by Fiona Lowe
She stared at him. “You have no clue about me or about this town. I don’t need to say anything to anyone. In fact, you’re the one who needs to take charge here with your team. Everything you’re saying is just an excuse because the reality is that you’re putting your job and the town ahead of me.”
He suddenly looked inexplicably weary and he slowly opened his hands palm up as if to say if that’s what you believe. “Good night, Nicole.”
God, he wasn’t even going to deny it. The truth hit her like a truck. Well, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be second best ever again. Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she willed them to stay and not spill. “Goodbye, Tony.”
His head gave the smallest of nods and then he silently let himself out.
As the door clicked shut, she lost her battle with holding back her tears. They splashed down her face hot and angry before becoming cold and sad until finally they ran dry. All that was left was a vast and empty feeling sitting heavy in her chest. A space that echoed loudly with her past and was drowning out her future.
Was she pathologically attracted to men who were defined by their jobs? Who put their careers first? She took the soggy mess of tissues into the kitchen and dropped them in the trash. Opening the fridge, she pulled out some cheese curds and poured herself a glass of wine. She drank it fast, feeling the hit against her empty stomach and grabbing on to the spreading warmth that followed.
She bit into a fresh cheese curd, hearing and feeling the squeak against her tongue and savoring the freshness of the comfort food. She ate more and then alternated between the wine and the cheese. There was nothing wrong with her, she reminded herself sharply. This was Tony Lascio’s loss and if he’d just walked away from an opportunity and he wasn’t prepared to fight for her then she didn’t need to spend any more time thinking about him.
Certainly not the way his thick hair curled at his nape. Or how his dark eyes seemed to absorb her every time he looked at her.
She gulped some more wine.
No, she was not thinking about him one more second when all he could think about was his job. Bradley’s focus on work had come later in their relationship, after he’d joined up when work in Whitetail had been harder to find. Always happy to be a laborer and not ever having had clear work plans before signing up, he’d embraced the routine and the camaraderie the forces offered and had left her behind.
I want this more than I want you. The words she worked so hard to expunge from her memory taunted her. At least this time, with Tony, she’d recognized the signs up front and saved herself more heartache.
Despite not wanting to relive the evening, her mind was stuck on rewind. I can’t do my job in Whitetail if people don’t respect me.
He was trying to pin the problem on her where it didn’t belong, only the moment that thought pinged into her head she suddenly remembered how many times John had ignored him at the coffee cart. The picture of Tina being curt and rude at the supper club loomed large and real. At the time, she’d attributed that behavior to Tina being Tina but the image triggered a flood of small slights, all of which poured into her mind. She pressed her thumbs hard into her temples. He wasn’t imagining it—the town was protecting her.
Nicole, I want a future with you.
The wine in her stomach sloshed against the cheese. Nausea rolled in its wake.
Tony had said those words to her but she’d lost sight of them in the quagmire that was the death throes of her marriage. Was Tony right after all? Was she stuck?
Maybe he didn’t put you in this position. Maybe you put yourself there.
The stark reality of what she’d done whipped her.
After Bradley had died, she’d let the truth about her marriage take on a warped reality to protect her pride and to protect Max and the town. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do but now it was as if Tony had pointed a bright flashlight onto all of it and illuminated a total mess.
For the very first time she could see that she, not Bradley, was her own worst enemy. Exactly how to help herself was less clear.
* * *
“This is so cool, Uncle Luke,” Grace said, her expression serious as she shook a sealed baggie full of ice.
“It’s my turn now,” Ethan said, pulling on gloves and reaching for the bag.
Luke and the children were in the farmhouse kitchen surrounded by sticky maple syrup they’d tapped from the maple grove, milk from the dairy and cream from his Amish neighbor. The only items that hadn’t come fresh off a farm were pecans and vanilla essence.
Luke crossed his fingers and rechecked the recipe he’d found on the internet. “I hope it’s going to work.”
He’d been tempted to involve his mother as his cooking skills weren’t fabulous but he figured he was capable of heating ingredients and stirring. Besides, if it was an absolute disaster, doing it this way made it look like he was just being a good uncle and involving the kids in an activity. No one would realize he was exploring an idea that had taken hold of him a few days after Erin had given him that photo.
It had kept calling him back to look at it, the black-and-white tones showing no mercy on his emotions. Every time he studied the photo, he got the same tug on his soul that the farm always inflicted and he knew it would be impossible to walk away from it.
You just need to work out what you want to do with the farm. You need your own project.
The night Essie’s calf was born and Erin had said those words, he’d rejected the suggestion out of hand. It was only after seeing the photograph that her words had kept coming back to him like the rhythmic beating of a tribal drum. They refused to leave so here he was, experimenting with making ice cream.
“My arms are getting tired.” Ethan passed the bag to Luke.
He checked the clock as he shook the bag. “Not much longer and we’ll be eating maple syrup and pecan ice cream.” He’d also put a batch in the freezer just in case the shake-in-ice method failed.
“Yum!” Grace licked her lips.
“Mom, look at us,” Ethan called out to Keri as she entered the kitchen with his grandparents, having just got back from town.
Martha’s eyes popped at the scene and Vernon shot Luke a questioning look while Keri burst into laughter.
“What are you guys doing other than making a big ol’ mess?” Keri asked.
“I’m teaching your kids that everything in ice cream comes off of a farm.” Luke passed the bag to Grace for a final shake.
“We tapped maple syrup and milked a cow too.” Ethan ran his finger through the trickle of syrup on the counter and then licked it clean.
Vernon nodded his head in approval. “All food comes from farms, Eth. When I was a boy my grandma gave me the job of turning her ice cream churn and my reward was that I always got the first scoop.”
“I’ll get out the careful cups then,” Martha said, using her expression for the good china in the cabinet. “Homemade ice cream deserves the best.”
Five minutes later they were all seated around the large farmhouse table, dipping small spoons into the ice cream.
Keri sighed as she finished her last mouthful. “Good job, kids. That’s the creamiest ice cream I’ve tasted in a long time.”
“Can we have more?” they chorused.
Martha looked at the small but now empty bag. “We’ll have to make some more but this time we can use the ice cream maker.”
“We have an ice cream maker?” Luke asked, surprised and pleased.
“Yes, Luke, we do.” His mother smiled. “I used to make ice cream all the time when you were little but I guess over the years it’s moved farther back in the cupboard.”
Vernon’s forehead was creased in concentration. “This is our milk?”
“Our Holstein milk and Josef’s cream,” Luke clarified.
�
�Ah.” His father’s eyes lit up. “Jersey butterfat. You can taste it.”
Luke nodded. “It’s good, right?”
“The texture’s perfect. You can’t get better than Jersey for butterfat.”
His father gave him a smile of old—one that had been missing from the moment Luke had mentioned the possibility of giving up the farm. “I’d pull back on the maple syrup, though, son.”
“Our syrup’s obviously stronger than the shop stuff the recipe suggested.” Luke was enjoying the shared understanding with his father. He’d forgotten that despite their occasional clashes about how some things should be done on the farm, most other times they’d talk long and hard about all sorts of things.
“We’ve been spoiled,” Vern said. “Your great-great-grandfather planted the first maple trees a hundred and forty years ago and every generation’s added some more from the seeds. They’ve always yielded quality syrup and I’ve always thought we should do more with it but the cows kept me busy enough.” He checked his watch and stood up. “Talking cows, we should make a start.”
They all rose and Keri and the children scooted off to find Phil with the promise they’d wash up the supper dishes. Martha started collecting the empty ice cream bowls. “Luke, I’m going to invite Erin to supper before Keri and Phil leave and your father and I drive back to Arizona for his next golf tournament.”
He waited for the usual chagrin that bubbled inside him every time his mother waded into his life, but it didn’t come. If agreeing to this avoided a lecture about settling down from his mother then it wasn’t even a price to pay because spending time with Erin was no hardship at all. “Sure, why not. Just not Thursday because the radar’s showing sunny weather and I’m going to cut the hay in the middle pasture.”
“You’ve got plenty of time, Martha,” his father said, reaching for his hat. “I withdrew from that tournament.”
His mother’s hand faulted on a dish. “You did? You didn’t mention it to me.”
His father’s face showed no emotion other than a slight tick of a muscle in his cheek. “I’m telling you now.”
His mother marched behind the counter and flicked on the faucet, jerkily squirting liquid detergent into the water. “Did it occur to you that I might have commitments in Arizona?”
His father sighed. “Bridge is not a commitment, Martha. Neither is golf.”
His mother slammed the green container down on the counter. “Well it’s a commitment to me.”
“I’m off to the parlor,” Luke said, feeling like an inadvertent voyeur in his parents’ marriage. He grabbed his hat and made a hasty exit.
Martha punched down the faucet and the silence in the room swirled heavily in the air between her and her husband. She noticed a corner of the wallpaper peeling back where it met the tiles above the stove. This kitchen had heard so many of their conversations over the years and not all of them had been congenial, but this was the first time she felt like a massive chasm had opened up between them. That they were no longer walking the same life path.
“Mart—” Vern’s face softened, “—you can play bridge here in Whitetail. You know the farm has to come first.”
A hot breeze blew through her, sparking a resentment that almost knocked her over. “The farm has always come first, Vern, but I’m not prepared to put it first anymore.”
His pale blue eyes held a steely resolve. “You don’t have a choice. Our retirement income is tied up in this.”
“Of course I have a choice.” She’d never liked being told what to do and she started scrubbing the first piece of china with more force that the gold rim required. “We both have a choice and I’m making mine. I refuse to spend another winter in Wisconsin. Come September first, I’m driving back to Arizona with or without you.”
He strode to the screen door. “You best prepare for a solo journey, then.”
The door banged shut into the latch with an ominous finality. She took in a deep breath. What had got into her? She knew better than to issue Vern with an ultimatum—she’d learned that in the first year of their marriage all those years ago. The man had stubborn as one of his chromosomes.
But the thought of spending another winter in Wisconsin was more than she could bear. Her mind raced, frantically flipping through options and searching for a solution. Her hands stalled in the suds. Her “get Luke settled” plans needed to kick up a gear.
Erin Davis was exactly who Luke needed as a life partner. With Erin here on the farm with Luke, she could get her husband back. She just needed Erin’s cell phone number. Drying her hands, she picked up the kitchen phone with its long cord and dialed Wade.
Chapter Seventeen
“So are there any questions about the Littlejohn wedding?” Nicole asked the town meeting, playing for time.
“Why did the damn Littlejohn wedding need a town meeting anyway?” Luke asked Erin not so sotto voce from the front row.
Luke was right. Strictly speaking, this wedding didn’t need a full town meeting, just one for the main stakeholders, but Nicole had called it anyway. As her eyes scanned the open doors and her mind willed Tony to walk through them, she heard Erin and Wade’s unison response of, “Shh.”
She leaned back into the microphone. “The bride has very particular instructions and I want to make sure everyone’s on board. This wedding is bigger than Bridey Callahan’s which launched Weddings That Wow and everyone needs to view it as the next level in what we can offer brides. Erin, we’ve allowed extra time for the photography but the bride must leave Lakeview Farm by five.”
“I’m more than happy for her to leave earlier than that,” Luke said as he leaned back in his chair.
Erin elbowed him in the ribs.
John stood up with an indulgent smile. “I think you’ve covered everything, Nicole, and then some. So if there are no other items, I’ll call this meet—”
“There’s one more thing.” Sweat broke out on Nicole’s palms and she could feel her glasses slipping.
“Nicole, dear, I know this is a big wedding,” called out Ella Norell, “but truly you’ve been over everything three times and everyone’s ready for coffee.”
“Did you make cream puffs?” Al asked hopefully.
“Sorry, Al, but the Littlejohn cake has taken me longer than I expected. The bride kept changing her mind.”
“Now, there’s a surprise.” Luke rolled his eyes at Erin, which she ignored.
There was some movement at the very back of the room and she instantly knew that Tony had arrived.
Do it now. She opened her mouth to speak.
A chair scraped against the floor. “Nicole, can you hurry up, I have a date,” Melissa said.
All heads snapped toward the dress shop owner.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Melissa said indignantly. “It isn’t like I never have a date.”
“Actually, it’s been five months, dear,” Ella said, pointedly looking toward the back of the hall. “So is it anyone we know? Someone new to town?”
No way in hell. Nicole wrenched back control of the meeting. “Sit down, Melissa.”
The brisk tone in her voice stunned her friend, whose behind hit the chair abruptly. Everyone was now back facing her and she gripped the lectern to steady herself.
“I wanted to thank everyone here for the support you’ve given Max and me.”
Murmurs of sympathy fluttered across the room but she kept her gaze fixed on the enormous clock set high on the wall and concentrated on saying what she needed to say.
“Bradley grew up here and he’ll always be part of this town. No one will ever forget his winning touchdown at the homecoming game in his senior year, which gave Whitetail its first win against Hayward in eight long years.”
A ripple of nodding heads and smiles lit up the room with an energy that only a ha
ppy, shared memory can.
Her fingertips numbed. “Everyone here knows that Bradley wasn’t afraid of hard work but being a farm hand or a barman didn’t make him happy. When he joined the military he left Whitetail a husband and a father, but the transformation to the man he became took place while serving his country in a rocky and barren land so very different from here. It was there that he found his true calling.”
She paused for a breath and heard Erin say quietly to Luke, “This sounds like a eulogy.”
And in so many ways it was. It was the one she hadn’t been capable of giving at Bradley’s funeral—in fact she hadn’t spoken at all, leaving everything to the town.
“Being a soldier opened him up to a new world and over time he came to see that his home was no longer here. He’d spoken of not returning to live in Whitetail.”
This time the eddies of noise in the room were of surprise. Her gaze sought out Tony who sat perfectly still, his broad shoulders square and tight, but his dark eyes were fixed on her.
Her mouth dried and her tongue seemed to swell up to twice its size as she mustered the courage to say what needed to be said. To take a leap of faith into the unknown and to burst the complex bubble she’d placed herself in. It was time to tell the truth.
“Bradley was committed to the military and he’d become a career soldier. Even if he hadn’t died, our lives—his, Max’s and mine—would have changed so much as not to be recognizable.”
She could see questions on people’s faces but she wasn’t here to destroy their faith in the Bradley they wanted and needed to remember. She was here to take control of her future. “I want to continue to live my life in Whitetail with you all, just as I’ve always done. I want Max to learn your stories about his father and not just the ones where he made the touchdown or was a war hero. Max also needs to hear the stories about when his father was fallible.”
“If you want, I’ll tell Max how he put the tractor into reverse by mistake and flattened half a field of squash,” Keith called out with a grin.
“Thanks.” She threw him a grateful smile. “Me living here also means I need you all to accept that I’ve reached a point where I want to date again. I don’t know what the future holds but what I do know is this. If everyone here wants me to be happy again, and I know you do, then the one thing you can all do is not give anyone I date a hard time, no matter what happens between us.”
