Mending Places (4 page)

As she placed the last throw pillow on the bed, Taylor squealed unhappily, and she went to peek over the loft rail. “Alex, give him back his blankie.”

Her four-year-old turned his wide blue eyes on her. “But, Mommy, Bear wants to take a nap,” he protested, pointing at the stuffed animal he’d laid on a pillow on the floor.

“That’s Taylor’s blanket. You’ll have to use something else.”

Alex held the blanket out of Taylor’s reach, and the baby began crying in earnest.

“Give him back the blanket and get a towel from the closet.”

For once Alex obeyed without arguing, and Taylor toddled across the room with his blanket as if nothing had happened.

Natalie retrieved a cotton diaper from the linen closet and returned to her room to dust the light oak furniture. She lifted an eight-by-ten photo of the boys that had been taken the previous summer at Higher Grounds. The Tetons rose in the distance like guardians overlooking the lodge. Taylor was cuddled up on Aunt Hanna’s lap, and Alex was behind Aunt Paula with his little hands covering her eyes. The picture had captured such a mix of charm and mischief on Alex’s face that she’d had the photo enlarged.

Natalie finished dusting the chest of drawers, then moved on to the window seat, which was not so much a seat as it was a convenient place for Keith to throw his clothes as he undressed. She sighed. She’d promised herself a week ago she was not going to pick up his clothes anymore, but the sight of the growing pile was more than she could take.

She grabbed the shirt on top and began folding. She really shouldn’t complain. Keith was a good father and a decent husband. If discarding his clothes in piles was the worst thing he did, she didn’t have much to complain about.

She grabbed a handful of plastic hangers and started on the pants, throwing aside a pair that hadwrinkled under the pile. She’d never
regretted giving up her job as an obstetrics nurse to become a full-time mom. There would be time enough to explore her profession when the boys were grown, or at least in school. She was just glad Keith earned enough at the bank for her to put her career on hold for a few years, although Keith had made it clear he resented her quitting.

Her entire day revolved around the boys, and she knew that Keith sometimes thought her completely out of touch with the rest of the world. How had that happened in four short years? How was it that her identity now seemed to be totally wrapped up in her children?

It seemed Keith had managed to keep his individual self Of course, he had the bank, which consumed more of his time than she liked.

Their marriage had suffered the most. Somewhere along the way, they had ceased being each other’s partner. Sometimes it seemed as if they were simply two people committed to the raising of their children, as if they were more like roommates than marriage partners.

Natalie breathed a laugh and shook her head. For heavens sake, what right did she have to complain? So her marriage was lacking in the intimacy department. All relationships went through ups and downs, and this was such a busy time in their lives. It was only natural their relationship would suffer a little. Between Keith’s work schedule, Alex’s swimming classes, and her own involvement in Marriage Enrichment, just getting together was a feat. To say nothing of going out on a date. Who had time to find a responsible sitter?

She finally reached the bottom of the pile and retrieved hangers for the last two pair of pants. Picking up the khakis she’d bought him for Christmas, she folded the pants at the creases and slung them over the hanger, arranging them just so. As she did, something fell to the ground, plunking softly on the carpet. She held the pants aside and looked down. It only took a moment for her to recognize the small square package between her stockinged feet. Disbelief fanned from her stomach outward to every nerve in her body, and the brand name printed on the white package blurred as every part of her body screamed in denial.

Micah kicked off his boots, swept back the quilted cover, and fell onto the crisp, white sheets. When his head sank into the pillow, he grabbed the one beside it and stacked. The mattress was soft for a hotel bed, much softer than the one in his cabin had been.

He allowed himself a moment of self-pity. He’d still be at his cabin if not for Fran. The woman just didn’t know how to take no for an answer. Lord knew, he’d used the word often enough where she was concerned. So much for integrity. It had gotten him nothing but fired. Five long years he’d put in at the Majestic, and what did he have to show for it? Not even a reference.

He hadn’t planned to stop here after he’d packed up and driven off; he had planned to go into Jackson and buy a newspaper. But something had pulled him here.
Do You have some purpose for me here?
He paused, staring at the beamed ceiling, waiting for an answer. None came.

Probably not. He’d seen the skepticism all over the manager’s face. She didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame her. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about the situation with his former boss, but if he hadn’t, she would’ve either called Ben or turned him down. The way he saw it, he hadn’t had much choice.

Oh well it’s in Your hands now, God.
If there were some purpose for him here, he’d get the job. If not, he’d drive into Jackson tomorrow and comb the help-wanted ads. He wasn’t too worried. He had money in the bank, enough to last a few months anyway.

Besides, he wasn’t sure how he felt about working for a woman. An attractive one at that. Several years ago he’d have loved the situation, would’ve taken advantage of it. But he was different now.

When his stomach rumbled, he realized he’d missed lunch. He sat up and rooted through his duffel bag for the apple he’d stuffed inside. Before he found it, he saw his Recovery Journal and pulled it out for later. His weekly meeting was tomorrow night, and he still hadn’t completed his assignment—had been dreading it all week. He’d come
to realize that getting over his past meant reliving things he’d rather forget, digging up the memories piece by piece and dissecting them until they were no longer painful. But it was hard. Agonizing. By now you’d think he’d have worked through it all, but there always seemed to be more sludge beneath the still waters.

He bit off a chunk of apple and forced himself to think about the weekly topic. His earliest memory. He didn’t need to think long. It had been just after his fifth birthday, at Christmastime.

He’d ripped a branch from a straggly pine and scurried back to his building, taking the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. The stale odor of cigarettes barely registered in his brain as he passed through the tiny apartment. Once in the kitchen, he clambered onto the counter and rooted through the cabinets for a clean glass. Finding none, he grabbed a plastic cup from the sink, filled it with water, then set the cup on the counter.

When he inserted the branch, the cup toppled, sloshing water over the counter. Maybe he needed a heavier vase. He rifled through the dirty dishes and, not finding anything, opened the refrigerator door. Kitchen light flooded into the dark compartment, and his eyes spied a brown bottle on the bottom shelf. A smile tugged at his lips as he withdrew it and opened it expertly with a bottle opener. Pouring the amber liquid into the sink, he watched in fascination as foam bubbled up around the drain. After filling the bottle with water, he stuffed the pine bough through the narrow neck and smiled in satisfaction when it remained upright.

He held it aloft. “What do you think, Toby?” His mom got mad when he talked to his friend, but that was only because she couldn’t see him.

Micah carried his treasure to the floor-model TV and set it carefully on top. Perfect. Now for some decorations. He rummaged through drawers and found thread, scissors, paper, and crayons. “We’ll just make our own things. I’ll use the scissors first, then you can have them.” He pulled out a chair for Toby and sat down beside him.

A short time later, Micah stood back from the tree admiring his work. “Not bad, huh, Toby?” Crayon-waxed paper stars and candy canes dangled by thread from the branches. His smile widened with approval. He wondered if the baby would be born by Christmas and if it would like looking at his tree.

He watched TV the remainder of the afternoon, occasionally glancing up to admire his tree. When the news came on, Micah knew it was almost time for his mother to come home. At the first commercial break, he heard the keys twist easily in the lock. Had he forgotten to bolt the door?

His mother appeared, her brown hair damp and frizzy with rain and her tan coat splotched with wet dots. Her big belly poked out between the buttons. “How many times have I told you not to leave this apartment?”

“I just went out for a minute. Look what I—”

“Not now, Micah.”

She dropped her purse and went straight to the kitchen. He heard the sucking sound of the refrigerator door opening, followed by rattling sounds as she knocked around its contents. Her work shoes tapped across the linoleum. She rounded the corner and glared at him. “Where is it? I know I had another beer in there. What did you do with it?” Her words were laced with frenzy.

Fear stiffened his spine. He’d heard that tone often enough to know he was in trouble. Why had he forgotten she always wanted a drink after work? Why had he used her last one? Maybe when she saw the tree, she wouldn’t be angry anymore. “Look, Mommy. I made a Christmas tree for the baby.”

Her wild eyes found his creation. She walked with slow, deliberate steps to the TV and snatched up the bottle, flinging the branch to the floor. The paper ornaments fluttered behind the branch like a kite tail.

She held the bottle to her nose and inhaled. “What did you do with the beer?”

“I … I poured it in the sink.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted in that way he hated. “That was my last beer! I don’t get paid ’til Thursday, you know that, and you wasted my last beer.”

When she turned and strolled to her purse, he held his breath. She thrust her hand inside and withdrew a cigarette. As she lit it, the tip flickered with an angry orange light. His mother smirked, her eyes slicing into him like a cold knife as she puffed a stream of smoke.

Fear snaked through his body. He stood slowly to his feet. She advanced, mute anger blazing in her eyes. His feet propelled him back ward, until his back connected with the wall. When she inhaled again, his gaze fixed on the flaming eye. As he stared, it blurred into a fiery glow. His breath came in short gasps. Micah squeezed his eyes shut, tried futilely to embed himself into the wall, scarcely felt the warm, wet flow down his legs.

The rest of the memory had been mercifully blocked from his mind, but his body still carried the scars from that day. He forced himself to grab the pen off the nightstand and relive the memory again.

CHAPTER FOUR
 

Hanna settled into her desk chair and started a to-do list: help with dinner cleanup, get groceries, cancel the help-wanted ad for the trekker.

Satisfaction flowed through her as she mentally checked off the task of finding a guide. That was one big burden off her mind. And the phone calls she’d made this afternoon totally relieved her of all skepticism about Micah Gallagher. The pastor had great things to say about the man. Words like
integrity
and
hardworking
had been used to describe him. And the fact that he attended church every week further convinced her that he wasn’t a thief or mass murderer.

She had almost decided against calling the foster father, but her inner sense of security demanded she be extradiligent about screening her new climber. The foster father had reiterated everything the pastor had said and had added
independent
and
loyal
to the list of adjectives describing him. Micah’s climber friends were both away on trips of their own, but the receptionist confirmed that Micah had been lead trekker for the past few years.

She would offer Micah the job this afternoon if she saw him again. He obviously needed a place to stay, so she’d just need to subtract the cost of lodging from the figure she’d planned to pay. Having him right on site was a positive, anyway. If guests decided on a spur-of-the-moment trip, he’d be available. He might not even want the job when he heard what she paid. His salary was probably higher at the Majestic than she could afford.