Chapter 9
SIERRA ATTENDED A couple of meetings and they helped. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but she always came away with a feeling of peace and comfort as if her decision was reaffirmed. It hadn’t always been that way. In the early days she fought it hard, got all stirred up and anxious, but eventually she looked forward to a good meeting, knowing something would be said or done that would set her right.
She stopped at the Leadville bookstore and bought a copy of Wuthering Heights, more determined than ever to have it now.
One day she took Molly with her to a meeting, but she wiggled so much they had to leave. “You’ll never pass that one off as a service animal,” Moody said.
“No kidding,” Sierra agreed.
When Sierra and Molly were alone together, the dog was calm and quiet and so sweet. One thing that troubled Sierra was that there were times, though rare, when she lifted her hand to pet Molly and Molly flinched a little. Ducked. And Sierra was sure she knew what that meant.
When it was Sierra, Sully and Beau around her, Molly was quiet and only a little playful, trying to nudge Beau into some frolicking or leaning up against Sully to beg a pet. Molly was a cuddle bug. She now had her own blanket that Sierra spread on the bed to keep all those golden hairs off the comforter and it became hers, so that wherever the blanket was spread, whether on the porch or the backseat of the pumpkin, Molly thought of it as her place.
Of course Molly was young and still got in trouble. She got into Sully’s garden and ravaged some vegetables, digging up to her shoulders before Sully caught her. Luckily there weren’t many fatalities and she hadn’t gotten Sully’s prized tomatoes. She ate a few more socks, kept jumping in the lake and coming out all full of mud and weeds, and barked too much when she was left alone. “She has separation anxiety,” Sierra told Sully.
Sierra and Molly took comfort in each other. They were both in need of a friend, a safe harbor, a confidante. Sometimes Sierra told Molly secrets and Molly listened attentively, showing Sierra those sad, deep eyes, indicating she understood and sympathized.
Sierra and Molly were in the hammock together, Molly’s head in the crook of Sierra’s arm, gently swaying, when Connie snuck up on them.
“Are you reading to that dog?” he asked.
Sierra and Molly both jumped in surprise and Sierra closed her book while Molly started wiggling and struggling to get out of the hammock. But Connie just started petting her behind the ears and settled her.
“She likes it when I read to her,” Sierra said.
“Do you, Molly?” he asked the dog. But the traitor dog just leaned into Connie’s big, loving hands and moaned in ecstasy. “What are you reading to her?”
“Wuthering Heights,” she said. “Bet you don’t even know what that is!”
Connie sighed. “Okay, so it wasn’t my imagination—you’re cranky. You’ve been moody all week and I’m done having fun with this. Is something wrong? You have PMS or something? You mad at me?”
“No,” she said, a little meekly. “No to all of that, but yes, I’ve been a little on the quiet side because I’ve been thinking. About you, as a matter of fact.”
He grinned like he’d just won something. “Is that so? Can’t get me off your mind?”
“Not exactly,” she said, making a face. “If you can be serious, I’ll confide in you. If you’re going to screw around, I have nothing more to say.”
He walked around to the front of the hammock and squeezed onto it, pulling all sixty-five pounds of Molly onto his lap. He leaned back, settled in and said, “Stop being so bitchy, Sierra. I didn’t do anything wrong. And you know it.”
She sighed. She knew it, he was right. She took a breath. “If we’re going to be friends, there are a couple of things you should know. For starters, I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated.”
He shrugged. “We might put that in the plus column.”
“The Jones kids have always known we were different. I was born in a bus, for God’s sake. Well, not officially—officially I was born in a clinic. Being the fourth child, I guess I was in a hurry and Marissa, my mother, hated to leave my father for even a little while—he could go off the deep end if she wasn’t around. So when she was about to drop me, she went into the free clinic and...well, I didn’t grow up the way most people do.”
“I think none of us did,” he said.
“And also...well, I’m an alcoholic.”
“Oh?” he asked. “I’ve never even seen you drink.”
“I’m recovering. Just recently made a year of sobriety. That’s it,” she said. “You should know that.”
“Why?”
“It’s a significant part of who I am.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “How’s that likely to affect our friendship?” And then he added in an undertone, “Such as it is.”
“I go to AA meetings and I don’t drink alcohol. For a long time I didn’t even use mouthwash that had any alcohol content.”
He sat forward in the hammock a little and Molly instantly put her head on his chest so he could pet her. “Hey, is that why you wouldn’t take the pain meds?”
“That’s exactly why,” she said. “But it worked out that I was just fine with the anti-inflammatories and ice. But see—I’m not just your average girl. I had a complicated childhood and as it turns out, I have a complicated adulthood.”
“Okay,” he said. “Is this worrying you?”
“What?”
“Telling me this stuff?”
“Yes. No. I mean, think about it—we don’t have much in common.”
He scratched Molly behind the ears, and she snuggled closer. Molly moaned almost seductively.
“And if my dog likes you better than me, you are banned!”
He couldn’t help but laugh at her. “Is this why you’ve been so cranky? Because you thought we should have this heart-to-heart?”
“I thought you should know some of the more private and personal stuff about me before you get in too deep. And it’s just not easy to do, okay?”
“So you were almost born in a bus, you don’t drink or take pain pills, you go to AA meetings and you’re very particular about who your dog loves best. Feel better now?” he asked.
“Not very,” she said.
“Are we going to get in too deep?” he asked hopefully.
“You really don’t get it, do you? I’m not like you!”
“Why would I want someone like me? Oh—hey—does it bother you if someone has a drink around you? Like should I be careful not to drink a beer because it might—you know—make you drool with longing or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “It only bothers me to be around people who are getting toasted and obnoxious. Sully has his bedtime drink at night and I have tea and we’re very compatible. In fact, he’s the best friend I’ve had in a long while.”
“You have good taste,” Connie said. “Sully is good people. So, now can we go on a date?”
“What for?” she asked.
“For something to do,” he said, turning Molly a bit so he could scratch her tummy.
Sierra started to scratch her tummy, too, and Molly stretched her neck and back legs, offering more of herself to be massaged. “I feel like you’re not taking this seriously,” Sierra said. “I’m an alcoholic with a very untidy history who has had troubled relationships and you’re just a guy who wants a date with the wrong girl. Think. Use your head.”
His hand stopped moving and she looked up. Those blue eyes were boring into her. “Thank you for telling me. It’s brave of you to tell me personal and private things. But here’s what I’d like. I’d like to go do some fun stuff so we’re having a good time while we get to know each other better. I like what I know about you so far and you like what you know about me because you act like it and because it put you in a terrible mood worrying about telling me personal stuff. I figure that’s because it’s important to you that I like you. And I do, so let’s not worry about that anymore. And after we have some time together and you believe that I like you for yourself, your totally unlike-anybody-else self, who was almost born in a bus and can’t get near liquor, then maybe we’ll get closer and make out like teenagers. That would be good.”
She was quiet for a minute. “Oh, that was smooth, Conrad.”
“I guess I’m not like the other guys you know because I’m not real smooth with the girls,” he said.
“Sully said you’ve always got a girl,” she informed him.
“That’s not true at all. I mean, I go out with girls sometimes. Okay, I go out with girls a lot. But they’re not, you know, relationships.”
“Do you have sex with them?”
“I haven’t had sex in so long I forget which armpit it’s under.”
She burst out laughing in spite of herself. “That could be your problem...”
“I’d like to have it with you, though,” he said.
She looked at him in wonder. “Do you always say exactly what’s on your mind?”
“I told you. You should know that by now—I’m pretty much an open book. No good moves. But here’s what we have in common. We both had some bad experiences with the opposite sex, even though I don’t know what kind yours were. But you told me—you can’t pick ’em. Me either, apparently. I figure that’s a really good place to start.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. We’re two people who really like each other but are a little unsure about things like getting involved. Because we’ve had some bad luck. So here’s how I think it should go. We’ll hang out some more, kiss some, maybe hold on to each other for a while and get all worked up and decide, what’s wrong with taking it a little further? It’ll be soft and sweet and we’ll get wrapped around each other till we can’t breathe. If it was winter and if we were in the truck—that little car of yours is out of the question—we’d steam up the windows big-time. It would be better if we were somewhere private, lying down, though. So then we’ll do it. If we do it, it will be so good we’ll talk about it for years because we were two people who thought we might not ever match up but we did. What do you think of that?”
She was speechless. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Did you make that up all by yourself?” she finally asked.
“All by myself,” he said.
“And you think we’d be good together?”
“Epic,” he said, smiling.
“No,” she said.
“It was worth a try,” he said. Then he laughed and kissed the dog on her head. “Molly wants me, that’s obvious.” He put his big hand on Sierra’s head and ruffled her hair as if she were a kid. “How’s the ankle feeling?”
“Good, as a matter of fact. This week I get to put a little weight on it and if I have no problems, I can go back to work.”
He put his hand on her thigh. “Listen, I should’ve asked before, is there anything you need—like a loan or something? It must be kind of hard being out of work for so long. I’m sure you don’t get comped at the diner, especially it not being a work-related injury.”
“A loan?” she repeated. “Really?”
“I didn’t even think of it until now,” he said. “You’ve got expenses and probably doctor bills and you’re out of work. I have some savings and no worries if it takes you a while on the repayment.”
Again, she couldn’t find her voice. “Connie, you keep blindsiding me. A loan? No, I’m okay. I have some savings, too. And I’m still helping Sully, though not as much as I was—but I can sit behind that counter and ring up sales all day and night. And if I run into trouble, there’s always Cal.”
“I thought of that, but he’s got that house. I built a house—it can really be a pocket suck.”
“You built a house?”
“Uh-huh. The one I live in. Just outside of town. I put money down on some land when I was just a kid—I was twenty-two. I’m still paying on it. It’ll be paid for when I’m forty-two. And the house—when I’m a hundred and ninety.”
“Must be some house,” she said.
“It’s a pretty simple house, but I’m a firefighter. We do all right, but we’re not rolling in dough, though some of ’em act like they are. Thing is, it wouldn’t put me out to help if you need it.”
“Conrad Boyle, I think you must be about the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”
He grinned at her. “See, you’re coming around. That’s good.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Sierra, I’ve had ideas since about the minute I met you. I figure it’s only a matter of time.”
“Is that why you offered me a loan?”
He made a face. “Of course not. I thought you might need a hand, that’s all. That’s how you treat friends, Sierra. Don’t be a pill.”
“I do like you, Connie. That’s why I wanted to be honest with you. I’ve had a lot of problems over the past few years—most of which I made myself. I’m going to be working my way out of them for a long time. I think you could do better than me.”
“That’s very nice of you to warn me, Sierra. Now let me make up my own mind about stuff like that. And you make up yours. What you see is what you get.”
And there’s really nothing better than that, she found herself thinking.
* * *
He was completely serious and she knew it. Connie Boyle wanted to be her boyfriend. And frankly, she didn’t know when she’d had an offer so good. He was completely unfazed by her confessions and seemed to like her just the same. He was, in fact, the first normal guy she’d been attracted to since she was about fourteen.
Over the next couple of weeks, just in the course of conversation, she learned something else about him that should have been obvious from the beginning. He’d been a firefighter for seven years. And a paramedic and a search and rescue volunteer almost as long. It was in his nature to help, to serve. But also—he’d seen some stuff. Some ugly stuff.
“It’s a little town, but we have a big highway, some vast rural land, huge mountains and a lot of people passing through. The police handle the crime but we usually get the mop-up—after a crash or suicide or even homicide, except we haven’t had one of those in a long time. If you think just because it’s a small and friendly place that nothing interesting happens, think again. All people have complicated lives, get in trouble, have problems and emergencies. We’re a busy little fire department.”
He had a medic’s knowledge and perspective. His stories were daring and fascinating. One of their search and rescue guys fell out of a helicopter and was killed—they spent hours looking for his body. It was a freak accident—the guy with the best balance and safety record in the state somehow slid right out of the chopper. Then there was the time some dipshit blew up a house because of an unsettled debt and blew up himself in the process; he was cut in half, his upper body up in a tree three hundred yards from his lower body. An old man died alone while eating a bowl of spaghetti and it was a while before someone realized he might be sick or dead. Hikers and campers were continually lost; farmers and ranchers had mishaps with heavy equipment. They rescued a seventeen-year-old from a grain silo—usually a death sentence but they got him out. They even tracked a fugitive once—that was dicey. He was wanted, they worried about the complications of actually catching him, though he was supposed to be unarmed. “Someone just decided to cut our losses and punched him in the face. Knocked him out cold. No one can remember who did it. But he’s behind bars again.”
“No one can remember who did it? Did it ever occur to you to check the knuckles in the firehouse?”
With a twinkle in his eye he said, “I guess not.”
Sierra lived for stories of his work and she realized her first impression of him was correct—he was a pretty simple man with some shining qualities. He was honest and loyal, and he was incredibly gentle, especially with Molly. Yet there was no doubting his profound strength. She began to think of him as her gentle giant.
One day he showed up around lunchtime and asked her if she could go for a short hike. She told him that might be pushing her luck on her ankle and he said, “I thought we’d go piggyback and take the dogs. Just a half mile. Maybe less.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t had my workout today and...well, it’s a good way to stay in shape and get close to you. Let’s go. Just a half mile, come on.”
It was his plot from the beginning, to get her up against his body like that, and they talked while he hiked. Then he put her down to rest and pulled her around to his front, put his hands on her waist and said, “Come on, Sierra. Quit stalling.”
She put her arms around his neck and met his lips softly. Then she pulled him tighter and went in for the kill, kissing that sweet mouth of his like a starving woman. She moved over his mouth with passion, letting him tongue her lips apart as he lifted her off her feet. The spectacular kiss didn’t stop until Molly barked. He broke away from her lips, but didn’t set her back on her feet.
“Hello,” he said.
“You planned that.”
“Very well, it seems.”
“It was just a kiss,” she told him.
“One of the best I’ve had,” he said. “Hit me again.”
She did. Because the best part of him was that he was playful. And she was a little hooked on it.
She hadn’t been kissed in such a long time and kissed so thoroughly—maybe never. What would Moody say? But no—she was not telling Moody or anyone. She was just going to enjoy Connie while she could, before any new disasters befell her.
He put her on her feet. “Told you,” he said. “Good idea.”
“Well,” she said, breathless. “That’s where the ideas stop. I’m not going any further with you.”
“Water please,” he said. She handed him a bottle and he took a long drink, then shared with the dogs. “Ahh,” he said. “Take your time, Sierra. I’m stronger than I look. I can wait you out. But I bet pretty soon we’re going to do it.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “But a word of advice—that armpit thing you’ve got ideas about? Forget it.”
And he roared with laughter.
* * *
Tom Canaday took a potted geranium to Lola’s house. Except for the time ten years ago or so that he did a little remodel work for her on the house, he hadn’t been there. He’d been aware of the place, though. It sat on the high part of town and Lola had lived in it with her kids since the boys were babies. They were still pretty young when she divorced and she stayed on.
From the talks they’d had in the diner or when he went to Home Depot where she also worked, he knew that she’d done many of the repairs and upgrades in the house herself. In fact, one of the reasons she loved working at Home Depot was her love of remodeling. The employee discount came in handy. Every time he’d driven by he admired the look of the place as only a man who’d done most of the building and remodeling of his own could.
It was Sunday afternoon, his kids had all scattered and knew they had to be home by five for dinner. He hadn’t mentioned to Lola that he’d be dropping by and he expected either no one would be home or everyone would be and he’d be interrupting family time, two teenage boys bouncing off the walls.
His hands trembled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this. Never, he thought. Never, because he’d married Becky when he was just a kid and had never in his adult life courted a woman. He rang the bell, but all was silent inside. He waited, but there was no sound, no movement.
Just as well. He put the potted plant on the table between two wicker chairs on the porch and headed down the steps. There was no card or anything. Sometime next week he’d tell her he was the one who left it.
“Tom?”
He jumped in surprise. Lola came around the corner of the house. She wore rolled-up jeans, an oversize man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sneakers and gardening gloves. Her dark hair was pulled back and covered with a straw hat.
“You scared me!” he said.
“Did you ring the bell?”
He nodded. “I brought you a plant,” he said.
“You did? Why?”
He shrugged, feeling kind of dumb. “There were a couple of them on sale at the garden store so I got one for myself and one for you. I should’ve called. But, I... Ah, I can’t stay anyway.”
“Of course you can stay,” she said, coming up on the porch. “This is lovely, thank you. And perfect. I love geraniums.” She pulled off her gloves. “Let’s have a glass of lemonade, shall we?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Not really. The boys are fishing with my dad and won’t be home till sunset. I was in the garden—I have some nice vegetables coming in. I’ll go in and get us some drinks. Is the porch okay? The weather’s so nice, I hate to waste it inside.”
“The porch is great,” he said. And then he breathed a giant sigh of relief, which she caught because she laughed.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
He waited patiently. He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy when all he wanted in the world was for once in his life to be a little slick with a lady. And so he laughed to himself—who was he kidding? He’d never been like that. In fact, he didn’t really want to be. He sure hadn’t bought a red geranium in an attempt to sweep Lola off her feet.
“It might not be as sweet as you like it,” she said as she was coming out the door with a tray and something under her arm. She held the tray with two glasses and a plate in one hand and with the other, snapped open a small serving table. She put it in front of them, set down the tray and took the chair opposite him. “You really have good timing—I was about ready for a break.” She handed him a glass. “I think this is the first time you’ve been to my house.”
“I did some work in the kitchen for you about ten years ago or so,” he said.
“That’s right, now I remember. That was a long time ago,” she said with a laugh. She took a drink from her glass. “This is a nice surprise. Thank you for the plant.”
“I should’ve called,” he said again.
“Why’d you come over?” she asked. “I mean, this has never happened before.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Wait, I don’t know why I said that. I do know why. We always have nice conversations when I stop at Home Depot or the diner for coffee, but it’s always busy. Half the time we can’t finish a sentence because someone needs you for something. Or else someone else wants to be in the conversation. And I started thinking, maybe I should really take you out to a movie, but then we wouldn’t get to talk, either. I thought it would be nice to have a conversation sometime without you being at work.” He sipped the lemonade. “This is good. Um, we’re both divorced. I know a lot of women and then again, not very many.”
“Now that makes very little sense,” she said.
“I don’t have any real close friends, that’s all. When I think about who I’m comfortable with, the people who come to mind are Sully, Maggie, Cal, a few of the guys around town. And you. I’ve been divorced a long time now.”
“But, really?” she asked. “Really divorced? Because from what little I know, you and Becky were together regularly...”
“That was my mistake,” he said.
She waited.
“I was treating it like a time-out when it was not a time-out—it was a divorce. I would be so far ahead if I’d treated it like one.”
“That’s a little vague.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize there were other men in her life. I was naive. I wish I’d known and I wish I’d moved on a long time ago.”
“What do you want, Tom?” she asked.
He looked at her. He realized he loved looking at her. “Oh God, Lola, I don’t want anything! I mean, I have no expectations, I don’t. But we’re a lot alike. We’re single, we’ve been working at least two jobs, raising our kids on our own, no spouses, no significant others. I mean, you never said...”
“I’ve dated, but—”
“We both get help from our parents sometimes. And I have a brother who’s always there for me and you have a sister, but... I don’t want anything,” he said again. “I just know I feel comfortable with you and it’s nice to have a woman friend. Maggie’s a friend but we don’t ever have long conversations or anything, we don’t talk about our lives. You and I—we talk about our lives. Our families, our folks, our kids, how aggravating it can be sometimes when there’s no other parent in the house to back us up. We talk about this carpool nonsense, getting the kids everywhere they have to go. I don’t have anyone else in my life like you. It’s...it’s comfortable. I finally broke away from that dead marriage and realized you’re the only person of the opposite sex I enjoy spending time with.”
“That’s very nice, Tom, but I’ve worked very hard to have an independent life, the kind I actually like. I’m not interested in dating. I don’t want a boyfriend. I get along just fine without a lover.”
That made him smile. “That’s good. I don’t think I’m a candidate for any of those jobs. Could we just be friends?”
“We’ve been friends for years!”
“I know! Don’t you think it’s a little weird the only time we ever talk is when you’re at work?”
“It’s where I am!”
“And you’re also here. So, Lola, how’s school going?”
She sighed as if she found this clumsy. “I’m taking a little time off. Summer, you know—though I could pick up some classes if I wanted to. But with the kids around more...”
“How long before you get your degree? Elementary ed, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” she said. “I think it’s practical. I love kids, I’m actually very good with them. When it was time to choose a major, it was the best I could do. I should have a career, right? Something to take me into retirement. Something to spend my next twenty years on so I have a pension of some kind.”
“I guess so.”
“Have you ever thought about that?”
“About teaching school?” he said. He laughed. “After all the years of homework I’ve invested in, I probably could. If I spend about twenty more years doing seasonal work for the county, I’ll qualify for a pension. My work schedule is pretty crazy, so many different jobs, but it works for me with four kids to chase around.”
“You like it, though?” she asked.
“Oh, I love it. I do a little of everything. I do chores for Sully in summer, I do a lot of building, mostly interiors. I plow, I pick up trash, mow fields, paint houses, do roadwork—you name it. Every day can be a new job and believe it or not, I like ’em all. Even the garbage pickup. Right now I’m almost full-time at Cal’s house—foreman on his project, which means I do some of the work myself, some we hire subs, some we work with the subs. I have to keep some days open for the county and for my friends.”
“How do you keep track of it all?”
“We have a very detailed calendar. Not only do I have to keep track of jobs, the kids have to know where I am and I have to know where they are. If everyone keeps an eye on the calendar, it somehow works. I haven’t misplaced a kid yet, though I’ve come close.”
“How often do you have to get family to help?” she asked. “Because that’s the hard part for me. My mom and dad aren’t as young as they were and they still work, too.”
“I think I get help from my mom or dad or my brother almost every week. When we have to be two places at once, usually. I’d be lost without them. But I try hard as I can to give back. And so do the kids if I motivate them. As in—I promise not to hate them. Or ground them. Or confiscate phones. You know, there are two things those phones do for me that are priceless—they let the kids stay in touch so I always know where they are. And they’re great contraband for confiscation.” He laughed. “Those kids will do anything to keep their phones.”
“I know—I have the same situation. You know how I’d really love to spend my time till retirement? If money were no object?”
“How?”
“Flipping houses,” she said, grinning.
“As in—flipping houses?”
“As in, buying fixer-uppers, remodeling, selling them. Not only do I get a discount at Home Depot, you can’t imagine the stuff I’ve learned there.”
“I’ve done that twice,” he said. “Took way too much time, but if I could do it full-time, it could make money. I lost money on the first one but I learned a lot and doubled my money on the second one.”
“Have you ever thought about doing it again?” she asked brightly.
“Lola, I’m thinking about ways to make money all the time. Those kids aren’t going to stop eating up money until they qualify for Social Security.”
They talked about his remodel of his big house, his remodel jobs elsewhere; she talked about some of the work she’d done on her old house and how much she’d enjoyed the work. She had to hire help for some things but she was hands-on for most of it. She did her own landscaping and her garden was plentiful. Tom didn’t have time for much of a garden. Just keeping the yard looking decent was a big enough job and he had a big house on a small lot.
They talked about the stress of managing college tuition for the kids, how difficult it could be having an ex-spouse who wasn’t exactly on a visitation or support payment schedule, the guilt of needing to rely on family support.
And then it was four o’clock. Tom realized he’d been on her porch more than two hours, checking texts from kids now and then. “I better get going. I insisted everyone be home before five—we’re going to my folks for dinner.”
“And I have a chicken to burn for our dinner. I remodeled the bathroom almost totally by myself but I’m dangerous in the kitchen. Good cooks have to have time to putter and I’m always on the move.”
“I know what you mean.” He stood up. “You know when you asked me what I want?”
“Yeah?”
“This,” he said. “I wanted this. Thanks. It’s the best two hours I’ve had in a long time.”
“Well, go ahead and buy me another geranium sometime.”