The Patron

by Tess Thompson

  “Do you remember the first time we met?” I asked, hoping to distract her.

  “I can’t remember a time when you weren’t in my life. It seems like you were always my best friend.”

  “Nan had taken me into town for groceries and then surprised me by saying we could have ice cream. You and Jack were outside the shop with cones of your own. You had strawberry.”

  “The best flavor of all.”

  “You know that’s not true,” I said, laughing at our long-standing joke.

  “I remember being at your Nan’s and making cookies. It was her recipe I used for my first ones. I started obsessively tweaking ingredients until I figured out the best combination. The secret’s using chocolate chunks, not chips, by the way.”

  She rolled over to look at me, resting one arm on her stomach. “Thanks for being such a good friend.”

  “Stop it, you’re going to make me cry. Anyway, it’s me who should be thanking you. Without you—well, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

  “We’ve had some tough times,” Brandi said. “But our friendship has always been there to catch us when we fell.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She was quiet for a moment as she traced the flower pattern etched into the cotton quilt. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “This thing with Garth, do you really think it’s over? Because you seem happy with him.”

  “He makes me laugh and he’s a great friend and we have amazing chemistry, but I don’t love him. I wish I could. But I’m either not ready or he’s not the right one. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I did about Patrick for anyone else. I simply can’t imagine the rest of my life with him. That’s why I had to end things before he got any deeper.”

  “It was the right thing to do. I’m sad, though. I want you to have someone to grow old with. To have a family with. Garth’s such a fine person.”

  “I thought I’d have that with Patrick.” I smiled, remembering our courtship. He’d swept me off my feet, dazzling me with his intellect and passion for his work and life. I’d fallen fast and hard. “Nan used to tell me that my one true love was out there and when I found him, I’d know it. I did, too. Patrick was my once-in-a-lifetime man.” I flopped over on my back and looked at the ceiling. “As great as Garth is, he’s not that. I had him and then he died. End of story.”

  “I don’t want that to be the end,” Brandi said.

  I didn’t either, but that didn’t make it any less true.

  4

  Garth

  A little after seven, I said good night to Huck and Breck and headed to my car. Once inside, I realized the windshield had frozen over, so I turned on the defrost and waited. I’d parked in a space that faced the brick building. Huck’s truck’s headlights flashed in my rearview mirror before he headed out to the street. His defrost must work better than mine. My windshield had only melted the ice at the bottom.

  I looked around me. The parking lot was empty except for me and one other car, which I assumed belonged to one of the staff. A forecast earlier had said an unexpected storm would roll in sometime tonight. People wanted to beat the snow home. Downtown had emptied fast and now had an eerie feeling of desertion, as if I were the only man left.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d vacillated all evening between going home to my new, empty house or back to Trapper’s. The furniture I’d ordered was supposed to arrive early next week. Sleeping on the floor next to the fireplace didn’t appeal to me. On the other hand, I didn’t want to see Crystal. I had to break ties. Staying at my own house was the only option that made sense.

  Crystal had not been far from my mind all night, even during the fun time with the boys. Her revelation about skiing had taken me by total surprise. I felt like an idiot. Why hadn't I thought of it before? That she had reservations about a man who sped down slopes as easily as walking made perfect sense. To her, I was reckless. A risk-taker, as her late husband had been. One big red flag if there ever was one.

  Could I give it up for her? I supposed I could. But did that compromise who I was? Could I come to her half of the man that I had been? Even with all that said, she might not ever be ready. I needed to face that fact.

  As much as I’d fallen for Crystal, I couldn't give up who I was for her. Not skiing. Other things, yes. A sport that had defined so much of who I am was nonnegotiable. All the choices and sacrifices my dad had made for me. I mean, a person could give up waffles if their wife hated them.

  Not that she’d asked me to give it up. In fact, she’d been clear that even without my risky sport she had no interest in pursuing the kind of relationship I wanted. How ironic. Wasn’t it supposed to be the man who avoided commitment?

  Now my fingers twitched. I wanted to call or text and see how she was doing. No, I needed to stay away. She wanted space. I needed space. This was all for the best.

  I texted Trapper that I was going to my house. I had a sleeping bag in the trunk of my car. Roughing it for a few nights wouldn’t kill me.

  He returned the message right away. You sure? It’s cold.

  I’ve got a sleeping bag. I’ll be fine. Crystal and I need some space from each other.

  A memory of the first night Crystal and I had stayed together raced through my mind. We’d been in sleeping bags in a tent, having narrowly escaped with our lives.

  I got another text from Trapper. I get it. I’m sorry. I know you care about her a lot. Don’t give up, though. She might just need some more time.

  Another text came through before I could answer.

  Brandi has to be on bed rest. The doc’s worried about premature labor.

  I cursed under my breath. If they lost the baby, I didn’t know if Brandi could take it. They already had one baby in the town’s cemetery. I wrote back. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?

  Just get back to your house asap. This weather has me nervous.

  Will do. Give Brandi my love, okay? And let Crystal know I’m not coming back tonight. I don’t want her to worry.

  I flipped the windshield wipers on, hoping to speed up the process. They caught a chunk of the ice and flung it upward.

  The windshield had nearly defrosted when Stormi came out the back door of the bar and grill. I rolled down my window and called out to her. “Hey, do you need a ride?”

  She sprinted over and leaned down to talk to me. “Nah, I can walk. My apartment’s above the newspaper office.”

  “You sure?” I’d forgotten she rented from Huck. The poor girl was too beholden to him, especially since he didn’t like her. “Did your boss send you home?”

  “Yeah. The place emptied out once the storm warning came through.” She zipped up her Nordic-style jacket and pulled the faux fur–lined hood over her head. “It’s icy. Be careful driving back to Trapper’s.”

  “I’m used to driving in this, though. I’ll be fine.”

  “Cool.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m off then. Have a good night.”

  Did she always walk home alone in the dark? I didn’t like that idea. Emerson Pass was a safe place, but even in small towns bad things happened. “Wait, please let me drive you. I don’t want you walking in the dark by yourself.”

  I thought she’d decline again, but instead she shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  I turned on the seat warmer on the passenger side as she jogged around the back of the car and then got in beside me.

  “You always walk home alone?” I asked before putting the car in Reverse and backing out of the parking space.

  “This is my first night at the bar. But yeah, I’d planned on it. My car’s in the shop. Again.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “One more reason why I needed an extra job.” She sighed. “I can’t ever get ahead.”

  “This summer will pick up.”

  “I hope so. Or I may have to get out of Dodge.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I love it here, but it’s been rough sin
ce the fires,” Stormi said. “I make nickels at the paper. And what’s there to take pictures of lately?”

  “The winter festival’s coming up in a few weeks, right?” Emerson Pass had a holiday festival the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The tradition went back a hundred years. A celebration of the end of World War I and the Spanish flu had stuck in our little town.

  “Yeah, man, I love that cheesy festival.”

  I chuckled as I pulled out onto the street and turned left. “Me too.”

  “Trapper’s dad playing Santa gets me every time.”

  “Same here. Crystal’s organizing a huge toy and food drive this year.” Always back to Crystal, I thought, disgusted with myself.

  “I may be one of the ones who needs canned food,” Stormi said. “I’m not sure how I’m going to make my rent this month.”

  “That’s rough. Sadly, I don’t think you’re the only one.” Since the fires, the usual tourists we expected in the summer and fall had not come. “Once the snow starts, the slopes will open and people will be back.”

  “I hope so.”

  She sounded so defeated I immediately felt the urge to fix it all for her. “You let me know if you need a loan, okay?”

  “That’s sweet but no. Not how I roll.” She crossed her ankles. Her jeans were tucked into combat boots. Even her clothes gave the message that she was armed and ready for battle. No one could hurt her.

  However, I didn’t buy it for a second. Nothing could disguise the young, vulnerable woman under all that bluster. “You have any siblings?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “My mother couldn’t afford me, let alone any more of us. She did her best to make sure I felt like crap about myself. I’d have hated watching her do that to someone I loved. How about you?”

  I wanted to ask more about her mother, but I didn’t know her well enough. “I had a brother. He died when I was ten. Cancer.”

  “Sorry. That’s tough.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced over at her as I approached the newspaper office. Situated off the main street of town, the office was in one of the original brick buildings. Up in the window of Stormi’s apartment, a shaggy dog’s face appeared. “Who’s that cutie?”

  “Sassy. She’s my shelter dog. Breck found her wandering down the road. Said if I took her in, I’d have free vet visits for life. Don’t ask me what kind of dog she is because no one knows, not even Breck.”

  “She’s adorable.”

  “She’s the best thing in my whole life.”

  “Maybe I should get a dog,” I said under my breath.

  “Everyone should get a dog. Especially if they’re lonely. Like us.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. Okay, thanks for the ride. It was better than walking home in the cold.” She opened the door and slipped out, then squinted up at the sky. “The snow’s about to start. Get home quick.”

  I promised her I would but waited until she was safely inside before pulling away.

  My heart leaped when I heard the sound of the heartbeat that I’d plugged in for Crystal coming from my phone.

  Checking on you. Come home. The roads will be bad.

  She wanted me to come home. I sat at the red light in the middle of town, thinking. What should I say to her? Should I give in and tell her I was on my way and would stay another night? But if I went to her, we were doing the same thing we always did. Again, we were like a bad country song. Or were we more like a children’s puppet show? Was I the soft, fuzzy puppet made from a sock and she the puppeteer? I was helpless to control my own actions.

  I was used to helplessness, though. That I had no control over the outcome of things had become apparent to me at an early age. No one remained under the false assumption that we have control of our lives when they watched their little brother fade away into nothingness.

  No, I would not respond to her text. I had to make this a clean break. I would go to my new house tonight and that would be that. I’d be done with this inevitable broken heart that waited for me if I continued as we were. She didn’t want me in her life in the way I wanted. The sooner I was out, the better.

  As I headed out of town, the promised snow began to fall. The flakes were large and mean, more ice than snow. They hit my windshield faster than the wipers could swipe them away. Without warning, it was as if I were driving into a thick blanket.

  I white-knuckled the steering wheel and crawled along, hoping to stay on the road that led up the southern mountain to my house.

  I’d been ten years old when my brother died. Before his death, our family had been as ordinary as any on the block of our suburb. But after months of chemo and hospital visits and finally the home hospice where the sound of the oxygen tank filled the house, we lost Christopher and our family was forever changed. When I returned to school, it was as if a cloud of cold fog followed me around. Kids averted their eyes when I walked down the hallway. Even my best buddy, Jason, seemed to think of me differently. Tragedy, death, and decay clung to me. I was now the boy whose brother had died of cancer instead of just regular old me.

  Looking back, I could see that children don’t know how to process the idea that someone they knew was no longer alive. How was it possible? Where did we go when we died? At least, that’s how it was for me. I couldn’t understand how my brother could be there one minute and gone the next.

  My mother was a blank page. I’d come home from school to find her staring out the window, still wearing her pajamas. Dad handled it a different way. He went to work, and then he went to the bar. He wouldn't come home until after I had gone to bed and left before I got up.

  One day, I came home from school and there was a note on my bed telling me that my mother was leaving.

  I’d sat staring at that note until Dad came home. My mother had called him at work and left a voice mail.

  “It’s just you and me now, kid,” Dad had said.

  “Will you take care of me?”

  “Absolutely. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, though.”

  For the next year or so, we made our way together as best we could. He came home right after work. We ate from cans and the frozen section. My mother had moved across town to an apartment. Strangely enough, she got a job as a secretary in small law practice similar to the one I ran now. She came by to see me on Friday afternoons before Dad got home from work. We didn’t have much to say to each other. Mostly, I sat at the table doing homework while she made some kind of casserole. She was always gone long before Dad’s car parked in the driveway.

  When I started sixth grade, I joined the ski club. Everything changed for the better after that. My coach saw talent and spent extra time with me. When I wasn’t skiing, I was thinking about skiing. Speeding down those slopes felt like the only thing in my world that made any sense. There, with the wind in my face, I was free.

  Dad found a purpose through my sport. By the time I started high school, my coaches were pushing me hard. I skied every day during the season. Off-season, I worked on strength and agility. The parameters of my life were those of an athlete. Nutrition, workout plans, and evenings watching footage of downhill speed skiers became my world.

  Dad ate it up. He’d always been good himself but had never considered it a sport. Now, though, he saw my potential. Being a man who loved adventure and competition, he poured his energy into me. He became my manager and biggest supporter. Along with my coaches, he pushed me hard to get ready for the 2010 Olympics. That was our mantra, day and night. Qualify for winter 2010.

  When my marriage started to fail, all the fighting and bickering over nothing, I thought about my mother a lot then, wondering if I was like her. Was there some quality inside me that made it possible or even inevitable that I’d walk away from a marriage?

  Now, as I crept along, I started to pray. I was in a full sweat and wondering if I should pull off the road and walk the rest of the way. If I did so, would I be able to see any better or
would I freeze to death?

  I rounded a sharp corner, perhaps a little too fast. The car started to slide. I tried to correct, but the road was too icy. I was airborne, and then the car rolled. The seat belt held fast, crushing into my chest and stomach. I’m not sure how many times I rolled until I hit the tree. A noise of metal against a tree was the last thing before blackness overcame me.

  I woke at the table in the kitchen of our old house. Christopher sat across from me, reading the back of the bran flakes box. His blond hair shone in the sun that streamed through the window. The wallpaper with the apples in vivid greens and reds decorated the walls. Mom’s apron hung over the back of one of the chairs.

  "Garth, look at this!" Christopher pointed at the picture on the front of the box. It was of me, racing down a hill. The gold medal hung around my neck.

  "You did it! You really did it." Christopher’s eyes sparkled green and pure. He wasn’t sick. His cheeks were rosy and his body robust. “I knew you could do it.” His expression turned from joy to sorrow “I’m sorry for what I did.”

  “Forget about that. I don’t care about the mitt. I’d let you borrow it every day if I could.”

  “It was wrong to take it without asking.” He smiled. “Did you know when I first got sick I thought God was punishing me for losing it?”

  “I overreacted. It was stupid,” I said. He’d taken my baseball mitt and lost it. I’d made a huge deal about it and made him cry. “I’m sorry. I was a stupid kid.”

  “But it’s not the mitt I’m sorry for. The other thing. The big thing.”

  "What did you do?”

  "I was sick. For so long. All Mom could do was think about me. You got lost.”

  "It wasn't your fault. You didn't ask to get sick. Mom was just being a mother. She only wanted to make you well again.”

  “It wasn't right that she left you." Christopher’s eyes filled with tears. "I tried to get her to stay. But I couldn't reach her. She was too sad. I was her baby, so that made it worse. Plus, you were always so strong. So much like dad. A survivor. She knew you didn’t need her like I had.”