Chapter 12 - The Future She Left Behind

“Fifty-three cents is your change.” Katelyn dropped the money into the older man’s trembling palm, then folded his knobby fingers over the coins to keep them from spilling onto the floor.

“Gracias.”

She smiled and watched him shuffle out the door.

Abby Wilkes set aside the magazines she’d been stocking in the display case at the front of the store. “I think Mr. Flores has a crush on you.”

“Mr. Flores is old enough to be my grandfather.” Katelyn glanced at the clock on the wall. Two p.m. “Is it always this slow on a Monday?” In high school she’d worked weekends during the summer and the store had been crowded with campground people staying at the lake.

“Mondays are the slowest,” Abby said.

Katelyn took a swig from the bottle of water beneath the counter. “How long have you worked here?” She couldn’t remember if Birdie had mentioned Abby during any of their phone conversations, which covered the kids, the weather and not much else.

Abby waved a hand in the air. “I don’t know if Birdie told you, but my mother passed away right before Christmas. I took a leave of absence from my job in Dallas to come stay with my dad.” She expelled a deep sigh. “But I didn’t expect to still be here six months later.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you do in Dallas?”

“I’m a public relations manager for Milligan Natural Gas.”

“Corporate America is stressful.” Not only for the employee but for the employee’s family.

“I love working under pressure.” Abby’s eyes lit up. “I’m an adrenaline junkie. Deadlines fuel my creativity.”

Katelyn envied her coworker. It had been so long since she’d experienced a hunger to nurture her passion. Only when she’d painted had her body, mind and spirit felt in tune. Colors appeared richer, sounds stronger, touches warmer. It had been ages since she’d felt her fingers tingle with the urge to pick up a paintbrush.

“I’m dying a slow death in this town. If I don’t escape soon, I’ll tie myself to the railroad tracks and put an end to my misery.”

Katelyn laughed. “Have you told your father you miss your job?”

“If I mention returning to Dallas, he has a fake panic attack. When I call his bluff, he gets tears in his eyes and then I feel horrible.”

“How long has your family lived in Little Springs? I don’t remember the Wilkes name.”

“My parents moved to town right after I left for college and Dad took over as minister for Grace Community Church. I’ve never lived here, only visited.”

“I can see how life in a town of less than three thousand people would be difficult after living in a large city.”

“It’s not that I just miss my job, but I feel like my life is slipping away. I devoted my twenties to my career and have no regrets, but I’m thirty-three now and I’d like to marry and have a family. When I tell my father that, he thinks I’m still twelve and says I have plenty of time.”

“You might have to show a little tough love and leave.” Who was she to give advice on handling parents? She’d allowed Shirley to bulldoze her for years while ignoring Birdie’s needs.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that,” Abby said.

“Would your dad be willing to move to Dallas?”

“I can’t ask him to leave. His support group is here.”

“Support group?”

“My father’s been a recovering alcoholic since I was in kindergarten. When my mother died, he fell off the wagon.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think he has the urge to drink anymore, but he’s using the threat to keep me here.”

“Parents can be stubborn. So can in-laws.”

“I’d put up with an interfering mother-in-law any day in exchange for finding a decent man to marry.” Abby lowered her voice. “Did your husband really file for a divorce?”

The Little Springs gossip brigade was in full swing. Thanks to Birdie and Shirley’s spat in front of Layla in the store last week, everyone in town knew Katelyn had been dumped. “Yes, the rumors are true.”

Abby’s gaze shifted to the register, then back to Katelyn. “You’re not planning to work here the rest of your life, are you?” She winced. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me to say when your mother’s been an employee for years.”

Katelyn waved off the apology. “I’m not sure what I’ll do.” She’d barely had a moment to herself to think about anything since she’d arrived in town.

“Layla said you went to college on an art scholarship.”

The romantic in Katelyn had once fantasized about living in Paris and being a street artist in Montmartre, sketching tourists as they meandered by. She thought of the art pad she took with her everywhere. Why hadn’t she ever turned one of her doodles into a painting? “I haven’t gotten my easel out in years.”

“You should paint while you’re here. I’d love to see one of your pictures.”

People who weren’t artistic thought it was easy to create. That after you dabbed the end of a brush into a glob of color, a masterpiece would magically appear on the canvas. “I’m out of practice,” Katelyn said.

“I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

“Maybe.” Inspiration was an important part of the creative process, and Katelyn’s life had revolved around the kids, her mother-in-law and Don’s career for so long that she’d lost touch with the things that used to fuel her creativity—long walks along the train tracks, hours of people-watching and plenty of alone time.

Abby turned her head to the side, her blond bob swinging across her face. “Maybe Walter will inspire you.”

“Pardon?”

“Haven’t you noticed the boss always has his eye on you?”

Katelyn’s gaze shifted to the manager’s window and Walter ducked his head.

“I think he wants to ask you out on a date.”

“No.” Not Walter Davis.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Layla?”

Their coworker approached the checkout, her voluptuous bosom and full hips sashaying in rhythm with her wavy black hair. The twenty-nine-year-old batted her false eyelashes. “Right about what?”

“Walter told you that he was thinking of asking Katelyn out.”

“Oh, yeah.” Layla smacked her gum, drawing attention to her pouty mouth and red lipstick so shiny it looked like she’d kissed a puddle of baby oil. “Walter wants to take you to the new steak house in Odessa.” She glanced at his office. “He said you were good friends in high school.”

“Not really.” Katelyn couldn’t remember if she’d ever said hi to Walter when they’d passed in the halls.

“I might have told him that you were happy about your divorce.” Katelyn’s mouth dropped open and Layla rushed on. “I had my roots touched up the other day.” She fluffed her hair. “Sadie said you were relieved that your marriage was over.”

Birdie was putting her own spin on Katelyn and Don’s situation, because she was happy Don and his mother would be out of the picture soon. Still, Birdie had no business gossiping about her daughter.

Layla and Abby exchanged glances. Then Layla said, “Is it true he cheated on you?”

The nosy question reminded Katelyn of why she’d wanted to go away to college and leave her hometown in the dust. “Yes, there’s another woman.”

Abby tugged the sleeve of Layla’s work smock. “He’s late.”

“Who’s late?” Katelyn asked.

“Brian, the Entenmann’s delivery driver. He has a crush on Layla, but she’s playing hard to get.”

“Why?” As long as everyone was sticking their nose into Katelyn’s business, she’d join in the gossiping.

“Layla’s waiting for her prince to drive his white pickup through town and sweep her off her feet.” Abby laughed.

“Princes are in short supply when you have a twelve-year-old son.” Layla thrust her lower lip out.

“And,” Abby said, “she’s attracted to hot guys with lots of muscle.”

Layla shrugged. “What can I say? I like six-pack abs.”

“Unlike other men around here”—Abby’s gaze flicked to the office window—“Brian still has all his hair.”

Katelyn laughed. “Is there anything you like about Brian, Layla?”

“He asks about my son, Gavin, when he comes into the store.”

“And he always tells Layla how nice she looks,” Abby said.

Don had hardly ever complimented Katelyn on her clothes or her looks.

“But Brian’s a deliveryman,” Layla whined. “I want a man who makes enough money to help pay my bills.”

Katelyn didn’t know what to say, because she’d snagged a rich prince for herself. And look where that got you.

“Here he comes now. Pretend we weren’t talking about him.” Abby went back to stocking magazines. Katelyn remained at her register and Layla beat a hasty retreat down the bread aisle. As soon as Brian pushed his dolly of baked goods into the store, Walter emerged from his office.

“Brian, did you catch the Astros game Wednesday night?”

“Couldn’t believe they came back in the ninth inning to clinch the win.” Brian had sun-bleached hair and an all-American smile that belonged on a package of beef franks. His blue eyes swung to the register and Walter said, “This is Katelyn. Birdie’s daughter.”

He parked his dolly and shook her hand. “Brian Montgomery.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Katelyn’s taking her mother’s place for a few days.”

“Nothing’s wrong with Birdie, I hope.”

The boy-next-door was kind, too. Layla needed to give this man a closer look. “She’s taking a mini vacation from the job,” Katelyn said.

Brian’s gaze skipped around the store. Katelyn tilted her head toward the bread aisle, and he and the dolly of pastry cakes made a beeline in that direction.

Walter pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and inched closer to Katelyn. He wore gray slacks, a white dress shirt and a red-and-gray-striped tie—a little overdressed for a small-town grocery store. “Can I talk to you a minute?” he asked.

Hoping to distract him from asking her out, she said, “It’s really nice of you to allow me to work my mother’s hours while I’m in town.”

“Birdie’s my best employee.” He straightened the plastic-bag caddy at the end of the counter. “I thought that since you’ll be in town for a while . . .”

Darn it.

“There’s a new steak house in Odessa. Maybe Birdie told you about it.”

“No, she hasn’t mentioned the restaurant.”

His brow glistened with sweat. “If you weren’t busy one night this week . . .”

Walter’s gaze swung past Katelyn. “Jackson.”

The once infamous Little Springs bad boy set a twelve-pack of Dr Pepper on the check stand. “Walt.” Jackson dipped his head at Katelyn.

“I was telling Katelyn about the new steak house in Odessa. You been there yet?”

Jackson shook his head.

She scanned the soda. “Five fifty-three.”

Jackson put his credit card in the machine, selected the cash-back option, then entered his PIN.

The till popped open, and Katelyn handed him two twenty-dollar bills but held on to the money when he attempted to grab it. His eyes twinkled when she sent him a silent plea to save her from Walter. She released the money and he grabbed the soda.

“You’ll have to let me know how the steaks are,” he said, and walked off, Katelyn’s gaze admiring the way his worn jeans hugged his backside. When he reached the exit, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Rat.

“Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me?” Walter asked.

“I appreciate the invite, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company.”

His gaze dropped to her ring finger. “It doesn’t have to be a date.”

Maybe Walter thought she didn’t want her marriage to end because she still wore her ring. Jackson’s pickup sped through the parking lot and turned onto Main Street. Did he wonder why she still wore her wedding band?

“We don’t have to talk,” Walter said. “We’ll eat and leave.”

“Walter?”

“What?”

“I’m not going to go out with you.”

“Sure. Okay. Maybe another time.” He hurried into his office and closed the door.

Abby wheeled the cart of magazines back to the storeroom, then returned to the registers. “I heard you broke Jackson’s heart after you went off to college.”

“For someone who never lived in this town, you sure know a lot about what went on decades ago.”

“My father gets his hair cut a lot.”

If only humans were bald . . . there would be no need for hair salons or beauticians and everyone’s secrets would remain safe.