by Lynn Rae
“Hey, wait a minute, what kind of Band Aid is that?” Nate peered at the cartoonish bright red strip she’d put over one knuckle. “Is that a Stormtrooper?”
“Yep. And here’s Kermit, or would you prefer a princess? Too bad I ran out of glitter.” June expertly covered his last burn with a grinning green frog, and Nate shook his head as he flexed his fingers. He looked ridiculous.
“I had no idea they even made stuff like this. I wonder if my nieces already have the girlie ones.”
June smiled and sat back as she repacked her kit. “Your sister was talking about them when she registered Kayla for kindergarten. How old are the twins?”
“Seven months. I don’t know how she copes.”
“And her husband is away, deployed overseas, right?”
Nate nodded and watched as some awareness flickered in June’s eyes. He didn’t want to volunteer any information about how he was trying to help Becky out. It seemed like an obvious way to put himself in a good light. The woman next to him tilted her head and gave a nod. The close confines of the truck cab had made it seem like they were alone in the world, but the sound of laughter from outside distracted him, and he glanced over her shoulder to see several women gathered around the stand’s display of fresh strawberries.
“Why do you like different foods? You haven’t been afraid to try anything I’ve put in front of you.” He’d been curious on this point for a while now.
June gathered up her first-aid kit as she answered, “My parents bought a small farm when they got married. Too small for commercial crops or livestock, so they tried different things to keep it going while my brother and I grew up. Orchards, produce like this place sells, cheese. I grew up making all kinds of things, and I just got used to eating whatever was available. Experimental herbs in cheese, old-fashioned pears from our trees. When you’re hungry, everything tastes good.”
“But your parents aren’t farming anymore?”
June shook her head and smiled. “No, they managed to break even while Simon and I were growing up, but the work was hard and once I left home, they sold. Now they’re in Phoenix running a craft shop. Crystals and weavings and those essential oils popular about twenty years ago. They never seem to hit the trends correctly. All that homemade, organic stuff we made years ago is big now.”
He watched her for a moment, sure this was the most she’d talked about herself since he’d met her. With a small sigh, she placed the now repacked first-aid kit back into her bag and pulled out her trusty camera.
“Come on, we need to film before those ladies buy up all the produce.”
Chapter 5
Somehow, the stars had aligned, and he had the evening off. It happened once a week at most, and Nate looked forward to doing nothing more than watching a movie and propping his feet up on the coffee table. He’d just settled down on his comfortably worn-in sofa with a beer and a plate of decidedly nongourmet nachos when there was a loud pounding at the door. He quickly glanced at his phone and saw no missed calls, so whoever was out there hadn’t bothered to check in before arriving at his doorstep. This was an ambush, pure and simple, and he had a good idea who it was. A glance out the window confirmed it.
“Heather, Tiny.” He greeted his friends a coolly as possible as he opened the door. So much for a quiet evening.
“Oh, nachos.” Tiny nodded approval as he thrust a six-pack at Nate’s chest before taking a seat and scooping up the plate of chips and cheese. “What are we watching?”
“Nothing.” Nate glanced at the beer in hand. At least Tiny had sprung for craft brew.
Heather breezed into the kitchen and poked around at the ingredients he’d left out in case he wanted a second helping. “Where’s the fancy stuff?”
“You wouldn’t eat it if I served it. Not that you were invited over for dinner.” Heather shot him a grimace, and Nate glanced at Tiny to see he’d eaten half the nachos and was scrolling through the channels in search of something to watch. It looked as though they were settling in for the evening. Great.
Nate left Tiny contemplating an old Shirley Temple movie and went to his kitchen to rescue his pot of carnitas from Heather’s sloppy stirring. He’d put the pork in his slow cooker early that morning before heading to the diner, and it had braised all day along with salt, cumin, oregano, thyme, bay, and garlic. When he’d gotten home his apartment had smelled like meat-and-spice heaven. It had been a simple matter to shred the meat with a fork and layer it with some guacamole and tomato over tortillas.
“Do you want to eat this or not?”
“I have no idea what it is. It isn’t taco meat, that’s for sure.” Heather shook her head and went for the cabinet containing snack foods. She grabbed a bag of potato chips and dumped some in a bowl. “So, how are things, Nate? We haven’t seen you in forever.”
Nate frowned. What the hell was she talking about? “You saw me last night, and the day before, when June was filming.”
“Yeah, what’s the story with that?” Tiny asked from the sofa as he changed channels to some sort of reality show in a storage facility.
“No story. Just getting a little help.”
“I still don’t know why you had to ask some stranger. Tiny and I would have been happy to help.” Heather chomped on a chip, and Nate got her a glass of water. He wondered how long this was going to take.
“Yeah, who is she anyway? Is she nice?” Tiny craned his head around and wriggled his eyebrows. His friend was a kindhearted guy who always thought the best of people. At least with June, he’d be right.
“She’s nice.” Nate said no more, conscious of Heather’s stare.
“Is she cute?”
Nate didn’t answer; he didn’t want to say anything else about June. He left Heather in the kitchen and took a seat next to Tiny, only to find the whole plate of nachos were gone, and the television was now on an infomercial for some light-up kid’s pillows. Great.
“So, Nate, how long’s it been since Emma? A couple of months?” Heather’s question took him aback, and he swiveled on the sofa to get a look at her. She bit down on another chip and waited for his answer. What he couldn’t figure was why she even asked about it. He and Emma had been involved for a few months over the winter, but it had fizzled to nothing by Easter. He assumed she missed him about as much as he missed her, which was not at all.
“I guess,” Nate replied and gave Tiny a quizzical look. His friend shrugged his massive shoulders and switched the channel to something with bad CGI sharks falling out of the sky. “Why?”
“Just wondering if you’re over her. Ready to move on.” Heather moved from the kitchen to join them in the living room, taking a seat nearby and propping her heels up on the coffee table alongside Nate’s.
“I guess. But I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now. Too busy.”
“Makes sense because of that whole going-to-Hollywood thing you got coming up. No sense getting tangled up with a lady and losing your focus. Keep your game face on.” Tiny stabbed both hands in the air like he’d signaled a touchdown. He glanced from the now-empty plate, to Nate, and back again with starving puppy eyes.
With an exasperated sigh, Nate got up, grabbed the plate, and went to gather more food for his friend. Luckily, he’d put a five-pound pork butt in the cooker, so there was plenty of meat. Heather got up and followed him to the kitchen. She fussed around with napkins and moved bottles of hot sauce as he assembled a plate.
“Tiny’s probably right. It’s not a good idea to get involved with someone new, right before you go.”
“I don’t know that I’m going anywhere, and since when do you agree with Tiny on anything?”
Heather pulled at her shirt and lowered her voice. “I don’t know. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.”
“About what?” Maybe this thinking binge was why she’d been off lately.
“The future. How I want things to be. We’re getting older, Nate, and it’s time to make some plans.”
�
�Like plans for dinner or plans for 401(k)s?” Nate gave her a smile and hoped his joke would put her in a better frame of mind. She sighed and pressed a knife into the pile of shredded queso fresco in front of her. Heather had worked behind the counter at her dad’s auto shop ever since she’d turned sixteen. Maybe she wanted an adventure just like he did.
“No, like grownups do.” Heather faced him and leaned back against the counter. He stopped throwing toppings on Tiny’s nacho platter to give her the attention she needed.
She stared at him just like she had when they were kids and he and Tiny had tried to convince her she couldn’t play boy games, because they were too dangerous. She’d been frustrated and determined to join in then, and she had the same look on her face now.
“I want a family. I want a home and something more to look forward to than old movies and weird food.” She gestured at his television, now displaying a scene from The Longest Day. Nate didn’t think his nachos were weird at all, but he wasn’t going to defend them while Heather was upset. June would probably like the nachos.
“So are you seeing anyone right now?” he asked, pretty sure she wasn’t. Her last boyfriend had fled the scene about the same time Emma had drifted away. Maybe the two of them had hooked up somewhere down the line. What a weird thought.
“No. Just like you, I’m single. Now.”
Nate bobbed his head back and forth as he looked her over. Heather looked good, she always did, curvy, nice hair, bright clothes, and a fun, if loud, laugh. She was a good person too. “You want me to introduce you to some guys? I know a few—”
Heather slapped her hand on the counter and frowned at him. “No, I don’t want you to introduce me to one of your lame friends!”
“Hey, I’m not lame,” Tiny spoke up from the sofa.
“Shut up, Tiny. Stop listening in.”
“You’re talking four feet away. I can’t not hear you.”
“Turn up the movie then,” Heather hissed, and Tiny subsided with little mumbles of resentment. Okay, so Heather and Tiny, with two-point-five and a white-picket fence, was out.
“Hey, my friends aren’t lame.”
“Present company expected!” Tiny bellowed, and Heather threw a pot holder at him. Nate laughed out loud, and she turned on him with a ferocious scowl.
“Go on and laugh. You men are so thickheaded I don’t know why I bother.” With a frustrated snort, she pushed past him, grabbed her giant orange purse from the counter, and walked to his front door.
“Are you leaving?”
“You bet.” Heather wrenched the door open so hard she stumbled back and then slammed it loudly behind her. He hoped she didn’t disturb his neighbors. As silence descended, Tiny turned his head and looked over at Nate.
“She was my ride.”
Nate sighed, all hopes of a solitary evening entirely destroyed. He’d already had too much beer to want to drive anywhere. “You can crash here tonight.”
Tiny blinked and turned back to the television where some Nazis were arguing about Calais. “Those nachos ready yet? It’s getting to the good part.”
* * * *
Grandma Sinclair shook her head, her white hair glowing in the light from the dining room’s small chandelier. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I can still manage just fine here for another year.”
June’s breath hitched at the pronouncement. She’d come over to help her grandmother sort through her china and glassware along with the table, chairs, and sideboard, because the Acres couldn’t accommodate so much furniture. The facility also wouldn’t accommodate Simon, and that was both a blessing and a worry.
“No, they have room out there, and you know it’s the best thing for you. You just said you can’t wait to play cards every day and not have to go to the grocery so often.”
June opened the bottom of the china cabinet, and the rich scent of lemon-polished wood filled the room. Grandma was seated at the table, slowly wrapping plates in newspaper and stacking them in a box.
“You’re right. Truth be told, I don’t want to live here anymore. Too much space, too much upkeep.” The older woman stared at one of her pale yellow, Noritake plates. “I haven’t used these in years. It’s a relief to let them go.”
“It sort of feels like you’re drowning in china.” June pulled out another stack of porcelain, this time bullion cups with gold rims, and lifted them to the tabletop. Her grandmother had a weakness for plates, bowls, and platters. Anything heavy and breakable.
“I’m just glad that auction house will take them. Can you imagine how bad Simon would be if I had a garage sale here? He’d stomp around and argue, probably park his car in the driveway to block people.”
Grandma was right. Simon had already lost his temper with them several times over the plan to move her to a new place, leaving him homeless in the process. He’d had six months to come up with his own housing since that was how long it had taken Grandma to move up the list for accommodations.
“Plus, you won’t have to sit around all day in the sun and have to drag everything that didn’t sell back into the house that evening. The auctioneer is picking it up, and you’ll never see it again.”
June paused in her excavation of the cabinet to look over a cream-colored, Tom and Jerry punch bowl. The matching china mugs were stacked inside. She strained to lift them to the table with the rest of the discards. The front door slammed just as she was pulling out a shoe box filled with something heavy, and she almost dropped it. Grandma glanced up with a frown.
“Sounds like Simon’s in a mood.”
“When isn’t he?”
As if they’d summoned him, her brother appeared in the dining room doorway, his face drawn into the familiar discontented lines he’d used since he’d decided the world was out to get him.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting things out for the auction. How was work?” Grandma spoke up quickly, interrupting June’s intention to remind her brother he knew very well what they were doing, since he’d already complained about it that morning before he could be asked to help out.
“Joe’s a dic—” Simon said but cut himself off when Grandma raised an eyebrow. Her brother got away with a lot in her house, but foul language was not one of those things. “Work sucks like it always does. I have to run and fetch all day like a trained monkey.”
Simon felt his work as a clerk in the hardware store was beneath him, and June gave his current employment, at best, another three months before he lost his cool and said or did something egregious.
“How much money is all this crap worth?”
“Not much if everyone else thinks it’s crap,” June said with venom. His negativity was like acid, eating away her pleasant mood. She had no idea how Grandma put up with him every day.
“When’s the sale? I’m going to go and keep track of the prices in case that pri—I mean, uh, Taylor decides to lowball everything. He’s a wheeler-dealer, June. I have no idea why you trusted him with this.”
June shook her head, unwilling to delve, yet again, into the reality that Taylor Auctions was the only game on this side of the county.
“You need anything for your new place, you just speak up,” Grandma offered. Fine china and antique knife rests hardly seemed like the sorts of things her brother would want to bring to his new place. He was planning on rooming with a work buddy, and just like his place of employment, June had a feeling that situation wouldn’t last long.
“The sale is August third.” Grandma wrapped the last dinner plate and placed it in the box with the others. “Simon, fold this box up for me and put it on the floor over there, would you?”
Sighing loudly, Simon grudgingly picked up the box and moved it about three feet. June wondered how in the world he was going to manage getting his stuff out of the house once Grandma moved. “Maybe I’ll just move on down to Arizona. Why the hell should I stay here?”
June looked at her grandmother before she replied. The older woman had pressed her lips toget
her and was wrapping up a trifle bowl with great concentration.
“You should do what you want, Simon. Did Mom and Dad invite you down?”
She couldn’t imagine they had. One of the great unspoken betrayals in her family was that her parents had basically abandoned June and Grandma Sinclair when they’d taken off for Arizona. She’d been well aware they were seeking distance from their troublesome son, in addition to new horizons and warmer winters, but she’d felt like collateral damage in the process. Their migration had also left her grandmother in the unenviable position of providing housing for Simon whenever he had troubles.
“No. They said they’d buy me a ticket for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but what’s to stop me from just driving there?”
Your job. June tried to quash her uncharitable thought as she opened another cabinet door and reached inside. Would it really be so bad if Simon left town? She decided to test the waters. “It would be nice to drive across the country. I’ve always wanted to ride over the Mississippi.”
Simon shook his head and leaned against the wall. “You’ve crossed the Mississippi every time you’ve flown out to Mom and Dad’s.”
“I know that. I meant drive across a bridge. Really feel like you’re heading into the West. See the Pacific Ocean.” June sighed at the notion. She opened a shoe box to discover it was full of old, glass swizzle sticks. Where did Grandma find this stuff?
“I’ve never been farther west than Chicago,” Grandma spoke up as she leaned over to see what was in the box. One thin, veined hand reached out to touch the fragile bar tools, and June realized her grandmother would probably never travel farther. Impulsively, she reached out and grasped her hand, careful of the thin bones and delicate skin. The other woman smiled widely and squeezed back. “You should go do that drive, June. Don’t wait and wish you had once it’s too late.”
“Maybe next summer; this one’s almost shot.”
“Are you kidding? It isn’t even August, June.” Simon smirked at her as he made fun of her name. He’d been doing it since he’d figured out she matched a month on the calendar. He’d never tired of the jab. She had after the first few hundred jokes.