Kentucky Home

by Sarah Title

  “Are you really doing this today, Bob? I’ve got a lot of work to do.” No, he didn’t, but he didn’t want to ride. When he rode, he had time and space to think about things and he had done enough thinking already.

  Plus, he had to pay bills.

  That was enough to send him to the barn for a saddle.

  Maybe he should do what Libby said and ask Mal for help. Billie Monroe sure seemed happy with her work, and Mal would probably be happy to lend a hand—she seemed to have some sort of calculator for how much she owed them for . . . harboring her, or whatever they were doing.

  Still, the less he interacted with her the better. He had managed to avoid speaking more than three words to her since she’d started with Dr. Monroe. It was rude, no doubt, but he couldn’t handle more. When he talked to her, that dull ache lifted. She made him smile.

  But she had lied to him—to all of them—about who she was, which was someone else’s wife. Maybe not for much longer, but that didn’t change the lie. He needed her to just go back to where she belonged so he could forget about her and go on with his pathetic life, pining for a family he would never have while not ever talking to anyone he wasn’t related to. Then he would be happy again.

  He shook his head as he pulled a saddle down off the rack. He was delusional, he knew that, but it was better to be delusional than to go crazy trying to reconcile warm feelings toward a woman who pretended to be his brother’s fiancée but turned out to be someone else’s wife. It was better to be delusional than to admit that, in these three days he had been avoiding her, he’d missed her smiling at him and laughing at him and the way she sort of scrunched up her mouth when she was concentrating on something. The way she jumped headlong into things she had no idea how to do. And those jeans. They weren’t particularly tight or fashionable, but they sure fit.

  Much better to be delusional.

  He heard a high-pitched beeping coming from the tack room. He knew what it was. Mal had left her cell phone in a pocket of one of the barn coats, which he’d discovered the first time it went off at seven that morning. He had been ignoring it, but not ignoring it well enough to know that this was at least the tenth time it had rung, and he hadn’t even been in the barn all day.

  He pulled it out after it stopped ringing. Seventeen missed calls. He should put it back and walk away, he knew that. But he clicked on the button that showed him the numbers anyway. He scrolled down. Seventeen missed calls from the same number. He stared at the number for a bit; an East Coast area code that looked familiar from one of their tack suppliers, the expensive one that Katie used to buy fancy stuff for kids who were doing show jumping. He should maybe call Mal at Dr. Monroe’s. Maybe it was an emergency. But he would be picking her up in a few hours, and he didn’t like the idea of interrupting her bookkeeping high (surely, she had an illness) to have her call someplace she didn’t want to be.

  He was lost in his deliberation, and he nearly jumped out of his boots when the phone went off in his hand. Without thinking, he pressed the OK button and started to say, “Hello.”

  “Jesus Christ, finally. Mal, I have better things to do than wait around for you to pick up your phone. Do you know how many times I’ve called? I don’t appreciate—”

  “Mal’s not here right now,” Keith said, trying to relax his grip on the phone. It wouldn’t do to break it, especially since it wasn’t his. “Can I take a message for her?”

  “Are you kidding me? Where the hell is she? What does she have to do that’s so damned important she can’t talk to her husband?”

  Ex-husband. Almost. The guy she’d been running from. Keith switched the phone to his other ear and shook out his hand. Took a deep breath. “She’s at work.”

  “Work? Are you kidding me? That woman hasn’t worked a day in her life.”

  “Well, she’s working now.”

  “Unbelievable. Do you know how many years I had to support her? Even when I was going through medical school, I had to carry her financially. Now she leaves and she suddenly develops a work ethic.”

  “That’s not how I heard it.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell her you called.”

  “Wait, hold on a minute. Who the hell is this?”

  “Keith.”

  “Well, who are you, Keith? Are you her new boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “What the hell are you doing answering her phone?”

  “She left it behind.”

  “Of course she did. That girl can’t do anything on her own. Did you know that I had to show her how to iron my shirts? It was like she’d never seen a can of spray starch.”

  Keith wasn’t sure what spray starch had to do with a forgotten cell phone, so he didn’t say anything.

  “Listen, Keith, is it? I’m sorry you’ve been saddled with her for, what, it must be weeks now. I know she’s high maintenance and she can’t get anything done on her own. She’s been a real drain on me. Did she tell you I’m a doctor?”

  He seemed to want a response, so Keith said, “Yeah.”

  “Pediatric oncology. Heartbreaking stuff, but it’s really important work. I’m saving lives, Keith, and it has been so hard for these last seven years to go to work all day, try to cure cancer—cancer, Keith— and come home to find no food in the house, mess everywhere. She’s a drain, Keith. She’s sucking the life out of me. I’m still young, I still have a lot to offer a woman. But does she see it? No. She barely even speaks to me! I deserve more than that, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’ll get whatever you deserve,” Keith said.

  “Exactly! And she leaves without any word about where she is. Where the hell are you, anyway?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “Kentucky, Christ. What the hell is in Kentucky?”

  People with manners, Keith thought.

  “I still can’t believe she just up and left. How selfish can you be? Didn’t she think that people would be wondering where my wife is?”

  Ex-wife. Almost. “Sounds like it might be a relief for you.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Keith. It’s opened my eyes to a lot, to how much better my life will be without her. I just don’t appreciate having to go to hospital functions on my own and having to field questions about where that charming—ha—wife of mine is. Those looks of pity when I have to say ‘trial separation.’ But I have to tell you, aside from that, my life has been much easier, really eyeopening. That’s why I’ve got these divorce papers here, just waiting for her to sign, and I can’t wait around for her forever. I’ve got a life to lead, you know?”

  “Sure.”

  “Write it down, please. Mallory is useless at remembering things. Write this: Dear Mallory, pull it together. You wanted this divorce and, for once, you got it right.

  “Am I going too fast?”

  “I’ll tell her,” Keith said. Before Michael could thank him kindly for relaying the message, he hung up.

  Keith pulled into the parking lot behind Dr. Monroe’s office promptly at five. It hadn’t changed a bit, and apparently neither had he; on instinct, he pulled into the doctor’s spot. He wasn’t a doctor here anymore. He was starting to pull out to find a spot on the street when Billie came out of the office wearing some of the most ridiculous scrubs he had ever seen in his life. Was that Big Bird?

  “Hey, you can’t park there—oh, hi, Keith. I didn’t recognize your truck.”

  He turned off the truck and got out. “I traded with my dad. Didn’t need that big diesel anymore.”

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t when you’re not hauling medical equipment around.”

  They stood there, just looking at each other.

  Billie sighed. “OK, I won’t give you a hard time about coming back to work here if you don’t give me a hard time about going out with Trevor tonight.”

  “Trevor! That guy—”

  Billie held up her hand. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” Keith grumbled. Then he pulled Billie close and gave her a n
oogie.

  “Hey! Quit it!”

  “Are you okay? I heard—” Mal stopped abruptly when she saw Keith with Billie in a headlock. “Um, I heard shrieking.”

  “Yes,” Billie said in a muffled voice from Keith’s armpit. “Keith is just being a—” She pulled her elbow up, aiming for his groin. He saw her, though, and released her just in time. “Good reflexes, old man.”

  “Not too old to kick Trevor’s—”

  “Hey,” Billie said, pointing her finger at Keith. “You promised.”

  “Fine. You ready?” he said, turning to Mal. He tried not to let the catch in his breath show. She was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in that ridiculous messy way, with a pencil sticking out of it. How did she take his breath away?

  “Sure,” she said, giving him a funny look. “Actually, just give me a second to finish up in here.”

  “Are you really just finishing something up, or are you going to start something new that takes hours?” Billie asked.

  Mal laughed. “No, I promise I’m just finishing. Five minutes,” she said to Keith.

  “I know how you get, that’s all. This woman has a sickness,” Billie said. “And I have a date,” she said to Mal.

  “OK! OK, just let me get to it.” She walked back inside.

  “Come on, you can wait for her inside,” Billie said, holding the door for him.

  “I’ll just wait out here.”

  “Keith.” She gave him a look, and just stood there, propping the door open with her hip, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Fine, I’ll come in. But we have a deal.”

  Billie stuck her tongue out at him and followed him inside.

  It was exactly how he remembered it, with pale blue walls and white tile and a general air of sterility. He started down that long hall that would lead to the waiting area, peeking into exam rooms, seeing a kid and his mom gently petting their dog as Dr. Monroe finished up a cast. He remembered doing that, and how Dr. Monroe had taught him that being a vet was about more than fixing the animal, that you had to take care of the human, too. Keith didn’t know how many times he’d told worried kids to just be gentle with Fluffy or Mojo or Dino and make sure she took her medicine, how many times he’d told parents not to worry about the bill, Linda would work out a payment plan. For so many people, all that mattered was knowing their four-legged kid would be OK.

  Having been on the receiving end of such sympathies, he didn’t know how people could take it. Of course, things were probably different when you were talking about your wife rather than your dog. And she hadn’t had a broken leg or a tapeworm.

  There was no sense reliving the past, though. That was why he never came here; Dr. Monroe’s practice was his past. His future was . . . Wild Rose, maybe, although lately his heart wasn’t in it, not the way Katie’s was. But it was his responsibility. Although suddenly the reasons why it was his responsibility were a little fuzzy. Why couldn’t he move on with his life again? Why had he made this choice?

  “There you are,” said Mal, sticking her head out of the office door. “I’m almost done, I swear.”

  “Take your time.” But hurry up.

  He followed her into the office. That was the one place he didn’t recognize. “They got office furniture?”

  Mal laughed and leaned into the file cabinet, fishing. “That’s what Billie said. I guess it’s been buried.”

  “Mal, it looks great in here.”

  She pulled open another drawer. “Thanks. It took me a while to work out where things should go. I mean, I’ve done accounting before, but I’ve never worked with a vet or any doctor, so I had to really grill Billie on the workflow and . . .” She turned her head, still sandwiched between two file drawers. “Does this interest you at all?”

  “It interests me that you’re helping out a friend.”

  “Yeah, well,” she said, and started to stand up.

  “Whoa.” And suddenly Keith was at her back, holding her head down into the file drawers.

  “Hang on,” he said, and pushed the top drawer closed. She just sat there, leaning over the bottom drawer, until she felt his hand on her back. “It’s OK.” He gently guided her up. “I didn’t want you to hit your head.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the first time today, actually . . .” She trailed off, looking around, placing a hand on his arm. He let her hold on until she was steady.

  “Mal, come on!” Mal jumped a little at Billie’s voice as it came barreling down the hall before her. “You promised . . . Hey, are you OK?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  “Did you hit your head again? Girl, you’ve been working too hard. You need more fresh air. And I need to get—”

  “Yes,” Keith said quickly before she could finish the sentence. “We know.”

  Mal smiled, then turned to shut down the computer and gather her stuff.

  “Is this it?” Keith asked, holding up her purse.

  “Well, I was going to bring some of these,” she pointed to a box of papers, the one messy spot in the office.

  “No,” said Billie, grabbing Mal’s arm, then her purse. “We’re leaving. It will all be here tomorrow.”

  The ride home was a little tense, but not as tense as, say, a war crimes trial. Despite his word, Keith had given Billie some, well, advice on how to handle Trevor, who was a troublemaker and who he thought was dating Katie. To which Billie responded that nobody goes out with Trevor for long. So Keith, like an idiot, asked what was the point, then, if you knew you were just going to get dumped? So Billie said that she wasn’t going out with him because she wanted him to be her boyfriend. Then she said she wasn’t going to talk to him anymore because he was getting that big-brother jaw clench and she didn’t have time to argue with him and change out of her scrubs and into her date underwear. Then Mal piped in that he must really be worth it, and that it would take a lot to get her to wear uncomfortable underwear. At which Billie laughed and Keith practically ran to the car in an effort to stop picturing Mal in uncomfortable date underwear. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it sounded like something very . . . sexy.

  “It’s very sweet how protective you are of Billie,” said Mal, who was fiddling with the radio.

  “She doesn’t like it.”

  “No, she doesn’t. But you let her go anyway, so it’s still sweet. Do you really only get country music down here?”

  She flipped back and forth between the presets (all country, except for one for NPR, but even that was playing an old-timey bluegrass show). “Hey! This is that song we danced to! I can’t believe I recognized it!” She turned to him, dancing in her seat. “I know a country song now.”

  He smiled at her as she continued to dance, then she slowed down as she listened to the words. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy,” the singer sang out. She stopped. “Wow. Country music is dirty.”

  He laughed then. He shouldn’t have laughed, because she looked over and caught his eye, and her gaze was so heated, so full, he swore he could see that her longing matched his, and that was no way to drive a car.

  He cleared his throat and turned back to the road.

  After a few minutes of silence—not at all awkward—Mal said, “Hey, do we have the same phone?” pointing to the center console.

  “Oh, no, that’s yours. You left it in the barn.”

  “Oh! No wonder it’s been so quiet. Thanks for bringing it. I wonder if Luke called?” She started to scroll through the missed calls. He heard her sharp intake of breath, peeked over to see her looking pale and staring at the screen.

  “You had a lot of calls today.”

  She didn’t say anything, just kept scrolling down.

  “Mal?” She wasn’t really listening, so he figured now would be as good a time as any to confess. “I answered it.”

  “What?” she said sharply, turning to him.

  “It kept ringing. I thought it might be an emergency. Or Luke.”

  “Wa
s it?”

  He sighed. “I talked to Michael.”

  She shrunk back in her seat. “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry, Mal.”

  “Sorry for picking up the phone or sorry for talking to my husband?”

  “Ex, right?”

  She turned away, blinking fast.

  “You won’t be married to him for much longer.” He hoped. For purely platonic reasons, of course. No one deserved a toad like Michael.

  She snorted. Then she sat back in her seat with a sigh. “I don’t know if I can express how badly I want to be done with him, to have this divorce final and official so I can move on with my life. But the idea of facing him, even if I know it’s for the last time . . . it still terrifies me. More than the idea of being on my own for the first time in my life, more than the fact that I will have nowhere to live, no job, probably no money if he has his way, which he will. Every time I see him, he makes me feel so . . . small. I was just starting to feel regular-sized again.”

  Don’t go, Keith thought. Or come back. Come back and stay here. But that was ridiculous, so he kept quiet until they pulled into the driveway. Peanut ran out to meet the car, jumping up and licking Mal’s window. She laughed, then wiped her eyes.

  Keith thought about the conversation he’d had with Libby that morning at breakfast.

  “You know,” she’d said as Keith was remembering the way Mal’s shirt came untucked from the back of her jeans when she leaned over, “I think you should take that girl for a ride.” He spit out his mouthful of coffee. “I just mean,” Libby continued, handing him a napkin, “that she said she’s never been on a horse before, and here she is, cooped up until Lord knows whenever Luke moseys back here. Show her around, make her fall in love with the place. Then maybe she’d make that pretend engagement real.”

  Keith hated to think about Mal marrying his no-good brother, but he hated even more to think about her leaving. Keith rubbed his chin and reached for a biscuit. “I’ll think about it.” But he knew he would think of no such thing. The farther he stayed away from Mal, and her lips, the better.