The Comforts of Home (31 page)

When they got to the airport, he checked his luggage and then held her. For several moments he felt like he couldn’t let go. Something had happened in the few days he’d been home. Maybe it was the “going public” thing, or maybe they were just getting to know each other’s world, but Claire had gone way beyond being a woman he had an affair with when they both had the time.

Somehow this complicated woman who made him mad as often as she made him laugh had climbed into his heart.

A heart he would have sworn had turned to stone years ago.

“Cal me,” she whispered.

“When?” She’d never before asked him to cal .

“Anytime after nine. Any night.”

He pul ed away enough to see her, to know if she was serious.

What he saw shocked him. Claire Matheson had tears in her eyes and she was holding him as tightly as he held her.

Denver smiled and kissed her nose. “Promise you won’t paint any pictures of me.”

“No deal. You have your work and I have mine.” He laughed, thinking he’d probably see his likeness shot out of a cannon or stapled to a barn door when he got back.

She kissed his cheek and ran from him as he turned toward security check.

He watched her go, knowing that he’d final y gotten to her. As he began to toss his coat and keys into the tray, he whispered to himself, “I love you, Claire.”

MARCH 15

RONELLE WENT BY THE DINER ON HER WAY TO

WORK MONDAY and picked up a pie. Marty had told her they’d be having lunch today. It seemed like only a few hours since she’d seen him. Maybe it was, because every waking moment since he’d kissed her last night she’d been thinking of him.

She’d been very careful at breakfast not to favor her left leg. She’d even dressed early so her mother wouldn’t see the bandage through her pajamas. The only thing she hadn’t had time to do was wash her jeans and his jogging pants, but they were safely tucked under her bed. If she had to wait until her mother’s Saturday hair appointment, it wouldn’t matter.

A little after noon, she walked up the steps to Marty’s duplex. A fancy car was parked outside and she wondered if one of the Biggs boys had stolen it. They’d always seemed nice enough to her, but her mother and Martha Q

both thought they were prison bound.

Just before she knocked, Ronel e heard voices, angry voices.

“Stay out of my life, Kerri,” Marty shouted. “I’m tel ing you no for the last time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” a female answered. “You’re rotting in this town. I’ve come to load you in my car and take you back to Dal as. Your father agrees, you belong in a rehab facility, not out here. End of discussion.” Ronel e didn’t know what to do, so she just stayed where she was.

Marty’s voice came angry and low. “I’m thirty-three years old, Kerri. I’ve been running my life for years without your or my father’s advice. The accident didn’t change that. Just because I can’t walk does not mean my brain cel s have died.”

The woman changed her tactics. “But Marty, how could you possibly be happy here? There’s not even a decent place to eat in this town, and this apartment is drab as a prison cel .”

“Good-bye, Kerri. Tel my father I’m fine. I don’t want or need anything from him.”

“He sent money. Cash this time, since you didn’t cash the checks.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re not yourself, Martin. I told your dad you’re probably hooked on drugs or something. Otherwise, you’d see reason.”

“Of course I’m hooked on drugs. They’re cal ed painkil ers, but I only take half of what I did when I was seeing al those doctors. If I’m dying, I at least want to be able to count the days.”

She must have stomped her foot. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“Morning,” someone said from behind Ronel e, almost making her jump off the porch. “How’s the knee?” She turned around and saw Border grinning at her.

He might not look any less scary in the daylight than he had last night, but he’d helped her and she did need to thank him for that.

“I . . . I wanted to thank you for last . . .”

“Oh, forget it. Glad I could help.” He looked down at her.

“You planning to deliver the mail or just stand out here til the postage rate changes?”

She smiled. “Mr. Winslow has company.”

Border pounded on the door. “He won’t mind the interruption. He said for me to come on over when I was ready to go to school.” The overgrown kid smiled. “I slept in this morning on account of I had to practice late last night.

I’m in a band, you know.”

“Real y.” She would have guessed a gang before a band.

“Yep. We have real gigs and make real money. I’l let you know the next time we play at Buffalo’s, and maybe you and Marty wil come listen.”

“Maybe.” The clear picture of her mother having a heart attack flashed in her mind. “I’d love to.”

“Love to what?” Marty snapped as he appeared in the doorway.

Ronel e could see a beautiful woman in a fine silk suit standing a few feet behind him. The visitor looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Border didn’t seem to notice the woman. “Ronny says you and her might show up to one of my gigs. I’l tel you the songs we know and maybe you could request one.” Marty smiled and met her eyes. “We might, if she’d go out with me. A real date might be nice.”

Ronel e felt his gaze moving over her as if she didn’t have on enough clothes. Compared to the woman in silk with high heels and pearls, she must look like a Goodwil mannequin. But he wasn’t looking at the woman. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten she was even there.

“Martin, I’m not going to stand here and be ignored. Are you coming with me or not?”

“No,” he said, without even looking at her. “I have a lunch date.” He shoved the door open. “Ronny, if you’l wait here, I’l take Border to school and be right back.” He motioned Ronny in, and Border fol owed behind like a pet bear.

“You’re having lunch with the mailman?” Kerri snapped.

“Mailwoman,” both guys said at once.

“I’m sure we’ve plenty for three, if you want to join us,” Ronny said in little more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your business.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The lady in silk shoved her way out the door. “This wasn’t business, this was personal.

Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.” As she stormed toward her car, Border yel ed, “Sorry about that dent, my bike fel over when I was trying to start it.”

When the woman climbed into her car, Ronny swore she heard several hiccupped screams.

Marty and Border disappeared out the back door, and Ronel e was suddenly left alone.

For a few minutes she didn’t touch anything, but as she warmed she took off her coat and began to walk slowly around the room. His desk was covered with papers, most with numbers and charts. She looked into his bedroom, where she’d been for a while the night before. Workout equipment. Shelves ful of clothes, but no drawers. A bed made perfectly in military style.

Nothing personal, she thought. Not one picture or notebook, nothing. Everything in Marty’s world was in black and white and chrome. It crossed her mind that maybe he saw himself as nothing but a machine. Sometime after the accident he must have stopped living and started just surviving.

Silently, she crossed into his perfect kitchen. He’d said this place had the only kitchen and bathroom in town that were handicap friendly. But the house didn’t seem to fit him.

She set her bought pie down on the polished counter. Like him, everything was clean, spotless. Ronel e looked down at the ink stain on her hand and the spots on her baggy pants where she’d accidental y spil ed bleach. A man like him would have a friend like the lady in pearls, not someone like her.

When she heard his car pul up at the back ramp, she ran into the office area and waited by the fire. Everything about her was mousy. She didn’t belong near a man like Marty Winslow.

She could hear him banging his way into the kitchen, then down the hal and into the office.

“Take that ridiculous hat off,” he snapped, obviously stil in a bad mood.

Ronny gathered her strength. She wouldn’t have anyone else ordering her around; everyone in her life already did.

“It’s not ridiculous. It was my father’s. When he died he gave it to me, and Dal as let me keep it because she didn’t want it and she said stuff like it doesn’t even sel in a garage sale.”

Ronny turned toward the fire, seeing just how stupid the hat did look in the reflections on the brass frame of the grate. The only good thing about it was that it seemed to match the rest of her outfit.

She knew he was behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

She expected him to yel at her again, or maybe order her to sit down and eat, but he didn’t. He just reached for her hand and tugged it toward him.

Her knees almost buckled when she felt his kiss against her palm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low she barely heard him.

“You’re the only person in my world who doesn’t make demands on me, and yet I can’t seem to be nice to you.” She knelt beside his chair. He tugged her hat off and looked at it. “A fine hat,” he declared.

“Don’t make fun of me,” she said.

“I’m not. I’m the only clown in the room.” Then, as if he’d done it a hundred times, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “If you don’t mind, honey, take off your coat and I’l get the salads. We can eat by the fire if you like.”

She nodded. While he went for the food, she pul ed off her coat and then her sweatshirt. She wore a simple button-up white shirt with cap sleeves. It was the nicest thing in her closet.

When he came back, she saw his slow smile and straightened as if she were wearing a bal gown.

He laughed. “No one would mistake you for a mailman now. Sometimes I think you must be a diamond wrapped in burlap so the rest of us won’t look so bad.” They ate and talked. She didn’t ask about the woman in silk, and he said nothing. When she mentioned that she had savings but didn’t know what to do with it, he told her to find a good brokerage house. They’d advise her, but never should she give al her money over to one person.

“What do you want to do with it? Buy a car? Take a trip?

Invest it for old age?”

“I don’t drive,” she admitted. “Dal as says there is no need.”

“How long have you cal ed your mother Dal as?” he asked between bites.

“For as long as I can remember I cal ed her that in my mind. I used to read fairy tales with a wicked stepmother and, even though I knew she was my real mother, I liked to think she was my stepmother.”

He laughed. “You’ve got a wicked imagination, Ronny.” Then she told him about the seeding she did with magazines and postcards. He laughed so hard she final y joined him. Anyone else might think she was crazy, but he saw the seeding for what it was . . . her way of caring for people.

When she final y glanced at her watch, it was after one.

“I have to go.”

“No, please stay. How about cal ing in sick? You do have sick days, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve never used one. If I stayed home I’d be there with Dal as.”

“I get it.” He smiled. “Just cal and leave a message. I’l tel you what to say. When the postmaster gets back from his lunch, I’m sure he’l get along without you for one afternoon. I’d like to take you for a drive.” Ronny was so nervous she stuttered though the entire message. She’d never played hooky; that wasn’t an option for homeschooled kids. If Marty was real y sick, maybe dying, she wanted to be with him. Maybe he’d just said that to the lady in pearls, but his words hung in the shadows of her mind like damp spiderwebs.

When she hung up, he pul ed her onto his lap and laughed. “You’re free, Ronny. For one afternoon we’re both free.”

They did the dishes and he showed her a few of the cookbooks that had taught him to cook. Ronny felt like she’d been saving up things to tel someone al her life, and final y she’d found someone to listen.

He pul ed a book off a low shelf beneath the bar. “I want to pay you for the pie.”

“No. It was my contribution.” The book in his hand opened like a box. A secret storage place. He pul ed an envelope from the side of his chair and stuffed it in the box, then pul ed out a few bil s from the bottom of the box and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. “Wel , then I can at least buy you supper.”

The afternoon was cold and cloudy when they climbed into his Volvo that had been built for someone in a wheelchair. She watched him brace against the car door and frame. Slowly, he stood and folded up his chair, then lowered himself into the seat.