Cal looked at her more closely. “Could that be...whisker burn?”
“California!”
“It’s whisker burn,” he said, grinning at her. “I’ll be damned. I thought Connie was going to have to work at it all summer.”
“We’re very good friends,” she said.
“Sierra, don’t get your back up. I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. In fact, that makes me happy. After what you’ve been through—”
“He doesn’t know,” she hastened to inform him.
“And that’s okay, too,” Cal said. “I haven’t even told Maggie. I probably will, eventually. Or you will. But it broke my heart. Just like it broke yours. And I want you to have a chance to heal.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “He’s my good friend.”
“I don’t care, Sierra. As long as you feel good about it, whatever it is. I don’t know Conrad that well but Maggie does. And Maggie loves him.”
After they talked awhile longer, after Cal pointed out every seam in the floor, every door frame and hinge, every fancy cabinet with slide-out shelves and special drawers with dividers, they hugged and said goodbye. Sierra held the door of the pumpkin open for Molly to jump in the backseat. She looked at her rosy cheeks in the rearview mirror and said to Molly, “It’s okay if we have a boyfriend as long as he’s a good boyfriend.” And Molly smiled.
Connie was at the store when she got back to the Crossing. He was loading some trash into the back of his truck for Sully.
“What’s going on?” she asked him.
“I was just hanging out, waiting for you to come back, and I told Sully I’d take this to the dump on my way home. How’s the barn look?”
“It’s starting to look great. They’ve been at work on it for eight months and it looks like they’re going to make it. Are you hanging around for a little while?”
“Sure. Want to come home with me? Have dinner?”
“I’m sure you’ll sympathize, but I’m a little tired...”
He grinned proudly. “You have plans?”
She shook her head. “Just dinner with Sully. I bet you could stay if you want to.”
“I’ll just have something cold to drink, then get to the dump. If you change your mind, you have my number. I’m staying home tonight. Other than tired, you doing okay today?”
“Excellent,” she said. “I’m taking a little teasing from Mr. Sullivan. Are you?”
“He hasn’t said a word. What could he say to get to me? I won the lottery. I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“And how were the camp kids today?” she asked him.
“It was so much fun,” he said. He put a hand at her back and turned her toward the store and pushed her gently in that direction. “They were all over the rig, screwing around with the hoses, trying on the hats and one kid even got his hands on turnouts and boots. We gave ’em lunch, talked to them about fire safety, about campfires and wildfires, and I’m pretty sure we have fourteen wannabe firefighters, seven of ’em girls.”
“How old were these kids?”
“Camp kids—they were ages eight to eleven. I always forget how much energy they have. Then to make sure they wouldn’t slow down, we made ice cream sundaes. They’re going to wiggle all night. Till they pass out.”
“Do you always volunteer to deal with the kids?”
“Only if it’s convenient, but most of the other guys have kids. Maybe they get enough of ’em at home. I like the kids. Unless they’re brats. I have a hard time with the brats.”
“But you love kids,” she said.
“I love kids, but mostly good kids.”
They helped themselves to cold drinks and sat on the porch. Within a couple of minutes Sully was with them and had a lot of questions about Cal’s progress on the barn so Sierra described everything right down to the hardwood floors that weren’t really wood but porcelain that looked like wood. “And according to Cal, it doesn’t require any maintenance like the wood does.”
After a couple of cold drinks, Sully was ready to make dinner and convinced Sierra to help and Connie to stay. They worked together to grill fish and vegetables, a staple to their diets. And when dinner and dishes were done, Connie was ready to go. “Walk me to my truck,” he said to Sierra. He kissed her goodbye, deeply, letting her know with his lips and embrace how much he’d like more. But he told her to sleep well.
Sierra and Sully hung out together until the sun was nearly down. The grounds were quiet, the dogs peaceful, Sully had his nightcap and Sierra her tea and Sully said good-night.
“Just in case you’re inclined to worry, I think I’m going to take Molly out for the rest of the evening. I’ll be fine.”
“The rest of the evening or night?” he asked.
“Whatever feels right at the time. I’ll have my phone if you need me.”
“I’ve gotten by over seventy years without you. Enjoy yourself.”
She drove with the windows down, Molly hanging her head out and letting the wind billow her lips. She’d felt a smile inside of herself all day long. She couldn’t help it, she felt strangely renewed. She’d enjoyed physical love that felt clean and pure; sex without a price or consequence with a man who made no demands and respected her speed, or the lack. He respected her space and her body and he didn’t push her. He was honorable. He had integrity. She had forgotten such men existed. Indeed, in her world, they’d been very rare and they’d never been hers.
“California!”
“It’s whisker burn,” he said, grinning at her. “I’ll be damned. I thought Connie was going to have to work at it all summer.”
“We’re very good friends,” she said.
“Sierra, don’t get your back up. I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. In fact, that makes me happy. After what you’ve been through—”
“He doesn’t know,” she hastened to inform him.
“And that’s okay, too,” Cal said. “I haven’t even told Maggie. I probably will, eventually. Or you will. But it broke my heart. Just like it broke yours. And I want you to have a chance to heal.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “He’s my good friend.”
“I don’t care, Sierra. As long as you feel good about it, whatever it is. I don’t know Conrad that well but Maggie does. And Maggie loves him.”
After they talked awhile longer, after Cal pointed out every seam in the floor, every door frame and hinge, every fancy cabinet with slide-out shelves and special drawers with dividers, they hugged and said goodbye. Sierra held the door of the pumpkin open for Molly to jump in the backseat. She looked at her rosy cheeks in the rearview mirror and said to Molly, “It’s okay if we have a boyfriend as long as he’s a good boyfriend.” And Molly smiled.
Connie was at the store when she got back to the Crossing. He was loading some trash into the back of his truck for Sully.
“What’s going on?” she asked him.
“I was just hanging out, waiting for you to come back, and I told Sully I’d take this to the dump on my way home. How’s the barn look?”
“It’s starting to look great. They’ve been at work on it for eight months and it looks like they’re going to make it. Are you hanging around for a little while?”
“Sure. Want to come home with me? Have dinner?”
“I’m sure you’ll sympathize, but I’m a little tired...”
He grinned proudly. “You have plans?”
She shook her head. “Just dinner with Sully. I bet you could stay if you want to.”
“I’ll just have something cold to drink, then get to the dump. If you change your mind, you have my number. I’m staying home tonight. Other than tired, you doing okay today?”
“Excellent,” she said. “I’m taking a little teasing from Mr. Sullivan. Are you?”
“He hasn’t said a word. What could he say to get to me? I won the lottery. I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“And how were the camp kids today?” she asked him.
“It was so much fun,” he said. He put a hand at her back and turned her toward the store and pushed her gently in that direction. “They were all over the rig, screwing around with the hoses, trying on the hats and one kid even got his hands on turnouts and boots. We gave ’em lunch, talked to them about fire safety, about campfires and wildfires, and I’m pretty sure we have fourteen wannabe firefighters, seven of ’em girls.”
“How old were these kids?”
“Camp kids—they were ages eight to eleven. I always forget how much energy they have. Then to make sure they wouldn’t slow down, we made ice cream sundaes. They’re going to wiggle all night. Till they pass out.”
“Do you always volunteer to deal with the kids?”
“Only if it’s convenient, but most of the other guys have kids. Maybe they get enough of ’em at home. I like the kids. Unless they’re brats. I have a hard time with the brats.”
“But you love kids,” she said.
“I love kids, but mostly good kids.”
They helped themselves to cold drinks and sat on the porch. Within a couple of minutes Sully was with them and had a lot of questions about Cal’s progress on the barn so Sierra described everything right down to the hardwood floors that weren’t really wood but porcelain that looked like wood. “And according to Cal, it doesn’t require any maintenance like the wood does.”
After a couple of cold drinks, Sully was ready to make dinner and convinced Sierra to help and Connie to stay. They worked together to grill fish and vegetables, a staple to their diets. And when dinner and dishes were done, Connie was ready to go. “Walk me to my truck,” he said to Sierra. He kissed her goodbye, deeply, letting her know with his lips and embrace how much he’d like more. But he told her to sleep well.
Sierra and Sully hung out together until the sun was nearly down. The grounds were quiet, the dogs peaceful, Sully had his nightcap and Sierra her tea and Sully said good-night.
“Just in case you’re inclined to worry, I think I’m going to take Molly out for the rest of the evening. I’ll be fine.”
“The rest of the evening or night?” he asked.
“Whatever feels right at the time. I’ll have my phone if you need me.”
“I’ve gotten by over seventy years without you. Enjoy yourself.”
She drove with the windows down, Molly hanging her head out and letting the wind billow her lips. She’d felt a smile inside of herself all day long. She couldn’t help it, she felt strangely renewed. She’d enjoyed physical love that felt clean and pure; sex without a price or consequence with a man who made no demands and respected her speed, or the lack. He respected her space and her body and he didn’t push her. He was honorable. He had integrity. She had forgotten such men existed. Indeed, in her world, they’d been very rare and they’d never been hers.
