Love, Special Delivery

by Melinda Curtis

  “No.” But she was certain there was something unsettling inside that room. She could tell by the way her skin prickled and her legs twitched with the urge to bolt.

  Neither one of them spoke. Neither one of them moved. Neither one of them wanted to admit that Mom scared them more than cancer.

  Because cancer was about hate. It hurt and you had carte blanche to hate it back. You had methods to deal with it. You had options and support groups and people who knew what you’d gone through.

  But Mom...

  You were supposed to love your mom and moms were supposed to love you back. When they didn’t, you had no options. You had no standard methods to deal. No pat emotions to reach for. A mom like theirs was like a California earthquake. She swooped in for unexpected visits. She shook things up. She left. And then you picked up what was broken—mostly your heart—and hoped to God it didn’t happen again. But you knew you were kidding yourself. She’d be back. And you’d have to deal with her.

  At least, Mandy had to deal with her, because that’s what Grandpa wanted.

  But Olivia—dear sweet Olivia—shouldn’t have to worry about Mom-quakes. She shouldn’t have to worry about cancer-quakes. She should be allowed to live her life and plan her future as if the worst of life was behind her. But the only way Olivia could do that was if Mandy took the punches meant for her.

  “I hate being a wuss.” Mandy opened the door and flicked on the light. “Shoot.” She hated being right.

  There was an envelope on the bed. The words printed on it were easy to read. Black lettering. Block print.

  For Olivia.

  * * *

  MANDY WAITED UNTIL it was very late to slip into the backyard and into the night. She wanted to have a discussion with Mr. Moon, and she didn’t want an audience.

  Mr. Moon was still low in the sky. She’d tried walking around several blocks in the neighborhood, but the trees were either too large and blocked her view or she had to stand in the middle of the street to see him. She’d stood in the middle of Kennedy Avenue, and a nice little old man had come out on his porch and asked her if she was okay.

  She wasn’t okay.

  The note inside the envelope was chillingly brief: If you stop by, sweet thing, wait for me.

  Olivia had been clutching Mandy’s arm when she read the words aloud. She’d laughed the way you did when something you’d long hoped for happened.

  Mandy had wanted to pack up and leave. If not Harmony Valley, at least, this house.

  They couldn’t.

  Oh, that was a lie. Olivia could leave if she could support herself, but Mandy... Mandy was stuck here. The debt she carried as Olivia’s medical guardian was immense. Monthly-house-payment immense. Break-your-back immense. Make-you-stay-and-face-your-inner-demons immense.

  They’d been strong through cancer. She’d refused to let worry over the cost to save Olivia’s life drown her. She had to be strong through this. Mandy had to refuse to let worry over what her mother would do if she showed up wash their futures away. So what if Mom knocked on the door? What was the worst thing that could happen?

  She could tell Olivia the truth.

  Mandy broke out in a sweat at the thought.

  She opened and closed the slider as quietly as possible and made her way across the grass to the break in the hedges at the back neighbor’s fence. The moment she crossed into the Libbys’ yard, something cold touched her ankle.

  Mandy yelped and leaped back, tumbling into the bushes.

  Strong hands closed on her arms and righted her.

  “I had no idea Sparky was such a good watchdog,” Ben said, smelling of clean clothes, clean man and control.

  She resented his control and his normalcy. He’d probably had a normal childhood with a normal mother. He didn’t need to sneak around and commune with the moon to settle the churn in his gut and the ragged rhythm of his breathing.

  “Sparky caught me.”

  He laughed, and Mandy had an out-of-body experience. One where she carried a flashlight and bonked Ben on the noggin for lurking, eggs be damned.

  Lacking a flashlight or the bloodthirsty quality to wield it as a weapon, Mandy shrugged off his hold and his mirth. Flattered? “Were you waiting for me?”

  “If I say yes—”

  “I’ll report you to the sheriff.” Who seemed like a reasonable, even-tempered man, one who’d lock up stalkers.

  “Then it was purely coincidence.” He remained close enough to grab hold if she fell into a gopher hole or fainted. “Sparky wanted out and I heard you skulking in the next yard.”

  “I don’t skulk.” She turned her back on him and took a couple of steps forward. “I’ll just be a minute.” A moment of peace. A small silent ritual. Was that too much to ask?

  “You’re still in uniform.” He shadowed her, staying closer than he’d been the last time they’d watched the moon together.

  Sparky stayed close, too. He sat on the toe of her sneaker.

  “You’re in uniform, too.”

  “I might get a call.” She could feel the gentle curiosity in his words. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I hate doing laundry.”

  He chuckled softly, so close she imagined his breath passing over her hair.

  Mandy had to remind herself she was here for some one-on-one time with the moon, not Ben. “Excuse me. I need some space.” She wasn’t afraid of Ben. He just made her feel...like she could stay up all night staring at the ceiling and thinking about a future that might be possible, about white picket fences, shared lives and shared mortgages. She had debt and a sister she’d always watch out for. She shouldn’t lose sleep over a man who was flattered by her flirting.

  She was tense and out of sorts. She couldn’t steady her breathing. There was the moon, and there was him.

  A cricket burst into song close by, close enough that Sparky startled and sat farther on the top of her foot.

  “Break any eggs tonight?” Ben’s deep voice blended with the night, as if he fit and she was the intruder with Mr. Moon.

  “Came close.” Still might. “You?”

  “Same.” He came to stand next to her and stared up at the sky. High above them a few leaves murmured in her tree. “The smoke from the wildfires is still obscuring the stars.”

  “You can kind of see them.” Barely. She wasn’t entirely sure the stars she saw weren’t planes. “But it’s the moon I’m interested in.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a crazy lady who likes to talk to something that orbits the earth.” She tried to make her voice light when inside she felt anxious, even scared. Had Mom’s note been there waiting for them all this time? Or had she been by and planted it? Was this the kind of mental game she’d played with Grandma?

  “You’re not crazy.” Ben’s voice was as soft and caring as it’d been with Elvira. “I’ve seen crazy. I’ve been crazy.”

  She snorted at the idea of perfection having a flaw.

  Sparky angled his furry head to look at her, before returning to his steady watch for the cricket.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said.

  She could have used his teasing tone of voice earlier in Mom’s room.

  Heck, she could have used a voice, period. She’d been struck speechless.

  “When I was a kid,” Ben began, “I played baseball. I was an outfielder. And then one day, all three of our team’s pitchers got injured and I was put on the mound. Me. The kid who was in left field because he could throw far, but not accurately.” There was awe in his voice, as if being the one in control of the game had never been his role before. “But I surprised everyone, including myself. I struck out every batter. It was surreal.”

  “I’m happy for you, but...” Mandy crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the s
ky, not at the attractive man next to her. “What does this have to do with Mr. Moon?”

  “My mom had bought me new underwear.” He paused, possibly weighing how much information was too much. News flash: Mandy considered his last statement TMI. “I wore a new pair that day. It was the only thing that was different.”

  “If you wore those shorts for every game...” She could tell where this was heading. “...please tell me you washed them under the light of the moon.” Why else would he be telling her this story?

  “Nope.” There was childhood glee in his response. “I played dirty. And we won every game I pitched.”

  She did look up at him then. At the curve of his smile and the corresponding laughter in his eyes. “So, no moon?”

  His smile fell as he met her gaze, causing a corresponding drop in the pit of Mandy’s stomach. “The point is that we both rely on ritual as a way to calm us,” he said simply. “Those shorts kept me sane. Like your Mr. Moon.”

  “I got that part,” Mandy said, still slightly breathless from the impact of his gaze. “I was just waiting for a more solid connection between your story and my moon.” Now she was sounding petty.

  “We all need something, don’t we?” Ben glanced up at the moon. Its light gleamed off his dark hair and softened the bruise on his temple.

  “I hope you’ve moved on from dirty shorts.” She couldn’t resist the dig. She was in that kind of mood.

  “I have. It’s coffee.” He faced her. “Every morning I cradle a cup in my hands. Those few moments of quiet keep me together.” His head tilted to the side, and his gaze might or might not have dropped to her lips. It was hard to tell in the darkness. “What about you? Why is the moon so important to you? What does it give you that coffee doesn’t?”

  Mandy hugged herself tighter. Her smile felt carved into her cheeks. Was she really considering telling him why? She hadn’t told anyone. Not Grandpa or Olivia. “I...um...I used to get up in the middle of the night when my mom left—”

  “For work?”

  “For...extended periods of time.” Mandy glanced up at the moon. “She’s never been someone who hangs around in one place for very long.”

  The cricket was done warming up and moved on to a concerto of chirps.

  Ben looked over her shoulder toward her house. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not telling you because...” She stopped that train to avoid breaking eggs. “You were asking about Mr. Moon.”

  “And I’m waiting patiently for an answer.”

  She tested his words for too much sympathy or too much sarcasm. Finding none, she continued. “I couldn’t see her leave from my bedroom, but I could hear doors open and close. I used to look out my window and imagine she was coming around the back to say goodbye.” As if Mom knew Mandy was waiting and watching. As if Mom cared to say things like goodbye, take care or I love you. “And while she was gone, every night before I went to bed, I’d look out my window and ask the moon to watch out for her.” She gestured to the tree in her backyard. “That was before this tree grew into a behemoth.” Before she realized that Mom didn’t love her.

  “Do you still want the moon to watch out for your mother?”

  “No.” Mandy tensed. “I tell him my worries. I ask him to watch over Olivia.” She drew a deep breath. “I feel less alone imagining someone is listening to me.” Growing up in Harmony Valley, she’d had friends, but no one she’d stayed close with. Most of her friends now worked at the post office, where, once told, a secret was no longer a secret.

  “Mr. Moon is a lucky guy.” Ben’s voice was much how she’d imagined Mr. Moon’s—strong yet kind, patient yet able to see the little joys in life.

  Still on her foot, Sparky belched, interrupting the cricket for only a bar or two.

  Ben laughed.

  Mandy wasn’t sure who or what he was laughing at. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No.” Ben knelt to rub Sparky’s ears. His bare arm brushed Mandy’s bare leg.

  She refrained from jumping back. She refrained from fainting. She even refrained from kneeling next to Ben and petting Sparky along with him. “You’re not quite what I expected after my fire inspection.”

  “I realize I can be intense.” He shrugged, standing. Standing too close. Their shoulders nearly touched. “But I want this town to be a safe place.” He peered at her with a quirk in his dark brow. “That fire today...”

  “The grass fire?”

  He nodded. “I think someone set it deliberately.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  He was quiet for too long. Then he raised his eyebrows.

  A sickening suspicion took over her stomach. She did backpedal then, upending Sparky. “You think I’m an arsonist?” Someone had cranked up the volume on her voice. It boomed into the night loud enough to silence the cricket.

  “Not really,” Ben said casually.

  “Not really?” Mandy’s lungs expelled oxygen as if she’d been sucker punched. “Not really?”

  Did suspects on an arson list with “not really” next to their name get hauled in for questioning? Arrested? Ruined?

  “I suspect there’s an arsonist,” he continued as if unaware he’d not only pulled the rug out from under her, but parked his fire engine on her chest for good measure. “Someone with a gray car.”

  “I drive a white pickup.” Mandy sucked in air like a sprinter about to cross the finish line. She was in the clear. “Someone at the post office today drove a gray car. I have no idea who. But the work is finished. They aren’t coming back.”

  The cricket had resumed its chirp. Sparky yawned and waddled toward the back door.

  Ben wasn’t ready to leave, not her or the subject. “Why did you stare at the flames the day we met? It was almost as if you were mesmerized.”

  “I was thinking...” She laughed self-consciously. “I was trying to figure out how long a fire would delay the opening of the post office. Clearly, I think too much.”

  “Me, too.” He took a lock of her hair and moved it over her shoulder, and then froze, as if he hadn’t realized he’d touched her so intimately. “You didn’t want me coming inside the post office today.”

  “You didn’t want me coming inside Elvira’s house either,” she countered.

  “I was protecting a patient’s privacy.”

  “I thought you might get upset at how little progress I’d made on your fix-it list. That scowl of yours is like a weapon, and I didn’t want it aimed at me.” She wished she hadn’t said so much. She wished he hadn’t said so much either. “How will you find this arsonist?”

  “Well, there’s the car and there are indicators.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Isolated. Stressed out. Angry. In need of an outlet.”

  “That describes half the freeway commuters I’ve met.” No joke.

  “And then there’s opportunity.” Ben stepped into her space, placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face to the moon. “You’re always smiling,” Ben said, awe in his voice. “How do you keep it up?”

  “I...” It was easy talking to him in the darkness, easy to overshare. But he’d half thought she was an arsonist! He’d been flattered she’d leave out a bowl of food for him! She wanted to give him a generic answer. Instead, she blurted, “It’s my only defense.”

  “You’re incredibly honest.”

  “I’m not. I just... I have very little to hide.” Only her feelings and her debt and the fact that she’d lied to Olivia about her inheritance and the reason their mother stayed away.

  “I doubt that. Everyone has layers.” His head bent toward hers, almost as if he was going to kiss her. And then he pulled back, cocking his head to the side as if offering his ear for a whispered confidence.

  The kiss impression was totally the moon’s fault.

&
nbsp; The moon was waning, appearing to turn half his face away and wink.

  Stupid moon.

  This was Mr. Moon’s payback for not spending more time alone with him. Back in Santa Rosa their apartment had a south-facing balcony. Visiting the moon had been as easy as opening the curtains.

  Ben hadn’t moved.

  Was he asking her to bare her soul? No one wanted to hear about the bitter disappointment that was her childhood. Or the hardships she’d carried these last few years. It was almost as bad as telling someone woeful stories about your ex.

  “I better go. I’ve got to be at the post office early.” And the very act of standing this close to Ben made her feel like a romantic fool, waiting for a kiss and a ride on a white horse.

  He backed up a step, staring after Sparky. “I hear the bakery opens at four thirty and has good coffee. Dad says they have a French press.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” With one last glance at the moon, she headed toward the break in the hedge.

  “Don’t forget about the other things.”

  She scootched through the hedge and turned toward home. “What other things?”

  “My advice.” He walked next to her on the other side of the shrubbery. “Never be ashamed of needing something, because we all do. And underwear. Dirty sometimes works. Especially if you don’t like doing laundry.”

  She grinned. How had this infuriating, complicated man made her grin? “You should remember something, too. Next time a woman asks if you think she’s an arsonist, don’t say not really.”

  * * *

  THERE WAS SOMETHING wrong with Ben.

  He didn’t pursue women with flowery words and poetry. He wasn’t the master of smooth lines or smooth moves.

  But he’d stood talking to Mandy in the moonlight about his lucky baseball talisman and the sensitivity of the moon. He’d looked into Mandy’s eyes and wanted to kiss her. Kiss her!

  Harmony Valley was chipping away at his sanity.

  He was learning his father was human. And he might be a father himself. Plus he was fascinated by a woman who didn’t tell him whatever was on her mind. She had secrets that she chose to carry alone, while he could count his secrets on one hand.