Diamond Company. Did they rent that space next door?”
Bonnie jumped as Beth Richards, Greg’s wife, stepped into her office. Beth volunteered at Little Spirits almost every day now that she was a woman free to look at life’s options. She’d sold the cleaning business that had kept her and her son fed while they were hiding out in Shelter Valley the previous fall.
“No,” Bonnie said, looking over the insurance forms she’d just received. She hadn’t told anyone about Diamond’s request yet. She knew that her family and friends would want to help her fight, and she had no idea what she wanted to fight for. Or if she wanted to fight at all.
“Darn.” Beth dropped into the chair across from Bonnie—just as she had all those months ago when she’d shown Bonnie the missing-persons postcard depicting Beth and her toddler son. “It’s been what—three months now? I was really hoping something would go in soon. Preferably a bookstore. I hate having to go all the way to Phoenix to buy Ryan new books.”
Bonnie smiled at the woman who, while casually dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved sweater, still looked like a fashion model. “You could always open one.”
Beth shook her head. Moving to the edge of her chair, she grinned. “I can’t run a store and the Montford classical music department, too.”
Squealing, Bonnie ran around her desk and hugged Beth. “No kidding? You got the job?”
“Will called this morning.”
The happiness she felt for Beth—and for her brother, whose life was finally falling into place—dispelled some of the confusion weighing her down. Her family was settled, healthy, content.
They talked about the logistics of the job for a couple of minutes. Ryan would be a regular student at Little Spirits, which was something they both agreed would be good for him. And though she’d be giving up her volunteering, Beth would still be able to spend some afternoons with her son.
“You have an odd look on your face,” Beth said as the two women walked through the multipurpose room toward the playground where the kids were loudly engaged in an after-lunch recess.
Bonnie shrugged and shook her head, afraid to speak in case the tears she was fighting won despite her efforts. What was the matter with her? She had it all. Why wasn’t that enough?
Linking her arm with Bonnie’s, Beth pulled her away and out another door. “Let’s walk.”
Which meant talk.
She should argue. She had work to do.
Or did she? The children in her care were all being watched by competent employees. Paperwork, other than the insurance forms, was up-to-date.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Beth released her arm as they circled the day care and strolled out to the desert beyond. “And before you say nothing, let me tell you right now that answer’s already disqualified.”
“I’m just ti—”
“Nope.” Beth shook her head. “Tired isn’t going to cut it, either. You’re the most energetic person I know, Bon, and besides that, I’m not just talking about this week. The guys might not have noticed yet, but you’ve lost your spark.”
“Keith noticed.”
“I don’t think Greg has, but then, he’s not looking. All he knows is that you’re married to the man you love, have the child you’ve always wanted and the career of your dreams.”
“I know.”
On the other side of the desert lot was a quiet residential street. Beth took the sidewalk away from town. And said nothing. Bonnie’s new sister-in-law, who’d quickly become her closest friend, already knew her well.
“There’s really nothing wrong,” Bonnie said slowly, wanting above all to present her case honestly. “As you said, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. And I’m incredibly thankful for that.”
Someone needed to clean the gravel out of the cracks in this sidewalk.
“But?”
“I don’t know,” Bonnie said, frustration welling up inside her. She glanced at the clear, blue Arizona sky—illuminated by a sun that was already heating this March day to Midwest summer temperatures.
She slid her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “Have you ever had the feeling that the role you’re playing isn’t significant?”
“Of course you’re significant, Bonnie!” Beth said, stopping to stare at her. “My gosh! This entire family revolves around you.”
“Only because I got here first,” she said. “It could just as easily revolve around you.”
“But you—”
“That’s not really what I meant,” Bonnie continued, cutting off Beth’s rebuttal. “And you’re right. I have no business feeling like I do and I’m just going to stop.”
She turned, heading back toward the day care.
“No.” Beth grabbed her arm. “Wait. I’m listening now. Talk to me.”
Feeling ungrateful and selfish, Bonnie tried really hard to convince herself that if she just kept working on it, she could make these feelings go away.
She’d been trying for months.
“I just feel my life is too small, that I’m not doing enough with it.”
Beth started to walk and Bonnie fell into step beside her. “With my education and capabilities, I could be helping the homeless or abused women, making some kind of real difference. Sounds crazy, huh?”
“No. Not at all.”
“The world is filled with people who need my help more than the relatively privileged, well-loved kids who come to my day care.”
“We don’t have a lot of homeless people here,” Beth said softly. “And though I’m sure there are some, there probably aren’t many abused wives, either.”
“That’s part of the problem, I think. Shelter Valley is such a protected—and protective—place that I’m isolated from larger realities.”
“So you want to leave town?”
“No!” Bonnie ran her fingers through her hair, trying to massage the ache from her head. “Of course not. Maybe I just need to feel needed.”
“Which you are, of course, by so many people.”
“Yeah, but not in the way I mean.” She tried to find words to articulate things she wasn’t sure she understood. “Last week, after the fire, Shane Bellows helped me clean up. All I did was talk to him for an hour and yet I left feeling I’d really used my life for a greater good. He was responsive and just so happy to be part of an adult conversation. He needs a friend, Beth, someone who’ll treat him like a grown man with something to contribute, instead of the half person he’s sort of become. It’s that kind of satisfaction I’m missing. I think.”
“Be
