by Angela Drake
“What do you mean?”
“She misses Mathew. There are some things in her life I can’t replace. On that window seat tonight, I caught a glimpse of the little girl in her.”
“What about you Steph? What do you miss?”
“My children are my life. I’m glad you were here… for Kim’s sake.”
She rose on her toes to place a quick kiss on his cheek, letting a hand rest lightly against his chest only briefly before saying goodnight. Picking up their tea mugs, she went inside, closing the door behind her.
Brendan stood only moments before swinging off the porch by a post. He all but skipped down the sidewalk to his jeep, whistling into the night.
* * *
“And for mine,” she whispered into the empty hall.
Stephanie leaned back against the closed door, realizing how it became increasingly difficult to not want him near. She had to bury that desire. Jennifer had said he was going to be working in Branson but she didn’t say for how long. Soon Jennifer’s wedding would be over and he’d be back on tour. Then what? She had Kimmie and Max to think of. She couldn’t trust her heart to him again. She held her breath, listening. Within moments, she heard the footfall of his boots on the sidewalk. The jeep roared to life and pulled away from the curb. Silence.
She exhaled slowly. He was gone. The awareness brought both relief and sorrow. Not since the first few weeks following Matthew’s death had she struggled with the emptiness welling up within her now. Was it too much to want someone to hold her? The thought of not spending another night alone in the antique four-poster bed was tempting, yet his presence might have created other challenges.
Shaking the question from her mind, she carried the tea mugs into the kitchen and placed them in the dishwasher. Like a programmed robot, she added detergent, spot remover, and then clicked the door shut to start the routine evening process. Making a quick pass through the main floor, she turned out lights and locked doors before going upstairs.
After checking on the children, she went into her own room and closed the door only partway. Max had become adept at going anywhere in the house he pleased, but doorknobs still presented a challenge for the adventuresome toddler. Both children knew Mom’s door was always open.
Going over to the bedside table, she opened a drawer and removed the small silver frame she kept there. The last year she and Brendan were together, his sister, Kris, had given her this picture of him. At the same time, Kris had taken a picture of Stephanie for a matching frame. She’d given it to him for his birthday that year. Did he still have that picture, or had it become lost in his travels?
Staring at the picture of the boyishly lean build and tousled hair of his youth, she saw a lot of Kimberly. Now he had a firmness and style achieved through time and maturity. It’s no wonder women slept in ticket lines for front row seating at his concerts. The man was hot – plain and simple.
Slipping the frame back into the drawer, she eyed her reflection in the large cheval mirror in the corner. How did he see her? Did he see the same girl of twenty that told him to leave on that day? Or did he, too, notice changes. Changes in her that only time and the birth of children can bring.
Turning from the mirror, she took a nightgown from the bureau drawer and dressed for bed. With a touch of a button on the CD player Brendan’s velvet voice floated from the speakers, wrapping her in its cocoon.
Snuggling beneath the quilt, she hugged the spare pillow to her chest. The impressionable softness didn’t prevent the words of love from piercing her heart. Tears fell freely down her cheeks to the fluffy barrier she clutched. What she’d give to hear those words spoken only to her. Too many things prevented that from ever becoming a reality. One of them slept innocently in the bed across the hall.
Chapter 5
September drifted into October with very little change in the weather. The days were unseasonably warm and filled with activity. Gardner’s had harvested the remains of their plantings and put the beds to rest for the winter. Quilts in a multitude of patterns and colors hung over porch railings and clotheslines. The sun would chase away the mustiness of storage, making them inviting for slumber. Such was the scene at Planned to Perfection.
Stephanie spent this Saturday morning preparing for the winter just as many of her neighbors. Bunches of Rosemary, Sage, and a variety of mints hung in the pantry. She enjoyed the tantalizing flavors the homegrown herbs gave to her cooking. Store bought seasonings paled in comparison.
Sitting on the porch drinking a cup of tea, she watched the couple next door switch the storm windows. She’d hated that job! Always managing to pinch her fingers more than once in the process, she’d tried to wait for Matthew to do them but her impatience to get things done often took over. That, and the more honey-do tasks she could accomplish left them with more family time when Matthew wasn’t on duty. He’d intended to install replacement windows in their house in Indiana. The money never seemed to be available.
Replacement windows were one of the first upgrades she’d made to the cottage. Thankfully, there were ones available that fit within the strict city codes for historical preservation. Doing things on her own meant keeping tasks as simple as possible. Tasks like not having to change out the windows with the seasons.
So much for simplicity. Nothing had seemed simple since Brendan’s reappearance in her life. Everything from putting Max down for a nap to the Art Club meeting last week had been complicated. One minute she would be doing things as always and the next, he’d appear and the bottom would drop out of her stomach. She prayed today would remain on an even track. She doubted he’d be around. He seemed to enjoy time off on the weekends.
Must be nice! She wasn’t sure what an entertainer did when he wasn’t performing. There had to be more to it than drifting around a tourist town twenty-four-seven. He enjoyed a lot more free time than she did. But then, he wasn’t balancing a career and raising a family. He seemed to have pulled his life together, but his was on the road and hers was here. If he ever decided to stop touring, she knew he’d make a good father. But she also understood he had to make a living, just as she did with her company. Their worlds were as far apart now as ever.
The day was gorgeous. Cool evenings painted the leaves golden hues of yellow and orange. The warm autumn breeze made them dance to Mother Nature’s Ozark tune. Days like this would become few and far between as winter drew near. Why was she chasing dust bunnies on a day like this? She’d finish up a couple of things then walk over to Becky’s and pick up Max.
After finishing her chores, Kimberly always spent her spare moments with her best friend, Becky. She usually took her little brother along. The girls were great about watching him and Stephanie tried to balance it out for them. Kimberly helped at every opportunity. Most of the time she just seemed to whisk Max away without a word from Stephanie.
Maybe that was her way of keeping Matthew close. Stephanie had never really thought about it before. But then, she found herself dissecting a lot of things since Brendan’s reappearance. She took her cup into the house as she thought about her son. He was getting so big. His third birthday was next month, and as he got older it became increasingly difficult for her to accomplish tasks without his ‘help’. She’d have to see about a daycare or playgroup. As much as she’d like it to be so, he wouldn’t stay Matthew’s baby forever.
After completing a few minor tasks around the house, she put on clean clothes. She dressed in tan leggings, topped with a dark brown sweater, put on comfortable walking shoes. Slipping her cross-body bag into place, she went out the door and down the block.
Becky and her mom, Marge, lived in one of the many Victorian bungalows along Pine Street. A low white picket fence surrounded the yard. An open space where a gate once hung invited anyone to enter. Appropriately so for the cozy tearoom Marge operated from the rose colored cottage.
The girls were in the front yard, playing ball with Max when she arrived. He saw her instantly and ran out the gateway and down the
sidewalk to meet her. Calls of “Mommy” wrapped her heart in a warm glow. Catching him up in her arms, their combined laughter rang into the clear autumn sky as she twirled him around.
“Mom, can I go to Bentonville with Becky and her Mom?” The girls joined them as she and Max approached the yard. “We want to do some shopping and maybe see a movie.”
“I guess so, if it’s okay with Marge.”
“Yes!” Becky fist-pumped the air. “Can she spend the night?”
The girls were typical preteens. She remembered wanting to spend Saturdays at the mall with her best friend, watching boys and trying on clothes their parents would never have let them wear. It was part of growing up.
“Is your homework done?” Her mothering took over.
“All except a History test we’re going to study for together.”
“Sure,” she smiled at her daughter. Leaving her friends at such a difficult time in Kim’s life hadn’t been easy. Becky had taken her by the hand the first day of school and never let go. So much alike both in looks and personality, the girls might have passed for sisters. A cloud passed over Stephanie as she thought about a half-sister already in the picture.
“Moosic, moosic,” Max yelled, chasing the cloud away.
“Okay, we’ll walk downtown sweetie.” He loved music and enjoyed listening to the traveling musicians in Basin Park.
“You girls have a good time.”
“Thanks, mom, we will,” Kimberly hugged her and tousled Max’s hair. “I’ll be home in time for Sunday dinner.”
Putting Max down to walk, Stephanie took his hand in hers. Mother and son made their way towards the heart of town.
An off-key guitar picker set the tone for ambling tourists. Brendan judged the man to be in his early sixties. It was hard to tell for sure. The man sported a wiry salt and peppered beard and shoulder length hair of the same color. Brendan knew the life well and that a man could become old fast if he wasn’t careful.
Paying little attention to the tourists milling around the park, the musician moved from one soulful ballad to another. Only occasionally would he nod his head or touch the brim of the old felt hat he wore. All in thanks for tips dropped into the case at his feet.
Brendan sat on the steps outside the coffeehouse. As he listened, he thought back to his early days in the area. He’d been living in Branson for several months when Jennifer let him know she’d accepted a hotel manager’s position here. He knew she’d looked for something in the area that would allow them more time together. Like him, she’d needed to get away and start fresh. After giving her some time to settle into her new job, he’d come down for a weekend visit and never left. The town and its people captured his heart. Coming here was like coming home. A feeling he’d never felt before in his life.
During those early days he spent the weekends in Branson. Three nights of theater production shows to packed auditoriums paid the bills. As soon as the curtain dropped on Sunday night, he’d hurry back to Eureka Springs.
Through the week he’d write and do what he loved most. This is where he played solely for himself and the peace it brought him. The park was a change from the lights, smoke, and tailgate traffic of the city. Here he felt the words he’d written, most of which became hits for him over the last few years. Every strain of emotion possible molded his musical style after dry out. Music was his therapy; the new lease on life. A life without Stephanie and the brain-fogging intoxicants.
But he was past the peddler stage. ‘Brendan Keane’ was a big name in the entertainment business now. He didn’t have to spend his time sitting in a park on a warm fall day, playing old songs. People paid a lot to see him now. Nope, didn’t need it at all. Yet, he found himself standing and stretching, he pulled his jeans legs down straight over his boots. Striding across to the transient, he dropped a few bills into the case.
“May I?” Brendan held out his hand.
The picker gave him a sparse-toothed grin as he shook Brendan’s hand before relinquishing his lively hood. Bracing his right foot on the edge of the park bench and resting the guitar on his leg, he found the rhythm of an old folk tune.
With each strum of the strings, he felt the tension peel away like a second skin. As he went from folk to ballad and back again he relaxed, enjoying himself while fully aware of the amount of money being dropped in the musician’s guitar case.
* * *
Stephanie stepped out of the bookstore with her son in tow. Shifting her bag to take his hand, a familiar ballad caught her attention, bringing a smile. She loved the weekends best. That’s when most of the traveling musicians passed through town. She and Max had stopped in at the Grand Central Hotel earlier so he could ‘play’ the piano with the resident tickler. Somehow she didn’t think the little guy’d had enough ‘moosic’. He was now trying to pull her down the stone walk towards the park.
Smiling apologetically to people along the way, she followed him in the direction of the guitar strains. Reaching the steps of the coffeehouse, she froze. The day may be a typical fall Saturday but the scene before her was not.
The park had taken on a party atmosphere like they usually only saw during Folk Festival weekend. Most everyone there was dancing, clapping, or singing along. And above the fiesta rose the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. The same voice that sang her to sleep every night.
“Bedan Mom! Bedan!” Max cried excitedly. She picked him up, settling him on a hip. His chubby hands clapped together in awkward time as he watched. When Brendan finished the song, everyone clapped and dropped money into the guitar case. Some handed him something to autograph or wanted their picture taken. Others were content to just shake his hand.
“Monies! Mommy, monies!” The boy kicked to get down. As the crowd was thinning, she saw no harm in handing her son some coins and putting him down. He loved to drop money into the case and talk to the musicians. She had little doubt her son would be a musician someday. In that respect he was more like Brendan than Matthew. Past listening to the radio, Matthew had no interest in music. Where their son got interest was beyond her.
She watched as he ran up to Brendan, pulling at his jeans. He looked down and she saw a questioning look cross his face as he scooped Max up. She smiled and waved at them. He said something to Max, pointing at her and the boy nodded. She felt more than heard Brendan’s laugh; its melody reverberating off the buildings.
Stragglers made over her son. Brendan acted like the proud dad, brushing baby-fine hair out of the child’s face or securing a snap on his jacket. Leaning against the wall, she became all too aware of the picture they made. Though the two shared no physical characteristics, they looked so right together. The thought both frightened and comforted her. One stone could crack the glass covering the picture they made and she held the biggest one of all.
Brendan, still carrying Max, walked over to where she stood. Her heart quickened as he approached. With the afternoon sun behind him, he appeared as a knight; his long legs striding with ease through the lingering crowd. A smile played across his face and she found it infectious. Max bounced and giggled with the rhythm of a jockey.
“Couldn’t resist?” She nodded in the direction of the bench. The traveling musician was back in his spot. People continued to mill around, casting glances their way.
“It was my home for a long time. Part of the charm of this community is being able to do that. They all knew who I was but they let me have my moment.”
“You sounded great.” She never took her eyes from his. Fighting the impulse to close them against the vision before her, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. The casualness of his stance pulled taut the watercolor western shirt he wore. His chest, squared and strong, threatened to pop the pearl snaps. Tightness filled her chest with the memory of the smooth skin beneath the material.
“Mommy, ice keam,” Max said, reaching for her.
“The master has spoken it seems.” Brendan laughed as he handed the little boy over. “My treat?”
She laughed. “Sure,”
Brendan relieved her of her shopping bag as she put her son down then the three
of them walked across the parkway to the ice cream shack.
Ordering a single scoop cone for Max and cola floats for themselves, the three sat on the steps leading to the curb. A comfortable silence settled in as they watched Max wear more of the melting chocolate confection than he ate. Occasionally, Stephanie wiped his mouth or fingers. Otherwise, she was unconcerned with the ice cream spatters to her son’s jacket or the hand tracks on his jeans. These things were a given with children.
“Done.” Max offered the remains of his cone to Brendan a few minutes later.
“Good job, buddy.” Brendan took the cone and dropped it into his empty cup. “Now what shall we do?”
Playing with his shoelaces, Max appeared to give the question serious thought. The instant he made the decision as only a two-year-old was capable, his eyes began to sparkle and he grinned up at Brendan.
“Tolley!” his eyes danced. “Tolley, mommy,” he sang, turning to her beseechingly.
Brendan looked at her over her son’s head. She pretended not to notice as she pulled a towelette from her bag. With a mother’s precision, she wiped away the worst of the chocolate from the cherub face and sticky fingers with just a couple of swipes.
“A trolley ride?” She grinned at her son and tapped him on the tip of his nose. “You just like to ring the bell.”
There was no doubt her son had everyone wrapped around his chubby little finger. From his sister who would voluntarily give up her Saturday morning so Mom could get something done to the trolley driver who would let him ring the bell, he owned them all.
“Tolley mommy! Peas.”
“Looks like we’re taking a trolley ride.” She turned to Brenda, who was already
standing. “Would you like to join us?”
