“You’re an architect here in Missoula?”
“Yes, Clark Fork Architecture. Before that, I worked for a while in Houston and then Seattle. The work was good, but I missed it here. I was raised in Montana and my family is in the area. I was very lucky to be able to come back here and work in my field. I love what I do. I just feel fortunate to be able to do it here. And Missoula was where we—I—wanted to raise Emma.”
“Your daughter?”
His face lit up and his voice softened. “Yes. She’s three.” He reached in his pocket for his cell phone and flipped it open to a picture of a sweet, dark-haired little girl with a dimpled smile much like his own.
“She’s adorable,” I said.
“My father died five years ago and when I lost my wife …” he paused, his eyes dropped to the table, and then he went on, “my mother moved back here to be closer to us. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
The waitress brought us our pie, chocolate syrup cascading over enormous mounds of brown mousse nestled in an ebony crust. I could almost feel myself gaining weight just looking at it.
“Wow,” I said, wide-eyed. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to eat this or scale it.”
Michael laughed and started in with his fork. “Jack says you’re his cousin, but it sounds like you lived with them quite a while. How old were you when you came to live with the Pearsons?”
“I was eleven. Things had not gone very well for me before that so it was great just to have regular meals on the table.” I dropped my eyes to my lap. “My mom … I guess she tried, but she … well, her life was pretty chaotic.”
He nodded his head. “And your dad?”
“He died when I was four. I don’t really remember much about him. My mom said he died in a logging accident when we lived in Oregon. I think my mom and I were actually living with relatives when he died. It sounds like he had trouble holding onto a job.” I bit my lip and ordered myself to stop talking. Way too much information to be telling a virtual stranger, I thought.
Michael’s fork rested on his plate as his eyes searched my face.
“Whew, I could use some more water,” I said to change the subject.
Michael waved the waitress over and asked for more water.
“So, what was it like growing up with Jack? Any stories I can blackmail him with?” He grinned.
“Oh, Jack is the master entertainer. Never a dull moment with him around. I remember one day we were at some friend’s house in town. It was early spring and we were all outside trying to shoot baskets into an old hoop with no net. When the wind started blowing hard, Jack disappeared and then I saw him coming out of the house with this big pink-checkered tablecloth. He put on his roller blades and then tied the corners of the tablecloth to his ankles. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing until he held the other corners up high so the wind caught the cloth like a parasail. Pretty soon he was rocketing down the sidewalk, wobbling to keep upright and hollering, ‘Whoaaaaa!’” I raised my hands in the air as I told the story and Michael chuckled as I nearly tipped over my water glass.
“We laughed so hard we almost fell over. The only problem was he couldn’t see around the tablecloth, so he ploughed into a tricycle. He ended up in a heap on the ground. He had a few scratches, but he had so much fun convincing us girls he was dead that I think it was worth it to him.”
Michael laughed softly and then paused, looking as if he were searching for something to say. “Working here—it must be nice to have free air travel,” he commented. “Do you take advantage of it very often?”
“When I can. I was gone as much as I could be for a few years. Not as much lately. Sometimes I’m putting in too many hours at work to travel. In late July, I went to North Carolina with a girlfriend of mine, just because I’d never been to the South before. Her family lives there, so we got the royal tour. We saw the Biltmore Estate, which is more like an American castle, spent some time at the seashore, and visited some amazing museums. Most of the time we stayed with my friend’s family, which helped us to cut costs. It’s one thing to fly free, but in some places it can cost you an arm and a leg to stay. I went to the Caribbean before that—just for a few days. It was beautiful.”
He had finished most of his pie and pushed away his plate. His hands were folded in front of him, his forearms resting on the table. I noticed the thick blue-black curl on his forehead, a small scar above his left eyebrow.
I forced myself to focus on the conversation. “So, what is the biggest challenge in your work?” I asked.
He answered almost immediately and to my surprise said, “Staffing. Even in a small firm like ours, keeping a stable work force is a challenge. In Missoula, you don’t have the pool of architects or draftsmen to draw on when you need them like they do in bigger cities. You think twice about bringing someone in from out of town. It is a big move for them and is expensive. The other problem is developers. You love them and you hate them. They bring you work, but it can be frustrating because they are always focused on the bottom line. Build it cheap and sell it quick. They don’t often think about the fact that real people may live a long time in that home. Potentially, people can end up with serious maintenance issues. The other thing is that my partner Dan and I feel a responsibility to bring in enough work to keep employees and their families fed.” He rubbed his neck. “Sometimes the hours are pretty long, but I love my work—maybe a little too much. I probably spend more time at it than I should.”
“No time for recreation?” I asked giving up on the massive chunk of pie.
He sat back in his chair. “I volunteer to coach kid’s basketball at the YMCA. That’s good exercise and I have fun spending time with the kids. They are just so full of life. Sometimes Emma comes along and plays cheerleader.”
I smiled, picturing the little girl on the bleachers, watching the players.
The tables around us were slowly emptying and the restaurant became quiet. Glasses clinked in the lounge at the far end of the room.
I suddenly noticed the time. “Oh, I’ve got to get back.”
Michael signaled the waitress who brought the check. He paid the bill, then walked with me back toward the ticket counter.
“Well, thanks again for the help.” He stood with his jacket in one hand and the other hand plunged into his jeans pocket, looking as though he was searching for something to say. His face brightened. “I’ll probably see you at the wedding this weekend. Jack invited us—my mother, Emma, and I.”
“Oh, well, that would be great,” I said, a little too eagerly.
“Well, I’m sure it will be a wonderful occasion. It sounds like everyone has worked so hard on it.” He twisted his jacket in his hands.
“Well, thanks for the pie,” I said, backing away. As I walked down the hall, I resisted the urge to turn around. I was sure I’d see him still standing there, looking after me. At least, I hoped I would.
Halfway back to the service counter, I remembered with chagrin I had invited Derek to the reception. The idea of him and Michael in the same room bothered me. Then I shook my head. Was I crazy to think a guy like Michael would be interested in me? Good-looking, stable, those great eyes, and a heart that …
I blew out a sigh. What a dreamer I was. I hardly knew him.
A
I was pulling laundry out of the dryer at home that evening when my cell rang. I wedged it between my cheek and shoulder and folded a couple of towels into a basket.
“Hello?”
“Hey, what are you doing?” It was Jack’s voice.
“Laundry. Why? You want to come over and help?”
“Elizabeth asked me to call you and see if you want to come for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Hey, thanks, but I’ve got to work,” I said. “But I wanted to tell you something. Your friend Michael Callahan was at the airport today. Actually, we had some pie together.”
“You were making pie at the airport?” I could hear a hollow pounding in the background. I could picture him, sitting on th
e couch in his family room bouncing a basketball against the wall.
“No, he bought me pie at the restaurant for a favor I did for his friend.”
“Pie?”
“Yes, Jack. We ate pie.”
Silence.
“Jack? Is something wrong?” I paused, a scoop of powdered soap poised over the washing machine.
“No, really, no. It’s just … I’m surprised. Michael doesn’t really go out with people. Elizabeth has been suggesting people to him for a while, but he … Well, OK. Cool.” His voice faded as he turned from the phone. “Elizabeth, Jenna had pie with Michael.”
“Jack, was that a bad idea or something?” I asked, my brow furrowing with concern.
“No, really, I just never thought he’d be interested in you,” Jack said.
“Thanks a lot,” I said wryly.
“Hey, ouch! Elizabeth is hitting me. No, I mean interested in anybody.”
“Why not?” I scratched my head.
“I guess I just thought he’d given up on the idea of having someone in his life again.”
“It was just pie, Jack.” I started pairing up socks but found myself matching white with navy.
“I know. Well, OK. Hey, Jenna, I gotta go. I guess we’ll see you at the wedding.”
I hung up and stood absently watching water spray into the washing machine. Michael’s face appeared before me filled with empathy, an expression I was sure had been cured in the fire of adversity. His voice, warm and gravelly, sounded again in my ears.
I tried to imagine myself with someone like him. The idea was as elusive as a feather in the wind.
Chapter 12
dc
Saturday, I picked up Bobbie at her house. On the way down the valley, she entertained me with long stories of her cat, Lucius, a Maine coon. He was so loving, she said. He followed her around her apartment from room to room and the moment she sat down and made a lap, he would immediately occupy it.
I accidently hit the rumble strip on the road as she held up pictures for me to see: Lucius asleep in an empty flowerpot, Lucius perched on a bookcase, Lucius playing with a toy mouse. She showed me a clip from a catalogue of a Halloween costume she had ordered for him, a devil outfit with a cat-sized red cape and a hood complete with horns.
To tell the truth, I was having trouble concentrating. I was stewing about Derek showing up at the wedding. He had told me he would not get there in time for the wedding ceremony itself but would arrive later at the reception. I wondered what my aunt and uncle would think of him. He was so different from them in practically every way. What if they didn’t like him? Or, more importantly, what if they did? Would I feel more obligated to the relationship?
I kept thinking about Michael. I wished I could just have some time around him to see what he was really like. Maybe I could get a minute with Elizabeth or Jack and get them to tell me more about him without arousing too much suspicion. I didn’t want them to know how interested I was in him.
When we arrived at the house, the place was in chaos. Relatives bunched here and there, some dressed for the wedding, others still in T-shirts and jeans. A trio of little cousins was madly chasing one another in circles around the living room, laughing wildly.
“Jenna! Bobbie!” someone said. It was my cousin Sarah. “I haven’t seen you guys in forever!” She threw her arms around us both. Her long sweater fell open to reveal a baby bump.
“Since when are you pregnant?” I asked. “No one ever tells me anything.”
“Well, this is our fourth,” she said patting her belly. “I guess people are just losing count. Bobbie, how’s your sister? I heard she applied for dental school.”
“Oh, yes, the smart one in the family.” As they stood chatting, I went to the kitchen to look for my aunt. I found Jack there, his mouth stuffed full and a petit four cake in each hand. Brutus sat hopefully at his feet, watching for crumbs.
“Aren’t those for the reception?” I asked with an arched brow.
“I’m hungry. Besides, I’ll be too busy ushering and stuff to eat.”
“You don’t really usher during the reception. Where’s Ann?”
“She went with Angela and James and the photographer. They are getting pictures taken outside—down by the river or park or somewhere. Zee went with them.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“Last time I saw him, he was headed for the barn. Looking for some peace and quiet, I think. Hey, I invited Michael to the reception. Thought you might like to know.” He grinned knowingly.
“Yeah, I know. He told me,” I said, biting the corner of my nail.
He looked surprised. “He did? When?”
“Over pie.”
“Oh, the pie.” He winked.
I blushed.
Grandma Downing, a petite, plump, gray-haired woman, entered the kitchen supported by a cane. She wore an immaculate floral dress accented by a pearl necklace with matching earrings. “Well there’s our Jenna!”
“Grandma!” I hugged her frail shoulders carefully. “How are you doing? How was your trip?
“Oh,” she laughed good-naturedly. “Hard on the back, you know, but all right. Dennis is a good driver, so we made it just fine. We nearly hit a horse out here on the highway, though,” she said gesturing with a washcloth she carried. “If Dennis didn’t have such quick reflexes we’d have hit it for sure. Beautiful buckskin—it would have been a shame.”
Jack nodded, gulping down a glass of milk. “It’s the neighbor’s—down the road.”
“I’m glad you are all right.” I said. “Well, you look beautiful!”
She touched her hand to her hair and laughed. She waved the washcloth again. “I’m looking for some club soda. The baby spit up on Elizabeth and we can’t get the stain out. Club soda usually works,” she said, opening the refrigerator and rummaging around.
“There they are,” Jack said, pointing out the window as Ann’s Buick pulled up. An enormous white puff of wedding gown emerged, followed by James, handsome and slim in a full tuxedo. Ann appeared from around the other side of the vehicle with a white veil that billowed and tangled in the light wind. Zee followed her, struggling to balance on heels.
Ann bustled into the house, assessed the scene, and began good-naturedly administering orders in all directions.
“Everyone for pictures at the church in twenty minutes. Dennis, please find the caterer when you get there and give her that box on the counter. Elizabeth, don’t forget the boutonnieres and corsages in the fridge, please. Where’s Martin? Zee, what did you do with your shoes?” she addressed her daughter as she strolled by. Zee was barefoot and munching Cheetos. “Heavens! Don’t get those on your dress. Whose basketball is this?” she asked, plucking the ball from the philodendron pot and handing it to the nearest nephew. “Hi, Jenna, you look nice.” She admired my tea-length, sapphire-blue dress and gave me a quick squeeze.
“What can I do to help?” I volunteered.
“Let’s see, I think …” she halted, staring out through the window. She sighed, then smiled. “Well, I guess we knew that was going to happen,” she said wryly.
I looked through the window and saw Angela bouncing on the trampoline, her dress catching the breeze and exploding in clouds all about her. Her eyes sparkled; her smile was mischievous. A lock of her hair tumbled down around her neck. Then, much to the delight of the children crowding around them, James climbed up beside her. Soon the inevitable happened: he became entangled in her dress and they both fell in a heap, laughing. Travis was enlisted to carefully extract them without tearing the satin skirt. It was part of his duties as best man, I supposed. Bobbie stepped forward to magically restore the damaged hairstyle.
Then a mass exodus occurred. Ties were tied as men walked to cars, women called for children, children evaded capture, sweaters were pulled on, cameras were sought for, and directions were shouted to drivers. Grandma was helped into a van by six or eight grandsons. Cars revved into action, tires crunched. Jack carried out an eno
rmous box, straining to keep the tall pink plume of a feather pen out of his face, and dodged the flower girl who was being brought back into the house for one more trip to the bathroom. Amid all the furor, Uncle Martin strode calmly forward, collected his wife and the wedding couple and headed out for the church. Bobbie and I climbed into my Taurus and jockeyed into position in the caravan.
When we arrived at the church, the photographer waved all family members into a group photo. We crowded into the picture, shoulder to shoulder—bride, bridegroom, aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters, and brothers. Babies were held in the arms of parents; teens slumped, sullen or embarrassed; Grandma was steadied by her sons. We smiled as the camera flashed, freezing our images in time. It was a picture that would be pressed into the pages of albums and pored over for years to come.
As we stood together, I breathed in the smell of aftershave and the scent of corsages. The warmth from the sleeve of Uncle Martin’s tweed jacket and the coolness of Elizabeth’s satin dress pressed against me. The vitality, the sheer energy of the moment flowed around me. I stood there knee-deep in the flow of it, the ripples of their laughter bubbling around me.
People were sorted out of the picture, leaving the wedding couple to be photographed with their parents. I left Bobbie snapping away with her camera and went to the reception area with Elizabeth. The room had been transformed from the austere assembly hall into a realm of modest enchantment. Red roses floated in clear vases on round tables that circled a central serving area. Raspberries bobbed in a frosty punch bowl. A three-tiered cake rose elegantly, albeit precariously, on tiny crystal columns. A cascade of delicate, fresh flowers spiraled around each champagne-colored layer.
The bird seed we had spent so many hours bundling into fluffy net, tied with fine red ribbon, had been placed in a basket beside the guest book, ready to be flung ceremoniously at the newly married couple when it came time for them to escape.
I felt my cell phone buzz, and I clicked the button to see a text from Derek. “Running late.”
A reprieve, I thought, still dreading the inevitable culture collision.
Heartbeat of the Bitterroot Page 8
