The Mountain Between Us (12 page)

“People used to think that Murphy was responsible for the lights,” Rick said. “They were the kind of practical joke he liked.”

“So when he wasn't drinking or brawling, he was playing practical jokes. What a guy.” She thought by now she'd come to terms with the fact that her father was less than the responsible, generous, superhero quality guy she'd fantasized about when she was a girl, but disappointment at how far he fell short of that image still pricked at her from time to time.

“People enjoyed his jokes,” Rick said. “They were entertaining. Entertainment is hard to come by around here sometimes—seeing as how we don't have a Starbucks or a Taco Bell. We have to make do with coffee and tacos from the Last Dollar.”

“Don't tell Janelle and Danielle I said that about Starbucks and Taco Bell,” she said. She'd never be able to look the two café owners in the eye if they knew she'd expressed a preference for chain restaurant fare over the Last Dollar's homemade goodness.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I'm fine.”

“Because you seem a little out of sorts. Are you feeling okay?”

“Other than morning sickness, constant fatigue, indigestion, and swollen ankles, I'm just peachy.”

“Uh-huh. And things are okay with you and Jameso?”

“Great.” Except she'd practically taken his head off last night when he asked if she wanted to go for a ride on his motorcycle. Didn't he think that sounded a little dangerous for a pregnant woman? Or didn't he think? “Why are you so concerned anyway?”

“Because if this is the mood you're going to be in for the rest of your pregnancy, it's going to be a long nine months.”

“Seven and a half months.” At his puzzled look, she added, “That's how long before the baby's born—seven and a half months.”

“But who's counting? What's wrong, really? It's not like you to be so pissy.”

Nothing's wrong and stop asking me about it!
she wanted to scream. But even that wouldn't stop Rick. He was worse than a dog who knew a cat was on the other side of the door, refusing to give up.

“I'm on edge waiting for the results of the prenatal testing,” she said. “They're supposed to be in any day now.”

“And you're worried the results won't be good?”

“I'm forty years old, Rick. We're talking seriously old eggs here. The odds aren't in my favor.”

“I think you need to go back to math class.” He raised one finger, a professor in lecture mode. “While you might have a slightly higher chance of something going wrong, I'm pretty sure most women your age deliver perfectly healthy babies.”

“And you know this how?”

“I read it in a press release. You'll be fine.”

“But what if something
is
wrong?” She had to force the words out, though the question had been ping-ponging around her brain for days, like a hyper Jack Russell terrier.

“Then you'll deal,” he said. “It's what people do.”

“I'll deal? That's the best you can come up with? Because I feel so much better now.”

“Would you rather I tell you you'll fall apart?” He shook his head. “You're not the falling apart type.”

She hadn't fallen apart when she'd found out her husband of twenty years was cheating on her, or when he'd left her, or when she'd found out she had no more money, or even when the “inheritance” from her absent father had consisted of a cabin in the mountains, a ten-year-old Jeep, and a gold mine with no gold. “I guess you're right.”

“Feel better now?”

Strangely enough, she did. “How come Jameso hasn't bothered to ask me why I'm being such a bitch lately, but you did?” she asked.

“He's probably assumed it's all his fault—the safe fallback position for any guy in a relationship. And in this case, he's right. He's the one who put that bun in your oven.”

“He could have asked.”

“Cut the guy some slack. He's probably as freaked out as you are.”

A tinny version of “Fire on the Mountain” sounded through the office and Maggie lunged for her phone.

“A Deadhead ring tone?” Rick asked. “Really?”

She ignored him. “Hello?”

“Maggie? This is Dr. Racine.”

“Yes?” Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.

“I have your test results. Everything looks great. You're on track to have a healthy baby.”

“I am? I mean . . . that's great. Wonderful.”

“Do you have any questions for me?”

She'd spent so much time preparing herself for bad news she had no idea how to handle good news. “No, I'm good. Thanks for calling.” She hung up and stared at the phone in her hand.

“Everything okay?” Rick asked.

“Yeah, the tests came back fine.”

“What did I tell you?”

She shoved back her chair. “I have to go tell Jameso.” Not waiting for his answer, she grabbed her purse and headed for the Jeep.

She had no recollection of the drive to her house. She found Jameso in his living room, waxing his skis. “Expecting snow?” she asked.

“There's none in the forecast, but I'm hoping.” He set aside the iron he was using to melt wax onto the bottoms of the skis. “What are you doing home in the middle of the day? Everything okay?”

“I heard from Dr. Racine. The test results came in.”

“And?” He wore the pinched expression of a man bracing himself for bad news.

“Everything's fine. No sign of any problems.”

His smile cut loose the last string that had been holding her together. She began to sob, big, hiccupy crying that made her feel sloppy and unattractive, but she couldn't stop.

“Hey, hey!” He gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair. “What's wrong?”

“I've just been so worried. And I've been such a bitch to you. I should have told you what was wrong instead of snapping at you.”

“We're both the type to play it close to the vest when it comes to emotions.”

Yeah. Just what every good relationship needed—two people who couldn't talk about their feelings. “Was Jake that way, too?” After all this time, she was still hungry for more details about her father.

“You know it. I was his closest friend and he never even mentioned you existed.”

“Do you resent him for that?” she asked.

“I resent him for a lot of things, but that doesn't do any good,” he said. “I'm trying to let go of the past.”

“Yeah, it isn't always easy.”

“Easier when you have a future to look forward to.” He patted her back again. “I'm glad the baby's okay. I'll be honest, it still doesn't seem a hundred percent real to me, but I'm working on it.”

“Right. As long as we're working on this being honest with each other thing, can I admit I'm terrified I'm going to screw this up? I mean, the whole baby thing. Who am I to think I can raise a child?”

“I think that's pretty normal,” he said. “Babies are little, but they're huge, too, life changing.”

That was definitely part of her fear. She'd had too many changes in her life in the last six months. Enough already.

“You'll be okay,” Jameso said. “You have good instincts. My instincts, on the other hand, suck. But I'll do my best.”

He was trying—that counted for something, right? She still couldn't see Jameso as husband and father material; he was too wild, too laid-back, too much like her father, who'd never really been a father.

But he was all she and the baby had right now. So they'd hang on and make the best of it, for the next eight months or forever, whichever came last.

 

If Lucille had had a regular city office, she could have locked the door and hung a sign saying the mayor was not in. But the only city official in Eureka who had an office was the secretary responsible for collecting money for building permits and trash pickup. The mayor and the town council conducted business from the storefronts and offices they manned for their “real” jobs.

Which meant Lucille was fair game for any citizen with a bone to pick with her from behind the front counter of Lacy's. So far no one had come in to read her the riot act about allowing a smooth-talking lothario to swindle the city out of all of its cash, but when she saw Cassie Wynock headed up the steps on Friday morning, Lucille feared that stretch of good fortune was about to end.

“Good morning, Cassie,” she said, when the librarian hurried into the store.

“I have a complaint,” Cassie said.

Of course you do
. When did Cassie ever not have a complaint about something? “Why is it no one ever comes to see me with compliments?” she wondered out loud.

“If you took this job because you wanted people to fawn over you, you deserve all the grief you get,” Cassie said. “But people wouldn't have anything to complain about if government did what it promised to do in the first place.”

“You'll have to take that up with the folks in Denver or Washington. We're not much in the habit of making promises around here.” Even before Gerald had absconded with the town funds, the budget had been limited enough to prohibit any kind of extravagance. For the six years Lucille had been mayor, at least one town council meeting every fall consisted of a debate about whether or not they could afford new Christmas decorations for the town. The decision always ended up that they could not.

“You promised me you'd send someone to look at the shelves in the library that need replacing,” Cassie said.

Lucille had a vague recollection of something about library shelves. She'd been in the throes of her most serious infatuation with Gerald at the time and dealing with Cassie's demands had been the last thing on her mind. Was that really only a few weeks ago? “In case you haven't heard, the town is broke,” she said.

“Eureka has been broke as long as I've been alive. Yet you always seem to come up with money for the things you think are important. Well, I'm saying library shelves are important and it's time you realized it.”

Cassie announced this—as she announced all her opinions—in the same tone of voice she might have used to berate a child for defacing library books.

Lucille leaned toward the older woman, palms flat on the counter between them to keep from reaching out and throttling her. “Don't talk to me like I'm ten years old or an idiot,” she said. “I know how much money is in the town treasury, and it's $752.86. We don't have enough money to pay the light bill next month, or the plow drivers when the snow finally does fall, or the secretary's salary. So the library shelves are pretty far down on my list of priorities right now.”

Cassie stared at her, wide-eyed. “Just what am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don't care if you have to prop the shelves up with old bricks. You're a smart woman when you're not looking down your nose at everyone. Deal with it.”

Lucille braced herself for one of Cassie's notorious temper tantrums, but the librarian's response surprised her. “When I asked Doug how much money the town had left, he told me it was none of my business. I figured I'd get the truth from you, one way or another.”

“This wasn't about the library shelves at all.” Lucille had to admire Cassie's deviousness, though she still wanted to wring the woman's neck.

“Oh, the shelves still need replacing, but I can make them do for another year. I really wanted to see if it was true that you'd let what happened with your playboy lover turn you into some pitiful excuse for a woman.”

“Playboy lover?” Lucille managed a laugh, albeit a bitter one. “You've been reading too many Hollywood gossip magazines. Gerald was a cheat and a swindler; I was just too stupid to recognize it.”

“Not stupid,” Cassie said. “But don't act like you're the first woman to ever be taken in by a man. All this proves is that you're no better than the rest of us.”

Lucille wouldn't call the expression in Cassie's eyes compassion, but there was a measure of understanding there. She'd heard rumors about something going on between Cassie and Jake Murphy, and the mere mention of Jake's name was enough to upset the librarian; maybe she did have some inkling of what Lucille was going through. “I don't think I'm better than anyone else,” Lucille said. “But I do have more responsibility to this town than the average citizen. This fiasco happened on my watch, and I've got to find a way to fix it.”

“As someone once told me: You're a smart woman, you'll think of something.” Apparently having gotten what she'd come for, Cassie turned to leave.

“Cassie?” Lucille gripped the edge of the counter, forcing herself to ask the question she needed to know the answer to. “Did you see through Gerald? Did you know I was making a fool of myself with him?” Was she the only one who hadn't recognized his true colors? Had her friends stood by and let this happen?

“All I knew was that he was a man. I don't trust any of them. You didn't do anything half the women in this town wouldn't have done, given a chance. Charm is a powerful persuader, even when we should know better.” She left, the cow bells on the door jangling behind her.

Lucille rested her head in her hands, elbows on the counter. Gerald had been charming, all right. And she'd wanted desperately to believe every sweet word he'd said to her. Maybe her mistake hadn't been so much in trusting him—though that was definitely a mistake—but in avoiding any kind of romantic entanglement for so many years. She been waiting all this time for the perfect man to come along, and no such person existed.