by Brenda Novak
“I work for Booker,” he said proudly. “I change oil and fan belts and…and tires.” His grin revealed the same crooked teeth as before, but everything else about his situation seemed greatly improved.
“What a nice job to have.”
“Yeah. This is my dog, Bruiser. He’s big but don’t worry, he’d never hurt you.”
The dog laid his ears back and whined a quick hello, as if he knew he’d just been introduced.
“He’s a handsome animal.”
“He’s the best dog in the world,” Delbert said, positively beaming.
“I’ll bet he is.”
“Did Booker tell you about the new baby?”
Lucky looked to Booker, who was busy stuffing toys in his son’s diaper bag.
“My wife and I are expecting another child,” he explained.
“She’s sick ’cause of the baby,” Delbert chimed in, “but the baby will be here in twenty-eight weeks and three days. Then she’ll be fine again.”
“Twenty-eight weeks and three days?” Lucky echoed.
“That’s when the baby’s due,” Booker said. “Whether or not she’ll actually arrive on time is anybody’s guess.”
“She?”
He grinned. “They’re pretty sure it’s a girl.” Taking the diaper bag, he started moving into the garage. “I’m going to go over a few things I want Delbert to do while we’re gone. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” She waved goodbye to Delbert and his dog before calling the power company. Customer Service came on the line right away, but the first woman she spoke to transferred her to a man who transferred her to another woman, and no one could tell her when she’d have service.
“I’d appreciate it if you could see to it as soon as possible,” she told the last woman and hung up with a sigh.
FINLEY’S HADN’T CHANGED much in six years. The small, family-owned grocery now had a tiny health food section, in which Lucky found the almond milk she liked on her cold cereal, and an expanded deli. But everything felt, looked, even smelled, the same. A table near the front doors held the usual seasonal display of cheap Christmas dishes that could be purchased with coupons. The same dime-store-quality chocolates and stocking stuffers filled the shelves near the greeting cards. And, unfortunately, Marge Finley still worked the register. Marge had never been too friendly to Lucky. She was one of those who’d chosen between Morris’s first family and his second, and had never hesitated to make her loyalties known.
Booker remembered he needed teething gel. He took Troy and strode off toward the baby aisle just as Lucky got in line to pay for her groceries. She could feel Marge’s eyes repeatedly dart her way. But every time Lucky tried to challenge the other woman’s gaze, Marge focused on her current customer.
When Lucky set her groceries and other supplies on the conveyor belt, Marge instantly threw the switch that stopped it from moving and left the register without a word. Lucky didn’t know what was going on until she saw Marge picking up a few boxes of cold cereal that had fallen into the aisle. At that point, she suspected Marge was trying to send the message that she wasn’t a priority.
Finally Booker came around the corner. “Where’s Marge?”
Lucky jerked her head toward the cashier, who was now rearranging cereal boxes on the shelf.
“Does she know we’re ready to go?”
“Probably not,” Lucky said because she didn’t want to explain that Marge had purposely kept her waiting.
“Hey, Marge! I think we’re all set here,” he called.
“Right. Coming, Booker.” She pushed to her feet—no easy task with the weight she’d gained since Lucky had been away—and squished over, moving from side to side because her legs were so big she could no longer walk straight. “How’s Katie?” she asked.
“Better, I think,” he said. “I called her before I left the shop. She told me she managed a nap this morning.”
“Crackers, that’s the only thing that helps with morning sickness,” Marge responded.
“I’m going to get her some of that homemade soup she likes from the diner as soon as I give Lucky a ride home.”
Marge’s lips pursed at the mention of Lucky’s name, but she made no comment.
Lucky stood taller and withdrew her debit card. Eavesdropping on Marge’s conversation with Booker as they went on to discuss Troy and the new words he’d recently added to his vocabulary, and what they each had planned for Christmas, made Lucky feel terribly out of place. No wonder she preferred strange towns and new cities—being anonymous was better than being shut out.
She paid for her groceries. After Booker paid for his, they put their bags into one cart and were just heading outside when a tall, dark-haired man with graying temples brushed past them on his way in.
“Morning, Booker,” he said.
Booker nodded hello and continued walking, but Lucky stopped midstride. It was Garth Holbrook. She recognized him from the picture on his Web site.
“It can be slick right here by the door so watch your—” Halting the cart that was carrying his son as well as their groceries, Booker turned back when he realized she wasn’t with him anymore. “Lucky?”
Lucky swallowed hard as a sudden, poignant longing washed over her. She’d tried to prepare herself with realistic expectations, knew even if she found her father, he probably wouldn’t accept her. But the sight of Garth Holbrook looking so handsome and carrying himself so confidently made her long for a connection with him. He was everything her mother had not been. He had dignity, commanded respect. And she was willing to bet he was emotionally stable.
Booker’s eyebrows gathered as he followed her gaze. “Do you know Senator Holbrook?”
Holbrook rounded a corner toward the bakery section and disappeared, and Lucky forced her rubbery legs to carry her forward again. She didn’t want to raise too many questions.
“Not personally, no,” she said. “I just recognized him, that’s all.”
Booker navigated the cart around a large puddle and into the snowy lot. “He’s a good guy.”
“How do you know him?”
“He brings his Navigator to the shop occasionally. Last week he brought in his wife’s Town Car.”
Mention of Holbrook’s wife didn’t help the odd feeling in Lucky’s stomach. Even if Holbrook himself wasn’t averse to taking a paternity test, she felt fairly certain a normal wife wouldn’t give her blessing. “What’s Mrs. Holbrook like?”
“Celeste? She’s nice, too.” He grinned affectionately. “She’s always on some kind of mission.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s involved in a lot of fund-raisers and the like. Lately she’s been raising money for a charity that provides Christmas toys to underprivileged children. She sends quilts to Ukraine. She runs Friends of the Library and is a big advocate for schools. I’m sure there’s even more I don’t know about.”
Celeste sounded like a saint—but would she be saint enough?
“Do you know anyone by the name of Eugene Thompson?” she asked, turning her mind to other possibilities.
“Never heard of him.”
“What about Dave Small?”
He grimaced. “Everyone knows him.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Not especially.”
Lucky hadn’t expected Booker to be quite so frank, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been pretty direct from the first moment she’d met him at the shop. “Why not? What’s he like?”
“Arrogant. Pompous.”
Not exactly a high recommendation. “Is he still in politics?”
“Yeah.” Booker pressed the button on his key ring that unlocked his truck and put Troy in his car seat in the back of the extended cab, where she also unloaded the groceries. “He’s been talking about running for Holbrook’s seat in the state senate should Holbrook go to Washington,” he went on. “He might even try for mayor when Rebecca’s dad retires. Fortunately—” he gave he
r a look of relief as she climbed in across from him “—Rebecca says her father isn’t planning to retire anytime soon. I’d hate to see Dave wield any more power in this town than he already does.”
“Who’s Rebecca?” she asked as he started the engine.
“Don’t you remember Rebecca? Tall, wild, unique.” He grinned as if saying she was “tall, wild, unique” was about the best compliment he could pay a person, and Lucky remembered his comment about hell-raisers. “She married Josh Hill about three years ago. Now they have a three-month-old baby.”
“Where do they live?” Certainly not at the ranch house, or Lucky would’ve seen some evidence of it.
He twisted to see behind them as he backed out. “They built a home several acres away from Mike, closer to the lake.”
“I see.”
“What makes you ask about Dave Small? And the other guy—Eugene, was it?”
“I’m just curious.”
He eyed her skeptically.
“I met them a long time ago, and I was wondering if they were still around.”
While that was a lie, it wasn’t a big one, and it allowed her to keep asking questions. “Does Dave still have family in town?”
“Of course.” Booker pulled into the recently plowed street. “The Smalls will never leave. They think they own this place.”
“Then it must get pretty crowded with the Smalls and the Caldwells.”
Booker cut her a sharp glance. “You’re not going to let bygones be bygones?”
Lucky wasn’t surprised that Booker seemed to know the whole story. Her mother had been dead for four years, but the people of Dundee probably hadn’t stopped talking about her. “The Caldwells are the ones who’re holding a grudge.”
“From what I heard, Morris and your mother are both gone and the will’s been settled. What’s left to fight about?”
Lucky thought of the way Marge had treated her in the store. “Resentment can linger for decades.”
He withdrew a toothpick from his ashtray and stuck it in his mouth. “It doesn’t have to. The Caldwells are good people. Especially Josh and Mike.”
Lucky remembered Mike’s closeness in the dark, misty bathroom…. Remembered the shower curtain sliding on its railing…and felt the giddiness she’d experienced as he touched her.
“If you say so,” she said, because she didn’t want to talk about Mike or his family anymore.
They drove several miles in silence, then Troy grew impatient in his car seat, and Booker asked Lucky to give him a cracker. While she dug through the diaper bag on the seat between them, he said, “Where’ve you been for the past six years, Lucky?”
“Nowhere in particular. I’ve traveled a lot.”
“What brings you home?”
Locating the crackers, she calmed Troy’s impatient squeals by giving him one. “I’m here to fix up the Victorian.”
Booker chewed on his toothpick for a few seconds before glancing over at her again. “So how does it feel to be back?”
Propping her elbow on the window ledge, she gazed out as they passed the Arctic Flyer restaurant, and a memory flashed through her mind. She was in high school and had gone to the Friday night football game to escape the house. Morris was out of town; her mother was “entertaining” again. Reluctant to head home, she’d hung out later than usual and had wound up at the Arctic Flyer. A portion of the football team showed up a few minutes later, with several of their cheerleader girlfriends.
Hey, how ’bout climbin’ into the backseat of my car and giving me somethin’ to celebrate our win, huh, Lucky? Mitch Hudson had called out. Physically more mature than the other boys his age, Mitch had whiskers—and his words were slurred enough to tell her he was more than a little drunk.
Hell, don’t touch her, Mitch. You’re likely to get a disease, someone else had said and the pretty little cheerleaders in the group, who’d almost certainly had a lot more sexual experience than Lucky did at the time, laughed as uproariously as everyone else.
She considered Booker’s question: How does it feel to be back? Not as good as it was going to feel to leave again. But she liked Booker too much to say so. “Fine, I guess. At any rate, I won’t be staying long.”
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN HE DROVE past the Victorian after breakfast at the diner, Mike couldn’t tell whether or not Lucky had returned. Neither could he tell whether she’d had her utilities restored. He doubted it; the place was still dark.
It’ll happen soon, he decided and spent the afternoon in his office, mostly making calls for Gabe’s father’s campaign and trying to convince himself that she could take care of herself even without immediate heat and air.
But she hadn’t done a very good job of taking care of herself so far and, as darkness fell, he started imagining the worst. She’d hitched a ride with the wrong kind of guy. She hadn’t thought to buy food. She needed something and didn’t have telephone service so she could call for help.
Finally, he gave up on the offer he was trying to draft for the purchase of another mare and picked up the phone. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t have anything more to do with Lucky, but he didn’t need to contact her to put his mind at rest. There were other ways to find out what was going on next door.
Rob Strickland answered his call to the phone company. Mike had grown up with Rob and recognized his voice instantly. They chatted about Rob’s wife and four kids, then Mike swung the conversation to the purpose of his call. “Could you tell me if 215 White Rock Road has any telephone service yet?” he asked.
“Isn’t that your grandpa’s old place?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll check.” Rob put him on hold for several minutes. “Not yet,” he said when he finally came back on the line. “And it doesn’t look like it’s going to be any time soon. I found the work order, but Eloise Greenwalt just told me that once she realized who’d requested service, she stuck it at the very bottom of the stack, after all the trouble calls and everything.”
Mike pictured Lucky sitting in that old Victorian, its broken windows welcoming the biting wind. “Eloise Greenwalt did what?”
“She stuck it in the bottom of the stack,” Rob told him, chuckling. “Lucky Caldwell might have walked away with your grandpa’s house and a chunk of his money to boot, but no one who cares about you or your family is going to make things easy on her now. I bet she won’t stay the month.”
Mike’s grip tightened on the handset. “She’s living in that house alone.”
“So?”
“It’s cold outside. She needs service.”
Mike could sense Rob’s surprise that he wasn’t happier with Eloise’s spiteful game. “You want us to hook her up?”
“Hell, yes, I want you to hook her up!”
“Jeez, Mike. What’s gotten into you? It’s getting pretty late in the day and—”
“I don’t give a damn how late it is,” Mike said. “Do it now.”
“We can’t do it now,” Rob responded, his tone injured. “Most of the crews have gone home for the night.”
“Shit.” Mike scrubbed a hand over his face.
“What’s wrong? It’s not as if she’s going to die without phone service.”
“Just get her a working line as soon as possible, okay?” he said. “And tell Eloise…” Tell her what? That she had no right to make such a decision? He was willing to bet she didn’t even know Lucky. But if he stepped in and tried to shield his new neighbor, it’d only evoke more resentment—like it had with his mother earlier today—and his relatives and their friends would treat her that much worse.
Gritting his teeth, he did his best to reel in his temper. “Tell Eloise she doesn’t have to get even with Lucky for us. We’ve got that handled already.”
Mike hung up, thinking about all the people he knew at the power company and the water company. Then he got back on the phone, going from one person to the next until he managed to wrangle promises that Lucky would have both water and power. Toni
ght.
LUCKY COULDN’T BELIEVE IT when her lights came on. At six o’clock she’d decided that the power wouldn’t be restored today and resigned herself to spending another cold night. Thanks to Booker, who’d insisted on staying long enough to cover the broken windows with plastic, the house wasn’t quite as drafty as before. She wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she wasn’t panicked either. She had food, water, new candles, a fire she’d built with the wood she’d purchased at Finley’s and her sleeping bag.
She’d just made her bed on the floor of the living room and situated a mug in the embers of the fire so she could heat water for cocoa when the lights flickered on.
“Hallelujah!” she cried and ran upstairs to turn on the central heat.
A clang echoed through the house the moment Lucky threw the switch. She held her breath, waiting to see if the HVAC system had weathered the past six years as poorly as some other parts of the house—and breathed a sigh of relief when, after another chung, air began pouring through the vents. It took a few more minutes for that air to get warm, and would take even longer to raise the temperature of the whole house, but at least some of her utilities had been restored.
She picked up the phone to see if she might have a nice surprise waiting for her there, too, but there was no dial tone. Evidently telephone service would have to wait a while longer.
Heading back to her makeshift bed, she decided to go to sleep. It was still early but too cold to do anything else, and she was exhausted because she’d barely closed her eyes last night. After she and Mike had made love until they were both spent, he’d dropped off almost immediately. But she hadn’t wanted to miss one moment of lying next to him. Maybe their lovemaking had meant nothing to him, but she’d given him everything she had, everything she was. When she was with him, sleeping seemed a terrible waste of time, so she’d stayed awake to study his profile, feel the warmth of his big body, listen to the gentle rasp of his breathing.
But now that she knew what she was missing, she felt even lonelier than before. And while she was in this house, this town, she couldn’t stop thinking about Morris and how unfairly her mother had used him. She regretted missing the opportunity to pay her last respects to him, although she knew she’d been right not to come to Dundee when he died. She hadn’t wanted to turn his funeral into a battleground. She’d wanted everything to be peaceful and good, wanted Morris to receive the kind of eulogies he deserved. So she’d spent his funeral in a strange church in Texas, begging God to take care of him for all he’d done for her. Then she’d let him go.
