My Lucky Stars (11 page)

“Huh?” Tara gave him a confused frown.

He grinned but didn’t offer anything else.

Tara thought about what he’d said. “Ellen was adopted?”

Ben nodded.

Sam shook his empty cracker bag in her face. “More.”

“I agree,” Tara said, taking the bag from him. “Ben should tell us
more
about his family.” She dug through the backpack Ellen had put in the truck that morning. Finding the goldfish crackers, she refilled Sam’s bag.

“More,
please
,” she said, holding the bag just out of Sam’s reach and imitating the way she’d heard Ellen speak to him.

“More, please,” he repeated, reaching for the treat. Tara handed it to him, thinking it was the first satisfactory dialogue she’d had with a child since her arrival.

“Can you hand me one of those water bottles,
please
?” Ben asked, pointing to the still-open container.

Tara gave one to him, opened one for herself, then drank over a third of it at once. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was.
Better be careful
, she warned herself. Who knew how long till they stopped for lunch, and already she felt like she could use a bathroom. After taking one more tiny sip of water, she put the bottle back in the box and crossed her legs.

“How long have your parents been gone?” she asked.

“Dad’s four years now. Mom is three. She died almost a year to the day after he did. We all know it was because she missed him so much.”

Tara was silent for a minute. “What was it really? Was there an accident or something?”

Ben shook his head. “No accident. They both just got old. Mom was fifty-four when I came. Dad was fifty-six.”

“Your mom had a baby when she was
fifty-four
?” Ben’s family sounded weirder by the minute.

“She
adopted
me when she was fifty-four. I was seven.”

“Oh. So both you and Ellen are adopted?”

“All of us were adopted. All fifteen kids, plus a few more that were temporary over the years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our parents did foster care. Some of the kids they cared for eventually went back to their families. The ones who didn’t stayed and got adopted.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.” And it was. Tara found herself wishing she could have met Ben’s mom. It would have been interesting to find out what had possessed her to adopt fifteen kids and then what had kept her sane through raising them all.

Her mind jumped tracks fast, circling around to Ben’s issue with his brother-in-law.
If Ben and Ellen aren’t related by blood . . .

“So when did you meet Dallin?” she asked casually.

But Ben was on to her. “You’re not even close,” he said. “Ellen is my sister, blood or not. She always has been and always will be.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Tara smiled in spite of her frustration at being foiled again.

“I thought you were going to try to get some sleep today.”

“What? Are you tired of me?” she asked in a wounded voice that wasn’t entirely pretend.

Ben looked over at her. “No. Actually I’m not. You’re pretty good company. Better than old Sam here.” They looked down at Sam and noticed, for the first time, what he was doing with his fish crackers.

Tara watched, somewhat disgusted, as Sam put the cracker in his mouth, got it good and slimy, then removed it and stuck it on his jeans.

“Whatcha doing there, buddy?” Ben asked.

“Lake.” Sam pointed to the ring of fish on his pant leg. “Fish swimming in the lake.”

“Of course.” Ben slapped the steering wheel and let out a snort. Tara had to look away to keep from laughing.

“Why?” she asked. “And
how
could your parents raise
fifteen
children? Fifteen fish-on-the-jeans kids, fifteen pairs of feet jumping on the couch, fifteen sticky marshmallow-on-the-face kids? Why would anyone do that? And how did your mother stay sane while she did?”

“That’s a valid question,” Ben admitted. “And the only thing I can tell you is something I heard my mother say over and over again throughout her life.”

“Yes?” Tara leaned forward, eager for this paragon of wisdom, this deep family secret, he was about to impart.

“It’s all about joy.”

“That’s it?” she asked. “What does that even mean?”

“I suppose we have to figure that out for ourselves. But for my mom this—” He inclined his head toward Sam and his pant leg lake of fish crackers, “—was the joy.”

Twelve

Shortly before noon traffic began to back up and slow on the highway. They’d made good time to that point, but within a few minutes they were bumper-to-bumper with the cars in front and behind at a complete standstill.

This isn’t good.
Tara had hoped they’d be stopping for lunch—and more importantly, a bathroom—soon.

Ben put the truck in park. “Be right back.” He opened his door and jumped out, letting in a blast of icy air in his place. Tara reached forward, twisting the knob on the heater to high.

As he watched his uncle leave, Sam began fussing. He reached down swatting at the fish stuck to his pants, sending many of them Tara’s way.

“Don’t do that.” She grabbed for his hand. “I don’t want any fish. You keep them.”

“No fish. No fish,” he cried, letting out a howl like a wolf. Tara peered out the window, trying to see how many cars in front of them Ellen’s van was. If Sam was going to whine, maybe they could trade back for Cadie.

Ben’s door swung open, and he climbed in the truck. “I’m not sure what the delay is, but it looks like a long one. Cars stopped in front of us as far as I can see.”

This is
so
not good.
Tara crossed her legs again and tried not to think about the water bottle and two cups of hot cocoa she’d consumed that morning.

Sam continued to fuss, so Ben unfastened his car seat and picked him up. “You want to steer the truck for a while?”

The little boy nodded. Ben turned the ignition off, sat Sam in front of him facing the wheel, and let him go for it, adding sound effects as necessary.

Tara rolled her eyes at them. “I’m surprised you don’t have fifteen kids of your own. You’re very good with them.”

“No kids. Just pigs—which sometimes don’t seem too different.”

Remembering the way Ellen’s kids had attacked the marshmallows and chocolate the night before, Tara agreed.

“What made you decide on pigs—on Ohio?” she asked. “That’s clear across the country. I’d think you’d want to be near family.”

“I did until a few years ago. But after my parents died, I needed to get away. I’d served a mission for my church in Ohio, and I liked it a lot. It seemed the logical thing to go back.”

“Do you ever wish you hadn’t?” Tara asked. Once, the logical thing to her had seemed moving to LA, but there were times she wasn’t so sure that had been the right choice.

“There are some things I miss—the mountains, for instance. About the tallest thing you get in Ohio is a hill, but it is green and beautiful there. I’ve got a great piece of property.”

“It’s amazing what people will do for property,” Tara said. “I sell real estate, and I’ve seen the need to own land do some pretty strange things to people.”

“That’s not why I moved,” Ben said. “If I’d just wanted land, I could have stayed in Richfield and taken over my parents’ place.”

“Why didn’t you?” Tara asked. “Not enough room for pigs?”

“Not enough room for me,” Ben said then instantly looked as if he wished he could take that statement back.

Ahh. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“You and who else?” Tara asked.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Ben reached for the key and turned the truck on again.

Kudos to you for not lying and saying, “No one else.”

“Dallin,” she guessed.

“Give the whole Dallin thing a rest, okay?”

“Sorry,” she muttered then turned and looked out her window, feeling a little of the apology she’d just given. It had been kind of fun talking with Ben.

Wish I hadn’t ruined it.

* * *

“Tara.” Ben gently shook her shoulder.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up, coming out of a surprising dream where she and Ben weren’t fighting but were—

She glanced at his hand on her shoulder. “I fell asleep again? Where are we?”

“Same spot we were twenty-five minutes ago.” He pulled his hand away. “I’m going to take Sam up to his mom and walk a little farther to see what I can find out.”

“Okay.”
If you see anyone with a motor home . . .
she almost added. Wasn’t that what people always did in the movies when they needed a bathroom?

Ben bundled Sam up and left the truck. “Lock the doors behind me, okay?”

She nodded, touched that he thought enough of her to give her safety advice.
He probably would have told anyone the same thing.
She needed to let go of the dream she’d been having.
But he didn’t tell anyone, he told
me.
And it was nice.

Her fingers rested on her shoulder where his hand had been.
Don’t go there
, she warned herself, but found it impossible not to—for a minute or two, anyway. Out here in the snow-covered Rocky Mountains, a guy in a plaid flannel shirt seemed just about perfect. It had been a nice dream.

When Ben disappeared from view, Tara did what she’d wanted to all morning, since his confession about having Sinatra on his iPod. She was dying to know what else he listened to and took the opportunity to find out, reaching for the iPod on the dashboard. She began scanning through songs, many of which she’d never heard before. A lot of Ben’s music seemed to be from another era, and while it wasn’t unpleasant, it also wasn’t what she’d imagine a man in his thirties would listen to. After about fifteen minutes and twice that many songs, she turned it off and went back to worrying about finding a bathroom.

Though it was only about twelve thirty, the sky was beginning to darken. They were in a pass, with steep mountains rising up around them, blocking much of the sunlight that was probably out there. The feeling of darkness coming on only intensified her need for a bathroom.

“This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “You’re thirty-four years old. You can hold it.”

Her little pep talk did absolutely no good. Tara slunk down in her seat, true misery starting to sink in as quickly as the windows were fogging up. She rubbed the one closest to her with the sleeve of her sweater, knowing now was not a good time for her claustrophobia to kick in.

Still Ben didn’t return. The truck was getting cold now, so she reached over and turned the key, bringing the engine to life. She rubbed her hands briskly in front of the heater vents, willing the air to get hot, hoping that once she was warm again, her need for a bathroom would subside a bit.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. At last, when she thought she might die of boredom or a full bladder, Ben came into view. He had something in his arms, and he was stopping at each car, handing whatever it was to the drivers. When he neared the truck, she leaned over in his seat, unlocking the door. He pulled it open and climbed inside.

“No kids?” Tara asked, feeling grateful she didn’t have to deal with whining or crying right now.

“They’re watching a DVD in Ellen’s van.” Ben held out his hands. “But I brought ice cream. The good stuff—Ben & Jerry’s.”

“Ice cream? Is that what you were handing out to everyone?”

“Yep. This is what caused the delay. About a quarter mile ahead of us a semi slid on some ice and jackknifed. The trailer tipped over, and there’s ice cream all over the road. The driver’s telling people to take as much as they want. It won’t be saleable now.” He lifted the pint containers, staring at the labels. “Chunky Monkey or Cherry Garcia?”

“It’s, what, ten degrees outside, and you’re offering me ice cream?”

“I am. And where’s the gratitude?” Ben pouted. “I had to hike down an embankment for these.”

“I’m sorry,” Tara said. “
Thank you
for hiking down an embankment for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t do it for you.” The pout was gone. “I love ice cream. You’re just lucky I’m in a sharing mood.” He popped the lid off one of the pints.

“How were you planning to eat that?” Tara asked. “My fingers are already chilled, and I don’t think I’m up for completely freezing them.”

“You can’t eat ice cream with your fingers.” Ben rolled his eyes at her then continued with a hillbilly accent. “Not even us farmers are that backward.” He handed the ice cream to Tara then reached in his pocket, pulling out what looked like an over-accessorized pocket knife. From this he produced a fold-out metal spoon.

“Basic tool of any Boy Scout—and farmer,” he said.

“You were a Boy Scout, too?”

“Oh yeah. Half the time my parents had us recite the Scout Oath with our prayers. They lived and breathed it.” He took the open carton from Tara and dug in with the spoon. She expected him to take the first bite, but he held it out to her instead. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she leaned forward, allowing him to put the bite in her mouth.

“Mmm. Thank you.”

Ben took the next bite for himself then offered her another.

She shook her head. “I actually need something else first—before I can fully enjoy the ice cream.”

“You want a sandwich? Ellen packed some this morning. Do you want me to go get one from her?”

“No.” Tara shook her head then looked away. She felt her face starting to go red and tried to remember the last time she’d felt embarrassed like this. “I need a bathroom,” she finally admitted. “Is there a rest area nearby I could walk to? Or someone with a motor home, maybe?”

“Oh, boy.” Ben leaned back in his seat, staring out at the cars and road ahead of them. “I didn’t see anything up ahead, and we haven’t passed any rest areas in a while. I guess I could walk back and look for someone with an RV, but generally you don’t see a lot of those on the road this time of year—especially on a highway with a ten-thousand-foot summit and lots of snow.”

“I didn’t think about that.”
Because about the only thing I can think about right now is my bladder that’s about to burst.