Any Day Now. Robyn Carr
dormers added to what were once haylofts, the wiring refreshed, the interior gutted and windows installed where there had been none, they’d been living at Sully’s, in his basement. Tom, Cal and a few extra hands had finally finished off a bedroom and functional bathroom along with a semifunctional kitchen. That bedroom on the ground floor would eventually be Cal’s office when the house was finished. The proper master bedroom would be upstairs. They had a good seal on their temporary bedroom door so they could sleep there and not be overcome by sawdust or the dirt of construction. They’d been in residence two weeks, thanks to warmer weather and a good space heater.
Maggie spent most of her free time at the store helping her dad. Then there were those three or four days a week she was in Denver where she practiced neurosurgery. On her practice days she stayed at the Denver house she’d owned for several years. During her days away, Cal and Tom did the things that were noisiest, smelliest and messiest—the pounding and sawing, cutting granite and quartz, applying the noxious sealer, installing the floors, sanding and staining. Every time Maggie came home it was like Christmas—she’d find new stairs to the second floor, a bathtub, a new kitchen sink, ceramic tile on the kitchen floor, half a fireplace. But the most precious addition of all was the Shop-Vac. That little beauty kept dirt, sawdust, spillage and debris manageable. It was their goal to have the house finished before the baby came, due in October.
Tom Canaday was at the house, his truck backed up to the door, before Cal had finished making Maggie breakfast—very likely by design. Cal got the eggs back out and started making more breakfast.
Tom brought his twenty-year-old son, Jackson; something he did whenever Jackson had a day free of classes. In the cavernous great room they sat at a long picnic table. Tom had thrown it together and it became the table they ate at, spread plans on, used as a carpenter’s bench, a desk when they held meetings. They met with subcontractors there, spread material samples or design renderings on it, looked through catalogs. It was truly multipurpose.
Once Maggie had gone to Sullivan’s Crossing, the men were still seated at the picnic table, finishing a second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door.
“She forget something?” Tom asked.
“Maggie wouldn’t knock,” Cal said, going to the front door.
Standing just outside on the step, was a pretty girl with light brown hair streaked with honey. She had peachy skin and a pretty mouth stretched into a smile. She wore tight jeans with fashionably torn knees, but Cal guessed hers weren’t purchased that way. Her hoody was tied around her neck. The sight of her made his eyes glitter with happiness.
“Well, you finally got around to me,” he said. He lifted her off the ground with his hug. “How are you?”
“Good. Brand-new. I love this place.”
“You might get a little tired of it this month—March is pretty sloppy.”
“Yeah, that happens,” she said.
He looked beyond her to the little orange VW parked on the road. Not new, that’s for sure. He thought he saw a piece of twine holding the front bumper in place. Then he looked back at his sister. “The pumpkin,” she said with a smile.
“You must’ve looked hard for that thing,” he said.
“She came at a good price.”
“Hard to believe,” he said facetiously. He always forgot how beautiful she was. She was thirty now but still looked like a girl. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to look into her clear brown eyes. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
“Never better,” she said. “Really.”
“Are you going to stay here until you find something?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Found something already. It’s temporary, but clean, safe, comfortable and convenient. The hostel in town. It’ll keep me very well while I look around some more.”
Sierra looked past him. Wires were hanging from the ceiling and sticking out of walls, building debris was scattered everywhere, stacks of wallboard, tarps, doors leaning against walls, piles of supplies from plumbing fixtures to hinges. “Love what you’ve done to the place, California.”
Someone cleared his throat and Cal turned to see Tom and Jackson staring at Sierra with open mouths and wide-eyed wonder. “Oh, sorry, guys. Tom, Jackson, this is my sister Sierra. Sierra that’s Tom and his son, Jackson. We’re building together. Remodeling the barn. Like I told you the last time we talked—it’s going to be our house by the time the baby comes.”
“Amazing,” she said, looking around the massive interior. “Put up some walls, California. You don’t want to be living in an arena.”
“Right,” he said, smiling. “Listen guys, Sierra and I have some catching up to do. I want to take her over to Sully’s to see Maggie. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours but I’ll be back. You okay without me?”
Jackson grinned. “Sometimes we’re better without you.”
“Way to pump my ego,” Cal said. “See you in a while.” He pulled the door closed and steered Sierra toward her car. “Can I drive?”
“The pumpkin? I guess... But she’s very sensitive. You’ll have to be gentle. Don’t grind the gears or pump the brakes.” She pulled a key out of the pocket of her tight jeans. “But why?”
He grabbed it. “Indulge me. I want to see how it handles on these mountain roads.”
She slid into the passenger seat. “Okay, but no matter how much you love her, you can’t have her.”
The first thing he did was grind the gears. “Sorry,” he said. She groaned.
He was smoother then, driving around the foothills. There were a lot of sharp turns, uphill and downhill grades, narrow roads that briefly widened and some amazing mountain vistas. At a widened lookout, Cal pulled the pumpkin right up to the edge and stopped.
“Not bad, Sierra,” he said. “Kind of creaky, isn’t she?”
“She likes me better,” Sierra said. “I have a sweet touch and you’re a clod.”
“It suits you, this little orange ball. How was your drive down?”
“Pretty. A little rainy. Colorado is beautiful.”
“I worried, you know. Thinking about you making that drive all alone when I could have ridden with you...”
She laughed outright. “God, I needed to be alone more than you’ll ever know! Do you have any idea how rare time alone was for me the last nine months?”
“That wasn’t one of the things I thought about,” he admitted. He’d spent all his energy fearing her relapse. Or worse.
“I’ve been living with people for nine months, first in rehab and then in a group home. It taught me a lot, I’m the first to admit that. But it also drove me crazy. For a long day on the road, I could actually hear the inside of my head. My first day in Timberlake there were elk right in the town. On the main street, weaving through the cars.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that. I’ve heard it happens but never saw it.” He gave her knee a pat. “Tell me if there’s anything you need. If there’s anything I can do to make this move, this transition, easier for you.”
She shook her head. “Nothing at the moment. I planned it very carefully, down to the tiniest detail. If I need anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You’re being very brave,” he said. “You left your support system and came all the way to—”
“I have a phone, Cal. I’m in touch with my sponsor and will be going to meetings now and then, looking for a local sponsor. I’m in touch with a couple of the women in recovery I lived with the last six months. We shore each other up and...” She took a breath. “And I’m not fragile, all right? See—no