The "What If" Guy (29 page)

I didn’t dance. Especially to country western bands. On the rare occasion that I’d gone to a club in Seattle, I always sat around with friends, mingling and chatting. I’d never been a dance-until-I’m-sweaty kind of girl. According to what Holly had told me, the Flag Day dances were those kinds of dances.

“I look like a prostitute going to a rodeo.” I tugged at my skirt a few times.

Holly raised an eyebrow. “You do not.”

“Whatever.” I went into the living room where Elliott watched a movie with my dad and Doris. “You still hungry, Dad?”

My dad waved me off. “Nope.”

Earlier, he’d eaten every last bite of the sausage dog I’d brought back from the park. He’d been napping off and on since.

I touched his shoulder. “Do you want me to stay home?”

“Get outta here.” His voice sounded weak. “We’re watchin’ a movie.”

Doris stood and patted my hand. “Don’t worry about your boys. I’m going to stay until the movie is over, then make sure they get to bed safely before I go home.”

“You’re blocking the screen,” Elliott called from the couch. “Why can’t I come, anyway?”

I scooted to the side. “Sorry, kiddo. Adults only this time. Now remember, I’ve got my cell phone in my pocket and I can be reached at any time. We’re just down at the—”

“Firehouse. I know.” El rolled his eyes. “Come on, Ma. I’m not a kid.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” He smiled.

I planted a kiss on top of his messy hair. “Are too.”

I mouthed “thank you” to Doris, waved good-bye to my father, then Holly and I went out the front door.

“Wow. You girls look fantastic.” Cody said when we stepped outside. Holly and Cody were exceptionally chipper because his sister had agreed to stay home with their kids. Their enthusiasm was contagious. This would be my first Flag Day dance since I was seventeen, and the only one I’d ever gone to with a date. A handsome one, at that.

Even in the darkness, Henry looked like the kind of date a woman fantasized about. His hair was slightly shaggy. The end of the school year was nigh, and he’d relaxed his professional persona. The style reminded me of when we’d been in college, which was ironic, because Henry was forever telling me that my red waves, now long enough to reach my lower back, reminded him of younger days as well.

Henry’s clothes made my attempt at western attire look amateurish. He wore a fitted black T-shirt with tattered, worn Levi’s and a beat up pair of boots that looked like they’d seen a few miles. He scooped me into a warm hug, lifting me a few inches off the ground. “You look hot.”

“Whoa,” I said. He smelled like soap from his recent shower, but his whiskers scraped against my neck, a tell-tale sign that he hadn’t shaved.

Good.

“I don’t have a plaid shirt,” he said, as he set me back on the ground.

“I don’t think it’s a requirement.” I laced my fingers in his.

“Let’s get going.” Cody opened the door to his truck.

“Forget it, Judd.” Holly waved a finger at him. “This is a double date, like the good ol’ days. We’re hoofin’ it.”

He laughed. “We’re already late.”

“The dance is only at the firehouse.” I could see the lights down the hill. “And it’s eighty degrees out. Too nice to drive. It’s a short walk.”

Holly smirked at me. “Someone’s been walking to the little house next to the firehouse often?”

“It’s Fairfield,” I said quickly. “You can get anywhere on foot within minutes.”

“Especially home after a date, huh?” Cody teased. Holly hopped onto his back like a spider monkey.

“Oh, shut up.” I tried to frown, but couldn’t contain my smile.

Henry turned around and motioned for me to hop on.

“No way,” I said. “You’ll wind up in traction.”

His mouth tugged up in the corner. “I’ve carried you a time or two before. Hop on.”

“No. Have you seen how short this skirt is? It’ll be obscene.”

He eyeballed my legs. “Yes, I’ve noticed how short that skirt is. Now hop on.”

“No.”

“Chicken.”

Holly screamed. Cody broke into a sprint.

“They’re just jacked up because they’ve got a babysitter,” I said.

Henry stooped down. “They’re beating us. Hop on, let’s go.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” I huffed then put my hands on his shoulders, and heaved myself up. “Ready for spinal surgery?”

Henry charged off at full speed, passing Holly and Cody. I yelped and grabbed his neck. The sounds of Holly’s laughter and Cody’s feet hitting the pavement swirled behind us. It felt good to act young and silly, speeding through the nearly abandoned streets of Fairfield, confetti littering the sidewalks from the day’s celebration.

Fairfield’s two fire trucks had been pulled out of the station and the inside decorated to the rafters with streamers and balloons. At one end of the building, a plywood stage had been set up for the band. They played a classic Willie Nelson song—of course. It was odd to see people like Ray and Ramona Fisk, and Helen and her husband, Dirk, be-bopping to the music. But by the time we’d been there half an hour, we’d all joined them. Though I’d never been a fan of the house music in Seattle clubs, there was something about the relaxed nature of line dancing between Henry and Holly that set my anxiety at ease.

We learned to do the Applejack, the Waffle Step, and collectively struggled with the Catfish, laughing and singing along with the songs. It became clear fairly early that the punch was spiked, so Holly and I avoided it after a half-cup. Others became more and more boisterous as the hours passed, their dancing sloppier and sloppier.

I couldn’t remember having this much fun in years. Big-city clubs had nothing on a Fairfield Flag Day dance. Henry and I were sweaty and exhausted. Our faces hurt from smiling and laughing.

During a slow song, sometime around midnight, he pulled me close and kissed my ear, raising goose bumps on my arms. “I want to do this every year.”

I laughed. “Line dance and sweat excessively?”

“Yes.” He looked into my eyes. “Every year. You and me. We’ll dance our butts off to Willie Nelson. Is this a Willie song now?”

I listened for a moment. “I have no idea.”

“Regardless, we’ll get a sitter for the kids, and you’ll wear…” He glanced down at my skirt and whistled. “
That
again.”

“A sitter for the kids? Elliott is getting to be old enough to stay home alone.”

Henry’s gaze intensified. “Well, by then we’ll have a few more.”

My stomach twisted. “Oh? More kids? How many?”

“At least two.” Henry spun me around. Ramona Fisk watched us with pointed interest. “Maybe three?”

“Four kids? Are you nuts? You’re not trying to turn me into a baby machine like Holly, are you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just talking about having a family with the woman I love.”

“I love you, too.” I stood on my toes and planted a long kiss on his lips. I was sure that the people around us had stopped to stare at us in their glassy-eyed state, but I didn’t care. I was so happy. I had Henry. Elliott and my dad were home in bed, safe and sound. And there was a possibility that I’d have a career painting murals. Nothing could bring me down.

“Your pocket is vibrating,” Henry said.

“Hmmm?” I opened my eyes lazily. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

I couldn’t hear anything over the music, so I stepped off of the dance floor and headed toward the door. “El? Is that you? You okay?”

As soon as I stepped into the cool night air, I heard Elliott sobbing on the line. “Mom?”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

Again, he choked on a sob. “Grandpa won’t wake up.”

§

My father’s funeral was held at the Lutheran Church.

More than half the town showed up for the service. Holly delivered the eulogy, and Elliott and Henry played a duet of “Amazing Grace” on the violin and cello. Smartie Guire donated the cost of the cremation services, and Doris and Helen collected flowers from everyone’s gardens to make the arrangements. People shared their Billy Cole stories for over an hour.

I’m sure some townspeople scoffed and said “good riddance” when word got out that he’d passed away. They didn’t know that he’d woken up in his chair with another bout of dementia, pulled his oxygen tubes off of his face, then shuffled to the kitchen, where he’d suffered a fatal heart attack. They didn’t know that Henry and I had sprinted up the hill, still sweaty from dancing, to find Elliott on the porch, hysterical. They didn’t know that Henry had gripped a sobbing Elliott in his arms, while I’d lain on the floor, holding my dad’s head in my arms until the EMTs arrived.

All they knew was, the town drunk was dead.

But for every rolled eye, there was a person who came to my doorstep bearing a casserole, salad, or picture of my dad from happier times, when he’d been the tall, strong farmer I remembered from my youth. They came into the house, sat on the ragged old couch, and shed a few tears while they told me stories about his teenage years—how in love with my mom he’d been, and how much he’d treasured me.

I didn’t cry much during those four days. There was too much to do, and I needed to be strong for Elliott’s sake. I kept the house full of people as often as possible. My dad’s friends from the bar, his coworkers, Cody and Holly, Doris and Helen—it it didn’t matter. As long as someone was there to make noise and create clutter for me to clean up, I was able to push forward. I designed the funeral programs, called long-lost relatives, picked out photos to display in the church, and cleaned everything in sight.

The funeral was my breaking point.

People. So many people. Some I hadn’t seen in years, others I’d never met. My stomach rolled and churned like ocean waves as I stood in the church foyer after the service, shaking the hands of mourners offering condolences. A clammy sweat beaded between my shoulder blades.

Henry stood next to me with his hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “You all right?”

I lifted my long braid off of my neck and fanned myself. “No. It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “The air conditioner is on. It feels okay.”

“Are you sick?” Elliott looked at me as if I might keel over. He was having nightmares, and acted more keyed-up than usual.

“I’m fine, I just…” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

“Did you eat this morning?” Henry asked.

I shook my head. “There was no time. I had to cook potatoes for the potluck, and—”

He cupped my cheek with his hand. “You’re exhausted.”

People greeted me in a blur—some of my father’s old classmates, the guy who pumped fuel at the gas station, the waitresses at Smartie’s. I shook everyone’s hands, accepted their hugs, and ignored the wooziness in my stomach. Person after person passed, tears on their cheeks, tissues pressed to their noses. They choked on their words and avoided my eyes. They gripped me in hugs and dripped tears on my blouse.

The scene was too intense, too raw. I missed my father so much, it rattled my insides and ached in my bones. I wondered how I’d lived so many years without him. I didn’t know how the sun would rise and set on an earth where he
wasn’t
anymore. It hurt too much to imagine getting through the next hour, let alone weeks, months, or years.

“You doing all right?” Marshall’s mother asked. “You’re awfully pale.”

I nodded, but my throat constricted.

“I think she needs something to eat,” Henry said. “Elliott, why don’t you run downstairs and grab a roll for your mom?”

Elliott looked relieved to be free from the receiving line and darted downstairs.

I touched Henry’s arm. “Really, you guys, I’m…”

I stared toward the back of the foyer at someone watching me intensely. Marshall’s mom followed my gaze, as did Henry, but I offered no explanation. I walked away, weaving around the people filtering toward the stairs to the kitchen, moving nearer to the woman I hadn’t seen in twenty-five years.

She was my height and build, but had a few more years on her face. About twenty-five, to be exact. She wore her red hair shorter than it was in my memories, and had it cut in a simpler style that would be easier to manage than my long, unruly tangle of waves. I stopped a few feet away from her. Several people turned and stared. Whispers hissed from the crowd as I blinked at her in disbelief.

“Mom?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lesson learned: passing out after your father’s funeral is a surefire way to gain unwanted attention.

By the time Henry had charged through the crowd, I’d woken up to a rather large bump on the back of my head, and Holly fanning me with a baby wipe.

“I hope that’s not used,” I joked feebly.

Holly released a breath. “She’s okay. She’s fine, folks. Head on down to the potluck, nothing to see here.” She waved everyone away.

Henry crouched next to me and took my hand, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Relax,” Holly told him. “Just too much stress and not enough food.”

I looked beyond them at my mother, who watched me from across the foyer, a worried expression on her face. “Guess I wasn’t dreaming,” I muttered to myself.

Cody hunkered on the other side of me, taking my pulse.

“I’m not dying,” I said. “Although that would be convenient, since we already have the flowers.”

“Not funny.” Henry pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

“Where’s Elliott?” I started to sit up. “I probably scared him to death.”

“Lay down for a few minutes.” Holly straightened the collar of my blouse. “He’s downstairs. Don’t worry.”

I thanked God that I’d put on slacks that morning instead of a skirt. “How embarrassing. I saw her, then everything went fuzzy.”

“I take it she didn’t call you first?” Holly whispered.

I shook my head.

“Who?” Henry looked up, confused.

“Has she spoken to you yet?” Cody glanced at my mother, who spoke with the pastor by the exit.

“No,” I replied. “I was going to talk to her, but then I—”

“Who?” Henry asked, an edge of panic in his tone. A sheen of sweat shone on his forehead, all color gone from his cheeks.

“My mother is here.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I haven’t been sleeping.”