Moonlight Road

So, she was gone.

When he left he took the empty plastic bags that had held the dirt and fertilizer with him and leaned the tools against the back of the house.

The next day he took plants, vegetable-garden starters, flower borders, stakes and a slow sprinkler to hook up to the hose. Again he sat on the deck while he drank his water and again he glanced through the French doors. All tidy.

He wondered if she’d ever come back. Then wondered why he wondered. He didn’t like her—she was a pain in the butt.

The next day at around noon he swung by to water, telling himself that there was no place for a garden at Luke’s and he was enjoying this. It also crossed his mind that she would eventually come back to her cabin and she might just check on her dead plants against the house. It was fun to think of her spying a new garden back there and wondering who would do such a thing. And why.

He gave the garden a little extra water because the following day he was committed to go to Franci’s with Luke, Shelby and Art to help with a garage sale, some minor home repairs and yard work.

Art, who was absolutely never annoying, had become annoying. Filled with anxious impatience, he was continually asking questions about Netta. “Do you know where she lives now? Do you know where her house is?”

Luke kept saying, “Not yet, bud. I’m making phone calls to bakeries, asking if anyone with her name works there, and so far I haven’t found her. Try to relax.”

Telling a man with the scent of a woman up his nose to relax was turning out to be about as useful as throwing kerosine on a fire. Nothing could distract him for long. For once, even Rosie couldn’t seem to occupy Art. And the garage sale, which really should get his attention, didn’t. He kept questioning if there were any updates and Luke kept patiently saying, “Not since the last time you asked me ten minutes ago, Art.”

Shelby sat in a lawn chair right in the garage door, fanning herself, haggling with customers while Franci and her mother, Vivian, did any lifting or moving around of merchandise. Aiden did some recaulking in the bathrooms, repaired a gutter along the eave, pulled out and cleaned behind and under the refrigerator, washer and dryer. Rosie stuck to him like glue because he had promised her that when his chores were done she could dress up his beard with clips and bows. All this time Luke and Art were working together on the yard.

“Did you call her yet, Luke?”

“Have you seen me near a phone, Art?”

“Did you?”

“I’m cutting the damn grass, Art!”

“Then will you?”

Aiden didn’t mean to laugh at the two of them but he did anyway. He had his own shadow.

“After this job can I brush it? Your beard?”

“Yes, Rose. After this job.”

“And put a bwaid in it?”

“Yes, Rose. When I’m done here.”

When Aiden was finally finished he settled down in a lawn chair on the back patio with Rosie and her dog, Harry, and while Art and Luke were edging, trimming and raking up clippings, Rosie combed his beard and filled it full of ribbons and barrettes. He closed his eyes lazily, enjoying the fiddling and remembering to stay conscious. Sean had once fallen asleep in Rosie’s care and she had put makeup on him with Magic Markers.

“I know what to get you for Christmas,” Aiden said. “A doll with hair you can fix. Are you going to be a beautician when you grow up?”

“What’s a boo-tician?”

“Someone who fixes hair.”

“No, I’m gonna be a jet pilot. It’s bery important. What are you gonna be?” she asked him.

Aiden opened one eye and peered at her. “A farmer,” he said. “It’s bery important, too.”

“That’s bery good,” she said.

Mel Sheridan walked up the porch steps to lack’s bar at two in the afternoon on a weekday. It instantly brought to mind the vast number of times she’d done exactly this in the past. The bar was typically very quiet, often deserted, between lunch and dinner and if her husband wasn’t running errands or busy elsewhere, he’d be there. He was usually behind the bar, taking inventory, organizing, setting up for the dinner crowd. Preacher would be in the kitchen cooking, his wife, Paige, and their kids would be in their attached home, and while the kids napped, Paige would often be running receipts on the computer, paying the bills, keeping the books, assisting in the management of the bar.

When Mel came to town four years ago, the bar was where she first got to know her husband. At the time, it was a far-fetched notion that they would even be friends, but it hadn’t taken her long to fall in love with him. This was the place they’d had their most private conversations over the years, and when there was something she wanted to discuss with him, this time of day was usually the perfect opportunity.

She walked in and a single glance told her they were alone—Jack behind the bar, no customers. “Hey, baby,” he said, smiling.

Ah, four years and so many times she’d walked into his bar and still, every time, he acted as if he hadn’t seen her for days. His smile was warm and sexy, his brown eyes sparkling. Maybe four years wasn’t such a long time, she thought. Still, she felt completely confident that he would look at her that way in forty more. There was this thing about Jack—he didn’t take commitment lightly. He said to her once, “I’m all in.” Three little words that expressed a lifetime commitment. Jack didn’t say something like that unless he meant it, and he was a man with the strength to uphold that oath.

She jumped up on a stool and leaned over to kiss him. “Hi, sweetheart. Red-letter day today. Emma is doing it in the potty, full-time.”

He grinned. “But is David doing it full-time?” he asked.

“The biggest problem we have with number-one son is peeing in the yard, taught to him by number-one dad.”

Jack grabbed both her hands across the bar. “I don’t expect you to understand this, being a girl, but it’s a very important rite of passage, learning that the world is your urinal.” He shrugged. “My son took to the news.”

“I know that. He’d rather pee on a bush than in the toilet. There should be a balance—the bush when there is no toilet, and so on.”

“He’ll come around…”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. I wanted to make sure both kids were potty trained before bringing it up—but one and three-quarters is good enough, I think.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I think I’d like to have one more baby. Before I get much older.”

The stunned look that came over his face was priceless and made her smile. She gave him a couple of seconds, and noted that he was struggling with the possibility that she’d completely lost her mind. Finally, slowly, he said, “You feel like trying to adopt?”

“Actually, no. I thought we’d have one of our own.”

“Mel,” he said gently, giving her hands a comforting squeeze. “Mel, between us we might be missing some parts for having our own…”

She laughed a little bit. “I know my uterus is gone, Jack. But I still have ovaries and you still have sperm. We could get a surrogate.”

“Huh?” he said, frowning.

“You know what that is, I know you do.”

“I do,” he said. “But…”

“In vitro—our baby in a surrogate.” Then she smiled brightly. “You do make such wonderful babies. And I think we can squeak in one more before we really run out of time. We were sort of thinking about that right before Emma was born anyway. And she’s two.”

“No, we weren’t. I’m forty-four. And you’re thirty-six.”

“Hardly Grandma Moses and the old man of the sea, Jack,” she said.