by Sherry Lewis
With only two more areas to cover, Beau began to feel the familiar charge he always got when victory was in sight. Sometimes he thought it was this heady feeling, along with family loyalty, that kept him so heavily involved in the committees. He liked the idea of making a difference in the world—even if it was just in his own little corner of it. “What about the half-time show on Friday night? Any problems there?”
Aaron leaned back in his seat and rested an ankle on his knee. He linked his hands behind his head and set the raised foot jiggling in that peculiar way he had. A stranger might have mistaken his posture for that of a man without a care, but Beau recognized that jiggle and his heart sank.
“We have just one little snag,” Aaron announced. “Old Sam Harper has a problem with the fireworks. He thinks we should light them at the other end of the field this year.”
Ridge threw himself back in his chair and tossed his pencil onto the table in disgust. “Can’t we force that old pain in the shorts to move away?”
“Not in this lifetime.” Aaron locked eyes with Beau. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but he’s got Mayor Biggs dancing all over the place. If we want those fireworks, we have to find a way to light them from the north end of the field without setting the scoreboard on fire.”
Good thing old Sam wasn’t sitting in the room right now, Beau thought. He might not have made it out alive. But Beau wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “An emergency meeting on Monday, then.”
“Nope. Mayor Biggs wants this resolved today or we can forget the fireworks altogether. Give everybody a five-minute break and then settle in for the long haul, because I got a feelin’ none of us are goin’ anywhere for a while.”
A LITTLE AFTER five o’clock, Beau climbed the back steps and let himself into his mother’s kitchen. The aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the air, and everything from faucet to floor gleamed. He was learning about housework, but the past year had made him realize how hard it was to do those “simple” things that kept a house running smoothly. His mom made it look easy, but he wondered if he’d ever get the hang of it.
He tossed his keys onto the little shelf that served as a catchall and closed the door behind him. “Mom?” he called out to the silent house. “Anybody here?”
“We’re in the sewing room,” his mother replied. “Help yourself to some cookies if you want. They’re by the stove.”
Beau didn’t have to be told twice. He nabbed three from the cooling rack and polished off one on his way down the hall. He started on his second as he stepped into his mother’s favorite room in the house. Years ago, it had been Gwen’s bedroom, but the lavender paint had long since been replaced by a more practical off-white, and a quilting frame, sewing machine and chests filled with craft supplies sat where Gwen’s bed, dresser and stereo had been.
Vickie Julander, still slim, blonde and attractive, sat in front of the sewing machine, piecing a quilt square in bright red, yellow and blue diamonds. For a while Beau had convinced himself that Heather was a lot like his mother, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. It wasn’t that his mother was a saint, but her natural calm made Heather’s personality seem…well, overly excitable was probably the kindest way to put it. He wondered sometimes if she still suffered from the rages that had kept him in the marriage even when he’d been tempted to leave. Hard as it had been to live with her, he’d never once seriously considered leaving the kids to cope on their own with Heather.
He winked at Nicky, who sat beneath the quilting frame, quietly drawing something in one of his grandmother’s sketch pads.
Nicky grinned back and popped the last piece of a cookie into his mouth. “Brianne’s mad again.”
Big surprise. Beau hadn’t expected her to be happy. “I guess I’d better talk to her. Where is she?”
His mother glanced up from the quilt square. “You didn’t see her when you came in?”
“Should I have?”
“I thought you might. She said she was going to wait outside.”
“Great.” He finished the second cookie and pushed away from the wall. The look he shared with Nicky convinced Beau he wasn’t the only one growing tired of Brianne’s sulks. “You want to wait here while I go find your sister?”
Relief filled Nicky’s eyes. “Yep. I bet she’s out by the rose garden. That’s where she was when I went to the bathroom.”
His mother glanced up briefly and peered at Beau over the wire rims of her glasses. “Remember, Beau, honesty is always best. Children are no exception.”
He nodded, even though he didn’t understand why she felt the need to warn him, then made his way back through the house. He was tired and frustrated, but there was no sense putting off the inevitable.
Thanks to Nicky, Beau found his daughter pacing the oval-shaped rose garden his father had planted years ago. The roses had already been pruned and packed for winter, but that didn’t seem to matter to Brianne. Her blond hair blowing about in the wind, she was gesticulating and exclaiming as she walked.
Beau knew she was venting. He even dared hope that maybe she’d burned off a little steam already.
He stopped a few feet away and waited for her to notice him, which she did almost immediately. Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and she ground to a halt and glared at him. “You’re late.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry.”
“You promised you wouldn’t be.”
“I know. The meeting didn’t go very smoothly. I tried to finish on time, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job of estimating how long it would take.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re late because of the meeting?”
“Yes. Of course. That’s where I was.”
“Nowhere else?”
He considered mentioning his two brief stops at the Wagon Wheel, but decided against it. He’d spent less than ten minutes there, picking Molly up and dropping her off again, and he didn’t see any reason to make things more complicated than they already were. “I went to the meeting,” he said firmly. “Homecoming Week starts in just a few days, and we had a lot of last-minute details to take care of.”
“Oh, poor Daddy.” Sarcasm made her voice bitter, and Beau could feel his temper rising. He could have been looking into Heather’s eyes, listening to her voice, and he had to struggle to remind himself that he was talking to a child—his child.
“I don’t know what’s bothering you,” he said evenly, “but your attitude is getting real old, real fast. It’s okay to feel angry sometimes, but it’s not okay to treat people as if they just crawled out from under a rock. I’m your dad, not your enemy. I suggest you remember that and start making a few changes.”
“Maybe you should make some changes, too,” she shot back. “Maybe you shouldn’t lie to me.”
His mother’s warning sounded in the back of his mind, but he still didn’t understand. “What are you talking about? When have I lied to you?”
“Right now. Why didn’t you tell me about the lady you were with?”
“What lady?” So that’s what was really bothering Brianne. He wondered how she knew.
“The one I saw you with at the motel.”
Beau glanced back at the house. Why hadn’t his mother warned him about what he was walking into? “I didn’t tell you,” he said carefully, “because she’s just an old friend who’s in town for Homecoming. I picked her up for the meeting and gave her a ride back to her motel afterward, but I wasn’t with her. We weren’t on a date or anything.”
Brianne folded her arms and glared at him. “Breakfast wasn’t a date?”
Stupid grapevine. “Breakfast wasn’t a date,” he assured his sullen daughter. “She gave me a ride from Jackson yesterday, and I thought it would be a good idea to do something nice to pay her back.”
Brianne considered his reply for a moment, then tilted her head to one side. “Do you want to date her?”
He shook his head. “I’m not interested in dating anyone right now,” he said, ignoring
the flicker of guilt that told him he wasn’t being entirely honest. “I have too much to do at home. Too many dishes to wash. Too much laundry to do. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have time to date.”
“And don’t forget Mom.”
Beau froze. “Mom?”
“What if she comes back and you’re going out with some other woman? She might think you didn’t want her to come back and then she might leave again.”
Beau took another step closer and weighed his words carefully. “I don’t think your mom is coming back, Brianne. And even if she did—”
“But she is coming back. Gram said so. She said that Mom’s coming back soon. That she’s tired of living in Santa Fe and tired of her new friends. Gram said!”
“That’s what Gram wants, honey, but that’s not what’s going to happen.”
“How do you know? Have you talked to her? Did she tell you she’s not coming back?”
Beau couldn’t let himself answer that, so he turned the challenge around on her. “Has Gram talked to her? Has she told Gram that she’s coming back?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. And even if she does come to Serenity to be near you and Nicky, she and I won’t be getting back together.” There was too much heartache, too many angry words and accusations between them. And the way Heather took off—that Beau would never forget. He couldn’t understand why Brianne didn’t seem to remember the shouting matches, the slamming doors, the nights when he’d slept in the old cabin or on the couch in the family room, the mornings when the coldness between Heather and him had filled the house. Had it not been as bad as he remembered? Or was his daughter living in denial?
He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d spent a fair amount of time there himself. There’d been so many things he hadn’t wanted to see, so many clues about what the real problems were between Heather and him, but his pride hadn’t let him see the truth until the bitter end—not until it had been thrown in his face and there’d been no possible way to dodge it.
CHAPTER FOUR
MOLLY WAS STILL thinking about Beau hours later when she stepped out of her room to get some air. She’d spent the time since the committee meeting cooped up in her room, making a list of people she wanted to talk to and looking up phone numbers and addresses in the small area phone book, but she was ready for a change of pace.
She’d been a little surprised by the reception the committee members had given her. She hadn’t expected so many of them to remember her, but their welcome had certainly bolstered her courage.
As she stretched to work out the kinks from sitting in one position for too long, she let her gaze travel along the motel office fronting the street, then to the L-shaped building that housed the individual rooms and on to the tiny playground in the grassy courtyard. The buildings had recently received a fresh coat of paint, but small signs of age and neglect were in evidence, from the pitted sidewalks to the listing porch railings and the potholes in the parking lot.
Making a hasty decision, she reached back into the room for her key and slipped it into her pocket, then crossed the parking lot and climbed the two short steps to the glass door of the office.
This part of the motel hadn’t changed in fifteen years, either. The same curtains hung at the windows, the same postcard tray and brochure sleeves sat on the counter. She even thought the same postcards were on sale. Only the computer looked new.
Behind the counter, an open door led to the Grahams’ living quarters. Last night it had been the Grahams’ daughter Brenda who’d been on duty. Today Phyllis Graham sat on the same old green velvet couch Molly remembered, probably watching the same television programs she’d watched all those years ago.
Molly crossed the room to the counter before the bell over the door stopped tinkling. Mrs. Graham pushed out of her easy chair and hurried toward the counter, patting her gray-streaked hair as she walked. The changes in the older woman left Molly momentarily speechless as the realization sank in that her own mother might have changed as much if she’d lived.
Mrs. Graham had aged and put on weight, but the changes went deeper than that. Her shoulders sagged as if she carried a great weight, and the spark in her eyes had grown dim. Was it just time? Age? Life? Or had something else happened to change her?
“You caught me putting my feet up for a minute,” Mrs. Graham said with a self-conscious laugh. “It never fails, does it? Sit down for a minute, and that’s when somebody will come through the door. Not that I’m complaining. Don’t want to give the wrong idea.” She drew closer and her step faltered. “Well, now, you look familiar. You’re Ruby Lane’s girl, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Molly, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.” She extended a hand. “It’s Molly Shepherd now. I just arrived last night. It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Graham.”
“Mrs. Graham?” A hint of that old spark lit her eyes and she wagged a finger in mock irritation. “None of that, now. We’re old friends. Call me Phyllis.” She gave Molly a quick once-over and shook her head in wonder. “Just look at you. You’re the spitting image of your mother.”
The words filled Molly with pride and gratitude. “I knew there was a resemblance, but I didn’t realize it was so strong.”
“Take one look at a picture of her at your age and you’ll know. Gracious, but it’s a little startling.” She laughed again and sank onto a stool behind the counter. “But don’t mind me. I tend to run on when I shouldn’t. What can I do for you?”
Molly couldn’t bring herself to admit that grief had driven her father to throw out all the pictures of her mother. Much as it had hurt to discover what he’d done, she didn’t like the judgment she saw in people’s eyes when she told them about it. “Actually I’d like to talk to you for a minute if you don’t mind. I’m hoping you can tell me what you remember about my mom’s accident.”
Something hard and cold flickered in Phyllis’s eyes and she drew back sharply. “What is it you want to know?”
Her reaction was completely unexpected, but the coldness in her expression disappeared so quickly Molly told herself she’d only imagined it. “I don’t know, really. I don’t remember much about that night, so almost anything you could tell me would be helpful.”
Phyllis straightened some papers on the edge of the counter, then reached for a stack of mail. “Molly, what a thing to ask. That was a long time ago, and a lot has happened since then.” Her gaze danced across Molly’s face, avoiding her eyes. “Especially for someone my age. There are days when I have trouble remembering the names of my grandchildren. Besides, if you ask me, there’s nothing to be gained from delving into the past. It’s best to keep your attention focused on the future, I always say.”
“Normally I’d agree with you,” Molly said, “but we’re talking about my mother. I really need to fill in a few blanks.”
“If you want to know about that night,” Phyllis suggested, giving a nonchalant shrug, “wouldn’t it be best to ask your dad? I’ll bet he remembers things the rest of us don’t, and I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate me talking. Unless he’s had a life-changing moment somewhere along the way, he doesn’t like it when folks talk.”
Molly’s smile faded. “I can’t ask him. He died six months ago.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Phyllis faltered slightly as she tossed an envelope at the trash can. “Oh?”
“Cardiac arrest. It was very sudden and unexpected.”
“Frank’s gone?” Phyllis gave a weighted sigh and shook her head. “That seems almost impossible. He was so…full of life.” The remark should have been a compliment, but it sure didn’t sound like one. Phyllis turned away to reach for something on a shelf behind her. “Family. That’s who I’d go to with questions if I were you. Go to the people who’d remember best.”
“But that’s the problem. I have a stepmother, but she doesn’t know anything. Mom was an only child and her parents both died before she did. And I
never knew Dad’s family. You and Mom’s other friends are really my only hope.”
Phyllis found whatever she was looking for and carried it back to the counter. “Well, I wish you luck, dear. But as I said, it was all so long ago. I just don’t know how successful you’ll be. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then.” She flashed an apologetic smile, then swiftly moved on to another topic. “I’m looking at your room portfolio here and I see that Brenda left off your departure date. Why don’t we fill that in right now, along with anything else we need?”
It took Molly a second to recover from the abrupt shift. “I’m staying until the seventeenth,” she said when Phyllis looked at her expectantly.
“Lovely. But how long are you staying here?”
“The entire time of course. Is that a problem?”
Phyllis pursed her lips. “Oh, dear. Yes, I’m afraid it is. You didn’t make a reservation?”
“I didn’t think I’d need one.”
“Well, you wouldn’t usually, but Homecoming is a different story. We’re full up—or will be in a day or two.”
Molly stared at her in disbelief while she tried to process that piece of news. “You don’t have any rooms?”
“I have one for tonight.” Phyllis tapped on her computer keyboard and stared in concentration at the screen. “Looks like I’ll have one Sunday and Monday night, too. But nothing after that until Homecoming Week is over.”
Molly could have kicked herself for not realizing that lodging might be a problem. “Is there a bed-and-breakfast in town? Or another motel, maybe?”
“Hon, we’re the only motel for fifty miles in any direction. Joe Walker rents apartments by the month over on Spring Street, but you probably wouldn’t be interested in something that permanent.”
