by Susan Fox
Mo knew all of that, and was sorry for it. But there was more to this than Evan was letting himself see. “But does she wish I hadn’t come? Has she said that?”
“Not in so many words. But it’s obvious.”
“Ask her.” Mo pushed back his chair and rose. “Please, for all our sakes, do that one thing. Ask her.” He walked toward the door.
When he reached it, he turned back and again faced his son. “I quit on you and your mother once before, when things got too tough for me to handle. This time, I don’t plan on leaving.”
Evan, still seated, looked worn out as he asked quietly, “Is that a threat?”
“I don’t mean it that way. I’m just saying that it matters to me. You and Brooke matter to me. I’m going to wait while you think about this some more.” And then he walked out of Evan’s office.
When he was outside on the street, the strength left Mo’s legs. Shaky, he leaned against the cold brick wall of the old building. He raised one hand and dragged it through his hair, feeling tension pounding inside his skull. His other hand dangled at his side, and after a few minutes something nudged it.
He jerked, glanced down, and there was Caruso. Again, the dog nudged his hand.
“Hey, buddy,” Mo said. “I’m sure glad to see you.” He stroked the dog’s head. “Come on now, we need to walk. Don’t want Evan coming out and finding us lurking here.” As Mo forced his legs down the sidewalk, Caruso trotted along with him. Mo remembered to take the leash from his jacket pocket and dangle it from his left hand.
Where to go? He was too keyed up to sit in his tiny apartment, and he wasn’t fit company for anyone but the undemanding dog. Calling Maribeth was out of the question. Maybe he and Caruso would walk out of town, hike in the cold for an hour or so until Mo’s mind settled down.
In his jeans pocket, his phone vibrated, startling him. He still wasn’t used to having a phone, or having anyone who’d want to call him. When he slid it from his pocket, the caller name was displayed: Maribeth. Maybe he shouldn’t answer, given his mood, and yet he couldn’t resist.
“Hey,” he said, the phone to his ear as he carried on down the sidewalk. More and more businesses were putting up Christmas decorations and window displays, which he figured must annoy Maribeth since it was only November 28. The thought brought a hint of a smile to his lips.
“Hi, Mo. Have you eaten?”
“Uh, no.” The thought of food hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I stayed at the shop to do some bookkeeping and I have a craving for Chinese food. But it’s much better shared, so you can order more things. Interested?”
He was. Mostly in seeing her pretty face, though he did like Chinese food. But he said, “Not tonight, thanks.”
“No problem.” A pause, and then, “Are you okay? You sound a little . . .”
A little what? Abrupt? Depressed? Pissed off? “I’m okay. Just not, uh, very good company.”
Another pause. “Why not?”
He sighed. “I talked to Evan.”
“Oh,” she said on a long breath of air. “It didn’t go well?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”
“There’s really nothing to talk about. I said my bit and I’m not sure he even listened. He’s determined to be pissed off at me. In the end he said he hated me and didn’t want me in his life. End of story.”
“Oh, Mo, I’m so sorry.”
The compassion in her voice warmed him. “Yeah. Well. I told him that I didn’t plan on running away this time, and I’d wait for him to think about it some more.”
“Good. I’m sure he will.”
Right now, Mo didn’t have much hope that it would do any good. In Evan’s state of mind, the thinking would likely be about all the past wrongs Mo had done him.
“So,” Maribeth said, “how about Chinese takeout and a movie on TV, and we don’t have to talk about anything at all?”
Caruso’s nose bumped Mo’s hand. The dog had acute hearing and had no doubt recognized Maribeth’s voice.
It occurred to Mo that Maribeth was doing the human equivalent of Caruso’s hand-bump. Offering companionship without making demands. Damn, but he was lucky to have the two of them in his life. Gruffly, he said, “You really do want someone to share that Chinese food, don’t you?”
“That’s my sole reason,” she said cheerfully.
“You’re a fine woman, you know that?”
“Oh!” Rare for her, she sounded flustered. “Thank you, Mo.”
“Why don’t you go home, get the fire going, put on something comfy? I’ll stop at the Golden Dragon and pick up some food. What do you like?”
“Everything. I love their chicken chow mein, and please include something with veggies. Otherwise, I’ll leave it to you.”
“Be there shortly.”
His energy had returned and his step quickened as he and Caruso headed toward the restaurant. Mo had passed by it several times, always thinking it looked tempting, but he’d never been inside before.
When he walked in, telling Caruso to wait outside, he saw that the Golden Dragon was very different from Arigata. This place, which smelled spicy and enticing, wasn’t elegant and subdued, but well-lit and casual. Most of the tables were occupied, a couple by family groups.
A teenage girl emerged from the back and hurried toward him with a smile. She had Asian features and wore jeans and a white T-shirt with the logo of a gold dragon outlined in black. “Hi, I’m Emily,” she said. “Table for one?”
“Actually, it’s takeout for two.”
“Sure.” She handed him a menu made of a sheet of paper folded in three. “Let me know what you’d like.”
He had a quick peruse and said, “How about chicken chow mein, the chop suey with nuts, beef with broccoli and black beans, and Szechuan prawns? Does that sound like a good combination?”
“For sure. And rice, of course.”
“You bet.”
“I’ll put in the order. Have a seat. It won’t be long.”
He claimed a chair in the entrance area and took a closer look at the menu. On the front was the restaurant’s name and logo, and the words, “The oldest restaurant in Caribou Crossing. In continuous operation since the Gold Rush.” On the back, he found a blurb and photos. He learned that Yao Men Wu and his wife, Lian, had come to Canada at the beginning of the gold rush when there was a wave of Chinese immigration. They made their way to the primitive camp at Caribou Crossing, put up a tent, and opened a restaurant. As the town grew up, the restaurant moved into more permanent accommodation. The Yaos and their descendants kept it in operation until the present time, making it over a century and a half old.
Emily emerged from the back with two takeout bags, and Mo pulled out his wallet. “Are you part of the family who owns the restaurant?”
“Yes. I’m Emily Yao. My parents run the Golden Dragon. They say that one day it’ll be me and my brother’s turn, but I don’t really think I want to stay in Caribou Crossing. It’s, like, so small, you know?”
“Yeah. But there’s something to be said for that.” When he used to live here, he, too, had disparaged the town. But it had changed and so had he, and at the moment there was no place he’d rather be. Unless, of course, his son continued to shun him.
“I guess,” she said doubtfully. “Well, enjoy the food. Hope you come back again.”
“Thanks.”
Outside, Caruso sniffed the bags and did a head toss.
“It’s human food,” Mo told him. “But I bet Maribeth has some dog food in her pantry. Come on, let’s hurry so this stuff doesn’t get cold.”
When they arrived at Maribeth’s welcoming house, Caruso came to the front door with Mo rather than beating a retreat around back. Maribeth, in a turquoise sweater and stretchy black pants, gave Mo a warm hug and Caruso a scratch behind the ears.
“I set the coffee table in the living room,” she said, ushering them in. “Just bring the bags in there a
nd we’ll dish out the food. Oh, how much do I owe you?”
“I’ve got it,” he said as he followed her.
“No, really, Mo, it was my idea.”
“Maribeth, I’m not hard up, okay?” He put the bags on the table. “Hank’s paying me decent money. Besides, I have a fair bit saved up from my previous jobs.”
“If you’re sure.” She turned toward the door to the hall. “Come on, Caruso. There’s food for you in the kitchen. Mo, what would you like to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of that orange drink, if you’ve got it.”
“Coming up.”
After she disappeared down the hall, he set the covered containers on the round cork pads she’d laid on the table, checked the fire, and then sat down on the couch.
When she came back with his drink and a mug of tea, she said, “You want to watch a movie?”
“I’d like that. I don’t feel much like talking.”
“I wonder if we can agree on something.” She sat beside him, picked up the remote, and navigated to the movie menu. “Oh, how about this? It’s ages since I’ve seen Raiders of the Lost Ark.”
“Indiana Jones? Yeah, I could go for that.” He leaned forward and began removing the tops from the containers. Delicious aromas mingled in the air.
As the movie titles began to play, he and Maribeth dished out food, and then he covered the containers again and sat back to eat.
This was good. Instead of roaming the chilly countryside or sitting in his small apartment alone with Caruso, he had tasty food, an engaging movie, and a lovely woman at his side. A woman who, amazingly, knew when to let a guy alone to nurse his wounds.
The way she treated him made him feel as if he were special. When he’d come to Caribou Crossing, he’d figured that the best he could be in life was a man who trod lightly and didn’t cause harm. Now he found himself wondering if he could be more than that, and if he and Maribeth might . . . Might what?
This was the woman who’d been dating for more than twenty-five years. The woman who loved variety in all things. If she had a knack for making a man feel special, it was because she had lots of experience. He had to remember that she’d one day tire of him, just as she had of all the men who’d come before.
What he needed to do was enjoy the moment, not worry about the future.
* * *
On Sunday, Maribeth woke alone and found that her period had started. She felt a little crampy, not to mention depressed, because only a couple of weeks ago she’d optimistically thought that she might be pregnant by now. Still, she reminded herself that she’d postponed insemination for a good reason. If things worked out with her and Mo, she’d have a real father for her child.
In better spirits, she did a long yoga session, which eased the cramps. After a leisurely breakfast and a lengthy Skype call with her grandparents, she prepared food for that night as well as some to stock up her freezer for the week to come. It was a familiar and satisfying Sunday routine, and yet today she found herself missing Mo. He hadn’t come over the previous night because Hank Hennessey and his wife had invited him to dine with them.
She hadn’t seen Mo since Thursday when he’d asked her over to his place for dinner. She’d expected takeout or something from a can, but he’d surprised her with an excellent home-made chili accompanied by a tossed salad. Dessert had been apple crisp, which he admitted his landladies had supplied in exchange for a portion of his chili. She was happy to see how well he was getting along with the retired schoolteachers, and that he was in better spirits than on Tuesday night—even though he hadn’t heard anything further from Evan.
Maribeth had spent the night at his place. It was cozy in the studio apartment with Mo and Caruso, but she did feel a little odd about having sex in the same house as her fourth-grade teacher. When Mo pointed out that her teacher might well also be having sex, it hadn’t helped one bit.
Smiling at the memory, she changed into her outdoor clothes: heavy pants, thick sweater, and socks. She was on her way downstairs when she heard noises on her front porch. Mo said something she couldn’t make out, and just when she was expecting her doorbell to ring, she instead heard Caruso’s warble.
Laughing, she hurried down the remaining stairs and flung open the door. “Hi, guys.”
It had started to snow, not heavily but with soft, light flakes. Mo’s black hair and the shoulders of his jacket were dusted with white, his cheeks were almost as rosy as his red scarf, and he was smiling. Her heart flooded with warmth. It was amazing how just seeing him could make her so happy.
She bent to greet his companion, whose thick cinnamon coat was also decorated with snowflakes. “Caruso, you sound much nicer than my doorbell.” She stroked his damp head and was pleased when he wagged his tail.
Then she unbuttoned Mo’s jacket, slipped her arms inside, and hugged him. “It’s good to see you.” Should she tell him how much she’d missed him? No, it might make him feel like she was getting possessive. And she wasn’t; she wasn’t the clingy sort. She had her own life, her friends, lots of activities that kept her busy. It was just that if a day went by without seeing Mo, life seemed a little flat.
“Good to see you, too.” His arms were warm and firm around her, and when she tipped her head up to his, he gave her a long, thorough kiss. Then he pushed her away. “Better stop now, if you want to get those lights up.”
With some regret, she said, “Yes, I really do. It’s the third of December, so it’s officially Christmas month.”
“By Maribeth’s rules,” he teased.
“Which are the only rules that count at this house.” She put on her jacket, red knitted hat, and gloves and led the way to the garage. As she and Mo pulled out the boxes containing the outdoor Christmas lights, she said, “How was dinner with Hank and Inga?”
“Nice. Inga is what Hank’s like beneath the gruffness. Know what I mean?”
“You mean that Hank’s really a softy underneath that macho façade. And Inga’s just a softy, through and through.”
“That’s it. Want to carry a box and I’ll bring the ladder?”
Lugging supplies, they went to the front of the house and he set up the ladder while she returned to the garage for the second box. She opened it. “The multicolored lights go along the eaves,” she said, “and the twinkly white ones around the windows.”
“Got it. I’ll start with the eaves. You untangle the strings and pass them up to me.”
Once they got a process going, he said, “After we had dinner, Hank and Inga left me in their living room alone for a few minutes. I guess they had a private chat in the kitchen. Anyhow, then they came back and he asked me if I’d be interested in being his partner. And eventually taking over the garage.”
“Wow.” Gazing up at him, she blinked snowflakes from her lashes. That would mean Mo definitely staying in Caribou Crossing. “What did you tell him?”
“That I’d seriously consider it. He said he wouldn’t pressure me, but I think he’d like to get things resolved.”
She handed up another loop of colored lights, enjoying the soft kiss of snowflakes on her cheeks. “What does it depend on, for you? How would it work out financially?”
“The financing isn’t a problem. He’s priced comparable businesses and says his is worth around a hundred thousand. I’ve got that much and—”
“You do?”
He glanced down at her and laughed. “Thought all I owned was the pack on my back? No, for the last ten or so years I’ve saved more than I’ve spent. And done okay with investments.”
She’d never thought of footloose Mo as being an investor. The man was full of surprises. “Okay, then I won’t feel bad when you buy me dinner.”
“Anyhow, Hank says what he’d like to do is have me buy just less than fifty percent, so he’s the senior partner for the next year. Over time, I’d increase my share, and when he’s eventually ready, I’d buy him out. But he gets to keep working part-time for as long as he wants.”
“Sounds like a good deal. What do you think?”
“Yeah, it’s a real good deal. But if things never work out with Evan, it could be awkward, me being in the same town as him.”
She nodded, understanding but not happy about the uncertainty. Couldn’t things just come together for all of them? Why did this have to be so complicated? “I hope tonight’s dinner is another step in the right direction.”
“Had to bring that up, did you? Here I was relaxing and enjoying the afternoon.”
“It’ll be fine.” Surreptitiously, she crossed her gloved fingers. She and Brooke had been talking and thought it would be a good idea to have a social evening that included Brooke’s husband, Jake. The women had persuaded the men.
Maribeth liked Jake a lot, especially when she saw how much he loved Brooke and how he doted on their baby, Nicki. But she had to admit, the police chief, a former undercover cop, could be one awe-inspiring guy. She didn’t figure Mo would be intimidated, but she was a little afraid that the guys might face off rather than get along.
“Hey, if you keep daydreaming,” Mo said, “we’ll never get these lights hung.”
“Right. Sorry.” She unwound more of the string and fed it up to him.
Across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner came out, waved, and began to set up their holiday display of reindeer pulling a sleigh with Santa inside. They had a radio on their porch, and snatches of George Strait singing “Jingle Bell Rock” drifted in the snowy air.
“Lucky for them it’s December,” Mo said, gazing across the street from high up on the ladder, “or they’d be in serious trouble with you.” Then he called, “Hey, Caruso! Damn it, Maribeth, can you get him?”
The dog, who’d been happily exploring Maribeth’s yard and playing in the snow, had made his way across the street to sniff at the plastic reindeer. Maribeth ran over, clumsy in her boots. “Caruso, leave those alone!”
The dog turned his face up to her in a “what did I do wrong?” expression.
Mrs. Gardiner said, “Oh, isn’t he the prettiest boy? I didn’t know you had a dog, Maribeth.”
“He belongs to my friend, Mo. He’s a New Guinea singing dog and a bit of a free spirit.”
