Sierra Falls
Page 11

“I’m meeting somebody,” she said. With a subtle shift of her shirtsleeve, she checked the time again. She needed a rich man, not someone who flipped burgers for a living. A wealthy retiree who’d buy her a sedan. A silver fox. She was in search of a classy boyfriend. Not someone who rode around on a motorcycle, looking too young for his age.
Tom didn’t get the hint. “Seems he’s late.”
Marlene bristled at that. Even though it was true, it was a presumptuous thing to say. She took in his tight, white cook’s T-shirt, the Army infantry tattoo on his forearm. He sure did look strong. Not a silver fox at all, but vital and vigorous. And when had she started thinking of him as Tom? She took a sip of that bubbly water.
His tattoo put a thought into her head. She was anxious to change the subject anyway. “They say you went to war.”
“So I did,” he replied, his tone wary.
The pain that flickered across his face told her to tread carefully. “Would you talk to my grandson?” His face crumpled into something that looked highly skeptical, and she continued quickly, “He wants to enlist right out of high school.”
His eyes narrowed, pinned on her. Goodness, but they were a dark and vivid blue, like indigo. It put her on the defensive.
“Don’t you get that look with me, Tom Sullivan. Hear me out. I had a cousin from my grandmother’s side who served—you should know that. You were here when we flew to Arlington to bury him, may he rest in peace, and if you don’t remember, you just need to listen to Ruby and Pearl for half a minute to hear his memory invoked.” She grew half concerned that the wine had made her too emotional, but pressed on, anxious to be understood. “There’s nothing that’d make me prouder than to see Craig serve his country. But I get nervous that he doesn’t see that side of it. The service side. I’d love to see the boy shape up and put on a uniform, but for the right reasons. He doesn’t understand how seriously it should be approached. How hard he’ll need to work. I worry he thinks it’s just a chance for him to appear in one of his video games.”
Sully was silent for long enough she began to worry. But finally he nodded. “I understand. Bring him by, Marlene. I’ll be happy to talk to the boy.”
She unclenched something she hadn’t realized she’d clenched. “Thank you, Tom.”
A gust of wind blew in as the door opened. Sully looked up and that stony look was back in his eyes.
“It’s not right,” he muttered. His dark blue eyes locked with hers. “This date of yours had better pay. I see him try any nonsense like splitting the check, I might need to come back over.”
Marlene felt her cheeks blush. And Good Lord, when was the last time she’d blushed?
Ten
“Sorrow!” she heard her mom call from the hallway a moment before she appeared in the doorway of the laundry room.
Mom had that tone—the one that told Sorrow she was going to be assigned another duty she didn’t want. Whatever it was, it had to be better than ironing linens. She hated ironing.
“Did you hear me, Sorrow?” Her mother had a white-knuckle grip on her purse, and that alone had her putting down the iron. Her mom never looked that tense. “I need you to call your friend again.”
“Who? You mean Damien?”
Edith nodded. “The road is closed. I thought he could make some calls. Get it plowed.”
“Wait, our road is closed?” The lodge was on Irish Camp Road, an old mining road off Route 88. It wasn’t exactly a major thoroughfare, but it wasn’t a small street either. “I’m sure it was plowed hours ago. Why would Caltrans close it?”
As far as Sorrow was concerned, Caltrans—aka the California Department of Transportation—were the unsung heroes of their area, plowing through the night, clearing rockslides, and managing avalanche control in the higher elevations. They might be experiencing the first real weather of the season, but it was nothing compared to what Caltrans could handle.
“It’s not the snow,” Edith said. “There’s something blocking the road.”
What was she supposed to do about something blocking the road? Why did everything fall on her shoulders? Why couldn’t her mother call Caltrans? Better yet, why wasn’t her sister around to enjoy this indentured servitude, having to deal with things like ironing the tavern’s tablecloths? Or how about her brother, for that matter?
She felt a pang of guilt at that last thought. BJ was deployed in Afghanistan…ironing was a walk in the park compared to what he was going through.
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll call Caltrans.”
“Maybe you should call Damien.”
Sorrow hesitated, reluctant to ask for his help on this one, especially since she’d been having inappropriate thoughts about another man. She felt guilty about Billy and heating things up in the kitchen—because the things she wanted to heat up had nothing to do with food. “Caltrans will take care of it.”
“Please,” Mom pleaded. “It’s just that, I think Damien would be able to call someone in charge over there and get it cleared faster than you could.”
She turned off the iron, defeated. It was unlike Mom to get this impassioned about something. “Okay, sure. I’ll call Damien.” She reached over to unplug it—the way her luck was going, the whole lodge might burn down otherwise. She edged past her mother in the doorway in search of the phone.
Edith followed right on her heels. “This is very important, Sorrow.”
She had to chuckle at the uncharacteristic intensity. “I said I’m on it, Mom.”
“I’m going to present your letters to the historical society. Marlene thinks that it might be just the thing to breathe some life into this town.”
“Good,” she said distractedly. Girding herself, she dialed and put a hand up to signal quiet.
Unfortunately, she didn’t need to keep quiet for long. Damien was in a meeting and not to be disturbed. Sorrow had a good guess what the meeting was about, and if her hunch was right, he’d be unavailable for some time. Simmons Timber was ready to thin several overstocked acres, clearing debris in a fire-prevention effort, a huge concern in the Sierras. The problem was, his father was trying to use the program as an opportunity to clear more acreage than necessary.
The stance felt a bit uncharacteristic for the kindly Dabney Simmons, but she supposed you didn’t get to be rich without being aware of the bottom line. And for a timber company in a paperless era, that bottom line was getting progressively smaller. As a result, father and son were butting heads more often than not, with Damien increasingly outspoken about the responsibility they owed to the environment, while Dabney was preoccupied only with keeping food on his employees’ plates.
“He’s unavailable, and…oh, crap.” Sorrow shut her eyes as she hung up, turning her head heavenward to take a deep breath. A road closure had much bigger implications than her mom missing the historical society meeting. If their road was closed, nobody could drive to the lodge or tavern. It would mean a day’s business lost. “Crap,” she repeated vehemently. “We’ve got two groups of hunters coming in tonight, and I already bought a few sides of salmon to serve in the tavern.”
“Well Sully can’t cook it,” Edith said. “He hasn’t even made it in yet. That fool man insists on riding a motorcycle at his age.”
“He drives the Jeep in this weather, Mom.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” There was an edge to her mother’s voice that she didn’t often hear. “I don’t want your father getting upset. And I especially don’t want him going out in the car to check on it himself.”
Sorrow grabbed her coat and scarf from a hook in the mudroom off the garage. “Don’t borrow trouble. I’ll check on it and see what’s going on. Dad’s still watching the headlines—he won’t even know I’m gone.” Her father’s CNN addiction came in handy at times like these. The constant hum of the television was aggravating, but she knew he was safely ensconced in his den, apart from the lodge’s public area.
She was slipping on her snow boots when she heard the main entry door open. It was a slow creak followed by a tentative knock—someone polite enough to realize that, even though it was a lodge, a family lived there, too.
“Anybody home?” a man called.
She recognized Billy’s voice, and found herself putting a hand to her hair. She’d tugged it back that morning into a messy ponytail. So much for looking presentable.
Why should she care anyway? He was just a man like any other.
But he wasn’t just a man. He was Billy.
She pulled out the elastic and gave her head a shake as she finger combed some life into her waves. And then she went out to greet him. “Hi, Billy.”
Something in his face softened. “Hi, Sorrow.” His eyes went to her snow boots. “You know your road”—he stopped, seeing the look on her face—“you do know.”
“Yup. The road is closed.”
He nodded, frowning. “There are signs posted, but somehow nobody notified Caltrans. I called it in, and it should be cleared by this evening.”
“This evening?” So much for their guests.
“But I need to get to my meeting,” Edith said.
That again. The historical society meeting was the last thing on Sorrow’s mind. All she could think about was a hundred dollars in salmon that wouldn’t freeze well.
Edith began to sound frantic. “I told Marlene I’d drive her and the Kidd sisters. All she has is that pickup. You know the women hate climbing into that.”
“Mom, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to miss the m—”
Billy cut her off. “I’ll take you in the truck, ma’am.”
Sorrow shot him a look, waiting for an explanation.
He jingled his keys. “How do you ladies think I got here?”
Sorrow shook her head. “You’re nuts.”