A Change in Altitude (6 page)

“Don't forget the wonderful man who loves you.”

“Oh yeah, him, too.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss him, a long, satisfying kiss that might have turned into more if she hadn't pulled away.

“Seriously,” she said. “If you'd told me two years ago that I'd end up living near my mother, I'd have spit in your face. She and I never got along.”

“Sometimes you have to grow up to appreciate your parents.”

“Yeah.” She reluctantly straightened and began gathering up the cardboard and plastic the cabinets had been packed in. D. J. returned to attaching the cabinet hardware.

“Hey, speaking of unexpected family relationships, have you met Jameso's sister?” she asked.

“The new librarian, right? I saw her when I stopped by to pick up Lucas the other day. She looks like Jameso.”

“Divorced, one kid, new in town—she reminds me of me.” Olivia hoped for her sake that Sharon hadn't been as messed up. Olivia had been running away from the only man who'd really loved her, planning to hide out in the mountains for a while to lick her wounds. She'd thought she was tough and smart, and that she knew what was best for herself and her son. She'd turned out to be wrong on so many levels.

“She getting settled in okay?” D. J. asked.

“I guess. She and her daughter are living in Jameso's place and he moved in with Maggie.”

“That's going to be a tight fit when the baby's born.”

“They're looking for a place to live, but I guess they're not having any luck.”

“We were lucky to get this place.”

She looked around the kitchen again. They'd replaced all the cabinets, the sink, and the appliances, and refinished the original wood floor, which had been covered with ugly gray linoleum. D. J. had poured concrete for the countertops, which sounded so industrial but ended up looking great. In other rooms, they'd plastered, rewired, and replumbed. “Yeah, the old dump is shaping up,” she said. “I can't wait until we move in—the three of us, together. Lucas is so excited he can hardly stand it. He worships you, you know.”

“I'm crazy about him, too. And about you.” He finished attaching the last piece of hardware and shut the cabinet door.

“It looks great,” she said, as he pulled her to his side once more.

He kissed her again. “When are you going to let me make an honest woman of you?”

She forced herself not to fidget. “You know I want to get married,” she said. “It's just a matter of timing. I don't want anything fancy, but I feel like I need to do something special—for my mom, and for Lucas, too. And we've been so busy with the house and everything. . . .”

“I know, but the house is almost done. And whatever we do, it will be special.”

She nodded. “I promise, I'll decide on a date soon. I won't keep you waiting forever.”

His expression grew more tense. “There's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Her heart beat a little faster. “What is that?”

“First, are you going to change your name when we get married? You don't have to,” he rushed to add before she could even answer. “Whatever you want is cool with me.”

“I don't know. I'd kind of like to be Mrs. Gruber, old-fashioned as that might be. And if we have a baby . . .”

“I hope we will have babies. As many as you want.”

She did squirm then, shifting from foot to foot. She couldn't help it; she wanted nothing more than to have D. J.'s baby. “Then
when
we have a baby, Theriot-Gruber is too much of a mouthful. But Lucas's name is Theriot, and I don't want him to feel left out.”

“That's what I want to talk to you about.” He smoothed his hand down her back. “I'd really like to adopt him . . . if that's okay with you.”

“Oh, D. J.” She couldn't speak for the knot of tears that rose in her throat. “That's wonderful. Have you said anything to Lucas?”

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I think it's a wonderful idea. And I think he'll be thrilled. But you should ask him, to make sure.”

“I will, now that I know it's okay with you.” He straightened, the strain gone from his face. “Okay, now that that's settled, back to work. Have you seen the tape measure? I need to measure the bathrooms again and make sure that new vanity is going to fit.”

“The last time I saw it, it was on the end of the counter.” They both looked in the direction she indicated, but there was no sign of the tape measure. He began to laugh.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“I'm just trying to imagine what a ghost would want with a tape measure.”

M
aggie studied her reflection critically in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. The white lace dress, which Barb had promised would float over her baby bump, making her look goddess-like and alluring and not fat, clung in all the wrong places. “I look like I swallowed a beach ball,” she said to no one in particular. She'd deliberately waited until she was alone for this little fashion show.

With difficulty, she reached back and slid down the zipper on the dress and picked up the next candidate. This one was pink—a color Barb had declared would emphasize Maggie's “glow” and featured ruffles around the neck “to draw attention to your face.” Unfortunately, that face was forty years old and beginning to sag, not the dewy twenty-something the maternity designers had probably had in mind. Maggie shook her head and began to wrestle her way out of reject number two.

Maybe she'd get married in maternity jeans and the extra-large “Eureka! Colorado's Great Discovery” T-shirt she'd won at the Chamber of Commerce mixer last month. Jameso could wear his Dirty Sally T-shirt, and all the guests could sport the slogan or logo of their choice. No fuss, and they'd all be so busy reading each other's chests they wouldn't notice the pregnant woman at the front of the room.

She studied the next candidate—a cream colored summer-weight wool suit that probably cost a month's salary. The color made her think of vanilla ice cream, which set her mouth to watering. Did they have any Blue Bell left in the freezer?

A timid tapping on the front door made her jump. She reached for her robe, and waited for the sound to repeat itself. Was that someone knocking or just a flicker attacking a knothole in the cabin's siding?

The knock came again—definitely the door. With a sigh, she sashed the robe over her belly and waddled into the front room.

“Oh, hello, Maggie.” Sharon looked like a startled rabbit—all big dark eyes and twitching nose. “I'm looking for Jameso.”

“He's at work. But come on in.” She held the door open wider.

Sharon squeezed between Maggie and a stack of half-packed boxes. A backpack and camping equipment fought for space with a half-assembled baby bed and a lamp with its shade knocked askew. “Excuse the mess,” Maggie said. “Things have been sort of crazy around here.”

“No thanks to me, I'm sure. I feel terrible, intruding on you this way.” Sharon shoved her hands in her pockets and looked everywhere but at Maggie.

“You're not intruding. I've been meaning to get by to see you. How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“How's the job?”

“Good.”

“That's good.” She waited, but Sharon didn't elaborate. This wasn't exactly the heart-to-heart between soon-to-be sisters-in-law that Maggie had hoped for.

“So, Jameso's at the Dirty Sally?” Sharon asked.

“No, he's at his other job, with Mountain View Tours?” At Sharon's blank look, she added, “He's a driver and guide for a Jeep tour company in the summer. It's too early for tourists yet, but they had some kind of meeting. Is there something I can help you with?”

Sharon chewed her lower lip. “You're going to think I'm really stupid,” she said after a long silence.

Nervous, standoffish, maybe shy. But not stupid. “I won't, I promise.”

“I need to find a place to live. A house or apartment to rent, I mean. I feel terrible, kicking Jameso out of his house. Now that I have a job, I can afford a place of my own.”

“As long as you're not looking for anything very big—pickings are a little slim right now. Jameso and I have been looking for a place to move into together for months now.”

“Two bedrooms would be nice, but it doesn't have to be big or fancy. And I don't have to be right in town. Alina and I are used to living out in the country.”

“I can introduce you to my real-estate agent,” Maggie said. “I'm sure she'd be happy to help. And there's nothing stupid about wanting your own place.”

“It's not that, it's just—” Her voice faded.

“Just what?”

“I've never rented my own place before.” Her face reddened. “I don't know what I need to do, what I should watch out for. I don't even know how to get the electricity turned on or the phone connected.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I'm thirty-one years old and I've never even had my own checking account. Isn't that pathetic?”

“Maybe a little unusual, but you can learn about those things. Why don't we sit down?” She moved a pile of magazines from one end of the sofa and Jameso's shirt from the other, and motioned for Sharon to join her. “Jameso said you married young. I take it your husband took care of the money.”

“Yes.” She perched on the edge of the sofa, as if prepared to spring up again at the slightest alarm. “What did Jameso tell you about Joe?”

“He said he didn't know him well.”

“He didn't like him. It's all right. None of the family did. I think that's why I liked him, at first. My father hated him, but Joe was bigger and tougher than my dad. He was the first man I'd met who would actually stand up to our father, and that impressed me.”

“And he promised to take care of you,” Maggie said.

“Yes!” Sharon's eyes widened. “How did you know?”

Maggie shrugged. “It makes sense—if you were afraid of your father and someone promised to protect you, of course you'd want to be with him.”

“Joe did protect me. And I didn't mind that he took care of all the money and business stuff. I wasn't interested in all that.” She waved her hand, as if brushing aside a pesky fly. “And I don't want you to think I'm useless; I can do a lot of things. I can shoot a gun as well as any man, dress a deer, make bread and candles, and tell poisonous mushrooms from ones that are good to eat.”

“There are plenty of people around here who would be impressed with those accomplishments,” Maggie said. “I can't do any of those things. When I first came to Eureka, I had to learn how to build a fire in a wood stove, how to start a snowmobile, how to walk in snowshoes, and a lot of other things.”

Sharon wrinkled her nose. “All the things I can do are fine if you want to pretend you're still living in the nineteenth century, but they're not much use in the twenty-first.”

“You know how to use a computer.” It had been one of the requirements for the library job, apparently.

“Oh, yes. Even living off the grid, we had Internet. That was the one modern invention Joe approved of. Well, that and automatic weapons.”

Maggie must have looked as confused as she felt. “I guess you'd call Joe a survivalist,” Sharon said. “A prepper. He and his friends thought civilization as we know it was going to end any day now—and good riddance to it. They were going to hole up in their compound and start over with their own rules.”

Maggie had heard of these survivalist groups—some were even rumored to live in the mountains around Eureka. But she'd always pictured them as single men. Never women and children—families.

“Is that why you left?” she asked. “Because you didn't want to live that way?”

“I didn't mind at first. I like living in the country and I enjoy doing things for myself, like baking bread. The last few years I homeschooled the children and I enjoyed that, too, spending so much time with them. For a long time the prepper thing was just something Joe did on weekends. We still lived close to town and he worked in a factory that made skis. The kids belonged to 4-H and went to the local school. I volunteered at the local library. We were a pretty average family.”

“And that changed?” Maggie asked.

She nodded. “About five years ago, Joe started hanging out with a different group—more hard-core and radical. He quit his job and we moved farther out. The kids couldn't go to school anymore. We were supposed to be completely self-sufficient. I didn't like it and we argued more.” She pressed her lips together.

“That would be hard,” Maggie said.

“Yes, too hard.” She sighed. “One day I took Alina and went to a hotel in a nearby town. I tried to convince my son, Adan, to come with me, but he refused. I was afraid to wait any longer, so Alina and I left. I had some money I had saved and I paid a lawyer to file for divorce.”

“Where did you get the money?” Maggie asked. “I mean, if you didn't work outside the home and your husband controlled the finances?”

She smiled. “I made money writing for different Web sites on the Internet. I put everything I made into an online savings account Joe didn't know about. That's how I found the lawyer, too—online. She was very good. She threatened to report Joe to the police—he had some illegal weapons and hunted without a license. He didn't believe in paying taxes or having a driver's license or anything like that. If she'd pressed charges, she could have sent him to jail for a long time. Instead, she persuaded him to agree to a divorce.”

Her face clouded. “But I couldn't force him to give up Adan, not unless Adan wanted to come with me. He didn't.”

“That must have been heartbreaking for you.” Maggie's own heart hurt, thinking of this mother having to give up her child.

Sharon nodded.

“You don't sound stupid to me at all,” Maggie said. “You sound like a very smart, resourceful woman.”

“Thank you. I am, I guess—but it's hard. Doing everything by myself.” She shrugged. “I guess I thought by coming here I'd have Jameso to help me. I can see now that wasn't very realistic. He has you and the baby to think about.” She stood. “And I've taken enough of your time. I'd better go.”

“No, stay.” She didn't want them to part on this sad note. “As long as you're here, I could use your opinion.”

“What do you need my opinion about?” Sharon looked wary.

“I'm trying to choose a wedding dress. Come look.”

Maggie led the way into the bedroom, where several dresses were strewn across the bed. “They're from my friend Barb—you met her the first day you were in town—she owns the new bed-and-breakfast that's due to open this summer?”

“I remember Barb.”

Maggie laughed. “Barb's a hard woman to forget. She and I have known each other for twenty years, at least. She's married to an oil executive in Houston and wastes more money than I've ever made, so when she said she wanted to buy my wedding dress, I agreed.”

Sharon reached out and touched the soft, cool fabric of a pink dress, the color of apple blossoms. “They're all beautiful,” she said.

“I'm at the point where I think I look awful in everything,” Maggie said. “So I could really use an honest opinion.”

“I remember that feeling.” Sharon transferred her attention from the dresses to Maggie. “You look really great. Not all bloated and blotchy like I was.”

“I feel bloated and blotchy.” Maggie sat on the end of the bed. “I was nineteen when I married my first husband. I wore a white lace dress from the wedding department at J. C. Penney and a veil I'd made out of tulle, white satin roses, a hair band, and hot glue. I weighed one hundred and eight pounds soaking wet.”

“I didn't realize you were married before. Do you have any children?”

“No, my ex didn't want any and I let him convince me that that's what I wanted, too.” She rubbed her hand back and forth over her swollen belly. “When I found out I was pregnant, I couldn't believe it.”

“How did Jameso take the news?”

“He fainted.”

Sharon couldn't keep back the laughter. “He fainted?”

Maggie laughed, too. “He swears hearing about the baby had nothing to do with it, but of course it did. He was living the ideal life: single, working just enough to pay for beer and gas for his motorcycle—no ties, no commitments.”

Sharon sobered. “But he's sticking by you and the baby.”

“Oh, he loves me,” Maggie said. “I'm sure of that. And this is probably what he needed to settle down. But we didn't exactly plan anything. I never thought I'd be forty and pregnant and planning a wedding.”

Sharon did the math in her head—Maggie was eight years older than Jameso. She was watching Sharon, waiting for a reaction to this revelation. “Joe was twelve years older than me,” Sharon said. “I was barely fifteen when we got married.” A lifetime ago.

Maggie's eyes widened. “You were a baby!”

“I was. And the thought of Alina marrying at that age makes me break out in hives.” She sat on the bed next to Maggie, careful not to crush the dresses. “I was so desperate to change my life. Even without planning, you and Jameso are in much better shape than I was.”

“Jameso doesn't like to talk about the past, but he did say the two of you had it hard growing up.” Maggie's voice was soft and she spoke slowly, as if searching for the right words. “You did what you had to do, and you turned out all right.”

Sharon nodded. “I guess so.” She turned and studied the dresses. “Which one of these do you like the best?” She didn't want to talk about Joe anymore. The subject made her so tired.

“I can't decide,” Maggie said. “What do you think? I can try them on, if you like.”

Sharon considered the options and tried to picture them on Maggie's small frame. “What time of day is the wedding?” she asked.

“Morning. With brunch afterward. I know that's unusual, but I know I'll be too nervous to wait all day, and there's less chance of rain in the mountains in the morning.”

“A morning wedding will be nice. I think the suit, then.” She smoothed a hand down the cream-colored wool. “The others are too frilly and girlish. Not that you wouldn't look pretty in them, but you seem classier. The suit will look dressy and beautiful.”

“You're right.” Maggie let out a long sigh. “I thought that one looked the best of the three, but I wasn't sure. Thank you. You've been a big help. I'll tell Barb to send the other two back.”