by Liz Isaacson
“Fine, I guess.” He couldn’t help asking, “Why are you calling, Jim?”
“We got your new track, Owen, and it’s your best work. Another number one hit.”
Owen had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The new track your manager sent us a couple of weeks ago.”
Icy fingers reached down his throat. “My manager?”
“Yeah, a woman named Natalie Ringold. Listen, Owen, she sent us the track, and we all love it. When can you get down to Nashville?”
Never, he wanted to say. He had no desire to return to Nashville, even for a meeting. Settle down, he told himself as if he were a restless horse. He took a deep breath, and said, “Not until the new year. Hey, Jim, can you send me a copy of the track? I just want to make sure Natalie sent you the right one.”
“Sure thing, Owen. Coming your way. Let’s set something up for January.”
“I’ll have my manager call you,” he said and hung up before he went completely berserk. He turned in a circle, not quite sure where to look or what to do or anything. He felt like his whole world had been put in a blender and liquefied.
He got a text from Jim, with an attachment. An attachment that when Owen tapped it and it started to play, featured his voice and his fingers strumming the guitar. As he listened to the song he’d written and practiced on Sunday mornings—the song he’d written about Natalie and second chances—his emotions clashed. Pride at the flawless lyrics. Horror that she’d listened to this without his knowledge.
How in the world had Natalie gotten that? He’d never even told her about it until two weeks ago, and he still hadn’t played it for her.
Boys started streaming out of the cafeteria, and everything aligned in Owen’s head. “Davy!” he called as he spotted his boys peeling off and heading toward the barn. Owen started after them, fire in every step. “Davy, I need to talk to you right this second.”
Natalie glanced up as the wind shook the window right in its frame. The storm that had been predicted had arrived, and she hoped Owen would soon too. She hated the thought of him being outside in the darkness while it snowed and snowed and snowed, as this storm was predicted to do.
He had the next three days off, and a content smile floated across her face as she imagined a lazy weekend with him—the man who’d just told her he loved her.
She didn’t hear anything, but when Tar Baby perked up from his spot at the end of the counter, she glanced toward the front door. Sure enough, Owen blew through it a few seconds later.
He managed to trap out the cold, and wind, and snow in a matter of moments. He brushed the wetness from his jacket and shook out his hat. He removed them both and hung them by the door. He said nothing, and a tremor rattled through Natalie’s ribcage.
“You made it,” she said to fill the silence. “I have chili on, and the cornbread will be done in ten minutes.”
He didn’t look at her; didn’t acknowledge her. She paused in her movement to get bowls from the cupboard. Owen bent down and kissed the top of Marie’s head, murmuring something to her. She looked up at him and said, “Right now?”
“Yes, please.”
“All right,” she said in the same western drawl Owen used, which made a flood of adoration flow through Natalie for the pair of them. Marie left the TV on, where she’d been watching a cooking show Natalie had told her about, and went down the hall to her bedroom. She didn’t look at Natalie either.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as the door snicked closed.
“What’s wrong?” Owen kept perfectly still in his spot in the living room. He looked as fierce and dangerous as the blizzard billowing, blowing, blustering beyond the window.
“Bad day at work?”
“It was actually pretty great. My boys are doing well, getting excited for Christmas. They’re gearing up to go home in a couple of weeks. I call my girlfriend and tell her I love her.”
He didn’t soften, didn’t yield. She wanted to rush into his arms, declare her undying love for him too, kiss him until her lips felt bruised, but the combative way he stood apart from her screamed angry, and she stayed in the kitchen with the counter and the dog between them.
“Then what happened?” she asked.
“Jim Guthrie called.”
Natalie’s blood turned to ice. A river of ice that flowed like a glacier, moving so slowly and choking near her heart. “Oh.”
“You sent him a track I’d recorded with my boys.” He stalked one step closer. “You had no right to do that.”
“It’s a beautiful song, Owen. When I heard it, I knew the world needed to experience it too.”
“That’s not your decision to make.” He glowered at her.
“Did you talk to Davy?” she asked, lifting her chin. “He’s the one who gave it to me. Said all the boys wanted to send it in. I’m just the one who could actually do it, you know, because they’re juvenile delinquents.”
Owen’s anger visibly deflated, and that grated grated grated at Natalie. She realized in that moment that he loved his boys unconditionally. “Did you turn all cold with him?” she asked, her voice strangely robotic.
“I spoke with him.”
“In this angry, condescending tone? With barely suppressed fury in every line of your face?” She shook her head and turned away, her insides shaking and quaking. “I doubt it.”
“What does that mean?”
She faced him again, employing her bravery, her determination. “It means, Mister Carr, that you save your best self for those boys. You give them every opportunity to please you, and you forgive them easily. Then when you get home, you’re too tired—emotionally and physically—to do much more than check homework and fall asleep on the couch.” Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rapidly, and she couldn’t get a decent breath.
His navy eyes darkened and the flush in his face was no longer from the cold. “That is not true.”
She folded her arms. “Then tell me how the conversation went with Davy.”
When Owen balked, tears sprang to Natalie’s eyes. She hadn’t wanted to be right, not this time. “That’s what I thought.” She glanced at the oven. “Cornbread has four minutes left, and I made a compound herb butter. It’s in the fridge.” She walked into the living room, her skin itching beneath her sweater and along her neck. He didn’t try to stop her as she calmly shrugged into her coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck.
He didn’t try to stop her as she stuffed a hat on her head and shoved her hands into her gloves.
He didn’t try to stop her when she wrenched open his front door and stepped into the storm.
He simply didn’t try to stop her, the way she would’ve tried to stop him from going to Nashville without her all those years ago.
18
Natalie made it home through a sheer miracle and the grace of God. She sat in her garage, the car off and the door behind her closed, the only way she felt like no one would hear her sobs.
She cried until she felt dried out, and the pain still existed. She wondered if she’d have to live with this dull ache in her chest for the rest of her life. She’d felt like this before. First, when Owen had left when they were eighteen-years-old. Second, when she’d told Jeremiah she wanted a divorce.
Both of those aches felt miniscule in comparison to this one. This one went on and on, radiating a jolt down to her toes and out to her fingers every few seconds.
Eventually, the cold settled in her bones and she had to go into the house. Not long ago, she’d loved coming home to the peace and quiet of her home. She’d felt comfortable there, alone, secluded, isolated behind the walls where she could dance and cook and simply be herself.
But now that she’d had a taste of family life, of interacting with a child she loved, and making dinner for the man she loved, she couldn’t fathom being happy by herself. She’d done what Pastor Palmer had suggested, had looked to something new to focus on, had been fee
ding her faith.
So why did she feel completely abandoned, both by Owen and by God? Her tears started afresh and as she looked at the thermostat, she realized it was nearly as cold inside as out. Her teeth chattered as she jammed her finger on the button to up the temperature.
Nothing happened.
“Great,” she said through her tears. She inhaled and wiped her face. She’d only turned on one light in the kitchen after she’d entered the house, and as she looked around now, everything in her life stood out in contrast.
Owen’s house had been full of life, and light, and love. Hers was dark and cold, with a furnace that had chosen to malfunction during a December blizzard.
He made her laugh with abandon, and all she wanted to do now was leave this life in Gold Valley. She’d tried, she honestly had. But she hated the winter, and she could teach dance in any city in the country. Didn’t have to be here.
She moved to the couch and pulled a blanket around her shoulders, really examining herself. Why did you stay in Gold Valley after Mom and Dad left?
She knew why: Owen Carr.
She’d never lost hope for them—until tonight.
What do you need to be happy?
Again, the answer was easy: Owen Carr.
But the familiar fear and worry engulfed her and she lay down, the tears still flowing across her face. Owen already had a lot in his life. A darling niece. A fulfilling, yet demanding, job. Loads of money.
He didn’t need Natalie the way she needed him. “What do I do now?” she whispered into the chilly, gray house.
Can’t stay here, her mind whispered back. Too cold.
She thought of when Owen had left. She’d gone into shock, unable to do much more than breathe. Her father had been there, bringing her food and telling her to get out of the house, go do something.
“Come on now, Nat,” he says, holding a bottle of water and placing a plate on the nightstand next to where she lies on the bed. “You have to eat something.”
She glances at him, promises she will, but after he leaves, she just keeps staring out the window. Finally, in the dead of night, when everyone sleeps, Nat leaves the house and wanders to the water tower.
She climbs to the top and looks out over the sleeping town of Gold Valley. She hates this town, hates that Owen abandoned her here. Fierce fury foams inside her, and she releases a scream.
Then she’s sobbing and storming and saying things about Owen she hopes she won’t remember later. But at least she doesn’t feel so tight inside anymore. At least she doesn’t feel like her next breath will be the one that fills her too full and will cause her to explode.
She marches home and makes herself a full meal. When her father leans against the wall, she apologizes for waking him. He says it’s okay and settles at the kitchen counter to watch her cook.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
She’s not but she does feel different, so she says, “Yes.”
He pats her shoulder, embraces her tight. “There will be other boys, Nat.”
She agrees because that’s what her father expects. He wanders down the hall and back to bed, and she looks over the spread she made to eat.
She walks away without taking a bite.
Her dad wasn’t here now, but the memory was enough to get her off the couch. She walked on wooden legs, but she walked. She packed a bag, and then another. She could stay at the hotel in town tonight and start for Wyoming in the morning. Maybe, if the snow wasn’t too bad. Maybe, if they cleared the roads through the mountain pass. Maybe, if Owen didn’t call and tell her he was sorry, that he loved her, and to please come back so they could talk.
But the fact that she’d left his house a half an hour ago and he hadn’t so much as texted made her think that he wouldn’t. She’d never seen him so angry. She actually didn’t know the calm, cool, collected Owen could get that angry.
Over a stupid country song, she thought. She shook her head. She’d never imagined he’d react the way he had. Sure, she thought he might be frustrated with her, but those fears had fled when she’d asked him if he wanted to return to a country music career and he’d admitted that he wanted to be a song-writer.
After that, she’d relaxed. She thought he’d be thrilled she’d made the first move, opened the first door.
She picked up her suitcases and left without a backward glance. It took three times as long to get downtown, what with the wind whipping the snow sideways. As she checked in, she realized how isolated she’d become. She’d been spending so much time with Marie and Owen that she didn’t feel comfortable asking Stephanie or any of her other friends if she could stay with them for one night.
Doesn’t matter, she told herself as she handed over her debit card. Because of Owen, you have enough money to stay in a hotel.
Everything came back to Owen. It always had.
And she was really, really tired of that.
Owen turned off the timer on the oven. He wasn’t sure how long it had been beeping, but the cornbread seemed a bit overbrowned. He didn’t get out the compound butter. Didn’t even know what that was. Didn’t know what to do now.
He only fed Marie when she came down the hall and asked where Nat had gone. “She left,” Owen said, because she had.
He couldn’t believe he’d just let her leave. Let her leave without saying a single thing to her. Let her leave in the storm that raged across the countryside. Let her leave him and Marie.
Her words swirled through her head, batted against his brain, the same way the wind whipped and banged against his windows.
Marie had tugged on his sleeve to get him to step away from the sliding glass door, where he stared into the darkness. “Uncle Owen?” she asked. “Is she coming back? She said chili was her favorite.”
Owen hadn’t known how to answer, and his voice seemed to be stuck on mute anyhow. Marie had eventually settled down and eaten. She’d gone down the hall to do her homework. She’d brought it back for him to check. She’d put herself to bed.
All of it testified to Owen how much she didn’t really need him. All this time, he’d been pretending she did, when the truth was, Marie had saved him. Saved him from looking and feeling as empty and hollow as his parents did.
Once Natalie had rejoined his life, everything in Owen’s existence had brightened. He’d been kinder to his boys, more understanding, because of Natalie. She made him happier, and that bled into everything he did—including his music. He’d only written that song because of her. How could he be so angry with her for sending it in?
And the better question was: Why hadn’t he been that furious with Davy or Kyle, the two boys who had hatched the plan to get the song to Natalie so she could send it to Nashville?
He didn’t have an answer for either of his questions.
He couldn’t leave during a blizzard to go find her and try to apologize.
So he did the next best thing. He swallowed his pride and picked up his phone.
Owen woke on Saturday morning, a painful kink in his neck because he’d slept on the couch. His phone rested on his chest because he kept checking it every few seconds to make sure he didn’t miss a call or message from Natalie. He still hadn’t.
He groaned as he sat up and saw a ray of sunshine through the sliding glass door. He couldn’t believe he’d slept past five a.m., but given the circumstances of the previous evening, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all.
A dog barked, and he looked for Tar Baby. A childish squeal followed, and Owen stood and walked over to the door.
Marie had gotten dressed and taken Tar Baby into the backyard. They ran and played, and even through the turmoil in Owen’s life, he smiled at the two of them. He called Natalie again, and left another message similar to the previous three he’d left last night.
“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Please forgive me. Call me and tell me where to meet you. I’ll be there.” He exhaled, not sure what else to say to get her to call him. “I love you,” he tacked on a
nd hung up.
He squeezed his phone until he felt it give a little. After setting it on the counter, he opened the sliding glass door. “Marie,” he called. Tar Baby spun and looked at him, the dog’s tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. “I’m gonna go shower. Then we’re gonna go get breakfast, all right?”
“All right.” She gathered another handful of snow and packed it into a ball.
Owen set a pot of coffee to brew and hurried down the hall to shower. His morning plans definitely included breakfast, but he’d be stopping by Natalie’s first. If there was anything he could do to nudge her toward forgiving him, it would be bacon.
Forty-five minutes later, he sat in his truck in the street outside Natalie’s house. The driveway and sidewalk hadn’t been touched, and the two feet of snow that had fallen during the night glittered in the bright sun.
“Think she’s home?” Marie asked as she peered toward the front door. “Did you call her?”
“I’ve called her,” he said quietly. “And no, I don’t think she’s home.” He wasn’t sure how he knew, only that he did.
“Maybe you should go check.” Marie turned her innocent eyes on him.
“All right.” Owen unbuckled his seat belt and sloshed through the snow to Natalie’s front step. He knocked and rang the doorbell. He called, “Nat, it’s Owen.” He opened her screen door and tried the front door, fully expecting it to be locked. It was.
He turned back to Marie and lifted his hands in an “I don’t know,” gesture. She pointed to the garage. So Owen slogged over there, the snow pushing up his jeans all the way to his knees. He knew the code, and he got the door open.
Her car was gone.
His heart turned to stone, and all he could do was stare at the empty space where her car should be. That space grew and expanded inside his chest, leaving him scrubbed out and stinging. He got himself to walk to the door leading to the house, which thankfully wasn’t locked.
