by Susan Crosby
She shook her head. Too many memories. Too much temptation, too.
By the time Shana was out of the shower, Joe had retreated to his room. Dixie stretched out on the couch, where she could watch the dying fire, and listen to the occasional crackle or spark.
After a while she closed her eyes. A door opened. Someone padded quietly down the hall. Joe came into the living room, then hesitated.
“I’m awake,” she said, noticing he wore the flannel robe she’d given him years ago. She remembered how cozy it felt to the touch.
She should have made him go to his mother’s for the night….
She wanted him.
“You can’t sleep, either?” he said.
“Adrenaline rush aftermath,” she said, sitting up, glad he couldn’t see the need in her eyes. “I think I’m still in shock, seeing her again. And I have questions.”
“Yeah.” He moved to the fire, stoked it, added a large log. “How about some hot chocolate?”
She shouldn’t be alone with him. She really shouldn’t. “Good idea.” She started to get up.
“I’ll do it. Enjoy the fire.”
It was cozy, sitting and watching the flames, listening to the sound of him making cocoa. It brought back so many sweet memories. She laid her head against her upraised knees, remembering the first night they’d moved in. Boxes were everywhere, their furniture hand-me-downs and garage-sale finds. But it was theirs, and they were beyond happy.
Before they’d gone to bed, she remembered he’d made hot chocolate that night, too. They’d curled up on the sofa to watch the fire. They’d just turned twenty-one, had already been going steady for seven years. Lots of people disapproved of them buying a house and living together without marriage, especially her parents, Joe’s mom and Nana Mae. Even her brother had his say about it.
Dixie had felt the same, to a lesser degree, but she knew how much Joe loved her, knew he would propose one day. He had, eight years later. It lasted five days.
“What are you thinking?” Joe asked, bringing her back to the present, passing her a mug, then sitting on the sofa a few feet away.
“That life’s not fair.” She raised her mug in thanks, then took a sip. “Perfect temperature, as always. You’re the cocoa master.”
“What’s not fair, Dix?”
She could see a sliver of his chest where his robe gaped a little, firelight flickering on his flesh, and his legs, bare from the knees down. She ached to run her hands along them, to feel the static electricity the hair on his legs would create. She wanted to spread her hands over his chest, push the flannel aside, kiss him there….
“What’s not fair?” he repeated.
She stalled by taking another sip of cocoa. “I was supposed to move into my apartment tomorrow. I won’t have time now. It’ll probably take most of the day getting Shana and Emma settled.” She sighed. “It’s petty of me, isn’t it? Shana’s been through hell, and I’m annoyed by having to delay my plans for one day. Selfish.”
“Dix, you are the least selfish person I know. I think you’ve figured out the impact that Shana’s being here is going to have. She’s always been demanding. Always. You can’t let her get to you. You’ve already taken on a big load.” He raised a hand. “I know. I know. It’s none of my business.”
“No, you’re right. I could easily get stressed out and then fall apart. I need to be careful, look to the future. At some point the salon will be renovated. My parents will return. Shana will either get settled or leave. Everything will be okay. Provided the loan is approved.”
“When will you hear about that?”
“On Monday, I hope.”
“Dix.”
She heard hesitation in his voice. “What?” What was he reluctant to say?
“If they won’t give you the loan, I’d be happy to bankroll you. I’m making a whole lot of money these days.”
She couldn’t keep that kind of connection with him, no matter how considerate the offer was. “I appreciate the offer, Joe. I really do. But I have a backup plan already.”
“Kincaid, I’ll bet.”
“What makes you say that?” How could he possibly know?
“Lucky guess. How’d he take it when you had to leave tonight?”
She frowned. “He offered to drive me here. What was there for him to take?”
“Weren’t you on a date with him?”
His seemingly casual tone blared in her head. He was jealous. At first she was flattered, then she changed her mind. It would take a long time for the intense emotions they’d felt for each other through the years to find a soft place to land.
She leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do you honestly think I’d show up on a Saturday night at the Stompin’ Grounds with a date?”
“He likes you.”
“I can tell.”
“He’d be good for you. To you.”
“Probably so. I’m not ready.” She let her hand drop away and immediately missed the warmth, his strength. It would be so easy to go to bed with him. But then what? They wouldn’t be back to square one, exactly, but maybe starting at a different place on the game board instead, without any instructions on how to play the game.
Just as Nana Mae had given Dixie wings, so Dixie needed to give Joe wings, too.
Because she had the feeling if she made any move toward coming back to him, he wouldn’t do what he needed to do—and he would always regret it. She wouldn’t be responsible for that.
“I think we’re both having a hard time with the finality of this, Joe,” she said. “But we both also know it’s what we need to do.”
He nodded. An explosion of sparks burst in the fireplace, as if adding its agreement.
“Where will you live after the house sells?” she asked.
“I’ll figure it out when it happens.” He tilted his mug, finishing the warm drink. “Done?” he asked.
“Not quite.”
He went into the kitchen then said good-night as he passed through again, heading to his bedroom. Alone.
“I love you, Joe,” she whispered into the night. “Forever.”
Peace came over her, warm and soothing. She wouldn’t fight her love for him anymore. She’d had to fight it for an entire year, the only way she could’ve survived the separation. But now she faced the truth—she would never stop loving him.
She didn’t have to, either. She could just hold that love close, and find pleasure in her work, her friends, her family.
She closed her eyes and felt sleep begin to take hold, all the fight gone from her.
She’d never expected to see the day when the fight was gone.
It felt good.
Chapter Six
“I’m not staying at Mom and Dad’s,” Shana said the next morning, while devouring a stack of pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup, and a tall glass of milk.
“You don’t have a choice—unless you can pay for a hotel.” Dixie brought her own plate to the table and sat across from her sister. Shana looked better. Having a shower helped, but so had a good night’s sleep.
She waved a piece of bacon at Dixie. “Joe said I could stay here while he’s gone.”
“You’re not doing that,” Dixie stated flatly, but smiled at sweet little Emma in her baby seat on the table, waving her hands, kicking her feet and babbling. Joe had been gone since dawn. He’d told her he would leave for the airport around two o’clock.
“Who made you boss?” Shana asked, pouting.
“You came to me for help. I’m helping.”
Shana shoved her long, straight hair out of her face and blew out a breath. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…Mom and Dad? You know?”
“I do know. But at least you’ll have privacy. How long do you plan to stay?” Dixie asked as if the answer wasn’t important.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, this time when you leave, will you please let me know you’re going?”
“I promise.”
�
�You need a haircut.” She obviously hadn’t had a professional cut in ages. Partly grown-out bangs fell into her eyes all the time—although that also came from hanging her head a lot, allowing her hair to curtain her face, and hide her expression. The rest lay like a limp blanket down her back.
Shana touched her hair self-consciously. “Will you do it? You were always good at that.”
“I’d be happy to.” She dragged a pad of paper close to her. “Let’s make a shopping list.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, Dixie walked to Nana Mae’s house to retrieve her car, grateful Nana Mae would be at church and not there to ask questions that Dixie couldn’t answer yet. After doing the grocery shopping, they would come back for Shana’s less reliable car, and later go to the consignment shop for clothes, but it didn’t open until noon on Sunday.
The fact that Shana was okay with being in public relaxed Dixie about Shana’s reasons for being on the run, although it didn’t rule out her baby’s father as a possible reason. Maybe he’d been abusive, and she was hiding from him. Maybe he was married. Maybe Shana didn’t even know who the father was.
All Dixie knew for sure was that Shana was running, but whether it was to or from something, Dixie didn’t know.
“Man,” Shana said as they walked through the door of their parents’ house later. “This is weird. Like some kind of time warp. What a cave. Was it always so dark?”
“Nothing’s changed,” Dixie said, setting two grocery sacks on the kitchen counter and eyeing the old, dark paneling and drapes. “Except your room. It’s Mom’s sewing room now.”
“Mom sews?”
“No, but that’s what it’s called. You can use my bedroom.”
“Which has been left as a shrine to you, I imagine,” Shana said, bitterness in her voice.
“Pretty much, except I took my furniture, so yours is in my room. For the first six months after Joe and I broke up, I came back here to live. It was like stepping into an episode of The Twilight Zone. I’ll get the rest of your things.” Dixie wasn’t about to apologize for her parents’ behavior. Shana chose to run away, chose not to communicate. After years passed without contact, she’d become dead to them. It was the only way they could cope. If she hadn’t sent a Christmas card every year to Dixie, no one would’ve known she was even alive.
“Even Gavin’s room is the same,” Shana said when Dixie tracked her down a few minutes later, the groceries put away. She held her daughter, who was awake and looking around. “What’s he up to?”
“He’s in San Francisco. He’s a doctor.”
“So he made it, after all. Good for him.”
“He was determined. Take a guess what he specializes in.”
Shana frowned, then her eyes took on some sparkle. “Gynecology?”
“You got it.”
“Lover boy to the end.”
Dixie laughed, was grateful for a moment that seemed normal between them. Emma smiled, too, wriggling happily. Dixie ran a hand over the infant’s downy head.
“What about her father?” Dixie asked.
The entire mood of the moment changed. Dixie knew it would, but had to ask anyway.
“He died.”
Shana had hesitated long enough before answering that Dixie questioned her honesty. Maybe she was after sympathy—or maybe she was hiding something. She had always been secretive.
“You don’t believe me,” Shana said now, bouncing Emma in her arms as she began to fuss, probably picking up on the tension.
“Do you blame me?”
After a few beats, Shana shrugged. “You don’t really know me anymore, though, do you?” Before Dixie could answer, Shana brushed past her, saying, “I need to fix a bottle for Emma.”
“I’ll do it,” Dixie said.
Shana put out an arm, stopping her. “No. I will. I’m her mother, not you. And you’re not my mother, either, Dixie. Believe it or not, I’m actually fairly competent about most things.”
Although startled, Dixie was also glad to see her spirit emerge. “Do you want me to leave? Do you want to go clothes shopping without me? I would understand that.” And it would give her time to move some of her things into her new apartment.
“No.” Shana drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m touchy, I know. I really want to spend time with you. Plus, there’s another issue, I hate to admit.”
“You’re broke.”
“I’ll pay you back, I promise. Or work it off somehow. You’re still working for Mom and Dad, I guess, which leaves that out. But is there anything else I can help you with?”
She looked eager and sincere. But with Shana, looks could be deceiving. “I’m helping Mom and Dad at the store while they’re gone,” Dixie said. “But I’m doing something entirely different now. I’ll show you later. For the moment, do you want to rest for a while after you feed Emma?” She looked at her watch. “The stores are opening about now.”
“I don’t need to rest. But can we walk?” she asked. “I’d really like to walk. We can put anything we buy in the stroller.”
“Sounds good to me.”
They spent hours shopping, greeting people, letting Emma be admired. Not everyone remembered Shana, but because she belonged to Dixie, she was welcomed warmly.
The McCoys were curiously absent around town, but then, it was Sunday, so they were probably having a family dinner, which happened more often than not. Dixie ignored the tug at her heart, the wish to be in the middle of the fracas that was a McCoy family occasion.
The Callahan women finally ended up at Bitty’s Beauty Shoppe as dark settled in. “One last stop,” Dixie said, sliding her key in the lock, inviting her sister and niece inside. “Welcome to the future home of the Respite Spa and Salon, Dixie Callahan, owner.”
Shana’s eyes lit up, more animated than she’d been all day. “Really? You bought it?”
“Almost. The loan is still in the works, but I have so many plans, Shana. So many plans.”
“That’s good, because this place needs to be demolished and started over.”
“It will be. And the big bonus—it comes with an apartment upstairs. Want to see it?”
“Absolutely.” Shana lifted a sleeping Emma from the stroller and carried her up the staircase.
“I didn’t want to move in until I’d gotten everything painted and window coverings up,” Dixie said as she reached the landing, unlocked the entry door and reached for the light switch. “So, it’s empty at the moment, but by next week—”
She stopped. Stared. Moved slowly into the room.
“Looks done to me,” Shana said behind her.
Not done, exactly, but all the things she’d wanted from Joe’s house were here, and a few extra items, although still plenty to buy that would be her own choices. She moved into the kitchen. There were dry goods in the pantry, her refrigerator filled to capacity.
Trancelike, she went into the bedroom. Her new bedspread was on her bed, the one from Joe’s guest room, her clothes from Nana Mae’s house hung in the closet.
From atop the bedspread, she picked up an envelope, a Congratulations on Your New Home card, the note in Nana Mae’s handwriting: “It was Joe’s idea. Feel free to change anything. We won’t be offended. We just wanted to get it all here for you. Love from all the McCoy family—and I do mean all the McCoys, old and young.”
Dixie dropped onto the bed, the note crushed in her fist.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” Shana asked.
She wrapped her arm around Dixie as her tears flowed, hot and heavy. She’d broken up with one of their own, yet they’d done this for her. She loved them all so much.
“What have I done? Why did I give him up? It means I lose them, too. How am I supposed to survive that? They’ve been part of me almost my whole life, been here for me when Mom and Dad weren’t. Had faith in me when Mom and Dad said I couldn’t do something, couldn’t succeed.”
“You didn’t give him up, Dix. You let him go. Big difference.”
Dixi
e swiped her cheeks, but tears continued to flow. Shana didn’t—couldn’t—understand that bond. “Right.”
“They’re good people. No one denies that,” Shana continued, grabbing a tissue from Emma’s diaper bag and shoving it at Dixie. “But you don’t marry a family. You marry a man. And that man wasn’t—isn’t—husband material.”
Dixie drew a shaky breath. “You’re right. I know you are. And I know it’s over. It had to be over.”
“I hear a but in there.”
She faced her sister. “But I can’t seem to stop loving him. What if I never do? What if I can never fall in love with someone else? I want children. I want a home and family, Shana. What if—”
“Oh, get a grip, Dix. You’re thirty years old, not ninety. What happened to the take-no-prisoners Dixie I remember? When did you lose yourself?”
Dixie realized how pitiful she’d sounded. She climbed off the bed, tossed her tissue into a pretty waste-basket she’d picked up on her shopping trip to Sacramento on Sunday. She reminded herself that she’d found peace last night while deciding to just let herself love him. That it was okay.
And it was.
“It seems to me you’ve found some new dreams,” Shana said. “You’re starting your own business and building it the way you want it. What do you need a man for, anyway?” Shana bounced Emma, who’d started to cry. “All they do is cause heartache.”
Shana’s words pulled Dixie out of her own meltdown. “Did he get you pregnant and leave you?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Who? Emma’s father, of course. I assume he is a man who caused you heartache.”
“I told you. He died. I’m just talking about life in general, men in general. I’ve been around, you know.”
“So you said. To Paris for a year. London. Amsterdam. Athens. Rome. I can’t even remember everywhere. You’ve lived in youth hostels and barns—”
“And four-star hotels, don’t forget.” She scooped up the diaper bag. “I need to fix Emma a bottle.”
In the kitchen Dixie heated some of Aggie’s pot roast. Joe’s mother made the best comfort food, traditional foods, prepared well.
After dinner, Dixie took Shana downstairs and cut her hair. A new woman emerged. Dixie cut off ten inches, so that the blond tresses brushed Shana’s shoulders as she moved. Her face opened up, her eyes seeming larger and brighter—and filled with tears.
