The Only Best Place (21 page)

In spite of my momentary pique with Wilma, I did appreciate the peaceful drive home. I also couldn't help reviewing what Kathy
had said about not always wanting to put Wilma down. I knew I put Kathy in an awkward position with my reversion to childhood
tactics.

As a kid, whenever I came to a new school, I picked out one girl and slowly felt her out. Then, as soon as I knew which girls
she didn't like, they became my enemies, too. It was how I cemented the relationship. When you changed schools as often as
most people change their minds, this desperate alignment became a means of self-preservation.

Somehow I had to figure out a way to get along with Wilma. I recognized the gentle reprimand in Kathy's words, and the adult
part of me knew she was right. Surely I could find a way to make peace with Wilma or at least learn to tolerate her in the
short time we were going to be here.

As I drove, I caught myself looking up toward the mountains again. One more turn in the road and I would come to the top of
a hill. I slowed down, and even though I'd seen it over a dozen times by now, each time the play of the sun over the valley
brought out different features. The sky was a clear Montana blue, wide open and beckoning. I slowed as I crested the rise
and pulled over to the side of the road.

If this was a calendar picture hanging up in the hospital in Seattle, I would have stopped, taken a second look, and wondered
what it would be like to live there.

Well, I was
there.
Right now. I thought of my family waiting for me back home, of Wilma who could so easily get under my skin. I thought of
learning to like where I was. Right now I was making a memory. Why not store these moments up to treasure later on? Sure, living
here was not my dream, but there were things I could take away from here, things I could appreciate.

I sighed, remembering my mother's frequent moves. In each place, Terra and I had tried to find the positives. Too many moves
to too many dingy apartments and bleak neighborhoods had worn down that skill. As a teenager, after enduring yet another school,
yet another round of trying to fit in, I had promised myself with Scarlett O'Hara intensity that when I grew up, never again.
Without the “God-is-my-witness” part. God hadn't been a part of my life then, though between Dan, Kathy, and church, He was
slowly making inroads on my life now.

I stacked my hands on the steering wheel and rested my chin on them looking over the valley, watching the shadows of the clouds
scudding across the valley floor. If I squinted, I could see our yard. Our barns. Our house. I thought of Dan and the kids
waiting, but in spite of my eagerness to see Nicholas and Anneke, I slowed, letting the moment imprint on my mind.

A vagrant thought, ethereal as smoke, drifted through my mind. Home. My family waited for me there. At home.

It's not your dream home.

It wasn't that, but I had to concede it was a lovely stopping place.

Does it have to be temporary?

I stifled that thought. I wasn't ready to let go of the dream that had kept me going through so many years.

Letting go is not always a bad thing.

The sermon from Sunday came back to me again as it had the past few days. Letting go. Becoming weak and vulnerable. These
were the polar opposites of the lessons Terra and I had ingrained in each other from the time we were young. We had to be strong
to survive, to keep going. I'd had to be strong to make it through nurses' training. To hold down two jobs.

And what are you holding on for now? Why does it have to be Seattle?

Anxiety pricked at me like a mosquito. Of course it had to be Seattle. I couldn't stay here. I'd have to share Dan with Wilma
and Gloria.

But Dan is much happier here. The kids love it here, too.

But I didn't. Did I?

The question buzzed and wouldn't leave.

A car slowed as it drove by, the driver a young man whom I vaguely recognized as the son of one of the neighbors. He looked
at me, his eyebrows raised in question as he pointed at the hood of my car. I smiled my reassurance and shook my head, circling
my finger and thumb in a gesture to show I was okay.

He nodded, waved, and drove off.

Neighborly of him. Nice to know that if something was truly wrong with me I could count on someone stopping. I put the car
in gear and coasted down the hill toward home.

Fifteen minutes later, I parked by the garage and turned the car off.

As I got out, I saw Nicholas bobbing and weaving toward me from the direction of the garden, something long and dark trailing
from his chubby hands, Sasha right beside him.

The smile in my heart reached my mouth at the same time Dan caught our boy around the waist. Dan spun him around and tossed
him up in the air, then caught him and planted a kiss on his grubby cheek as the dog danced around them both, his tail sweeping
back and forth. Dan tucked Nicholas close in a man-hug. When he turned and saw me, I caught a glint of pure, unadulterated
happiness in his eyes.

My husband stood there a moment, looking as solidly planted in the earth as the trees behind him, as the hills rising behind
them toward the mountains.

I felt a twinge of envy. He belonged here. Was a part of this. It was in his upbringing, in his blood and bones. If this were
a movie, the wind machine would start up now, blowing his hair away from his features as he stared off into the distance,
music swelling, creating a mood of triumph, of dominance. A man. His son. His dog. His land.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Anneke ran past Dan toward me, her arms outstretched in welcome. I met her halfway and was almost bowled
over by her onslaught.

As her warm, sticky arms tangled themselves around my neck, I stole another look at Dan to anchor myself in reality. No music
and no wind. Just my husband with his crinkly smile, faint white lines emanating from the corners of his eyes. It was as if
each week here sloughed off some of the desperation that had haunted his eyes those last months in Seattle when he struggled
to hold on to the business. Each day brought some new life to his face.

Good-looking guy,
I thought, my heart giving that funny little lift it used to when we were first married. Before the kids came into our lives.
Before life and necessity and circumstances had thrust us apart.
My husband
.

“Mommy, you have to come and see the garden,” Anneke announced, catching hold of my face and leaning away from me.

I passed Dan, then on a whim, held back a moment, leaned toward him, and managed an ungainly kiss hello that landed somewhere
on the region of his left cheek. Dan caught me by the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he steadied my head.

He looked deep into my eyes, then lowered his head and caught my mouth with his. His lips were warm, tasting lightly of salt
and promising further intimacy.

He pulled away and he laid his forehead against mine, his blue eyes laser bright. “Hey there, sweetheart. How was work?”

That single question granted me absolution and acceptance of my job, and I resisted Anneke's tugging long enough to catch
him by the shoulder and give him another quick kiss. “Work was good, but it's so good to be home.”

His smile deepened, connecting with me on a deeper level.

“Mommy, come on. You have to see.”

I reluctantly drew away from my husband, drawn inexorably by the pull of a child who presumed to be the center of her world
and who would brook no competition.

“Come and see!” she called out as Dan fell into step beside us. He shifted Nicholas and laid his arm over my shoulder, as
if anchoring me to the adult world and his own life.

A pile of wilted green plants lay in the top corner of the garden, harvested, I presumed, from between the rows.

“See, Mommy? See?” Anneke, still holding tight to my hand, leaned away from me, pulling me onward. “See the plants?”

I did. As I bent down to inspect a row of rounded stalks pushing themselves through the crumbling dirt, a sense of wonder
overtook me. Only a few weeks ago Judy, Gloria, and I had dropped hard white seeds into the ground in neat orderly rows. I
knew that for things to grow seeds needed to be planted, but knowing it in your mind and actually seeing the results was another
story.

“They came up,” I said, touching one that was uncurling.

“And see the corn, Mommy?” Anneke, my impatient guide, pulled me farther along. One row over, tiny blades of what looked like
grass were coming up. The carrots were a pale fuzz of green discernible only if you put your head level with the ground, which
I had to do, according to Anneke. The crinkly leaves of the potatoes were making an appearance as were the fat, round leaves
of the cucumbers.

“I need to put up a pea fence,” Dan said as we stopped by a double row of plants. “They need something to climb up. Otherwise
they sprawl all over the garden.”

I glanced at him, then back at the garden, wonder spiraling through me. All these little miracles came from the few packages
that Judy and Gloria had brought. And this was only the beginning.

“How long before the plants start producing?” I asked, bending down to touch a pea plant already sending out tiny tendrils
of green.

“About six to eight weeks,” Dan said. “Depending on how much moisture we give them and what kind of season we have. We're lucky
we had enough moisture to start off with. That doesn't happen every year.”

I glanced up at him, the damp coolness of the dirt giving way to the heat from the sun overhead. “This is amazing. I've never
had a garden before.”

Dan pulled me to my feet. “You might not think it's so amazing when you have to start picking beans.”

I heard the faint humor in his voice and on impulse hooked my arm around his waist. “I'm glad we did this.”

“Trust me, hon,” he said, adding an extra squeeze to his one-armed hug. “Once you've tasted fresh vegetables, you'll be putting
in a garden every year.”

I looked back over the huge expanse that had been planted, leaning into Dan, enjoying this moment of closeness. This huge
garden would never fit in a city backyard, I thought with a moment of regret.

“I want to eat, Mommy,” Anneke said, grabbing my hand and swinging it. “I'm hungry.”

“Sure, honey. Let's go make supper.” This time I was prepared. I was going to make an awesome supper. I had chicken defrosting
in the fridge. All the ingredients for a stir-fry recipe that Kathy solemnly promised me was Leslie-proof.

“You don't need to worry about supper,” Dan said as we walked up to the house. “Mom brought a casserole when she brought the
kids.”

Blink.
Think.
My stomach dropped a bit as my little moment of triumph slipped away.

“She thought we might like some home cooking for a change,” Dan added.

Dan's cute smile didn't even approach canceling the innuendo of that particular statement.

“I was going to do home cooking,” I said, disappointment putting a note of petulance in my voice. First she takes away my
shopping trip. Now my supper? Nuts.

“Well, maybe tomorrow.”

All that was missing from this conversation was a patronizing pat on the head.
There, there, Leslie. Be a big girl now.

My previous pique with his mother bobbed to the surface. “Why did she pick up the kids from Kathy's place to go shopping without
asking me?”

“She asked me,” Dan said curtly. Dan gave me one of his patented, slightly exaggerated shrugs, shorthand for “You're overreacting,
and I can't reason with you right now so I'll ignore you until you can act more mature.”

“Don't do that, Dan,” I said. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” He gave me a tired look.

“Brush aside what I think is a problem.”

“Les, there's no problem. Anneke and Nicholas happen to be my mother's grandkids. Nothing wrong with her taking them out to
buy a few things.” He yanked open the door and let the kids and me go in, then let it slam shut behind him.

“There is a problem if I, the mother, am not consulted.” I sat down with Nicholas and pulled his dirty jacket off.

Dan's face grew grim. “But, I, the father, was.” He turned to Anneke. “Here, baby. Put your boots on the boot rack.” He hung
up her coat. “I wish you didn't have these issues with my mother. She's just trying to help.”

I couldn't think of what to say. First Kathy, now Dan. I was trying to like Wilma. But she balked me at every turn. As a woman
and mother, I expected Wilma to know the unwritten rules of mother- and wifehood. Uninvited movement into another's territory
was considered either a hostile move or an insult. Close friendship or illnesses nigh unto death were the only time these
rules didn't apply, neither of which were the case here. “How is taking the kids shopping helping?” I had looked forward to
helping them pick something special out for Dan and I had been robbed of it now.

“Well, you don't seem to have time.”

Warning, warning. No-win situation approaching. “I'm working, Dan.”

“You don't have to. At least not as often as you do.”

“You don't seem to mind that half of my paycheck goes into our bank account.” And away I went, flailing down the slippery
slope of finances.

“And the other half?”

I gave him a narrowed look as I slipped Nicholas's other boot off his foot and dropped it on the porch floor. “The other half
is for our house fund. The one that got severely depleted when you bought the tractor.”

“We already discussed that, Leslie.”

I gently pulled Nicholas's coat off, trying to ease away my growing frustration. I felt as if I were fighting an unstoppable
foe. His farm. His family. His community. “I know that. But the house was for us. For our family.”

“And saving for that house, that future, means you're gone all the time.” If ever there was a red-flag word,
all
was it.

“I don't work
all
the time.” I spoke quietly, but my teeth were clenched. I thought he had accepted that.