What She'd Do for Love. Cindi Myers
shook his head. “I doubt it. The state’s going to build a new highway that bypasses Cedar Grove and offers a more direct route into Dallas.”
Why hadn’t Dad mentioned this in one of her weekly calls home? “When did this happen?” she asked.
“Oh, they decided it months ago,” he said.
“You never said anything.”
“I didn’t think it would interest you. After all, you don’t live here anymore.”
“But this will always be my home. Of course it matters to me. How can they just decide to divert traffic that way? They must know how much it will hurt the town.”
He shrugged. “It’s the state. They can do what they want.”
“Without even asking the people what they want? Didn’t anyone in town object— protest?”
“Oh, a few people wrote letters to the editor and to their congressmen. But it didn’t make any difference in the end. Now we’ve accepted it and are focused on getting on with things the best we can.”
“But you can’t...let the town die.” She felt like crying all over again. Cedar Grove was home as much as the ranch was. She’d bought her first prom dress at Mavis Butler’s dress shop, with money she’d made working part time at the grocery store. Her first date with Jordan Ledbetter had been to the movies at the Bijou Theatre, and her high school band had marched down Main Street every Fourth of July in the parade.
“The town won’t die,” Dad said. “It will simply change. Everything changes.”
“But not every change is good.” Her home wasn’t supposed to change that drastically—home was supposed to be the one constant in her life that she could count on. “Someone should do something to stop this.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “But I have more important things to worry about than a highway project.”
She waited for him to elaborate on what those things might be, but he’d fallen silent, staring off into the middle distance. She wondered if he even remembered she was here. With his graying hair and hunched back, he looked so much older than she remembered—her father wasn’t supposed to get old. He was always supposed to be the tough cowboy, sitting tall in the saddle, master of his domain. The man who could fix anything and solve any problem for his little girl.
But she wasn’t little anymore, and even though she’d run back home, she couldn’t expect her parents to solve all her problems. “Thanks for letting me stay for a while,” she said. “I promise I’ll do my share around here, and I’ll leave before I wear out my welcome.”
She expected him to say she was always welcome here, but that part of the familiar script had changed, too. He hefted himself out of the recliner. “Come on. Let’s get the rest of your things out of your car and get you settled. You’ll need to put sheets on the bed.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. I’m here to help, not to make more work.”
He surprised her then, by slipping his arm around her and pulling her close in a hug so hard she feared her ribs might crack. “It’s good to see you, Pumpkin,” he said. “You caught us by surprise, but now that you’re here, we’re glad.”
She blinked back stinging tears and laid her head on his shoulder. How many times over the years had he held her while she cried about everything from a lost dog to a boy who’d hurt her feelings? At least he hadn’t changed; he was still the strong cowboy she could always rely on to be there for her. “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad to be here.” Really glad. Now she could start her life heading in the right direction again, with home as the unchanging, fixed anchor point from which she could launch herself into the world once more.
The next morning Christa was surprised to find her mother seated at the breakfast table, sipping coffee and reading the paper, Jet curled at her feet, while her father scrambled eggs and made toast. “You’re making breakfast?” Christa asked, unable to hide her surprise. Her mother was the one who cooked, while her father read the paper.
“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about. Coffee’s over there.” He nodded to the current generation of the drip coffeemaker that had been a fixture in that corner of the kitchen for as long as Christa could remember.
She poured a cup of coffee and sat at her familiar place at the round wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. Her father slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of her, and Jet moved over to sit by her chair, hoping for a handout. She slipped him a bite of egg. “This looks good,” she said, noting the fluffy pile of eggs and just-brown toast with twin yellow pools of butter. “Good for you, Mom, letting Dad wait on you for a change.”
Her mother winced and set down her coffee cup. “Did you get everything sorted in your room?” she asked.
“Pretty much. I didn’t bring a lot.” She paused for a bite of egg and toast—not as good as her mom’s, but not bad. “I only plan to stay a few weeks—a couple of months at most. Just until I can regroup and find a new job.”
“It’s a shame about Pemberton,” Mom said. “You always sounded so happy when you talked about your work there.”
“It was the perfect job,” Christa said. “I got along great with everyone, and I loved the creative challenge of designing new marketing programs. We did everything from single print ads to lengthy television campaigns. My clients were a nice mix of private companies and nonprofits. My bosses were great, and the location was ideal.” She got a little choked up, just thinking about how lucky she’d been to land such a great position right out of college. She’d planned to stay there until she retired.
“I’m sure you’ll find something else you’ll love just as much,” Mom said. “Where have you applied so far?”
“Um, I’m still considering my options.” She enjoyed the last of the toast and egg. “I don’t want to rush into anything I’ll regret.”
“You can stay here as long as you like,” Mom said. “I’m sure it will be nice for you to touch base with your friends in town. What did you plan to do today?”
She pushed aside her empty plate. “I hadn’t planned on doing much of anything. I thought it would be nice for the two of us to visit.”
Mom and Dad tried to be subtle, but Christa would have had to be blind to miss the look they exchanged—as if they were two guilty crooks agreeing on a cover story. “I want you to run some errands in town for me,” Mom said. “I need a few things.”
“Why don’t we go together?” Christa said. “We could have lunch at the Blue Bell.” The Blue Bell Café was an institution in Cedar Grove. Christa and her mom had shared many confidences—from discussions of first bras and first boyfriends to the pros and cons of various colleges and career paths—over coffee and pie at the Blue Bell. Going there today would be like old times.
But Mom shook her head. “I’ll be much too busy here at the ranch. I’d rather you went for me.”
“All right. I can do that.” Christa wanted to ask what her mother would be so busy with, but another evasive answer would hurt too much, so she pushed her curiosity aside.
After breakfast, Christa washed the dishes, then took the list her mother gave her and headed to Cedar Grove. The town seemed somewhat more lively this morning, with cars parked in front of most of the businesses. Her first stop was the library, where Mrs. Franklin manned the front desk, as she had for most of Christa’s life. “I’ve got the books your mother requested right here,” Mrs. Franklin said. She slid the stack of volumes toward Christa and studied her over the tops of her half glasses. “Are you home to stay, or is this another quick visit?”
“I’ll be here for a few weeks. Maybe as long as a couple of months. I was laid off from my job in Houston.” She might as well admit it up front; it wouldn’t take long for the news to spread in a