Chirp(21)

He could help with that kind of problem, and maybe she could help him find the man he used to be, before his world had fallen apart.





10


Blaze


Blaze arranged soap bars into stacks while Hanna admired the final artwork for the wrappers.

“These are so perfect, Blaze. I hate that I can’t pay you for them. But if my business catches on, I promise I will.”

Blaze considered drawing and painting a hobby and never expected to make money from it even though Dad had claimed she could. When she was twelve, he’d entered some of her paintings in Houston’s art competition, and the ribbons she’d won got her a showing in Zimmer Gallery. Having people like her work thrilled her, but she hated the promotion. Interviews with TV and radio stations made her uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you to pay.”

“Are you kidding? Do you know how much package design costs? A fortune.” Hanna giggled. “But I can barter with a lifetime of free soap.”

“I need a favor,” Blaze said.

“Now we’re talking. What?”

“Over the Rainbow is having a banquet to celebrate its golden anniversary. I need a dress.”

“Formal or church fancy?”

“Church.”

“I have just the thing. Still has the tag on it. Bought it right before I got pregnant and never wore it. After Noah was born, I increased a dress size. Anyway, I’ve kept it all these years thinking I’d get back into it, but that’s not going to happen.” Hanna put the stacks into baskets and carried them to a nearby shelf. “It’s pale blue. It’ll look beautiful with your skin tone. When we’re done you can try it on.”

“Okay. Is Rance Noah’s dad?”

Hanna gasped. “Why do you think that?”

“You didn’t want me to mention him, so I thought—Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Hanna sat again. “It was a stupid request. I mean, if Rance plans to make Bluebird his home, sooner or later he’ll meet Noah. I just wanted to put it off as long as possible. But, no, he isn’t Noah’s dad. How are things going with him? It’s been, what? Three weeks since the truce?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t talk about me leaving anymore, but he doesn’t say much of anything.”

“Well, that house must be like a tomb.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t converse much either.”

“I don’t know how to talk to him.”

“Ask about his day. The construction. If he needs help with painting. Tell him about your day. Maybe something that happened at work. Oh, here’s an idea. If you can invite someone to the banquet, ask him.”

“Why?”

“You mentioned Cameron keeps asking you out, so if you go alone, he’ll probably arrange for you to sit together. Plus, doing something social with Rance will help you feel more comfortable.”

Blaze frowned. Even though they didn’t talk much, things were better, and she didn’t want to do anything to upset him. “He doesn’t really like me. I mean, he doesn’t fuss anymore or use that gruff tone like he did. Mostly ignores me,” she said. “Besides, why would he go on a date with me? I’m not anything like the women he brings home.”

“It won’t be a date. It’ll be a plus one. The two of you live together, so you should try to become friends. Tomorrow night at supper, promise you’ll say at least one thing to start a conversation.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now let’s go try on that dress.”



The next day Blaze couldn’t concentrate on work for thinking about the promise she’d made. Idle conversation had never come easy, and the idea of making small talk with Rance caused her stomach to cramp. She’d practiced talking to her clients, and it was a good thing they were deceased or all of them would have complained. She’d smeared Mrs. Elmore’s nail polish, gotten Mrs. Crane’s hair too puffy, and nicked Mr. Rockwell’s chin.

The more she thought about it, asking Rance to the banquet was a bad idea. Why would he even consider it? But a promise was a promise. Dad always said if you couldn’t keep your word, it wasn’t worth anything. He was talking about business, but she got the message. Subtle parenting 101.

She checked the clock once more. Already three. Why was it when she looked forward to something, time crawled, but when she dreaded something, it sprouted wings?

Dusting the excess rouge from her brush, Blaze stroked it over Mr. Robertson’s cheeks. What would the town do, now that their local Santa had passed? She’d made sure his cheeks were like roses but couldn’t pull off a cherry nose and droll mouth.

Blaze remembered a photo she’d seen of Rance sitting on old Saint Nick’s lap. Couldn’t have been more than eight. After Dessie had gotten sick, she’d looked at that picture and all the others again and again.

A lump grew in Blaze’s throat. Nervous or not, she’d invite Rance. All she had to do was picture him as the skinny, freckle-faced kid from Christmas long ago. There was nothing scary about that boy.

When she got home, there were no workers in sight and the house was quiet. She didn’t see Rance, but both his Harley and truck were parked outside. Since tonight’s menu was spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread, it didn’t take long to prepare. He came in as she finished setting the table. “Hey, smells good. I’ll wash up and be right back.”