Heartache Falls (24 page)

Talk remained on college sports after that, and Mac’s steps were a little lighter on the way back home.

Ten days after the kids’ visit to Denver, with meetings surrounding the sale of the Bristlecone popping up almost daily, work kept Ali in Eternity Springs more often than she had anticipated or Mac liked. Her misgivings about the sale had continued to grow until she’d decided to broach the subject with Celeste. It wasn’t too late to revert to the original plan. The television chef’s list of changes to the Bristlecone had yet to be begun. Celeste could call off the sale, Ali could turn her attention to hiring a manager, and the Bristlecone could be open within weeks. Celeste had listened, smiled, patted her knee, and said, “Not to worry, dear. I have a feeling all will work out exactly as it’s meant to work out.”

Mac was acting cranky, too, which didn’t help Ali’s mood at all. Yes, she was busy. But how many times over the years had she been patient and understanding during a particularly busy trial? Couldn’t he return the favor?

When a knock sounded on her office door, she glanced up from the computer screen. Sage Rafferty stood in the doorway. “Hey, Ali. Are you planning to go to quilt group tonight?”

“Yes.”

Sage held up a canvas tote bag. “My husband has talked me into skipping out this week, so would you deliver my squares for me? Colt is craving Italian food and he wants to drive to Gunnison tonight.”

“I’ll be happy to take your squares … although you know you’ll catch grief from the group.”

“I know, but he looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and I couldn’t resist. Unless …” With a hopeful note in her voice, she asked, “Do you have any lasagna leftovers in your fridge? That’s what he really wants. Your lasagna.”

Flattered, Ali shook her head. “Sorry. I haven’t cooked up here in weeks.”

Ali thought of the conversation later as she made her way to the workroom at Angel’s Rest where the Patchwork Angels met. Their Hopes and Wishes wedding gown quilt was nearly finished, and Ali thought it the most beautiful quilt she’d ever seen. Celeste intended to use it in the Timberline suite at Angel’s Rest, and Ali couldn’t wait to see it on the bed. Seeing strips of her own wedding gown in the quilt top gave her a warm sense of satisfaction. Despite
Mac’s cranky attitude of late, Ali was happier than she’d been in months, and she did have hope that her marriage would survive these trying times.

At three o’clock her phone rang, and Ali recognized the Los Angeles number on the caller ID. She groaned aloud, then drew a deep, calming breath, crossed her fingers, and answered the call. “Hello?”

“Alison Timberlake, please.”

It was the same voice who had answered the call she’d placed earlier in the week. Bracing herself, she said, “This is she.”

“Hello, Mrs. Timberlake. This is Paul Harrington’s assistant. He asked me to let you know that he’s unable to get away a day early after all. If you still want the meeting, we’ll need to leave it for tomorrow as scheduled.”

Well, shoot
. Afraid this might be the case, Ali had made her decision beforehand. “That’s fine. I appreciate your letting me know. I absolutely do want to keep the meeting, and I’ll plan on meeting him tomorrow morning at ten at the Bristlecone, just like we’d planned.”

“Excellent. I will let him know. Good-bye.”

Ali disconnected the call, closed her eyes, and sighed. She wouldn’t make it home for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters event tomorrow. Mac wasn’t going to like that.

That evening she climbed the stairs to the workroom carrying four dozen assorted chocolate candies, knowing LaNelle would scold her for bringing a potential mess into the workroom, but also aware that sometimes a girl simply needed her chocolate.

When she arrived, Rose, Celeste, and Sarah were
already there. Ali took one look at an obviously stressed Sarah and asked, “Is it your mother or Lori?”

“Mom. She had a little bit of a spell while at the store and ended up lost in the library.”

“Someone is staying with her tonight, I trust?” Celeste asked.

“Yes. Linda Townsend. Could we not talk about it, please? I really need to kick back and relax.”

Ali handed Sarah a box of chocolates. “Here, have two. You need them.”

The evening sped by in pleasant company, but by nine o’clock Ali knew she’d better get back to the carriage house and call home. All in all, she’d rather invite the black bear that had wandered onto her porch yesterday in for tea than make this particular phone call to her husband.

Driving home from work, Mac was not a happy man. Today had been a real bear.

It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t enter or leave the courthouse without some idiot snapping his photograph, or that the prosecution team should be fired for stupidity and the defense team jailed for bad acting. Oh, no. He also got to deal with the Hollyweird people. What had Louise been thinking, giving his phone number to Court freaking TV? So what if his “leading-man good looks” appealed to the favored advertising demographic? Louise should have known that he had no desire to be “Judge Mac,” especially since he already had his fill of those types due to the grief they were causing Ali. But no, even his silver-haired
secretary had fallen for this celebrity nonsense. It was pitiful.

Dangerous, too, as he’d discovered during the lunch break.

Two or three times a week, Mac walked to the deli a couple blocks away from the courthouse and grabbed a sandwich. Today, right after he’d placed his order for a turkey sandwich, a man showed up brandishing a gun.

At first, Mac had thought he’d stumbled into a robbery, but when the nut job starting shouting about earned-run averages, he’d realized that the word
fan
truly was short for
fanatic
. The fellow actually got a shot off before the deli owner pulled a baseball bat, appropriately enough, from behind the counter and felled the attacker with a swing for the bleachers.

The only saving grace in the entire situation was the fact that the paparazzi weren’t on hand to photograph the whole thing live, and the one cell phone video that popped up on YouTube didn’t include Mac in any of the shots. Still, it made for a long, crappy afternoon.

Arriving home to an empty house didn’t improve his mood any, either. “Ali should be here,” he told Gus as he let the dog inside. “Any day a man gets shot at while at work, his wife should be around to kiss him when he gets home.”

This was where she belonged, not up in Eternity Springs. He needed her. He wanted her. She should be here.

He hit the button on the answering machine as he flipped through the mail. Fifteen messages from friends. He’d already talked to the kids, calling them
as soon as he’d realized the event was going public. Perversely, he hadn’t phoned Ali. He told himself he didn’t want to interrupt her workday, but in a moment of self-honesty, he admitted that he waited for her to hear the news and call and fawn over him.

One of the messages on the machine was from her, though it wasn’t fawning. All she said was that she was on her way to quilt group but would call when it was over. Obviously she hadn’t watched the news today or talked to the kids.

Hungry because he never did get his turkey sandwich but too tired to cook, he ordered a pizza, then opened a beer and sat down in front of the television, remote in hand, watching an ESPN Classic college football broadcast of the 1993 Sugar Bowl. After this trial, baseball might be ruined for him forever.

The phone rang shortly after the pizza came while Mac shared the crust of his first piece with Gus. Expecting it to be Ali, Mac didn’t check caller ID before answering. “Hello.”

“Hello, Mackenzie,” said the familiar, smoky voice.

Mom
. He closed his eyes. He should have expected this when he’d answered her letter. He should have known that she wouldn’t settle for a long-distance form of communication. “How did you get this number?”

“The Internet is a grand invention.”

“I’m not listed.”

“No, but it’s amazing how much one can learn with a birth date and social security number.”

Mac closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “What do you want, Brenda?”

The pout in her voice hummed along the phone wires. “What happened to Mom?”

That’s the question I’ve always asked
.

He waited her out and she finally said, “Okay, if you’re going to be that way … I’m in a bit of a bind.”

Surprise, surprise
.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my job—the poor dear passed on last week—and the rent’s due.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she’d helped the “poor dear” along on her way, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I was hoping you could spare a little cash.”

Of course. What else? He was surprised it had taken this long for her to ask.

Before answering her letter, Mac had considered the probability that this request would be forthcoming, and he’d prepared a response. Although he’d expected to do it by letter or maybe email, not the phone. “Brenda, where are you?”

“Oklahoma. Tulsa, Oklahoma.”

Oklahoma was too close. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the end table. “I will pay your rent this month. Give me the name of the place.”

“You can just send it to me.”

“Yes, I could, but I won’t. Name and address of the landlord?”

Following a pause, she said, “Well, aren’t you just a little pain in the ass.”

“I’m willing to help you, Brenda, to a point. However, I won’t be lied to. If you want my help, you need to be honest with me.”

She waited a moment, and he imagined the wheels
spinning in her head. Mac put the chances of truth coming out of her mouth at less than fifty-fifty. “All right,” his mother said, sighing heavily. “I didn’t want you to learn this. It’s embarrassing. I’m with a man and he’s abusive. Not physically, so the cops can’t do anything, but mentally. I want to get away from him, and I’ve been squirreling money away so that I can leave.”

Mac knew then that he’d been a fool. One thing about his mother, she’d always been smart. She could figure the angle on any situation and make it work for herself. Obviously he had to rethink his position on what sort of help he was willing to give her. He had to figure out the point in his own mind where soothing his conscience became extortion. “Listen, Brenda. I’m in the middle of something here. Call me this time tomorrow and I’ll have something for you.”

He disconnected the call without allowing her the opportunity to argue, then shoved himself off the sofa and began to pace his office. Anger and annoyance churned through him. He didn’t need this. Not today. Not any day. He’d kept this life separate from that life for a quarter of a century. When he first started dating Ali, he’d told her his mother was dead! Imagine how she’d react if Brenda showed up on the doorstep now. Ali didn’t abide lies, and if she were to discover one this big, at this particular point in their lives …

It wouldn’t be good. It would damage the marriage.

Yet if she were here right now—where she should be—he just might confess all. He could almost see himself laying it all out, telling her the truth about his
childhood, his teenage years. Admitting what he’d done at his mother’s behest.

Hell, if Alison were home right now, he might even admit what he’d done to her, back when he’d still been his mother’s son.

Right at this moment, the idea of doing that didn’t sound so bad. Maybe that’s what he should do. Just get everything out in the open and see if they could survive it.

“Doesn’t matter, though, does it?” he muttered aloud. “She’s not here. She’s not home. I get shot at today, my serpent of a mother slithers out of the past, and my wife is up in Eternity Springs playing Mountain Susie Quiltmaker.”

Gus whimpered his support as Mac stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Although nothing stopped him from picking up the phone and calling her, that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to call him, to fawn and fuss. He wanted Ali to be his wife and mother him. She mothered everyone else in the world. It was his turn.

But the phone didn’t ring. Gus began to whine. Mac was seconds away from throwing something or kicking something when he decided to go for a swim. It took him forty minutes in the pool to work off his temper and the stress of the day.

When he returned to the house, it took exactly eight seconds for it to come roaring back.

The message light blinked on the phone. He punched it and heard his wife’s voice. “Hi, Mac. Sorry I missed you. It’s been a really busy day, a tough day, and I’m whipped and on my way to bed. I, um, need to let you know that I have a meeting with a
California money guy in the morning that I’d hoped to move up but couldn’t, so I won’t make it to the Big Brothers/Big Sisters event. I’m really sorry, but this meeting is really important for Celeste and the sale of the Bristlecone, and I know you’ll understand. Again, sorry I missed you. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Love you. G’night.”

She
had a hard day? Mac stood in his office, breathing hard, eyeing the answering machine like it was something dirty. He could call her back and have this out now, over the phone. After a moment of deliberation, he decided against it. This was a conversation they needed to have in person.

Instead, he unplugged the answering machine, picked it up off the desk and tucked it beneath his arm, then carried it out to the trash can behind the garage. He yanked off the lid, threw the machine inside the empty metal can, then slammed the lid back on. It clanged satisfactorily, and Mac went back inside the house and went to bed.

He let the dog sleep at the foot of the mattress.

THIRTEEN