Nora Roberts - Tribute

“Good. That’s good.”

“The rest of us, and Matt and Dobby and such, we’ll go by, too. Don’t know as they’ll let us in to see him, but we’ll go by. Shanna had a jag earlier. She’s blaming herself.”

“Why?”

“If she’d let him stay the night, and so on.” Sighing, he replaced his cap. After one glance at Ford, he got the picture. Taking off his sunglasses, he focused his summer blue eyes on Cilla. “I told her there’s no ifs, and no blame except for whoever did that to Steve. Start hauling out the ifs and the blame, you could just as soon say if Steve hadn’t gone out to play pool, if he hadn’t gone in the barn. And that’s crap. Best thing is to hold good thoughts. Anyway.”

He took a bandanna out of his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face. “The cops were here, as I guess you can see. Asking questions. I can’t say what they’re thinking about this.”

“I hope they’ve stopped thinking he was drunk and did that to himself.”

“Shanna set them straight on the drunk part.”

“Good.” It loosened one of the multitude of knots in her belly. “I met your mother.”

“Did you?”

“At the hospital. She was a lot of help. Well.” Tears continued to burn the back of her eyes as she stared into the sunlight. “The patio looks good.”

“Helps to have work.”

“Yeah. So give me some, will you?”

“That I can do.” He shot a smile at Ford. “How about you? Want a shovel?”

“I like to watch,” Ford said easily. “And I’ve got to check on Spock.”

“Just as well. Give this guy a shovel or a pick?” he said to Cilla. “And if there’s a pipe or a cable in the ground, he’ll hit it, first cut.”

“That only happened once. Maybe twice,” Ford qualified.

WHEN THE CREW KNOCKED OFF, she knocked off with them and hit the shower. She wanted to say she felt human again, but was still well shy of the mark. Like an automaton, she pulled on fresh clothes. She decided she’d buy some magazines, something to occupy her mind at the hospital, and maybe snag a sandwich from a vending machine.

When she jogged downstairs, Ford stood in her unfinished living room.

“I’d say you’re making progress, but I don’t know that much about it, and it doesn’t look like it to me.”

“We’re making progress.”

“Good. I’ve got dinner out on the veranda. Spock sends his regards as he’s dining at home this evening.”

“Dinner? Listen, I-”

“You have to eat. So do I.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her out. “We’ve got my secondary specialty.”

She stared at the paper plates and cups, the bottle of wine and the can of Coke. And in the center of the folding table sat a dish of macaroni and cheese.

“You made mac and cheese?”

“Yeah, I did. That is, I put the package in the microwave and programmed according to directions. It’s mac and cheese if you aren’t too fussy.” He poured some wine in a paper cup. “And the wine’ll help it along.”

“You’re not having wine.”

“That’s ’cause I like the nuked version just fine, and I’m driving you to the hospital.”

A hot meal, companionship. Help. All offered, she thought, without a need for asking. “You don’t have to do that, do this.”

He pulled her chair out, nudged her into it. “It’s more satisfying to do something you don’t have to do.”

“Why are you?” She looked up, into his eyes. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“You know what, Cilla, I’m not entirely sure. But…” He pressed his lips to her forehead before he sat. “I believe you matter.”

She clutched her hands in her lap as he scooped out two heaping spoons of the macaroni and cheese onto her plate. Then, to clear her throat, she took a sip of wine. “That’s the second thing you’ve said to me today no one else ever has.”

Those eyes of his lifted, zeroed in on hers. “No one ever told you you mattered?”

“Maybe Steve. In different words, in different ways. But no, not just that way.”

“You do. Go on and eat. That stuff gets cold, it turns to cement.”

“The second thing-or the first, actually, that you said to me today was you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

He only looked at her, and she couldn’t tell if it was pity or understanding, or simply patience, on his face. Whatever it was, she knew it was exactly what she needed. And so much what she’d never expected to find.

“I guess you meant it, because here you are.” She stabbed up a forkful, slid it into her mouth and smiled around it. “It’s terrible. Thanks,” she said and stabbed another bite.

“You’re welcome.”

THERE WAS NO CHANGE when they arrived at the hospital, and no change when they left hours later. Cilla slept with the phone clutched in her hand, willing it to ring, willing the on-duty nurse to call to tell her Steve was awake and lucid.

But no call came. The dreams did.

SHENANDOAH VALLEY 1960

“This is how it looked, the first time I saw it. My little farm.”

In red capri pants, a white shirt tied at the midriff and white Keds, Janet strolled arm in arm with Cilla. Janet’s sunshine hair bounced in a jaunty ponytail.

“Of course, that’s not true-exactly-as when I first came here there were the trailers, the lights, the cables, the trucks. The city we make on locations. You know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But we’re looking through that now. As I did then. What do you see?”

“A pretty house, with simple lines. A family home with wide, welcoming porches with old rocking chairs where you can sit and do absolutely nothing. Sweet little gardens and big shade trees.”

“Keep going.”

“The big red barn, and oh! Horses in the paddock!” Cilla rushed over to the paddock fence, thrilled with the breeze that fluttered through her hair and rippled the manes on the mare and her foal. “They’re so beautiful.”

“Did you always want a pony?”

“Of course.” Laughing, Cilla turned her head to smile at Janet. “Every little girl wants a pony. And a puppy, a kitten.”

“But you never got them.”

“No, I had call sheets and script changes. You know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“A chicken house! Just listen to them cluck.” The sound made her laugh again. “And pigs rooting in their pen. Look at the fields. Is that corn? And there’s a kitchen garden. I can see the tomatoes from here. I could grow tomatoes.”

Janet’s smile was both indulgent and amused. “And have a pony, a puppy and a kitten.”

“Is that what I want? I’m not ten anymore. Is that what I want? I can’t seem to figure it out. Is it what you wanted?”

“I wanted everything I didn’t have, and if I got it, it was never exactly what I wanted after all. Or in the long run. Even this place.” She swept out an arm, a graceful dancer’s gesture, to encompass the farm. “I fell in love, but then I fell easy and often, as everyone knows, and out again. And I thought, I have to have it.”

Lifting both her arms, Janet turned, circle after circle. “The family home with the wide, welcoming porches, the big red barn, tomatoes on the vine. That’s what I’ve never had. But I can buy it, I can own it.” She stopped spinning. “Then, of course, I had to change it. The gardens had to be lusher, the colors bolder, the lights brighter. I needed bright, bright lights. And even though I made it bolder, brighter, even though I brought the stars here to stroll like Gatsby’s ghosts across the lawn, it never really changed. It never lost its welcome. And I never fell out of love.”

“You came here to die.”

“Did I?” Janet cocked her head, looked up under her lashes, suddenly sly. “You wonder, don’t you? It’s one of the reasons you’re here. Secrets-we all have them. Yours are here, too. It’s why you came. You told yourself you’d put it back, as it was, and somehow put me back. But like me, you’ll make changes. You already have. It’s not me you’re looking for. It’s you.”