The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  Like mother, like daughter. Katelyn had never taken art lessons when she’d been younger.

  “I was thirteen when I knew I wanted to sing in Nashville.”

  Her mother had wanted to escape her childhood home as much as Katelyn had. Birdie had grown up an only child of older parents on a farm near Wallace, Kansas. Grandma Ada had died of a heart attack when Katelyn was seven years old, and on the way out of town after the funeral, they’d stopped at a convalescent home to visit Katelyn’s grandfather, who’d suffered a stroke a year earlier. That was the last time she’d seen her grandfather.

  “So that’s why the kitchen radio is always tuned to a country station.”

  “When I was a teenager,” Birdie said, “I’d try to mimic the songs on my guitar.”

  “What happened to your dream of going to Nashville?”

  “I met your father and became pregnant with you.”

  Katelyn had known her mother had been three months pregnant when she’d married her father, but she hadn’t known what her mother had given up to keep Katelyn.

  “Couldn’t you have continued singing?”

  Birdie quit strumming the instrument. “Your father put in a lot of overtime, but he didn’t make enough money for us to afford our own home, so I had to work, too.”

  “You could have written songs and played in your spare time.”

  “You mean the same way you’ve painted in your spare time while raising the twins?”

  Touché.

  “Is that why you didn’t protest when I went out of state to college?”

  A watery film covered her mother’s eyes. “I wanted you to follow your dream and not end up like me, always pondering what would have happened if I’d kept playing.”

  Katelyn picked at a piece of peeling paint on the step. She could only imagine how disappointed her mother had been all these years, knowing Katelyn had stopped painting. “It’s not too late to play the guitar again.”

  “I’m sixty.” Birdie laughed. “What’s a woman my age going to do with a few lovin’-and-leavin’ songs?”

  “Perform at local bars,” Katelyn said.

  Her mother plucked a guitar string. “I haven’t written music in decades.”

  “If you need inspiration for a new song”—Katelyn pointed at the back door—“she’s sitting inside at the kitchen table, picking the raisins out of an English muffin.”

  Birdie winked. “Maybe I can come up with a short little get-even ditty.”

  • • •

  “Thanks for coming in,” Abby said Wednesday evening when Katelyn walked up to the register. “It’s been dead as a doornail since seven thirty, but Walter has a rule that two people have to close when he’s not here.”

  “Where’s Layla?” Katelyn asked.

  “Brian took her and Gavin to the movies in Odessa. Gavin’s been wanting to see the latest Star Wars movie and Brian said he wanted to see it, too.”

  “That’s two nights in a row they’ve been together. Any chance Layla will change her mind about him?”

  “I doubt it.” Abby reached beneath her counter for the glass cleaner and paper towels. “Speaking of soccer games, my father really enjoyed chatting with your mother-in-law last night.”

  Vern had entertained Shirley for most of the soccer game with stories about the different congregations he’d been involved with and the quirky people he’d met through the years. “I think Shirley enjoyed herself.”

  “Will you wipe down the doors while I stock the checkouts?” Abby handed over the cleaning supplies.

  “What’s Walter up to tonight?” Katelyn asked.

  “He wouldn’t say, but last month I caught him using a dating site on the office computer. Maybe he’s out with one of his connections.” Abby opened a box of candy bars and found a spot for them next to the register.

  Katelyn wiped the fingerprints off the doors, then restocked the plastic bags at the end of the checkout counters. “Tell me about your father,” Katelyn said.

  “My mom was his second wife. The first one divorced him when he started drinking. He’d been sober about a year when he met my mother, and she was a decade younger than him when they married.” Abby waved a hand before her face. “After Mom died, Jackson phoned and said he was worried about my father.”

  “Jackson contacted you?”

  “He said Dad had fallen off the wagon and that’s when he told me that my father was his AA sponsor.” Abby shrugged. “All that AA stuff is supposed to be kept secret, but that’s impossible to do in a small town like Little Springs.”

  Katelyn was glad Jackson had Vern looking out for him.

  “I arrived here, thinking I’d only stay a few weeks,” Abby said.

  “But your dad wouldn’t stop drinking?”

  “No, he’s remained sober, but he’s lonely. I think he needs a companion. Someone to tell him where to go and what to do like my mother did.”

  “Has he dated since your mother passed?”

  Abby shook her head. “I invited him to live with me in Dallas, but he doesn’t want to leave Jackson or the other members of the group.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Abby replaced an empty candy box with Tic Tacs. “When I threatened to leave town, Dad got teary-eyed and I dropped the subject.”

  “I wish I could help,” Katelyn said.

  Abby smiled. “Maybe you can.”

  “How?”

  “After watching Shirley and my father at the soccer game, I’m certain that my dad likes her.”

  A red flag went up inside Katelyn’s head. “Maybe you’re mistaking like for amusement.” No one liked Shirley.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Abby said. “Will you find an excuse to bring your mother-in-law by the house when Dad’s home?”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not interested in dating.” At least not anyone she deemed beneath her.

  “Sadie said Shirley’s been a widow for three years. She’s probably as lonely as my father.”

  Katelyn hadn’t given any thought to Shirley being lonely after she’d moved in with them in St. Louis, but she supposed it was possible even for someone as ornery as her mother-in-law to miss having a companion to do things with. “Your father is a down-to-earth, nice man, but Shirley’s . . .”

  “Snooty?” Abby laughed. “She’s exactly what my father needs to pull him out of his funk.” Abby deposited the empty candy boxes in the recycle bin next to Walter’s office. “When are you and Shirley leaving town?”

  Katelyn hadn’t decided yet. “We’d only planned to stay a couple of weeks.”

  “Then we have to hurry.”

  “Maybe we should give it a little more thought.” Katelyn still wasn’t sold on the matchmaking idea.

  “I’m desperate. I’ve put my life on hold long enough.”

  “Have you tried using a little tough love with your father and returning to Dallas without him?” Katelyn winced. Where was her tough love when she’d allowed Shirley to tag along on her trip home? “Or you could create a profile for your dad on a dating site.”

  Abby ignored the suggestion and glanced at the store clock. “It’s almost nine. Let’s lock up.” She handed Katelyn the keys to the front doors. Five minutes later Abby turned on the security lighting and checked the bathrooms to make sure no customers were left inside.

  “Got any plans tonight?” Abby tossed her smock into the locker.

  “Nothing exciting.” She hoped to finish the drawing she’d begun of the Little Springs Ladies’ Society meeting at Sadie’s beauty shop yesterday. “I’m heading over to Doris’s house to stop in at Mom’s birthday party.”

  “I forgot about Birdie’s birthday.”

  “What do they do at these parties?” Kate
lyn asked.

  “I think they play cards and drink sangria.”

  “Sounds harmless enough.” Katelyn grabbed her purse and they left through the back door.

  “Fancy car,” Abby said when she saw the Mercedes.

  “My mother-in-law likes to show off.”

  “Sure I can’t talk you into setting her up with my father?”

  “Not a chance.” She doubted even a servant of God could survive a date with Shirley Pratt.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Katelyn drove Shirley’s Mercedes through town and then turned the corner at Gifford’s Resale. Doris’s ranch house sat in the middle of the block next to a vacant lot. She pulled up to the mailbox—a metal container covered in a rainbow of colored seashells. The maritime-styled box sat perched on a wooden post cemented into a Home Depot paint bucket. In place of the postal flag, an aqua blue mermaid with sparkly blond hair waited to be raised in the air.

  Light poured through the house windows, spilling across the front lawn. A fence with several missing pickets kept Doris’s collection of plaster of Paris wildlife from escaping. A family of gnomes watched over the animals, their little faces peeking above the blades of grass. The flock of miniature flamingos shared the flower bed with a mama skunk and her three babies. Not far away a plastic deer missing its left ear rested with a family of raccoons near a tree stump.

  Overgrown oleander bushes hid half the porch, and not until Katelyn reached the front door did she notice the miniature garden—an assortment of tin coffee cans containing potted plants. Katelyn knocked. No one answered. She tried the knob, but the door was locked. She walked around the house and discovered the back door cracked open. Raucous laughter met her ears when she stepped into the empty kitchen.

  “Your turn to say something nice about the birthday girl.” Mavis’s deep voice echoed from the living room.

  “This is dumb. I want another brownie,” Shirley said.

  “You have to say something nice about Birdie,” Faye spoke up.

  Birdie laughed. “Miss Prissy Pants doesn’t like me.”

  Shirley giggled. “I like you, Birdie.”

  “Liar.”

  Katelyn crossed her fingers and prayed the two women wouldn’t start an argument.

  “I like you because you raised a nice daughter who puts up with me.”

  Whoa. Where did that come from?

  “I don’t know why Katelyn tolerates all your crap.”

  “Because she’s a good girl like her mother,” Shirley said.

  “Is that nice enough, Birdie?” Mavis asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “My turn.” The voice sounded like it belonged to Harriet.

  “Wait,” Birdie shouted. “I want to know if Shirley was a good girl or a bad girl before she got married.”

  The women giggled.

  If Katelyn had to guess, she’d say the women were on their third or fourth pitcher of sangria.

  “I was a good girl, of course,” Shirley said.

  After the group’s laughter died down, Birdie said, “It’s Mavis’s turn, Harriet. Then you.”

  Katelyn peeked around the doorjamb and saw Shirley launch a pillow across the room, knocking Mavis upside the head. “I thought you were athletic.” Athletic was Shirley’s code word for lesbian.

  “I’ll show you how athletic I am.” Mavis attempted to push herself off the couch but fell back against the cushion.

  Shirley held up her wineglass. “I need a refill.”

  Etta topped off the glass.

  “Hurry, Mavis,” Harriet said.

  Katelyn wished she’d thought to bring her purse with her. She’d love to sketch a picture of the drunken grannies.

  “What I like most about Birdie,” Mavis said, “is that she doesn’t give a rat’s ass what other people think.”

  “Hear, hear.” Everyone took a swig from her glass.

  “Now it’s my turn.” Harriet shushed the group. “I like Birdie because no matter how tired she is, she’s always got a smile for you when you get to the register.”

  Sadie cleared her throat. “I like Birdie because she lets me experiment with her hair and if I screw up, she says, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll grow back.’”

  “Etta’s going to speak for both of us,” Faye said.

  “We like Birdie because she can tell the difference between us when others can’t,” Etta said.

  “Aw, that’s sweet.” Nanette clapped. “I like Birdie because she’s always willing to watch my mother if I need an afternoon to myself.”

  “And I like Birdie because she gives me a gnome for Christmas every year,” Doris said.

  The comment ignited a conversation about this year’s Christmas gift exchange, and Katelyn stepped back from the doorway, her thoughts springing forward to future holidays, thinking of where she’d be and whom she’d be celebrating with.

  “When did you get here?” Doris pulled up short after she entered the kitchen and saw Katelyn. The slim granny wore a pair of tie-dyed overalls and a matching T-shirt.

  “I knocked on the front door, but no one answered, so I came around to the back.” She glanced toward the living room. “Sounds like everyone’s having fun.”

  Doris winked. “Your mother-in-law likes my special birthday brownies.”

  Katelyn’s gaze shifted to the baking dish on the counter with only a sliver of chocolate brownie left.

  “Try it,” Doris said.

  As if on cue, Katelyn’s stomach growled. “You sure no one else wants the last piece?”

  “We’ve all had seconds. Shirley’s had three helpings.”

  Maybe Birdie had finally swayed Shirley to stop counting calories.

  Katelyn took a bite, chewed for a second and then spit the cake into the sink. “You didn’t!” She tasted marijuana.

  Doris pinched her fingers together. “A smidgen.”

  “That was no smidgen.”

  “Maybe two smidgens.” She smiled. “Or three. I might have gotten distracted when I mixed the batter.”

  Now Katelyn knew why the women were giggling so much.

  “Have you played bridge yet?”

  Doris shook her head. “We don’t really play bridge. We tell people that’s what we do.”

  “Have you opened presents yet?” Katelyn asked.

  “We did. Why don’t you pour yourself some wine and join us?” Doris said.

  Katelyn couldn’t afford to drink. She had to figure out a way to get all the ladies safely home—and she knew whom to ask for help. “I forgot Mom’s gift.” That was the truth. She’d left the birthday card with a check inside on the dresser in her room. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  Katelyn stopped at the door. “Don’t let anyone leave until I return.”

  “I won’t.” Doris smiled.

  Katelyn let herself out, thinking Little Springs needed an Uber driver. She cut across the lawn, walked down the block and around the corner past Gifford’s Resale and then stopped at Mendoza Auto. The lights were on in the bay, the door open. Jackson’s work boots peeked out from beneath an Impala. She entered the garage and said, “You’re working late.”

  The clanging stopped and Jackson pushed the creeper out from beneath the car. He stared up at her, his mouth firm but his eyes warm—he was glad to see her. She pointed to the smudge on his forehead.

  “Did I mention when we dated that I think grease stains are sexy?”

  He gifted her with an amused smile, then climbed to his feet. Her gaze traveled over his body before returning to the ripped denim above the knee, which showed a glimpse of muscled thigh. “I liked your torn jeans, too.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “You used to poke your fingers inside the rip and pull the hair on my legs.”

  She laughed.


  He waved at the couch. “Have a seat.”

  Once she was settled, she said, “You were at the soccer game last night. Why didn’t you sit in the stands?” With me.

  “I had work to do.”

  “I can tell when you’re lying. Remember we dated for almost a year.”

  “We did more than date.” His brown eyes flashed before he went to the sink to wash his hands. Keeping his back to her, he puttered at the bench, sorting tools. She let him think she’d dropped the subject and spent the next fifteen minutes watching him work.

  When he finally looked her way, she sent him a sly grin and repeated her question. “Why didn’t you watch the whole game?”

  “I don’t care for socializing.”

  Katelyn’s heart tweaked when she imagined Jackson keeping to himself all these years.

  He found another task to do and she rested her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been closed when he spoke again. “You were drawing in the stands.”

  She smiled at his not-so-subtle attempt to steer the conversation back to her.

  “I’d like to see what you were working on,” he said.

  “I need more practice before I bare my soul to others.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and his gaze bored into her as if he tried to see into her heart.

  “You never told me you wanted to run your own business,” she said.

  “I didn’t know that’s what I wanted to do until years later, after we’d graduated from school.”

  “It’s funny how all along your dream was waiting right here at home for you.” She swept her hand in front of her. “And I was so sure my dream was anywhere but in Little Springs.”

  “What else have you been doing besides raising the twins and taking care of your mother-in-law?”

  “I’ve volunteered at the kids’ school and helped my husband’s employer with corporate fund-raisers. I’ve also become an expert on throwing dinner parties.”

  “Do you like doing that kind of thing?” he asked.

  “The dinner parties?”

  He nodded.

  “At first it was fun. After the twentieth party . . . not so much. To be honest, I hate cooking now. I’m happy eating a cold salad for supper or popping a frozen dinner into the microwave.”