She shook her head. “My situation was a little different than yours. But let’s get back to you. How are things with you and your dad now?”
That one made him a little uncomfortable. He looked away for a moment. Then he met her eyes. “My dad was a dick. He was mean to my mother and me. My mom divorced him when I was six and even as a little kid, I was not sorry to see him go, even though my mom cried all the time for months. Then she did something I will never understand. She married another dick. Another mean, snotty, verbally abusive asshole. Why would she do that? She said I’d understand someday but I do not understand and hope I never do.”
“Sadly, I get it. People do it all the time. Not on purpose. I don’t know why we do it, but some of us are magnets to mean assholes. Luckily for you, when women are picking out their husband they should look at how that guy treats his mother, not how he was treated by his father. But I guess at some point all family relationships matter.”
“Did you have good family relationships?” he asked her.
“I did, actually. But there were...extenuating circumstances. Like the fact that my dad has struggled with mental illness his whole adult life. That’s a little hard to work around.”
“I guess so,” he said emphatically. “Wanna go out to dinner? Maybe Colorado Springs?”
“No,” she said, laughing.
“Too soon?”
“Way,” she said.
“Okay. Wanna go down by the lake?”
“Okay,” she said, starting to get up.
“Stay put,” he said. “I’m going to get a beer—I’m not working tonight. You want something?”
“Diet Coke?”
“You got it.”
He went inside and bought a beer and a Diet Coke. He argued a little with Sully about paying for it since it was for Sierra, but in the end Sully grudgingly took his money. He put the beer in one pocket, the Coke in the other, went back outside and scooped her up off her chair and carried her to the picnic table by the lake. She squealed and got the dogs barking and running circles around them.
“What are you doing?” she laughed.
“You like it when I carry you. And then you’re really nice to me.”
“I’m always nice to you!”
“You’re nicer when I carry you. I have a devious plan. I’m going to be nice and friendly and you’re going to like me.”
“I already like you, Connie.”
“A lot,” he said. “You’re going to like me a lot.”
“Sully warned me to look out for the firefighters. They’re either real gentlemen with the women or they’re dogs.”
He stopped walking for a moment. He couldn’t help that a little scowl showed up on his face. “He’s right. And I know who’s who.”
* * *
Sierra knew Connie wasn’t a dog. Not only did he have a fan club around Timberlake and the Crossing, she could tell by his behavior. And while she hated to admit it to herself and absolutely wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, she was enjoying his attention. She was not grateful for the sprained ankle, but one of the perks was Connie. It might’ve taken months for them to get friendly much less have these cozy talks.
Since she was able to drive, she met Moody for coffee at the diner. She was getting to know him better. The personal side of his story made him more real to her. She asked him if he still struggled with wanting a drink.
“While I was in rehab thirty years ago, my wife moved out of our house. I agreed with her decision—our marriage was a troubled mess. I was a drunk and she was a harpy. We had a lot of work to do. Oh, she came to family week at rehab—she was willing to do the work but I’d worn her out and we decided it was best if she moved out for a while. So she did. When I knew she was gone I called a sober friend and asked him to go to the house and get rid of all the liquor before I went home because I felt so vulnerable without my harpy codependent wife to watch my every move. I told him I had bottles stashed everywhere. I told him to please get rid of all of it. When I went home, he had. And I spent the entire night tearing the house apart looking for the secret bottles he might’ve missed. Not so I could drink, but because it made me afraid, having them lurking there. I ransacked the house to find them and get rid of them. I never did find one.” He shook his head. “I was at a lot of meetings on that. But you know why? Really, why? Because no one is conscious of the absence or presence of alcohol the way alcoholics are. We count people’s drinks. We wonder how anyone can leave half a drink on the table. Other people don’t worry about it. Other people can be done and walk away.”
“That hypervigilance is very tiring,” she said. “I’m working on minding my own damn business. I don’t want to wonder when someone looks at me if they know.”
“Well, sometimes they do know. Or guess. What other people think of me is none of my business. Some people guard their anonymity like it’s a precious jewel that will blow up if they breech it while others go on talk shows with it. What you do with yours is up to you. Just don’t handle anybody else’s.”
“Course not,” she said. “When do I start to feel normal?” she asked.
“When did you last feel normal?”
She had never felt normal in her entire life. She bit her lower lip. “This could be problematic,” she said.
“Do you know what prayer I believe God hears the most? The very most?” Moody asked. “‘Dear God, why can’t I be like everyone else?’”
“Do you feel normal?”
He didn’t answer right away and remained silent while their coffee was refilled. Moody took a minute to make adjustments with cream and sugar. He stared at his cup a minute. “There have been days I’ve felt like the job I have ahead for the day is equal to emptying the ocean of water using a fork. And on stranger days I thought everything was right with the world and God was in his heaven. What if this is the new normal?”
“What if?” she echoed. “What’s your most frequent prayer? To not drink?”
“Nah. I’m not going to drink, but I’m vigilant lest I forget. My favorite prayer is, ‘Dear God. I’ll pedal if You’ll steer.’”
“I like that,” she said. “I like that very much.”
“It’s yours. It wasn’t copyrighted.”
Two weeks passed with Sierra on crutches, her ankle feeling better all the time, the bruising going from purple to a yellowish blue with a hint of green. She was diligent about keeping it elevated as much as possible, staying on her crutches when walking, but she was in only the slightest discomfort—unless she accidentally put weight on it.
Sierra decided to look around a Colorado Springs mall since she had the time. She’d been to the city before when she went to a rock climbing gym but that was the extent of her exploration. She even located a meeting over there and if there was time, she might attend after shopping. But what she was really interested in was spending a couple of hours checking out the clothing stores, the only bookstore in the mall and maybe doing a little people watching.
It had been a long time since she’d been in a department store. She looked through some clothes and actually bought a pair of shorts, but that’s where she stopped because trying them on had been more trouble than it was worth. She spent an hour in the bookstore, which was heaven. She bought a copy of Wuthering Heights because she was weak—it was one of her staple reads and it didn’t feel right not having it with her. As almost an afterthought, she bought something for Cal. Well, for Cal and Maggie—a little unisex onesie that said Auntie’s Favorite on it. Sedona’s kids would never know! And that was about all she could really carry while on crutches. In fact, mall walking on crutches was about all the exercise she could take and she headed in the direction of the exit.
And then she saw him. Was it him? She was looking at a man’s back, but it sure looked like him—the devil Derek Cox, the man who had changed her life in every way. It was the same thick brown hair, curling at the collar of his powder blue shirt. The same type of shirt he wore a lot because it emphasized his physique, which was impressive. It was tight fitting, the sleeves too tight at the biceps...
That was a year ago, her mind argued. And aren’t there lots of shirts like that? Don’t a lot of men wear them because they love their muscles? She’d thought about that every time she saw that—couldn’t they find a slightly larger shirt with sleeves that didn’t pinch? Of course they could.
That belt looked like his belt—she was a little too familiar with that belt. The shoes, she’d been with him when he bought them—Tommy Bahama—just ordinary loafers but they cost a fortune. She barely knew him then. It was the day of their one and only official date and she’d been impressed. How many people could have that hair, that shirt, that belt, those shoes?
The man was with a woman. A girl, really. His hand was gently guiding her at the small of her back and she had long blond hair.
I had long blond hair then, Sierra remembered.
The girl was laughing, happy to be with him. Would she be happy tomorrow?
Sierra worked those crutches hard, following him because as much as she didn’t want him to know she was there, she needed to know if it was really him. She moved over to the side of the mall walkway, closer to the storefronts in case she had to dart inside to avoid him. She tried to stay a little bit out of sight.
That gait, the way he walked—it had to be him. His heels lifted a little more than necessary with each step—the swagger. His confidence showed in his walk. He was headed for the same exit she would use, but she followed anyway. She kept what she thought was a safe distance—he didn’t know she was in Colorado. And why would he be looking for her at this late date?
The man reached the exit door and he turned toward his companion. Derek, the bastard, didn’t have a nose that big! Did he? She was frozen. Her eyes were probably huge. She didn’t know if it was him or not.