“He’s doing all right,” he answered honestly.
Pete shook his head. “The brain’s a complicated thing, isn’t it?”
Joe nodded. “It is. He can tell you exactly what he paid for every car he ever purchased, yet he has trouble making change for a dollar.”
“How’s Letty been working out for you?”
Letty was a retired nurse Joe had hired to look after his father whenever he was gone. “She’s been great. She certainly has made my life a lot easier.”
“I knew she would.” Pete nodded toward the hardware store. “You going in or coming out?”
“In. Need to get a washer for a faucet. What about you?”
“I’m on my way to get my ears lowered,” he said, glancing in the direction of the barbershop down the street. “But I’m glad I ran into you. About this fella that’s looking for you…should I tell him to stop by?”
What Joe didn’t want was people coming to his place. His home at the lake was his sanctuary. The fewer people who visited there, the less complicated his life would be. “I’ll tell you what. How about if I give him a call when I get back to the house?” he suggested.
“Good enough.” Pete gave him the man’s name, then bid Joe goodbye, leaving him with a “You take care now.”
Joe certainly would do just that. He’d taken a lot of care from the very first day he’d arrived in northern Minnesota. He’d been careful to mind his own business, careful not to raise anyone’s curiosity about his or his father’s past, and especially careful not to give anyone a reason to believe he was anything but a concerned son who’d brought his ailing father to spend what was left of his life in the peaceful woods near the Canadian border.
No question—Joe would take very good care not to let his past catch up with him.
“I WISH I COULD GO WITH,” ten-year-old Emma said on a sigh as she watched her mother apply mascara to lashes that were already long and lush.
“You wouldn’t enjoy yourself,” Frannie Harper told her daughter.
“Yes, I would. Auntie Lois is so much fun.”
Lois was fun, Frannie thought as memories of their last night out together filtered through her mind. Latin music, salsa dancing, Corona beer, handsome men.
“Sorry, love, this is a night for grown-ups only.”
And there weren’t many of those in her life, Frannie acknowledged as she put aside the mascara and went to the closet. Being a single parent, she’d had little time for anything except work and taking care of her family. Nor did she have the money for going out with the girls—something she was reminded of when she opened her closet door.
She grimaced as she pushed aside hangers holding garments that should have been relegated to the rag bag years ago, but still constituted her wardrobe. She didn’t have a single thing that could be classified as trendy. Practical yes, trendy no. She knew the kind of places her sister frequented, and they were filled with people wearing the latest styles.
She sighed, knowing she really had only one choice: Old Faithful. It was a black sheath with a touch of glitter, a dress she figured she must have worn at least a hundred times. “Timeless” was how the clerk who’d sold it to her had described it. “Boring” was how Frannie had come to look at it. She dragged it from the hanger and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror.
“One hundred and one,” she mumbled to herself as she tugged the dress over her head.
“One hundred and one what, Mommy?” Emma asked.
“Nothing, sweetie. I was wondering if I’ve worn this dress a hundred times yet,” she said as she straightened the hemline.
“I’d wear it a million times if it were mine. It’s so pretty,” Emma said with a childlike sincerity.
Frannie sighed. “It’s old.”
“You said there’s nothing wrong with old,” Emma reminded her.
Frannie smiled.So my words come back to haunt me. “You’re right. Old is comfortable.”
When Frannie spritzed her neck with a cologne Lois had given her for her birthday, Emma said, “You never wear perfume. Are you going looking for men?”
She put her hands on her hips and clicked her tongue. “You know better than to even ask that question. I have all the men in my life that I need.”
Emma slipped her feet into Frannie’s high-heel sandals and walked over to the mirror where she pirouetted on wobbly legs. “I’m never getting married.”
As much as Frannie was tempted to say, “Smart girl,” she simply said, “Never is a long time.”
“I know, but I hate boys. They’re stupid. That’s why I’m never getting married,” Emma insisted. “I’m glad you don’t have a boyfriend. They’re too messy.”
Curious, Frannie asked, “Messy how?”
“Ever since Ashley Wilcott’s mom got a boyfriend, their life’s been messed up. They don’t get to dog-sit for the humane society anymore, Ashley can’t eat her dinner on a TV tray and if she leaves even one little sip of milk in her glass he tells her she’s wasting food and makes her do extra chores. Ashley says he’s always at her house butting into their business, too.”
Frannie felt a wave of sympathy for Ashley’s mother. She knew firsthand how difficult it was for a single mom to have any kind of personal life. When Lois had finally convinced Frannie she should start dating again, it hadn’t taken long for her to realize that whether or not the kids were with her physically, they were always with her emotionally. And the few men she had brought home had been put through an inquisition no human should have to endure. Frannie had decided a long time ago that life was complicated enough without adding romance to the picture.
Just then the doorbell rang, and Emma kicked off the shoes and exclaimed in delight, “Auntie Lois is here!”
“Tell her I’m not quite ready, but I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
As Frannie ran a brush through her blond hair, she could hear the commotion her sister’s presence generated. It had always been that way. Her kids hovered around their aunt like bees around a flower.
By the time Frannie went into the living room, however, the bees and the flower were nowhere in sight. She poked her head inside the boys’ room and, as she’d expected, saw her children gathered around Lois. She held a bright yellow piece of paper in her hands that Alex snatched away when he noticed his mother.
Normally Frannie would have asked what it was they’d been looking at, but her sister’s appearance had her mouth agape. Lois’s short hair, which normally fell in soft blond layers, was the color of a red pepper, sticking straight out from her head like porcupine quills. She had on black leather pants, a matching leather bandeau top that revealed more of her midsection than it covered and platform shoes that added three inches to her already tall figure. More than trendy, Frannie thought.
“Like
