In fact, he did, she said. She wondered if today might be different for some reason. So she went back to the Crossing. But Connie wasn’t there. She never paid much attention to his comings and goings and now, having seen that embrace on the street, she had herself all screwed up. She vacillated between thinking he’d been just playing her, trying to make a conquest, to thinking, what if something’s wrong and I never even asked for his phone number?
“I have his phone number,” Sully said. “Did he say he was stopping by today?”
“He never says. And I never asked.”
“Call him, then,” Sully said. He went into the little store kitchen and came back with a phone number scrawled on a sticky note. “As much time as Connie spends hanging around here, I don’t reckon he’d mind a phone call from you. In fact, it’ll probably light him up like a Christmas tree. Go ahead, make the boy’s day.”
Her call went directly to voice mail and her visions worsened. His phone was turned off because he was with someone. What did she expect, since she was so reluctant? All baggage aside, he was still a man and he probably wanted to be with a woman sometimes. She used to understand that, but then certain events changed her thinking—the struggle to stay even, sober and level. She had stopped going from high to low, from emotionally dead to emotionally wild. She had begun to worship the lack of chaos.
Her life had been so chaotic back in the drinking days, jumping from one crisis to the next. And at the moment, she was feeling unsteady, as if all that messy uncertainty was creeping back. In the end it was only the need to reclaim order in her mind and her heart that moved her to do what she did.
“Do you know where Conrad lives?”
“Course I do,” Sully said. “Want a little map?”
“I think I’d like to drop in on him, make sure everything is all right, make sure I haven’t done anything to...” To what? Drive him into the arms of another woman?
“I don’t know what’s got you riled up and I don’t think I want to know,” Sully said. He drew her a simple map on the back of a small paper bag. “Go see him and get whatever it is taken care of.”
“Do you think he’d be upset by me just dropping in on him?”
“Well, he drops in on me all the time, so that would be kind of narrow-minded, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ll take Molly with me. She loves to go in the car.”
Sierra set out on what was to be a short and beautiful drive just north of Timberlake. The summer sun was about to start setting, the hillsides were lush, the late afternoon warm and a little sultry from the humidity. The roads weren’t very well marked but she only had to make a few turns and Sully had gotten the distances between them very accurate. She found herself in a rural neighborhood—the houses spaced by a couple of acres. And at the drive to Connie’s house there was a sign. Boyle.
She drove toward it; it was a sweet house. It was a small ranch with a garage and a circular drive in front. There was a very small porch at the front door and a couple of potted plants by the steps. There was a bay window, the shutters open; there didn’t appear to be any lights on in the house. It wasn’t dark because the sun was just beginning to sink in the west, but it looked as though no one was home. That gave Sierra unspoken permission to just sit and take in the house. The house told the story of a man who had crafted his own living space; a man who took pride in his home. Yet this was just a young, single man; a physical and darling man who lived life on the edge.
Did he want a place to come home to that would embrace him?
The lawn was well cared for and the house was brick with wood trim. Like many Colorado houses, there was a screen door to let the cool spring and summer air flow through. She imagined there might be a kitchen window over the sink that would be open to let the breeze escape. There were some flowers planted along the edge of the front walk and a freestanding brick mailbox that matched the brick of the house. Details were obviously labored over—brown brick with matching garden border and brick circular drive, flawless white window trim that appeared meticulously maintained, edging along the drive. The house was surrounded by trees, many of them aspen, their silver leaves twinkling in the breeze.
Molly came up into the front seat, sitting next to Sierra. They looked at Connie’s house together. To Sierra, a house represented so much. Stability, safety, family. It symbolized something she thought she might never have, something she’d always longed for. She came here for the nearest thing to family she could have—Cal and Maggie. And she hit the jackpot—she got Sully and the Crossing, too. And, she reluctantly admitted, throw in Moody, Frank and Enid. And Molly. If this was all she ever got, she could be content.
Looking at that humble yet rich home, she found herself happy for Conrad. She leaned back in the seat and her hand wandered to Molly’s head, petting. Obviously Connie was not at home. Or maybe he was asleep. Asleep next to a beautiful brunette? Nah—there was no other car there. There would be no cause to hide a visitor’s car in the garage. She had her windows down and enjoyed the cool early-evening breeze while gazing at the fruits of Connie’s labors. And fantasizing what it would be like to have a real home.
She heard an engine and turned in her seat to see Connie pull his big truck up to the garage. He got out and came immediately over to the pumpkin. Sierra opened her door to get out and Molly instantly escaped but she ran right to Connie, jumping on him.
“Hey there, hey,” he said to the dog, massaging her behind the ears, calming her.
Sierra shook her head with a small laugh—Molly loved Conrad. Molly was such a tramp—she gave herself to the big man. And after a bit of canine foreplay, Molly sat like a good girl, looking up at him adoringly. The little traitor.
“Sierra, what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she said. “I went to the firehouse to see you and you had gone. You weren’t at the Crossing today and I called you and there was no answer.”
“I have his phone number,” Sully said. “Did he say he was stopping by today?”
“He never says. And I never asked.”
“Call him, then,” Sully said. He went into the little store kitchen and came back with a phone number scrawled on a sticky note. “As much time as Connie spends hanging around here, I don’t reckon he’d mind a phone call from you. In fact, it’ll probably light him up like a Christmas tree. Go ahead, make the boy’s day.”
Her call went directly to voice mail and her visions worsened. His phone was turned off because he was with someone. What did she expect, since she was so reluctant? All baggage aside, he was still a man and he probably wanted to be with a woman sometimes. She used to understand that, but then certain events changed her thinking—the struggle to stay even, sober and level. She had stopped going from high to low, from emotionally dead to emotionally wild. She had begun to worship the lack of chaos.
Her life had been so chaotic back in the drinking days, jumping from one crisis to the next. And at the moment, she was feeling unsteady, as if all that messy uncertainty was creeping back. In the end it was only the need to reclaim order in her mind and her heart that moved her to do what she did.
“Do you know where Conrad lives?”
“Course I do,” Sully said. “Want a little map?”
“I think I’d like to drop in on him, make sure everything is all right, make sure I haven’t done anything to...” To what? Drive him into the arms of another woman?
“I don’t know what’s got you riled up and I don’t think I want to know,” Sully said. He drew her a simple map on the back of a small paper bag. “Go see him and get whatever it is taken care of.”
“Do you think he’d be upset by me just dropping in on him?”
“Well, he drops in on me all the time, so that would be kind of narrow-minded, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ll take Molly with me. She loves to go in the car.”
Sierra set out on what was to be a short and beautiful drive just north of Timberlake. The summer sun was about to start setting, the hillsides were lush, the late afternoon warm and a little sultry from the humidity. The roads weren’t very well marked but she only had to make a few turns and Sully had gotten the distances between them very accurate. She found herself in a rural neighborhood—the houses spaced by a couple of acres. And at the drive to Connie’s house there was a sign. Boyle.
She drove toward it; it was a sweet house. It was a small ranch with a garage and a circular drive in front. There was a very small porch at the front door and a couple of potted plants by the steps. There was a bay window, the shutters open; there didn’t appear to be any lights on in the house. It wasn’t dark because the sun was just beginning to sink in the west, but it looked as though no one was home. That gave Sierra unspoken permission to just sit and take in the house. The house told the story of a man who had crafted his own living space; a man who took pride in his home. Yet this was just a young, single man; a physical and darling man who lived life on the edge.
Did he want a place to come home to that would embrace him?
The lawn was well cared for and the house was brick with wood trim. Like many Colorado houses, there was a screen door to let the cool spring and summer air flow through. She imagined there might be a kitchen window over the sink that would be open to let the breeze escape. There were some flowers planted along the edge of the front walk and a freestanding brick mailbox that matched the brick of the house. Details were obviously labored over—brown brick with matching garden border and brick circular drive, flawless white window trim that appeared meticulously maintained, edging along the drive. The house was surrounded by trees, many of them aspen, their silver leaves twinkling in the breeze.
Molly came up into the front seat, sitting next to Sierra. They looked at Connie’s house together. To Sierra, a house represented so much. Stability, safety, family. It symbolized something she thought she might never have, something she’d always longed for. She came here for the nearest thing to family she could have—Cal and Maggie. And she hit the jackpot—she got Sully and the Crossing, too. And, she reluctantly admitted, throw in Moody, Frank and Enid. And Molly. If this was all she ever got, she could be content.
Looking at that humble yet rich home, she found herself happy for Conrad. She leaned back in the seat and her hand wandered to Molly’s head, petting. Obviously Connie was not at home. Or maybe he was asleep. Asleep next to a beautiful brunette? Nah—there was no other car there. There would be no cause to hide a visitor’s car in the garage. She had her windows down and enjoyed the cool early-evening breeze while gazing at the fruits of Connie’s labors. And fantasizing what it would be like to have a real home.
She heard an engine and turned in her seat to see Connie pull his big truck up to the garage. He got out and came immediately over to the pumpkin. Sierra opened her door to get out and Molly instantly escaped but she ran right to Connie, jumping on him.
“Hey there, hey,” he said to the dog, massaging her behind the ears, calming her.
Sierra shook her head with a small laugh—Molly loved Conrad. Molly was such a tramp—she gave herself to the big man. And after a bit of canine foreplay, Molly sat like a good girl, looking up at him adoringly. The little traitor.
“Sierra, what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she said. “I went to the firehouse to see you and you had gone. You weren’t at the Crossing today and I called you and there was no answer.”
