The Red Hat Society's Acting Their Age (8 page)

So Cade decided he’d be smart to do a little damage control. He had two reasons for wanting to soften Mia up; one personal, the other professional. Both involving trust.

He had set out to buy flowers, then came up with a better idea. At least he hoped this gift was better than a bouquet of tulips. Cade rang the doorbell and stared down at the small, glossy red bag he held, left over from the store’s Christmas stock, most likely. He’d find out soon enough if he’d chosen well, he thought, when the porch light came on.

The door opened and Mia peeked out. Her brown hair was loose; it brushed the tops of her shoulders. “Cade.” She shook her head at him. “You never give up, do you?” When the door opened wider, he saw that she held a staple gun.

“Don’t shoot.” He lifted the sack with one hand while removing his hat with the other. “I brought a peace offering.”

She looked from him to the gift and back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes I did. Open it. You’ll see.”

They traded items; he took the staple gun, she took the sack. Mia reached inside and pulled out the CD. “Oh my gosh!” A laugh bubbled out of her. “Carole King’s
Tapestry
.”

“It may take three decades or more, but I always return what I borrow.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“After I left the coffee shop this afternoon, I had to run into Amarillo to tend to some business. I stopped by a music store before I came back. I must’ve tossed out your old eight-track tape some time or another and they don’t carry them anymore. Sorry. Hope the CD will do as a replacement.”

“Of course it will. I don’t even have an eight-track player now. Does anyone?” Clutching the CD to her chest, Mia laughed. “You can’t fool me, though. You didn’t toss the tape, you wore it out on all your parking excursions. I remember your smooth high school reputation with the girls.”

“Yeah, well . . . I always thought I retained a little of that old magic, but you’re starting to make me wonder.”

Her laughter drifted away on the chilled night air. The only warmth he felt came from the light in her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe and watched him.

A radio or stereo played inside. The music thumped with bass. “Can I come in, Mia?”

“It’s late.” Tensing, she took the staple gun from him. “I’m in the middle of a project. Reupholstering an old dining room chair.”

“I’ve reupholstered a chair or two in my day. I could help.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need any more—” She cut the sentence short. “I don’t need any help, Cade. I’m about to call it a night.”

Any
more help
. That’s what she’d started to say. Meaning someone was already in there helping her. He
knew
it. “I realize you’ve turned me down the last couple of times I’ve asked. I should take the hint, but I guess I’m either determined or a sucker for punishment.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we go out for some supper tomorrow night?”

“Cade . . .” She averted her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’d better not.”

“So much for my smooth reputation with the ladies.” He smiled and rubbed his chin between his fingers. “Guess I can’t complain. It served me well until I got out of college and married Jill. Then,
poof
, it disappeared. Just like that.”

“It’s not you. I’m just not ready to date. Not anybody. I’ve told you that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You mean to say if Brad Pitt or that Clooney character asked, you wouldn’t jump at the chance?”

“
Well
. . .” She pursed her lips, as if pondering the question. “That would be a tempting offer, but I’m sure those two wouldn’t give me a second look.”

“Then they’d be fools.”

She watched him a minute then said, “You know what I think?”

“I wish I did.”

“I think this sudden impulse of yours to date me might have something to do with the fact that I’m the only unattached woman in town over the age of nineteen and under seventy.”

“That’s not true. What about Janice Dubinsky?” he asked, referring to the middle school girls’ P.E. teacher.

Mia smirked. “Janice isn’t interested in men.”

Cade feigned surprise. “Nobody ever told me that.”

“They won’t, either. But everyone knows it’s true. Even you.”

When a crash sounded somewhere in the house, he peeked around her shoulder, trying to see in. “You got a packrat here, too?”

She jerked, leaning to block his view. “My cat. She’s always jumping up on the furniture and knocking stuff off. Picture frames, vases, you name it.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Mia looked flustered. “Got it for Christmas. It’s a kitten, really. From Aggie. Her cat had a litter.” She blurted a short laugh. “Not something I’d planned on, but what could I say? Aggie’s always afraid I get lonely.”

“Do you?” When her eyes flicked away from his, he wished he hadn’t asked such a personal question.

“Sometimes.” She shivered. “I’m still not used to living alone.”

“It gets easier with time. Did for me, anyway.” When another rattle sounded behind her, he said, “You sure I can’t come in? Maybe put that CD on and see if it has the same effect on women it had on sixteen-year-old girls back in the day?”

“Nice try, Cade.” She smiled. “Maybe another time.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He put on his hat, shrugged. “Another time is better than never.” Turning, he started down the walkway. “Goodnight, Mia.”

“Cade?”

Pausing, he looked back at her.

She held up the CD. “Thanks.”

Cade grinned. “I should be the one thanking you.”

“Oh,
really
.” She propped a fist on one hip. “I suppose a lot of women from Muddy Creek High’s class of ’72 would be thanking me, too, if they knew I was the one who loaned it to you.”

“Not so many.” His gaze lingered on her silhouette in the doorway and, for the first time in a long while, Cade felt lonely, too. And more determined than ever. “Besides, I want to listen to the music with
you
now, not them.”

Mia’s hand slowly lowered from her hip.

“And Mia?”

“Yes?” Her voice was quiet.

“Back in school? Your hair always smelled like strawberries. I never forgot that.”

Leanne removed her eye makeup then washed her face and applied moisturizer. She was slipping into her nightgown when the bathroom door opened and Eddie walked in, carrying his shoes.

“Hey.” He glanced at her as he walked past, headed to the closet, pulling his shirttail from the waistband of his pants.

“Hi. Where’ve you been?”

He opened the closet door, put his shoes inside, then began unbuttoning his shirt. “Shooting pool at Joe Pat’s.”

“All night?” Leanne crossed her arms.

Eddie shrugged. “You were at your meeting.” He took off his shirt, tossed it toward the dirty clothes basket then unbuckled his belt, avoiding her eyes.

His dismissive attitude stung. “I cooked.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here for dinner.”

“I told you I would.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “I was here.”

“Were you?” He looked up at her as he bent to step out of his pants. “Physically, maybe. I doubt if you would’ve noticed me sitting across the table.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Without answering, Eddie walked past her wearing only his boxers.

She followed him into the bedroom, watched him pull back the comforter on the bed then climb beneath the covers. He plumped the pillows, leaned back against them and reached to the nightstand for the novel he’d been reading the past few nights.

For a moment, Leanne just stared at him. Time had been easy on her husband. The silver threaded through his dark, wavy hair and the faint lines fanning the bronzed skin at the sides of his eyes only made him more handsome. Eddie wasn’t tall—only five-ten—but he was broad shouldered and as fit as he’d ever been, thanks to all the sports he continued to play, week in, week out, all through the year. An adult basketball league in the winter. Baseball in the summer. And in the spring he volunteered as coach for an elementary school boy’s soccer team, where he ran up and down the sidelines, cheering the little guys on.

Leanne climbed into bed beside him. Eddie was right; she hadn’t been here in a long time, not really. Not since Christmas. Along with the shopping and carols and twinkling lights, the holidays had brought the reality of her future into focus. She and Eddie were both only children. Her parents were gone, and so were his; his father had died over the summer. They had no other family left besides Aggie, and Aggie was fast approaching seventy. Someday soon, their lives would truly be empty.

Leaning back against the pillows, Leanne closed her eyes, and there it was . . . the memory that had kept her awake for more nights than she could count. Thirty-four years ago . . . driving home with Eddie from a party at Cooper Lake on a Saturday night, both of them blind drunk. God, they were so young; she was sixteen, Eddie was seventeen. Leanne was behind the wheel; she’d charmed him into letting her drive his new car. Even now she could hear their carefree laughter, feel Eddie’s hand on her thigh. She could see his hazy dark eyes, then the startling flash of an animal in the headlights when she looked back at the road.

Leanne’s heartbeat kicked up as she remembered Eddie’s yell, her scream, her hand jerking the steering wheel. The looming tree, the impact. Eddie pulled her from the wreckage before anyone arrived, then took the blame.

Leanne opened her eyes and glanced over at Eddie, aching for him to hold her. They had lost a baby that night, a child she hadn’t known about until she miscarried. A child no one except Eddie, Aggie, and Mia knew about even today. She had also lost the ability to bear more children.

There’d been a time when she and Eddie had discussed adoption. Twenty years ago, they had even applied to be foster parents, but never went through with it. Leanne started therapy instead. She faced up to what she’d done, accepted her fate and moved on.

Or so she’d thought.

She knew she should share her concerns with Eddie, let him help her figure out how to fill the gaping hole that had reappeared in their lives. But she didn’t know how to explain the emptiness in her heart without hurting him like she had in the past. So she stayed quiet. And as her unhappiness grew, so did the tension between them.

Leanne took a book from her nightstand drawer. Sometimes she caught him studying her instead of the pages when they read at night. Same thing when they watched TV. As if he was searching for a sign in her face that her prior instability had returned. What did he expect to see? A tic? An outbreak of hives or tears? Was he afraid she’d have a sudden deranged fit, tear off all her clothes, run naked into the street? How could she convince him she wasn’t headed for another breakdown? That she’d never again disappear on him like she had all those years ago? She felt bad about worrying Eddie, but his constant scrutiny was wearing her nerves thin. If he didn’t stop soon, she’d snap, all right.

After several minutes of silence, Eddie reached over, nudged beneath her chin with the pad of his thumb until she looked at him. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Me, too.” She managed a slight smile. “Let’s start over, okay?”

He nodded, his mouth curving up at one corner. “You first.”

She closed her book. “What went on at the paper today?”

“Not much.” He bent his neck from side to side, as if working out the kinks from long hours spent at his desk. “A runaway kid shoplifted from a couple of the stores in town yesterday.”

Leanne’s heart skipped. “I heard about that. Cade Sloan stopped by the shop this morning to ask us to keep an eye out for her.”

“Shoot. She’s long gone by now. I bet she caught a ride with some trucker and is halfway to California.”

“What’s a kid like that looking for, I wonder?” She thought of Mia’s daughter, Christy. A moody, creative loner; a puzzle piece that never quite fit into Muddy Creek’s picture. Then she thought of tiny, hollow-eyed Rachel. The girl was too thin, too bleached and made-up, too smart-mouthed and needy. Too everything.

Just like Leanne at fourteen.

Leanne shook her head. “It’s not easy being a kid . . . growing up.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What about you? How was your meeting this afternoon?”

“Good.” She laughed. “I’m still a little blown away that I’m old enough to be a full-fledged Red Hat member. I’m
fifty
, Eddie. How’s that possible?”

He winked. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Did you think our lives would be different than this by the time we reached half a century?”

“I’m not sure I ever thought about it.” The space between his brows puckered. “Did you?”

Shrugging, Leanne said, “I don’t know. It’s just . . . nothing much has changed when you think about it. We live in the same old town where we were both born, in the same old house I grew up in.” Which had belonged to her ever since her daddy died just after her eighteenth birthday.

Eddie’s body tensed. “And you’re married to the same old guy you used to date in high school.”

Leanne tilted her head to one side. He was too sensitive. Any time she even hinted at something amiss, he assumed he was the cause. “I wasn’t gonna say that, Eddie.”

“But is it what you’re thinking?”

She shook her head. “No . . .”

“Then what?” Eddie touched her cheek.

“I guess I always thought—” She brushed a finger across his chest.
That there’d be more time. That somehow or another, we’d have a family. That this house wouldn’t be so quiet
. . .
so empty.
“Nothing,” she said, and opened her book again. She felt Eddie’s stare.

“My football reunion’s in a few weeks,” he said. “I was thinking . . . instead of driving home afterward, why don’t we stay over in Amarillo for the weekend? Someplace nice. We could have ourselves a little mini-vacation. It’ll be good for us.”

Leanne nibbled her lower lip. She’d forgotten about Eddie’s reunion. Back in the seventies, he’d played for West Texas A&M, a school located two hours away in Canyon. A group of the guys and their wives got together every five years in Amarillo for dinner, drinks, and reminiscing.