waved, and a minute later was gone.
Sam sat down at the kitchen table, a second cup of coffee in front of him. He could see the clock on the wall across from the table. He was finishing the last of his coffee when he heard a knock on the kitchen door. He opened the door and then took a step backward. “Kind of early to be visiting, isn’t it, Tillie?”
“Yes, it is early to be visiting. I was thinking about that on the drive out here. I wasn’t sure…what I mean is, you all but ran me off the last time I was out here. I need to talk to you, Sam. Actually, the truth is, I need your help. I thought I could trade on our old friendship. It’s cold out here, can I come in?”
Sam wiggled his nose. “You smell like mothballs, Tillie. Of course you can come in. Would you like some coffee?”
Tillie was glad she had left the coffee from Wendy’s in the car.
“Yes, that would be nice. The smell…well, that’s part of my problem. Do you think you can ignore it?”
Sam turned away, his mind racing. This visit couldn’t be a good thing. He poured coffee into a mug and set it down in front of his old friend. That wasn’t quite true, Tillie had been his wife’s friend more than his. She’d always been nice to him, though. Sara had loved going to the Senior Citizen meetings and helped plan the social calendar with Tillie. He sat down across from her. He should apologize to her for running her off his property the last time she’d been out here to the farm. There was something different about her today, and it wasn’t just the mothball smell.
“I’ve managed to get myself into some trouble, Sam. I know if I tell you, you won’t go spreading my business all over town. That was one of the things I always liked about you—you didn’t gossip like the rest of us. I’m here for advice and if you can see your way clear to helping me, that will be fine, but if not, I’ll settle for the advice. Will you hear me out?”
Sam poured himself some more coffee before he settled down to listen. When Tillie finally wound down it was five-thirty. “All these years, and you never told your daughter about her father? Why, Tillie?”
Tillie shrugged. “She loved him, Sam. When I had my nervous breakdown, I abandoned her. He was all she had. He might have been a lousy husband but he was a good father to Amy. I screwed up. Everything she said about me is true. I don’t know how to undo all those years. For now, I can do everything she wants me to do, but what about afterward? I’m going to cancel the tree order, pay for my mistake, sell my house and get something smaller. I don’t need that big house. I should be okay if I get a job. I need some of your trees, Sam. I need you to sell them to me at cost. It’s the only way I can make this work. It’s not for me, Sam, it’s for the Seniors.” Tillie’s eyes filled with tears. She swiped them away with the back of her hand. “The young can be so cruel, Sam. What Amy said was all true, it was how she said it that burned to the quick. By the way, how is that son of yours who lives in California? Sara was so proud of him. Did you two make peace?”
It was Sam’s turn to open up. When he finished, Tillie stared at him wide-eyed. “Oh, Sam, how wonderful for you. He came back to help you. That means he’s forgiven you. That’s what it means, isn’t it?”
“Your girl came to help you. Do you think she’s forgiven you?”
Tillie shook her head. “No. She’s doing what she thinks a daughter should do. I guess your son is doing the same thing. How did we get to this place in time, Sam? We should be taking cruises, buying little treasures in gift stores, going to afternoon matinees, going to friends for dinner.” A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “We let it happen, Sam. We can’t blame anyone else but ourselves. It’s almost light out. I have to get back to the house. Will you think about what I asked and get back to me? I don’t have a cell phone any longer. Amy took it away and ran it under the water because she said it was growing out of my ear. Call me at home even if the answer is no.”
Sam nodded, stood up, then stunned himself by saying, “Would you like to go out to dinner this evening?”
Tillie jammed a fur-lined hat on her head. “Sure, Sam. I’d like that. Is it a date?”
Sam had to think about the question. A date was where you got dressed up, rang the lady’s doorbell. “Yep,” he said. “Just don’t wear those clothes.”
“Okay,” Tillie said as she opened the kitchen door. “It might be better if I met you wherever it is you want to go for dinner. Amy doesn’t need to know all my business.”
Sam nodded, understanding perfectly. “Do you like the Rafters?”
“I do. I’ll meet you there at seven. Or is that too late?”
“No, that will work for me, Tillie. I’ll have some answers for you tonight.”
Tillie didn’t know why she did what she did at that moment. She stood on her toes and kissed Sam’s cheek. Later she thought it was because she was just so relieved to have finally told someone her problems, someone who had actually listened. “I’ll see you this evening. Have a nice day, Sam.”
Have a nice day, Sam. She’d kissed his cheek. He could still smell her mothballs. Sam Moss laughed then, a belly laugh that was so deep the floor under his feet rumbled.
When he hit the Fraser fir field at seven-thirty, Gus looked at his father suspiciously. “Did something happen, Pop?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“You smell like mothballs.”
Sam burst out laughing as he picked up one of the chain saws and moved off. When had he last heard his father laugh? Never, that was when.
Chapter Seven
The scents emanating from the kitchen were tantalizing as Amy set the table. She was so tired she could hardly see straight. All that aside, she’d put in a productive day’s work along with her mother who was chirping about this and that, finally winding down with, “I’m sorry, Amy, but I’m going out to dinner. I guess I should have told you sooner but my head is just swimming with all we’ve done today.”
Amy looked at her mother, at the flowered dishes on the table, the lit candle, the wineglasses just waiting for her to pop the cork. She sniffed at the aromas coming from the stove, the mixed salad, and the baby carrots in the warming bowl. That was when she really noticed her mother. She smelled good. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a bun. She wore no makeup other than a little lipstick. She wore flannel slacks with a bright yellow sweater and low-heeled shoes. She looked like a matron, so unlike Amy’s always-fashionable mother that her daughter could hardly wrap her mind around the new Tillie Baran she was seeing.
What could she say other than, “Okay. I guess we’ll be eating this stuff for the rest of the week. By the way, thanks for going shopping. You certainly were up and out pretty early this morning.”
“Umm, yes. The early bird gets the worm, that kind of thing. You said you wanted me here in the kitchen at eight o’clock, so I had to take care of some business early to be back here on time. We old people don’t sleep much.”
Amy reared back. This was the first time in her memory that she could remember her mother using the word old in reference to herself. Other people were old, not Tillie. Maybe this was where she was supposed to say, “You’re not old, Mom.” She turned away to fiddle with the lid on the pot roast. “Don’t stay
