The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  The Little Springs gossip brigade was in full swing. Thanks to Birdie and Shirley’s spat in front of Layla in the store last week, everyone in town knew Katelyn had been dumped. “Yes, the rumors are true.”

  Abby’s gaze shifted to the register, then back to Katelyn. “You’re not planning to work here the rest of your life, are you?” She winced. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me to say when your mother’s been an employee for years.”

  Katelyn waved off the apology. “I’m not sure what I’ll do.” She’d barely had a moment to herself to think about anything since she’d arrived in town.

  “Layla said you went to college on an art scholarship.”

  The romantic in Katelyn had once fantasized about living in Paris and being a street artist in Montmartre, sketching tourists as they meandered by. She thought of the art pad she took with her everywhere. Why hadn’t she ever turned one of her doodles into a painting? “I haven’t gotten my easel out in years.”

  “You should paint while you’re here. I’d love to see one of your pictures.”

  People who weren’t artistic thought it was easy to create. That after you dabbed the end of a brush into a glob of color, a masterpiece would magically appear on the canvas. “I’m out of practice,” Katelyn said.

  “I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

  “Maybe.” Inspiration was an important part of the creative process, and Katelyn’s life had revolved around the kids, her mother-in-law and Don’s career for so long that she’d lost touch with the things that used to fuel her creativity—long walks along the train tracks, hours of people-watching and plenty of alone time.

  Abby turned her head to the side, her blond bob swinging across her face. “Maybe Walter will inspire you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Haven’t you noticed the boss always has his eye on you?”

  Katelyn’s gaze shifted to the manager’s window and Walter ducked his head.

  “I think he wants to ask you out on a date.”

  “No.” Not Walter Davis.

  “I’m right, aren’t I, Layla?”

  Their coworker approached the checkout, her voluptuous bosom and full hips sashaying in rhythm with her wavy black hair. The twenty-nine-year-old batted her false eyelashes. “Right about what?”

  “Walter told you that he was thinking of asking Katelyn out.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Layla smacked her gum, drawing attention to her pouty mouth and red lipstick so shiny it looked like she’d kissed a puddle of baby oil. “Walter wants to take you to the new steak house in Odessa.” She glanced at his office. “He said you were good friends in high school.”

  “Not really.” Katelyn couldn’t remember if she’d ever said hi to Walter when they’d passed in the halls.

  “I might have told him that you were happy about your divorce.” Katelyn’s mouth dropped open and Layla rushed on. “I had my roots touched up the other day.” She fluffed her hair. “Sadie said you were relieved that your marriage was over.”

  Birdie was putting her own spin on Katelyn and Don’s situation, because she was happy Don and his mother would be out of the picture soon. Still, Birdie had no business gossiping about her daughter.

  Layla and Abby exchanged glances. Then Layla said, “Is it true he cheated on you?”

  The nosy question reminded Katelyn of why she’d wanted to go away to college and leave her hometown in the dust. “Yes, there’s another woman.”

  Abby tugged the sleeve of Layla’s work smock. “He’s late.”

  “Who’s late?” Katelyn asked.

  “Brian, the Entenmann’s delivery driver. He has a crush on Layla, but she’s playing hard to get.”

  “Why?” As long as everyone was sticking their nose into Katelyn’s business, she’d join in the gossiping.

  “Layla’s waiting for her prince to drive his white pickup through town and sweep her off her feet.” Abby laughed.

  “Princes are in short supply when you have a twelve-year-old son.” Layla thrust her lower lip out.

  “And,” Abby said, “she’s attracted to hot guys with lots of muscle.”

  Layla shrugged. “What can I say? I like six-pack abs.”

  “Unlike other men around here”—Abby’s gaze flicked to the office window—“Brian still has all his hair.”

  Katelyn laughed. “Is there anything you like about Brian, Layla?”

  “He asks about my son, Gavin, when he comes into the store.”

  “And he always tells Layla how nice she looks,” Abby said.

  Don had hardly ever complimented Katelyn on her clothes or her looks.

  “But Brian’s a deliveryman,” Layla whined. “I want a man who makes enough money to help pay my bills.”

  Katelyn didn’t know what to say, because she’d snagged a rich prince for herself. And look where that got you.

  “Here he comes now. Pretend we weren’t talking about him.” Abby went back to stocking magazines. Katelyn remained at her register and Layla beat a hasty retreat down the bread aisle. As soon as Brian pushed his dolly of baked goods into the store, Walter emerged from his office.

  “Brian, did you catch the Astros game Wednesday night?”

  “Couldn’t believe they came back in the ninth inning to clinch the win.” Brian had sun-bleached hair and an all-American smile that belonged on a package of beef franks. His blue eyes swung to the register and Walter said, “This is Katelyn. Birdie’s daughter.”

  He parked his dolly and shook her hand. “Brian Montgomery.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Katelyn’s taking her mother’s place for a few days.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Birdie, I hope.”

  The boy-next-door was kind, too. Layla needed to give this man a closer look. “She’s taking a mini vacation from the job,” Katelyn said.

  Brian’s gaze skipped around the store. Katelyn tilted her head toward the bread aisle, and he and the dolly of pastry cakes made a beeline in that direction.

  Walter pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and inched closer to Katelyn. He wore gray slacks, a white dress shirt and a red-and-gray-striped tie—a little overdressed for a small-town grocery store. “Can I talk to you a minute?” he asked.

  Hoping to distract him from asking her out, she said, “It’s really nice of you to allow me to work my mother’s hours while I’m in town.”

  “Birdie’s my best employee.” He straightened the plastic-bag caddy at the end of the counter. “I thought that since you’ll be in town for a while . . .”

  Darn it.

  “There’s a new steak house in Odessa. Maybe Birdie told you about it.”

  “No, she hasn’t mentioned the restaurant.”

  His brow glistened with sweat. “If you weren’t busy one night this week . . .”

  Walter’s gaze swung past Katelyn. “Jackson.”

  The once infamous Little Springs bad boy set a twelve-pack of Dr Pepper on the check stand. “Walt.” Jackson dipped his head at Katelyn.

  “I was telling Katelyn about the new steak house in Odessa. You been there yet?”

  Jackson shook his head.

  She scanned the soda. “Five fifty-three.”

  Jackson put his credit card in the machine, selected the cash-back option, then entered his PIN.

  The till popped open, and Katelyn handed him two twenty-dollar bills but held on to the money when he attempted to grab it. His eyes twinkled when she sent him a silent plea to save her from Walter. She released the money and he grabbed the soda.

  “You’ll have to let me know how the steaks are,” he said, and walked off, Katelyn’s gaze admiring the way his worn jeans hugged his backside. When he reached the exit, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Rat.

  “Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me?�
�� Walter asked.

  “I appreciate the invite, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company.”

  His gaze dropped to her ring finger. “It doesn’t have to be a date.”

  Maybe Walter thought she didn’t want her marriage to end because she still wore her ring. Jackson’s pickup sped through the parking lot and turned onto Main Street. Did he wonder why she still wore her wedding band?

  “We don’t have to talk,” Walter said. “We’ll eat and leave.”

  “Walter?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to go out with you.”

  “Sure. Okay. Maybe another time.” He hurried into his office and closed the door.

  Abby wheeled the cart of magazines back to the storeroom, then returned to the registers. “I heard you broke Jackson’s heart after you went off to college.”

  “For someone who never lived in this town, you sure know a lot about what went on decades ago.”

  “My father gets his hair cut a lot.”

  If only humans were bald . . . there would be no need for hair salons or beauticians and everyone’s secrets would remain safe.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Walter thinks you snubbed his invitation to dinner because of Jackson.” Layla stepped behind Katelyn’s register.

  “That’s not true. I don’t like steak.” Three hours had passed since Jackson had left the store, and Katelyn figured Layla would ask about him.

  “Jackson hasn’t come into the store in a while.” Layla winked. “Maybe he still has a crush on you.”

  Jackson had always been a private person and he wouldn’t appreciate her sharing their history with others. “We’re too old for crushes.”

  “Maybe, but you’re not too old to have sex with him.”

  Katelyn fumbled the role of nickels she was emptying into the money drawer and two of the coins spilled onto the floor. No matter how intriguing a fling with her old flame sounded, she didn’t need another complication in her unsettled life.

  “Don’t worry about Walter. If you decide to hook up with Jackson while you’re here, the boss will have to deal with it.”

  “I’m not getting together with anyone.” Maybe saying it out loud would make it so.

  Layla peeked over her shoulder at Walter’s office. “You do know that he divorced his wife, Missy, because she had a one-night stand with Jackson.”

  No wonder Walter’s greeting had been cool toward Jackson. A sliver of jealousy pricked Katelyn. She’d rather not put a face to the women who’d shared Jackson’s bed. “Brian seems like a nice guy.”

  Layla laughed. “Okay, I’ll stop talking about Jackson.” She expelled a loud sigh. “Brian’s nice, but he’s not exciting.”

  “What happened with Gavin’s father?”

  “Mike comes around once in a while. Mostly when he’s broke or needs a place to stay.” Layla’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I was crazy for him, but he could never hold down a job, so I filed for divorce. Mike didn’t even put up a fight.”

  Shirley thought Katelyn should fight for her marriage. Maybe if Don hadn’t had an affair, she’d consider counseling, but not after he’d cheated on her.

  The office door opened and Walter said, “It’s almost five, Katelyn. Time to cash out.” He watched her transfer the money from her drawer into the bank bag; then he took it back to his office and deposited it in the safe.

  “Enjoy the rest of your day,” Layla said.

  “See you tomorrow.” Katelyn cut through the produce department and entered the employee lounge located in the back of the storeroom.

  Five lockers, a card table and chairs, an old fridge and a microwave sat in the corner next to the loading-dock door. She punched in the date of her parents’ anniversary on the keypad, then opened her mother’s locker and hung up her smock. She caught her reflection in the magnetic mirror on the inside of the door and studied her drawn face. Stocking tomato soup and scanning groceries for twelve customers shouldn’t be that taxing, but she looked exhausted.

  And to think her mother had done this job for decades.

  She dabbed a little color on her pale lips, powdered her nose, then removed the elastic band that held her hair in a ponytail and tossed it onto the shelf before grabbing her purse and closing the locker.

  She’d walked down the hill to the store earlier in the day, leaving the Mercedes at the house in case Shirley talked Birdie into taking her somewhere. She flipped the light off, then left through the back door. She’d made it to the bottom of the ramp before she saw Jackson’s pickup and stopped short. He leaned against the passenger-side door—arms crossed over his chest, boots notched at the ankles. His red T-shirt matched the color of the truck. His lips spread into a lazy grin and her pulse kicked up a notch.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I thought you might want to take a ride.”

  His words sent her reeling back in time to the spur-of-the-moment drives they’d taken in Jackson’s old Mustang.

  She walked over to him and smiled. “Remember the drive we took on Highway Twenty-nine and we ended up at the abandoned mine?”

  “All I wanted to do that afternoon was make out with you in the cave, but you had to draw it on your sketch pad first.”

  Jackson had always been patient with her when she’d wanted to draw, sitting next to her quietly, studying her—like he was doing now. “You were a good sport.”

  “The waiting usually paid off,” he said, then opened the door and stood back.

  What could it hurt to climb in, buckle up and pretend she was eighteen again? She glanced at her mother’s house on the hill, where Birdie and Shirley waited for her to get off work. A gust of wind stirred the scent of Jackson’s cologne, propelling her forward into the passenger seat.

  He walked past the hood of the pickup and got behind the wheel, then drove around the corner of the building and cut through the parking lot. Walter stood at the front window next to the “Get It While It’s Hot—Glacier Bag of Ice $2.99” sign. The boss’s mouth dropped open when he recognized Katelyn in the front seat of Jackson’s truck.

  “We’re going to be the topic of conversation at Mama’s Kitchen tomorrow,” she said.

  “Like old times.” He flashed a smile and hit the gas as they headed out of town.

  “How about the railroad tracks?” What would he think of her wanting to visit their special place? She reached into her purse for her cell phone.

  “I heard about your divorce,” he said.

  “And I heard you cheated with Walter’s wife.”

  His mouth twitched. “Welcome back to Little Springs.”

  They drove in silence, the truck whizzing past an abandoned mobile home park with a handful of dilapidated trailers propped up on cinder blocks. Past acres of scrubland fenced in by barbed wire. Past an abandoned car with its hood missing and weeds growing up through the engine.

  He slowed the truck and moved onto the shoulder, then turned down a familiar dirt road. The same path she’d walked with Jackson numerous times. “What happened to that house?” She pointed to the charred remains.

  “Meth lab blew up.”

  “Little Springs has a drug problem?”

  “The meth cooks weren’t from here. No one knew they’d been using the abandoned house until it caught fire.”

  “Back in high school, it was beer and pot. Kids today are taking prescription drugs and sniffing bath salts,” she said. “Do you have any kids?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  His flippant response surprised her. How many casual affairs had he had since their breakup? She’d slept with only two men in her lifetime, and one of them was sitting next to her.

  Jackson slowed the pickup as he navigated the potholes in the road. “When was the last time you came down to the tracks?”

&nbs
p; “The night before I left for college.” When she’d brought Don home to meet her parents, she’d thought about visiting this spot, but hadn’t wanted to bring her fiancé to the place that held special memories of another man. “What about you?”

  “I came out once after I moved back.” He stopped the truck, shifted into park and then turned off the engine. “I had to know if the tree was still here.”

  Their tree. The live oak they’d spent hours sitting beneath, talking. Kissing. The place where they’d said their final good-bye.

  “How did you end up with Walter’s wife?” she asked as they hiked along the path leading to the tracks.

  “There’s not much to the story.” He took her hand and helped her step over a fallen branch. His grasp was as secure as she remembered, but his skin was rougher, the calluses thicker—as if her fingers held a coarse sanding block. Years of manual labor had left his knuckles covered in scars. After she cleared the branch, he released her hand and she curled her fingers into her palm, to keep the warmth of his touch from escaping.

  “I see the path hasn’t completely disappeared,” she said.

  “We weren’t the first or the last teenagers to discover this spot.” They walked through a wooded area filled with oak trees and pine, weeds, sparse grass and leftover trash from numerous drinking parties. As they emerged from the woods, memories of Jackson trying to impress her pulled her back in time.

  She spotted the huge oak they’d carved their initials in and walked up to it. After a few seconds of searching, she found the JM + KC and traced her finger over the outline of the heart encircling the letters.

  “Let me check for snakes.”

  She smiled. “I swear to you I saw a snake that day. I wasn’t imagining it.”

  “When you screamed, I thought you’d found a dead body.”

  Jackson had gone to his car to fetch her sketch pad from the front seat. A minute after he’d left, a Western diamondback had slithered across the ground in front of Katelyn’s foot and she’d shrieked like a banshee. Jackson had raced back to the tracks and when he’d burst through the trees, his tan face had been paler than his white T-shirt. He’d never said the words—in fact, the whole time they’d gone steady, he’d never confessed his feelings for her. But when she’d seen the abject fear in his eyes that afternoon, she’d known that he loved her.