The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (37 page)

“You know what’s really creepy?” she said. “At least once a day I’ll be ringing somebody up and think, ‘Is he the one?’ Some ordinary guy who probably never even ran a red light.”

It was the one sour note in what had been a series of pleasant surprises. Business was up—today had been their busiest day in weeks—with much of the credit going to Finch. Laura studied the girl out of the corner of her eye. Her long hair, glossy as a thoroughbred’s coat, was tied back in a loose ponytail, and nails once bitten to the quick were painted a becoming shade of pink. In a new slim-fitting skirt and top, one of the outfits from Rusk’s, she bore little resemblance to the surly, gaunt-cheeked runaway of just three months ago.

The transformation didn’t end there. At the shop, where her part-time position had quickly blossomed into full-time, Finch had proved to be a natural saleswoman. She seemed to know exactly what someone was looking for even when he or she didn’t have a clue. She’d even made a few suggestions about inventory, one of which had been a runaway success: rune stone necklaces that were being snapped up by teenagers even faster than the bug jewelry. And hadn’t it been her idea, too, to put a real pair of budgies in the brass bird cage by the door? What’d been gathering dust for ages had sold in a matter of days, birds and all, with two more on order.

Her sister had been indispensable as well, making good on the promise to set her up with a Web site designer. But the tectonic shift that had taken place was Laura’s discovery that she
liked
being in charge. It was overwhelming at times, sure, but she no longer had to second-guess every decision; she could take a chance on items her mother would have raised an eyebrow at. Now all she had to do was hang on a little while longer, until the Web site was up and running and the recent boost in business translated into black ink.

There was a hard jounce, and Laura was flung forward against her seat belt.

“You want to keep an eye out for those potholes,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “And for heaven’s sake,
slow down.
This isn’t the Indy 500.”

Finch’s driving wasn’t her main worry. At some point they’d have to stop acting as if this were just a temporary living arrangement and start looking to the future. Like school, for instance, for which they’d need transcripts. Then there was the much larger, and far more complicated, question of who, if anyone, was her legal guardian.

Finch eased up on the accelerator. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was going so fast.”

“It has a way of sneaking up on you.” Laura waited a full minute before venturing casually, “You know, Finch, I’ve been thinking. You can’t stick to back roads the rest of your life. At some point you’re going to have to get a driver’s license.”

“That’d mean filling out forms and stuff.” Finch frowned and shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll stick to back roads.” Laura watched her jaw harden and her mouth settle into its old stubborn lines.

She wanted to reassure her in some way, but resisted the temptation. This wasn’t the right moment. Instead, she gazed out the window at the narrow road with grassy hills on either side and mountains rising in the distance. She thought,
No sane person could hold her responsible for that man’s death.
Finch was a good kid.

Smart, too, for how else could she have survived? And now the spark that a dozen plus years of institutional neglect hadn’t extinguished had been fanned into something truly miraculous.
If I’d had a daughter…

Lost in thought she didn’t notice how far they’d come until they were turning into her driveway. Hector spotted them and waved. It had rained the night before, breaking the spell under which the valley had drowsed and turning the dusty corral into a sea of mud—a rare opportunity Laura’s mare clearly hadn’t been able to pass up. She was covered in mud from head to hoof, water running off her in brown rivulets as Hector hosed her down.

Laura climbed stiffly from the passenger’s seat.
Remind me to take a Valium next time.
She remembered when it’d been Sam giving
her
driving lessons. Come to think of it, hadn’t it always been her mother? Quietly, efficiently, and without fuss looking after her and her sister, making sure they had everything they needed, that homework was done, hems let down; that they didn’t run out of tampons or shampoo or toilet paper.

The discovery that her father hadn’t been as dependable saddened her, though deep down it had come as no surprise. Hadn’t she always known he couldn’t be counted on when push came to shove? Laura remembered the times she’d waited for him after school, how she’d been the only kid left, shadows lengthening across the school yard and tears in her eyes when he finally arrived to pick her up. He always had an excuse—he’d been caught up in something and had forgotten, or some appointment had run over. His biggest concern, she recalled, was that she not tell her mom.

Laura stretched to release the tenseness in her muscles. A light mist hung over the yard, where long shadows marked the shortening days. Judging from the size of the mud puddle in which Hector stood he’d been at it a while. She picked her way over, unmindful of her good navy pumps.

“Nothing like a bath to spoil the fun.” She patted Judy, who stood meekly, head hung as if in shame. “Sorry you had to get stuck cleaning up the mess. She can be a real clown, can’t she?”

Hector grinned. “She was just feeling her oats.”

“What did the vet say about Punch?” Doc Henry had been out again today to check on his leg.

“That he could use more exercise.”

“I know I haven’t been around much—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m asking too much of you as it is.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking…maybe I should take a break from school. Place is starting to look a little run-down.” He gestured in the direction of the corral, where the gate sagged from loops of baling wire.

She refused to even consider it. “You’re already making up for the course you dropped last semester. No, it’s out of the question.”

“Too late. I already talked to my adviser.” He used the edge of his hand to slice a sheet of muddy water from the mare’s flank.

“Oh, Hector.” She was pierced with guilt.

“Just two classes. I can make them up next semester.”

Laura folded her arms over her chest, eyeing him sternly. “You can’t keep doing this, you know. At the rate you’re going you’ll be an old man by the time you graduate.”

“I’ll be an old man no matter what.”

“Hec…”

“Would you hand me that?” He gestured toward a raggedy towel draped over the wheelbarrow.

Laura fetched the towel and handed it to him, watching as he briskly rubbed Judy down. His movements were quick, like a boxer’s, and at the same time oddly graceful.

She felt her face grow warm. These days, blushing had become a habit. She’d made peace with the fact that he would never see her as anything more than a friend. And that he wouldn’t always be around. But like cacti that bloom but once a decade, and cicadas that rise from the earth every seven years, the blood that had rushed so readily to her cheeks at sixteen had come full circle.

“Listen, are you going to be around tonight?” she asked. “I thought maybe we’d take in a movie. My treat.”

“Can’t. My brother’s in town,” he replied without looking up.

“Which one?”

“Eddie.”

Eddie rode bulls, she recalled. “Isn’t the rodeo in Paso Robles?”

“Yeah, but what’s another hundred miles?”

Eddie was his favorite brother. Maybe one reason they were so close was because they were both confirmed bachelors. A woman would have to be as gorgeous as Alice, she thought, for Hector to take the plunge. It would help, too, if he hadn’t known her since she was a pudgy kid in braces.

“Well, don’t stay out too late,” she teased, starting toward the house, “and give my best to your brother.”

“Hey, I forgot to tell you,” Hector called after her. “Your mother phoned while you were out.”

Laura stopped and retraced her steps. “What did she want?”

“To see how you’re doing, I guess.” He shrugged, taking hold of Judy’s halter and leading her into the barn.

Laura felt guilty all of a sudden. Her widowed mother, three months pregnant, living all alone out in the middle of nowhere.
It should have been me checking up on her.
Was she still angry at her mother? Maybe. In the same utterly irrational way she’d been angry at her father for dying. Parents, she thought, weren’t supposed to die.

Or fall in love. Or have babies.

As she trudged toward the house, she wondered if she was so different from Maude’s son. He seemed to view his mother’s newfound happiness as some sort of defection, proof that she no longer loved or needed him. Wasn’t she just as bad, blaming her mother for living her life as she saw fit?

She glanced down at muddy shoes looking more like feet of clay than another pair of dress pumps she’d ruined. All of a sudden she felt small and mean-spirited.

Maude was at the stove when she walked in, stirring the contents of a sizzling pan. “Liver and onions,” she announced.

Laura tried not to make a face. “Smells delicious.”

“Finch said the very same thing. Glad you both like liver so much.” Maude tipped her a knowing wink. “By the way, I hear you’re teaching her how to drive.”

“She’s a quick learner.”

“One of these days we might even teach her how to cook.”

Laura smiled and went about setting the table. Plates, napkins, flatware, the glasses from Safeway that Peter used to complain about. There was comfort, she thought, in old habits and old things.

“She’ll be needing a driver’s license.” Maude seemed to have read her mind.

“I know.” Laura reached down to scratch Pearl, who lay stretched in the middle of the floor like a matted yellow rug. The dog’s tail thumped against the worn linoleum. Not to be one-upped, Rocky wandered over to have his head scratched, too. “She’s terrified…and not just of taking the test.”

“I don’t blame her.”

Laura walked over to slip an arm around Maude’s shoulders. She felt tiny and fragile, and smelled faintly of lavender. “We’re a funny bunch, aren’t we? Like leftover peas rolling around in a can.”

“No two alike.” Maude scooped liver onto a plate, her eyes unnaturally bright.

The time had come to put matters to rest. “You know you’ll always have a home here, don’t you? As long as you want.” Some things, she thought, had to be said more than once for them to stick.

Maude shot her a timid look. “What if I get sick?”

“I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m eighty-four. A year or two from now I won’t be able to get around like I used to.”

“So?”

“I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“You could never be a burden. Anyway,” Laura said, “who would make me liver and onions?”

Maude smiled up at Laura. “Something tells me you’d get along just fine without it.”

Something sloughed away inside Laura, a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying. Maybe Hector needed to hear how she felt, too. She’d risk making a fool of herself, sure, but how much worse to spend the rest of her life wondering. She realized suddenly that the baby wasn’t the only reason she was jealous of her mother. She envied Sam’s courage—the courage to leap into the unknown.

Hours later, Laura sat curled on the seat-sprung sofa on the porch, waiting for Hector to return. The tension was almost more than she could bear and when his truck finally pulled in shortly before midnight, its headlights cutting a bright swath across the yard, she nearly jumped out of her skin. His tires crunched to a stop, and the engine died. She heard the thunk of a door, and saw a shadow angle up the side of the moonlit barn. She followed its progress, her heart thumping in her chest, until it had rounded the corner and was swallowed up by the deeper shadows beyond.

She rose on legs weak as those of a newborn foal. A light wind had kicked up, and out in the darkness somewhere she could hear a loose gate banging against its latch. It seemed to scold her as she ran lightly down the steps. She’d never visited him at night; it was a line she hadn’t dared cross. But now here she was, chasing her shadow across the moonlit yard, heart in throat, and her hopes pinned on the slenderest of chances—a chance that if dashed might forever cost her his friendship.

She caught up with him as he was letting himself in the door. Hector swung about with a startled look that was quickly replaced by relief. “Laura. For a second there I thought—” He took a step back, squinting at her in the light that spilled through the open door. “Hey, what’s wrong? You look a little flushed.”

“Can I come in?” she asked breathlessly.

“Sure.” He held the door open. “Don’t mind the mess. I haven’t had a chance to clean up.”

“Like I’m such a model housekeeper myself.” She managed a weak laugh.

Laura stepped into a room as simple and uncluttered as Hector himself: a bed and dresser, a plain pine table and chair. The only sign of disarray was the clothing piled on the floor by the bed. She felt a sudden, perverse longing to gather them up, bury her face in them.

“I’ll make coffee,” he said.

She watched him move to the small counter in back, which held just enough space for a sink, coffeemaker, and microwave. He filled the coffeepot from a plastic jug in the fridge. The beans, whole from an unlabeled sack, were poured into the small Braun grinder she’d given him last Christmas. If Hector was fastidious about anything it was his coffee.

When it was ready, he filled a mug and handed it to her. “You want to tell me what’s up?”

Laura sank into a chair, her heart still beating much too fast. “I was just lonely, that’s all.”
This was a terrible idea,
she thought,
I shouldn’t have come.
Hector just stood there, sipping from his mug, wisps of steam curling up around his face. She opened her mouth to tell him the whole truth, but at the last second chickened out, asking, “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“We knocked back a few beers, had a few laughs.” Hector grinned, showing his chipped front tooth.

“Any sign of your brother settling down?”