by Vanessa Vale
“I know you,” Ty said, smiling. Damn. His teeth were straight and perfect. I could feel my blood pressure going through the roof. No bacon for breakfast for me or I might have an embolism on the spot. “You’re Jane from Goldilocks.”
His smile widened into a full-on grin. Yeah, he remembered me and the array of dildos.
“You know Mom from work?” asked Bobby, eyeing both of us curiously. His plate was filled with food and he needed two hands to carry it. “Mom says her work is for grown-ups.”
Ty nodded his head and looked Bobby in the eye. “I had to inspect the sprinkler system and make sure there are fire extinguishers in the store. I was working, too.”
“Boys, take your plates and find a place to sit.” I angled my head toward the tables. “I’ll be right there.”
“Will you sit with us, Mr. Strickland?” Zach asked, full of hope.
“Why don’t you two call me Ty, all right?”
The boys nodded their heads.
“Give me a few minutes to finish here and I’ll join you,” Ty replied, holding up his metal tongs to prove he had serious work to do. The kids scurried off to scarf down their meals. Ty watched the boys go then turned his gaze to me. Grinned some more.
“I learned a lot from you at the store yesterday,” Ty said. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Me, not so much. Mr. Tall, Light and Handsome was…was flirting with me.
Standing in the pancake line, I did a quick mental inventory. It wasn't quite eight in the morning so I wasn’t at my best. On a good day, or at least later in the morning, I liked to think of myself as better than average looking. I’m above average in height, longer than average in curly, dark blond hair, larger than average in breast size, and lighter than average in weight. The weight part I could thank my mom. Like her, I can eat whatever I wanted and not gain an ounce. My best friend Kelly hated me for that, but what could I do? She should hate my mother instead.
The downside to being skinny was that I had no calves. None. It was a straight shot down from knobby knees to feet. I could run until the cows came home and I wouldn’t develop calves. At least Kelly had calves. The rest, including the calves, was just weird genetics.
Of course, this morning I hadn’t pulled myself together as I should, or how Kelly said I should. I was what was called a low maintenance woman. I didn’t even think I had a can of hairspray in my house.
I went over the crucial things in my mind. Hair, breath, bra, zipper. At least I'd brushed my teeth, but my hair was pulled up into a ratty ponytail, probably curls sticking out every which way. I wore shorts—the zipper was up, an old Sweet Pea Festival T-shirt and flip-flops. No make-up. It couldn’t have gotten much worse unless I had decided to skip a bra. Which, being a 34D, would have been really bad.
I was a mess! Kelly would disavow any knowledge of me if she came through the door.
Then I remembered Ty was my new neighbor. No matter how much I felt like it at the moment, I couldn’t hide from him forever.
What could this guy see in me besides a complete slob who was an expert in dildos? What had I worn yesterday? It didn’t matter. He’d probably been too blinded by all the sex toys to have noticed my clothing. I felt like a total freak. And yet he was flirting.
“This is one of those embarrassing moments in life.” I pointed my finger at him. Hot or not, I felt very cranky. How dare he flirt with me when I was unprepared! “You need to tell me a secret about you so it balances out.”
A corner of his mouth tipped up into a grin. “Fair enough.” He leaned toward me over the platter of pancakes, looked to the left and right and whispered so only I could hear. “I can see the perks of the silicone dildo you talked about yesterday, even the one with the top that rotates.” He twirled his finger in the air to demonstrate, then looked me straight in the eye. “But I like a woman who goes for the real thing.”
Was that steam coming up off the platter of pancakes I was leaning over, or did I just break out in sweat?
* * *
It took Ty five minutes to separate himself from the pancakes and tongs and sit across the table from me and Zach, with Bobby on his right. He hadn’t left his grin behind.
“When we’re done here, we’re going to garage sales,” Bobby told Ty around a mouthful of egg.
“Yeah, we each have a whole dollar to spend,” Zach added. A piece of pancake fell out of his mouth and landed with a plop back in the syrup on his plate.
“No talking with your mouth full,” I murmured.
“Sounds like fun. Make sure you show me all your loot later,” Ty told them both.
The boys nodded to Ty in answer, their lips tightly sealed as they chewed.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked me.
I took a sip of the heavenly coffee. “I will.”
He lifted an eyebrow, but made no comment.
Small talk. I needed to make small talk. The kids could do it. Forget the past. The dildos. Bad hair. It was all about the future. He was my neighbor and I had to stop feeling embarrassed someday. “I…I didn’t know you were a volunteer fireman.”
Ty shook his head. “I’m not. I work in town for Bozeman Fire. Station One on Rouse. Here, this area south of town, is volunteer. I have friends on the department and offered to help with the breakfast this morning.”
So, it was small town coincidence I bumped into him. First thing in the morning looking a total mess. It would have worked better if I’d primped a bit and taken brownies to him at his house, welcoming him to the neighborhood. The only perk of running into him this way was I didn’t have to bake.
“What about you? Is Goldilocks your shop?”
“You must be new to town.” I reached out and grabbed Bobby’s OJ cup before it tipped over, moved it out of the way.
“Yeah, Montana raised, but new to Bozeman. I’ve been in the military for years and decided to settle down close to home. Bought the house down the street from you.”
“Goldilocks belongs to Goldie, my mother-in-law. It’s her store. Everyone knows Goldie. She’s famous around here. You’ll know what I mean when you meet her. She’s a pistol. I just work there to help her out since my husband died.”
Ty had a look on his face I couldn’t read. Pity, sadness, heartburn. It could have been any of them.
“My dad died in a hamburger,” Bobby told Ty.
Now Ty just looked confused. He was frowning and eyeing me as if we were all crazy.
“All done?” I asked the boys, grinning, glad to see the man at a loss. “You can go check out the fire trucks if you want.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. They were out of their chairs faster than a hunter at the start of elk season. I slid Bobby’s plate in front of me and I dug into the pancakes and eggs left on the plate.
Ty cleared his throat. “Your husband died in a…”
“Hamburg,” I said, and then laughed. "As in Germany. Blood clot that traveled to his lung, supposedly from flying.”
This was where I usually stopped when I talked about Nate’s death. Juicy gossip wasn’t something I wanted to deal with. But as I looked at Ty, I decided to share the rest. What the hell. What could it hurt? The man thought I was a Looney Tune already. For some reason, I wanted him to know the truth. The details. “He was there on business—and pleasure. He died in bed with another woman.” I took a deep breath. “And another man.”
“Holy crap,” he murmured, his mouth hanging open just a touch. I could see his straight white teeth.
I got lots of pity parties and uncomfortable sympathy when people heard Nate had died, especially since I wasn’t that old. Only a select few knew about his extracurricular activities, that he’d cheated on me. Not only was I a widow, but my husband had cheated on me before he decided to up and die.
I was long over it—and him—when I’d gotten the call. I’d wanted to kill him myself a time or two for being a two-timer, so I found it ironic he’d died going at it. But I was still working on my self-esteem because of him, eve
n years later.
Ty leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table. When they came away sticky with syrup, he grabbed a napkin and scrubbed at his arm. Someone messy must’ve eaten at the table before us. “Did you know about her—them, his…Jesus…you know, before?”
The fire truck horn, which was probably one of the loudest things in the entire county, blared. Everyone within a mile must have heard it. Those in the bay were lucky if they hadn’t dumped their coffee in their lap. And gone deaf. Babies cried, old people placed hands on their chests contemplating a coronary. I saw Zach wave to me from the driver’s seat of the fire truck with a guilty look on his face. I waved back. “Long story. Gotta run before they arrest him. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
2
At seven, the sun was still high in the sky, but I sank lower in my chair, sheltered by the patio umbrella. The remnants of dinner were spread out before me on the teak table. Plates, napkins and silverware were strewn about, cobs were corn free, grilled chicken a memory. The aroma of burning charcoal still lingered in the air. I slumped down, comfortable with my head resting against the high wooden back. Relaxed with a full stomach. Wiped out. The tip of my nose was hot and stung a little, probably sunburn.
It had been a long day. After the breakfast fiasco at the fire station, we’d hit six garage sales then hiked up Pete’s Hill and had a picnic lunch. PB&J with a view. I loved that trail as it was right downtown but up on a ridge that offered expansive views, especially at sunset. Bozeman was in a valley bordered on three sides by mountains. The Gallatins, Spanish Peaks and Tobacco Roots. Big Sky vistas in every direction. The kids liked it because we could see the roof of our house from our favorite bench.
While I watched from the patio, the boys played in the backyard wearing their Halloween costumes from the previous year. Zach, dressed as a Stormtrooper, was on the rope swing pretending to be either a futuristic Tarzan or a pirate. Bobby wore his Spiderman suit with Zach’s Stormtrooper mask. They had to be hot and sweaty in their polyester wardrobe.
Bobby dug in the sandbox with a garden trowel, pretending he was Indiana Jones looking for lost treasure, although how he could see through the little eye holes was beyond me. My kids weren’t obsessed with one favorite children’s character splattered across bed sheets, beach towels and lunch boxes. They liked all kinds. They didn’t discriminate.
Next to Bobby, tilted at a cockeyed angle, was the ceramic garden gnome he’d bought with his dollar at the second garage sale. It had a little blue coat, red pointy hat, and white beard. A foot tall. It smiled that creepy closed lipped smile. Zach got a gnome, too. His was different, red coat and blue hat. Same white beard. His sat on its own patio chair at the table with me. Zach had insisted it join us for the meal. If I leaned back in my chair, its beady eyes weren’t trained on me. Fortunately, there had been two gnomes at the sale because only one would have caused global nuclear meltdown. I couldn’t split a ceramic garden figurine down the middle to share like a brownie or cookie. At a dollar apiece, the kids were happy, which made me happy. Life was good.
“Arr, put your blasters down!” shouted Zach as he whizzed through the air. The swing hung from the ash tree that shaded the yard. The fence between the Colonel’s house and mine was waist high, so Zach climbed it and launched himself from there. Even though the houses weren’t shoehorned into small lots—mine was over a quarter acre—from my position on the patio I could see inside the Colonel’s family room at night. He too, could see into my house, although his view was the bank of windows into my kitchen. Maybe that was why he came for dinner so often. He could see what I cooked.
We live on Bozeman’s Southside, ten blocks off Main. Each house was different, some original mining shacks from the town’s start to sixties ranchers. Mine fell toward the latter. It was a mid-century modern one story with a flat roof and tons of character. Typical dingy basement. Redwood siding painted a dark gray-green with black trim. Deep set eaves gave the house a Frank Lloyd Wright feel. What made it special was the floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall windows. The family room, kitchen, dining room and master all had walls of glass that let the outdoors be a part of the house. Unfortunately, the huge windows let anyone see in. Neighbors, Peeping Toms. They didn’t discriminate either.
I loved my house. It had been Nate’s before we married, his parents’ house before that, and Goldie’s parents’ house before that. Nate’s grandfather bought it brand new in ’59, gave it to Goldie and Paul, her husband, as a wedding present in the late sixties. They lived there until Nate and I married and gave it to us as a wedding present. I would have been perfectly content with china or a fondue set for a present. But giving the house to the next generation had turned into a tradition. Nate, being the selfish bastard he was, hadn’t turned down a free lunch. Or a free house.
When Nate died, I’d expected to give the house back to Goldie and Paul and move out. Find something smaller for just me and the boys. They’d been practically babies then. Bobby actually had been. But Goldie had insisted the house was mine. I’d more than earned it, she’d said. She’d loved her son and still missed him, but she knew all that Nate had put me through. Besides, she’d said the house was too big for just her and Paul.
And so I stayed and the house was mine. But three generations of Wests had put their stamp on the home. I’d always been a little nervous to mess with that, but I had to admit I was getting sick of Nate’s eclectic hand-me-down furniture. He’d died years ago so maybe it was time to pass on his furniture, too. This winter, I promised myself.
But with a great house with great windows came a whopping heating bill. Those windows were single pane, original glass which weren’t the best choice for Montana winters. Or little boys with aspirations of making it in the major league.
The Colonel’s house didn’t have quite as much vintage as mine. It, too, was a ranch, but all similarities ended there. It was wide and squat, had a shallow peaked roof, white siding with brick accents and was as vanilla as they came. He did have a pristine yard with the most amazing flowerbeds to add spice the house lacked.
Ty’s house had been built at the same time as the Colonel’s, but had wood siding painted a mud brown with a bright orange front door. He’d bought the house from the estate of Mr. Kowalchek who had been ninety-seven when he’d died. The dearly departed had been the original owner and the man hadn’t done a thing since the day he moved in. The bathroom was probably avocado green. I could see Ty filling his days with updates and renovations that could last as long as his mortgage.
“What’s Mom up to today?” I asked the Colonel. He ate dinner with us often and tonight, brought a Jell-O mold for dessert. It was his specialty. I personally loved a good Jell-O mold as long as there were no weird vegetables or nuts in it that would ruin it. Today, it was in a Bundt shape tiered with four different colors. Very impressive.
“Golf,” the Colonel muttered. “Damned if I know how that woman can play in that heat. It’s like a furnace down there. Chasing a little ball around for hours on end. Always sounded stupid to me.”
One thing about the Colonel was he didn’t mince words. You knew where you stood with him. At sixty-five, he had a full head of gray hair. Helmet head. His hair was too scared of the man to fall out. He wore crisp khakis and a white button-down shirt, his standard uniform. Sometimes he wore shorts, but they were his old khakis sheared into cut-offs.
“It’s not a furnace to her. She says Savannah is ‘like a soft baby blanket’ in July.” I thought Savannah, Georgia, in July was a furnace. With the heat turned on full blast, windows closed and an electric blanket on top of you. Plus, a steam sauna. Couldn’t forget the humidity. “She thinks golf is calming.”
The Colonel harrumphed. “If that woman gets any calmer she’ll be dead.”
“Mommy, I found a prehistoric car that used to chase the dinosaurs!” Bobby shouted from his sandy seat, his mask propped up on top of his dark hair. He held up a Matchbox car he’d gotten from a birthday party favor bag earlier in
the summer. I raised my eyebrows and feigned interest. Satisfied with my attention, he shoved the mask back down and went back to his dig.
“When’s she coming next?” It might have seemed strange I asked the Colonel about my own mother’s comings and goings, but she talked to the Colonel ten times more often than she talked to me. Not that she didn’t love me. But she loved the Colonel. And being two thousand miles apart made that love all the stronger.
“End of August when school starts. She wants to be here for the first week.”
Worked for me. I liked my mother. We got along well and when she came to town, it was great. She took care of the little details of raising kids. Baths, story time, lunch boxes. It was nice to be taken care of for a change. A mother hen clucking at her chicks. She didn’t do laundry, but that I could handle.
Zach ran over and grabbed his gnome. “Can I go show Ty my George? He said this morning he wanted to see our booty.”
My mouth dropped open but I shut it before I could laugh. Actually, I wasn’t sure what I should laugh at first: his costume, his gnome or his pirate jargon. “George? You named your gnome?”
Zach nodded his head. “Sure, everyone needs a name.”
I wasn’t aware everyone included a ceramic garden statue, but I wasn’t going to ruin Zach’s fun. “Sure. Don’t go out front by the road, cut through the Colonel’s backyard to get to Ty’s.”
Zach was off like a flash. Bobby, realizing where his brother was headed, hurried after him, his gnome—whatever its name was—in hand.
“So, tell me about our new neighbor.” I was desperately curious about Ty. As the first man to make my pulse rise in forever, I wanted to know more. Even if I was too chicken to act on it. I could have sexy thoughts about him though. Those didn’t harm anyone and I’d be having those sexy thoughts as I pulled out my own vibrator in bed later tonight.
