Any Day Now

After two hours in the garden she took a nap, read her book for a while, washed some of her clothes and offered to cook Sully’s dinner. And she thought, My God, this is living. There was no television in her cabin, but Sully offered his if she wanted to watch TV. “Just lock the door when you go home,” he said.

“I’m surprised you lock doors around here,” she said.

“I forget most of the time. But lock yours. Every now and again we get a bad apple. Last spring Maggie shot a lowlife who’d kidnapped a girl.”

“Really?” she asked, astonished and impressed.

“I’ll tell you about that sometime when we run out of stories...”

She didn’t think they’d ever run out of stories!

Cal and Maggie were around the Crossing a little bit on the weekend, Maggie more than Cal. Cal worked on making a home every day.

Then came Monday morning and her new job began early. The diner didn’t open until seven but she was required to be there at six thirty to set up. There was training for her, but she’d waitressed on and off so many times over the years, very little instruction was required. There were several early customers who she learned were mostly locals or business owners and workers from the town and a bit later, a few tourists. It was steady but not what she’d call busy. There was competition off the highway and in surrounding towns—bigger places like Applebee’s and Denny’s.

And then at eleven who should come in but Moody. Just the sight of him had her beaming as though she loved him. Someday she’d figure out what it was about her and slightly mean men. Slightly if she couldn’t find a really mean one! She couldn’t put this on her brothers or father. Jed Jones might be nuts but he was sweet. Vulnerable. And the boys had always been kind, to women especially.

“Isn’t this a surprise,” she said to Moody.

“You aren’t hard to track down,” he said, sitting at the counter. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m pretty coffee’d out. Oh! Do you want coffee?”

“You’re very funny, aren’t you?” he asked, not cracking a smile.

“To some people,” she said, grabbing a mug from under the counter. She poured him a cup. “Anything to eat? Breakfast? Lunch?”

“Nah. Just the coffee.”

She took a breath. “You were tracking me down?”

He took a sip. “No, not really. But then I realized you told me where you worked and I come by here sometimes. I thought I’d let you know—there’s a meeting here in town. Seven on Thursday nights at the church. I go sometimes, depending what’s going on.”

“Is that early meeting your home meeting?” she asked.

“I get up early. I like getting it out of the way.”

“Is this a house call?” she asked, teasingly.

“We don’t make house calls,” he said. “We do reach out sometimes, but if you ask me not to—”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s very nice, in fact.”

“Then I’ll take a chance and ask you if there’s anything you need. I’ve been around here a long time. And I’ve been in the program a long time.”

She’d heard at the meeting. “Thirty years,” she said. “That’s a long time, all right. Either you were pretty young or you’re pretty old.”

There was the glimmer of a smile, but it was small and showed no teeth. “Both.”

“Either you know the ropes by now or you’ve been a real tough case.”

This time he did show teeth. He even gave a huff of laughter. “Both,” he said again. “Think you’ll be around awhile?”

“I hope so,” she said. “My brother and his wife are expecting. I wouldn’t want to miss that. But this was a leap of faith. It’s quite a change. A beautiful change, but still...”

“You staying with your brother, then?” he asked.

She shook her head. “My sister-in-law’s dad owns a campground just outside of town and he loaned me a cabin. So I have a place of my own but I’m kind of with family at the same time. It’s private, but...”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Sully’s place?”

“You know Sully?” she asked.

“I think everyone knows Sully. Maggie is your sister-in-law?”

“And you know Maggie?”

“Sierra, I live here. In three weeks you’ll know everyone.”

“And you go to meetings here? In town?”

He nodded. “I think the word is out on me. I don’t talk about anyone else’s business. You going to stick to Leadville?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I did notice they have a meeting for everything in Leadville.”

“That’s for sure,” he agreed. “So, you have a place to stay, know where the meetings are, have family around—that can be good or not, depending. Anything you need right now?”

“Not right now,” she said. “I’ll be looking for a sponsor, but for right now I still have my last sponsor by phone. We talk all the time.”

He took out a pen, grabbed a napkin and wrote his name and cell number on it. “While you’re checking things out and meeting people, here’s my number. Why don’t you use it sometime. Check in with me until you get a new sponsor.”

“I don’t expect to need anything, Moody, but—”

“Then just check in to say hello,” he said. “It’s a good idea to have an anchor or two. Floating around without connections can be risky.”

“Okay, sure,” she said, taking the napkin, folding it in half and slipping it in the pocket of her shorts. “But I’ll probably see you around.”

“How you doing on the steps?”

“Oh, I ran through the steps. I’m spending a little extra time on number eight. And ten—seems like there’s an endless amount of accounting.”

He sipped his coffee. “Remembering more or admitting more?” he asked. When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Maybe we’ll have coffee after a meeting sometime. Talk about the steps?”

“I thought that might happen after the last meeting but I guess everyone was either rushing off to work...or maybe busy with that guy who was having a hard time. Mark.”

“Mark shows up sometimes. I’m always glad to see him,” Moody said. And he said nothing more. It was like a contract. These stories were shared in the meeting but nowhere else. Not everyone played by the rules, but they were expected to, nonetheless.

The bell on the door tinkled and in walked Adonis. Well, except he didn’t have that black Greek hair. His hair was brown and his eyes so blue she could see them from the door. Sierra felt her heart catch. That meant he must be a bad idea. But the sheer height of him and the girth of his shoulders was almost shattering. His T-shirt was tight over his chest and arms; there was a firefighter’s emblem on one pec. She had to concentrate to keep from sighing. She wondered, not for the first time, if absolute beauty was a requirement to be a firefighter.

His eyes twinkled at her. But he said, “Hey, Moody.” And he stretched out his hand toward Moody. “How’s the weather?”

“It’s nice,” he grumbled. “But it’s bound to turn. Connie, meet a new waitress. Sierra this is Connie. Connie this is Sierra.”

“Conrad,” he said. “Connie for short. Nice to meet you.”

That big, meaty hand swallowed up her small hand.

And she gulped.

Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.

—Voltaire

Chapter 4

SIERRA HAD AN unfortunate history of being involved with men who were not good for her, but a lot of that could be blamed on alcohol. Or maybe she started out with perfectly good men and destroyed the relationships with alcohol. At this point it was pretty irrelevant since there hadn’t been a man in her life in a long time. Nor alcohol. The last one, Derek, had been so toxic and dangerous she not only swore off men, she ran to rehab. No one could get to you in rehab. Just the people you put on your list as approved visitors.

She felt the calluses of Connie’s strong, large hand, looked into those blue eyes and told herself, It doesn’t really matter who he is—I’m off men. But she couldn’t deny it—there was a tingle as his hand enveloped hers.

“Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Conrad or Connie?”

“Everyone calls me Connie no matter what I might prefer. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I haven’t been here long.”

“And what miracle had you choose Timberlake?” he asked, smiling. Smiling like a man who thought he might get laid.

“Do you know Cal and Maggie Jones? I’m Cal’s sister.”

The big man’s smile vanished instantly. Nothing like an older brother to make a man rethink his objectives. Funny how that never went away even with age. Sierra was thirty and Cal thirty-eight. You’d think by now a guy wouldn’t be intimidated by a big brother, but it was just as well.

“How do you like it around here so far?” he asked. And there was obvious distance in his gaze. His warm blue eyes cooled way down.

“It’s great. Amazing, in fact.”

“You can’t be staying in that barn,” he said.

“You’re right, I can’t, but not because it’s an unfinished house. Because I really don’t want to live with my brother. They’re newlyweds, for one thing. And I’m crazy about Cal, but he’s my brother. I lived with him long enough growing up.”

Connie laughed. “I’ve felt that way about my brother. I’m here for an order. A big Caesar salad. You know about that?”

“Oh, that’s you? I’ll get it.”

She’d been told it would be picked up. It was ready in the kitchen. She put it in a bag and rang it up for him. He left with a casual “See you around.”

After a few moments passed Moody said, “Want to have coffee sometime when you’re not working? Talk about the program a little bit? Go over steps or something? Take each other’s pulse?”

Hers was a little amped up at the moment. She focused on Moody. “I was kind of looking for an older woman.”

“I get that. You never know. I might be good in the short term.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

Sierra was off work at two and was scheduled to work at least two mornings a week, no weekends unless one of the other waitresses asked her to cover for them. The weekends, she was told, were busier in the mornings and the tips better so the waitresses who had been there before she was hired wanted those shifts, particularly the students. Her schedule wasn’t the least bit taxing; she enjoyed meeting the locals. And of course most people knew her brother and absolutely everyone knew Sully.

Sierra had plenty of time after work to do things, like stop by Cal’s to check on the progress at his place, then get back to the Crossing to see what, if anything, she could do to help Sully. Most of the time all he wanted was a little company for dinner, which he sometimes convinced Sierra to make for them. “Just bear in mind, if it ain’t bland and tasteless I can’t eat it. I have to stay heart healthy. I won’t live any longer, it’ll just seem longer.”

“You’re in good hands,” she said. “I’m very healthy.” Now, she thought. And before two weeks had passed, she had Sully nearly addicted to her stir-fry—just chicken, vegetables, broth and some seasoning. She was allowed soy sauce but he was off salt; his indulgence was one drink before bed and she could not join him, of course. It seemed a reasonable trade to her.

Two weeks, though not very long, had revealed some marvelous changes in the land and in Sierra. First of all, she did contact Moody and they did meet for coffee a couple of times. As she learned more about him, she was glad she’d let him talk her into it. Moody’s name was Arthur Moody but no one ever addressed him as anything but Moody, including his wife. He was fifty-eight years old, a biology professor at a private university in Aurora and he was admittedly a late bloomer. “I was busy in my twenties when everyone else was trying to get an education and a start in life. My start came later, in my thirties.” She could do the math—he had been sober for thirty years. That meant that until the age of twenty-eight he was busy spiraling down.

She went to that Thursday evening meeting in Timberlake. She found a nice group waiting there—small, but significant. One of them was Frank, Enid’s husband. Frank was an old-timer, a vet, a man who earned his stripes the hard way. He might’ve been surprised to see her because he beamed, putting those snazzy false teeth on display for her.

She did not tell her story yet, even though she was starting to feel at home. But she couldn’t help thinking about her story. Every day.

* * *

“What was it, Sierra?” The therapist encouraged her to be honest. “What finally sent you running to rehab?”

“Well, there was an accident. I wasn’t driving but it was my car. He was driving. He took me out of a bar, took my keys and was driving me home. He said I was drunk and he was just taking me home. I think he put something in my wine because, seriously, it wasn’t that easy for me to get wasted like that. It was still early. I knew we hit something but I didn’t see it happen. He stopped the car and looked and got back in and drove away. He said it was a cyclist and he left him there. Left him. Left him to die.

“He told me he called the police and said he was a witness, that he saw a woman driver hit a man and leave him. I didn’t hear him call the police. I don’t know if he did. I don’t know if he hit a man or a tree branch or a dog. I was in and out. He told me what he said. I said, ‘But I wasn’t driving!’ And he said, ‘No one will believe you—you have a history.’ And then... And then he convinced me. In a brutal way. In a terrifying way. He said I would never tell anyone anything. Or I’d be sorry.

“So I left my car in the airport parking garage and took a bus to the bus depot. I ran. I went to the farm, the only place I could think of. Eventually I went into rehab, a place he couldn’t find me. Or even if he found me, he couldn’t get to me.”

* * *

Spring was upon the land and the afternoons were often warm and sunny. Just being at the Crossing was the best part. Sierra enjoyed watching her sister-in-law grow that little baby inside her and it filled her with warm family feelings. Being a part of Cal’s new family was precious to her. Cal was intent on working on his renovation but not so much that he couldn’t take a few breaks to see his sister. They often sat atop a picnic table by the lake and talked, or they went for a short hike into the thawing hills that surrounded the Crossing.

Tom Canaday stopped by the Crossing sometimes—maybe for a cup of coffee, maybe a beer after work. His son Jackson came by now and then, sometimes with his dad and sometimes to lend a hand. There were firefighters and search and rescue volunteers and rangers who dropped in on Sully because the drinks were cold and the atmosphere friendly and laid-back.

“This place just keeps getting better looking,” one of the firefighters Sierra had not yet met said, eyeing her keenly.

“Did I remember to mention Sierra is Cal’s little sister?” Sully asked.

There were a few groans in the group. But when Sierra turned her back someone said, “Hell, I can take Cal.”

“Be careful of those smoke eaters,” Sully said. “They come in two flavors—real gentlemen where women are concerned, or they’re dogs. Players. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“We’re safe,” she said. “I’m not interested in either type.”

Cal and Maggie didn’t question Sierra’s assertion that she had no room for dating in her life right now. They had other things on their minds. Not only was picking out slabs of stone for countertops giving them fits, they were tending their bump.

“Do we know what we’re having yet?” Sierra asked when she noticed a book of baby names sitting out on the picnic table in their great room.

“Not yet. But soon,” Maggie said.

“No, I didn’t mean boy or girl,” she said with a laugh. “I meant state, city or mountain range!”

The Jones kids were named California, Sedona, Dakota and Sierra—in that order. “Hell no,” Maggie said. “We’ll be changing that trend.”

As the month of April drew near and the weather warmed, the wildflowers came out to play and were resplendent. Columbines, daisies, prairie phlox and coppery mallow grew along the paths and carpeted the hillsides. Hikers had begun to show up at the Crossing. Sierra found that—as Sully had promised—her own hikes worked wonders on her frame of mind. The exercise stimulated her and the sunshine renewed her. Freckles had begun to show up across her nose and on her cheeks. The time alone and all the thinking gave her a sense of inner peace. She felt closer to God and she’d had very little training in religion, except for that relatively short period of time her father had believed he was Christ.

As she came around a curve in the path she looked up to see three men climbing the flat face of the hill on one side of the mountain. She moved closer until she could actually hear them—a little talking, a few grunts, the soft whisper of their climbing shoes sliding along the rock face and wedging in. As she got closer still she realized she knew them—Connie, Rafe and Charlie. She’d seen them in town and they’d been around the Crossing a few times. They were from Timberlake Fire and Rescue. She wondered if they were training or playing; they weren’t wearing uniforms and there didn’t seem to be any fire trucks nearby. But those boys could certainly do lovely things to shorts and muscle shirts.

She watched the clever shifting of their hips to give them lift; the muscles in their calves and arms were like art. Little buckets hung off their belts in the back and they dipped into them for chalk, the sweat running down their necks and backs. My goodness they were a lovely sight, slithering up that rock face, their shorts molding around their beautiful male butts.

She couldn’t help herself, she was thinking about sex. She had so much mental and spiritual work to do she wouldn’t risk getting screwed up by falling for some guy. But it had been a bloody long time.

The last man in her life, Crazy Derek, should have cured her of all men the way he’d cured her of drinking.

She sat down on a rock to watch them for a while. She was achingly quiet and still lest she make a noise and one of them fell. She was afraid to even drink from her water bottle. One of them seemed to briefly dangle in midair by his fingertips as his feet found a crevice to toe into, giving him another lift up the rock face. She held her breath through the whole maneuver. That’s when she noticed he wasn’t wearing a harness. That was Conrad! The other two were all trussed up but he had no anchor. God, she was suddenly terrified. And exhilarated. The freedom of it, moving up a dangerous rock without a net. She couldn’t imagine how powerful he must feel, how uninhibited. It must feel like flying without a plane. It was the impossible, yet accomplished with an almost mellow gliding movement.

It didn’t seem to take them very long, or maybe it was because she was mesmerized by the steady climb, but soon all three of them disappeared over the top of the rock. She let out her breath and gulped her water.

She was exhausted and decided she’d had enough of a hike. She headed back to the campground. When she got there it was early afternoon, the camp quiet, and Sully was sitting on the porch eating a sandwich. She ambled over and sat with him.

“Good hike?” he asked.

“Beautiful. Isn’t it late for your lunch?”

“Aw, I got caught up in cleaning and painting trash cans. They were looking pretty awful.”

“There were three guys rock climbing,” she said. “That really big, flat rock face that looks like you shouldn’t be able to find anything to hang on to, yet they slithered up to the top like lizards. What does it take to do something like that, Sully?”

He swallowed a mouthful. “Insanity, if you ask me.”

“I assume you haven’t done that?”

“I’ve done a little climbing, not up a flat rock like that. I’ve climbed where you can get a good, solid foothold and grip, a decent angle. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m not real comfortable with falling off a flat rock like that.” He shook his head. “They love that rock. Ever been to Yosemite?”

She shook her head.

“They climb El Capitan—it’s flatter and way steeper than that. They pound in their spikes and anchors to hold their tents and camp hanging off the side—it’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Look it up on your computer—look up ‘climbing El Capitan.’ It’ll scare the bejesus out of you.”

“Watching them was terrifying and exciting, but I’m not afraid of heights. Cal doesn’t much like heights. He has trouble even looking at pictures of scary heights.”

Sully grinned. “When you get some pictures or a video, show it to him.”

“I wonder if I could learn to do that,” she muttered.

“No, you can’t,” Sully said. “I forbid it.”

So that’s what a real father sounds like, she thought. A normal father—sane, decisive, controlling.

She went to get her laptop and came back to the porch. Before she opened up and signed on she asked Sully if he had any chores she could do for him.

“Nah, I got nothing much to do,” he said. “Where you having dinner later?”

“I’ll be around here. Why?”

“I got some salmon, rice and asparagus. If I share it, will you make it for us?”

“I’d be honored. Where’d you find asparagus this time of year?”

“I paid top dollar at that green grocer in Timberlake, that’s where. I don’t know where it comes from but the stalks are fat and juicy and plump up like steaks on the grill. You like that idea?”

“I love that idea,” she said. “I’d love to share your dinner. I’ll cook it and wash up the dishes after. What time would you like to eat?”

“Since I’m just getting lunch, is seven too late for you?”

“Just right,” she said. “Gives me a little time to play on the computer and maybe read.”

It was about four when campers started coming back to the Crossing, washing up after their day of exploring. Then a big Ford truck pulled up and the three rock climbers piled out. They nodded to her and said hello as they passed to go into the store.

Connie came back, holding his bottled water in one hand and an apple in the other. Without asking, he sat at her table. “How you doing?”

“I watched you climbing that steep, flat rock.”

“Did you? We call that rock face Big Bad Betty. She’s mean as the devil. I didn’t see you, but we don’t look around much. You have to be pretty focused.”

She closed her laptop. “What does it sound like up there?” she asked. “When you’re hanging on by your fingertips, what does it sound like?”

He smiled at her. “There’s a little wind,” he said. “The swooshing of hands and feet as you look for a good hold. Breathing—the sound of my breathing is loud in my head.”

“Heart pounding?” She wanted to know.

“No. Just a good, solid rhythm. You have to like it, feel it, be safe in it or your diaphragm will slam into your chest, close it up and bad things happen. No pounding. It’s tranquil.”

“Does it make you feel powerful?” she asked.

“It makes me feel independent. Self-reliant.”

“Free?”

“Yeah, free. But it takes thinking. Planning. I’ve climbed that rock a lot and I planned ahead. I know where to go. Even when you climb a new rock you plan ahead—look at video, pictures, listen to what climbers say, try it with a harness and ropes first to see the lay of the rock. And even then you have to be flexible. Sometimes you have to improvise. But it feels so good. Every grip and hold has to be just right and when you get it, you know you got it. It’s a smart sport. No one can get too much of that feeling.”

“You weren’t wearing a harness. I didn’t see any ropes.”

“Free solo,” he said. “As climbing challenges go, it’s the best.”

“And when you get to the top?”

“Eureka. Hallelujah.”

“I saw you go over the top and disappear but I didn’t hear anything.”

He grinned brightly, his eyes twinkling. He had those sweet bedroom eyes sneaking a peek from behind lots of brown lashes. Young girls could buy lashes from him, he had so many. “Then we weren’t loud enough,” he said.