by Liz Isaacson
“I’m not talking about Wyatt,” she said. “We just…it might not work out. That’s all. It happens.”
“She said ‘might,’” Alyssa said.
“I heard it,” Savannah said.
“Guys, really.” Marcy got up and hung the invitation on her fridge. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t have a present for Remmy. So we really do need to go shopping.”
“Maybe if you told us what happened this time with Wyatt, we could help you.” Savannah got up and set her purse on the kitchen counter.
A glinting caught Marcy’s eye, and she sucked in a breath. “Savvy. Are you wearing a diamond ring?” She made a grab for her cousin’s hand, and sure enough, she had a brand-new rock on her left ring finger. “Liss, get over here.”
A shriek filled the kitchen, and the sound was filled with delight and joy. “It happened last night,” Savannah said. “And I wanted to surprise you. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my mom.”
Alyssa grabbed her hand from Marcy, who could only beam at her cousin. “Congrats,” she said, hugging her tightly. “I’m so happy for you.”
And she was. She honestly was. Savannah had been by her side for years now, and Marcy only wanted the best for her. Gabe was a good man, and he’d take amazing care of Savannah.
She just couldn’t help thinking about Wyatt. He was a good man too, and he could take amazing care of Marcy. She knew, because she’d experienced it.
How could there not be more to their marriage than just her getting Payne’s? Did he really feel that way?
When she’d spoken to him a few days ago, he hadn’t tried to explain. She had cut him off once, but she didn’t need to hear him say, But that was why we got married, Marce.
Her nickname in his voice haunted her as she drifted to sleep as it was, thanks. She’d asked him to wait until February, and he’d agreed. She’d asked him not to make this harder than it had to be, and he’d agreed.
And then he’d left.
Not for the first time in her life, Marcy wished she could leave Three Rivers as easily as everyone else seemed to be able to.
First, her brother. Then Momma. Then Daddy.
Now Wyatt.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Savannah said. “I want to hit the boutique first, because Andi sent an email about a new shipment of skirts, and they’ll sell out.”
No one argued with that, not even Marcy, though she wasn’t really a boutique type of woman. She could browse and be happy with wherever they were. And at the boutique, she wouldn’t be able to see anything that would remind her of Wyatt.
They had to park clear down the block from the cute little boutique, and it certainly seemed to be busy this Labor Day. They had to go up the steps single-file, and Marcy went last.
When she looked at the display in the window, she froze, dumb-struck.
Now carrying Wyatt Walker cowboy hats for that man in your life! boasted the sign in the window, at least six of Wyatt’s hats above it. Not only that, but a huge replica of his signature adorned the top of the window, and Marcy prayed the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
A couple of weeks later, Marcy sat at her laptop, her day’s work done. She hadn’t gone through her personal emails for a while, and Nick Marlow had called to ask her if she’d gotten the emails he’d sent.
She hadn’t, because she hadn’t checked. She was now, and sure enough, she had three emails from the estate planner that she needed to respond to. No, she hadn’t sold the house yet, and it suddenly became a weight around her neck she didn’t know how to eliminate. Bryan hadn’t said anything about it either, and Marcy knew she should be thankful they hadn’t gotten in an argument about how the estate should be handled. She knew some families had bitter fights after parents died.
Yes, she was still married to Wyatt.
Yes, she had the financial information for the second quarter of the year for Payne’s Pest-free. She handled everything for Mr. Marlow, and scanned the rest of her email. It was mostly junk, stuff she signed up for to get discounts and coupons.
An email from Church Ranches caught her eye, and she clicked it open. Her heart didn’t quite fit in her chest when she saw the majestic pictures of the homes they were building up in the hills just outside Three Rivers.
Mr. and Mrs. Walker, the email read. No one has bought the lot you were previously interested in, and I’m wondering if you have any continued interest in it? I can take $10,000 off the purchase price if so.
The reason they’d backed out of the house wasn’t because of money, a fact that Marcy felt all too keenly as she stared at the message. Had Wyatt gotten this too? She checked to see who the email had been sent to, and yes his email was listed.
She wasn’t sure why, but her chest felt hollow and cold. He’d wanted a house that was theirs, and Marcy had too.
Now, there was no they.
Now, everything was his and hers.
Everything in her life had gone cold without Wyatt, and she hated it.
Then do something about it, she thought. She wanted a home she could build with a good man like Wyatt.
Maybe she just needed to go get it. Get him back. Get it all back.
She hit reply on the email and started typing, feeling irrational and out of control. And maybe like she was the sanest she’d ever been at the same time.
September became October, and one day, she left the hangar by lunchtime to be able to get to the offices for Church Ranches at her appointed time. To get there, she had to pass her father’s house, and she took a moment to pull into the driveway.
She’d grown up here, in this house. She’d loved her childhood, loved her parents, loved Three Rivers.
She got out and went inside the house, which was stale and way too hot. There was no spirit here anymore, despite the family photos still lining the mantel. She’d never been able to take them and box them up.
“Maybe it’s time,” she said, as she’d been living her life with a lot of maybe’s lately. She had emailed about the house, and she was signing intent-to-purchase papers today. There was no maybe about that.
She hadn’t spoken with Wyatt in over a month, and she’d often thought that maybe she should just call him.
She looked around the house from her spot just inside the front door. She should sell it, but it didn’t quite feel like the right time.
“Soon, though,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath. She’d been feeling better with each passing day, and she knew she was strong enough to sell her parents’ home now. She pulled her phone and dialed her brother.
“Marcy,” he said, surprise in his voice. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just wondering how you feel about Dad’s house.”
“When you’re ready to sell, I am,” he said. “It’s fine. I know you have some attachment to it, and I don’t need the money.”
“I think I’ll talk to a realtor about it,” she said. “I still have some things I need to clean out.”
“All right,” he said. “And listen, while you’re here, I wanted to let you know that I’ve been seeing someone, and we’re going to her folks’ for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh,” Marcy said, a smile touching her mouth. “That’s great. What’s her name?”
“Diane Littleton,” he said. “She’s a doctor at the downtown hospital.”
“Wow,” Marcy said. “A doctor. So your kids will be like, geniuses.”
Bryan laughed, but he sobered quickly. “Will you be okay for Thanksgiving? I know Wyatt’s family is huge, and I figured it would be okay.”
The breath left Marcy’s lungs. “Yeah,” she said, her voice a shell of what it usually was. “I’ll be fine.”
“Great.” Bryan went on to tell her a little bit about Diane and where she was from, but Marcy’s mind raced past everything he said. Her focus was on the fact that she’d lost all of Wyatt’s family too. She hadn’t seen or spoken to any of them since that last family dinner
at his parents’ house.
She wondered if she could call Penny and go to lunch with her. The idea sprouted and grew, and she waited for Bryan to stop talking.
“This is all so great,” she said.
“I have to go,” he said. “But I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“I can’t wait either.”
The call ended, and Marcy acted, the way she had when she’d emailed back about the house.
She dialed Penny, a prayer cascading through her whole being. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, please, please.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mallery Viera held the phone to her ear, but she couldn’t speak. She’d stopped listening to the mechanic when he’d said, “Seven hundred.”
There was more to the amount she’d need to come up with to get her car running again, but it didn’t matter what numbers came after the seven hundred. She didn’t even have one hundred dollars to spare on her car.
“All right,” she said, utterly defeated. She’d already dropped one class this semester so she could work more, and she was barely at half-time status with the university. At this rate, she’d be lucky to be forty before she graduated from college.
“All right, you want me to start?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t pay for it. I’ll come pick it up.” Her mind raced through her options. Maybe she could put the car repairs on a credit card. But then how will you pay that? she asked herself.
No, it was better to live off what she made. She’d added another yoga class at the fitness center where she’d worked for a few years now. She had three new clients for personal training. And she was working at the soda shop that night.
Her fingers ached already, because she had arthritis in her hands that made gripping the small scoops, straws, and cups difficult after the same repeated motions. But she needed the money, and she could walk to the soda shop from her modest apartment.
Skyler could come pick her up, so she didn’t have to walk home in the dark, and she reminded herself to text him once the numbness wore off.
“Mal,” someone said, and she jolted out of her own mind.
“Yeah?” She looked up to find Grant Bellerion standing there. “Another tour?” She tightened her ponytail and put on her game face. She hated that she’d chosen to work at the fitness center instead of going to school fifteen years ago. But, now that she’d been here for so long, she did get a lot of clients, simply because she got first pick of who she tried to sell on a gym membership.
A lot of the guys were jealous of her, because she sold more memberships than them. It wasn’t her fault she had curves and luscious Latina flair—their words, not hers. And her boss was happy as long as memberships kept going up and up.
“Yeah,” he said. “And someone dropped off dinner for you. I put it in the workroom.”
“Who?” she asked, following him out of the back room where she’d escaped to take her phone call.
“Guess,” Grant said. “Same tall, dark, buffed out bull rider who’s always coming by.” He grinned at her. “When are you going to give in and go out with the guy?”
“Okay, first off,” she said. “He’s not a bull rider. Second, he’s never asked me out. We’re just friends.”
“Oh, it’s cute how you think so.” Grant laughed and held the door for her. The noise from the gym assaulted her on first contact, and Mal worked to put a smile on her face. “Trust me when I say he’s interested.”
“What makes you think so?” She spied the people waiting for a tour. An elderly couple. Perfect. Her curves and tight muscles wouldn’t matter, and she could almost guarantee a sale. Older people loved her, and she sent a prayer of thanks up to her deceased Nana for spending so much time with her as a child and then a teenager.
“No guy brings by food and drinks and cookies just because,” he said. “He wants something from you.” He waggled his eyebrows, but Mal was much too old for sexual innuendo. She forgot that she worked with a lot of people that were a decade younger than her.
“Hello,” she said, reaching the elderly couple. “I’m Mal. I understand you want a tour of the facilities.”
“Yes,” the woman said. “My husband recently had hip surgery, and the doctor said he needs to do something.”
“Do you have bikes here?” the gentleman asked, yelling above the music.
Mal smiled at him, his brash nature so much like Pops. “We do,” she said. “And we have a quiet room. Should we start there?”
“Oh, my, yes,” the woman said.
“What are your names?” Mal said, gesturing for them to go to their right.
“Ethel and Luke,” she said.
“Well, Luke, we have bikes here, which would probably be good for your hip. But we also have a dedicated therapy pool, with classes taught by physical therapists who specialize in rehabilitation after injuries.”
“Wow,” Ethel said.
“It is part of our diamond membership,” Mal said. “So that’s a couple of tiers up, and we’ll get there in a few minutes…..” She continued the tour, unsurprised when Ethel and Luke bought two diamond memberships only thirty minutes later.
She pulled out her phone and texted Skyler. Thanks for the food. She sent the message and quickly tapped out another one. And I get off at eleven-thirty. Too late for a ride home?
Not too late, he said. And anytime. Class is boring without you.
She smiled at the screen, Grant’s words swirling through her mind. She’d known Skyler for over a year now, and she’d never known him to be serious about anything. He was an eternal optimist, in her eyes, and his life was one of luxury and ease. She wasn’t sure why he didn’t have a job or who paid his bills. She knew he was from Austin, but that his family now lived in Three Rivers. She knew he had six brothers and a bunch of sisters-in-law, some nieces and nephews, and a good sense of humor.
She knew he made her feel safe, and she knew he was an older student like her, though they’d never talked about age. She knew she liked to run with him, because he was fast, almost like he had phantoms chasing him, and she liked a challenge. She knew he was intelligent but didn’t want anyone to know.
He hadn’t gone out with anyone seriously in all the time he’d been at college, and she wondered if he was as lonely as she was.
Most of all, she knew he was hiding something from everyone, including her. She knew the mere thought of him made her pulse increase, and she started typing another text.
Grant says a guy doesn’t bring a woman as many dinners as you have for me unless he wants something. So…what do you want?
Could she ask him that?
“Mal.”
She flinched, her thumb dropping onto the send button before she could decide.
“Yeah.” She shoved her phone in the side pocket on her leggings.
“I need an override on a monthly charge,” the front desk attendant, John, said.
“Coming.” She ignored her phone as it buzzed against her leg, because she wouldn’t like it if John had his focus on his device when he should be working. She’d check it later.
She refunded the charge, apologized profusely, met with a client, and wiped down all of the treadmills in the theater room before the next big feature showing. Skyler never left her mind, and she finally locked herself in a bathroom stall to see what he’d said.
Haha, he’d texted. I don’t want anything from you Mal. I just like being your friend.
The last word sharpened and stabbed her right through the heart. “Friends.”
Of course.
Skyler wasn’t serious about anything or anyone. Why she thought she’d be different, she wasn’t sure.
Later that day, before her shift at the soda shop, Mal picked up the mail from the front stoop of the apartment she rented. There were actually three converted apartments in the house, and she sorted the mail into two piles and left them for the other tenants.
A white envelope with green stripes caught her eye, and she knew ex
actly what it was. Her green card application. She’d seen a dozen envelopes like this in the past, and they still made her heart push out the wrong kind of beat.
She didn’t open the envelope right away, choosing to get inside and lock the door first. There shouldn’t be a problem. She was going to school, she had a job, and she’d finally applied for her conditional green card to become permanent. She’d lived in the US for fifteen years. Everything else in the pile was junk, leaving Mal with just the green card envelope.
She finally opened it, shocked by the bright yellow paper. She’d heard stories of papers like this, and her eyes scanned quickly.
Tears came. “No,” she said, the breath leaving her body.
They’d denied her conditional green card upgrade status. Her two years were up.
She had to attend a hearing before an immigration judge, and she might have to leave the country. It was that horror that rendered her mind blank and her emotions spiraling.
She slid to the floor, the bright yellow paper with black, all-capital letters on it fluttering to her side.
She could appeal, but she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. She’d thought she’d put in all the supporting paperwork. Why had they denied her? She had a job. She was going to school.
She needed an immigration attorney—but they cost money. Money she didn’t have.
What a terrible ending to a stupid day—and she still had another full shift to work. Exhaustion filled her, and she felt like she’d never get ahead. Wasn’t that why she’d come to America in the first place? To find a different life than the one her parents and siblings had in Mexico?
And what had she been doing with her precious time? Selling gym memberships.
Shame filled her, and she felt even more ridiculous as she tilted her head toward the ceiling and said, “Dear Lord, help me.”
She hadn’t prayed out loud in years, and most of the time, God wasn’t anywhere near her heart or mind. So why she’d thought to pray tonight, she wasn’t sure. But she needed help, and she had no one to turn to.
