The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  She was both relieved and disappointed that they weren’t sleeping together. “Jackson and I aren’t fighting, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Abby didn’t look convinced, but she dropped the subject. “I could use your advice.”

  “Sure,” Katelyn said, her attention on the portrait she’d begun drawing yesterday.

  “My boss called.”

  “How old is your boss?”

  “Steve’s thirty-seven.” Abby pulled out a chair at the table. “Why?”

  “You’ve never mentioned him before, but you sounded excited when you brought him up just now.” Katelyn smiled. “You have a crush on him, don’t you?”

  Abby looked away and opened her locker. “The company has a strict policy against dating coworkers.”

  “He’s not your coworker. He’s your boss.”

  Abby sighed. “Okay, fine. He’s handsome. And brilliant.”

  “Divorced?”

  “Never been married.”

  “Is he dating anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Do you catch him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking?”

  Abby sucked in a quick breath. “Yes.”

  “You’re pretty and smart. Any man in his right mind would have snapped you up before now, but I bet you’re holding out because you want to be with Steve.”

  “If we date, one of us would have to leave the business.”

  “So quit. Find a job somewhere else and go after the man you want to be with.” A long time ago Jackson had made Katelyn happy, and then she’d traded up for Don. What would have happened to her and Jackson if she’d returned to Little Springs after college? Would he have stopped drinking? Would she have kept drawing all these years?

  “I’ve worked hard to climb the ladder at Milligan Natural Gas. I don’t want to start at the bottom somewhere new,” Abby said.

  “You said you wanted kids.”

  “Becoming a mother shouldn’t mean I have to give up my dream career.”

  “You’re right,” Katelyn said.

  “Being part of Steve’s team makes me happy. I miss the work and I miss him.”

  “You’re in a tough spot,” Katelyn said.

  “Steve wants me to lead a new PR campaign.” She offered a shy smile. “I don’t like bragging, but I’m really good at what I do.”

  “What happens if you decline the opportunity?”

  “I’ll get passed over when the next special project comes along.”

  “Then go to Dallas.”

  “I don’t know if my dad’s strong enough to be left alone.”

  “He’s not alone. He’s got Shirley.”

  “But that relationship ends as soon as you and your mother-in-law return to St. Louis.”

  “If they’re still getting along by the end of the summer, maybe Shirley will invite Vern to St. Louis.”

  “I can’t picture my father living out his last years anywhere but here. And there’s Jackson.”

  “What about Jackson?”

  “Dad’s his mentor. He won’t leave him high and dry.”

  “Jackson wants what’s best for your dad. He’ll find another sponsor.”

  “Dad’s more than a sponsor, Katelyn. Jackson is like a son to my father. And I can never repay Jackson for being there when my dad fell off the wagon after my mother died.”

  A noise sounded outside the break room. Abby poked her head around the doorway. “Walter’s coming.” She turned back to Katelyn. “Any chance Shirley would consider relocating to Little Springs?”

  Good God. “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Go to Dallas, Abby. At least for a few weeks. Jackson and I will keep tabs on Shirley and your dad.”

  “A few weeks would give me time to develop a campaign. Then Steve could take over if I have to return.”

  Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case and Abby could remain in Dallas.

  “Since when did fifteen-minute breaks become thirty?” Walter asked when he entered the room.

  “Katelyn’s on her lunch break, and I quit,” Abby said.

  Walter frowned. “Why? What happened?”

  “It’s time for me to return to Dallas.” Abby slipped off her smock and tossed it into her locker. “Thank you for allowing me to work here while I was in town. I’d have gone crazy without something to do every day.”

  “What about giving your two weeks’ notice?”

  “I’ll work more hours until you hire someone to replace Abby, and you don’t have to pay me overtime,” Katelyn said.

  “Thank you.” Abby hugged Katelyn. “It’s been fun working with you. Tell Layla I’ll give her a call before I skip town.” Abby left through the back door.

  “I can ask Birdie to cover Abby’s hours,” Walter said.

  “I’ll do it.” Katelyn wanted her mother to enjoy the rest of her summer, and if she and Jackson weren’t spending all their free time together anymore, then she needed to keep busy.

  “Did you see this?” Walter pulled a yellow flyer from his pocket and handed it to Katelyn.

  She unfolded the paper. Her mother’s band was performing tonight at Doris’s house. “I guess I know what I’m doing later.”

  Walter pointed to her sketch. “What are you working on?”

  She turned the paper toward him. “Doris Clemmons.” Ever since she’d helped the old woman find the aloe vera juice in the store, Katelyn had wanted to draw her face.

  “I never noticed her eyes before. Is she always in that much pain?”

  “She injured her back years ago.” Katelyn studied the face on the paper. “But despite her pain, she manages a smile for everyone.”

  “I’ll need your help up front for the rest of the day.” Walter left the break room.

  Katelyn set her charcoal pencil down and studied her work. She’d left town believing the only images worth drawing were beyond the boundaries of Little Springs. Why had it taken her so long to realize that it wasn’t places that had stories to tell, but the people who lived there?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When Katelyn came around the side of the house, she ran into Shirley on the back porch.

  “You put in a long day at work,” her mother-in-law said.

  “My dogs are barking.” Katelyn climbed the steps and then sat in the chair and parked her feet on the porch rail. “Where’s my mother?”

  “She’s at Doris’s.”

  “Why didn’t you go with her?”

  “Vern’s picking me up. We’re going out to dinner before the concert.”

  It was already six o’clock. “What time is he supposed to get here?”

  Shirley fussed with the buttons on her blouse. “Soon.”

  For all Katelyn knew, Shirley might have forgotten what time Vern told her to be ready and she’d been waiting on the porch all afternoon. “You two are spending a lot of time together.”

  “I’m not the one sneaking through town at dawn after spending the night with an old boyfriend.”

  No way did she want to discuss Jackson with her mother-in-law. “What’s going to happen between you and Vern when we return to St. Louis?”

  “I’ll be back here to visit again.”

  Katelyn’s mouth dropped open. “But you hate Little Springs.”

  “Hate is a strong word. I prefer St. Louis, but this town has a few things going for it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sadie’s hair salon.” Shirley pointed to her head. “She does a better job on my hair than Pam ever did.”

  “What about the lack of fine dining?” Katelyn said.

  “I don’t know why everyone likes Ginny’s pies. I’ve had better.”

  “Besides not having a decent restaurant, you don’t fit in with the ladies aro
und here,” Katelyn reminded Shirley.

  “It’s true that I have more class than the members of the ladies’ society, but I’m willing to overlook that and call them friends.”

  Katelyn had never imagined she’d see the day her mother-in-law called women who ate Tombstone frozen pizzas her friends.

  Shirley took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. “The ladies I socialized with in Kansas City weren’t friends—not in any true sense of the word. They would never have accepted a stranger into their circles the way your mother and the other women welcomed me. I know I’m opinionated and that I can be difficult to get along with, but real friends put up with your faults.”

  “So you like being part of the Little Springs Ladies’ Society.”

  “At our age it no longer matters what kind of car you drive or home you live in.” Shirley jutted her chin. “Having said that, I refuse to give up my Mercedes.”

  Katelyn had never thought she’d see the day her mother-in-law defended those below her on the social ladder.

  “I’m going to ask Vern to return to St. Louis with us.”

  “You didn’t by chance talk to Abby today, did you?”

  “She stopped by earlier to tell me that she’s leaving for Dallas.”

  “Is that all she said?”

  “She mentioned that Vern’s never been to Missouri and would enjoy seeing St. Louis.”

  “Are you inviting him for a visit or longer?”

  “I haven’t decided.” Shirley’s eyes sparkled and Katelyn couldn’t recall her mother-in-law acting this happy in years.

  “How did Vern take the news that Abby’s leaving?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out soon.” Shirley shifted her attention to the end of the driveway, where Vern’s pickup turned in. He parked next to the Mercedes.

  “Hello, ladies,” he said as he approached the porch.

  “Did you speak with Abby?” Shirley asked when he propped a foot on the bottom step.

  “She’s leaving for Dallas in the morning.”

  “And . . . ?” Shirley prompted.

  Vern smiled. “She said I was in good hands with you.”

  Katelyn wasn’t sticking around to watch two old people make goo-goo eyes at each other. She was halfway to the door when Vern’s voice stopped her.

  “Jackson’s finally found a sense of peace and purpose in Little Springs, Katelyn. If you ask him to give that up, I’m concerned he’ll fall back into his old ways.”

  The old man wasn’t giving Jackson enough credit. The town mechanic was a lot stronger than people believed. “You’re worrying for nothing. We’re friends.” She escaped inside, letting the screen door bang closed behind her.

  • • •

  Katelyn checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. She’d curled her hair but hated the results. She looked like a forty-year-old woman trying to pretend she was sixteen. It was time to stop using her long hair as a weapon against her mother-in-law.

  The woman staring back at her in the mirror was the old Katelyn—the young girl who’d given up parts of herself when she’d married Don and had the twins. It was time to say good-bye to her.

  She left the house and headed down the hill to Main Street. When she passed Mendoza Auto, the bay door was closed, but the lights were on. She hoped Jackson would come to the concert. Reflecting back on their time together in high school, she was ashamed that she’d been so caught up in her own dreams and plans that she hadn’t been aware Jackson had felt like an outcast in his hometown. She turned the corner at the end of the block and saw a crowd gathering in Doris’s driveway. Sadie raised her hand and waved Katelyn over.

  “I saved you a seat.” She patted the lawn chair next to her, then opened the cooler by her feet and offered Katelyn a beer.

  “No, thanks.” She wasn’t a beer drinker.

  “Isn’t it fabulous what your mother is doing?”

  “I admit Mom surprised me when she said she’d formed a band.”

  “I saw Birdie play once. Did she tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “She was singing at the Hoot-n-Holler in Pecos. They closed the bar years ago.” Sadie swatted at a fly buzzing her head. “Birdie was nine months pregnant with you, but she managed to hold that guitar despite her big belly.” Sadie smiled. “When she sang, everyone in the bar stopped talking. Birdie’s voice was like smoke—low, smooth and hypnotizing. She sang three songs, then packed up her guitar and left. Two days later she gave birth to you.”

  And then Birdie had stowed her dream away and gone on with life.

  A commotion at the front of the driveway drew Katelyn’s attention. The garage door rose and the Hot Tamales came into view. And what a view it was. The ladies wore colorful sombreros and matching red blouses with sparkly gold bell-bottom pants. Katelyn’s mother wore lipstick and looked ten years younger.

  “Where did they get those outfits?” Katelyn asked.

  “Ginny and I helped sew them.”

  “We’re the Hot Tamales,” Birdie spoke into a microphone. “Our first number is called ‘No Men Allowed.’”

  “Boo!” Gary laughed.

  “Behave, Mr. Gifford, or I’ll escort you back to your junkyard.” Harriet winked, and the audience cheered her.

  Birdie strummed her guitar, and Mavis pounded a steady beat on the drums. Faye and Etta played the piano together, while Nanette clunked a stick against a wood block.

  Birdie’s eyes scanned the onlookers, her lips pressing into a flat line. Katelyn could feel her mother’s apprehension. It was difficult to expose your soul to people, understanding that not everyone would treat it kindly. Katelyn put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. When her mother looked her way, she gave a thumbs-up.

  “Men,” Birdie sang, “drive women insane. . . .”

  Everyone cheered, and Birdie stood straighter, her hand moving more confidently across the guitar strings.

  Sadie was right about Birdie’s voice—the low notes flowed from her mouth in smooth whispers that pulled the audience forward in their seats. After the second verse, Katelyn no longer heard the drums, or even the guitar—only her mother’s voice reached her ears.

  When the ditty ended, Katelyn stood and clapped. “You go, Mom!”

  “Sing us another one, Birdie!” Gary hollered.

  “This one’s called ‘Go Cheat with Yourself.’” Birdie’s voice grew stronger. As Katelyn listened, it occurred to her that if her sixty-year-old mother could stand in front of her peers and sing, then there was no reason why Katelyn couldn’t find the courage to put her artwork in front of strangers.

  Halfway through the third song, Katelyn’s neck itched. She turned her head, and her gaze collided with Don’s. Her soon-to-be ex stood out like a sore thumb in a suit and tie. She left her chair and skirted the crowd. The spare tire around his middle appeared smaller. How long had it been since they’d seen each other? Two months? More?

  She grasped his arm and escorted him behind a tree out of view of the concertgoers. “What are you doing in town?”

  “I brought the divorce agreement for you to look over.”

  “You could have mailed it.” She hadn’t planned on finding a lawyer until she returned to St. Louis sometime in August, but apparently Don was in a hurry to be rid of her.

  “I also flew out here to check up on my mother, since she isn’t returning my calls.”

  This was the first time she’d heard about Shirley ignoring Don’s attempts to reach her.

  “I saw the note taped to the back door,” he said, “so I walked down here and followed the sound of the music.”

  Katelyn had left a message for Layla that she’d be at the concert. Her coworker had mentioned she might drop by to chat while Brian and Gavin went to an arcade in Pecos.

  Don’s gaze dropped to her left hand. “You took your
ring off.”

  If they weren’t standing in the middle of a crowd, she might fling a four-letter word at him. “Did you think I’d lament over you after you cheated on me?”

  “I admit I could have handled things better.”

  You think? “We had almost nineteen years together and two kids. I deserve more respect than you’ve shown me.”

  He shoved a hand through his thinning hair. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “Since when did Birdie start singing in a band?”

  “Since a couple of weeks ago.”

  His gaze searched the crowd. “I don’t see my mother.”

  “She’s not here.” They needed to talk, but Katelyn didn’t want to draw attention away from the band. “Let’s get out of here.” They walked down the block, and when they turned the corner, she pulled up short.

  “Jackson.” Katelyn introduced the two men. “Don, this is Jackson. Jackson, Don.”

  Neither man offered a handshake.

  “I was on my way to the concert,” Jackson said.

  Surprised he’d decided to go, she said, “The Hot Tamales sound great.”

  She felt Don’s fingers grip her arm. “If you’ll excuse us.” She walked on, Don at her side, neither speaking as they passed the Buy & Bag and climbed the hill to Birdie’s house. When they reached the front yard, she sat on the porch steps. “It was rude of you to show up unannounced. You should have called before coming to town.”

  “So you could warn your old boyfriend?”

  “We’re friends.” Not that she needed to explain their relationship to him. Don paced in front of the porch. The man was always moving . . . thinking ahead . . . planning. Never relaxing. He was nothing like Jackson, who found pleasure in sitting quietly and soaking in the moment. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy?”

  “You know me. I don’t like dealing with emotions.”

  “Your mother believes you’re having a midlife crisis.”

  He shrugged. “Call it what you want.”

  “The kids phoned me. They’re upset.”