The Best of Us (Sullivan's Crossing #4)(27)

“Leigh said you never married.”

“Never came close. Oh, I had a gentleman friend or two along the way but nothing that had permanence. You?”

“I was married. Maggie’s mother and I were divorced when she was only six. I had a few issues to iron out before I could be a good father. Maggie always loved me more than I deserved.”

Helen smiled. From what she’d heard from Leigh and many others around town, Sully was quite lovable. He was so honest it was refreshing. “And did Maggie live with her mother most of the time?”

He nodded. “And her stepfather, Walter, a good and patient man. He was also a neurosurgeon. That’s how Maggie got the bug.”

“And your ex-wife?” she asked.

“A pain in the ass,” he said, chuckling. “Walter deserves a medal. Someday when we’re closer friends I’ll wear you out with complaints about my ex-wife and you’ll think I have to be exaggerating, then you’ll meet her.” He shook his head, but still he chuckled. “Now that’s out of the way I’d like to hear how it is you came to write books.”

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, Sully, but teachers are not terrifically well paid,” she said. “And I have always loved reading so much. So, I dreamed of writing for many years and then, finally, when Leigh was just a girl, I decided to try my hand at it. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Thank God, Leigh was so busy in junior high and high school, always on the run. Once I finished my lessons and grading, there was still time in my day. I was very lucky—my third completed book sold. For a while I taught and wrote, then I retired from teaching. I thought we’d get along all right with my pension and my royalties. Now she’s a doctor and doesn’t need me to support her anymore.”

“That’s almost a fairy story,” he said. “You’ve been lucky in every way, haven’t you?”

“Almost. What do you like to read?”

“Now and then I’ll read a book my friend Frank gives me. It’s always a war story.”

Very typical, she thought. “And I bet you read your newspaper till it’s shredded.”

“Pretty much. Would I like your books?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” she said with a laugh. “And that’s not important. They’re mysteries. They’re excellent fun for me, that’s why I write them. I noticed that out behind your house there seems to be an area...”

“The garden,” he said. “I had to put a fence around it when the sprouts came up. The rabbits and deer pester it. Beau does his best to keep them away but sometimes he gets too excited and tears up the garden himself.”

“You like to garden,” she said.

“I like to harvest,” he said. “You have to garden to harvest. From the end of June to September we have the best fruits and vegetables in the county. Every day. I can grow tomatoes big as grapefruit—sliced, they’re like steaks. I hope you’re around when we start to pick and pluck.”

“So do I, Sully,” she said. “Next time I’ll come a little earlier so we can have our lunch together. I bet I could get some good writing done on your porch, looking out at that beautiful lake.”

“And if there are campers, that porch on the house is all yours, any time you want it. There’s even a socket for you to plug in. And I have Wi-Fi.” He grinned at her. “Have to keep up with the times.”

“And are you on Facebook?”

He grimaced. “Don’t have to keep up with everything, do I?”

She laughed.

“Besides writing, what have you been doing to entertain yourself?” he asked.

“Exploring,” she said. “Driving around the countryside, through a lot of little towns, poking around. Some of these towns—like Leadville, Breckenridge, Timberlake—are so cute.”

“Girl, the whole damn state is cute,” he said.

Helen had stayed at Sully’s for a couple of hours and as she was leaving she thought about what a charming and lovely man he was. He called her “girl.” Obviously a habit as she was the farthest thing from a girl one could get. And he told her he was seventy-two. Once she knew the number, she thought it reasonable. Except for the fact that he was fit and strong, had a youthful smile and eyes that twinkled all the time. His forearms were well muscled and toned, his color healthy and sun kissed.

She had no trouble imagining him as quite a smoothie in his younger years. She knew he must have fascinating stories to tell. What a good friend he would make.

Leigh had a light afternoon at the clinic on Thursday with no patients scheduled after three. There could be walk-ins; she always had her phone in that case. When she was practicing in Chicago, it was always one after another, emergency room coverage wedged into days when she didn’t have family practice appointments. Small-town medicine was a whole new ball game. There were busy days but there were plenty of days that weren’t crazy.

She decided to walk down to Rob’s pub, hoping to catch up with him. She had talked to him briefly in the evenings, the sound of the pub in the background. He said that Finn had been to Denver to see Maia a couple of times. They’d been doing tests and he thought they must have her sedated because she was spacey. Leigh suspected an anticonvulsive barbiturate or a pain med for her headache, which apparently had been her most obvious symptom and complaint.