The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  “I know.” He pushed his fists into his pants pockets.

  “The divorce might have gone better with them if you hadn’t cheated.”

  Don stared at his shoes. “Lauren wasn’t the first time, Katelyn.”

  Any nostalgic feelings she had left for Don or their marriage died a quick death. “How many?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters. I gave up a lot”—of herself—“when I was married to you.” At his perplexed expression, she said, “I don’t intend to bad-mouth you in front of the twins, but I’m not your ally anymore. Don’t count on me to encourage them to forgive and forget.” It occurred to Katelyn that the only thing she could say about their relationship after so many years of marriage was that they had two great kids.

  “The papers are in the rental car.” Don walked away.

  Katelyn followed him around the house, and they reached the driveway right as Shirley’s Mercedes turned in.

  “Who’s driving my mother’s car?”

  “Her boyfriend.”

  Don didn’t have a chance to react before Shirley got out of the car and swatted the back of her son’s head with her hand.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “What in the world is the matter with you? I raised you better than to—”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boy, Shirley?” Vern stepped forward, saving Don from another wallop.

  “This is my son, Donald,” Shirley said.

  “Vern Wilkes.” The men shook hands.

  “Vern’s a minister,” Shirley said.

  “Don’t worry,” Vern said. “I have the utmost admiration for your mother.”

  Don’s head jerked as if Vern had slapped him, and Katelyn swallowed a chuckle. It was about time someone reminded Don that he should show more respect for his mother.

  Shirley glanced between Don and Katelyn. “Does your visit mean you two are—”

  “No,” Don said. “I brought Katelyn a copy of the divorce agreement, and I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  Shirley’s lips trembled, and Vern slipped his arm around her waist.

  “Everything will be okay, Mom,” Don said.

  “How will it be okay when you want to put me into an apartment and then forget about me?” Shirley pointed at Katelyn. “I was never in favor of you marrying her, but your wife cares more about me than you do.”

  “That’s true,” Katelyn said.

  “I’m here for you, too, Shirley,” Vern said.

  Don cleared his throat. “I was trying to do the right thing by finding a place for you to live, but I realize now that I should have asked if you wanted to move into the apartment before I signed the lease.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “Do you want me to keep the apartment or break the lease?” Don asked.

  “Am I welcome to live with you?”

  Katelyn silently applauded Shirley for putting her son on the spot.

  “I’d have to speak with Lauren first.”

  Shirley sucked in a loud breath. “It didn’t matter what your wife thought three years ago when you invited me to move into your house.”

  Right now Katelyn loved her mother-in-law.

  “Maybe we should discuss this later,” Don said.

  “I’m keeping the apartment. Vern’s never been to St. Louis, and we’ll be staying there this fall.”

  “So you two are . . . ?” Don stared at Vern.

  “Your mother’s a special lady,” Vern said.

  “I’d like to take you both out to lunch tomorrow before I fly back to St. Louis.”

  “We’d enjoy that,” Vern said.

  Don faced Katelyn. “Can I have a private word with you?”

  Shirley hugged her son. “I’m glad you came.”

  Vern offered his hand, and Don said, “Nice meeting you.”

  Shirley and Vern walked over to Katelyn. “We stopped by Doris’s for a few minutes. Birdie’s a better singer than I thought she’d be.”

  Don waited until the pair entered the house before he spoke. “Mom seems happy.”

  “Vern’s wife died this past Christmas.”

  “The new owners move in November first, so you have time to figure out where you’re going to live and what furniture you want to take with you.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Melissa said she’s staying with a friend in Georgia when she returns from overseas.”

  “Mom and I plan to meet her at Stephens to help her get settled in.”

  “I’d go, but—”

  “You’re traveling.” Katelyn studied Don. The lines bracketing his mouth appeared deeper and his skin sallow. Perhaps the price of his infidelity was taking a toll on him.

  “Please make time for the kids,” she said. “I know they’re adults now and they’ll be busy with college, but don’t forget about them.”

  “I’m not an ogre, Katelyn.”

  “Right now the twins think you are.”

  He walked to the rental car and opened the driver’s-side door, then pointed to the manila envelope she held in her hands. “I didn’t screw you over.”

  “My lawyer will be in touch.” Katelyn tossed the envelope onto the porch steps, then headed back to Doris’s house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Earth to Layla.” Katelyn smiled at her coworker, who stared in a trance late Monday morning.

  “Sorry.” Layla shook her long locks. “What did you say?”

  Ever since the brunette had arrived at work, she’d acted distracted. “There’s something different about you.” Katelyn pointed to her face. “You’re not wearing false eyelashes.” And she wasn’t wearing as much makeup, either. Without the lashes, dark eyeliner and sparkling shadow, Layla almost looked too young to be the mother of a twelve-year-old. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Brian and I slept together.”

  “Congratulations. How was it?”

  “Amazing.” Layla’s cheeks turned pink. “He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d be good in bed, but . . .”

  Katelyn laughed. “Does this mean you two are in a relationship?”

  Layla’s smile faltered. “Don’t get me wrong. I like Brian a lot. He’s nice and generous, and he gets along well with Gavin.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “He’s an Entenmann’s deliveryman.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to make ends meet.” She waggled a finger. “I want what you have . . . or had. A husband who makes enough money so I can stop worrying about paying my bills on time and I can buy whatever I want when I need it.”

  Katelyn remained silent—to accuse Layla of being ridiculous and shallow was like the pot calling the kettle black. At least Layla had the guts to admit what she wanted and not lie to herself like Katelyn had all these years. Their conversation was cut short when the doors swooshed open and Brian and Gavin waltzed into the store.

  “Brian got the day off, Mom, and he’s taking me fishing.”

  “Did you thank him?” Layla wasn’t looking at her son when she asked the question. It was obvious that she wished she could go with them.

  Katelyn wandered away from her register and pretended to straighten the magazine display. After Brian and Gavin left, she said, “You don’t look well, Layla. Maybe you should go home.” She paused to see if their boss would step out of his office. He didn’t, so she spoke louder. “I don’t want to catch whatever it is you’re coming down with.” When Layla scrunched her forehead in confusion, Katelyn signaled her to play along.

  A moment later Walter appeared in the doorway. “Who’s not feeling well?”

  “Layla looks feverish,” Katelyn said, “and pale at the same time.” If her coworker wanted to play ho
oky and fish with her guys, she’d better act more convincing.

  “I’ve had a headache since I clocked in.” Layla rubbed her temples.

  “I can’t send you home. The produce truck gets here in an hour.”

  “I’ll stock the produce between customers,” Katelyn said. Good grief, it was noon and only fifteen people had been in the store since it had opened.

  “I feel faint.” Layla leaned against the counter and fanned herself.

  “Fine. Go home and rest.” Walter returned to his office and closed the door.

  “Thanks, Katelyn,” Layla whispered.

  “Have fun and use sunscreen. You don’t want to show up at work tomorrow with a tan.”

  Layla giggled. “Good idea.”

  A short while later Walter stopped at Katelyn’s register. “Birdie’s coming in for a couple of hours.”

  “It hasn’t been that busy.”

  “She said she wasn’t doing anything this afternoon.”

  If Katelyn had known he’d ask her mother to fill in, she wouldn’t have put the bug in Layla’s ear to leave.

  “If you have time before the delivery truck arrives, will you fill the cigarette case?”

  “Sure.”

  Walter walked away but stopped after a few steps. “I know Layla’s not sick.” He kept a straight face. “Hopefully she’ll catch a fish or two.”

  “You’re not such a bad guy, Walter.”

  “Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me before you leave town?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “Had to give it a shot.”

  Katelyn finished stocking the smokes right as her mother arrived. “I’m sorry Walter asked you to come in.”

  “I don’t mind. Gives us a chance to catch up.” Birdie buttoned her employee smock.

  “What’s Shirley doing?” Katelyn asked.

  “I dropped her off at Vern’s house. They’re making a new chili recipe for next year’s cook-off.” She studied Katelyn. “What’s going on between you and Jackson?”

  “What are the gossipmongers saying?”

  Birdie shrugged. “That you haven’t spent the night at his apartment since the Fourth of July celebration.”

  That was true.

  “And you two haven’t been seen sneaking off to the railroad tracks together.”

  “Jackson thinks we should remain friends.” Friends who avoided each other. She’d planned to stop by the garage on her way into work today, and she swore he saw her coming and that was why he’d closed the bay door and turned off the lights.

  “Is it because he knows you’re leaving?”

  “Maybe but I’m okay with being friends.” She actually appreciated the breathing room as she adjusted to the changes taking place in her life.

  “Where have you been sketching when you’re not working?” Birdie asked.

  “Here and there. Wherever the impulse strikes.” She’d gone to the tracks once by herself, but it didn’t feel the same without Jackson there.

  “When I gassed up your car at the Texaco the other day,” Katelyn said, “I drew the convenience store. Yesterday I walked over to Gifford’s Resale and sketched the back of the building where Gary keeps all the junk that won’t fit in his store. Later I sat in the park and drew Etta and Faye having tea on the porch of Mama’s Kitchen.”

  “Speaking of drawing.” Birdie walked over to the bulletin board across from the registers and took down a flyer. “Did you see this?” She held out the paper. “You should register and pay for a booth.”

  PECOS THIRD ANNUAL ART FESTIVAL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 7

  Intrigued, Katelyn scanned the flyer for more information. “They’re charging five hundred dollars for a booth.” She doubted she’d recoup the money. But it would be a great opportunity to find out if people were willing to pay for her artwork. But what if she didn’t sell a single sketch or painting? “I don’t have enough inventory.”

  “You gave up your art when you married Don. You said you were too busy raising the kids. Are you going to keep making excuses?”

  Katelyn hated it when her mother was so blunt.

  “Before you left for college, you would have jumped at an opportunity to show off your talent.”

  “I’m not that Katelyn anymore.”

  “I didn’t believe I was the same Birdie who grew up with a guitar in her hands, but you pushed me to play again, and I discovered a lot of the old Birdie was still inside me. It’s my turn to push you.”

  If her mother had found the courage to share her passion with others, then Katelyn could do no less. “I’ll think about it.”

  “I thought you were taking the summer off from your job.” Doris set her handbasket on the checkout counter and looked at Birdie.

  “I’m filling in for Layla today.” Birdie snatched the flyer out of Katelyn’s hand. “Did you see this? Katelyn’s entering her work in the art show.”

  “Your mother’s mentioned your talent,” Doris said.

  “It’s a mom’s job to brag about her kid.” Katelyn smiled.

  “You’re not getting your blueberries from Etta and Faye’s garden?” Birdie scanned the carton of fruit.

  “Their blueberries didn’t come in this year. Faye blamed Etta for not putting enough organic matter in the soil.”

  While the two women conversed, Katelyn excused herself and returned to the break room. She’d call the number on the flyer, and if they still had a booth left, she’d take it and worry about what pieces to show later.

  • • •

  “Where are you off to this early in the morning?” Birdie asked when Katelyn waltzed into the kitchen with her purse in hand Friday morning.

  “Sadie’s giving me a haircut before I go into work.” She grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter. “Later this afternoon I’m heading down to the tracks to work on my drawings.” She paused at the back door. “The chairwoman of the art show in Pecos confirmed that I have a booth.” And despite Jackson’s cold shoulder, Katelyn was counting on their special place to calm her nerves and nurture her creativity.

  “That’s great news,” Birdie said. “If you need more time to prepare, I’ll cover your shifts at the store.”

  “I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Have you told Jackson about the art show?”

  Katelyn shook her head. They still hadn’t spoken since she’d run into him a week ago when Don had shown up in town.

  “Vern told Shirley that Jackson’s been in a grumpy mood since you two spent the night together.”

  “Vern should be pleased. He thinks I’m a bad influence on Jackson.”

  “He’s protective of him.”

  “Whose side are you on, Mom?”

  “Yours, of course.” Birdie winked.

  Katelyn opened the screen door, then asked, “What are you doing today?”

  “Gary’s closing his store early and driving me over to the Shady Lady to play for a few hours.”

  “You landed a gig at the bar on Route Thirty-nine?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you and Gary . . . ?”

  “Nope. He’s got his eye on a cocktail waitress, and he’s using me as an excuse to hang out at the bar.”

  “I’ll try to swing by later and watch you.”

  “You’d better not. I want you to work on your drawings so you don’t have an excuse to bail on the art festival.”

  “If you have the guts to sing in a bar in front of strangers, then I can find the courage to let art enthusiasts gawk at my work.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Katelyn left the house and cut through the strip mall parking lot, then crossed the street and headed toward the park and around the block to the salon.

  “I’m here, Sadie,” Katelyn called out when she stepped into the shed.

&nbs
p; “’Morning.” Dressed in leopard-skin leggings and a black satin sleeveless blouse, Sadie guided Katelyn to the chair in front of the washbowl. “After you phoned last night, I browsed through my collection of hairstyle magazines and found the perfect cut for you.”

  “Good. I’m ready for a change.”

  Sadie sprayed warm water over Katelyn’s head, then worked shampoo through the strands. “You know what they say about a woman who cuts her hair.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s about to change her life.”

  When Katelyn had studied her image in the mirror the previous evening, she’d made an amazing discovery—the length of her hair matched the number of years she’d been married: almost nineteen inches. She’d kept her hair long because her mother-in-law hated it, but she hadn’t realized the hairstyle had also mirrored her marriage—both had been in a rut.

  From now on when she looked at her reflection, she wanted to see the future, not the past—a woman taking charge of her destiny and happiness.

  Sadie wrapped a towel around Katelyn’s wet head, then escorted her to the styling chair. “Do you want to see the photo of the haircut I have in mind?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “I’m thinking lots of layers and side-swept bangs.”

  “That works as long as I don’t have to spend a half hour styling it.”

  “You’re okay with a choppy look that you can air-dry and fluff with your fingers?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  Sadie combed the wet mass. “I’m going to hack off your hair above your shoulders, so close your eyes if you’d rather not watch.”

  Katelyn kept her eyes open, her gaze following each strand as it fell to the floor.

  “You need both highlights and lowlights,” Sadie said.

  “Don’t go to too much trouble.”

  “This is as much fun for me as it is for you.” Sadie wielded the scissors like a pro, bits and pieces of hair flying in all directions. After fifteen minutes she stood back and studied her efforts. “Perfect.” Then she spun the chair so Katelyn faced the mirror.

  “Wow.”

  “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”

  “I like that you left the bangs longer.” The style didn’t take any years off Katelyn’s face, but the woman staring back at her in the mirror appeared confident and even a little sassy. “My head feels a lot lighter.” No more weight dragging her down. Or holding me back.