Caribou Crossing (9 page)

To his surprise, Wade missed the boy, too. The kid might be odd, but he grew on you. “I know, but right now your mommy's not up to company.”

“We'd be quiet.” Jessie put on her best wheedling tone. “We'd even do homework.”

He smiled for the first time that day. She was so normal. She really didn't understand the loss they'd suffered and she was so wrapped up in her own life. He tugged affectionately on her ponytail. “Sure you would.” Who knew, maybe Evan would be good for Miriam, too. He certainly wouldn't create more work. He always more than pulled his weight when he was around. Maybe the kid would set up a jigsaw puzzle. Miriam used to enjoy doing those with him.

Besides, Jessie was entitled to be happy even if her parents were going through a rough patch.

“We'll get him out here again just as soon as your mommy's up to it,” he promised.

Life would get back to normal.

Soon.

 

Miriam rested her forearms on the handle of the grocery cart and studied the shopping list again. Last year, she'd have had a mental list of what they needed and remembered everything. Now, even a written list was confusing.

She'd bought milk, now she was way over in the produce aisle, and the next thing on the list was butter, which was back near the milk. Oh well, she'd get it later. The next item read “desserts.” Like a dim memory, Miriam recalled bustling about the kitchen, kneading pastry dough, blending cream and sugar, spreading chocolate frosting. Sneaking a taste, imagining the pleasure on her husband's and daughter's faces as they ate the treats she baked.

The idea of making a pie or cake seemed as impossible as . . .

Well, sometimes just the thought of making it through the day seemed impossible.

She refocused on the list. Dessert. She'd buy ice cream and cookies.

“Miriam!” A female voice made her turn to see Connie Bradshaw, bright and pretty in denim shorts and a pink tank top, holding a bag of peaches. A kindergarten teacher, this was summer holiday for her.

“Hi, Connie.” Belatedly, she remembered to smile at her old friend.

“I haven't seen you in ages.” The petite brunette cast a quick up-and-down gaze over Miriam, making her realize that she hadn't changed out of the sweats she often wore at home.

“No, it's been a while.”

“I called, but . . .”

Connie'd left messages. Other friends had, too. “Sorry, I've been busy,” Miriam said.

“It's okay.” There was concern, a question, in Connie's eyes.

Now that Miriam was coming into town again to shop, she of course ran into people she knew. Some mentioned the miscarriage, but others didn't, probably figuring it best they didn't remind her of it.

As if it wasn't the single biggest thing in her life, the heavy dark blanket that weighed her down so that she could barely manage to get through each day.

“I'm meeting Jane and Frances for lunch,” Connie said. “Why don't you come?”

Lunch. She used to do that when she was working at the vet's office. Meet up with girlfriends for lunch. She was supposed to be doing the things she used to, supposed to be getting back to normal life. That was what the doctor said, and her mom, who called every day from Winnipeg, and Wade. They were always nagging her to do things, to try harder, to heal faster. Even Jessica, always at her to come see her foal, to read a story together at bedtime. So much pressure.

But she loved Wade, Jessica, her mom. She tried to do what they wanted, even though it felt like she was plodding through quicksand every day, trying to make it all the way to bedtime without sinking. Then she could take the pills the doctor had prescribed and sink into blissful oblivion.

“Miriam? Come on, join us for lunch.”

If she did, she could tell Wade and her mom. It would make them happy. “Okay.” She began to push her cart toward the checkout.

“Wait a sec.” Connie stopped her and took the milk out of the cart. “I'll put this back. It's so hot out, it'll go sour in your car. You can come back to the store after lunch.”

“Right. Thanks.”

They both paid for their groceries and Connie helped Miriam load bags into her car. Then, swinging her bag of peaches,the other woman led her down the street. “Tourism picks up each year,” Connie commented.

Though Miriam had been coming into town for a couple of weeks now, she realized she'd never really looked around. Now she noted that there were indeed more strangers than usual on the street, many carrying cameras and wearing souvenir T-shirts with the “Caribou Crossing” road sign logo. She hunted for an appropriate comment. Making conversation had turned into an effort. It was hard to remember what she was supposed to say, and why it mattered. “That's good for business.”

“Sure is. The town's booming right now.”

Good. That should mean the ranch was doing well, too.

Miriam hadn't gotten back to the bookkeeping. She'd been halfway through her course, partway through inputting figures into the computer system. No way could her brain cope with that kind of work right now. One day she'd get back to it, and in the meantime she had total confidence in Wade.

“This place opened a couple of months ago,” Connie said, stopping in front of a coffee shop called The Gold Pan. “Have you been here yet?”

“No.” It occupied the space where a rather old-fashioned gift shop had been.

“It has classy versions of miners' food.”

As they went in, Miriam glanced at the huge sepia prints of old mining pictures that decorated the walls, and the rustic wooden tables and chairs.

Jane and Frances hadn't arrived yet, and Miriam went into the ladies' room to use the facilities. When she washed her hands, the reflection that stared back at her was a shock. When was the last time she'd actually looked in a mirror? And how long had it been since she'd had her sandy brown hair cut? Or washed it?

Frowning, she combed her hair vigorously and, finding an old scrunchie of Jessica's in her purse, fashioned a ponytail. Pulled back, her hair didn't look so lank. At least her face was tanned from working outside in the vegetable garden. She added lip gloss and thought she didn't look too horrible.

But when she saw her three former classmates chatting around a table, she knew she didn't measure up. They looked young and fresh in pretty summer clothes, their hair gleaming, their faces bright and animated. In comparison, Miriam, at twenty-seven, felt like a middle-aged hag.

Well, she'd lost a child. She'd lost her uterus, damn it. Let them go through that and still look young and vibrant.

Their conversation stopped when they saw her coming. They'd been talking about her. Of course they had.

She took a deep breath and tried to get a grip. It wasn't healthy to resent other people's happiness, or to get angry when they pitied her. Her focus was supposed to be on getting healthy. So she forced a smile. “Hey, girls, it's great to see you.”

“You, too, Miriam,” Frances said. A striking blonde, she wore a lovely blue sundress, no doubt from the clothing shop where she worked.

Jane, tailored and professional with her short, stylish auburn hair, sleeveless white blouse, and tan linen pants, nodded in agreement and asked tentatively, “How are you?”

“Okay. Fine. Keeping busy.”

Looking relieved, Jane said, “That's great. Just great.”

They were all silent for an awkward moment; then Frances grabbed a menu. “Have you been here before? They have some fun things.”

“I haven't. What do you recommend?”

“The skillet sourdough bread's terrific. So are the soups and the native greens salad. If you want hearty, the chili is amazing.”

“I'm starving,” Jane said. “Chili for me.”

Miriam used to know what hunger felt like. Now, she ate because she knew she had to. After listening to the others' selections, she chose the same thing as Connie: the salad with a side of skillet sourdough.

Orders placed, there was another moment of silence. It was because she was there. No one knew what to say around her. Before anyone could ask her a question, she said brightly, “Tell me what you've all been up to.”

Then, rather than let herself drift off into a fog, as so often happened, she forced herself to concentrate and offer the occasional comment, as she also forced herself to eat every tasteless bite of food.

Jane, a lawyer with a firm in town, had just gotten engaged to another lawyer, and when they married in the spring, they would set up their own practice together. Connie and her husband of two years were planning a holiday in Hawaii at Christmas break, and trying to decide between Maui and Kauai. For the past few months, Frances had been dating a man who lived in Vancouver, traveling down for long weekends and holidays, and she was thinking about getting a job there.

Their lives seemed so fun, so exciting. They had dreams; they were so enthusiastic about everything; they had so much to look forward to. Miriam was the same age as them. Why didn't she have any of that? Even before she lost the baby, all she'd done was work, ever since they'd moved out to Bly Ranch.

“You're not back at the vet clinic, are you?” Jane asked. “I took Libris in last week and Mrs. Christian was at the desk.”

Dr. Christian was holding Miriam's job for her. His mom was filling in, though she really didn't want to work full-time.

“Not yet,” Miriam said. “Soon, though.” It was the same thing she told Wade when he asked. She'd enjoyed the job, used to come home full of stories about the pets and their humans. It felt like years ago. Like she'd been a different woman. Now it took all her energy to make it through the day, what with meals to prepare, housework, the garden.

Her energy was coming back, though. Slowly. Her enthusiasm for life would surely come back, too.

Her love for Wade would—No, what was she thinking? Her heart raced and she put a hand to her chest, pressing against that wild flutter. Of course she hadn't lost her love for her husband. She would never stop loving him. Just like she'd never stop loving Jessica, or her parents or siblings.

It was just that love, right now, was more of a knowledge than a feeling. She knew she loved her family. She knew she loved sunny mornings and wild strawberries and riding across open meadows. She just didn't feel it. Not physically, not emotionally. Her mind recalled what it was like. How sometimes it was a warm glow that settled deep in her bones, and other times an overpowering rush that filled her heart and brought tears of joy to her eyes. Surely one day she'd experience that again.

And yes, sometimes she did resent Wade and Jessica. Not just for the demands they made on her, but for the way they carried on with life as if there'd never been a baby. As if she hadn't lost her ability to have children. As if she weren't a hollow shell.

That was why she couldn't feel, couldn't taste, couldn't even focus on a task. She was a shell, a dry husk. Empty. Empty but for grief, resentment, anger, guilt.

Everyone said there was nothing she could have done to save her baby. But she knew differently. She should have known something was wrong. Should have gone to the doctor earlier. And even if her poor tiny boy was doomed, she wouldn't have needed a hysterectomy. One day, there could have been other children. But she'd been stupid, irresponsible. She hadn't paid attention to the signs her body was sending her. It was her fault.

All her fault.

Did Wade blame her? He was so careful with her, like he was tiptoeing on eggshells in his Roper boots. She was never sure what he was thinking. Of course, even when he did talk to her, she had trouble focusing on what he was saying.

Speaking of which . . . Damn. She'd completely tuned out her girlfriends. This was what always happened. She tried to concentrate, but then her mind turned inward and she lost the drift of the conversation.

“I need to run,” Jane said. “I have an appointment at one.”

They settled the bill and the four women left together and said their good-byes on the street. Miriam couldn't wait to get back to the ranch and take a nap. Lunch had worn her out.

“Don't forget that milk,” Connie said.

“Oh, right.” Yes, she'd forgotten that she hadn't finished grocery shopping.

Walking back to the store, Miriam pulled out her list. Milk, butter, desserts. And there, in Jess's printing with a big star drawn around it, was something else she'd forgotten: “Pick up Ev at library at 12.”

She was an hour late. Okay, she'd get him first, then go back for groceries. One thing about Evan: He wouldn't complain. He was the most polite child.

It was a nuisance driving him to and from the ranch, but he really was a nice boy and a good influence on Jessica. Besides, her daughter deserved some fun. She sure wasn't getting it with her mom these days.

And that made Miriam feel guilty. Everything made her feel guilty. She should be healing faster. If only she could pull her feet out of the quicksand and shed the heavy gray blanket that weighed her down.

Maybe she couldn't yet stop feeling like an empty shell, but at least she could pretty up the exterior. She had to make more of an effort. When she got back to the ranch, she would shower, wash her hair, and put on clean clothes. When Wade came in from haying, she'd be more animated. She'd tell him about lunch with her friends, share all the news. Make him happy. Wade, too, deserved some happiness.

Body aching from a long day of haying—thank God the early crop had done well—Wade headed into the house for a quick dinner.

Miriam was in the kitchen, and his heart lifted at the sight of her. She'd changed from her usual sweats into shorts and a green T-shirt, and her long, curly hair was clean and shiny. Combined with the tan she'd acquired in the garden, she looked almost like his real wife, the pretty, vibrant, happy one. “Hey, honey, you're a sight for sore eyes.”

She smiled. “And you're so covered in hay you look like a scarecrow.”

He chuckled. “Let me grab a quick shower and I'll be right back.” Though his muscles were exhausted, he still took the stairs at a run, fearful that by the time he returned, she'd have lost her rare sparkle.

But no, when he came down, clean and changed, and gave her a hug, she returned it warmly. Standing in the bright kitchen, his arms around her and hers around him, he wanted to never let her go, to hang on to this one perfect moment.

But Jessie and Evan came in from outside, and Miriam broke away to greet them. “Dinner's almost ready,” she said. “You two wash up, then please set the table.”

Normal. It felt so blessedly normal—the old, wonderful normal—as Miriam sliced beans, Evan put dishes and cutlery on the table, and Jessie poured milk for all of them. Wade leaned against the counter near his wife. “How was your day?” he dared to ask.

“I went in for groceries, and to pick up Evan, and I ran into Connie. I had lunch with her and Jane and Frances. At that new coffee shop, The Gold Pan. Have you been there?”

He shook his head. The days were so full, he barely had time to whip into town for supplies once a week. Besides, there was no spare cash for restaurant meals. Not that he begrudged her one bit; seeing her girlfriends had invigorated her.

She started talking about Jane, who was now engaged to another lawyer, then Evan said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Bly, but the potatoes are boiling dry. Do you want me to serve them?”

“Oh!” She spun, gazed at the stove. “No, thanks, Evan. I'll get them.”

Quickly she drained the boiled new potatoes, which were soft, almost mushy now, rather than firm. But they'd taste fine with butter and salt, which Evan had already put on the table.

Miriam put the green beans in the microwave and took a baking dish of pork chops from the oven, and within minutes they were all seating themselves at the table.

Wade smiled across the table at his wife. “Dinner looks great.” He missed the days when she served meat loaf, lasagna, casseroles, and stir-fries, but at least she was shopping for groceries and putting dinner on the table each night. “Finish what you were saying about your friends, hon. You told me about Jane. What are Frances and Connie up to?”

“Frances is dating a guy who lives in Vancouver, so she's down there every weekend. They eat at great places, go to shows. She's having so much fun. And Connie and her husband are going to Hawaii during Christmas break. Doesn't that sound great? We should do something like that.”

He stared at her. She couldn't be serious. “Uh, you know the cattle and horses need feeding every day. We can't just up and leave them.”

She frowned. “Your parents went to Mexico one winter, and you came out to feed the animals. You could hire someone to do it.”

Hire someone? Yeah, like he could hire someone to help with the haying? Or he could've hired someone to help when the cows were calving, so he wouldn't have had to work twenty-four/seven? Hiring people required money, which they sure as hell didn't have. “Don't think that'll be in the budget this year,” he said gruffly, hating to burst her bubble. Hating that he wasn't a better husband who could give her the things she wanted.

Jessie said, “Oh, who wants to go to Hawaii anyhow? It's way more fun here, with the horses.” She began to gush about the latest exploits of Rascal, her foal.

Wade smiled affectionately at her. Though she was impulsive and not the most organized kid in the world, she was turning into a mighty fine ranch hand. At the age of eight, she did a lot of the work with the horses, helped care for sick animals, and rode out to check on the cattle. The best thing was, she didn't resent spending her summer holiday that way; she thought it was fun. Who knew, maybe he'd make a rancher of her after all.

She was a good kid and he was more than happy to agree when she wanted to have Evan come out to the ranch to play, or to go riding with other friends from school. Or when she persuaded their neighbor, a retired rodeo rider, to teach her roping and barrel racing.

Listening to Jessie boast about how Rascal was the smartest foal in the entire world, he glanced across the table at Miriam. In the old days, they'd have shared an amused smile. Now, Miriam stared at Jessie as if she was listening, but her lack of expression told him she wasn't taking in a single word. She'd withdrawn again.

His pleasure in the evening faded and Wade quickly finished the tough pork chops. He rose to see what they might have for dessert and found the usual. When he put a carton of Neapolitan ice cream on the table, Evan scooted to his feet to clear the dinner plates and bring bowls and spoons, and Jessie found a package of chocolate chip cookies in the cupboard.

Miriam didn't comment when their daughter scooped out only chocolate ice cream for herself and added three cookies. When Jessie passed the carton to her, Miriam waved it away. Evan served himself equal amounts of chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla and gave the carton to Wade.

It was cold and wet in Wade's hand. Yes, ice cream was a perfectly normal summer dessert, but he was sick of it. He put the lid back on the carton and got up to return it to the freezer. Once, there'd been homemade cakes, pies, and cookies in this kitchen. He sat down again and took a couple of cookies, so dry and flavorless compared to the ones Miriam used to make.

She'd taken some big steps forward today, he reminded himself. He shouldn't be impatient.

But he felt so helpless. He loved Miriam, but these days he barely recognized her. He wanted to fix her, to heal her. But then he hadn't managed to heal his own sorrow either. All he could do was carry on, and hope things improved for both of them.

Jessie was now telling Evan about her rodeo lessons, and how she planned on riding the rodeo circuit when she got older. She and the boy were both big dream spinners. For her, it was horse training, racing, rodeoing, being on the Olympic team, or working with rescue horses. Evan's dreams spun off in the opposite direction. The top student in grade two, the kid who treated the library as his second home, he was already planning on a scholarship to some big-name university like Harvard, Yale, or Cornell. Evan had his heart set on New York City, too. Ever since Miriam gave him that jigsaw puzzle at Christmas, he'd been researching the city.

“I'll get at least a master's degree,” he said now, “and maybe a Ph.D. I might be an investment banker, or maybe a securities lawyer. I'll have an office in the Big Apple, and live there, too. Perhaps on Park Avenue.”

The kid probably would, too. He had smarts, discipline, and a maturity way beyond his years.

“You'll do it, Ev,” Jessie said confidently. “You're so smart, you can do anything.”

Wade grinned at his daughter's echo of his own thoughts.

Evan gave her a big smile, those striking blue-green eyes of his glowing. “And you're so accomplished with horses, you can do whatever you choose.”

They were each other's biggest fans, these two youthful dreamers. Wade glanced at Miriam, who was staring into space, her face as blank as a mask. Once, the two of them had shared dreams. He remembered their wedding night, when they'd mapped their future as if dreams really did come true.

Now, he had no time for dreams. His mind was full of worries. And he sure couldn't share those with Miriam, when she was in such rocky shape. No way he could tell her he'd had to sell Rapscallion, the ranch's most valuable horse, in order to make the mortgage payment. Or tell her that, out of the blue, some small thing would hit him like a punch in the gut and he'd have to fight back tears. Besides, he felt so guilty, so dang inadequate. How could a man confess that kind of shit to his wife?

He heaved a sigh and rose, stretching his aching shoulders. Time to get back to work. There were bills to pay, if he could figure out where to find the money to pay the minimum amounts due. The ranch's finances were in a mess, worse off than before Miriam had started entering things into that computer program. If there were more hours in the day, he'd try to learn QuickBooks himself, but he kept hoping she'd get back to it. Couldn't she find a measly half hour a day to get that stuff organized?

Then, gazing at his wife's drawn face, he felt guilty for even thinking it. Thank God she had recovered physically from the surgery. Hell, thank God she'd survived, period. He'd lost his son and the possibility of future kids, but he could have lost his wife, too. He should be grateful, every moment of every day. And he was.

“Miriam?”

She didn't look up.

He rested his hand on top of her head, enjoying the silky smoothness of her sandy hair. “Miriam, honey?”

Slowly, she turned her face toward him. “Hmm?”

“Can you take Evan back to town?” He hoped it was one of the nights she'd have the energy for it.

Huge blue-gray eyes gazed at him soulfully. “Take him to town?” She made it sound like an impossibly exhausting task. “I suppose I—”

Evan broke in. “I can walk, sir. I don't want to be any trouble.”

Wade knew the latter part was true. He'd come to like, even respect, this odd little boy.

Jess snorted. “It's ten miles into town, Ev. If you'd only climb on a horse, you could ride behind me and I'd take you.”

The boy still adamantly refused to ride. That was probably a good thing, because, as Jessie often said, he really was a klutz. It was strange that he could be so precise about handling plates and glasses, yet he managed to trip down steps and fall over coffee tables. He had almost as many scrapes and bruises as Jessie.

“You're not riding into town in the evening, Jessie-girl,” Wade said firmly. “Evan, I'll give you a lift.” He had to wonder why the kid's parents never once offered to drive him out or pick him up.

To his daughter, he said, “You get the dishes done and help your mom with anything else she needs before you go hang out with Rascal.”

He pressed a kiss to Miriam's silky hair. “Back soon. Love you, hon.”

Her eyes focused on him, but when she said, “Love you, too,” the words sounded hollow.

How long would it be before she wanted to make love again? At night in bed, she slipped into a drug-induced slumber and he spooned her, holding her warm body, remembering the intimate connection they'd once shared. Praying it would return.

He and Evan headed outside. Though Wade preferred driving the truck, he used the car whenever possible, as it used less fuel and gas was expensive.

When they were out on the two-lane highway to town, both windows down so a breeze would cut the summer heat, Evan said, “I'm sorry to be a bother.”

“Stop saying that. You're good for Jessie.”

“But it's summer vacation. We don't have homework to do.”

Wade turned to him. “Son, it's not just about helping her with homework. You're Jessie's best friend and you're a good kid. We all like having you around.”

Color rose in the boy's thin cheeks and he blinked quickly. His “thanks” was so quiet Wade barely heard it.

They drove in silence. The car radio had packed it in along with the heater.

After a few minutes, Evan said, “Mrs. Bly seemed happier tonight, for a while.”

“Yes, she did. It's a good sign.”

“It was nice to hear her recount stories about her friends.”

Recount? Seriously? “It was.”

“She used to talk about the animals that came to the vet clinic, too. Is she returning to her employment there again?”

No, Evan couldn't just say “going back to work,” like a normal person. “I hope so,” Wade responded. It would be another sign that she was healing, and they sure could use the money. Her salary was one of the factors the bank had considered in approving their mortgage.

It made him feel guilty for thinking that way. His mother'd never had to go to work. Though there had always been times the family needed to scrimp, his pa had always supported them. Of course, his father hadn't had a hellacious mortgage.

No, but he'd paid Wade and another ranch hand or two, and he'd dealt with the same issues Wade faced: unexpected vet bills, machinery that needed to be replaced, family stuff like Wade's impacted wisdom tooth and Jessie needing a new coat. A car that was packing it in, bit by bit.

Every now and then, when Wade spoke to his parents on the phone, he thought about asking his father for advice. But damn it, he was a man, not a needy child. Whenever his folks asked how things were going at the ranch, he lied and said, “Just fine.”

He'd figure things out. And Miriam would get better. Soon.

“Would you please drop me at the library, Mr. Bly?” Evan asked.

“Sure.” Other kids spent summer evenings riding or playing ball but not this little egghead.

Wade felt a surge of affection for this strange but good-hearted boy. When he pulled up in front of the library, he said, “'Night, Evan,” and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair.

At first Evan flinched away, but then, when Wade's hand settled on his head, he froze and color again rose in his cheeks. “Good night, sir. And thank you for everything.” He slipped out of the car and trudged, backpack hanging from his narrow shoulders, up the walk to the library.