The Sweet Spot (20 page)

I
’m only listening here, but it sounds to me like you’re working on a plan to wrangle
your way back into Charla’s life, JB.” Wiley prodded a hamburger on the smoking grill,
then straightened and shot him a canny look. “Are you?”

Slouched in the plastic chair, JB took a pull from his longneck and tugged the feedlot
cap down to block the laser rays shooting from the horizon. Had he bought the flowers
as more than a peace offering? “At this point, Wiley, I think I’d settle for an amiable
truce.”

Wiley rolled the hot dogs to a flame-free corner of the grill. “Charla Rae is a good-looking
woman, you gotta give her that.”

“Yes. She is. And you’re about as subtle as a shark attack, partner.”

Wiley shrugged. “I always thought you two fit. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle—your
outies fit her innies, if you know what I mean.”

And so they had. He and Char had clicked together back in high school and stayed,
locked snug, until the day Benje died. He’d thought that was how things worked in
a relationship. Looking back now, from the other side of fragile, JB recognized that
he’d taken that fit for granted. He now knew how rare and special it had been. “She’s
changed, Wiley.”

“Given what she’s been through, it’d be strange if she hadn’t, don’t you think?” Wiley
opened the sweating beer that Dana had left at his elbow when she brought the meat.
“You saying that’s good or bad?”

“Both.” In JB’s mind, there were three Charlas. His wife of twenty years, comfortable,
solid,
known
. The grieving wraith, addicted and inconsolable. Then there was the new Charla—the
delicate, plucky woman with a soft new hairdo and cutting-sharp edges.

Wiley stood, spatula poised, waiting for an explanation.

“I don’t know this new Char. She spooks easy. Won’t let me close.”

“Sounds like you’re gentling a wild horse, not getting to know a woman.”

“Believe me, partner, they’re not so different.” JB took another sip of beer. One
by one the connections clicked in his brain, and, suddenly, he had the answer. “The
flowers were a big move. That was my mistake.”

Wiley waved away the smoke and squinted at JB. “What the heck are you talking about?
A woman is not a horse, JB. You can’t—”

“Wiley, don’t you see?” He rushed on, the idea clean and perfect in his mind. “You
can’t make big moves around a spooky horse. Even if it’s the right thing, it
scares ’em.” He stood and paced the weed-strewn grass of the backyard. “It’s like
bull riding too.”

Wiley looked at him like he’d been at the locoweed.

“When you’re in trouble, during a ride, you want to make a big move, to pull yourself
out of the well on the inside of a spin. But that’s too much. You end up butt first
in the dust, the bull doing a dance on your dangling parts. Small moves. That’s what
gets you back to center and keeps you there till the buzzer. Why didn’t I see this
before?”

“JB, I don’t want to discourage you, but—”

He clicked his bottle to the one hanging, forgotten, in Wiley’s hand. “Thanks, buddy.
I got it now.” He drained the beer.

“Sounds to me like you went from an ‘amiable truce’ to courting in the time it took
to cook a hamburger.” Wiley laid slices of cheese on the burgers. “Just remember while
you’re making all those smooth moves, it isn’t the flowers that women love. It’s the
caring behind them—knowing that you took time out of your day to think about her and
what would make her happy.”

JB snorted. “Now, don’t you go all cuddly on me, partner. You make me wonder about
you sometimes.”

“Hey, screw you. I’ve got a warm, willing woman in bed next to me every night. You’re
the one sleeping like a hound on my back porch.”

“You got a point there, Wiley, you truly do.”

Dana called from the window. “Wiley, that meat’s got to be boot leather by now. Come
on in, you two. Supper’s ready.”

The kid hung on the fence, watching the bull riders, same as he had every practice
for the past two weeks.

JB walked up behind him. “So, when are you going to try it?”

Travis jerked as if he’d been caught looking at dirty magazines. “What makes you think
I want to try it?”

JB took off his hat, wiped his sweaty face in the crook of his elbow, and settled
the hat back on his head. “I’ve been a bull rider since I was younger than them.”
He waved at the high school team, huddled around the coach in the arena. “I train
bulls for a living, and on most weekends, I’m at a PBR event. Do you think I don’t
recognize the look?”

Travis’s too-cool slouch gave nothing away. “What look?”

“The look of somebody who wants to put themselves up against an animal a hundred times
stronger than they are, just to see if they’ve got the guts. To be on top of a force
of nature, to see if you can ride it—because if you can, it shows you something about
yourself that no one can ever take away from you.” The words surprised JB. He hadn’t
known he’d felt that way until he heard them. “The coach is a friend of mine; I could
introduce you.”

A naked bolt of wanting flashed across Travis’s face before the mask of studied teenage
indifference fell once more. “Yeah, like I’m gonna hang with those HJs.”

“Huh?”

“
Hitler-Jugend.
Nazi youth party.”

JB glanced to the arena. “What’re you talking about? They’re just a bunch of country
kids.”

Travis snorted. “Yeah, and they march in lockstep. Trust me, it’s a closed society.”
He nodded at the crowd. “Even the uniform. Notice how they’re all wearing white hats?”
He shook his head. “Stupid. They watch too many Duke movies.”

JB looked Travis over. Backward cap, oversized T-shirt, untied Skaters. “Yeah, like
you’re any different.” He pointed to the kid’s oversized pants, held on his skinny
hips, God knew how. “You gonna tell me that’s not a uniform? Besides, that isn’t the
point. Riding isn’t about such foolishness.”

Travis shook his head. “You don’t get it. Do you think I’m ever gonna fit with that
crowd?” He snorted. “Like I’d want to, anyway.”

“Oh, well, I guess that excuse is as good as any.” JB turned to leave, took two steps,
and tossed back over his shoulder. “Ask yourself, though: Is that crap gonna hold
up in ten years, when you’ve wished you would’ve tried it?”

Twenty minutes later, JB turned in at the ranch to see Char driving toward him, Ben
riding shotgun. She braked and rolled her window down as they pulled alongside each
other.

“Hey, Ben.” Blank stare. Bad day. “Afternoon, Charla Rae.” The sunlight fell sharply
on her face, aging her. She looked overworked and overburdened. He felt a pang of
regret. He should have been here for her, they could have shared the burdens, instead
of where they both were—alone.

“I’m taking Daddy to the doctor, then to the hospital, for a PET scan. We’ll be back
in a couple of hours.” Without waiting for a reply, she rolled on, making the turn
at the bottom of the drive.

God, how did she keep it up? There was Rosa, but still… His tires crunched gravel
as he accelerated up the driveway. He noticed a hoe propped against the house amid
the half-weeded garden, and he got an idea. He
smiled, threw the truck into reverse and scattered gravel, heading for the garden
supply store in town.

Char pulled the brush through her hair, watching a blush advance from the collar of
her rayon pajamas. It was one thing to cry when she’d found her raggedy garden made
perfect, but to blubber on the phone when she called to thank Jimmy, that was flat
embarrassing.

He’d weeded, fertilized, and spread cedar bark to keep down the weeds. The roses were
pruned, the tomatoes were planted, and a big section was reserved for her favorite:
cucumbers. A riot of colorful perennials marched around the border, a cheerful splash
of color against her white house. Her smile wobbled. She’d have never let him do it,
if he’d asked. He’d just gone ahead and done the one thing that would make her happy.
Despite all the chores he had to do, he’d done that for her. This was the Jimmy she’d
fallen in love with. Was he back? She didn’t know. But she’d be watching.

She stood tall and smoothed the rayon down her sides. “It’s not fair. How can you
be underweight and still have a belly?” The unrelenting fluorescent light spotlighted
her pasty face, finding every wrinkle, freckle, and line. She thought of Jimmy, with
his ex-cupcake, naked. She shuddered. How could a middle-age single woman ever let
a man see her naked, with all the firm, shapely sexpots out there?

She looked into her own eyes in the mirror.
Are you really thinking of going to bed with Jimmy?
She took one more swipe at her hair and put down the brush.
Heavens, no.
But someday, going to bed with a man sure would be nice. She lifted her hand to the
not-so-tight skin of her
neck. “Maybe I could find a blind one.” She clicked the light off and walked to the
bedroom.

The light of the lamp on the nightstand made the fresh bed an inviting haven. She
shuffled to the edge and kicked off her slippers. Sliding under the covers, the cool
of the sheets sent a shiver up the sensitive skin of her backside. She reached for
the book
Healing Wisdom: Easing a Path through Grief
. She’d gotten into the nightly habit of choosing a quote at random, always surprised
at how often it touched close to home.

Forgiving others is the first step on the path to forgiving yourself.

Oh well, it couldn’t be right every night. She thumbed a few more pages, ran her finger
down the page without looking, stopping near the middle.

Forgiveness is me giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.—Anonymous

“What a load of bull hockey!” Char slammed the book shut and tossed it to the nightstand.
It skittered off the edge to land on the hardwood floor with a thump. “I’m not surprised
the author didn’t sign his name to that.” She snapped off the light and snuggled into
the covers. In spite of the tiredness that tugged at her limbs, her brain kept churning.

Funny, how she still slept on “her” side of the bed. Unconsciously, her hand slid
to the relinquished half. The smooth, taut sheet made her wish for the rumpled mess
that she’d always nagged at Jimmy for making.

This had always been her favorite time of the day. Whether they’d made love or not,
she always ended up in Jimmy’s arms, his strong chest at her back, her rear snugged
up against him. She’d lay, head cradled on his
bicep, and they’d talk, about everything, about nothing. Char smiled into the dark.
The subject was just as likely to be politics as local gossip; it was their way of
winding down and finding their way back to each other after a day spent apart. Regret-tinged
longing squeezed around her heart. God, how she missed that: the rumble of Jimmy’s
deep voice, so close that it reverberated through her own chest. She’d lie safe and
sheltered and listen to that voice as she drifted off to sleep, knowing all was right
in her world.

Would the world ever be that safe again? How could it be, when children could die,
spouses could leave, and you could discover a dark side of yourself you hadn’t known
existed?

J
B looked up from the beef futures report when Travis slouched into his office at the
feedlot. The laces on his untied tennis shoes slapped the linoleum as he crossed to
the only guest chair and plopped into it.

“So let’s say I
do
want to try bull riding.” His gaze roamed the bookshelf, the bulletin board, out
the window. Anywhere but to JB.

JB leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Why are you telling me?”

Travis held the disinterested pose for a few seconds, but then the bravado evaporated
and his shoulders slumped. “I really want to do this. But I’ve got a problem, and,
um, I was hoping—”

“First, if you’re man enough to be a bull rider, you’re going to have to act like
it.” Travis looked puzzled. “Sit up straight, look me in the eye, and ask me. There’s
no shame
in asking for help, and you’re a damned sight more likely to get it if you’re polite
about it.”

Travis sat up and leaned forward, elbows on the chair arms. “I want to learn to ride,
but there’s no way I can walk out there and ask to get on a bull. I’d be laughed out
of school. This isn’t something my friends would understand, and I’m sure not going
to fit in with the team either.” Shrugging his shoulders, he held JB’s stare. “And
in between is no-man’s land. See what I mean?”

“Yeah, I guess I do. Back when dirt was invented, I was in high school myself. I don’t
imagine it’s changed all that much.”

“Would you teach me?” Without the cocky attitude, his face looked all of his sixteen
years.

JB’d always been a sucker for a kid. God knows, Benje managed to wrangle almost everything
he’d wanted out of him.
Except he never did get that tree fort.
The acid-etch of guilt bit deep.

“I know you were a great bull rider. I looked you up. You rode Rock Em Up to a standstill
in the PRCA finals back in ninety.”

“You don’t have to suck up. I’ll help you. Just give me your mom’s phone number so
I can get her okay. I’m going to need her written permission too.” He jotted down
the number Travis rattled off. “Now get out of here. I’ve got to think about how I’m
going to make this happen.”

Travis jumped up as if he’d been granted a hangman’s reprieve, a huge grin on his
face. He leaned over the desk to pump JB’s hand. “You’ll see, when I really want something,
I work hard for it. You won’t be sorry.” He walked to the door, then turned. “Thanks,
JB.”

JB sat back in the chair and stared out the window a few minutes. Then he picked up
the phone and hit speed dial.

“Denny Bucking Bulls, Charla speaking.” Her business voice was so cute, he had to
smile.