The Emerald Horseshoes

by Jane Josephs

  “Could this day get any crazier?” Alison asked Rufus. Snapping his leash on his collar, she hustled him out the door and over to the elevator.

  ~ ~ ~

  True to her word, twenty minutes later Alison was in Uber—this one driven by a man who had given her rides often—her head bobbing right and left as she looked for Emma and Richie. When she spotted them on the corner in front of Lou and Mickey’s she let out a sigh of relief.

  “Just drop me here,” she said, pointing to the corner across from the restaurant. “My friends are on the other side of the street, but I can get across. Thanks, Ryan.” She handed him a tip and got out.

  “Alison, you made it.” Emma hugged her. “We were just about to go get ice cream.” She moved back and wrapped her arm around Richie’s.

  “Hey, Ali.” Richie grinned. “I can call you Ali, right?”

  Alison tilted her head. “Hmmm. I guess so. But just so you know, you’re one of only a handful of people who get to call me that.”

  “Okay, I like that.” He turned with Emma. “Shall we go?”

  “Ice cream it is.” Ignoring the growl from her empty stomach, Alison linked arms with Emma and walked with them up the sidewalk. “Where are Matt and Abby? And who else was with you?” She had more questions, but she had time to ask them now that she was walking with them. Did Nick know Richie was in the Gaslamp?

  “It’s just us and Matt and Abby. They both have fake IDs so they’re bar hopping.”

  “Oh my, not good. I guess you’re the designated driver.” Alison sighed. When had she taken on the role of mama bear, all protective and worried for her cubs? She glanced over at Emma and Richie, a glow of warmth seeping through her. Emma had become very dear to her in a little sister kind of way. And Richie was Nick’s little brother; Ginny’s son. He mattered to her because he mattered to them. And because she liked him, too. As a brother. Nick’s accusation floated through her mind and she nearly stumbled. Why would he think such bad thoughts about her? She sighed, the answer all too clear.

  “I drove Matt and Abby here, but they’ll get Uber to get home. I told Matt I had to take Emma home. You, too, now that you’re here. My curfew’s ten o’clock, and it takes a while to get out to Ramona from here, so I have to leave by eight-thirty.”

  “Listen,” Alison said, “can we do dinner before ice cream. I know a nice Italian place on 4th Street. They’ve got great thin crust pizza. What do you say? My treat.”

  “Lead the way,” Richie said. “But save room for ice cream.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The house was quiet. Too quiet. Pulling his bedroom door closed behind him, Nick crossed to the living room to turn on the light by the sofa. The cat, Kennedy, was most likely under Ma’s bed, and he could see Spade zoned out on his bed by the back door. No company there. Nick picked up Ma’s note from the kitchen table and read it again. Out with friends tonight. Leftovers in the fridge.

  Putting down the note, he crossed to the refrigerator and opened the door. Ignoring the leftover chowder, he snagged a beer, twisted off the cap, and took a long drink. Ma had only ever talked about a few friends that she worked with at the Shelter—Trish, the receptionist; Trish’s husband, Dan, who also happened to be the veterinarian’s assistant; and the vet himself, a widower named Jeff Clayton. Of course, there were others; he just couldn’t remember their names. Hadn’t paid that much attention. Nick rubbed his hand around the back of his neck. Could Ma be out on a date with the vet? The thought didn’t sit well.

  With a shake of his head, he told himself to quit being so selfish and stop worrying. Maybe that wasn’t the group she was with, after all. But even if it was, what could it hurt? Ma was only forty-eight. Too young to be alone the rest of her life. And Jeff was a decent guy, closer to sixty than fifty, but still in good shape, and an elder at the church they attended. His wife had died two years earlier of an aggressive ovarian cancer they’d caught too late. The guy had to be lonely. He knew Ma was, although she hid it well.

  Nick took a long swallow of beer, trying to recall if he’d seen any overt glances, or shy smiles between Ma and Jeff at church. He came up blank. For a guy who prided himself on his quick observational skills, he’d been out to lunch where his mom and Jeff were concerned. Or maybe he was worrying for nothing. Maybe Ma was having a girls’ night out. Trish couldn’t be her only friend at the shelter. She was just the only one whose name he knew.

  More to the point, Nick thought to himself, what was he doing here? When had he come to accept being home on a Saturday night as a way of life? He sat down on the sofa and took another swig of beer. Everything had changed since Dad died. He’d given up his room at Tony’s, knowing Richie and Ma couldn’t handle the horses alone. And it had been the right thing to do. Still was. But sometimes he missed living with the guys. Missed the constant flow of people coming through their door to play cards, to talk, to hang out on the cliffs, to swim in the ocean, or to barbeque burgers and roast marshmallows in the backyard. And he missed Carrie. Nick snorted. Not Carrie, just what they’d had together.

  Nick stood, finished his beer in one swallow and cursed. He rinsed the bottle and tossed it in the recycle can. Agitated, his frustration gnawing at him, he paced. He’d stayed away from Tony’s house, away from the cliffs after coming home from Bahrain, and for months after his dad’s death. Until he agreed to do the CrossFit competition. And met Alison. Nick rubbed a hand around his neck. Alison had found a weak spot in his armor that night at the cliffs with her arm outstretched, inviting him to sit with her under the blanket. He had been mesmerized by her infectious smile and her windblown hair. He wanted to kiss her, and probably would have, when she nearly stumbled on the uneven rocks, if Dustin hadn’t called his name.

  Admit it, man. You still want to kiss her. Nick shook his head. If it was just her looks, he could understand his feelings and ignore them. But what he felt for Alison went deeper, to a place he couldn’t name or control. What was it about her that tugged at him and wouldn’t quit?

  The front door opened, startling him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Ma, her mouth turning up in a smile.

  “Oh, you’re still up. I thought you’d be asleep by now.” She crossed to the kitchen and put her purse on the counter. Hanging up her car keys, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “I guess Richie’s not home, is he?”

  “No, it’s not that late yet. I don’t seem to be tired, so I’ll wait up for him.”

  “Until ten? Don’t you have to lead the adult class at church tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll catnap on the sofa while I wait. I want to make sure he makes curfew. I’m tired of these games he plays.”

  Ma took ahold of his arm, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t argue with him tonight, Nick. I’ve had a lovely evening out, and I don’t want it ruined by hearing you two fighting.”

  It was the closest she’d ever come to criticizing him for the way he treated Richie. Nick’s face heated. “You’re right, Ma. I’m sorry. If Richie’s late, we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  “No, honey, I’ll deal with it. You’re not Richie’s dad. Even though I know you’ve tried to fill his shoes sometimes. And the problem is, I’ve let you. But that’s going to change. I want you and your brother to love one another. To be there for each other. That’s what I want more than anything. Now I’m going to bed.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Nick, more than I can say. I thank God he gave me a wonderful son like you.”

  His heart in his throat, he said, “I love you, too, Ma. I’m glad you had a good time tonight. I hope you’ll do it more often.”

  “Oh, I will. I will.” The words floated in the air as she walked down the hall and opened her bedroom door.

  Nick pivoted and sat down hard on the sofa. His head in his hands, he shuddered, shame and anger washing over him at the mess he’d m
ade of things today. Can I screw up anything else in my life?

  ~ ~ ~

  Richie pulled in the driveway at ten minutes until ten and shut off his truck. He got out, locked it, and jogged down the sidewalk to the front door, relieved that he’d made his curfew and wouldn’t have to hear another lecture. The light was on in the living room. But it wasn’t Ma who’d waited up; it was Nick.

  “What are you doing up?” Richie kept his voice low.

  Sitting on the sofa reading a book, Nick’s mouth curved in a half smile. “It’s not that late. Thought I’d wait up for you.” He shrugged, set the book aside, and got up. “Anyway, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.” He crossed to the kitchen.

  “Okay, what’s up?” Wary of his brother’s serious mood, Richie followed Nick to the kitchen table. Was he in for another lecture, even though he’d made his curfew? Did Nick know he’d been with Alison in the Gaslamp District? Would he be ticked off if he knew? Richie pulled out a chair across from his brother and sat down. He scanned Nick’s face, unreadable as usual. Why had he waited up instead of Ma?

  Nick settled in his seat. “I won’t keep you, Richie. It’s just, would you, ah, be willing to give Alison the horseback riding lessons, you know, from now on? I think there are thirteen more.”

  Richie frowned, confused. “What? Why?”

  Nick glanced away. “I think it would be better, that’s all.” His gaze shot back to Richie. “Last week that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Anyway, you and Alison get along really well, so it’s just, well, it would be doing me a big favor.”

  Richie studied his big brother’s body language, his tense shoulders and clenched hands, his keen stare. “I’m missing something here. And don’t tell me I’m not. I’ll be glad to do it, but it’s not what you really want, is it, Nick? Look at you.” He almost laughed when Nick scowled at him. “You like Alison, too much, I think. You should be the one spending time with her. You know, getting to know her. There’s something going on between you, but you don’t want to see it. Or admit it. Why is that, I’m wondering? Why not give it a chance?” Richie took a deep breath. “She not Carrie, you know.”

  Nick’s head jerked up at Richie’s remarks. He swiped a hand through his hair, his mouth tight. “It’s complicated, Richie, let’s just leave it at that. Alison’s comfortable around you. Look at how she cried on your shoulder this morning.”

  Richie’s mouth fell open. “So that’s what this is all about? Aaahhh, come on, Nick, that didn’t mean what you think. I just got to her car first. And you know how I am. I hug all the girls. Touch is my love language.”

  Nick snorted. “You’re a guy. Of course touch is your love language.”

  “No, not in the way you think.” Richie grinned. “Well, of course in the way you think. But that’s not the kind of touch I meant. There are a bunch of love languages. You know Danny, at church, well, he told our youth group about this book that explains them. The way you show love to others is probably the way you best receive love.” At his brother’s cynical expression, Richie laughed. “It makes a lot of sense, once you think about it. Really.”

  “Tell you what,” Nick said, shaking his head. “It’s late, and we should get to bed. We’ve got church in the morning. You can tell me more about this love language stuff tomorrow if you want. For now, I’ll tell Alison that you’re good to go with the lessons.” He pushed his chair back and got up.

  Richie got up, too. Despite Nick’s even tone, he was pretty sure his big brother was hurting. And holding it in. “Well, if that’s what you want. But just so you know, you should be with her. You’re the one she likes.” Richie started down the hall to his room.

  “Hey!” Nick said. “Didn’t you forget something?”

  Richie turned, confused. “What?”

  “Well, if touch is your thing, how about a hug for your big brother?” Nick shrugged his shoulders, clearly embarrassed.

  Richie didn’t hesitate. He launched himself and nearly knocked Nick over.

  Chapter 11

  Ginny filled the last decorative jar with lemon curd as Nick came in from the veranda. She glanced up, turned and put the empty bowl in the sink. “All done with the stalls?” At his nod, she said, “The Church’s Arts and Crafts Festival is next weekend and they need your help with set up on Thursday. Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure, I guess. What time?”

  “Six, if you can make it.”

  Nick shrugged. “It might be tight with traffic. I’ll do the best I can. Is that lemon stuff I smell for the festival?”

  “Yes, it’s my lemon curd. I’ll be selling it along with my strawberry jam again this year. I sold out of the curd by noon last year, so I’m making a few more jars of it.” She turned to fish lids out of a pot of water on the stove. “What’s going on with the riding lessons today?”

  Nick shrugged. “Richie’s helping me out. I’m painting trim.” He turned to go down the hall.

  “Nick!”

  He turned back. “What?”

  Ginny studied her son’s guarded expression. Something had happened last week, even though Alison hadn’t said anything when she came back into the house and collected Rufus. But Ginny could tell from the look on Alison’s face that she’d been crying again. The undercurrents between her son and the woman who had suddenly come into his life were strong. Stronger than Nick found comfortable. Or was willing to share. At least, somehow, he and Richie had come to a new understanding with each other, without her having to say anything more. Ginny smiled, her heart warmed by the camaraderie she had witnessed this past week between her two sons. “Nothing, honey. I’ll let them know you’ll be there Thursday. And thanks for taking care of the trim. I’ll paint the front door this week, so don’t worry about that, okay?”

  “Okay.” He started down the hall again.

  “Be sure to let me know when the riding lesson’s over, okay?”

  Nick turned back. “I don’t know if Richie mentioned it, but Alison is bringing a girl named Emma with her today. I think he plans to let her ride Lucy. Is that okay with you?”

  Ginny nodded. “Yes, he mentioned something about Emma coming with Alison, and I’m happy for her to ride my horse. I just didn’t know he was giving the lesson instead of you.” Ginny frowned. “I’m making chicken enchiladas for lunch. Should I invite the girls to join us?”

  He shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  Ginny watched as Nick disappeared down the hall. The door to the garage closed. When Richie mentioned Emma, he hadn’t said he would be giving the lesson today. What had happened? Painting the house trim could have waited. She shook her head, sad that Nick felt he had to work on the house instead of spending time with Alison. She turned back to her canning, settling the lid on each jar of curd with easy, efficient motions before immersing them in the water bath. But in her heart, she couldn’t shut off the worry for her oldest son. Oh, Lord, please help Nick find joy and laughter in his life again. Heal the hurt he’s been carrying for too long. And, please, if Alison’s the one you have for him, give him wisdom and discernment to navigate his relationship with her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nick stepped down from the ladder and stood back to inspect the trim around his bedroom window. The garage was next, and he hoped he’d timed his work so he could see Alison when she arrived for her lesson. They had texted a couple of times during the week, just a few lines, but it gave him hope that she had forgiven him for last week’s remarks. And after last Sunday’s lesson on mercy and reconciliation, he’d spent more time than usual in prayer about his relationship with her. He didn’t want to keep sparring. But what he did want, other than to put the past behind them, he wasn’t exactly sure.

  Setting the paint can and his brush next to the garage, Nick went back for the ladder, carrying it to the garage and setting it up just as Ali
son pulled in the driveway. He turned, his heart hammering in his chest. His bare chest. Whether intentional or not, he’d pulled off his tee shirt after painting the trim on the first window, already feeling the heat of the day as he worked. It was too late to go get it now.

  Richie came from the back of the house, took one look at Nick, and burst out laughing on his way to Alison’s car.

  “What?” Nick laughed, self-conscious. Richie had nailed him last week, challenging Nick to own up to his attraction to Alison. He’d also bombarded Nick with his talk about love languages the next day, in between bouts of wrestling with him just to prove that touch didn’t have to be about sex.

  Nick shook his head. What a difference a week could make in a relationship. Why had he ever thought he could, or needed to, fill his dad’s shoes. He glanced at Alison’s car, glad to see Emma getting out of the passenger side. Shirt or no shirt, he wasn’t going to miss this chance to say hello and be polite to Alison. To show her . . . what? That he could be nice? That she didn’t have to run away from him? Nick really didn’t want to think about his motives. He just knew he wanted to see her smile.

  “Hi,” he said, glancing at Emma and back at Alison. “It’s nice you brought Emma. Richie’s gonna have his hands full teaching both of you.”

  She took a step toward him and stopped, glancing at his chest, then quickly lifting her eyes to his. Heat raced to his cheeks and he grinned. “It’s already hot. I forgot you were coming or I would have left my shirt on.” Since when did you start lying, man?

  Alison laughed and mocked him with her hands on her hips. “Nice try, liar.” She came within two feet of him, threw her head back and pierced him with eyes that sparkled. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”