Timber Creek

Sorrow stood at the stove, frying up hash browns. She might’ve had a talent for making fancy gourmet stuff, but sometimes people just wanted good, old-fashioned home cooking—especially at breakfast.



“That for Eddie?” Helen asked, with a nod toward the frying pan.



Laura narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?”



“Easy. He’s a man. Men like big breakfasts. Especially the Jessups.” She couldn’t help goading the girl and smiled to herself as she ducked into the fridge to snag a jug of OJ. “He’ll be having a large juice, too, if I know our Eddie.”



“Our Eddie. Whatever.”



Helen smirked. “You sure seem prickly on the topic of Jessups. Especially the youngest one.”



She and Laura weren’t too far apart in age, but while Laura drove a fancy car and wore fancy clothes, she spent her days dealing with stubborn kids and stopped-up toilets. The girl was acting like a child. It was a wonder how she’d ever gotten so successful.



Laura grabbed the sponge and attacked the counter with aggressive strokes. “I am not prickly.”



She nodded at the spray cleaner in Laura’s hand. “That counter’s cleaned already.”



“Not cleaned enough.”



“Those stains are permanent.” There were a million things that needed doing, not to mention several customers who needed attending, and here was Laura, wasting her energy on counters nobody could see. “You don’t like it, tell your dad to refinish the kitchen.”



Sorrow took the spray from her sister and put it back below the counter, giving her a gentle hint. “What are you up to today?” she asked brightly, in a blatant effort to change the subject.



“I need to make some calls to the El Dorado Hills City Council.”



Helen stopped what she was doing to gape. “El Dorado Hills?”



“Yes. El Dorado Hills. I have a question about building codes.” Laura gave her a quick side-eyed look, apparently deciding she wasn’t good enough to hear details. “It’s nothing.”



Calls. All the girl had to do today was make calls.



She had to bite her tongue. She’d always thought of herself as a can-do woman, but maybe she should’ve acted needier. It sure worked for Laura, who did as she pleased. Would that she could’ve stayed home today, sitting around, gabbing on the phone, making calls. Instead, here she was, filling a dozen tiny white ceramic pitchers with half-and-half.



Laura shouldered in to scrutinize. “What are you doing? Wouldn’t regular milk be cheaper?”



“They are called creamers,” she said, not stopping her task for a moment.



“Well, I think it’s a waste.” Laura turned to Sorrow. “Does she do this every morning?”



“That’s enough, Laura.” Sorrow scraped the hash browns onto the plate, slid the whole thing under the warmer, and quickly set to scrambling up three eggs in the leftover oil. “I like to serve real cream for the coffee. Now, Helen, would you please pop one of those English muffins in the toaster for me?”



“The maple syrups also need topping off,” Laura said with an edge in her voice.



Helen froze. Slowly she faced the oldest Bailey sister. “My job is out there on the floor. The manager’s job is back here. Seems to me, the maple syrup is back here, too.”



“Jeez, ladies.” Sorrow made a little chuffing sound as she used her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her brow. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got customers out there.” She slid the eggs onto the plate. “Helen, order up. You know who gets it.”



As Helen brought Eddie his breakfast, she tried not to fume. Laura had returned from the big city, and she’d brought a pile of Louis Vuitton bags and loads of attitude with her. Word had it, she was here to stay. Helen hoped the attitude wasn’t.



She didn’t know what’d brought the girl back. Didn’t care to know, frankly. She’d never had much interaction with Laura, anyway, but Bear had anointed her manager, and like that, the woman was acting like she owned the place—though Helen supposed she sort of did own it—partly, at least. “It’s no excuse to act like a know-it-all,” she muttered to herself.



Eddie looked up from his book. “What’s that?”



Her frown flipped into a smile. That Eddie Jessup sure was easy on the eyes. “I said, eggs like you like them, Eddie. Scrambled hard.” Her smile turned flirty.



Not that she’d ever pursue anything with a man other than her husband. Sometimes it just felt good to remember how it felt to be noticed.



He lifted his book, making room for the plate. “Thanks, Helen,” he said, ignoring her saucy innuendo.



“There’s nothing sexier than a man who reads,” she said, trying even harder, bringing her smile up a notch. Though she was unclear why she made the effort. Eddie was a good-looking guy, a guy’s guy. He’d have no interest in a married woman like her. She was all used up. Too many kids, too many bills, and one husband too many.



But still, she tried—she always tried. It was all perfectly innocent. Mostly, she craved the attention. She longed for someone, some man, some adult, to give her a friendly smile and a pat on the back every once in a while.



And maybe someday her flirting would capture the attention of the man she craved most of all: her husband.



“I don’t get why you women are all so surprised to see a guy with a book,” Eddie said, laughing off her comment. And of course he did—a guy like him would be used to flirty comments. “We can read, you know. It’s not all SportsCenter and Skinemax.”



She laughed. She hadn’t made him uncomfortable at all, and he hadn’t blown her off like some men did, either. He was friendly and normal, and it made her feel friendly and normal, too. The whole exchange put a temporary patch on the giant hole in her heart.



But then he met her eyes and asked, “How are you doing, Helen, really?” His tone was overly earnest, and she suddenly felt pathetic.



Everybody knew her situation. She supposed that, around town, she’d become either a butt of jokes, an object of gossip, or both. Hell, she supposed maybe she was pathetic.



That hole in her chest tore right back open.



Her smile felt stiff, and she went back into automatic. “Doing fine, doing fine,” she said, feeling brittle enough to shatter. “Nine-to-five, gotta survive, right?”



Embarrassment was burning through her. She wanted to walk away, to forget who she was, but Eddie wouldn’t let her walk away.



Instead he said, “You got that right,” and he was smiling and shaking his head with the neighborly wisdom of it. “Those kids of yours can’t be cheap.” His complete attention was on his food as he squirted a big glop of ketchup on his plate and dragged a forkful of hash browns through it. “How’s Luke? He playing fall ball this year?” He shoveled the bite into his mouth.



Helen might not be proud of herself, but she sure was proud of her son. Her oldest boy had quite the pitching arm, and it made her smile. “Yeah. You know he wouldn’t miss it. The kid thinks the major league will be calling any day now.”



She’d scoffed, but Eddie only shrugged. “Who knows?” he mused. “Someday, maybe they will.”



It was a charitable and generous thing to say. Oddly, although the comment made Eddie soar in her estimation, the fact of it made her feel lonelier than ever. He was a good man, and what she wouldn’t do for a good man.



“That boy’s got an arm on him,” he went on. “You let me know if you want me to throw the ball around with him. I’d be happy to teach him my fastball. I call it the Jessup Special.” Eddie mimicked a slow pitch with an elaborate flourish to his wrist. “It’s all in the release.”



She gave him a sad smile. Ball practice was supposed to be for dads. But she gave him an appreciative nod. “I’ll do that, Eddie. Thanks.”



Laura practically leapt on her the moment she returned to the kitchen. “He still out there?” she demanded in an angry whisper.



Something about it annoyed Helen, and she intentionally answered in a normal volume, “Who, Eddie?”



“Shhh!” Laura stole a peek through the pass-through, staring in his direction for more than a few seconds. “Good Lord, how many coffees can one man drink?”



Helen took a step toward the door. “Want me to go ask?”



Laura swung to face her, pinning her with a flat stare. “Do you have a problem?”



Helen feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”



“I thought we girls were supposed to stick together.”



She laughed at the concept as she went to unload the industrial dishwasher. “I didn’t realize we were on the same team.” She had to step back to avoid the cloud of scalding hot steam—some women went to the spa for facials; Helen unloaded dishes.



Laura looked momentarily flustered. “Well…we are. On the same team.”



Sorrow chimed in, “Give him a break. I’m pretty sure Eddie’s bad-boy days are way behind him.”



“Still,” Laura said, “I try to steer clear of men like that.”



“Mm-hm,” Helen acknowledged, but it was mostly to be polite. She didn’t look away from the sturdy white dinner plates as she got into a rhythm, systematically drying and stacking them in the cabinet. “I’m sure you do.”



“What does that mean?” Laura’s voice came out a squeak.



Helen thought on it a moment. She was concentrating on her work. The comment hadn’t meant anything, not really. And anyway, since when did what she thought matter one bit to Laura Bailey? Helen was way too tired and full of her own problems to craft double meanings or spend her time psychoanalyzing the girl. Seemed like Laura made drama for herself, while there she was, drowning in crises not of her own making.



Stay away from men like that. Eddie was a good and simple man, and just then, good and simple seemed like heaven. She put down her dishrag, and, letting out a gusty sigh, she met Laura’s eyes. “Honey, what I wouldn’t do for a man like Eddie.” When the Bailey girl shuddered, she gave her a wicked smile. “Come on. He’s cute.”