The Sheriff's Second Chance. Michelle Celmer
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to look away, she held her head high and nodded cordially as she climbed into her mom’s car. She chanced a peek in her rearview mirror as she drove away, feeling a deep shaft of disappointment when she realized he wasn’t watching her longingly. And why would he with a pretty young blonde vying for his attention?
Why did she even care? She wasn’t planning to stay here. As soon as she got a job offer she would be back in New York. Back to her real life.
Caitie forced herself to look away and headed home. Her mom, who had complained of a headache after dinner, was already in bed, and it was too late to start working in the yard. Cait parked herself in front of the television in the den, feeling edgy and unsettled for no good reason. She was still awake and watching a Law & Order rerun when her dad got home at midnight.
“Rough day?” he asked when he poked his head in the den to say good-night, the scent of the food he’d been cooking all day embedded in his clothes.
She sighed and said, “You have no idea.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head. She wished there were something he could do, but she was a grown woman. She needed to figure this out on her own.
“I hate seeing you so unhappy.” he said, looking troubled.
“I’m not unhappy. I guess I just feel as if I’m in flux. But everything will be better when I find a job and get back to New York.”
“A good night’s sleep will make things clearer.”
He was probably right, but when she climbed into bed an hour later, sleep wouldn’t come. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was moving a million miles an hour.
She dozed off sometime after two and woke at eight-fifteen with a blazing headache, feeling no less confused than she had been last night. She contemplated going back to sleep—and maybe staying asleep until it was time to go back to New York, but the scent of coffee coerced her out from under the covers.
She pulled a robe on over the oversize shirt she slept in and tried to finger-comb the tangles from her hair. When that proved futile, she grabbed a hair tie off the bedside table and pulled her unruly locks back into a messy ponytail instead.
On a typical day her dad would be out the door and on his way to the diner by 5:30 a.m., but when she shuffled into the kitchen he was seated at the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper. Her mom stood at the stove making pancakes, and thick-sliced pepper bacon sizzled on the griddle.
“Playing hooky?” Caitie asked, kissing his balding head.
He looked up from his paper and smiled. “I take two days a week off now.”
“Really?”
“And he never works longer than a ten-hour shift,” her mom said cheerfully. The long hours he worked, and his refusal to hire more help, had always been a source of friction between them.
Caitie poured herself a cup of coffee, then slid into the seat beside his, which had always been “her” regular spot. “How do you manage that?”
“I told you about Curtis,” her mom said, flipping the pancakes onto a plate she had warmed in the oven, cursing when she flipped a little too hard and one landed on the floor.
“Not that I recall,” Caitie said.
“Sure I did. He’s our assistant manager.” She set the serving plate of pancakes and bacon on the table, then she opened the side door and tossed the runaway pancake into the yard for the birds.
Caitie shrugged. “Not ringing a bell.”
“We hired him...how long ago, Lou?”
“Two months ago,” her dad said, helping himself to three pancakes and two slices of bacon.
“Mom, I definitely would have remembered that.”
“Eat something,” her mom said, grabbing a plate from the cupboard and setting it in front of her. “If you lose any more weight, you’ll disappear.”
Her mom piled two pancakes and four slices of bacon on her plate. Feeling her arteries constrict from the potential saturated animal fat, she put two slices back on the serving plate. “I’m not very hungry.”
“What are you up to today?” her dad asked.
“Actually, I had an idea that I wanted to run past you guys,” Caitie said. “How would you feel if I used my time off to do some sprucing up in the yard?”
Her mom blushed with embarrassment. “It looks awful out there, I know. It shames me every time someone comes over.”
“You don’t like to garden anymore?”
“No, I still love it, but it’s these darned headaches holding me back. Intense sunlight will almost always trigger a migraine. I’m limited to working outside late in the evening just before dusk, but I’m so tired by then.”
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