From Here to There (24 page)

 "I don't know. I mean it's sounds good as far as I'm concerned, but Phillip's not here now, and I have no idea what his plans are."

 "Well, whether he comes or not, you come on over. I've got a chicken thawing, and I'll bake a pie. Make sure Dad comes."

 "It would save cooking," Helene said with a grin. "Of which I've done way too much lately."

 Amusement was in Nancy's voice. "I can’t believe you ever enjoyed cooking. I haven’t seen you as the domestic goddess sort."

 Helene looked down at the jeans on the sewing machine. "I never did, but the way things are going these days, I don't know much what I like or for that matter don't." That was an understatement; but after all, it was what she'd come to Montana to discover.

 "Sounds mysterious and a cue for me to ask what you have been doing that's got you so confused."

 "Except for keeping this house and cooking for three men," Helene said evasively, "I'm trying to work on writing an article for the newspaper. I figured if I can show them some wondrously talented essays, they'll hire me to write columns on a semi-regular basis. For the first one, I interviewed Doc Albertson. I'm amazed at that man's career. He's been delivering babies and doctoring people in this valley for over fifty years and still makes house calls."

 "Did you know he delivered my mother, me, and he'll deliver my baby."

 "Can I use that in my article?"

 "I don't see why not. Just don't put in the dates for me or my mother. She'd kill me if any of that got printed. She wants everybody to think she's still thirty-five and that I'm about to become a teen mother." Nancy laughed and added, "And we don't know the date for junior yet."

 After they hung up, Helene guided the heavy fabric through the sewing machine, stitching and restitching the seam. What would it be like to be expecting Phillip's baby? She shook her head and laughed at her foolishness. A month ago she'd only wanted an annulment. Life had seemed perplexing then, but somehow in that month it had become more complicated than she'd imagined possible. Now, she had a husband, who wasn't a husband. She'd made love in a way she'd only read about and certainly never dreamed really possible with any man let alone an un-husband. She was sitting here running a sewing machine but daydreaming about the man she'd run away from only a month before. Life couldn't get much more complex.

 The ringing of the phone proved her wrong. "Helene?"

 "Mother."

 "How are you, darling?"

 "Fine--and you?" She didn't want to ask because she knew it was bound to lead to a litany of complaints.

 "You haven't called me," her mother complained, her voice taking on that whining tone Helene remembered all too well.

 "I've been busy. A lot's going on out here."
Now why did I say that,
Helene grimaced to herself. It could only lead to the wrong questions. She didn't want to tell her mother about Phillip. Didn't even want her mother to know Phillip was in Montana, but she supposed now there would be no way around it. Her mother would never stop asking questions until she was satisfied she knew all there was to know.

 "Too busy to call your mother? I needed to talk to you. Do you know what your father's done now?"

 "I have no idea." Helene actually felt a surge of relief. If her mother complained enough about her father, she would forget to pry into Helene's life.

 "He's cut off my charge cards. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous in your life? I was so embarrassed when I went to Saks and they had to tell me. He didn't even have the courage or decency to tell me himself."

 "That was unfortunate, but why don't you just apply for your own cards?"

 Her mother made a sound of disgust. "That would be letting him win. Besides--Unfortunate? How could you use such a bland word to describe what he did to me? It was cruel and inhumane, but then what did I expect. I think it was Sharron's idea anyway."

 "You can't know that."

 "No, but she wants to make sure there's something left for her when she finally gets him." Her mother snickered. "After all, why else would she want a man who's thirty years older than she!"

 "I don't know how serious it is between them," Helene said, wondering why she didn't hang up.

 "Well," her mother said snidely, "even if it's very serious, she isn't getting a bargain. He's fifty-nine years old and... well he hasn't had all that much oomph anyway in recent years--if you know what I mean."

 Helene shook her head, holding the phone away from her ear as her mother went on with the list of complaints. Only when she heard a silence and a questioning tone did she put it back to her ear. "Rephrase that question," she asked in the way she'd learned helped her avoid getting caught at not listening.

 "I asked if you're seeing anyone while you're out there?"

 Helene scrunched up her face, wondering if there was a diplomatic way to tell your mother something was none of her business. Realizing her mother had enough grief to contend with, Helene said, "Mother, it’s only been a month."

“You won’t move on if you don’t date.”

“Well I had dinner with someone.” And made love with someone too.

 "Really?" Her mother's tone brightened. "I hope it isn't a cowboy or something,” she added with an anxious tone.

 Helene laughed, stalling for time as she tried to decide how much she wanted to tell her. If she so much as mentioned Phillip's name, her mother would be bound to get the wrong impression as to what was going on. If she said she'd had dinner with Wes Carlson, that would be giving her the idea that something more serious was afloat than was. It seemed there was no way out but the truth.

 "Actually, there were two men and neither were anything but friends." She shut her eyes at the deceptive answer. It had not been friendship that had caused her to go to Phillip's bed, but since she wasn't totally certain what it had been, she didn't want to discuss it.

 "Well, you will tell me... if anything develops... And Helene?"

 "Yes?"

 "Let me know if your father tells you anything about... You know."

 "No."

 "No?"

 "No. I won't spy on him for you, nor vice versa. I want to stay out of your disagreements."

 The whining tone was back. "Helene, how can you stay neutral in this ugly situation? Your father has betrayed me and really you too. How can you treat him as though he's anything but a philanderer?"

 "I can treat him as though he's my father. He's less than perfect, but aren't we all? Look, Mother, I have to go now. I'll talk to you... later." She hung up before she could be given more reasons to act as a spy on her father's relationship.

 Helene sat at the sewing machine, her mind a blank as she tried to find some kind of peace after dealing with her mother who was an unhappy woman. Her choices had been her own. She was the one who settled for a loveless marriage for years, did nothing to change it, took the money and made it a sop to her misery. Now there was a price to be paid. Helene didn't intend to let either parent drag her into their quagmire of bitterness. The most help she could give her mother was to encourage her to build a new life for herself, find an interest, and quit worrying over every little thing her father did.

 Unfortunately, she had a feeling the whole situation would get worse before it got better. Once again she was grateful she'd come to Montana and wasn't sitting in the midst of the mudslinging.

By the time Phillip and Amos straggled into the kitchen, the sky was darkening. The day had been a dim and drizzly one, alternating showers and sun. Both men were wet, tired and barely patted Hobo as he greeted them. In his younger days, the dog would have been out with them; but he, like Amos, was growing old. On cold days, the kitchen and porch were his favorite haunts.

 "Where's Curly?" Helene asked as she poured them each a cup of hot coffee and carried it to the table where they'd slumped into chairs.

 "He went home." Amos shook his head. "I know I keep saying it every year, but I got to thin that herd. Even with the three of us, it was a heck of a job separating and vibrioing all them heifers."

 Phillip leaned back in his chair, a portrait of exhausted, dirty and strangely satisfied maleness; but if she'd had any idea of another romantic encounter, his red-rimmed eyes took it from her head.

 "You both look exhausted." She mentally discarded Nancy's invitation to dinner and began thinking what she could hastily put together.

 Phillip shook his head. "I wasn't much help."

 "You sure as blue blazes were," Amos said. "You're the one took the brunt of it, not me. I appreciate it and so did Curly. You're making it a lot easier for a couple of old codgers."

 "I took the brunt because I don't know how to do much of anything the right way," Phillip retorted. He patted his pocket for a cigarette, then seemed to remember Helene's injunction against smoking in the house. She could almost see him debate if he had the energy to go outside.

 "Go ahead and smoke," she snapped, directly meeting his eyes for the first time.

 "You sure?" he asked, although he didn't wait for her answer to pull out a cigarette.

 "Yes, but I wish you'd quit. You have to know smoking is not healthy."

 He lit the cigarette, drawing deeply of the smoke. "One of these days," he promised, smiling back at her, his eyes not revealing any of his thoughts, "when my life settles down, I'll quit--again."

 "Humph." She looked from one to the other. "Nancy invited us to their home for dinner tonight, but I imagine you're both too tired to go."

 "Nancy?" Phillip asked.

 "Emile's wife."

 "I thought she was having a baby." Phillip watched Helene over the rim of his coffee cup. She only wished she was better at reading between the lines where he was concerned.

 "That doesn't make her an invalid."

 "Invited us all?" Amos asked with a grin.

 "All three names were mentioned."

 "She say anything about what she was fixing for supper?" Amos asked.

 "Chicken and pie were two words that come to mind."

 "Sounds good to me," Amos responded, heading for the bathroom. "What time'd she say?"

 "I think around six-thirty."

 Phillip continued to watch her as she picked up Amos's coffee cup and carried it to the sink. "You want me to go too?" he asked.

 "It wasn't my invitation."

 "I know, but do you want me to go?"

 She leaned against the counter and looked back at him, trying to find any trace of the suave businessman she'd met in Boston. Needing a shave, his hair disheveled from wearing a hat, sweating and working all day, rough clothing on his lanky frame, he looked as though he belonged right where he sat.  It was as though the man she saw slouching back in his chair had known this life as long as Emile or Rafe. She couldn't count the times she'd seen the two of them tipping back their chairs, just as Phillip was doing. He was a chameleon, she decided before she answered his question with honesty. "Yes, I want you to go, if you're not too tired."

 A faint smile on his lips, he rose and came to where she stood. When he handed her his cup, he allowed his hand to linger, brushing against hers, running the tip of his finger up her wrist.  "I'm not fit to touch you, but..."

 She looked into his clear blue eyes. "Why don't you go take a shower upstairs?" she asked.

 "Nah, I’ll just take a quick one down at the bunkhouse.” He smiled crookedly. “That is unless you want to join me." Provocatively he ran his finger up her arm. "I could make it worth your while."