“Ginger, our talking has been easy. I don’t make you talk about things you’re not ready to talk about and you don’t push me to uncomfortable limits, either. That’s why it’s working between us. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
* * *
Seeing him was a rush, that’s all there was to it, Ginger thought. Even though when she first spied him she felt caught in a snare. Oh, God, caught sneaking around to see her ex! She had no intention of being busy at the flower shop; she had planned that trip to see Mick perform at one of their old haunts.
But Matt was there. Why did he care to see Mick?
He left her at her car. She didn’t know where he’d left his truck but when she parked beside the diner, he pulled in beside her.
“This is such a great rescue,” she told him.
“Not something I’m known for,” he admitted. “I’m glad to be of service. It was a provocative night—he sang to you.” He held open the door for her. “He sang you a love song.”
They settled into a booth—old red vinyl benches, scarred laminate tabletop, jukebox. The waitress was there in an instant and they ordered coffee and pie.
“He sang a love song to you,” Matt said again. “Women were fainting all over the place, each one wanting to be you.”
“It’s what he does for a living,” she said. “It probably did more for his image to sing a love song to me than to anyone else. Everyone reacted just as you did. Wow, he sang that woman a love song. And by the way, it’s not much of a living.”
“I haven’t figured out that part,” Matt admitted. “I looked him up on the internet and he sounds like a major star... There are pictures of him singing on a big stage to what looks like millions...”
“He’s opened for a few big bands,” she said. “Fifteen minutes to a sellout crowd before the big guys take over for a two-hour concert. He’s got good PR and it costs a fortune.”
“Well, he didn’t turn me on, but he was breaking hearts all over the room. I don’t know if he’s good—I don’t know that much about music. Sounded okay to me. I mean, I hate him, but I think it sounded good.”
“Why do you hate him?” she asked.
“He didn’t treat you right,” Matt said. He shook his head. “He must be a little crazy. Or very stupid.”
“Or I am.” She put cream and sugar in her coffee. “The women surprised you, huh? The exes?”
“Oh, yeah. They shouldn’t have. First of all, I met Lucy in a place just like that. I had gone there looking for women. Or, to be more specific, a woman. And Natalie wanted to go to places like Roy’s. All. The. Time. Every night of the week, if possible. Them being there was far more predictable than me being there.”
“And yet, you wanted a look at Mick?”
“I did. I wanted to see what kind of fool would give you up. What kind of lamebrain would walk away from his wife, his child? It makes no sense to someone like me. In our family if a guy did that, he might be shunned.”
“But you did,” she said.
At first he looked at her in shock. “Natalie didn’t want kids. At least not for quite a while,” he said quietly. He stared into his coffee cup for a long moment. “Ginger, you won’t understand this. I can’t explain this without telling you some things I swore I would never talk about. All I can say—I had to. There were lies and betrayals I just couldn’t get over. I admit, that’s on me. Being married means being able to forgive and I couldn’t. She wants another chance. I wouldn’t dare.”
She sat back. “Then it wasn’t just a simple matter of marrying the wrong person.”
“Is it ever simple?”
“Does seeing her hurt?” she asked.
The pie arrived. The check was slapped down on the table as if the waitress could tell they were engrossed in a serious conversation.
“It didn’t. No. How about you? Did seeing him hurt?”
She smiled at him. “That’s what I came for. To gauge the pain. I invested a lot in that man. Years and years. Promises and patience and vows and sacrifice and I wanted to know if I still longed for him with every piece of my heart. I looked at him and felt nothing. Well, that’s not really true. I felt a little shame—I was a complete fool. I should have known better—he never lied about who he was.”
“He said something to you,” Matt said. “He kissed your cheek at the end of the song and said something.”
“Uh-huh. He said, ‘Wonderful to see you. You look beautiful. Thank you for coming.’ And then he turned and began to sing to a woman two tables away.” She laughed and shook her head. “He thought I came for him. Of course.”
“And you went for you.”
She nodded and cut off a forkful of pie. On its way to her lips she paused. “Have you ever had your heart broken so badly you thought you might die? That you wanted to die?” He nodded solemnly. “Every time Mick couldn’t really be mine, when he finally said it just wasn’t his scene, my heart hurt so bad I wondered how it hadn’t killed me. How does it beat through that? The whole time I mothered my little son I was so grateful to have him, but my heart still ached for the man I had believed in. I decided it would take willpower to let go, but I was getting over him—so slowly, but I was getting over him. Then the baby died.”
She paused for just a second because she couldn’t miss the fact that Matt’s black eyes glittered, like they might be getting wet.
“He just didn’t wake up in the morning,” she went on. “Softly, simply, sweetly, like he had just moved on. No cries, no struggles, no gasping. Just a gentle sleep. Then I knew pain. And grief. All I could think of while I was going through that—not winning Mick was nothing! I couldn’t even remember what it was I thought I loved. Well, that’s been a while now. It’s going to be a year this summer since Josh passed away. I thought it was time to see Mick, but I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t want to hear how he’s got a great deal he expects to sign in a month or less. I wanted to see him so I could know once and for all if I’m finally past that insanity that is Mick Cantrell. That’s why I went. I just want to be free.”
“And are you free?”
“Pretty much,” she said, smiling. She sipped her coffee. “He can still manage to annoy me, the arrogant bastard. But for the most part, I rarely even think about him.”
Matt smiled. He took a bite of his pie, and they sat in silence for a moment, enjoying coffee, pie and the company.
“There are new lambs and chicks at the farm,” he finally said.
She gasped, and her face lit up. She smiled brightly.
“Maybe on your way back to Thunder Point you could drop by.”
“Yes,” she said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you and your family.”
Seven
Matt sat with Ginger for two hours, two pieces of pie and far too much coffee. They passed through the emotional and sentimental stuff and got back to their comfort zone—laughing and teasing.
Thanks to caffeine, he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t nod off until the time he usually woke up. He slept until eight in the morning and in a panic, called her cell. He couldn’t have her beat him to the farm.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I slept a little late myself. I’m having breakfast with my mom and dad, then I’ll be headed your way. I won’t be there before ten.”
“Are you sure you remember where the farm is?”
“I’m sure,” she said, laughing. “Don’t rush me now. I’ll be coming when I’m done visiting with my parents.”
She was the bravest woman he’d ever met. Strong to the bone, that’s what Ginger was. She was the epitome of womanhood in his mind—after all she’d been through, after all she’d had to overcome, she could still be so sweet, so funny, so positive. Her scars were not thistles, they were velvet artwork on her heart.
In the whole of his extended family he could only remember the loss of one child, one of his distant cousins, an infant who had been born with serious birth defects and had lived only
a year. Every woman in the family rushed to the young parents. They came from as far away as San Francisco and Reno with food and prayer beads. The Jews and sitting Shiva had nothing on these Basque women. But as far as he could recall, it was only that one time. And it was fated. The poor child had not been expected to live; a year had been a miracle.
Ginger faced her demons head-on. She even talked about it. Honestly. Matt hadn’t been able to do that yet. He was a master of evasion. I can’t explain, but I had to, he’d said. How flimsy. Ginger would wonder what kind of problem would cause a man who professed to put marriage and family first to turn and walk away. But she hadn’t even questioned him.
He sat on the front porch steps, waiting for her. Just like a kid waiting for the Easter Bunny.
She finally pulled up in her well-used gray Audi. She stepped out and gave him a little wave. He took a deep breath and smiled; she was just about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. She wore a lacy sundress that fell below the knee. On her feet were knee-high boots and she wore a blue denim jacket. Her blond hair lifted in the breeze. It curled a little today, like maybe she hadn’t straightened it out with the blow dryer or something. He wanted to grab her up in his arms and smother her with kisses.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re a little impatient, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t want you waiting for me. That would be bad manners. Want to see the chicks first?”
“Shouldn’t I say hello to your mother?”
“They’re not back from morning mass yet, but the house is already full of good smells.” He looked her up and down. “Why don’t I go get the Rhino?”
“The what?”
“It’s like a mini-Jeep—gets us around the farm. You’re too pretty to tromp through a farm.”
“These are my most comfortable, toughest boots. I’m prepared to tromp.”
Not like Natalie, is she? he thought. She’d show up in her fancy heels and he could tell his mother was biting her tongue against asking what she used for a brain. It was a farm, not a runway.
“And the dress?”
“Not new. Very durable. Come on, let’s go.”
He kept his hands in his pockets because he really wanted to hold her for a minute. Oh, hell, he wanted to make out for an hour or three. He’d wanted to kiss her last night, even though her ex-husband sang her a love song, even though she talked about her misfortunes and how she struggled to get beyond it all. But he had put her in her car to leave without taking any chances.
They walked to the coop where a few broody hens were keeping a lot of chicks warm, but the chicks were a couple of weeks old and were peeping and climbing all over the hens and each other.
“There must be two dozen!” she said.
“Adoption,” he said. “Sometimes my mother will just let them hatch, sometimes she’ll take delivery of some new chicks and if she has a broody hen, slide them under the hen at night when she’s docile and most of the time the hen will take over. A good broody hen can sit on ten eggs or chicks. Sometimes she incubates a couple dozen and either tries an adoption or keeps them in the brooder—it’s a pen—until they’re bigger and can fend for themselves. I’d take one out for you to hold but broody hens are a little temperamental and you don’t want me pecked.”
“Thus, the term ‘henpecked,’” she said.
“It’s no laughing matter. Once they’re big, it’s pretty communal. You have to remember, these hens are here to work and these chicks are being raised to lay eggs, then they’re dinner.”
“You’re just trying to shock me,” she accused. “I do understand where the chicken breasts I buy come from.”
After she sighed and fussed over their cuteness, he told her they should go see the lambs. “George has the lambs. It’s almost a mile. Should I get the Rhino?”
“Not for me,” she said. “Lead the way. Unless you’re in a hurry?”
“I have all day, Ginger. But some women don’t enjoy plodding through a pasture or orchard.”
“I don’t have all day,” she said with a laugh. “I have a four-hour drive ahead. But there’s no rush.” Then she drew in a deep breath. “Does it seem like the air is fresher here, on the farm?”
“There are still some blossoms and other flowers,” he said. “There’s also fertilizer and droppings, so watch your step in your comfortable boots.”
He walked beside her, shortening his stride so she wouldn’t have to jog to keep up. She brought up the prior evening and how awkward it was that they were all there alone and yet ended up being a group of exes. You couldn’t plan something like that.
“Are you anxious to get back to Thunder Point?” he asked.
“To my friends and the shop and Ray Anne, yes, always. It turned out to be such a good move for me. And believe me, I was against it from the start. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“But you did it,” he said. Impulsively, he reached for her hand, holding it. “You picked yourself up and made yourself do it. I think maybe you’re the strongest person I know.”
“No,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. “Not me.”
“Yes, you. Look at yourself. You somehow pulled yourself together and tried. I’m so impressed by you.”
“You should have seen me the day I arrived in Thunder Point. Ray Anne was appalled. For one thing, it took me far longer to get there than it should have and Ray Anne was ready to call the state troopers to ask if there had been any accidents. I told her I stopped to look at the ocean, which was true. What I didn’t tell her was that I had contemplated just throwing myself off a cliff.”
He scowled. “You’re intentionally scaring me.”
She ignored him. “I had lost a lot of weight since the baby died and was swimming in my clothes. I was pale because I hadn’t been eating, hadn’t left the house in months. My hair was... I can’t even describe it. Neglected is probably the kindest word. I could have made a public service commercial for severe depression.”
“Yet, look at you a few weeks later.” He gave her hand a squeeze.
“Ray Anne couldn’t stand looking at me! She took me, kicking and screaming, for a makeover. She warned me that it might not help the mess on the inside but we had to spare the public what I was showing on the outside. She had a point. Even I find it easier to look in the mirror.”
“And how about that cliff thing?” he asked.
“I’m not suicidal,” she said. “The only thing I really want, suicide wouldn’t get me. I want for it never to have happened. I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
He stopped walking and faced her. He took her other hand. “I want to tell you something. I can’t even explain the dark place I was in a few months ago. I didn’t go through nearly what you did but I was in a black, foul temper I couldn’t shake. I did a lot of stupid self-destructive things and didn’t just hurt myself—I hurt other people, too. And then I met you and things began to change. Just knowing you, talking to you, looking forward to the next time we’d talk or get together—it pulled me out of the hell I was living in. Ginger, I don’t want to heap any more trouble on you, but if I didn’t have you right now, my family would still be calling me Mad Matt. I rely on you. You lift me up. And the best part is, I don’t think you really even mean to. It’s just your nature. You’re the kindest person I know.”
“Matt,” she said. “Oh, that’s so nice of you to say.”
“I’m not being nice, Ginger. We connected. Maybe it was out of shared troubles but maybe that’s not all it is. Maybe when we’re done surviving this, maybe we go on to find new reasons to connect.”
She laughed softly and blushed a little, looking at her feet. Then she lifted her eyes to his. “There’s something I should tell you. There was another reason I went to Roy’s last night. It was true, I wanted to see him and know that I didn’t want him anymore, didn’t grieve him. It was also something else. I started to have warm feelings for another man. A dear man who is not dark or angry or mad. I had to be sure that one look at Mic
k wouldn’t throw me back into that spiral I was once caught up in. I wanted to be sure what I was feeling was real.”
A half smile played on his lips. “Was it?”
“I believe so, yes,” she said.
They stood on the dirt road between the orchard and the pasture that led to George’s barn. Maybe halfway there.
“Has it changed things for you like it changed things for me?” he asked.
“Yes. Remember we joked about trying again when we’re maybe fifty?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m down to forty-nine and a half.”
He just smiled. Then he leaned toward her and pressed his cheek against her cheek. He let go of one of her hands and slid his around her waist to the small of her back, just enough to hold her while he felt the softness of her cheek and the tickle of her hair. He hummed softly, content. They stood like that for a long moment. Then he slowly pulled back and while looking into her beautiful eyes, touched her lips with his. He felt her lean into him a little and watched as her eyes slowly closed.
He didn’t push his luck. He pulled back. “Was that okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Lovely.”
“How do you feel about us now?”
“Maybe forty-nine.”
He laughed loudly. “Not even forty-eight and a half? We didn’t even get a whole year? I obviously have work to do with you.”
“Be careful you don’t drive it in the other direction.”
He laughed and led her down the road toward the lambs. Matt had never had to be careful before. He’d had almost legendary success with the girls, then the women. This one wasn’t going to fall into his lap. He didn’t want her to, he realized. He wanted to work for her. Earn her. Deserve her. Be good for her. “You’re going to love the lambs,” he said.
* * *
It was such a perfect June day to gambol about the farm, Ginger thought. And that was really what they were doing, she and Matt, hand in hand, walking at a leisurely pace, visiting the new lambs and the not-so-new lambs. The babies were in the lambing pens inside, though they were big enough to be outside in such perfect weather. There were just a few late lambs; most had been born at least a month earlier.