The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

“I still think you need a new hairstyle,” Shirley said.

  “I’ll take your suggestion under consideration.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I think West Texas may be uglier than Oklahoma.” Shirley stared out the passenger-side window. “The grass is yellow, and the trees look anorexic.”

  “The wind sucks the moisture out of everything.” Even though as a teenager Katelyn had wanted out of Little Springs, she’d loved following the train tracks, the hot wind stirring the air fragrant with the scent of creosote from the railroad ties. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d gone on a walk by herself and allowed her brain to daydream.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll top off the tank before we get to my mom’s.” She flipped on the turn signal and pulled up to a gas pump at the Texaco right off the highway.

  “How close is Little Springs?” Shirley asked.

  “We’re a mile north of town.”

  Shirley took out a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied a fresh coat to her lips. When they’d stopped for a bite to eat three hours ago, she’d gone into the restroom and tamed her wild hair with water. Katelyn couldn’t get a brush through her snarls, so she’d pinned the tangled mass to the top of her head with a hair clip.

  “Pay cash.” Shirley held out a twenty-dollar bill. “You know criminals put those credit card readers on the pumps now.”

  “My mother’s never had a problem using her bank card at this gas station.”

  “You can’t be too cautious.”

  Too bad Katelyn wasn’t a smoker—she could use a cigarette to calm her nerves. Now that she was this close to home, she imagined all kinds of scenarios where Birdie and Shirley acted like a pair of Roller Derby queens, fighting for the upper hand when they passed each other in the hall. Five minutes later she hopped into the car and backed away from the pump.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of the town before we arrive at your mother’s.”

  “I forgot you’ve never visited Little Springs.” Katelyn and Don had become engaged the spring semester of their senior year in college, but they hadn’t discussed where to get married until he’d landed the job at NicorTrune a few weeks after graduation. It only made sense then to get married in St. Louis. The wedding was the first time her parents had met Shirley and Robert. Before then, Don had visited Texas with her their junior year, and the only time he’d been back was for her father’s funeral ten years ago.

  “I’ll take you on a tour after we get settled in,” Katelyn said, “but you can actually see most of the town from our front yard.” Her childhood home sat on a hill overlooking Main Street.

  Katelyn drove down the highway a quarter mile, then took the overpass and turned right onto a county road. A half mile later she veered onto a gravel path that climbed in elevation to a white clapboard house, where Birdie’s blue Ford Taurus sat parked. A pair of oak trees, planted by her father after he’d purchased the place, stood tall along the side of the house. Birdie’s passion for gardening had taken over the backyard, which was enclosed by a white picket fence Mother Nature had bleached gray decades ago. Katelyn’s father had built an overhang across the back of the house so that Birdie would have a place to sit in the shade and smell her Texas lilac bushes.

  Katelyn preferred the front porch, which faced the town, because it had been Mack’s favorite place to sleep. Years later she’d sit on the steps alone, study the stars and dream about a life far away from Texas.

  Shirley leaned forward, straining the seat belt as she peered out the windshield. “Your mother should fire her lawn service. The grass is a foot high and the bushes are as tall as the porch rail.”

  “Mom doesn’t have a gardener.” But it wasn’t like Birdie to let the grass grow long. She steered around a pothole in the driveway and parked next to the Taurus. “Be careful walking on the gravel.” Birdie had stepped into a rut last year and broken her ankle.

  Shirley unsnapped her seat belt, then got out of the car and walked off, expecting her daughter-in-law to carry their luggage. Before Katelyn had a chance to remove the bags from the trunk, Birdie opened the back door and her eyes widened when her gaze landed on Shirley, gingerly stepping on the stone path.

  “Surprise!” Katelyn raised her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers. Her mother flinched, her lips pressing together to form an invisible seam across the lower half of her face. Oh, dear. Maybe it had been a mistake not to warn Birdie that she was bringing Shirley with her.

  “It’s been a long time, Birdie,” Shirley said when she reached the porch.

  C’mon, Mom, crack a smile. A teeny one.

  “You’re looking . . . healthy.” Shirley called anyone who needed to lose a few pounds healthy.

  Katelyn’s mother had always carried extra weight around the middle, but her father had never complained—mostly because Birdie had made his favorite comfort food dishes for supper and after a day trekking through the woods, the extra calories hadn’t hurt him.

  Shirley climbed the steps. “If you don’t mind, I need to use the bathroom.”

  “I’ll show you where it is.” Katelyn closed the trunk and dragged their suitcases across the gravel.

  “I’m sure I can find it.” Shirley stepped past Birdie and entered the house.

  “It’s good to see you, Mom.” Katelyn hauled the luggage up the steps.

  Birdie’s lips barely moved when she spoke. “You didn’t tell me Shirley was coming with you.”

  “I didn’t want you to go to any extra trouble.” Not that her mother would have.

  Like a bull ready to charge, Birdie blew out a noisy breath as her nostrils flared. “This puts a damper on my upcoming birthday.”

  “Don’t worry.” She hugged her mother. “You’ll still have fun.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Katelyn went back to the car for Shirley’s purse.

  “Why did you bring her along?” Birdie closed the screen door after Katelyn entered the kitchen.

  “I didn’t have a choice. Don’s out of the country, and I couldn’t leave her alone at the house.” Even though Birdie knew the circumstances that had prompted Shirley to move in with Katelyn and Don, her mother’s feelings toward Shirley hadn’t softened.

  “How long are you staying?” Birdie asked.

  “Until we wear our welcome out.” She gave Birdie a second hug, hoping to earn her forgiveness, and this time she felt her mother’s arms squeeze back.

  “She’s never wanted to visit before.” Birdie tilted her head toward the sound of running water in the half bath under the staircase in the hallway. “Why now?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “Mark my words, that woman will be bored out of her mind in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll entertain her.” As long as Katelyn kept her mother and Shirley separated, the two wouldn’t come to blows.

  “If she causes me any grief”—Birdie shook her finger in Katelyn’s face—“I’ll pin your address to her blouse and put her snooty butt on the next Greyhound.”

  Katelyn kept a straight face. “I’ll spring for the ticket.”

  Birdie’s expression softened and she caressed Katelyn’s cheek. “Why the dark circles?”

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.” She forced a smile. “Do you still have my single bed in your sewing room?”

  “Of course. You know I keep that bed in case one of the kids ever wants to come visit with you.”

  Michael and Melissa hadn’t been to see their grandmother in Little Springs for several years. They complained that there was nothing to do and Birdie worked. It bothered Katelyn that her mother hadn’t made time for her grandkids. She’d offered to give Birdie money to take the twins places if they came to visit, but Birdie always had an excuse for not being able to take time off from her job.

  “I’ll sleep in the single bed,
and Shirley can have the guest room,” Katelyn said.

  “I’d better throw something together for supper.”

  “Don’t go to any extra trouble for us.”

  “You’re no trouble, but your mother-in-law is a royal pain in the ass.”

  Katelyn delivered Shirley’s luggage to the guest room upstairs and put her own bag in the sewing room, then returned downstairs to find the older women sitting in the living room locked in a stare-down. “Mom, do you mind if Shirley keeps her purse on the table by the front door?”

  “I don’t care,” Birdie said.

  Now when Shirley came downstairs in the morning, she’d see the purse and hopefully remember to take it with her. At home Katelyn had trained Shirley to leave the purse on the kitchen desk.

  “I’d like to take a drive and see the town,” Shirley said.

  Birdie pointed across the room. “Save yourself the trouble and go look out the window.”

  Katelyn stopped next to the recliner and nudged her mother’s shoulder. Birdie grunted, then asked, “How’ve you been, Shirley?”

  “Fine. And you, Birdie?”

  “Fine.”

  Oh, brother. Katelyn sat on the couch. “Mom, you remember Shirley’s birthday is close to yours. She turned sixty-five this past Thursday.”

  Birdie smiled. “I’d forgotten you were five years older than me.”

  Shirley patted her hair. “Most people assume I’m much younger.”

  That was true. The differences in the older women were like day and night. Shirley’s face showed few age spots, while years of gardening in the sun had freckled Birdie’s skin and deepened the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Shirley colored her gray hair light blond, which lent her a more youthful appearance, while Birdie chose to wear her natural gray hair cropped close to the head, making her look older. Shirley sported a fresh manicure, and Birdie’s nails were short and the cuticles dry from overexposure to hand sanitizer—a hazard of working as a cashier.

  A knock on the back door echoed through the house and Katelyn popped off the couch. “I’ll go see who it is.”

  “There’s fresh lemonade in the fridge,” Birdie said. “Bring us a glass when you come back.”

  “Sure.” She hurried into the kitchen, then skidded to a stop halfway across the linoleum floor when she recognized the shadow standing on the porch.

  “Jackson.”

  He peered through the dirty mesh. “Katelyn?”

  She opened the screen door and stepped outside.

  Brown eyes surveyed her, starting at the top of her head and working their way down her body as slow as dripping honey. When he reached her sandals, his gaze shot back to her face and the right side of his mouth curved in a lazy smile—the same grin that long ago had sucked the air from a much-younger Katelyn’s lungs and left her woozy.

  “It’s been a while,” he said.

  The last time they’d seen each other was at her father’s funeral, but they hadn’t spoken. He’d sat in the back pew, and they’d only made eye contact at the end of the service before he’d slipped out the side door.

  Jackson looked older, but there were still traces of the young man she’d fallen hard for in his dark gaze. Silver strands mixed with black along his temples gave her beloved bad boy an almost respectable air. Faint lines bracketed his mouth and crossed his forehead. The once clean-shaven teenager now sported a neatly trimmed goatee, which made his face appear leaner and his cheekbones more chiseled. He still wore his jeans slung low on his hips, the faded denim ripped along the pocket, the hem ratty.

  She closed her eyes as the smell of sandalwood wafted beneath her nose, a nice change from the cloying scent of Shirley’s old-fashioned Chantilly perfume. He grasped her upper arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She drew in another deep breath and his aftershave messed with her head again.

  He loosened his grasp, his fingers gliding down her arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “How long are you staying?”

  “Until my mother and mother-in-law come to blows.”

  “Are your kids with you?”

  Twenty-two years had passed since she left Jackson behind, but she could still read his mind—he wanted to know if Don had come with her. What would he say if she told him that her husband was dumping her? “Michael’s taking summer school classes at the University of Michigan, and Melissa’s traveling abroad with a group of incoming college freshmen.”

  An awkward silence stretched between them before he nodded to the lawn mower next to the porch steps. “I fixed the motor for your mother.”

  “How much does she owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  She shifted from one sandal to the other, trying to find her balance beneath his steady stare.

  He backed down the steps, never taking his eyes off her. “You look good,” he said, then turned away and headed for his pickup.

  When his comment finally sank in, Katelyn swallowed a gasp and fled inside to check her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She groaned. It looked like she was wearing a squirrel’s nest on top of her head, and whatever makeup she’d begun the day with had been dissolved by the wind after driving with the top down.

  It figured that the first time she ran into her ex-boyfriend, she’d look as if she’d been spit out of a funnel cloud.

  “Who was at the door?” Birdie hollered from the living room.

  “Be right there.” Katelyn went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of lemonade. “Jackson,” she said, handing each of the mothers a drink. “He returned your lawn mower.”

  “Who’s Jackson?” Shirley asked.

  “A high school friend.” Ignoring the twinkle in Birdie’s eye, Katelyn changed the subject. “Is that why the grass looks as if it hasn’t been cut in over a month?”

  Birdie was too smart for her ploy. “I thought for sure Katelyn would marry that handsome devil.”

  Handsome wasn’t the right adjective to describe Jackson Mendoza. Sexy popped into her mind, followed by hot, and tasty—the word her daughter used to describe cute guys. “I’ll mow the lawn after supper.”

  “No, you won’t,” Birdie said. “I like cutting the grass. I’ll get it done in a couple of days.”

  Katelyn walked over to the the staircase. “I think I’ll unpack.” She could use a few minutes to figure out why her anger toward her soon-to-be ex-husband had mysteriously vanished when she’d gazed into Jackson’s eyes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “More potato salad, Shirley?” Birdie held out the bowl.

  “Good heavens, no. It’s high in cholesterol and bad for the waistline.”

  This was the third instance when Katelyn’s mother-in-law had commented on the fatty ingredients in the meal Birdie had put on the table.

  “There are pills you can take for your cholesterol,” Birdie said. “Besides, who cares about our waistlines at our age?”

  “I’ll have another spoonful.” Katelyn reached for the salad.

  Shirley made a tsk-tsk sound. “Now is not the time to let yourself go.”

  Birdie’s gaze swung to Katelyn. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Katelyn shot Shirley a warning glare, hoping she’d keep quiet about the divorce.

  “Do you have plans for your birthday, Birdie?” Shirley asked.

  “I do.” Birdie tapped the end of her fork against the table and gave Katelyn the look—a squinty-eyed stare that insisted they’d talk later.

  “Mom’s friends have a party for the birthday girl at their weekly bridge game,” Katelyn said to break the silence.

  “I’ve never played bridge. Robert and I mostly socialized at cocktail parties and of course we attended community fund-raisers each year.”

  When Birdie didn’t invite Shirley to her birthday celebration, Katelyn kicked her shin beneath
the table.

  “Ouch!” Birdie rubbed her leg. “You can come to my party if you want.”

  “Thank you, but”—Shirley dabbed the edge of the napkin against her mouth—“I wouldn’t fit in with your friends.”

  Birdie rolled her eyes. “You’ll fit in fine. All of our husbands are dead.”

  Shirley ignored the comment and patted Katelyn’s arm. “You should make your mother the chocolate fudge cake you baked for my birthday.”

  Birdie talked around the food in her mouth. “I can’t remember the last time my daughter baked a cake for me.”

  “Katelyn uses sour cream in the frosting. It’s delicious.”

  Birdie smirked. “My mother’s recipe.”

  Katelyn felt a headache coming on.

  “We polished it off in two days.”

  “What happened to counting calories?” Birdie asked.

  “Katelyn ate most of it. If I recall, you also drank two bottles of wine that day.”

  “I’m full.” Katelyn set her napkin on the table.

  “Of course you are.” Shirley stared at Katelyn’s empty plate. “You ate for two tonight.”

  Birdie crushed her napkin into a ball and Katelyn lurched across the table, grabbing the paper projectile before it beaned her mother-in-law in the face. “I put fresh towels for you on your bed, Shirley.” Katelyn cleared the dishes, carrying her mother’s arsenal of weapons to the sink first.

  “Do you need any help?” Shirley asked on her way out of the kitchen.

  “No, thanks. I have everything under control.” That was the furthest thing from the truth. If Katelyn didn’t tell her mother soon that Don had filed for divorce, Shirley would blurt out the news.

  “I believe I’ll turn in early. It’s been a long couple of days,” Shirley said.

  As soon as the stairs creaked, Birdie whispered, “What happened to taking a tour of the town?”

  “She probably forgot. I’ll drive her around tomorrow.” Katelyn opened the pantry. “Want me to make a pot of coffee?” Her mother drank decaf after supper.

  “I’d rather you tell me what the heck is going on.” Birdie covered the leftover potato salad with plastic wrap and stored the bowl in the fridge.