Next Door Daddy (7 page)

The way he said his wife's name touched Polly—rolling off his lips in a loving whisper. She could hear his love and was drawn to him, feeling such a connection with him. “Do you ever hear her talk to you?”
Way to go, Pollyanna.
He'd think she was some crazy crackpot who heard voices. And that wasn't it at all.

“No one's ever asked me that before.” His voice was low, stunned.

“I'm sorry. I—”

“Yes.”

Relief washed over her. She'd thought she'd upset him. “That's a relief, I thought maybe I was the only one.” She smiled, unable to completely believe she was teasing about this.

He shrugged, a half smile lifting his lips. “She gets mad that I don't listen to her.”

Polly wrapped her arms across her middle and turned to look up at him fully, her shoulder resting against a cedar fence post. She could tell he was shy about sharing something so personal. She understood wholeheartedly. “I know exactly what you mean. My Marc, he pushes me…Not really, you understand. But knowing what he would have said or expected in certain situations helps me.” She grunted as a half chuckle escaped. “It's a good thing, though there are some times if he were here I'd wring his neck because of it.” She laughed at that, knowing it wasn't true. She'd hug the breath out of him and never let him go. “God has been with me every step of the way, but half of the progress I've made was because of the memory of Marc's voice in my head.” She sighed, feeling the soft April wind whisper over her skin, bringing with it the memory of his touch. “It's one of God's gifts, you know.” Her voice was troubled even to her own ears. Sometimes it took everything she had inside her heart to keep focused on those gifts and not the aching loss.

Nate turned to her, his dark eyes questioning. “A gift?”

She focused. “Yes. I love having Marc's voice in my head. It's a way of keeping him with me. Losing the sound of his voice is one of the things I fear most. I know that day is coming.” Polly thanked God every night for the memories. Though with each passing year she lost things. Little things. The feel of his hand on hers. The sound of his laughter…things he said. He was drifting away from her slowly, piece by piece. Oh, she knew she wouldn't forget everything…but she didn't want to forget anything. Not one second.

It had been two years, though. It was time for her to move forward and let some of the past fade. She sniffed and forced the disheartening thought away. It was inevitable that memories faded over time. She was so thankful for Gil. Period. On his own merit, but also because she could see Marc in him. He looked so much like his dad. People thought he looked like her on first glance because he had her coloring, but he looked like his dad. He laughed like him, held his head like Marc when he was thinking. He tied his shoestrings backward like his dad had taught him, along with the totally weird way he held his fork. She was comforted knowing that even if some memories faded, she had Gil to keep others alive.

Nate didn't have that.

“So what does Kayla get mad at you about?”

He held her gaze for the longest time, as if deciding if he wanted to share something so personal. But Polly knew that maybe he needed to share with someone. They hadn't known each other long, yet this connected them like nothing else could. She cocked her head to the side and smiled encouragingly up at him, urging him to let her in.

He frowned and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That I don't move on.”

“And you don't have any desire to move on.”

He looped his thumbs through his belt loops. “Honestly, sometimes I wish I did.”

“But you don't.” It wasn't a question, just an observation. She had the same feeling.

“No, I don't. At least I haven't. How about you?”

“Nope. I feel so blessed to have had what I had with Marc. I can't begin to imagine loving someone else. I mean, I get so lonely sometimes…” She let the thought trail off. “But I can live with that. There are worse things than being lonely. I would much rather be lonely than make a mistake and tarnish something that was so great. Marc was my best friend….”

“Kayla was mine.” Nate's gaze softened. “How did Marc die?”

Polly took a deep breath, detaching from the explanation the way she'd learned to do. “A car accident, stopped at a red light. Gil was with him and I thank God he survived. Without a scratch.” The tragic irony of it still got to her. After all the fear and worry over Marc's love of speed—he'd been killed sitting quietly at a red light smiling into the backseat at his son. It had taken her a long time to be able to say those words without tears. And she wasn't always successful even now. “Life can change in the blink of an eye….”

He nodded.

“And Kayla, how did Kayla die?” She hated this, but it needed to be out of the way.

“Slowly,” he said. Bitterness marked his expression as he turned away. Polly didn't push, instead she gave him time to take the conversation where he needed.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, his tone brightening falsely. “What do you say we go see about that snake?”

“Oh, the snake!” Polly had forgotten all about the snake with all that had gone on since finding it in her shed. But to her surprise she was glad to have the snake as a distraction. “If he's smart, he's gone by now.”

Nate started toward the shed, effectively shutting their conversation down. But Polly knew something had changed between them, she saw it in his eyes when he looked at her, a smile at their edges. They were friends. “That snake's probably heard your last name was McDonald and he's in there waiting on you to adopt him.”

Polly grunted, “Boy, is he in for a rude awakening.”

N
ate walked out to his back porch and sat down on the porch swing. His thoughts were burdened as he pushed back and forth with one foot. He'd opened up to Pollyanna today. He hadn't talked to anyone like that since Kayla.

And he'd laughed…really laughed. Like the old days. The kind that came from the bottom of his gut and felt good.

Today it hurt like a dam exploding inside his chest, releasing a little of the aching pressure that was always building inside of him. And surprisingly it had felt good. Just like Pollyanna had said.

Studying the sky, he thought about her. Pollyanna. It had been a relief to talk with someone who understood what he'd lost. That explained why he'd opened up to her.

She had guts. She was funny, too, like Kayla had been.

He smiled, remembering how giddy she'd been when they'd gone into her shed to find the snake gone. She'd proclaimed, “Lucky for him he's escaped to live another day.”

And so had he, Nate thought, letting the swing rock forward. So had he.

He felt like he'd turned a corner. He said a prayer that it was true.

 

The sign said Sam's Diner and Pharmaceuticals. Polly smiled every time she read the small print proclaiming,
Eat at Your Own Peril 6:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m.
As if it had been added at a later date,
9:00 p.m. on Thursdays
was written at the bottom.

Instead of going inside immediately she studied the town, the colors, the vividness of it all. Down the street the tall house with the many turrets and green roof had been Adela's family home, which she'd turned into six small apartments and left only two rooms open for bed-and-breakfast boarders, three counting Adela's old room. She'd married and moved in with her husband, Sam. It was a lovely building and Polly was going to go down after lunch and have a tour. She kept thinking about what Nate had said: that once she opened she might be busier than she anticipated. That was a good thing. She could hire help and still be able to give Gil plenty of time and be financially independent.

So she was taking a tour of Adela's to see if she could get any pointers, but first she was meeting the ladies for lunch here at the diner. She loved the diner. A person wasn't an official Mule Hollow resident until they'd dined at Sam's.

When she'd gotten the invitation and since it was Saturday she'd expected to bring Gil with her, but then Nate had called and said he'd promised Gil a riding lesson if she gave the go-ahead. She was still smiling at how excited Gil had been as he rode his bike to Nate's.

She hadn't let herself dwell on the small voice of warning. The voice that said she shouldn't let Gil become too attached to their neighbor. She wasn't certain if the warning was for Gil's protection or for Nate's.

Or for her. But they'd already jumped into the river going downstream and there were no exits. She was just going to have to ride it out and pray that the Lord worked it all out.

So, glad to have the opportunity for a bike ride herself, she'd ridden to town and was feeling more at ease than she'd felt in a very long time. Almost blissful. She loved a good bike ride and had to convince three truckloads of cowboys along the way that she didn't need a lift into town. Hitchhikers would be in high cotton around Mule Hollow. Fact was, she and Marc had loved riding and had spent many summer vacations exploring on bikes. It was as tame a sport as Marc endured, and he'd taken it up because she'd refused to ride a motorcycle. Bikes had worked out much better for the family, and since the ripe old age of one, Gil had been as comfortable in a baby bike seat as a car seat.

She had a feeling she was about to lose him, though. The boy was so infatuated with horses. And that was fine with her, she wanted him to have hopes and dreams of his own, hobbies that made him happy—though she couldn't help praying that dirt bikes didn't catch his interest.

She was determined not to cling. She wanted him to choose his own interests, and animals were a healthy way to get him to love the outdoors. Mule Hollow was going to be good for him. Much better than the congestion of Dallas.

Stepping into the diner, she let herself concentrate on enjoying herself. Back in the city, there were so many restaurants that were built new to look old and charming. Fake. Sam's was one-hundred-percent authentic and nostalgic. The smell of oiled pine and scrumptious food greeted her and made her mouth water. She breathed in the scents—hamburgers, bacon—no doubt left over from a brisk breakfast run. She could smell Mexican food mingled in the mix, too. Her stomach growled.

A table of cowboys sitting in one corner tipped their heads at her as she entered. Recognizing them as some of the guys who'd offered to give her a lift, she smiled and said hello.

At the window table, Applegate Thornton and Stanley Orr sat huddled over a game of checkers. The first time she'd come to the diner, she'd known from reading Molly Jacobs's weekly newspaper column who the two older gentlemen were. They were just as crotchety in person as the syndicated columnist portrayed them. It wasn't every town that had a reporter bringing it to life across the country each week. But Mule Hollow did and all because of an ad campaign to bring women to town to marry the cowboys. It was this unique twist that was bringing weekend traffic to the town. These checker players were part of the charm. They looked up and she smiled.

“You wanna play checkers?” the thin one, Applegate, asked, talking louder than necessary.

She shook her head. “No, sir, you go right ahead. Don't let me interrupt.” She raised her voice a notch, hoping he heard her okay.

“He's only askin' ya 'cause I'm whuppin' the pants off of him,” Stanley, the slightly plump one, said with a wink.

“What'd you say?” Applegate demanded loudly.

“Oh, you old coot, you ain't foolin' me. I know you heard me. Yor hearin' aid is working fine. Same as mine.”

Frowning, Applegate spit a sunflower seed into the spittoon. “Cain't holt it against a man fer tryin' ta hang on to a lead.”

“A lead! In yor dreams.”

Polly laughed. They were adorable, reminding her of her grandpa and his brothers when they got together.

“Over here, Pollyanna,” Esther Mae called from a booth near the back, drawing her attention away from the feuding friends. Polly passed the jukebox on her way and, reaching into her pocket, pulled out a nickel. The jukebox only took a nickel and one never knew what song it would be stuck on.

From the corner Esther Mae exclaimed, “Not the jukebox!”

Polly frowned. “I can't come in here without putting at least one nickel in.” She let the coin drop into the slot and pushed the number for an old Johnny Cash song, her daddy's favorite. As she walked to the table the jukebox whirred to life. Polly laughed as Elvis's silken croon filled the room.

“Here we go,” Esther Mae groaned. “I love Elvis as much as the next guy, but if I have to hear him asking me to love him tender one more time I'll scream. I'll show him tender, I'll get me a bat and—”

“Esther Mae,” Norma Sue barked. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Esther Mae smiled sheepishly as she smoothed her napkin. “Forgive me. But somebody needs to fix that thing.”

“Sorry,” Polly said. “How long has the jukebox been stuck on that song?”

“Three weeks,” Norma Sue said. “She'll live. So how was the ride in? Applegate saw you ride up on a bike.” Norma Sue scooted over to allow Polly room to sit down beside her. Adela and Esther Mae smiled from across the table. Elvis sang on.

“It was fantastic. Just what I needed to keep me sane. I think the cattle were curious about me, though. They kept looking at me as if I was riding the oddest horse they'd ever seen.”

“Can't say we have too many bike riders in these parts,” Esther Mae said, shaking a packet of sweetener. “We're a little too far off the beaten track to even get the occasional long-distance rider and that's a shame, too. I think they look so cute in all their colorful outfits. I was thinking about getting me a pink one.”

“Please, deliver us from that,” Norma Sue groaned. “Polly, we're glad you're here, but Esther Mae, stay away from biker shorts.”

“I was just joking,” the redhead snorted, scowling at her friend.

“I hope so. You'd look like a sausage.”

Polly fought a smile. “I'm staying away from biker shorts myself. But, you'll see me riding. I try to ride a few times a week. It's just with getting settled and everything I've hardly had a chance.” Her attention went to Sam, a small man with a quick, bowlegged step. He burst through the kitchen double doors, looking like a man with a purpose. He wore a white apron, jeans, boots and a long-sleeved shirt. His eyes danced with alertness as he held out his hand.

“Well, hello thar, Pollyanna.” She'd met him when she and Gil had first arrived. He looked lovingly over at his wife, Adela, as he latched on to Polly's hand. “I was a wonderin' when you was gonna get back in here.”

Polly was trying to focus, but it was hard because though Sam was small, he had an iron grip. Was that bone grinding? She feared her fingers would fall off when, just in the nick of time, he let go.

“I've just been really busy,” she managed to say, fighting off a gasp of relief. Beneath the table she flexed her fingers. They still worked.

“Oh, but, dear,” Adela chimed in, “we would love to help you more.”

“No. You have all done more than enough. Thank you, though. I'm just adding a bit of color to the walls now. I love to paint. I'm giving each room a special technique. Besides, you all did more than enough last week. I can't thank you enough.”

She planned to pick up paint next week, but first she had yard work to do. Dirt had been delivered the evening before, and she wanted to get her new flower beds started that evening. When she picked up paint, she planned to pick out plants, too.

“Do y'all like to work on flower beds?” she asked.
Did they ever!
That was all it took for them to launch into the wonders of digging in the dirt. Within minutes plans were made for them to come out the following week and help her with her landscaping. Polly could not believe how blessed she was to live in such a place.

“You girls goin' ta stop talkin' long enough to order something to eat?” Sam asked a few minutes later.

“I got some enchiladas fresh out of the oven, though I need to warn you that Cassie helped me fix 'em and she ain't ever helped me cook before. That young'un's goin' ta starve that poor Jake ta death.”

Esther Mae harrumphed. “If anybody can teach her how to cook, it'd be you, Sam. Where is she, anyway?”

“She's with Dottie and the girls from the shelter getting fitted for her wedding dress and their bridesmaid dresses. I think they're all crammed into Ashby's dress store. She was in here early this morning to help me get ready for my Saturday run, and then she was off to get poked and prodded. Her words, not mine.”

Norma Sue explained that they were having Cassie's wedding in a few weeks. Then the conversation rounded back to their order, everyone deciding to try Cassie and Sam's enchiladas.

“So where is that sweet boy of yours?” Esther Mae asked. “He's such a cutie. I love kids. I'm hoping some of these newlyweds decide to give Mule Hollow some babies pretty soon.”

“No rush,” Norma Sue interjected. “A good marriage is set by a firm foundation between newlyweds. Don't rush them, Esther Mae.”

“I'm not. I just want more babies to take care of.”

“Soon enough, Esther Mae. So where is your boy, Polly?”

“Nate's giving Gil riding lessons today.”

There was no way for Polly to miss the expressions of covert delight that flashed around the table.

“So, speaking of Nate. How's that going?”

“Esther Mae,” Adela said softly, but Polly heard a warning in her gentle tone.

“I'm not interfering. I'm just asking if Polly and Nate have, you know, gotten to be friends.”

Polly had known when she moved to Mule Hollow that she was going to come up against the matchmakers, and she was prepared. “I think we could be called friends. But, ladies, truly, don't set your sights on me. I'm, well, I was married to the most wonderful man in the world…like I told you already, I couldn't—”

Adela reached across the table and placed her fine-boned hand on Polly's arm. “It's all right, dear. We didn't mean anything. But, like I said, I speak from experience.” She glanced up at Sam as he returned with glasses of iced tea. The love in her blue eyes was unmistakable. “You can love again.”

Maybe so, Polly thought, but there were other issues at play. She had pictures of Marc hanging on the walls of her house and she couldn't ever imagine taking them down and replacing them with someone else's image. She had Gil to consider, too. He needed to see Marc's pictures, and then there would be grandchildren when Gil grew up and married. If she did remarry, her grandchildren would need to know Marc was their grandfather. Needed to hear stories about him. She needed to keep Marc's memory alive, and if she remarried there would be someone else that her grandchildren would call Granddaddy…Polly had almost as hard a time with that thought as she had with Gil calling another man Daddy.