A Match Made in Dry Creek (4 page)

Maybe her mother really was getting senile, Doris June thought as she looked up. She hadn't really believed it was possible until now. But that was the Nelson pickup all right. She recognized it because it was what Charley always drove to church when Doris June visited Dry Creek. Curt never came on those days. Doris June felt they had a truce of sorts. She avoided him and he avoided her. He would never violate that by expecting her to ride with him from Billings to Dry Creek. Her mother must be wrong. “Don't you mean it's Charley who came with you?”

“Oh, no, dear. Charley doesn't drive long distances anymore. The road from his ranch to Dry Creek is as far as he usually goes.”

It was a warm spring night, but Doris June felt cold.

“Isn't Charley's grandson—what's his name? Ben—isn't he about the age when he can drive?”

The pickup was turning into the lane and making its way toward them.

“Ben's only got his learner's permit.”

The pickup was still coming toward them. “Maybe I could find a cab.”

“Don't be silly,” her mother said as she waved at the pickup. “That would cost a fortune.”

Doris June nodded. She needed to think more logically. There was a solution. “I could get a rental car though.”

A car passed the pickup and the light from its headlights let Doris June see through the windshield of the pickup. She could tell it was Curt at the wheel. She hadn't seen the man for twenty-five years, but she'd know his face in her sleep. Not that she ever saw him in her dreams, of course. She might have glimpsed him a time or two in her nightmares, but that was all. She was completely over him.

 

Curt wished he was anyone else. It might be night out, but Doris June was standing under a security light and he saw the dismay on her face before she turned to say something to her mother. She had obviously just heard who had driven her mother to the airport to pick her up. When you've been childhood playmates with someone, you learn to read their body language. And Doris June was holding herself so stiff she looked like she would break.

It was because of this very thing that he'd asked Mrs. Hargrove to take his pickup and go to Billings. Mrs. Hargrove had been a rancher's wife and Curt had been sure the older woman would remember how to drive a pickup with a stick shift, but she had looked so confused when she asked which pedal was the clutch that he hadn't dared encourage her to drive. He'd gone over to the café and offered to pay Linda and tend her place in her absence if she would only drive in with Mrs. Hargrove for him. Linda had shown little remorse as she let him down, even when he offered to sweeten the deal with an extra fifty-dollar bill.

So here he was pulling up to the curb beside Doris June and her suitcases. She had changed since the last time he'd stopped to pick her up twenty-five years ago. Back then, she'd thrown an old flowered duffel bag in the back and given him a knee-bending kiss before climbing into the passenger side of the old Ford pickup his father used to have for hauling small amounts of feed around.

Curt had been granted the use of that pickup when he turned sixteen and he had planned to drive it to Las Vegas with no hesitation. As he recalled, he hadn't even known the thing had no insurance. Not that something like that would have stopped him and Doris June back then. They were in love and impatient to be married. Practical concerns like insurance and finishing high school hadn't entered into their minds.

Curt could still remember the intensity of the feeling though it had been twenty-five years ago. The only time he had come close to that overwhelming feeling of love was the first time he'd held his son in his arms.

Curt couldn't help but wonder if Doris June remembered the feeling like he did. He swore they could have lived on that feeling for the rest of their lives if things hadn't gone so bad so fast.

After he'd hit the stop sign while trying to steal another kiss from Doris June, everything had changed. The only part of it that he had ever been able to make right was to pay for the repairs to the fender of his dad's pickup. He had sent the money home from the first pay he had received in the army. He knew his father might not use the money to fix the fender, but Curt felt good knowing he had paid for it anyway. He only wished the other problems of that accident had been as easy to resolve.

“Curt was kind enough to drive me in to get you,” Mrs. Hargrove chirped as Curt stepped down from the cab of the pickup and walked around the front of his vehicle. He wondered what made the older woman try so hard to be cheerful. The Mrs. Hargrove he knew never put on an act and he couldn't help feeling that her upbeat voice was forced.

“I could have rented a car at the airport,” Doris June said stiffly. “I wouldn't have wanted you to bother.”

“It was no bother.” Torture maybe, Curt thought, but bother? No.

If it was just him and Doris June in the pickup, Curt would have used the darkness of this ride to tell her that he was a hundred kinds of sorry. But, as sorry as he was, he wasn't about to bare his soul in front of Mrs. Hargrove. A man had to have some dignity.

 

Mrs. Hargrove had about run out of things to say and the pickup hadn't even passed the sign that signaled the exit from the airport. It was a bonus that the pickup only had the one seat and Doris June was forced to sit between her and Curt, but Mrs. Hargrove did admit that it made the conversation somewhat strained as Doris June insisted on looking straight ahead. On her lap, Doris June kept the large shopping bag that she'd carried off the plane, so it was almost impossible for Mrs. Hargrove to look over and see Curt's face.

Charley would have been much better at this part of it, Mrs. Hargrove fretted as she remarked for the second time that the night was unusually dark and that it looked like the moon was covered with clouds so maybe it would rain tomorrow. Unfortunately, Charley was back at his ranch playing a board game with his grandson and so the conversation fell to Mrs. Hargrove.

Mrs. Hargrove was never one to shirk her duty, no matter how unpleasant, but it was very difficult to keep a conversation going all by herself. If it wasn't so important to set the tone for Doris June's visit home, she
would have been content to let her daughter and Curt sit there without a friendly word between them.

“Curt has been helping me with the pansies,” Mrs. Hargrove finally said. “I don't know what I would have done without him.”

“It's no problem,” Curt mumbled.

“I wish you would have let me come earlier,” Doris June said with a quick smile to her mother. “I'm happy to help you with whatever you need.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded and patted her daughter's arm. “And I appreciate it. You're good to me.”

“I'm sure we'll be able to handle the pansies,” Doris June said. “Curt probably has other work he needs to do this time of the year.”

“I'm not that busy,” Curt said.

“Yes, but—” Doris June began.

“The pansies are too heavy,” Curt added. “We're going to be digging them up and putting them in my wheelbarrow before taking them into the old house to put in baskets.”

“But they're only flowers,” Doris June protested. “How heavy can they be?”

Curt grunted. “I'd never hear the end of it from my father if I let the two of you dig up those pansies and pack the baskets by yourselves.”

“Well, we will pay you then,” Doris June said crisply. “Let us know your rate.”

“I don't have a rate. The baskets are for the church.
And for Mother's Day! You don't think I'd take money for doing something like that, do you?”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Hargrove said hastily. She had tried to let the two of them handle the conversation, but they seemed determined to bury it. “And we appreciate it. Don't we Doris June?”

Doris June murmured something that could be an agreement.

Mrs. Hargrove couldn't think of anything else to say.

Everyone was silent. The only sound was the pickup engine as it kept humming along.

Doris June tried very hard not to move. She had worn the navy slacks that went with her suit, but the material didn't seem heavy enough when her leg was pressed against Curt's leg. It had been years since Doris June had ridden in the middle place in a pickup and she had forgotten how the gears forced the person in that position to lean their leg against the driver's leg. She could almost feel the texture of the denim of Curt's jeans.

Doris June used to love to ride this close to Curt. Back then, she'd snuggled even closer to him although there was no one sitting on the other side of her like her mother was tonight. For the first time that evening, Doris June found something for which to be grateful. She was glad her mother hadn't just sent Curt in alone to get her from the airport. She wouldn't have had a clue what to say to him if they had been alone.

Doris June hoped the darkness inside the pickup cab
hid the flush to her face. She was a highly paid professional; she shouldn't be caught in situations like this, stuck where she didn't want to be. She had a feeling it was going to be a long time until the baskets were ready for Mother's Day.

I
t was dark when they drove down the road into Dry Creek later that night. Doris June was relieved to be home. The trip from the Billings airport had been so long even her mother had given up on talking.

“When did Linda get a new light for the café?” Doris June asked, relieved to finally have something to say. The café and the hardware store stood on opposite sides of the road. No cars were parked in front of either of the buildings, but the grass was flattened where cars had parked earlier in the day so business looked reasonably good.

“Just after Christmas,” Curt answered.

Ah, it was good to see Dry Creek again, Doris June thought to herself as she tried to forget the awkwardness with Curt. She wasn't going to let seeing him spoil her time here. Even the air smelled better in Dry Creek. Maybe
it was the scent of spring grasses or the fact that there was so little car exhaust, but it definitely smelled good. She was glad Curt kept his window rolled down a little.

“Well, here we are,” Curt said as he pulled into her mother's driveway.

“Thank you so much,” Doris June said to Curt, and congratulated herself on handling the whole drive back with gracious good manners. One did not need to chatter away to be polite.

Doris June even managed a brief smile for Curt when he lifted her suitcases out of the back of his pickup and carried them to her mother's porch. She didn't want to encourage him to come inside, so she said another thank-you at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch.

Fortunately, it was dark and the night-light on the porch was dim, so Curt wasn't able to see that she looked at his chin when she gave him her thanks for carrying her suitcases. She knew it wasn't the best of manners, but it was good enough, especially considering Curt only grunted in response to her thanks, so she might as well not have even bothered saying it anyway. He didn't give any hint that he'd like to come inside either which, when Doris June thought about it, made her decide he was halfway rude. The man should at least hesitate before stomping off to his pickup, just in case someone wanted to invite him inside for a cup of coffee or something. Not that anyone did, of course.

With all the thanking, however, Doris June didn't
remember her worries about her mother growing senile until she'd hauled her shopping bag full of puzzles into her mother's house and then gone back outside for her suitcases. She didn't even know what clues she should look for to determine her mother's state of mind.

“You've changed the cloth on top of the piano,” Doris June said, when she stood beside her suitcases and looked around the living room. She doubted if that was enough to signal a problem. Maybe the fact that her mother hadn't changed the carpet in the past forty years should worry her more than the one single thing she had changed.

“Change is a good thing,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she gave her daughter a meaningful look. “We don't have enough of it around here.”

That was a good sign, Doris June thought. If her mother's mental ability deteriorated, it would be easier to help her if she was open to change. Doris June hoped her mother really meant what she'd said. “I have been thinking the carpet could be changed.”

“The carpet?” Her mother seemed surprised. “What's wrong with the carpet? It matches the sofa.”

“Well, maybe a change would be good. Like you said. We could get a new sofa, too.”

“But your father picked out that sofa.” Mrs. Hargrove looked bewildered. “He said it would wear well with children.”

“There hasn't been a child living in this house for over thirty years,” Doris June said, and then looked at her mother's face and wished she'd never mentioned the carpet or the sofa.

Her mother appeared to be on the verge of tears. “I'm sorry. It's all my—my fault.”

“It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay.” Doris June didn't know what she would do if her mother cried. Her mother never cried. That was a change Doris June had not been prepared to see. “Forget I mentioned the carpet. We don't need to change anything. Everything's okay. And the sofa, it's perfect.”

A single tear rolled down Mrs. Hargrove's cheek. “I'm sorry you don't have any children.”

“That's okay. Don't worry about a thing.” Doris June patted at her suit. Why didn't she have a pocket in these suits so she could carry a tissue around for times like this? “Don't cry. Everything's fine.”

Doris June didn't know what the sudden concern about her lack of children was all about, but it had to be a symptom of this senior confusion. Her mother was a strong woman. She never cried about things, especially not things like this that she couldn't do anything about. Doris June told herself she should have come home sooner. Her mother needed her.

“But you don't even date,” her mother said as she pulled her own tissue out of the pocket of her housedress.

“I do so date,” Doris June said, relieved that one of
them had a pocket. “Remember that guy—Bob—I told you about him. I dated him.”

“That was years ago.”

“Oh.” Doris June tried to remember. Had it been that long? “Well, maybe I don't date every man I meet, but I do fine. I'm fine with dating. I could go out tomorrow if I wanted. Well, maybe not tomorrow since I'm here, but if I was back in Anchorage, it could be anytime. I'm fine with dating.”

Doris June breathed much easier now that there were no new tears in her mother's eyes. And she was telling the truth. She could date that new weatherman if she wanted. All she would need to do would be to pay the bill for both of them. Which would be fair enough since she was older than him. It would still count as a date, though, wouldn't it? Men paid on dates all the time; a woman could pay, too.

Mrs. Hargrove put her tissue back in her pocket. “So you won't mind if I invite the Nelsons to dinner tomorrow?”

“What?” Doris June looked at her mother. Where had that come from?

“Of course, it would be easier than going on a date for you,” her mother said calmly. “Just the Nelson family. You've known them for years.”

“You mean Charley? And his grandson?”

Her mother nodded. “And Curt, of course.”

“But Curt? Won't he be busy?”

“Charley might have an opinion about the carpet,” Mrs. Hargrove offered just as though nothing had been said about Curt.

Doris June nodded. She supposed everyone would have an opinion. If not about the carpet, then about her dating life—or lack thereof.

“And it'll give us a chance to wear our new dresses,” Mrs. Hargrove added cheerfully. “You said you got me a couple—and one for yourself, too.”

Doris June nodded. She didn't know why she had bought a dress for herself when she picked up the two for her mother. Maybe she thought it wasn't fair to let her mother make a fool of herself alone.

“Well, I can't wait to see us all dressed up.”

Doris June didn't say it, but she was quite happy to wait. She could have waited for this dinner for the rest of her life. It wasn't that she was a coward exactly. Well, not totally a coward. There were some very good reasons not to have the Nelsons to dinner and none of them had to do with her dating anyone.

“Curt won't come,” she said with relief. “He'll be working late plowing. It's his busy time of the year. Spring.”

“Maybe I should make lasagna,” her mother said. “It's his favorite.”

Of course, Doris June thought to herself. Her mother would have to lure Curt here. Still, there were ways. “I haven't had liver and onions for a long time. Isn't that
Charley's favorite? I could drive you to Billings tomorrow if you wanted to get some.”

“My car hasn't been working so good.”

Doris June didn't wonder at that. Her mother had driven the same car since the seventies; it was bound to die at some point.

“I'll talk to Linda,” Doris June said. “She might have some frozen liver at the café. Or maybe she's going in for supplies and could get some fresh for us.”

“You really think I should make liver and onions instead of lasagna?”

Doris June nodded. “Curt can buy that frozen lasagna anytime he wants from the grocery store. I bet they eat that once or twice a week. But liver and onions. Where can Charley get that like only you can make it? Besides, it's good to let Charley know you're thinking of him.”

In the brochures Doris June had read, it said seniors needed to know they were still important. Charley could probably use some attention, too.

“Well, of course, I'm thinking of him,” her mother said with a befuddled look on her face. “He's Charley.”

Doris June smiled. Things would work out just fine. “Oh, and maybe you should tell Charley what the menu is when you invite him. Give him something to look forward to for the day.”

“He always asks anyway. He doesn't stand on company manners anymore since he comes so often. But,
since it's a special dinner, I'll be sure and mention that it's liver and onions.”

Doris June relaxed. Curt hated liver and onions. At least he had when they were growing up and, regardless of how much he might have changed since then, she doubted he had changed his opinion on that. He'd never come to dinner.

Doris June would have felt guilty about depriving Curt of his lasagna dinner, but her mother was apparently inviting Charley to meals frequently and, knowing her mother, she was sending leftovers home to Curt and Ben all the time. In fact, Curt would probably get a pan of lasagna within the month. He might not even need to share it with a whole table of other people. He should be happy she'd suggested the menu she had.

 

Curt knew he had to go to dinner. When he had been out plowing this morning, he'd called himself a coward ten times over for not talking to Doris June on the ride back from the airport. A man who had wronged a friend twenty-five years ago couldn't let his pride stop him from saying he was sorry. Besides, last night was as close as he had come to her in all those years and she hadn't been able to walk away from him since she was sitting on the seat next to him.

When he went in for his noon meal and his father told him they'd been invited to the Hargroves for dinner that evening, Curt figured God was giving him a second
chance to talk to Doris June. He wasn't likely to get another chance to say his piece if he didn't speak to her now. He couldn't expect God to keep granting him chances to talk to her just because he didn't know what to say.

After all, it was obvious Doris June wasn't going to start things off by saying anything to him. She avoided him like he had the plague. Actually, now that he thought about it, she would be friendlier to him if he did have the plague. She'd be compassionate to a person with an affliction like that. But him? He didn't think he could count on her natural kindness when she thought of him.

It was a pity, because if there should be peace between himself and anyone else in the world, that other person was Doris June. He wasn't even thinking of the flare of romantic love they'd shared as teenagers. No, he was remembering back to the solid friendship they'd shared when they were little kids.

It was Doris June who had patiently fished the Big Dry Creek with him and explored the outlines of the old sod buildings where the first Hargroves had lived a hundred years ago. He and Doris June had history together. Doris June had known him better back then than his parents had. When they were nine years old, he had made a pact with her that they would always be blood brothers. She'd been squeamish about using her own blood so he'd generously let her use some of his.

That should have made him realize she wasn't
anything like a brother, but he'd simply thought of her as his best friend for several more years. He still remembered the day when they were fifteen and, for the first time, he saw that Doris June was beautiful in a girl way that he'd never appreciated before.

When he thought back, it was amazing that he'd waited until they were seventeen before he'd demanded that they elope. The couples at school were exchanging school rings to wear and he had no patience for that. He knew Doris June so well it seemed strange to ask her to be his steady girlfriend when he already knew he wanted her for his wife.

Back then, everything was black or white. They had not learned to keep secrets from each other or to hold back in saying what they meant. In the years between seventeen and now, though, Curt had developed a healthy respect for the color gray. He wasn't sure he would want to hear all of what Doris June had to say about him now.

Still, a few things needed to be said.

The bad feelings between him and Doris June shouldn't be allowed to continue. The Bible said a man should go fix things with his brother before he sat down to sup at the Lord's Table, and Curt looked on this dinner invitation as his chance to do that. Granted, it might be Mrs. Hargrove's table where Curt would be eating tonight and Doris June was far from being his brother, but he figured the same principle applied.

Even though the punch of emotions that had stirred
him at seventeen when he thought of Doris June no longer hit him in the same way, Curt knew he needed her forgiveness.

“You got a tie?” Charley had just finished shaving at the sink on the back porch because he said the light was better there. He rubbed some aftershave on his face while he talked to Curt.

“A tie? You think Mrs. Hargrove expects us to wear ties?”

Curt had washed up with farmer's soap at the kitchen sink and the cuffs of his work shirt were wet even though he'd rolled them up to his elbow. Ben was sitting at the table finishing his homework.

“And a white shirt wouldn't be out of place either,” Charley said as he walked back into the kitchen from the back porch. “Something nice.”

Curt rolled his sleeves down. “Seems a bit chancy to wear a white shirt when Mrs. Hargrove might serve her lasagna.” Out plowing today, when he wasn't worrying over the mistakes of his youth, he'd been thinking about that lasagna.