by Sherry Lewis
“Tomorrow, then.”
“Football game. Pizza. And Saturday’s the Homecoming Ball. The kids will be at my parents’ house, and I don’t think you should have to toil over a hot stove before you need to get dressed. I thought we could have dinner at the Chicken Inn on our way to the school.” His gaze shot to hers and she saw a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. “If that’s okay with you of course.”
Somewhere way in the back of her mind a voice whispered caution, but she ignored it and nodded. “It’s fine. So I’ll fix dinner on Monday, then. What do the kids like?”
“Oh, they’re pretty fussy. They insist that the food be at least semiedible.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit demanding?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact.” He dumped laundry soap into the washer and closed the lid. “I’ve tried talking to them about their extreme demands—three meals a day, clean clothes, a roof over their heads…” He shook his head in mock exasperation. “It’s this younger generation. They think they’re entitled to things we never had.”
Molly chuckled. “How about chicken? I have a great recipe. It has to be marinated overnight, but it makes the meat so tender you won’t believe it.”
Beau crossed to the coffeemaker and poured a fresh cup. “Sounds great, but you don’t have to get fancy. We’re just small-town folk here.”
“It’s not fancy,” Molly assured him. She carried the plate of muffins to the table and made herself comfortable. “It takes hardly any time at all. And living in a small town doesn’t mean you can’t gussy up from time to time, does it?”
Beau pretended to consider that for a moment. “No, I suppose not. We gussy occasionally. We just don’t gussy our chickens.”
“Cute.” She broke off a piece of muffin and popped it into her mouth. “Well, Monday’s chicken is going to be gussied, and I promise you it’s semiedible. I’ll just have to remember to stop at the FoodWay for garlic and oranges.”
“You should find ’em there. We’re small, but we do have produce.” He looked at her over the rim of his cup and her heart took off at a gallop. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t make herself look away. He was still the best-looking man on the planet, bar none.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER WHAT SEEMED like hours, Beau finally broke eye contact and took up the conversation as if the moment had never been. “So now that you’ve been here for a few days, what do you think? Disappointed?”
Molly drew a breath and tried to follow his lead. “In the town? Of course not. I’d forgotten how much I like it here.”
“It’s not too unsophisticated for you?”
“Not at all. Did you really think it would be?”
Beau shrugged and joined her at the table. “Lots of people have gone in search of something bigger and better since we graduated.”
“Yes, but I didn’t leave by choice. I left because my dad left. I didn’t go out to look for something better, and I came back to find what I lost.” She ate another bite of muffin and made a mental note to ask for his mother’s recipe. “What about you? Do you ever regret staying?”
Beau lowered his cup to the table and nodded. “Once in a while.”
“Really? I didn’t know you’d ever thought of leaving.”
“Of course I did. I thought about it all the time when I was a kid. Not that I don’t love it here. I do. And I love my family. I don’t really regret my choices, but there are times when I look at some of the other guys in our class and wonder what might have been.”
“Like who?”
“Dave Marbury, for one. He’s on the coaching staff at the University of Wyoming. Hank Hilton writes for the Denver Post. Steve Cummings just bought a summer house on an island off the coast of Maine. And here I am, living in my grandparents’ old house and flying my little airplane from one place to another.”
“Yeah, but most of those guys would have given a limb to be you back in school.”
Beau’s lips curved into a wistful smile. “That was a long time ago, Molly. It’s a little disheartening sometimes to realize that the best thing you’ll ever do in life happened before you were twenty.”
“But I thought…”
“You thought an achievement or two during high school should be enough to carry a guy through life?”
She laughed uneasily. “I guess not.”
Beau spread butter on a piece of toast and followed it with blackberry jam. “Don’t get me wrong. I do love my life. I have great kids and a terrific career, and I’m following in the traditions that mean so much to my family. It might not be what I originally wanted to do, but it’s close. Still, every once in a while—usually around Homecoming when the guys come back—I think about what might have been and I feel a twinge of envy.”
“What did you want to do?”
“I was going to be a commercial airline pilot,” he said. “I had dreams of traveling all over the world, seeing everything, soaking up different cultures.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Life got in the way.” He took a bite of toast and washed it down with coffee. “Heather and I took a few wrong turns and weren’t as careful as we should have been. She got pregnant shortly after we got married and we settled into life here in Serenity, and that was that.”
She shook her head in confusion. “But Brianne isn’t old enough—”
“No, she’s not. The baby was stillborn.” Old heartache flickered across his face, but he went on quickly, “I think some folks expected us to split up after that, but losing the baby after everything we’d been through was almost too much for Heather. I couldn’t walk out on her. I loved her. I wouldn’t have married her if I hadn’t.”
Molly finished her muffin and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug just to have something to hold on to. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
He shrugged away her concern. “How could you? You were gone.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“It was rough,” he said, “but we got through it. We gave up one set of dreams and worked on another. That’s life.” He finished his toast, then stood and stacked plates and silverware. “Like I said, I don’t even think about it much except when Homecoming rolls around.”
His thoughts must be especially poignant this year after Heather walked out and left him holding that new set of dreams by himself. Molly bit her lip to keep from asking if Heather had run off to chase her old dreams, and if he resented her for leaving him to raise the kids alone. She knew the answer, anyway. Even if he harbored some mild resentment, he clearly adored his children, and would have been heartbroken if Heather had taken them with her to Santa Fe.
She drained the rest of her coffee and carried her mug to the sink, where Beau had started scraping dishes and loading the dishwasher. “It’s a funny thing about comparisons,” she said. “I’ve been thinking how lucky you are and what a great life you have, and here you are comparing yourself to other guys. I wonder why we can’t ever just be happy with the life we have.”
Beau shot a glance at her. “I am happy.”
“I wish I could say that and mean it.”
He shut off the water and turned to face her. “You’re in the middle of a rough year. I couldn’t have said I was happy when the baby was stillborn. I’m not sure I could have said it when I stopped working for my dad and opened the charter company. And I sure couldn’t say it last year when Heather walked out. But I wanted to be happy, and sometimes that’s enough.”
Molly smiled slowly. “I can say that and mean it.”
“So there you go.”
She shook off the slight melancholy that had taken hold and turned back to the table for the rest of their dishes. “I’m a happy person most of the time. It’ll take a while to get over Dad’s death. I know that and I’m prepared for it. Losing my job bothers me in a different way—probably because it’s the one thing I should have been able to control. There are so many people out of work now that it’s not easy fin
ding something else.”
“You’ve been looking?”
“Since the day I was let go.” Molly sighed. “I’ve probably sent out seventy résumés, and I’ve only been called in for two interviews—and both of those were disastrous. One was for a different position from the one they advertised—at about half the pay. The other was for a company that declared bankruptcy a week later.”
“Are you trying to stay in the same field, or would you consider branching out?”
“I’d love to stay in graphic design, but I’m not sure if that’s because I enjoy it or because it’s all I know. I’m pretty good at crafts, but there’s not much money in popsicle-stick birdhouses. But the graphic-design field is glutted right now, so I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m just lucky I have a little time to get on my feet again. My dad had a couple of life insurance policies. My stepmother was the beneficiary on one, but I was named on the other, so I don’t have to take the first minimum-wage job that comes along.”
“Well, at least you’re not destitute.”
“No, or I wouldn’t be here. But I don’t want to live off the insurance money indefinitely. I know Dad would want me to use that money for something big and wonderful. He wouldn’t want me to fritter it away month by month on rent and utilities.”
“Then we’ll both keep our fingers crossed that you won’t have to.” Beau shut the dishwasher and looked over the kitchen with a satisfied smile. “And that the perfect opportunity will come knocking soon.”
“I hope so, but with the job market the way it is right now, I’m not going to hold my breath.”
“So maybe you should think about doing something else. Make your own opportunity.”
Molly laughed. “If only it were that easy.”
“Maybe it could be. What do you know how to do?”
“Not a whole lot, that’s the trouble.”
“And the crafts? No possibilities there?”
She crossed to the trash can and tossed in their napkins. “I need more than a little pocket money. I don’t think a hobby is the answer.”
“Depends on the hobby, doesn’t it? Look at your mom. She did all right for herself with her jewelry business. I’ll bet every woman in town bought stuff from her, and I’ll bet most of them still have it. If she’d been able to launch a business on the internet, Ruby Lane would probably be a household name by now.”
Molly started to shake her head, but something stopped her and a tiny seed of excitement took root. “I do know how to make jewelry,” she said, testing the idea as she said it aloud. “At least I used to. It’s been a while, but I helped my mom a lot when I was younger.”
Beau held out both arms and grinned. “You see?”
“There’s just one problem,” she said, trying to be practical. “My mom’s jewelry was special. Unique. She was a genius at design, but I’m not. I might be able to do all right if I had her sketches, but I’m sure my dad threw them out along with everything else.”
Beau waved off her argument with one hand. “You could copy your mom’s designs, couldn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“So we just find everybody in town who has your mom’s jewelry and you go from there. You’ve got a little capital of your own, and I’ll bet Pete Gratz over at the bank would be willing to talk to you about a loan if you need one.”
Molly was having trouble keeping up. “But I’m not staying here, and I—”
“At least think about it,” he urged. “It’s an option, and five minutes ago you didn’t have one. You’re already ahead.”
His optimism was contagious, but Molly wasn’t Beau. Life didn’t go the way she wanted it to simply because she wanted it.
“At least think about it,” he urged again.
And Molly nodded. Because she would think about it, even if she knew that it was too much to hope for.
MOLLY SET OFF for her appointment with Louise Duncan at a little before eleven. She tried to put Beau’s suggestion out of her mind, but the possibility of resurrecting her mother’s jewelry designs was awfully appealing, even if she couldn’t make a living at it.
She considered various possibilities as she drove through town and into East Bench subdivision. Even though the homes there were aging now, they still sported manicured front lawns and wide driveways filled with boats, snowmobiles on trailers and recreational vehicles.
Once she’d found Louise’s sprawling rambler, she pulled up to the curb and sat for a moment, remembering. The house hadn’t changed much since she’d last seen it. The trees in the front yard were taller, and there were more flower beds along the sidewalk, but memories of time spent here with her mother swirled all around her.
Only a few fallen leaves littered the carefully tended lawn; someone had gathered the rest into orange trash bags, which now formed a neat stack at the end of the driveway. Those bright pumpkin-shaped bags forced her to acknowledge something she’d been holding at arm’s length for months—the holidays were just around the corner.
She’d been dreading Thanksgiving and Christmas ever since the funeral, but she couldn’t ignore them much longer. She was going to have to find some way to get through them alone.
With an effort she shook off the melancholy and smiled at the leaf bags. Unlike most of the folks around Serenity, Louise had always turned up her nose at the practice of burning leaves in the fall.
Ruby had teased her relentlessly, but nothing she’d said had changed her friend’s mind. Molly could almost hear the two women bantering now, and she smiled as she imagined the sound of her mother’s delighted laughter.
Her father had grown to hate Serenity, but Ruby had loved living here. She’d been artistic and passionate, ruled by her heart rather than her head, and she’d loved the volatile springs, the hostile winters, the heat of the summer and the glorious autumns. She’d found joy in everything, from the first buds of leaves in the spring to the sting of sleet on her face in the winter. But she’d found that joy because she’d looked for the best in every situation and always expected to find it.
A whole lot like Beau.
Molly wished suddenly that she’d inherited more of her mother’s ability to find the good and less of her father’s tendency to expect the worst. Ruby wouldn’t have balked at the idea of embarking on a journey into the unknown. She’d never been the careful, cautious type.
Then again, if she’d been more cautious, maybe she’d have stayed off the road to Beaver Creek and would be here still.
That possibility made Molly’s heart ache, but she didn’t want to spend the day filled with regrets over things she was powerless to change, so she resolutely pushed everything out of her mind and took a few deep breaths of crisp, autumn-scented air. She wanted to find out about her mother’s accident, but maybe not today, after all, despite the fact that it was her main reason for visiting Louise. Today, she wanted to spend the time celebrating her mother’s life, remembering her spirit and talking about the things that had made her happy.
She climbed out of the car and started up the curving sidewalk to the front door, but she’d only gone a few steps when someone called out to her.
“Molly? Molly Lane, is that you?”
She wheeled back around and found a blonde woman in her late fifties striding across the road toward her. It took only a second for Molly to recognize Joyce Whalen, a friend of her mother’s she hadn’t yet tried to call.
With a glance at Louise’s still-closed front door, she changed direction and walked back toward the street. Joyce looked exactly the same as she had the last time Molly saw her. Trim. Athletic. Full of energy. She wore a pale-blue warm-up suit and new tennis shoes, and she still had a spring in her step.
She swept Molly into a hug and released her again just as quickly. “I heard that you were back in town. When did you get here?”
Molly frowned slightly when she realized how many days had slipped away already. “I’ve been here nearly a week.”
“You’ve been here all this time a
nd I haven’t seen you? Where are you staying?”
“Believe it or not, I’m staying in the cabin on Beau Julander’s property.”
“Oh?” Joyce’s eyes flickered with interest. “That’s a nice place, if I do say so myself. I worked with Heather on some of the decorating.”
“Did you really? I had no idea you were a decorator.”
Joyce laughed and shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I do like to dabble from time to time. Ruby used to encourage me to take a risk, and I finally got my courage up. But what about you? Are you married?”
“Divorced.”
“How many little ones?”
Molly shook her head. “None.”
Joyce didn’t so much as blink, just motioned at a white brick house across the street where a tennis racket and a tube of bright yellow balls sat on the driveway beside a dark-colored Buick. “I just got back from a match, but I’d love to visit with you for a while. Would you like to come over? I was just going to make a pot of coffee. I even have some of that lemon poppy-seed cake you used to like so much.”
Another wave of memory swamped Molly. “It’s been years since I’ve had that cake,” she said with regret, “and I’d love to take you up on your offer. But I made arrangements to spend some time with Louise this morning, so I’m going to have to say no. I’d love to come by another time, if that’s all right.”
Joyce squinted toward Louise’s house. “Louise is expecting you?”
“At eleven.” Molly glanced at her watch and realized that she was already a few minutes late. “I should hurry. I don’t want to keep her waiting. Are you in the book? Do you mind if I call you tomorrow?”
“I don’t mind at all,” Joyce said. “But are you sure Louise is expecting you? I saw her getting ready to leave early this morning. She said she wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.”
“Oh, but that can’t be,” Molly said. “I talked to her just yesterday.” But the words were a token protest and a sick feeling settled in her stomach. She knew that Joyce wasn’t lying, just as she knew that Louise had skipped town to avoid talking to her.
