The Husband Project

“We’ve had some Hollywood people visiting here lately.” Theo turned the defroster knob.

“No, I’m from—” He hesitated, thinking over his reply. He leased a room in Florida when he wasn’t working in the Amazon and had avoided his home state of New York for almost twenty years. “I’ve recently been working in South America.”

“Really? I’ve never been there. What do you do?”

“I work on documentaries. And I’m a writer,” he admitted. “Sometimes.”

“Like now?”

“Yeah. Like now.” Sam looked out the window and saw nothing green. Just gray and white and flat, which was pretty much what he’d expected. How long had it been since he’d seen snow? And why had he thought he wanted to live in it for the next three months? He ignored the renewed aching in his side and attempted to make conversation. “I hear Willing is a pretty small town.”

“You’ve never been there?”

“Not yet.”

“Huh?”

Clearly, that baffled the driver, so Sam tried to explain.

“A guy I met told me about it. I needed a quiet place to write for a few months. Someplace the opposite of a jungle.”

“It’s quiet in Willing all right. Most of the time. You can’t tell now,” Theo said, fiddling with the defroster. “But there’s no town prettier in the spring or summer or fall. Too bad you won’t be here longer so you could see for yourself.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Sam said. “I’ll be out of here before April.”

“You’re staying at Meg’s?”

“Meg’s?”

“She has some cabins for rent at the Willing Café,” Theo explained. “They’re small, but okay for one person long-term, I imagine.”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” He pulled a worn notebook from his jacket pocket and thumbed through it until he found the address. “I’m renting a house from Willing Properties. Two eighty Janet Street. An executive rental.”

“An executive rental,” Theo echoed. “Didn’t know we had any of those in Willing. What exactly is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Sam shrugged, then wished he hadn’t. It had caused his ribs to ache. He made himself cough to get more air in his lungs and ease the discomfort. “It’s better than a hotel room, more like an apartment. Short-term. At least, that’s my understanding.” He checked his notes. “Jerry Thompson is the agent.”

Theo thought that over for a long minute. “You’re renting Mrs. Kelly’s house,” he said at last. “She died last summer.”

“Oh?” Sam tucked the notebook in his front jacket pocket and winced.

“Peacefully,” Theo added, giving Sam a sideways glance. “In the hospital.”

Sam supposed Theo didn’t want him to be upset about staying in a home where the former occupant had died. He wasn’t about to explain he was wincing from the pain of his cracked ribs, not because someone had passed away in his future home.

“Was she a friend of yours?” Sam inquired.

“Well...she and my grandmother went to school together. Her husband had a ’56 Ford Thunderbird hardtop convertible,” Theo mused. “Fiesta-red. A real beauty. It’s still in her garage. I’d love to get my hands on that one.”

“I’ll bet,” Sam said, knowing little about cars but wanting to be congenial.

“Jerry hasn’t figured out what he wants to do with it.” Theo glanced over at Sam. “Did he say you could drive it?”

“No.” Nothing had been said about a car. Sam assumed he could walk wherever he needed to go. Or hire Theo. “Do you know Jerry well?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s the mayor. You’ll meet him soon enough. Ambitious guy. He’s buying up the town.”

“Really.” This was Sam’s attempt to make conversation without really conversing. “Why?”

Now Theo shrugged. “He’s from California. And I guess he likes buying houses. Jerry figures that Willing is going to make a comeback and real estate prices will rise again.”

Sam knew nothing about real estate prices and didn’t want to, but he couldn’t sit there in silence. He shifted in the big comfortable seat and prepared to ignore the ache settling deep in his chest. “Is there any fishing around there?”

“In Willing?” At Sam’s nod, he shook his head. “There are some decent-sized fish in the Judith, but not too many people want to work that hard to catch a trout. Access is tough.”

Ah, thought Sam, adjusting his seat belt so he could breathe a little easier. Good news.

“You doin’ okay? Got enough heat?”

“Fine, thanks. It’s been a long day. I had a bit of health trouble a few weeks ago and I’m still not over it.”

Theo shot him a worried look. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’ll be okay. It’s getting better.”

“There’s a real good clinic in Lewistown. We’ll be going through there if you need to get checked out.”

“I just need a bed and some rest,” Sam said. “But thanks for the offer.”

“No problem. My cousin Hip is an EMT. You can always call him if you need anything. We live right around the corner at Main and Joyce, two blocks down from the Kelly place.”

“I gather Willing’s not a big town?”

“Heck, no. We’ve got a bar, a restaurant, a couple of B and Bs, a hot dog shack and the usual grade school, church, community center, library—well, sort of—and a couple of stores.” He grinned. “I hope you’re not looking for excitement.”

“Just the opposite,” Sam assured him.

“We had some television folks here a few weeks ago, though. That had everybody stirred up for a while. We hoped something would come of it, but Jerry says these things take time.”

“What kind of things?” Sam stared out the window, hoping to see something other than gray, snow-covered ground and whirling snowflakes, but Interstate 90 disappointed him once again. He leaned his head back against the leather seat and closed his eyes.

“Just an idea Jerry had to generate a little publicity.”

Sam heard the click of a radio button, then the muted sounds of guitars and fiddles accompanying a sweet-voiced female singer.

“Do you mind the radio?”

“Not at all.” He didn’t open his eyes.