She turned slowly from the window to look at me. “Have you and Crystal grown close? Are you dating?”
“She’s a friend.” I hadn't meant to sound evasive, but it certainly came out that way. How could I explain what Crystal meant to me? My dad seemed to have picked up on the complexity of our relationship and hadn’t said a word. However, that was Dad. Obviously, he knew all about complicated relationships with women. My mother, however, was another story. As far as I knew, she hadn’t dated since she left my dad twenty years ago. I had no idea what her personal life was like. Strangely enough, she worked as an assistant in a family law practice.
The few times I’d visited her in Bozeman, I’d been struck by the simplicity of her life. She lived in a small apartment and walked to her boss’s law office. She always had a stack of books on the bedside table. From what I could tell, they were her only companions. I’d never heard her mention friends and certainly no one special. She was an enigma to me, as she’d always been. This unexpected arrival was among a long line of unexplainable behavior. It was as if she lived in a different realm from the rest of us, floating around like a ghost. I could never quite pin her down.
"What kind of friend?" My mother peered at me with her light blue eyes. Those eyes paired with her dark hair had made her striking in her youth. My father still talked about the beauty of those eyes. One time, after a few drinks, he’d claimed they still haunted his dreams.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“Fair enough.” That was one thing I could say for my mother. She never pried.
"Mom, I can’t believe you’re here. What made you decide?”
For a moment, I didn’t think she was going to answer. Finally, she said in a voice so quiet I instinctively leaned closer. "I had a dream about your brother."
I recoiled, shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth. Has she had the same dream as I? "What about?"
“It was the night you had your accident, although I didn’t know that at the time. He told me you’d almost died. He said I should come to see you. He also said something about your father and me—that we should reconcile or something like that. It was a little fuzzy. Which, now that I know your father’s here—it makes more sense. Or less. I’m not sure.”
The shock of what she’d just said made it impossible to speak for a moment. “I had a dream too. The night of my accident, I hit my head and blacked out. During that time, he came to me. Or I went to him. I’m not sure which. It was as if I were in the place between earth and heaven. He told me to go back and that I wasn’t done with life yet. He also said that I was to bring you and dad back together."
Her eyes widened. She brushed underneath her lashes with her index fingers. Then she drew in a shaky breath. "How extraordinary. But anyway, your father’s married. It’s not like we could reconcile. Not that we would. I don’t know if he’ll want to be in the same room with me.”
“He’s a kind guy. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
“Did he bring the wife?” Mom turned back toward the window. Her gaze flickered from left to right.
“No, they split. He’s getting a divorce.”
"Number four?" The corners of her mouth lifted in a weak smile. “Or were we on five?”
“Four. Marilyn. That’s her name.”
“Were you surprised?” Mom asked.
“In one way, no. She’s a child, and I knew she didn’t love him. But in another way, yes. He never talks about the bad stuff. And then suddenly, it's all over, and he's off to the next one. Younger than the last.”
Mom laughed, the sound like a thin sliver of smoke. “He could always charm the pants off whomever he chose.”
“Yeah,” I said, uncomfortable.
The sound of Crystal’s car drew my attention. "That's Dad and Crystal."
Mom's thin eyebrows lifted and she spoke so softly I almost couldn’t hear her. "Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Brian might not like to see me.” She sprang to her feel, reminding me of a jack-in-the-box I’d had as a child. Only my mother didn’t have a scary, maniacal grin.
My dad and Crystal came in, each carrying shopping bags. “Whose car is in the drive—” At the sight of my mother, Dad stopped and stared.
Crystal and I exchanged a glance. From her shocked expression, it was obvious she knew who had shown up at my house.
“Sam?” My father had always called her Sam, not Samantha.
“Hi, Brian.” Mom’s voice shook. She came around the couch.
“What are you doing here?” Dad asked, not unkindly but clearly surprised.
“I came on a whim. To check on Garth. I’m staying at the lodge.” Her voice was as brittle as a fine piece of glass. I imagined her crashing to the floor and splintering into a thousand pieces.
“Oh, well, okay. Nice to see you.” Dad had recovered slightly or at least had quickly hidden the discombobulated effect my mother’s presence had on him. “Did you drive?”
“Yes, yes. From Bozeman.” Mom turned to Crystal. “I’m Samantha, Garth’s mom.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Crystal,” she said as she scurried over to the table to set down her bags, then returned to shake Mom’s hand.
“You as well,” Mom said.
Then, as she almost always did, given any situation, Crystal asked, “Are you hungry? Would you like to stay and eat with us? I’m making Julia Child’s chicken in white wine.”
“That’s my favorite,” Mom said. “How strange.”
Crystal and Brian smiled at each other. “Brian happened to mention it when I suggested something French. He said you used to order it at a restaurant in your old neighborhood.”
“You remembered that?” Mom asked softly.
“Sure. I can’t eat anything French without remembering that little bistro,” Dad said. “We had some good times there, didn’t we?”
Mom nodded as she and Dad locked eyes. “We did.”
“You look good, Sam,” Dad said.
“You too.” Mom smiled as she tilted her head, observing him. “Your hair is just how I figured it would be when you were older.”
“I’m old as dirt but still kicking around,” Dad said as he grasped his grocery bags harder, making an orange fall out onto the floor, where it rolled under the couch.
Mom bent to pick it up, then stuck it back in his bag. “This reminds me of the meatball song.”
“On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese,” Dad sang out, loud and off-key.
We all laughed. Why we all found my dad’s terrible singing funny, I couldn’t say. But it got us to the next minute. One new minute, which would lead to another. One in which healing could begin.
12
Crystal
Still reeling from Samantha’s sudden appearance, I went into the bedroom before starting dinner to call my mother. I’d called earlier to see if she wanted to join me for lunch. In another surprise of the day, she’d said she was meeting Jack instead. She’d agreed to come to dinner at Garth’s. Brian had offered to go down to the lodge to get her while I fixed dinner. I thought she’d enjoy a dinner with lively Brian. That was before I knew that Samantha would also be here. I was starting to miss the simpler time at Trapper and Brandi’s. Our parents were causing quite the complications in our lives.
Mom answered right away. “Hi, honey.”
“How did it go today at lunch?”
“Fine.”
I couldn’t detect any further information from the tone of her voice. “What does fine mean?”
She sighed. “It was an emotional lunch. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you still want to come here for dinner? Brian will come pick you up.”
Before I could tell her that Sam was also here, she interrupted. “I’m tired. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just stay in tonight.”
“Oh, sure. Whatever you want.” I was surprised. Usually she loved anything social. I told her about Garth’s mom. Again, her lackluster response befuddled me. The dramat
ic turn of events would normally have intrigued her. She would have wanted to know every detail. “Get some rest, Mom. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Have a fun night, honey.”
I hung up and went back to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. All three members of the Welte family were sitting in the kitchen. Brian was in the process of putting away groceries and telling Sam about my shop and all the fun items we’d found. Sam was opening a bottle of wine. Garth was sitting at the island looking like a happy child with his parents on an ordinary night.
Seeing the joy on his face was enough to break my heart. Having grown up without a dad, I was familiar with the unrealistic yearnings of a child who wished his or her parents were together. However, I’d never actually known what it was like, whereas Garth had. I felt quite sure that he’d already gone down the path of a happy reunion in his mind, especially given his dream. Who could blame him? Human nature dictated these types of wishes. He wanted his parents to be together. Even after all this time, the desires of the boy he’d once been were strong.
As much as I doubted anything would come of it, I had to admit the scene in the kitchen was a happy one. Sadly, this was the type of evening that could suck him into a false reality. I worried he’d be hurt when his parents left separately and everything went back to normal.
“Hey, Mouse.” Brian had started calling me Mouse after hearing Garth call me City Mouse. He was the type of man who got away with using a familiar nickname for someone he’d just met. This might have been part of the problem with all his wives. “Is your mom ready for me to come pick her up?”
“No, she’s tired,” I said. “She’s staying in tonight. I hope she’s not getting sick. It’s not like her to miss a party.”
“I hope she’s all right,” Sam said. “Airplanes are full of germs. She might have caught something.”
“I’m sure she is,” I said. “She’s going through a rough breakup.”
“Sounds all too familiar,” Brian said. “I’m sorry she won’t be here to commiserate with me.”
I went to the refrigerator and pulled out onions and carrots.
Brian held up his paw-like hands. “Put me to work.”
I asked him to cut up onions and carrots as I twisted the top from the olive oil and poured it into the new cast-iron Dutch oven I’d brought from my shop.
“Will do,” Brian said.
Now that I’d seen Garth’s mother, I could see that although he’d gotten his dad’s height and strength, his bone structure favored his mother. She had the look of a dancer, graceful and slender, whereas Brian was more of a burly bear. In combination, they’d made a man perfect for darting down a slope on two skinny sticks.
I peeled several cloves of garlic and diced them before tossing them into my pan with the olive oil.
“How much do I owe you?” Garth asked. “You came home with a lot of stuff. Some of which I don’t recognize.”
I laughed. “You’ll find a use for all of it, I promise.” I’d picked out a set of white bistro-style dishes, silverware, bowls, pots and pans, and a good set of knives. Brian had already paid for them at the shop.
“I’d like to buy them for him.” Sam sat a glass of wine near Garth.
“Mom, no.”
“I already got them, Sam,” Brian said. “You don’t need to spend your hard-earned money.”
Sam looked crestfallen. “I’d have liked to.”
I hated seeing Sam disappointed. “There are other things he might need, Sam. I have a few ideas. We can talk later.”
Sam smiled. “I’d like that, thank you.”
Garth seemed about to say something, but I stopped him with a pointed look. I suspected guilt about the past must weigh heavily on Sam’s mind. She seemed to be making a concerted effort to look relaxed, but I had the feeling that inside she was a bundle of nerves.
I browned the chicken in olive oil and garlic. The smell of the sizzling oil and garlic filled the room. When the chicken pieces were crispy, I set them aside to add later. “You have those onions and carrots ready for me?” I asked Brian.
He wiped under his eyes. “These onions got to me, but yeah, they’re ready.”
“You’re tough, Dad,” Garth said.
“Thanks, Brian.” He’d the vegetables coarsely and unevenly, but they’d do.
“What? Did I do a bad job?” Brian asked. “I’m more of a takeout kind of a guy.”
“They’re perfect,” I said.
“You’re a liar.” Brian grinned as he brought the entire cutting board over to me.
“Never,” I said, returning his grin before dumping it all into the pan.
I stirred the onions and carrots into the oil and then returned the pieces of chicken to the pan. A half a bottle of cheap white wine went in next. I waited for it to boil before turning the burner to simmer.
“How about we pour some of the wine Sam opened?” Brian suggested. We’d gotten several good bottles at the store earlier.
“Do it,” Garth said. “I didn’t take any pain meds today.”
“You’re feeling better then?” Sam asked him. The tenderness in her voice made my eyes sting. I blinked to keep from tearing up.
“Much better,” Garth said.
I couldn’t decide if he was telling the truth about the pain. Regardless, I was glad he hadn’t taken any more of those pills. I’d started thinking of them as the Truth Pills. I didn’t need any more truths out of him tonight.
“What do I do now, Mouse?” Brian asked.
“I need some potatoes peeled.” I held up the peeler. “Unless anyone has anything against mashed potatoes?”
“God no,” Garth said.
“Consider it done.” Brian rinsed the cutting board and went straight to work.
“I could make a salad?” Sam asked meekly. “If you wanted? I’m out of practice in the kitchen but I could probably rustle up a salad.”
“You’re a great cook,” Brian said.
“Not anymore,” Sam said. “I don’t cook like I did when the boys were little…because, well, you know.” She trailed off and smoothed her hand over the granite.
“It’s not as much fun to cook for one,” I said. An urge to make her feel better had come over me. “After my husband died, I stopped bothering.”
“Yes, what’s the point of all the fuss just for myself?” Sam asked.
“No one can cook like Crystal,” Garth said. “But Mom, you used to make a mean chocolate chip cookie.”
“You remember that?” Sam asked.
“Sure I do.” Garth patted his stomach. “This boy never forgets a cookie.”
Sam gave him a slight smile before heading to the refrigerator to grab the items for the salad. Busy with her hands, Garth’s mother seemed to relax a little. Brian seemed in good spirits, making jokes and keeping the conversation going. As the evening wore on, I couldn't help but feel a little optimistic myself. Could it be possible that two people torn apart by grief could come back together over twenty years later? Miracles happened every day. Could this be one?
“Garth tells me you did modeling back in the day.” Brian placed a bowl of peeled potatoes in the sink.
I flushed as I set a pan of water on the cooktop for the potatoes. Whenever anybody asked me about it, I always felt like an imposter. I didn't see myself as a runway model with my narrow face and gangly limbs. However, the gigs had paid for culinary school. For which I would always be grateful. As Brandi had once said, it beat stripping any day. Not that either of us knew anything about that line of work.
"It was only for a few years.” I rinsed the potatoes and went to work cutting them into even pieces.
"She doesn't like to talk about it,” Garth said.
"Why is that?” Brian asked. "God gave you a gift, just like he did Garth. Why not use it?"
“I prefer to be behind the scenes,” I said. “Like in the kitchen. But it paid for culinary school, so that made everything worth it.”
"She was the head ch
ef at one of the most famous restaurants in Seattle," Garth said.
"Not really famous," I said. “More like popular.”
“However you want to describe it,” Garth said. “You were a star."
"Not really." I brushed aside his compliment. The head chef who had hired me had been fired for sexual harassment and they’d needed someone to take his place. What was supposed to be temporary had turned into a full-time offer. I’d been over the moon. “I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“The head chef couldn’t keep his hands off the staff,” Garth said. “So they moved Crystal from one of the line cooks to the boss chef.”
"It was my husband Patrick who was famous." The night Patrick had come in for dinner with business associates, the whole place had buzzed. I could have cared less. At the time, following local tech business wasn’t on my radar. I had no money to invest in stocks, so what did I care?
“He was a big deal in the investment community,” Brian said. “In fact, I was an early investor in his company.”
“You must have made a lot of money then,” I said.
“I did. Yes, ma’am. Your husband was a heck of a brain, wasn’t he?”
“The biggest brain,” I said. “Competitive and cutthroat, but incredibly generous too.”
“He had that reputation,” Brian said. “I’d have liked to meet him.”
I wondered what Garth would have thought of Patrick had he met him. They were similar in some ways. Their capacity for adventure and competition was similar. Garth was a gentler soul than my late husband with less ambition and without an ounce of pretension. Patrick always cared what people thought of him. Having grown up poor, he’d always made sure people knew how smart and ultimately powerful he’d become.
“He liked the spotlight,” I said.
Patrick had a larger-than-life personality and used social media copiously. Our staff knew a lot about him and were excited when he asked to meet the chef so that he might compliment her. I didn’t like to go out to the dining room. Staying in the kitchen suited me just fine. But when Patrick Wilder asked for something, he got it. I went out to greet him, expecting to dislike him. Like my grandfather, I had a natural distrust of the wealthy, especially ones who lived so much in the spotlight as Patrick had. To my surprise, we had an immediate attraction. Dressed in a vintage tweed jacket and black glasses and self-confidence off the charts, he’d immediately started flirting with me.
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