols of the life she had begun to create for herself. “Sometimes it feels like none of it’s real, Missy, like I’m just pretending. I can’t let myself settle into it. There are still so many things I need to sort out, pieces of myself I haven’t been able to put back together.”

  “I know, baby, but it’ll come.”

  “When?”

  “When you’re ready.”

  “What if I’m never ready?”

  Missy set down her mimosa, her expression suddenly stern. “I don’t believe in never, and neither should you.”

  A tiny V appeared between Christy-Lynn’s brows. “How can you not believe in never? It’s just a word.”

  “No,” Missy said firmly. “It isn’t. It’s all the doors we keep shut. It’s the places we won’t let ourselves go, the things we won’t let ourselves have or be, because we don’t think we’re good enough or strong enough for more. I know because that used to be me. And then I became a single parent, and I realized I didn’t have time for nevers.” She paused, her smile thin and tremulous. “All I’m saying is don’t live a smaller life than you deserve.”