by Cindy Myers
Or, as was the case this afternoon, to listen to them talk. She and Jameso were inventorying the liquor supply behind the bar, checking the level of each bottle, wiping it down and returning it to the shelf, grouping like spirits together, and making note of anything they needed to reorder. While this occupied their hands, Jameso was telling about his fight with Maggie over the wedding preparations.
“I told her we could do whatever she wanted—that I only wanted her to be happy, and she accused me of not caring.” He shoved a bottle of bourbon back onto the shelf. “How is that not caring?”
Olivia wiped down the next bottle and handed it to him. “Do you really want to know?” she asked.
He glared at her, his darkly handsome face forbidding, though she’d long ago learned there was little venom behind the black looks. “Of course I want to know,” he said. “Why would she think I don’t care?”
“You were taking the easy way out—you want her to do all the work, and all you have to do is show up and put the ring on her finger. It sets a bad precedent.”
“What precedent? We’re only going to do this once.”
She grabbed the next bottle in line and began wiping it. “It sets a bad precedent for the marriage,” she said. “First, Maggie plans and executes the wedding. Then, she decides what’s for dinner every night. The next thing you know, she’s buying all the clothes and dealing with the kid’s teachers and planning all the vacations.”
At his blank look, she shook her head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what? Isn’t that stuff what women do? What they want to do?”
“In a lot of marriages, yes. But Maggie has been there and done that, and now she wants a different kind of marriage. One where the two of you are equal partners, and you share responsibility. And she wants to start with the wedding.” She handed him the bottle. “It makes perfect sense to me.”
“It makes sense to you because you’re a woman.”
“What do you want—a partner and a lover, or a live-in housekeeper and surrogate mother?”
“Maggie is not my mother. That’s sick.”
“Then stop acting like a kid. Grow up and speak up. Have an opinion about the wedding—and saying you want to elope does not qualify as a valid opinion.”
He clammed up, shoving bottles into place with so much force she feared one might break. But his agitation soon subsided. He turned to face her. “The problem is,” he said, “I never had a model for what a marriage is supposed to be. My parents certainly didn’t know.”
“Don’t look at me, my parents split when I was a kid. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think I can’t figure things out on my own.”
“You and D. J. don’t seem to be in any hurry to rush to the altar.”
“We’re just waiting for the right time. After the house is done and we can live together.” She and D. J. knew they were staying together. Rushing to get a piece of paper that said so wasn’t as important to her.
“So are you going to have a big ceremony with the white dress and the bridesmaids and the whole nine yards?” he asked.
“No, we’re thinking of something quieter.”
He shook his head. “So why didn’t I marry you?”
“You don’t want me.”
“No, I want Maggie.” His shoulders slumped. “I just want her without so many complications.”
“Relationships are all about complications.”
“Not all of them. Guys can be friends without all the drama.”
“Ha! So your friendship with Maggie’s dad, Jake, never had any drama? From the stories people tell around here, he was all about the drama.” Though Jacob Murphy had died before Olivia had even come to town, he’d made a big impression on people. All the bar regulars had Jake stories—wild things he’d done or said. But Jameso had known the man better than most. They’d been best friends for years.
Jameso’s frown was more thoughtful. “Okay. Jake had his problems. It made things . . . tense between us sometimes.”
“Is Maggie like him?”
“They’re both just as stubborn, but then so am I.” He shook his head. “But they aren’t alike—no. Jake didn’t trust people. Hell, he didn’t trust himself. He had a mean temper and a drinking problem, and things in the past he could never quite overcome. I used to think the two of us were friends because we were so much alike.”
“You’re not like that,” she said. “You’re not mean or a drunk. As for the past . . . you can’t undo it, so you have to get over it. History doesn’t have to repeat itself.” A lesson she was trying hard to learn herself.
“I want Maggie and me and the baby to be a real family,” Jameso said. “I’m afraid of screwing it up. I’ve been on my own so long, I’m not used to having other people depending on me.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She handed him another bottle. “You’re a good guy and you’ll figure this out. Speaking of family, how’s your sister?”
He turned back to the shelves. “She’s doing okay, I guess.”
“You don’t know?”
“I haven’t even talked to her in years. Just because she suddenly showed up in town doesn’t mean we’re going to be close.”
“She came to town to see you. To be near you.”
“She came to town to get away from that jerk of a husband of hers.”
“She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to. The guy’s one of these survivalist /militia/right-wing nuts. He dragged her and the kids to the middle of nowhere to live off the land. She finally woke up and had enough, and decided to get out of Dodge. I guess she figured Eureka, Colorado, is far enough from Vermont he wouldn’t come after her.”
Olivia felt a shiver of alarm. “Do you think he will? Come after her, I mean?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I hadn’t spoken to her in five years when she showed up here.”
So it was back to being grouchy. The man was definitely touchy. “Her daughter and Lucas are friends,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Like girlfriend-boyfriend?”
“I don’t think it’s to that stage yet. Though I did ask D. J. if he thought we should talk to Lucas about sex.”
Jameso laughed. “You’re joking, right? Olivia, he’s almost what—fourteen? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”
“You sound like D. J. He said the same thing. But then he told me not to worry, that he sounded Lucas out on the subject on one of their overnights last winter. The boy knows more than I ever did at his age, that’s for sure.”
“Tell him if he ends up getting my niece in trouble, he’ll have to answer to me.”
“That ought to be real effective, considering Maggie’s going to be walking down the aisle nine months’ pregnant.”
At the stricken look on his face, she laughed. “I’m just kidding. Lucas already thinks you’re the town badass. It won’t hurt him to be reminded that you’re Alina’s uncle—though I don’t think he thinks of her in that way.”
“He probably does. You just don’t want to admit that your baby thinks about having sex.”
She covered her ears with her hands. “La, la, la . . . I can’t hear you.”
“Hey? Anybody home?” Someone called from the back.
Olivia leaned around the corner and saw Alina herself, peeking in the half-open back door. “Can I come in?” the girl asked.
“Come on up.” Olivia waved her forward.
Alina hurried to join them. Dressed in jeans with ripped knees, pink Keds, and a pink polo shirt, her long hair in pigtails, she definitely looked more like a tomboy than a glamour girl. “Hey, Ms. Theriot.” She waved. “Hey, Uncle Jay—I mean Uncle Jameso.”
Olivia bit back a laugh. She still couldn’t get over the idea that Jameso had changed his name. “What brings you here?” she asked. “Lucas told me you were grounded.”
“Mom decided one week was enough misery for both of us. I think after s
he got over being scared and mad she realized she may have overreacted a little. I was only a few minutes late, and I promised to call her before I went anywhere again.”
“I’m sorry my son got you into trouble.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled shyly, looking up through her bangs. “My mom really likes him, so that helps, actually.”
“That’s good to know. What can we do for you?”
“I came to see Uncle Jameso.” She glanced his way.
Olivia nudged Jameso, who was intently rearranging liquor bottles, as if unaware of Alina’s arrival. “Your niece is here to see you,” she said.
“Oh. Hey, Alina.” He leaned against the bar, an uber-casual pose, but Olivia felt the tension radiating from him. Mr. Cool was nervous around this girl. “How are you liking Eureka?” he asked.
“It’s okay. The people are nice.”
“What can I do for you?”
Olivia moved down the bar, though she stayed close enough to eavesdrop.
“I just wanted to say hi,” Alina said. “We haven’t seen too much of you since we got to town.”
“Well, your mom and I are both busy.”
“I was hoping we could maybe, you know, hang out.”
The look on Jameso’s face was priceless—a mixture of surprise and fear and confusion. “You want to hang out with me? Why?”
“You’re the only uncle I have, and I don’t have any aunts or cousins.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched. “I just thought it would be good if we got to know each other better.”
“Uh, sure.” Jameso looked around the bar, as if someone might arrive to rescue him from this awkwardness. Everyone, including Olivia, avoided his gaze. “What do you want to do?” he asked the girl after a moment.
“Maybe you could show me more of the town. Take me to your favorite places or something. Sometime when you’re not busy.”
“He’s not busy now,” Olivia said.
“I’m working,” he protested.
“Tuesdays are always slow.” She indicated the half dozen customers. “If I need help, Bob can pitch in.”
“Sure, I can do that,” Bob said from his end of the bar.
“Or I’ll call Reggie upstairs at his law office,” Olivia said. “He likes to play bartender when he can.” She reached out and pulled off Jameso’s apron. “Go.”
“Cool!” Alina said as she followed Jameso toward the door. “Can I ride on your motorcycle?”
“Wear a helmet,” Olivia called after them.
“I will, I promise,” Alina said.
At least one member of the family had her head on straight.
“Jameso doesn’t know the first thing about looking after a kid,” Bob said when they were gone.
“Considering he’s about to have one of his own, it’s time he found out,” Olivia said. He’d said he wanted family. Maybe his niece was a good place to start.
Chapter 9
Jameso handed Alina his spare helmet, the one Maggie usually wore. “Put this on.”
“Cool.” She slipped the helmet on, then fumbled with the latch.
He reached out and fastened it for her. “I’ll get on first,” he said. “Then you climb on behind me.” She did so and he showed her where to put her feet. “And hang on to me.”
He could barely feel her small hands and slight body, yet every nerve was aware of her. “Your mother will probably kill me when she finds out I had you on my bike,” he said.
“She’ll get over it.”
He choked back a laugh. That was exactly the sort of thing he would have said if Sharon had complained to him. “So where do you want to go?” he asked.
“Take me to your favorite place in Eureka.”
Did he have a favorite place? She’d already seen the Dirty Sally and the Last Dollar. There was only one other place he really liked to spend time. “My favorite place isn’t in town,” he said. “It’s in the mountains.”
“So take me there.”
He couldn’t think of a reason not to. “Hang on,” he said. The bike started with a familiar, comforting rumble, and he turned it into the street and headed toward the highway out of town.
After the long winter, the road was rough, pocked with holes, worn into ruts. He had to slow the bike and steer carefully. Alina leaned forward to talk to him, her voice raised above the motorcycle’s engine. “This is so much fun,” she said. “I love flying along so close to everything.”
They weren’t exactly flying, but he knew what she meant. “Maybe later on, when we get to a better stretch of road, I’ll show you what it’s like to really fly,” he said.
“Awesome!”
He turned the bike onto the even more narrow and rutted road up to Jake’s cabin. Even though it belonged to Maggie now, he’d always think of the renovated miner’s cabin as Jake’s place. If there were such a thing as ghosts, Jake would haunt this place he’d loved so much.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled in front of the cabin and cut the engine. “Who lives here?” Alina asked.
“No one right now. It belongs to Maggie. Her father owned it.”
Alina climbed off the bike and stood staring at the cabin. The place had been old when Jake had bought it, and most of the improvements he’d made didn’t show. Weather and time had burnished the wood siding to silver, some pieces cracked and curled. Stone crumbled from the pillars that supported the porch across the front, and the stovepipe had rusted dark red. “He lived way up here?” Alina asked.
“He did. He liked the solitude, and the view. Come on, I’ll show you.” He found the key on his ring and unlocked the front door. “Jake never locked it when he lived here,” he said. He pushed open the door and motioned for Alina to enter ahead of him.
“Wow!” she gasped, and froze in the middle of the cabin’s main room.
Jameso laughed. “It leaves most people at a loss for words, the first time they see it,” he said. Oversized picture windows filled the back wall, which jutted out over the canyon. More windows on the sides flooded the space with light and views of blue sky, white clouds, and soaring mountains. Alina turned slowly all the way around, her mouth open. “It’s like floating in space,” she said finally. “Or maybe being in a really, really tall tree house.”
“The first time Maggie saw this place, she fainted.” At Alina’s horrified look, he added, “She was new to Colorado and wasn’t used to the altitude.”
“I think it would be an awesome place to live.” She put her hand on the railing at the bottom of the steps. “What’s upstairs?”
“A bedroom. You can go on up.”
Maggie had left most of the furniture, so the big bed, stripped of sheets and comforter, still sat in the middle of the room, flanked by large windows. Maggie had covered the windows with drapes she’d made from old red velvet theater curtains, but right now they were pulled back. Alina sat on the side of the bed and gaped at the view. “Why did she move into town?” she asked after a moment.
“The only way to get here in winter is on a snowmobile,” Jameso said. “Jake did it for years, but he didn’t have a job he had to be at every day.”
“I guess that would be kind of tough. Hey, look at that.” She pointed out the window.
He followed her gaze toward a bighorn sheep that was ambling its way down the slope behind the house. “That’s Winston,” he said.
“He has a name?”
“Jake—Maggie’s dad—named him. Come downstairs and you can meet him.”
He led the way downstairs and outside, with a brief stop by the kitchen to retrieve a package of Lorna Doones from the cabinet. “Want a cookie?” He offered one to Alina.
“Um, sure.” She took the cookie and crunched it. “A little stale.”
“Winston won’t mind.” He hooked two fingers over his lower lip and let out a loud whistle. Seconds later, the mountain sheep trotted around the corner of the house and headed straight toward them.
“What’s he doing?” Alina stepped
behind Jameso.
“It’s okay. Here, offer him a cookie.” He showed her how to place the cookie on her open palm and hold it out toward the sheep. The animal eagerly swiped up first Jameso’s offering, then Alina’s.
“Oh my gosh. His tongue feels so weird.” She giggled and smiled up at him, eyes shining.
He felt about ten feet tall, as if he’d done something heroic, instead of merely letting her feed cookies to a mountain sheep. “You look just like your mom when she was your age,” he said.
“Really?” She brushed her hands on her jeans and shook her head at the sheep. “No more cookies. Sorry.”
They watched the ram wander back the way he’d come. Alina fixed Jameso once more with a look of intense interest. “What was my mom like when she was a kid?”
Sharon had been a sweet, sensitive girl who hid in the closet when their parents fought. He’d find her there, shaking and crying without making a sound, tears slipping down her cheeks, making a wet spot on her T-shirt. He’d hold her and rock her and tell her everything was going to be okay.
He’d been a good liar, even then. Really, he’d been just as scared and upset as she was, but the compulsion to protect her had been stronger than his fear, so he’d pretended, for her sake. Somehow, that made them both feel better. “She was smart, like you. Quiet, but with a wicked sense of humor.” Sometimes the lie wasn’t in what you said, but in all you left out.
“She never talks about her childhood.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “She told me once her father was mean and that was why she married my dad when she was so young. I figure it must have been pretty bad.”
“It was. But your mom turned out okay in spite of that. She’s a good woman.”
“She is. The best.”
He wanted to ask why Sharon had left Joe and come all this way—and without Adan. But maybe that wasn’t his business. Or maybe he shouldn’t ask a kid to explain a parent’s action.
“She didn’t like that my dad kept us so isolated from everyone,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “She said it wasn’t right—that we couldn’t go to school or have friends. He was always so paranoid. He thought everyone was bad, while Mom thought most people were good.”
