One Frosty Night. Janice Kay Johnson
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stopped in the Burger Barn drive-through. She was suddenly starved. Anger was apparently good for her appetite, when shock hadn’t been.
“I want a cheeseburger and fries. Diet cola.”
His eyebrow quirked, but he ordered for her and added a coffee for himself.
“You’ve already eaten,” she realized.
“At home,” he said.
“Did you have an errand in town?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Nope. On my way back to the high school. Just spotted you and your mother, both of you freely projecting hostility.”
“We weren’t.”
“If it wasn’t hostility, it was a close relation.” He turned his head when the young woman reappeared in the take-out window with bags. He handed over money before Olivia could reach for her wallet, accepted the food and drinks and started driving forward.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“You’re welcome.”
She asked if he minded if she ate; he said of course not. He took a few turns but, thank heavens, didn’t head for any of the popular parking spots. Instead, he chose a lane that led to a now snow-covered field, turned around and set the emergency brake. He was nice enough to leave the engine running so they still had heat.
They sat in silence for a while, until she noticed he was amused by the way she was gobbling her French fries. Flushing, she wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“I noticed at the funeral that the two of you weren’t standing near each other,” he said, instead of remarking on her gluttony. “I figured you were both trying to keep your composure and were afraid you’d set each other off. But that wasn’t it, was it?”
She both wanted and didn’t want to talk. Why was Ben the only person who’d noticed something was wrong? Or had other people, but he was the only one with the nerve to be so nosy?
Or the only one who cared enough?
No, she couldn’t believe that. Whatever relationship they’d had was long past. Those words, I’ve met someone else, had been said sixteen years ago. Half a lifetime, for her. They’d hardly spoken since.
If she could just think of him as a high school friend...
“You know what Mom and Dad were like,” she said. “So obviously in love even after all these years.”
Ben nodded. Everyone noticed.
“It’s probably why I’m not married. High expectations, you know?”
He nodded again, but she noted, when she sneaked a peek, that his face was particularly unreadable. Did he think she was slamming him for dumping her?
Ancient history, she told herself impatiently.
“After his first heart attack, Mom was so scared,” Olivia continued. “But three months or so ago, something happened. They practically quit talking. Mom moved into the guest bedroom. Neither of them would tell me what was going on.”
Now Ben looked surprised. “Your parents?”
“It was...weird. I think Mom was the one who was mad. Is mad,” she corrected herself softly. “But what could Dad have done? I mean, he’d hardly left the house since they released him from the hospital. I was running the business, so it wasn’t anything related to that.”
“I can’t imagine.” Ben frowned. “Besides, your mother must have known he was living on borrowed time.”
Olivia stared straight ahead through the windshield. “Even when he died, I could tell she was angry. Grieving, but not the way you’d expect. They’d been married thirty-eight years!” She shifted in the seat to look at Ben. “We buried him four days ago. Four! Do you know why we were having lunch today? So she could announce that she’s putting the house on the market.”
He stared. “Already?”
“That’s what I said! Then she said, ‘I’m a widow now, and I’m ready to downsize. Is that so bad?’ We’ve barely washed the sheets from their bed!”
“Did she move back into their bedroom after he died?”
Olivia shook her head. “I think selling the house is her way of leaving him. Too late for a divorce, but she has to reject him somehow. And apparently, she can’t stand to wait another minute.”
He watched her, expression troubled. “You don’t have any idea what it could have been.”
“No.” She looked away. “He died right after—”
“I know when he died.” One large hand pried the small container of fries out of her hand, and she realized she’d been squeezing it in a fist. Ben set it between the seats. “Maybe attending the funeral got to him.” He hesitated. “It was a cold day. That couldn’t have been good for him.”
“What you really mean is, he looked into that hole in the ground and saw his own mortality.”
“It’s possible,” he said gently.
Olivia’s shoulders sagged. “He was acting...strange. I tried to talk him out of going.”
“Your mother didn’t go.”
She made a face. “They weren’t speaking. How could she?”
“Is she mad at you, too?”
Olivia pondered his question for a minute and finally had to answer truthfully, “I don’t know. She doesn’t like me pushing for answers. But also...I was always kind of Daddy’s girl. A tomboy.” Like he didn’t know that. “More interested in the business than I was in clothes or homemaking.”
From the minute she’d been old enough, she had worked part-time at the hardware store, full-time in the summer all the way through college. It’s why she’d been able to step in comfortably after his heart attack.
As a wounded sixteen-year-old, she hadn’t been able to help wondering if she just wasn’t feminine enough to keep Ben’s attention. In Crescent Creek, his options had been limited, but once he was surrounded by beautiful college girls, the girlfriend he’d left behind would have been cast in new relief. A giraffe—tall, skinny, lacking enough curves. Better with a circular saw than she was with a mascara wand.
Feeling impatient, she told herself it had been too long ago for her to still be wondering.
“So your mother believes you were on his side.” Ben sounded thoughtful now. “Or thinks you’d be sympathetic to him on whatever their issue was.”
“Issue?” she echoed. “That’s a mild way of describing something that would split them, of all people, apart.”
“Maybe they weren’t as solid as they seemed.”
“A few months ago, I’d have laughed at that suggestion. I know my parents.” More softly, she amended, “I thought I knew my parents.”
“You know she’ll talk to you eventually.”
“Do I?” Olivia sighed. “If she was only hurt, I’d agree, but she’s harboring so much anger. And that’s not like Mom.”
This time he didn’t say anything. After all, he didn’t know her parents the way she did.
She turned her head and really looked at him. “You haven’t heard anything, have you? You know... Rumors. If you have, please tell me. Don’t think I’m better off not knowing.”
But he was shaking his dark head long before she finished. “I haven’t, Olivia. Not a word. People are feeling really bad for your mom.”
She went back to staring out at the snowy landscape. “She wants me to help clean the house out. Get it ready to sell. I said, ‘Gee, that sounds