Good Together

by C. J. Carmichael

  He didn’t answer.

  “I need to understand what happened to us.” She held back on the word please. She wouldn’t beg. She deserved this much. What he was doing—it wasn’t right.

  “I don’t know what I would say, Mat. I just need time away.”

  “How much time?”

  She could picture him shrugging. She knew this man so well. The way his right shoulder always hitched up a little higher than the left.

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Damn it, Wes. What am I supposed to do while you’re taking all this alone time. Just wait for you to decide if you want to stay married to me?”

  “Do what you want. You don’t have to answer to me.”

  “What you’re describing sounds a lot like a separation, Wes.” She felt as if her insides had shriveled, leaving her body at the same time heavy and hollow.

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess I should get in touch with a lawyer. And we’ll have to tell the kids. When they’re home for Thanksgiving.” She couldn’t believe she was saying these things. Calmly making plans to end their marriage. Why didn’t he stop her? Didn’t he realize what an awful mistake this was?

  “Whoa. It’s too soon for lawyers and telling the girls. I’ll come home for Thanksgiving. Let them enjoy the holiday without any worries.”

  “And what—we’ll pretend like nothing’s wrong?”

  “It’s just a few days.”

  “And when the girls are back in college, what then?”

  Again, he had no answer. “We’ll figure it out. When we have to.”

  His words filled her with anger. “So you don’t want to talk. You don’t want to make any tough decisions. You just want your freedom. Sorry, Wes, it doesn’t work that way. We’ve been married almost twenty years. We run a business together. Have children. You want this to be simple, but it isn’t.”

  “You think this isn’t hard for me too?”

  Oh, really. He wanted her sympathy now?

  “Well it is. And I don’t have any answers yet. I’m just asking for some time. Give me to Christmas. Then, if you want I’ll go for counseling. Or we can talk to a lawyer. Whatever you say.”

  Two months of living in the ante-room to hell, not sure if her husband still loved her—or someone else. She couldn’t stand that. But did she have a choice?

  “I’ll only agree to that on two conditions. One—you continue to act as if we’re married. That means, no messing around with other women.”

  “And the other?”

  “You don’t make any moves to sell our ranch.”

  She waited through the silence while he considered her deal. Slowly she got to her feet and brushed the soil from her knees. Rosie was looking at her curiously. Probably wondering what in the hell was going on. Tuff had fallen asleep in the wooden box she’d put her in, curled up on the towel she’d placed in one corner. Gosh she was cute.

  Finally Wes spoke. “You’re putting me in a tough place. But okay, I’ll agree to your terms.”

  “What about Thanksgiving? If you’re not here the girls will know something’s wrong.”

  “Hell, Mat. I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wren was in the library, reading Aristotle’s Metaphysics. The guy was a flipping genius. Every other minute she had to set aside the book to jot down another memorable quote. Her favorite of the night was this one: It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.

  A group walked by her cubicle and she was momentarily distracted by the fact that one of them had painted his entire face and upper body green.

  Oh, yeah. Halloween.

  They were having a party in her residence hall. She’d promised a couple of the girls on her floor that she would go. But she’d really rather keep reading Aristotle.

  Her first Halloween away from home...

  This was going to be a year with a lot of firsts, but she had to admit she was a little sad about spending her first Halloween away from home. Her Mom had always made a big deal of the holiday, decorating the house, helping her and Portia devise amazing costumes, and—since they lived in the country where going door-to-door for candy wasn’t possible—hosting an awesome party for all of their friends.

  When they were little, they’d set up a spooky maze in the basement, then play games and finish with a ghost story from her dad. The party had evolved over the years as she and Portia grew older. Once they decorated Halloween cookies, another time they carved pumpkins. Somehow, even in their teens, when Portia had started to drive her crazy with her obsession about clothes, makeup, and boys, Halloween had been a time when they, and their two sets of very different friends, could have fun spending an entire evening together.

  Overcome with homesickness, Wren pulled out her phone and texted her Mom. “Happy Halloween! What are you up to?”

  The answer came in about five seconds. “Not much. It’s weird without you and your sister.”

  Wren felt her eyes grow moist. “Dad there?”

  A longer pause this time. Then a simple answer. “No.”

  Wren’s stomach tightened. Something was wrong here. She’d had a few quick text messages from her dad, but he hadn’t called once since she’d started college. And it seemed as if he was never home.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Aunt Sage came for a visit. House is full of delicious chocolate. Wish I could share. Love you honey. Put down the books and have a little fun tonight okay?”

  That made Wren smile. Good old Mom. “I will,” she texted. Then stowed her books and laptop into her bag to live up to the promise.

  * * *

  It was Halloween night and on campus that meant one thing. Time to party. Again.

  Portia couldn’t even remember the name of the frat house Kirsten had dragged her to. She was dressed up as Ann of Green Gables—only Kirsten had vamped her up—shortening the plaid skirt and lending her a pair of over-the-knee black boots. She’d also redone Portia’s makeup, pasting on fake eyelashes and dusting her cheeks with glitter.

  Really, the only part of her costume that still looked like the wholesome orphan from Prince Edward Island was her wig with the two red braids.

  Despite the getup, Portia managed to have fun for the first couple of hours, dancing and laughing with a never-ending lineup of boys who seemed to want to spend a little time with her. All around her kids were taking Jell-O shots, smoking up, passing around mysterious little pills. Portia went so far as to drink the first three beers that were pressed on her, but after that, she began pouring her drinks down the bathroom sink.

  It was almost two now and most everyone was plastered or strung out. The few people still trying to dance could barely stand upright. Couples were making out all over the place. And there was a guy following her around who made it clear he wanted to do that with her.

  She was so tired of this.

  “Excuse me. I have to pee.” She pushed the boy—Brian?—on the chest so he would give her some space, then slipped through the crowd, stepping over, around and between hot, sweaty bodies, until she reached the room where they had stashed their coats when they first arrived. She didn’t like leaving without telling Kirsten, but her friend was all hot-and-heavy with a guy she’d met tonight. Portia didn’t even know his name. Kirsten’s hookups never lasted long. Portia had learned not to bother being friendly.

  Coats were piled everywhere, on the sofas, chairs, and even the floor. Everywhere but the closet which had no doors and was filled with empty hangers. Finally Portia located her jacket and shrugged it over her shoulders. She’d text Kirsten later and let her know that she’d gone. Right now she could hardly wait to inhale some fresh air.

  Outside, though, she felt confused about where she was, and cold. Temperatures weren’t as low in Seattle as they were in Montana, but the humidity took some getting used to. She zipped her jacket and looked up and down the street, searching for a familiar landmark. She wasn’t great at dir
ections at the best of time. And the middle of the night, tired and still a little tipsy, in a city she still didn’t know very well didn’t add up to the best situations.

  Reaching into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around her phone. She wanted to call her Mom and Dad. “Come and get me. I want to go home.”

  And oh, how she longed for it in that moment. The security of her own room. A home-cooked meal. Her father tousling her hair as he leaned over to grab the remote control out of her hands. And her sister at the door of the bathroom, asking how much longer she was going to be. The good stuff and the bad, she missed it all.

  With her back against the brick wall of the frat house she sank until her butt was resting on the backs of her boots. She sent a text to Kirsten. No answer, of course. She opened Google maps next and tried to figure out where she was. The maze of streets was a total puzzle to her. Now what?

  “You okay?”

  It was the guy from her psych class. The one Kirsten always snubbed. He was in a dark jacket, jeans and, of course, those dark brown cowboy boots of his. He’d left a group of two other guys and three girls to approach her.

  She glanced from him to her phone. “I think I’m lost.”

  “Yeah, I’d say that was a good assessment.”

  She narrowed her eyes, not sure how to take his comment. “I don’t know where my sorority house is.”

  “You’re a Pi Phi, right?”

  How did he know?

  “Come on, it’s this way.” He pulled her up, and she noted how warm his hands felt. How strong. Then he glanced over at his friends, and motioned for them to go on without him. One of the girls, a cute blond in a cat costume, seemed more reluctant to leave him than the rest, but finally she did. The girl was in her sorority, Portia recalled. Her name was Annie, and she seemed sweet, but very quiet.

  “I’m Portia Bishop.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  His smile was crooked, but kind of cute. “Hey, I’ve been a fan of your dad’s since I was six years old. I even met him once. Shook his hand.”

  Oh no. Not another rodeo fan. “Why is it everyone I meet in this city is cowboy crazy?”

  “Don’t classify me with those uptown friends of yours. I’ve been on the back of a few bucking broncs myself.”

  “Right.” In his dreams, maybe. “You from Montana, too?”

  He nodded. “Helena.”

  “I’d tell you where I’m from but I suppose you know that already too?”

  “I’m not a stalker, Portia. Just impressed with the way your dad handles himself in the arena. So—where are you from?”

  “Flathead Valley.” They’d been walking as they talked and when they came to the corner she was relieved to see a store she recognized. “Thanks. This looks familiar. I’ll be fine from here.”

  She waited for him to walk off, but he didn’t.

  “It’s two-thirty in the morning. I’d better see you to your door.”

  She could see by the set of his mouth that there was no point in arguing. “Your mother raised you the old fashioned way, I see.”

  “Some would say the right way.” He waited a few seconds then added, “Aren’t you even a little curious what my name is?”

  What a dolt she was. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.” She waited, and when he didn’t say anything she wrinkled her nose at him. “You were going to tell me your name?”

  “Maybe I’ll make you wait. Build up the suspense a little.”

  “Suit yourself.” They’d reached the Pi Phi house now. As he hung back at the white pillars, she dug in her pocket for her key. “Thank you—stranger.”

  She held out her hand and he stepped forward to shake it, very correctly, not taking advantage to hold her even a second longer than was proper. Then he stepped back and waited until she had the door open.

  The entire encounter was over in less than fifteen minutes. But the odd thing was, once she was in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Kirsten might not approve. But she thought the guy from Helena was just about the nicest person she’d met all night.

  * * *

  The day after Halloween, Mattie went into town for groceries. She’d been in a funk last night—missing her daughters and Wes so badly that she almost gave in and had a few of Wes’s beers. But drinking wouldn’t solve her problems, and her habit of abstinence, begun when she was twenty-one, was too ingrained to break.

  It was no longer just about Neve—who had died so young and senselessly—but about every young person who had to make the choice of whether to drink or drive. It was about her daughters, and wanting to set the best example for them that she possibly could. And it also, truth be told, had roots in her childhood observations of her father and how his meanness would become worse after he’d brought out the whiskey bottle.

  Somehow she’d made it through the night—Tuff had been a comfort, that was for sure. She was just the most adorable puppy, Mattie couldn’t wait for the girls to see her. Too bad that in four weeks, by Thanksgiving, Tuff would be a lot bigger. Oh well, Portia and Wren would still be thrilled.

  Once she’d purchased her supplies, including more puppy food—Tuff was a good eater—Mattie filled the SUV up with gas, then headed for home. Two miles from her gate though, she had to stop because the road in front of her was full of cattle, crossing from one side to the other. She recognized the Double-D brand, not that she’d had any doubt who the Black Angus belonged to since Nat owned the land on both sides of the road.

  Looked like he was bringing his herd in for the winter, and not a day too soon according to the forecast.

  Snow was expected tomorrow, along with colder temperatures and high winds. The possibility of the first blizzard of the year was what had induced her to stock up on supplies while she could.

  Mattie kept the SUV running while she waited. She felt no impatience, actually enjoying the delay. She’d loved helping to move the cattle when she’d been a kid. It was the one time when her father could be counted on to be in a good mood—as long as nothing serious went wrong. The entire family would spend the night camping in the high hills. There’d be a campfire and her Mom and Dad would sing together, harmonizing with unexpected beauty.

  Today Nat’s herd was being controlled by relatively few cowboys. She waved at a few as they crossed in front of her truck. There was Seth Richards, short and chubby, but a seasoned cowhand and Nat’s trusted foreman. A couple of border collies whizzed by, as well, happily in their element as they brought the occasional stray back in line.

  Finally the numbers thinned until there were only a few stragglers left. And bringing up the rear was Nat, on The Duke—the beautiful colt she’d sold him a while back. When he spotted her, Nat directed The Duke to the driver’s side of her truck and she obligingly lowered her window.

  Always a striking man, Nat was at his most attractive when he was on a horse. Not many men rode with the same calm, commanding presence. He gave her a smile that would have made any of her sisters’ hearts go pitter-patter. But she and Nat were neighbors and she couldn’t afford to have that sort of reaction.

  “Your timing is good,” she called out to him. “A storm is coming.”

  “I heard. We’re lucky. I meant to get them in a few days earlier, but we had some complications.”

  His smile faded, just a little, and she wondered what the complications had been. But before she could ask he was speaking again.

  “We missed you—and the twins, of course.”

  “Not as much as I missed being part of the fun this year.” But she’d been right to decline the invitation. Without her girls, it would have felt wrong somehow, to spend an entire day out in the mountains with a bunch of men—and with Nat in particular.

  “How’s Tuff?”

  “Eating me out of house and home. And I love it.” She nodded toward the back where she’d stowed her groceries. “I’ll be all stocked up when the storm hits.”

  “If you need anything at all, give me a
call. I take it Wes is still—”

  She nodded, glancing away from the concern in his blue-gray eyes.

  “Well—” Nat looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he just patted the roof of her truck. “Take care, Mattie.”

  One minute later the road was clear. But instead of shifting into Drive, Mattie stayed where she was, watching until Nat and his herd had disappeared beyond the cottonwoods.

  * * *

  For the next month Mattie worked harder than she’d ever done in her life. She worked through the blizzard, which lasted four days, then the next two weeks brought a thaw and milder temperatures. Her body ached at the end of each day—which was the point. It was easier to sleep if you were exhausted and she made sure she was. She was losing weight—a fact Jake kept pointing out as he urged her to slow down.

  And he really gave her a scolding when he caught her in the tack room adding a notch to her belt so her jeans wouldn’t keep falling down.

  “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  She put away the leather hole punch, then slipped her belt through the loops of her jeans, pleased to see the fit was snug once more. “I’m fine. I couldn’t work this hard if I wasn’t.”

  “That’s kinda the point. You’re driving yourself to exhaustion. And while we’re on the topic—you clean this tack room one more time and I’m going to be afraid to walk in there with my boots on.”

  “That’ll be the day. But don’t worry. I won’t be in your hair much this week. Portia and Wren are coming home on Wednesday. I’ve got to start baking my pies for Thanksgiving. Apple for you, lemon for Portia, and pumpkin for Wren.”

  Jake always joined them for the holidays. When his wife had been alive, they’d come as a couple.

  “That’s plain nonsense—baking three pies when you’ve only got three people coming for dinner.”

  Mattie paused, meeting Jake’s gaze directly and holding it a few seconds before saying, “Wes is supposed to be here, too.”

  “He said he was coming?”

  “He did.” But she hadn’t spoken to him since then... and the silence between them grew more painful each day. She was too proud to beg, so she’d just have to wait and see if he followed through on his word.