The Newcomer (Thunder Point #2)(7)

Mac came into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down with Gina and Carrie. “I called my aunt Lou and told her what was going on and that I’d be staying with you until we knew a little more. Lou will manage the family while I’m here. And I talked to Eve. She knew Ashley was all sideways about Downy and she was worried about her, but she didn’t know she’d driven to Corvallis. I find that strange—they usually know everything the other is doing. Eve thought Ashley just skipped out on practice. So I’ll stay with you until she’s home.”

“You need to get home to your own family, Mac,” Gina said, but inside she thought if he left her now, she’d collapse. “It’s just a broken heart.”

“There’s no such thing as just a broken heart,” he said.

And he should know, Gina thought. His young wife left him with three little kids when he was twenty-six years old and even though Gina hadn’t known him then, she knew him now and knew he hadn’t been with a woman in the ten years since. Until Gina. They were two single parents who had waited a long time to find each other.

Mac muttered something about how, given a choice, he would never want to go back to those youthful days—those young years are so serious and painful. Gina said even more painful was when your kids hurt.

“I’ll never forget when Ash wasn’t invited to the very first boy-girl party ever because the mother of the little girl throwing the party didn’t approve of me, a never-married single mother. Ash didn’t understand that, but she was devastated by being excluded and I had at least six months of guilt and pain.”

“When Eve was six,” Mac said, “after Cee Jay left us, she didn’t want to go to school. She was afraid her mother might come home during the day and Eve didn’t want to miss her.”

“When I was a young mother,” Gina said, “there were very few other young mothers with small children who were friendly toward me. Certainly none who were sixteen...”

“Small towns are brutal,” Mac said. “The best thing about Thunder Point was leaving Coquille, where I made all my mistakes. Of course, they followed me—my kids were soon known as the kids of the deputy and the woman who abandoned them.”

“Is there any way to keep them from paying for our mistakes?”

“Yeah. They’ll eventually make enough of their own to take the heat off. Meanwhile, we just have to stay strong and know we are doing the best we can.”

Carrie got up from the table and started rummaging around in the refrigerator. Being the owner of a deli and catering service, she always had special meals on hand. She did a little slicing and scooping, microwaved a couple of plates—tri-tip, red potatoes, Broccolini spears, a little dark au jus. She made a large helping for Mac, smaller ones for Gina and herself and the three of them ate, though not with big appetites. Everyone at the small kitchen table had personal experience with this kind of heartache. Then Carrie cleaned up and put a pan of her healing chicken soup on the stove. “She might not want anything to eat, but if she does at least it’ll be something soothing,” Carrie said.

It was eight-thirty when they heard the car. Everyone stood expectantly, fearful of what they would see walking in the door. And then Ashley came into the kitchen through the back door.

She was messy; there was evidence of crying in her puffy eyes and pink cheeks. Her beautiful red hair was flat and slack and her clothes wrinkled, but otherwise she looked normal. Except for the expression on her face, which was one of pure agony.

“I had to do it, I had to go to State,” she said. “I sent him two hundred texts and voice mails that he ignored, so I went to face him. I’m sorry I lied and took your Jeep. I promise, I’ll never do it again.”

Carrie took a step toward her. “I made you some soup, honey.”

“Thanks, Gram, but I don’t want any....”

“I’ll be going. Now that you’re home safe,” Mac said.

“You don’t have to go, Mac,” Ashley said. “I’m going to bed.”

“We need to talk, Ashley,” Gina said.

“There’s nothing to say,” she said, walking through the house toward her room, her head down, dragging her backpack behind her.

“Ashley,” Gina said, following her. “Ash, I really want to talk to you. Please.”

She turned sharply to face Gina. “He doesn’t want me anymore,” she said coldly, tears gathering in her eyes. “I gave him everything he wanted and now he’s done with me. The guy I saw today? I don’t even know that guy. That was not my Downy.” Then she went into her room and closed the door.

Gina turned back to face Mac and her mother. “Oh, God,” she said. And then the only thing she could think of. “Thank God there were no cell phones when my heart was being ripped out.”

* * *

Ashley laid down on her bed in her clothes. In fact, she laid there for a while before sitting up and throwing off her jacket.

She was probably about six years old when she first noticed Crawford Downy Junior. Everyone had always called him Downy; only his mother called him Crawford. Ashley went to school with his younger brother Frank. There was a third brother two years younger than Frank—Lee.

That was back when Ashley’s mother or grandmother wrestled her naturally curly red hair into braids in the morning. Downy called her twerp or carrot top or pesky pants. She alternately crushed on him or thought he was a giant turd. She liked him when he said things like, “Good catch, CT,” instead of carrot top. She hated him when he said, “Stand back, she’s going to let down her hair!” and put out his arms as if her curly mane would be bigger than the Goodyear Blimp. Right up to junior high she had those ridiculous red ringlets and thick glasses. Frank had thick glasses, too, so Downy never teased her about the glasses. Then when she’d barely figured out how to control her wild hair, she had braces. “When you getting the tin out of your mouth, CT?” he’d ask her.