LITMIR.BIZ

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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 sweaty palms. It’s all cool. I’m excited about being here.”

      “You never said what did it? What finally got you in rehab?” Cal and his late wife, Lynne, had tried an intervention, offering support if she’d consider sobriety, but it was a failure. Sierra wasn’t interested. She said they were overreacting.

      “Listen, something you should understand, I didn’t know I had a problem, okay? I should have, but I didn’t. I thought I drank a little too much sometimes, like everyone. I kept meaning to do better but it wouldn’t last long. I mean, I hardly ever missed work, I never got a DUI, never got DT’s when I didn’t drink and even though I did things I regretted because of alcohol, I thought that was my fault, not the booze. I decided to give rehab a try but I honestly thought I’d go into treatment and learn that everyone else had a problem and I was actually just an idiot who didn’t always use good judgment. But it didn’t work out that way. Now I know all the things I should’ve known a long time ago.” She chuckled and looked out at the view. “Imagine my surprise.”

      “I thought you were doing a lot of drugs,” he said.

      “Hardly ever,” she said. “I didn’t need drugs. I was busy drinking.”

      He was quiet for a long moment. “I’m really proud of you,” he finally said. “Nine months is good,” he said.

      “It’s

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