Chapter 18 - The Future She Left Behind

Katelyn drove Shirley’s Mercedes through town and then turned the corner at Gifford’s Resale. Doris’s ranch house sat in the middle of the block next to a vacant lot. She pulled up to the mailbox—a metal container covered in a rainbow of colored seashells. The maritime-styled box sat perched on a wooden post cemented into a Home Depot paint bucket. In place of the postal flag, an aqua blue mermaid with sparkly blond hair waited to be raised in the air.

Light poured through the house windows, spilling across the front lawn. A fence with several missing pickets kept Doris’s collection of plaster of Paris wildlife from escaping. A family of gnomes watched over the animals, their little faces peeking above the blades of grass. The flock of miniature flamingos shared the flower bed with a mama skunk and her three babies. Not far away a plastic deer missing its left ear rested with a family of raccoons near a tree stump.

Overgrown oleander bushes hid half the porch, and not until Katelyn reached the front door did she notice the miniature garden—an assortment of tin coffee cans containing potted plants. Katelyn knocked. No one answered. She tried the knob, but the door was locked. She walked around the house and discovered the back door cracked open. Raucous laughter met her ears when she stepped into the empty kitchen.

“Your turn to say something nice about the birthday girl.” Mavis’s deep voice echoed from the living room.

“This is dumb. I want another brownie,” Shirley said.

“You have to say something nice about Birdie,” Faye spoke up.

Birdie laughed. “Miss Prissy Pants doesn’t like me.”

Shirley giggled. “I like you, Birdie.”

“Liar.”

Katelyn crossed her fingers and prayed the two women wouldn’t start an argument.

“I like you because you raised a nice daughter who puts up with me.”

Whoa. Where did that come from?

“I don’t know why Katelyn tolerates all your crap.”

“Because she’s a good girl like her mother,” Shirley said.

“Is that nice enough, Birdie?” Mavis asked.

“I suppose.”

“My turn.” The voice sounded like it belonged to Harriet.

“Wait,” Birdie shouted. “I want to know if Shirley was a good girl or a bad girl before she got married.”

The women giggled.

If Katelyn had to guess, she’d say the women were on their third or fourth pitcher of sangria.

“I was a good girl, of course,” Shirley said.

After the group’s laughter died down, Birdie said, “It’s Mavis’s turn, Harriet. Then you.”

Katelyn peeked around the doorjamb and saw Shirley launch a pillow across the room, knocking Mavis upside the head. “I thought you were athletic.” Athletic was Shirley’s code word for lesbian.

“I’ll show you how athletic I am.” Mavis attempted to push herself off the couch but fell back against the cushion.

Shirley held up her wineglass. “I need a refill.”

Etta topped off the glass.

“Hurry, Mavis,” Harriet said.

Katelyn wished she’d thought to bring her purse with her. She’d love to sketch a picture of the drunken grannies.

“What I like most about Birdie,” Mavis said, “is that she doesn’t give a rat’s ass what other people think.”

“Hear, hear.” Everyone took a swig from her glass.

“Now it’s my turn.” Harriet shushed the group. “I like Birdie because no matter how tired she is, she’s always got a smile for you when you get to the register.”

Sadie cleared her throat. “I like Birdie because she lets me experiment with her hair and if I screw up, she says, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll grow back.’”

“Etta’s going to speak for both of us,” Faye said.

“We like Birdie because she can tell the difference between us when others can’t,” Etta said.

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Nanette clapped. “I like Birdie because she’s always willing to watch my mother if I need an afternoon to myself.”

“And I like Birdie because she gives me a gnome for Christmas every year,” Doris said.

The comment ignited a conversation about this year’s Christmas gift exchange, and Katelyn stepped back from the doorway, her thoughts springing forward to future holidays, thinking of where she’d be and whom she’d be celebrating with.

“When did you get here?” Doris pulled up short after she entered the kitchen and saw Katelyn. The slim granny wore a pair of tie-dyed overalls and a matching T-shirt.

“I knocked on the front door, but no one answered, so I came around to the back.” She glanced toward the living room. “Sounds like everyone’s having fun.”

Doris winked. “Your mother-in-law likes my special birthday brownies.”

Katelyn’s gaze shifted to the baking dish on the counter with only a sliver of chocolate brownie left.

“Try it,” Doris said.

As if on cue, Katelyn’s stomach growled. “You sure no one else wants the last piece?”

“We’ve all had seconds. Shirley’s had three helpings.”

Maybe Birdie had finally swayed Shirley to stop counting calories.

Katelyn took a bite, chewed for a second and then spit the cake into the sink. “You didn’t!” She tasted marijuana.

Doris pinched her fingers together. “A smidgen.”

“That was no smidgen.”

“Maybe two smidgens.” She smiled. “Or three. I might have gotten distracted when I mixed the batter.”

Now Katelyn knew why the women were giggling so much.

“Have you played bridge yet?”

Doris shook her head. “We don’t really play bridge. We tell people that’s what we do.”

“Have you opened presents yet?” Katelyn asked.

“We did. Why don’t you pour yourself some wine and join us?” Doris said.

Katelyn couldn’t afford to drink. She had to figure out a way to get all the ladies safely home—and she knew whom to ask for help. “I forgot Mom’s gift.” That was the truth. She’d left the birthday card with a check inside on the dresser in her room. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay, dear.”

Katelyn stopped at the door. “Don’t let anyone leave until I return.”

“I won’t.” Doris smiled.

Katelyn let herself out, thinking Little Springs needed an Uber driver. She cut across the lawn, walked down the block and around the corner past Gifford’s Resale and then stopped at Mendoza Auto. The lights were on in the bay, the door open. Jackson’s work boots peeked out from beneath an Impala. She entered the garage and said, “You’re working late.”

The clanging stopped and Jackson pushed the creeper out from beneath the car. He stared up at her, his mouth firm but his eyes warm—he was glad to see her. She pointed to the smudge on his forehead.

“Did I mention when we dated that I think grease stains are sexy?”

He gifted her with an amused smile, then climbed to his feet. Her gaze traveled over his body before returning to the ripped denim above the knee, which showed a glimpse of muscled thigh. “I liked your torn jeans, too.”

“I know.” He grinned. “You used to poke your fingers inside the rip and pull the hair on my legs.”

She laughed.

He waved at the couch. “Have a seat.”

Once she was settled, she said, “You were at the soccer game last night. Why didn’t you sit in the stands?” With me.

“I had work to do.”

“I can tell when you’re lying. Remember we dated for almost a year.”

“We did more than date.” His brown eyes flashed before he went to the sink to wash his hands. Keeping his back to her, he puttered at the bench, sorting tools. She let him think she’d dropped the subject and spent the next fifteen minutes watching him work.

When he finally looked her way, she sent him a sly grin and repeated her question. “Why didn’t you watch the whole game?”

“I don’t care for socializing.”

Katelyn’s heart tweaked when she imagined Jackson keeping to himself all these years.

He found another task to do and she rested her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been closed when he spoke again. “You were drawing in the stands.”

She smiled at his not-so-subtle attempt to steer the conversation back to her.

“I’d like to see what you were working on,” he said.

“I need more practice before I bare my soul to others.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and his gaze bored into her as if he tried to see into her heart.

“You never told me you wanted to run your own business,” she said.

“I didn’t know that’s what I wanted to do until years later, after we’d graduated from school.”

“It’s funny how all along your dream was waiting right here at home for you.” She swept her hand in front of her. “And I was so sure my dream was anywhere but in Little Springs.”

“What else have you been doing besides raising the twins and taking care of your mother-in-law?”

“I’ve volunteered at the kids’ school and helped my husband’s employer with corporate fund-raisers. I’ve also become an expert on throwing dinner parties.”

“Do you like doing that kind of thing?” he asked.

“The dinner parties?”

He nodded.

“At first it was fun. After the twentieth party . . . not so much. To be honest, I hate cooking now. I’m happy eating a cold salad for supper or popping a frozen dinner into the microwave.”

“I love to cook.”

“You do?”

“After my mother took off, Dad and I mostly ate fast food and frozen burritos.”

“Who taught you to cook?” As soon as she asked the question, she wished she could take it back. She didn’t want to hear about all the former girlfriends who’d helped him in the kitchen.

“I taught myself,” he said, “by watching cooking videos on YouTube.”

“What’s your favorite dish?”

“I make a mean rosemary braised lamb shank.”

“I’m impressed.”

He flashed a half grin. “We’ve both changed.”

“That’s for sure.”

His smile faded. “So tell me a few facts about the Katelyn Chandler who lives in St. Louis.”

“Let’s see. . . . I discovered I like sashimi.”

“Me, too. What’s your favorite?”

“It’s a toss-up between mackerel and squid. What about you?”

“I like them both. Have you tried puffer fish?”

“Never.”

“There’s a place in Denver that serves sashimi that’s out of this world.”

“When were you in Denver?”

“I spent a few years there on road construction projects. It’s a beautiful city.”

“You’ve always liked working with your hands, haven’t you?”

“I guess we both have that in common—me with a wrench and you with a paintbrush.”

Only Jackson had stayed true to his passion, while she’d abandoned hers. “I’ve traveled overseas several times. Melissa is visiting two of my favorite countries—Italy and Greece.”

“I bet your kids are smart like you were in school.”

“Michael inherited his father’s mind for business. Melissa isn’t sure what she wants to major in, but she’s leaning toward psychology.” Katelyn smiled. “The twins both look more like me than Don.”

Jackson walked over to the couch and sat next to her.

She shifted on the cushion, facing him. “Where else have you lived?”

“After Colorado I built homes in California. Then I did a stint cutting lumber in Oregon.”

“You’ve seen more of this country than I have,” she said. “I’ve been to New York three times. I’m not impressed with the city, but I loved Broadway.”

“I went to Vegas and saw a comedy club act, but that’s about all the culture I can stand.”

“How did you find your way back to Little Springs?” she asked.

“I’ve always wanted to live here.”

His answer surprised her. “Why?”

“It’s home.”

“What about your crappy childhood? Your mom left you and your dad drank. Nothing good happened here.”

He picked at the engine grease beneath his fingernails, then looked her in the eye. “You happened to me.”

She wanted to ask if he ever thought about where they’d be if she hadn’t broken up with him, but she chickened out and changed the subject. “I think you’d like Italy.”

“Why’s that?”

“The country is old and you’re an old soul.” She smiled.

He groaned.

“I’m serious. I bet you like working on old cars more than the newer models.”

“I do.” He rubbed a finger over her wedding band. “What about your soul?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“It seems like you gave up a lot of yourself when you married and had your son and daughter.”

“I did, but since I’ve been home, I’m discovering the urge I once felt to draw is still inside me.”

He tilted his head, studying her intently.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“You’re different.”

“No kidding. I’m older.”

“I’m not looking at the crow’s-feet around your eyes.”

She laughed. “Thanks for noticing.”

“When you talked about your drawings back in high school, your pupils would get huge.” He released her hand and then caressed the skin beneath her eye. “But right now they’re small.”

“You’re crazy.” She shifted away from him, uncomfortable that he’d remembered such an intimate detail about her. She checked the time on her cell phone, surprised she’d been at the garage for almost an hour. “I need your help.”

“Help with what?”

Katelyn jumped inside her skin when Vern walked through the bay door. The minister’s gaze swung between her and Jackson. “Hello, Mr. Wilkes.”

“Call me Vern.”

“I stopped by to ask Jackson a favor, but I could use your help, too.”

“Doing what?” Vern asked.

“Chauffeuring the Little Springs Ladies’ Society home. They’re celebrating my mother’s birthday at Doris’s house and they’ve all eaten brownies laced with pot.”

Vern snickered. “The cannabis queen strikes again.”

“Katelyn and I can drive Harriet and Mavis home, since they live out of town,” Jackson said.

“Vern, if you don’t mind driving my mother-in-law’s car, you could drop off the ladies who live in town. Then we’ll meet you back at my mother’s house.”

“Shirley’s at the party?” Vern asked.

“Yes,” Katelyn said.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?”