Autumn Blue (31 page)

She knew that. She knew the instant Ernesto had tried to touch her, if not before.

“I was married once. It lasted only three years. I was a cop down in Seattle and worked nights. I asked my brother to go check
on her sometimes.” He scoffed. “I knew he was a womanizer, but it never occurred to me that he would cross the big line. Family
loyalty. That means something to most people.”

“Oh, Alex.”

“I came home midshift one night and caught him in my bed. Turns out they’d been having an affair for more than six months
right under my nose.”

She shook her head. What could she say? The betrayal would have been bad enough if the woman were Alex’s girlfriend, let alone
his wife.

“What did your family do?”

“Oh, they ostracized him for a while. But my family—all but Ernesto—is fiercely devoted. He eventually charmed his way back
in and they forgave him. Of course, he seemed like a different person once he had a baby in his arms.”

“A baby?”

“He’s about six and a half now. His name is Max.”

Suddenly it all came together. She gasped. “Is Isadora your ex-wife?”

He nodded, poking at the glowing embers, his jaw muscles flinching again.

It was no wonder he was bitter. First his brother defrauded him in the worst imaginable way, and now Ernesto flaunts his conquest—and
Alex’s loss—probably at every major family function. “And Max?”

“Ernesto claims he’s his. I’ll never know for sure.”

She took a deep breath to keep from crying and scanned the gray November sky. The last thing a man like Alex would want to
see in her eyes was pity. “Oh, Alex. I understand why it’s so hard to forgive your brother. I wish I had slapped him when
he tried to touch me. I wish I was still standing there slapping away.”

He laughed. “Me too. I’d sit on my badge and eat peanuts until you were good and done.”

“What about Isadora? How do you feel about her?”

His head moved slowly side to side. “I don’t feel anything anymore. I didn’t blame her so much. She was lonely and she got
scared at night. She was vulnerable and to Ernesto that made her fair game. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what
he was doing. My brother has no boundaries. Anything that gets between him and what he wants—he just tears it down like one
of those apartment houses sitting where he wants to design a condo tower.”

“You have to forgive him, you know.”

He scowled. “Why is that?”

“Because your eyes are all squinty again. You look like Clint Eastwood in that movie where some guys hang him and leave him
to die. Now that I know you a little better, I realize that’s not the real you. But I’ve got to tell you, sometimes you look
real mean.”

“So, you’re saying my face is going to get stuck like that?”

“I’m saying you’re putting your head back in that noose every day—every time you dwell on what happened. You’re letting your
brother’s twisted character choke the life out of you. You’re the one suffering while Ernesto’s off on his own merry way.”

“I can’t forget what he did.”

“I don’t think you have to. It just seems like you have to find a way to let it go somehow. Let God deal with Ernesto in his
own way, in his own time.”

He laughed bitterly. “I’ve heard it all before. Not just from Pop—my sisters, and now you. Believe me, it’s easier said than
done. I can’t stand to be in the same town with him, let alone the same room. I just want him gone before I do something I’ll
regret.”

“But you promised your dad—”

He fired a glare that shut her up instantly. She had gone too far. “I’m sorry. This is none of my business.”

He hurled a small rock, which shot like a fastball to the middle of the stream. “Did my sisters put you up to this?”

“Oh, no.” She blew out a slow breath, shaking her head. “I don’t need anyone’s prodding to say the wrong things at the wrong
time. It just comes naturally.” She leaned forward, doodling in the sand with the end of a dry alder branch, wishing that
the sound of the rushing river could wash her preachy words from the air. The silence became uncomfortable. “I like Carmen
and Linda. They went out of their way to befriend me back there in the kitchen.” She chuckled. “One minute they’re hugging
and crying; the next they’re spanking each other with wooden spoons. It made me miss my sister.”

“Where is she?”

“Cleveland. My hometown. When I came out west to go to college, Alana was only in ninth grade. We didn’t really become friends
until much later because of the age difference. Even now we see each other only about once a year—if we’re lucky.”

“Why didn’t you move back there after your divorce?”

She sighed, looking up at the tree-covered hills. “It turns out I’m a small-town girl. I love the mountains, the farms, the
slower-paced life. Besides, I think it’s safer here for the kids. Ty has been fascinated with nature since he was a little
squirt. I could never have let him roam back there in the city like I have here.” She raised her eyes to the river and a half-naked
vine maple leaning over the opposite bank. “He could disappear into those hills with a backpack for days and I wouldn’t need
to worry.”

“You’re a good mom.” His brown eyes had softened. He was sincere.

“Thank you.”

Alex tossed another stone, following it with his eyes. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

The directness of his question startled her. “Yes.”

“To that guy you were with at the play?” He was still gazing over his shoulder at the spot where his rock had plunged into
the river. “He looked like a nice guy.”

“He is a nice guy. He’s been great with my kids.” She pondered how to answer. “I don’t know about marriage. We really haven’t
discussed it.” As her words lingered in the air between them, she realized they were all wrong. She
did
know. Not in her head, but in her heart. Thoughts began to buzz through her head like bees in a confusing swarm. She couldn’t
think about this—not now.

He tossed another stone. “I hope he doesn’t mind us being friends. I like talking to you.”

“I wish we had become friends earlier. I somehow got the impression you weren’t interested,” she said with a coy smile. “Though
I guess I was pretty unfriendly myself at first.”

“Dagger lady. I almost pulled my gun in self-defense a few times.”

Her mouth dropped open in feigned shock and denial. “You almost shot the dog! Sweet little Dukie. Never even hurt a flea—and
he has access to plenty of them.”

They both snickered. “You scared me in a different way,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, his lips still pulled into a half smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

Smoke from the fire rose and dissipated into the sky. The momentary silence was comfortable. “Alex, why didn’t your dad and
Amilia ever marry?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was because they both loved my mom so much. ’Milia was engaged once, but the guy died before they
tied the knot. I was so young, I don’t remember him and she never talked about him much. But that missing ring was from him.”
He chuckled. “And then there was ’Milia’s college degree. I think Pop was too macho to get past that little piece of paper,
to tell the truth.”

He stood slowly, stretching and gazing up at the deepening sky. “I suppose we should get back. I hope someone got ’Milia up.”

His face was pleasant when he looked down at her, extending his hand. No more Clint Eastwood glare. She placed her palm in
his and he pulled her to her feet. His touch sent a current through her blood. He held on to her hand. “’Milia’s not the only
wise woman around here,” he said. “Between the two of you, some of that wisdom might rub off onto me.”

She didn’t correct him, though she wondered how he could perceive wisdom in a woman who couldn’t even discern her own heart.

Twilight came early that time of year. Warm light glowed through the windows of Carmen’s house as Alex, with his hand firmly
on her back, guided her up the trail. She clung to the comforting peace of the moment, inhaling scents of fallen alder leaves
and wood smoke, relishing the nearness of the intricate man beside her who wanted to be her friend.

Now was not the time to think about what she dreaded, this thing she knew she had to do.

A
NOTHER SUNDAY AFTERNOON
of Seahawks and salami. This time Sidney made no effort to learn the characters in the meaningless, monotonous play being
acted out on her TV screen, though Jack pointed out individual players, commenting on their accomplishments as if these were
facts that were essential to know. Millard sat with one leg crossed over the other, his Velcro-tabbed shoe tapping rhythmically
in midair until some event made him uncross his legs and lean forward to shout his wasted advice. Ty, absorbed in a computer
game in his room, appeared from time to time to refill his bowl with chili while the girls strung bead bracelets at the dining
room table.

Sidney wove a pencil between her fingers and stared at the sketch pad on her knees. Vine maple leaves trailed across the page,
curving into a scroll pattern at either end. The little pumpkins had looked stupid among the leaves so she rubbed them out
with Sissy’s pink eraser. It was just practice; at the moment she had no furniture to paint. When she glanced up, her eyes
fell again on the pot of golden chrysanthemums on the coffee table. They were beautiful. Bright spots of sunshine on a nasty
fall day, and she wished they would go away. No, she wished they had never arrived.

Jack was being too kind. If only he would do something wrong or say something absolutely rude and insensitive, her task might
be easier. He
had
presumptuously produced a duffle bag full of stinky laundry just after presenting her with the flowers, but that could hardly
be cited as grounds for demoting him back to “just friends” status. After all, she had started the whole laundry thing.

Jack glanced over, touching her arm as she began to stand. “Hey, are you done with your doodling?”

“For now.” She bent to remove empty chili bowls from the coffee table. “How much longer is this game going to be?”

“Not much. It’s the fourth quarter. Why? Do you have plans?”

She shrugged. “Not really. Well . . . actually, I was thinking you and I might go for a little drive.”

“You should do that,” Millard said. “Get out, just the two of you. I can stay here with the kids if you like.”

Good old Millard. Sidney hugged him and went to her bedroom to change from her soft slipper-socks into her Wal-Mart boots.
She stood in her closet for some time, her eyes roving over a selection of sweaters, not really seeing. How was she going
to do this? She had come up with some great breakup lines the night before, but now they eluded her. She should have turned
on the light and written them down. Jack’s words to her on the night of that first kiss continued to interrupt any cohesive
thought that tried to form in her mind. “I can’t handle that ‘just friends’ line again,” he had said. But she had assured
him, she had actually believed, that this time it was different. She had been so sure that he was the one.

The Seahawks won again. The words
Super Bowl
tumbled from Jack’s lips often lately. He was like a boy anticipating Christmas; surely the day would come. He was buoyant,
charged with energy as they rushed from the house to his car in a pelting rain.

Sidney shook the rain from her hair as he turned the key in the ignition. “Let’s see if we can get a lane at the bowling alley,”
he said, pulling out of the driveway and pointing the nose of the car toward town.

“Actually, I was hoping we could just talk. This is the perfect opportunity. It’s been pretty hard lately with the kids around
so much.”

“Talk? We can talk while we bowl.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I still can’t get over that forty-yard dash. Shaun Alexander
is my hero. Did you see that play? He charged over bodies like a marine in a kid’s obstacle course.”

She stared out her rain-pocked window. “I don’t want to have to shout over the clamor of bowling balls and noisy kids. And
I don’t want to discuss football.” She turned to look at him squarely. “I don’t like football. It bores me.”

His face flinched and his head drew back. “Whoa.” The windshield wipers fanned back and forth, the only sound other than intermittent
sprays of road water hitting the underside of the vehicle.

“I’m sorry. That probably hit you like a slap. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay. I know I get a little obsessive sometimes.” She had dampened his mood. There was an awkward silence before he
spoke again. “Okay, so you just want to talk. What do you want to talk about?” He drove past the bowling alley.

“Us.”

He began rubbing his neck, stretching it from side to side. They were approaching Rosie’s Rib House. He glanced over. “You
wanna talk over a pile of—” He stopped himself. “No. I guess not.” He had a hard time remembering that she was a vegetarian.
“So where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care. A parking lot would be fine.”

He kept driving. She waited for him to ask the obvious question.
What about us?
But the question didn’t come.

“Jack.”

His look was apprehensive. “Yeah?”

“A woman needs someone to talk to. Not just about daily events or car problems or movies. I mean on a deeper level. It seems
like we talk about things on the surface and never get down to our true feelings.”

He scoffed. “Feelings are overrated.” When he glanced back at her, his smirk faded. “Just kidding. You can talk to me about
your feelings anytime you want. Is that all this is about? Talk away. I’m listening.”

She sighed, shaking her head. She couldn’t change him. He was perfectly happy bobbing along on the surface of life. Why should
she pull him under to view a realm he was inexplicably afraid to explore? She remembered her long talk with Alex at the campfire,
the comfortable honesty between them. Her resolve strengthened, though this was not about Alex. She and Alex might never become
more than friends. “Jack, I know now what I didn’t understand before. I know why I had to break it off even though you were
such a wonderful, kind, positive guy.”