“Can we frost it?”
“Not yet, it has to cool. Why don’t you take Bones for a walk? Maybe when you get back, it will be ready.”
Chloe jumped down from the stool. “Sure, why not.” She patted her leg and called Bones’ name. “I’ll get the leash and a poop bag. That sounds funny, poop bag,” she said, shaking her head. “I love this new leash. Skulls and crossbones, so cool.”
Following her and Bones to the front door, I wrapped my sweater tight across my chest. May usually brought promises of warmer weather, but this spring it delivered an unexpected chill in the air. “Chloe.” I grabbed a scarf from the hall tree then hurried out the front door. Wrapping the scarf around her neck, I smoothed blond wisps of hair from her face. “You really should have on a warmer jacket.”
The wind caught loose dishwater-blonde tresses as it rushed by. Chloe shook her head. “You sound like such a mom,” she said. “You must have done a real job on Bradley.” She spun on a heel, skipped down the stairs, and scurried along the walk with Bones by her side.
“Get your book on the way back,” I called before going back inside and shutting the door behind me. The doorbell rang shortly after returning to my library. “What did you forget?” My breath caught in the chilly air. John’s emerald eyes smiled at me. Heat rushed through my veins. A shiver of shyness caught me off guard. “Hi,” I whispered.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but grin. “I’m not so sure that’s a great idea.” Flashbacks filled my mind from our night together. A warm sensation crept over my skin like his fingertips in the dark.
He snickered and drew his coat tighter around his neck. “Sure is brisk out here, ma’am. I promise I don’t mean no harm,” he said, sounding like a bad spaghetti western.
“Fine, shut the door behind you.” I went into the living room and sat on the sofa. “I’m thinking about getting a chair.”
“Thought you didn’t want clutter yet. You said something about filling this place with memories,” John replied, sitting at the other end. He unbuttoned his jacket then wiggled out of it.
Two days ago, we filled my bedroom with memories, memories I wasn’t sure I could bear to think about now he’d planned to move. My heart twitched with the onset of that familiar ache. I felt alive when he and Chloe were around. “Might need a chair for Bones to curl up in.”
“You sure have become fond of that dog,” John said with a crooked grin.
I’d become fond of lots of things in the past nine months. “Yeah, he’s kind of grown on me. My mother knew what she was doing.” Bones’ stare from a black-and-white photo on the mantle warmed me. My heart pounded. Sadness crept up my throat as I swallowed away the truth. I tucked my hair behind my ears, as hot waves washed over me. How was it possible to feel ablaze in this unexpected May chill?
“Maggie,” John said.
“Yeah,” I said with caution. I knew the expression, the furrowed brow, and the apologetic tone. I preferred his smile. I loved the laugh lines around his eyes, his strong jaw, and rugged chin. John really didn’t look like a pediatrician, but then again, what does a pediatrician really look like? Maybe he was ready to abandon his career, too. He’d mentioned giving up his practice, but I never thought he’d make good on the banter. Similar thoughts surfaced when I pondered my career. I knew I’d retire should the right opportunity present itself, but that kind of luck usually escaped me. I was in it for the long haul. With all the changes in public education, I found myself counting the few years I had left.
“I don’t want you to think I don’t care,” he said. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “You’ve done so much for Chloe—” He stopped and reached for my hand. “And me.”
I’d been such a fool to blurt out that I loved him the other night. “I know you care,” I said, lowering my gaze. Letting my hand slip away from his, I tucked my knees up into my chest then wrapped my arms around them. Staring into the dark fireplace, I wished for enough heat to make John stay. I just wanted to hang onto him for a little bit longer. The photo of Judy and I crossing the Race for the Cure finish line caught my eye. If I could survive cancer, I could survive John’s revelation to move to Montana. If I reminded myself enough, maybe I’d believe it. Judy and I were decked out in pink running gear and had jogged the whole five kilometers. The electricity between us as we held hands at the finish still lingered.
“You don’t have to sound like that,” he said.
“Sound like what?” I asked, meeting his gaze.
“So cold. The other night was—” John rubbed his chin and his eyes grew dark.
“You said you were putting the house up. You’re leaving. The other night was just two people saying goodbye.” He narrowed his eyes at me when I leaned back to rest my neck on the pillow of the sofa. “Let’s not do this.” John stood up, wiggled his way back into his coat then buttoned it as he took two steps closer to me. I liked it better when he was crawling over me in bed, staring down into my eyes with something else on his mind.
“You are one aggravating woman, Maggie Abernathy. I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to tell you—”
We both glanced toward the foyer when the front door slammed. Bones ran through to the kitchen as Chloe skipped behind him. “Hey, Dad, can you help me with my homework after I help Maggie with this cake? It smells yummy.”
John leaned closer to me. “We are not done here,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure about that.
Chapter 3
The phone rang. “Let it ring,” I told myself, checking the caller ID. Talking to John was the last thing I wanted to do. I swiped the paintbrush across my colored palate letting fate chose the color of the next cow. I wanted it to reflect a lost soul, like me. Damn him. Everything was going so well. Being on an even keel suited me fine. John contemplated leaving his practice, but why now? I thought he’d wait until Chloe got older.
Who could replace them? No one.
I touched my paintbrush to the black-and-white photograph. The gray-blue hue transformed the heifer into the perfect specimen of melancholy. The evening sun lowered in the sky sending fragmented jets of light into my library. Yellow and orange hues warmed me, leaving me anxious for summer. But what would it offer me now that John had decided to sell his house? I shook away the thought while anticipating late night chats on the porch swing, cookouts, the beach with Chloe, and our everyday routine that I preferred even if it meant picking up sticky Popsicle sticks, slamming screen doors, and Mom on my heels. Summer dreaming was my prescription for survival the last few days of school when the to-do list grew longer and the students shut down, but now those images blurred like a hazy morning at the lake.
For now, Saturdays were my break in hectic expectations, but Sundays were laced with the hint of Mondays. Ugh! Staying organized and on top of state requirements took its toll not only for me, but also for my colleagues who understood that education was morphing rapidly into a beast none of us seemed to be familiar with. The days of painting and rest time faded into the hypocrisy of politics. I loved the students, but the new-and-improved delivery of curriculum stifled my philosophy.
Bones barked then trotted to the front door. I poked my head out of the library to see what the commotion was. He sat and stared at the wooden panels. With a quick glance back at me, he wagged his tail. I opened the door before Chloe could knock. “Hi, Chloe.” Anxious to get back to my project, I rambled. “What’s going on?”
“Can I hang for a while? I’ll take Bones for a walk. I won’t bother you. I just need a place to hang out for a while.”
She sounded like a fugitive on the run. I crossed my arms over my waist. “Why? And how much trouble is this going to get us into?” She peered back over her shoulder with caution. I suspected she was expecting her father.
“Dad’s just busy. He’s on the phone with Grandpa, again, and I’m bored. Please,” she begged.
Like a sucker, I let her inside. “Sure, but
I’m kind of busy.”
“You painting your pictures for cow books?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’m kind of on a roll. You’re not gonna be mad if I ignore you, are you?” A dark cloud drifted across her emerald eyes. She resembled her father more and more every day. “Who am I kidding? I could never ignore you.” I rolled my eyes.
Chloe shut the door behind her then followed me into the library. She flipped her bangs out of her face then blew the last few stray hairs away with a huff.
“You ready for a haircut?” I asked.
“Nope,” she said, staring up to me. “I want it long like my mom’s hair,” she said. “And you. These colors sure are pretty.”
“Yeah, they are.” My mind focused on the array of hues I’d spread out on my palate like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Putting my glasses back on, I dunked the tip of my paintbrush into the cup of water. Chloe’s eyes watched intently. “You like to paint?” I touched my brush carefully to my photo.
“Yup, but I don’t get to do it very often and usually in art class we have to follow the rules,” Chloe said.
“Yeah, darn teachers.” I snickered, and she smiled at me. The gap between her big two front teeth less and less with each passing day. “Wanna paint with me? Who knows maybe you’ll inspire me to think outside the box.”
Chloe laughed. “You have a blue cow on your paper. You’re pretty much already way outside the box, but I like it.”
I peered over the rim of my glasses then smirked at her youthful disposition. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” I paused, taking in her inquisitiveness. “I was the only child in my kindergarten class to paint my Indian princess face blue.” I pointed to the plaster masterpiece on the wall behind Chloe. “And there she is.” I beamed with pride. My sculpture reminded me of a relative youthful uniqueness that all children possess.
“You made that. That is so cool.” Chloe stepped closer to it to get a better look. “A blue face, classic!” With two thumbs up, she bowed. “I love it.”
My teacher’s expression, fresh in my mind like it was yesterday. I stood by her side and stared into her careworn face, digesting her disappointment. My lack of understanding direction and conformity, dissatisfying. “Yeah, well, my teacher was speechless and we all know what that means. The boys made fun of me all day, but when it was all said and done, I knew which princess was mine in the sea of uniformity.” I smiled at Chloe’s furrowed brow.
“Um, some kids can be mean and boys are kind of stupid anyway. It’s perfect. I’d probably paint mine blue, too.”
“Thanks.” I winked at her and marveled at her insight, dead-on. Boys could be stupid even if they were handsome and wore a stethoscope.
I rearranged my desk so Chloe had a spot to paint. Handing her a pile of rejects, I said, “Pick a photograph. They’re all prepped and ready for paint.”
She searched through the stack on the chair. There were no photos of her mom hanging around. They’d been sent to Brook last summer or I had already given them to Chloe. She picked out a photo of Bones sleeping on a mat in front of the French doors in the kitchen. “Good choice,” I assured her. “Here, use these brushes. Let’s try to keep the paint neat so we don’t have smudgy colors.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “You know, when you’re in art class sharing and that annoying kid next you sticks his brown paintbrush in the yellow paint?”
The corner of her mouth curled up. “That annoying kid is usually me. I get so excited I forget what I’m doing sometimes.”
I smiled. “Whatever, I won’t get mad, but try to be careful,” I whispered, choosing my next color. Chloe’s bright eyes caught my attention. She was inches away inspecting my deliberation and staring with comical intent. “What?” I asked.
“You must get egg-zausted with all that thinking. Just pick,” she said in true Junie B. Jones fashion, then she dunked her paintbrush into the pool of yellow paint. “Bones likes the sun so the windows will be yellow. His fur feels so toasty after he’s taken a nap in the sun.” Chloe’s tongue poked out of the side of her mouth as she carefully filled in the square panes of glass in the photo with the color of the summer. “It’s cool how the paint sticks to the little bumps you sprayed on this paper.”
“You mean exhausted?”
“Yeah, whatever, super-duper tired. My dad does the same thing. Geez, just pick already what you’re gonna do? It makes me tired just watching you people,” she said, concentrating on her brush strokes. She dipped her brush into the puddle of yellow paint again without looking up. “He’s going to Montana next week. My nanny fell through.”
I stopped mid-stroke. “What?” I asked, my eyes focused on her steady hand, her neatness better than I expected.
“She met me. We tried it out that night you two went to dinner. I’m not sure what did her in though.”
I dipped my brush into the gray-blue paint again thinking about Van Gogh’s genius. “What do you mean? You were bad on purpose?”
“Promise not to tell,” she mumbled without looking up from her project.
My right eyebrow shot to the ceiling. “Do I want to know?”
Chloe shrugged. “Probably not, but it involved blood, fake blood, that is.”
I narrowed my eyes. Chloe batted her eyelashes at me with an expression of genius in her own right.
“It wasn’t real blood. It was ketchup with a little soy sauce mixed in to make it look like real blood. Harry taught me how to do it. Harry used the trick on Walter. Said it worked like a charm so, I pretended to hurt myself. I can’t help it if she was wearing a white sweater. Gotta be prepared for anything.” Pride exuded from her grin. “Who wears white around an eight-year-old?”
“What did you pretend to cut off?” I asked, envisioning a valiant act of third grade grossness. I began painting the third cow a lighter shade of midnight then stopped as the gears in my brain ticked louder. Finishing the cow, I mixed a bit of brown paint in with the blue to pay true homage to my own inspiration. I added short swirly brush strokes across the dusky sky and smiled at my creativity.
“Nothing,” Chloe said, inspecting my new technique. “Oh, I like that.”
“Thanks.” I glanced over to Chloe. “Well what did you do with the blood?”
“Remember when we whacked heads and you had to get stitches?”
“Yeah, how could I forget? I have a scar on my left temple to remind me,” I said, continuing to paint.
“I just thought about what your head looked like and made myself look like that and then laid down on the sofa, and started to cry.”
“Maybe you’ll be an actress when you grow up,” I said, thinking about her mother in Hollywood posing for the camera.
“Dad was pretty mad. I stained the sofa. Special cleaners are coming to get it out. He says it’s coming out of my allowance. I don’t care, though. It was worth it. She was a dope. That’s what you get for spending all your time on your phone. I probably did Dad a favor, saved him a real trip to the hospital for when she was there the next time not paying attention to me.”
“Hmmm. But now there’s no one to watch you. It’s hard to get babysitters.” When I glanced up, Chloe grunted, her eyes thin slits.
“I am not a baby!” Chloe huffed before swishing her paintbrush around in the jar of water with vigor.
I rolled my eyes. “Lighten up, will you? You know what I meant.” Ignoring the irritation in her squeaky voice and my poor choice of words, I went back to work. Chloe was more grown up than some adults I knew.
I handed Chloe a paper towel to wipe her wet paintbrush on. She carefully dangled the tip of her brush in the water. Her intense eyes searched mine. She sparkled with a twinkle of more contemplative genius. I assumed the same genius that concocted an accident to test the next new hire. “What?” I slowly stopped working.
“Dad’s not going to be gone for too long. How about I stay here with you. I promise, I’ll be good.”
Chloe cocked her head and clasped her hands in front of her
. She wrinkled the bridge of her nose making her brow furrow.
“Oh geez,” I said, “I think I hear your dad calling you.”
Chloe quickly painted dark-green spots on the rug in her photo. “Pleeeease. I want to stay here. I don’t want to go to the ranch.”
How could she not want to go to a ranch? How could she pass up a trip to Montana that meant missing school? What was she thinking? I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t think this is for us to decide. Your dad will figure it out.” I sighed. Chloe’s sad expression resembled Bones’ face when he pouted. A twinge of ingenuity brewed in her eyes.
“I’m sure he will,” she added.
Chapter 4
“What?” I said with a squeak. My mother stood in my kitchen explaining the opportunity before her. Was she crazy? She shushed me with that all-knowing pointer finger that mothers possess.
“He’s in a pinch. It’s only for a few days. I raised you just fine. Besides, it will be fun.”
I poured myself another glass of wine and headed to the table. “You’re really going to watch Chloe?” Mom followed me.
“Sure, it will be fine. When she’s at school, I’ll do my regular things and when she’s home, I’ll be there with her.”
“You mean over here with me, with her?”
“Why the sour face? You love Chloe.” Mom sipped from her glass as she sat down across from me. “Mmm. This is tasty. I should drink more often.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” I said, softly.
“Oh pish. Give your momma a break. Why do you care so much?”
Sipping my wine, my chest bubbled with angst. John was always saying I was the one making it so damn hard. He wasn’t making it any easier. Mom’s phone vibrated across the table. She picked it up and smiled as she checked the caller identification screen. She put her finger up letting me know she had to take the call. She scooted out of her chair and strolled out of the room.
I sat.
I waited.
I eavesdropped the best I could without leaving my spot. She was making arrangements with John. She sounded sure of herself and happy to help out while I sulked. I inspected her smug demeanor as she rejoined me at the table. “I just don’t know why he called you. There are lots of services out there,” I said.
Maggie's Fork in the Road (Montana Bound Series Book 2) Page 2
