Stef Ann Holm (23 page)

Opening the SUV’s door, he tugged in a tired breath. This movie playing in Hailey was some teen comedy, and he really wasn’t in the mood. If he’d been a drinker, he’d have had a shot to take the edge off and release the tension of the day. But those thoughts were long since gone and he’d turned to other things for self-medication.

A glass of orange juice gave him a bit of a sugar rush, and was almost just as good. He wasn’t much for drinking pop, not without rum in the Coke, so he’d all but given up soft drinks.

Drew let himself inside and was thinking about drinking the juice straight from the carton, when he paused in the entryway and gazed around. For a second, he thought he’d come into the wrong place.

“What the
f—
”

That last word was never uttered, fading before he even got the door closed.

The main living area was decorated with white mini holiday lights—over the windows, on top of the bookcase, by the wet bar. The two leather sofas that faced one another had throw blankets over them. He recognized both the lights and throws—they were his. The lights only went up at Christmas, and he didn’t do it himself. He paid someone. The soft yarn throws had been given to him, or maybe he’d bought them—he couldn’t remember, but he didn’t like them sitting out on the furniture. They only cluttered. As far as he could remember, he’d never used either. They’d been in the linen closet for years.

The expensive coffee table sitting between the couches had two boxes of facial tissues on it, and the focal point was his pitcher’s glove, the same glove he’d had dipped in bronze and engraved with the date he’d retired it. The glove’s pocket wasn’t that deep, but it was filled to the brim with peanut M&M’s. This was his No Hitter glove he’d earned at a team dinner. It had a place in his trophy cabinet, not on the damn coffee table.

Peanut M&Ms were his favorite, but he’d never set a bowl of them out.

On top of the fireplace mantel were rows of frames. About a dozen of them. And filled with pictures. He went over and looked. He froze. Those pictures he’d kept of Mackenzie all these years—they’d been put into the frames. Drew’s gaze went down the line of photos, pausing as he found one of Sheriff Roger Lewis and Deputy Clyde Cooper.

“What the hell?” he said aloud. He picked up the picture frame and saw the bend in the paper. He recognized it as a cutout from the town’s local travel brochure that included a brief bio on the two lawmen. Looking farther down, he found a framed portrait of Opal’s Diner from the same brochure, then one of Ada in front of Claws and Paws.

Not sure which way to go, Drew found himself headed for the kitchen. It smelled as if Lucy had been here, the aromas of chicken and garlic filling the air.

Once in the kitchen, he paused and took it all in. He wasn’t sure what to hone in on first—his highly prized, valued and autographed baseballs that were now residing in the fruit bowl as if they were a bunch of apples—or the collage of things stuck onto the front of his refrigerator with magnets.

He stopped at the stainless doors, gazing at everything. There was a grocery list with several items listed:

Kleenex
      
Lip Gloss
      
Fun

There were cutouts from magazines on the refrigerator along with household things. Pictures of dogs, cats, an Armani suit taken from the pages of
GQ,
a seascape, a perfume bottle, a Hummer ad. Then there were pizza coupons, a grocery checkout receipt, the schedule for the Wood Ridge Little League, a picture that he’d never seen of Mackenzie—of her sitting on the back porch with her elbows on her knees, smiling.

He slowly pulled it off the fridge and studied her features, swallowing tightly.

Glancing over his shoulder, he wondered where she was. Had she done this? And why?

The countertop was filled with more stuff. A large chunk of white granite rock. He had a ton of those rocks on his property; he’d paid dearly to get most of them excavated when he’d put in his hot tub. There was writing on the rock. He checked it out.

“This rock was picked by Mackenzie Taylor.”

Then she had dated it.

Leaning closer, Drew found an old photograph of himself as a boy, standing out in the baseball field of Alhambra. He wore his peewee outfit, a bat resting on his slender shoulders. He stood with a cocky tilt to his hips. Hell, he must have been all of eight.

Unbidden, a smile curved his mouth.

The picture frame that housed it had rows of elbow macaroni glued around the perimeter.

Where had she found this black-and-white photograph taken with his dad’s old camera? Drew wouldn’t know, unless it had been shoved into the very first baseball rule book he’d been given. That might have been it. He kept that book, among others, in his trophy case, never revisiting the pages.

Another box of tissue was over by the toaster—the toaster that he kept in a utility drawer. He only took it out when he needed it, not wanting crumbs on the counter. He noticed the blender, the mixer, the cutting board and napkin holder were now all in plain view.

What was up with the flowery boxes of Kleenex?

Turning back to the baseballs, he got more than a little torqued up to see them in that fruit bowl. His blood pressure rose, his pulse thudding in his ears, and he was reminded of his headache. Those were signed official balls and not to be messed with. Each had its own plastic case and stand. They were priceless. And to be thrown in a bowl like this—

“Mackenzie?” he called out, stymied by the changes. “Mackenzie, are you home?”

He told himself not to get pissed, not to let the frustration of the day erupt to where he felt himself losing control. But looking around this house, at the stuff that had been moved and put out of place, he wasn’t happy about it.

“Mackenzie?”

He walked down the hallway toward her room and knocked on the closed door. When she didn’t answer, he opened it.

She sat on the bed, her iPod earbuds in place. Looking up, she raised her brows as if to ask:
What?

He motioned for her to pull the plug on her music. She slowly removed the earpieces, wet her lips and waited.

“What in the hell happened to the house?” he asked, damning himself for using profanity. But he was really trying his best to keep it together here. “It’s all screwed up.”

“I made a few changes. I noticed you don’t keep a lot of your personal things out.”

“Yes, I do,” he countered sharply, then gritted his teeth.

He remained rooted in the doorway, gazing at his daughter as if she were a stranger. The idea hit him full-blown and hard: he realized she
was
a stranger. She’d been here for two months and he didn’t know her any better today than he had when he picked her up at the airport.

“No, you don’t. You keep stuff hidden away, put on a shelf or inside a cabinet, and you don’t use it. I thought you might like the house this way.”

“I don’t need a picture of Roger Lewis on my mantel.”

“He’s your friend. So is Opal and everyone in town. They all like you—I thought you might want to remind yourself you have friends who’d like to come over for a party, maybe.”

Roger Lewis and Clyde Cooper over here for a party? Off-duty, those two guys sat around eating beer nuts and bullshitting about lame things. Why in the hell would he want their pictures up, much less have them over?

He had no response, didn’t know what exactly to say. Wasn’t it obvious he preferred it one way? If he’d wanted the things out, he would have put them out. But he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he let it go. He simply didn’t have an answer right at this time, and so he stalled.

He asked, “What’s with all the Kleenex?”

Her response was spoken so softly, he almost thought he didn’t hear her correctly. “In case you have to cry.”

A long moment passed before he said, “I don’t cry.”

Mackenzie’s chin lowered, her mouth a thin line as she looked at her iPod and scrolled through the pictures. She ignored him.

The seconds ticked off, slowly and hard. One, two, three, four. Then ten, fifteen. He’d never known just how long a second measured out until now.

“Are you mad at me?” she finally asked, her hazel eyes lifting to his and locking on to his face. Waiting. Wondering.

He was royally torqued, but he wouldn’t let her know that. “It’s not that I’m mad…I just like my house a certain way. But I’ll take care of it. I can put the stuff away.”

“Get out,” she snapped, and his brows shot up.

“Mackenzie?”

She scrambled off the bed, went to the door and took it by its edge. Her cheeks grew red, her breath came out in a whoosh and she flicked her hair from her shoulders. “Get out of my room! I’m calling Aunt Lynette. I want to go home. I hate it here. I hate you!”

The door was slammed in his face before he could say another word.

“P
ull over, Spin! You assured me you remembered how to drive a car!” Jacquie grabbed on to the dash of the Jaguar as Spin took a sharp corner, tire rubber burning.

The hundred-and-three-year-old woman sat in the driver’s seat, spindly and tall, her gnarled fingers gripping the steering wheel. “I do remember.”

“It doesn’t seem like it!”

Spin signaled for a right turn, but made a left onto Cherry Hill and onto the highway toward Timberline. “It’s like sex. Once you do it, you never forget how.”

Brows arched, Jacquie asked, “When was the last time you had sex?”

“About fifty years ago.”

“Holy shit.”

Jacquie hadn’t intended to let Spin drive her car, but Spin had been really under the weather lately, so she’d wanted to pick the old girl up and let her do something fun. They’d had to miss the big Fourth of July celebration. When Jacquie went to get her, Spin had been in bed, not feeling too well. They’d had to take her to the hospital for tests. Her age was definitely setting in and she’d been deteriorating. Although the physicians weren’t allowed to tell details, they alluded to the fact that Spin probably wouldn’t last until Christmas. That very thought caused a stab of fear in Jacquie.

What was she going to do without Spin?

The woman had snuck into her life and filled her world with a presence Jacquie never could have anticipated. Spin was full of B.S. and stories and humor. If it hadn’t been for her DUI, Jacquie would never have met Spin. In a roundabout way, she had Drew to thank for it. If he hadn’t stood her up on her birthday, she wouldn’t have gotten plastered.

Sometimes life worked out weird.

Spin inadvertently crossed the double yellow line, squinting through the car’s low windshield. She almost wiped out another car.

In the side mirror, Jacquie caught a glimpse of Raul Nunez’s Caddie swerving before gaining control.

“Spin, I think you should pull over so I can drive now.”

“I want to take you to me and Wally’s fishing spot. It’s not that much farther out of town. We’re almost there.”

While she didn’t want to deflate Spin’s balloon of rebellion, Jacquie couldn’t help saying, “You probably don’t remember the turnoff.”

“I most certainly do. It’s mile marker 4, right by that old yellow pine that has the funny branches.”

Jacquie couldn’t recall any funny pine trees.

Since Spin was determined, all Jacquie could say was, “Just go slow.” Then she got out her cigarettes, lit one and put a slight crack in the window to vent the smoke.

Thank God they’d reached the highway and there wasn’t any real traffic. Every once in a while, a camper or RV passed, or a minivan. Local campers. The area surrounding the Red Duck city limits was filled with vacationers.

The town’s population had swelled in recent months, and that was good for Jacquie’s business. People who had money got the bug to buy a vacation home, or even relocate. The odd thing was, lately Jacquie just hadn’t had a good game. She usually thrived in July and August, was like a bitch in heat going after clients and closing deal after deal.

Lately, she’d been finding excuses to leave the office more and go spend the day with Spin.

Spin slowed the car, easing off the accelerator. “There it is! I told you.”

Funny…Jacquie had never noticed the broad tree with odd-shaped upper branches, as if it had been struck by lightning. “Well, where’s the road?”

“Right here.” A small cutoff was tucked into the sage, and a dirt road loomed ahead.

“Hell. We can’t take my car on that rutted road. We’ll bottom out.” Jacquie pulled in a deep drag, chewing on her fingernail.

“No, we won’t.” With amazing dexterity, Spin navigated the tires carefully over the compacted earth, its talc raising in a rooster tail behind the Jaguar and coating its glossy paint. Jacquie would have to take it to the car wash when they got back to town.

Not too far in, Spin turned right to a spot that was hidden by a growth of sumac. Jacquie wasn’t real up-to-date on the local flora, but she did recognize poison oak and a few of the basic Idaho plants. She’d never have guessed this place was here.

Jacquie was a hotel woman. Give her a turn-down service on a set of high-thread-count sheets, and a chocolate on her pillow. She didn’t do the camping thing. No shower, no way. Bugs, no thanks. Fishing, never tried it. Even growing up in Cheyenne, there’d been a slice of civilization that she’d found quite comfy.

Spin cut the large engine, but forgot to put the gear column in Park. The car died in Drive. Jacquie reached over and fixed it while Spin got out of the car, oblivious to her mistake. It was like she had to be here, had to see the old fishing grounds.

Getting out of the Jag herself, Jacquie was glad she’d slipped into a pair of flats today. Normally she wore heels to give shape to her long legs. Today she’d worn low mules and white capris with a black top.

“Be sure to remember where the turnoff is, Jacquie. I want you to be able to show Morris where this is.”

“Yeah, sure, Spin. I’ll show Morris.” Jacquie merely placated Spin.

“Did I tell you Morris is a lawyer?”

“You mentioned it.”

“And that he’s my great-nephew?”

“You mentioned that, too.”

“He’s a fine man.”

Anyone named Morris would have to be a fine man because he sure wouldn’t be might-tee-fine in the looks department.

Walking toward the edge of a mossy creek, Spin glanced at Jacquie and pursed her lips. “Put that damn cigarette out. You’ll torch the whole place to smithereens and then the memory will be gone.”

She crushed the cigarette’s cherry against a rock, made sure it was completely out, then joined Spin, taking her by the elbow. “I don’t think you should be walking all the way down there. It looks too steep for you, Spin.”

“If you keep hold of me, we can make it.”

Jacquie didn’t want to, but Spin gave her a pleading look. The woman had nostalgia written in her eyes. Evidently this was a special place for her, and she might not ever get the chance to come back. “Okay, Spin. Hold tight.”

The embankment wasn’t as steep as Jacquie had thought, but little pebbles slipped into her shoes, making it uncomfortable. Once at the bottom, she situated Spin on a bleached boulder that was warm from the sun. Feeling better about things now that Spin was safely here, Jacquie shook the rocks out of her shoes.

“So you and Wally came here fishing, huh?” Jacquie made a panoramic sweep of the area, noting the quiet beauty and interestingly enough, appreciating it. A magpie squawked from a tree; the trickle of running water was actually soothing.

“All the time. This was our spot. We did everything here, if you get my meaning.” A far-off look glazed Spin’s eyes.

“Yeah, I get it.”

Rather than being on sacred ground, Jacquie was standing on sexual ground. The thought brought a smile to her mouth. Not in a bad way, but fondly. Knowing Spin was reflecting on being intimate with her husband was a nice thought.

And God knew, Jacquie lacked sentimentalities like that.

She’d given up on Drew, that dream having died. Oddly, he hadn’t been that hard to let go of once her mind accepted the fact that it needed to end. For the past year, she’d really been trying to put a square peg into a round hole. Her and Drew, they just weren’t real compatible in the long haul. She wouldn’t have known what to do with Mackenzie if they’d ever committed to one another.

Jacquie wanted a man who was okay without children. Maybe they would do some traveling, just be together for the sake of being together. Of late, Jacquie realized she just had to have a man who was mad for her. She didn’t think that was detrimental. Just honest.

Speaking in a faraway voice, Jacquie asked, “How come you and Wally never had kids?”

“Selfish.” Spin readjusted herself to sit more comfortably. “There’s nothing wrong with two people only wanting to spend time with one another.”

“Not very many people would admit that.”

“They should. Wally and I were in love. We fulfilled each other. I had my career and he had his. It worked out for us.” She gazed at the trees. “Morris never had children, either. He’s divorced.”

They sat quietly for a long time, just listening to the sounds of nature, the whisper of trees.

“Jacquie?” Spin’s distant voice broke into Jacquie’s thoughts and startled her.

“Are you okay?” She was by Spin’s side, looking down into her weathered face. Oh my God, she hoped like hell she had cell service out here in case Spin needed help.

“I’m fine, Jacquie. I’m better than fine.” She smiled, a deeply satisfying smile of utter contentment and knowing peace. It was as if the aches and pains that had been troubling her had subsided and she was years younger.

“Don’t scare me, Spin.”

“I won’t, Jacquie.”

Jacquie sat down next to her, inhaling the fragrant air and the rich ground. The musty scent of moss and the floral hint of flowers somewhere in the brush.

“Jacquie…?”

She turned toward Spin. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for being my friend. I love you.”

A lump formed so swiftly, so quickly in her throat that Jacquie felt light-headed. At no time in her entire life could she ever recall those three words meaning so much. They were altogether potent and meaningful, deeply moving and utterly heartfelt.

For long seconds, Jacquie almost couldn’t compose herself.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she took Spin’s hand. “Back at you, girlfriend.”

Raul didn’t care that he’d almost been run off the road by that polished silver Jag of Jacquie Santini’s. Psycho-nut-ball Realtor. Raul had better things to do than to trouble himself over a near-miss with a car. For one thing, he had some serious gloating to do.

He’d just scored the coup of the century and, quite possibly, of his life: the personal chef gig for Hollywood’s hottest gay couple—movie producers who were in town through Labor Day.

Beating out that Lucy Carpenters for the job was a rich reward, given the hellacious month he’d had competing with her. She thought she was pretty smart at the Fourth of July. But she didn’t have the know-how to land the really influential clients like the Raul did. He knew the ins and outs, the best way to do things. That was why he was the best. The
only
personal chef to hire.

But he hated to admit that Lucy had given him a buck for his bang…a run for his money, as you say.

He found out she’d interviewed before him and the men liked her food choices—they’d told him so. They raved about her diversity and flare. Adored her as a creative woman and wanted to all but flambé her with compliments.

After so many years in the biz, Raul knew how to turn himself into a human chameleon when necessary. Today he’d become the gay chef, the man who “understood” what being gay in today’s society was all about. Feminizing his language and walk, his savoir faire, had been easy. Raul had seen
The Birdcage
a dozen times.

Being faux fruity had been his meal ticket.

The producers thought he was
fabulous.
They gave him air-claps and they’d cinched the deal with a champagne toast and limp-wristed handshakes.

Thank you, Lord Jesus. Raul crossed himself again, something he had been doing just as that Jaguar raced toward him.

Never count too many blessings.

On that thought, he crossed himself once more while driving on Main Street toward Sutter’s Grocery to stock up on supplies.

Score one for the Raul.

Matt sat at the kitchen table with his mom and brother, all of them eating dinner together. It was nice his mom had made them their favorite—homemade mac and cheese, chicken and carrots.

They hadn’t been eating together as much since coming to Red Duck, what with Mom having to work, and Jason being at Woolly’s.

Things had changed a lot. Sometimes Matt got bummed out about it. He wished they were a family again, with Dad at the table, Mom and Jason and him. And they were all goofing off and talking about what they did all day at school or work.

But this wasn’t bad. He loved his mom. She was a good mom and she’d been doing good for him and Jason. The house they lived in was fixed up pretty nice, even though the porch was busted. He’d gotten used to no Internet and no cable. Their TV only tuned in ten channels. But he never had any time to watch it, anyhow.

Ada had him walking more dogs over the summer, since people were here on vacation. When he thought about it, Matt figured he was a pretty lucky kid to live here all the time. He liked it. When he was in town, the trees on the mountainside seemed like they jumped out at him. The air smelled like fresh laundry. The ski runs looked neat even without snow. He liked the metal lift chairs dangling from poles. There were the regular guys who sat outside, in front of the Mule Shoe, when he walked past and they always said hi to him.

He liked Bud, the guy who owned this house. Bud had given him five bucks the other day, just because he felt like it. Matt bought some comic books and candy.

Jason was doing better. He liked hanging out with Mackenzie. She was pretty. Matt knew his brother liked her. All the guys on the team thought she was hot.

Taking a drink of his milk, Matt wrinkled his nose. He didn’t think girls were hot yet.

“Jason, do you think you guys will make the playoffs?” Matt asked.

“Doubt it.” Jason shoved a big bite of mac into his mouth. “Now that Ryan wrecked his wrist, we’re screwed.”

Their mom frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good word choice, Jason.”

“But it’s true. We’re screwed.”

His mom frowned again, but she didn’t say anything more. She’d come home from Drew’s house and had been real quiet. Maybe she was tired from all the cooking. But she didn’t act tired while taking off her shoes and putting on her slippers. She’d acted funny, like she was waiting for someone to come over at any minute, or maybe like she had to leave at any minute. She seemed anxious, glancing at her cell phone.

When it rang, she jumped.

“That’s going to be Mackenzie,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet.