Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2)(14)

Only last night he’d lain awake and thought of the green-eyed baker with auburn hair. What does a man do when a woman winks at him? Was there some kind of winking etiquette he wasn’t aware of? Did it mean anything? He was a fool for even worrying about why she winked at him. Women like Adalee never gave guys like him a second look. She seemed full of life and he was simply hanging on.

The baker was still on his mind when he dropped the kids off with Beth’s mother.

He never stayed long. Grandma George, short for Georgina, decorated her house with memories of Beth. Jesse knew it was good for the kids to remember their mother, but the pictures of her at every age made him sad. He’d never forget Beth. He’d known her all her life . . . loved her most of his. But when he saw the pictures, it was like he’d lost a dozen Beths. The one he walked to school with. His best friend. His partner in games. His girlfriend. His first kiss. His only love. His wife.

Every time he walked into her mother’s house, he lost them all over again.

But today he was in a hurry. It was already sunup. The grandmothers were taking the kids to a movie, and he could get in one more day of work this week. It was his birthday and he’d taken the time to let the kids give him his presents, watercolors signed by each.

He was halfway down the walk to his pickup when Grandma yelled from the doorway, “Your mom and I plan to take the kids home for you. We’ll feed them a good supper and get them to bed.”

Jesse turned back. “But I . . .”

“Take off an hour early tonight, clean up, and come back to town. It’s your birthday. Have dinner with friends or check out the movie. Surely it won’t be the same one we’re seeing this afternoon.

“Your mother and I don’t want to see you before ten. Have a little fun, Jesse. You’re allowed.”

Jesse nodded and walked away. There was no use arguing with them. They wanted to help and if he said no, he’d only hurt their feelings. How could he tell them that he had no friends? The guys at the co-op were all twice his age. His friends from high school had moved away or settled down with families of their own.

But he did as the grandmothers told him. He quit at four, took a shower, and passed them on the drive into the town. The kids waved. He smiled, knowing the ladies had promised them a grand time.

Jesse picked up supplies from the hardware store, then stopped in at the local tourist trap to buy jelly and honey. By the time the shops were closing, it was growing dark. He got gas and checked the tires before buying a beer at the gas station. He parked downtown and walked the square, not hungry enough to eat and not interested in the one movie showing at the theater.

Jesse liked the trees that lined the courthouse square. They made him think he was in a forest, even though the town lights twinkled among the branches. No one would notice him there among the shadows. In an odd way he felt like he was surrounded by people.

The smells and noises were different here than on his farm.

He might be alone, but Jesse didn’t feel lonely. He’d settled into being by himself when the kids weren’t around. When Beth died he’d been too busy to think about it, but as time passed he realized he preferred living inside himself to talking to people. Most folks didn’t say anything important, or interesting, or even worth listening to. Or worse, they tried to climb into his mind by asking things like, “How does it feel to be a widower so young?” Or “You ever thought of remarrying? Those kids need a mama.”

Jesse sat down on a bench beneath the trees and opened his beer as he watched the streetlights come on and the store windows go dark. Fall colors still hung to the trees, but the leaves at his feet were dull and muddy.

He was forty-one today. That was young. A few of his friends were still single. He’d heard others were drifting from place to place, from job to job, still looking for where they belonged.

He took a draw on the longneck. He hated beer, but somehow it didn’t seem right to celebrate his birthday with Coke, and the gas station didn’t have champagne. Forty-one. He should feel young, but he didn’t.

A part of him wished he could run away, but most of him just wanted to go home. He needed to finish reading Zak a book tonight and make sure Sunny Lyn had her floppy rabbit to sleep with. What if the grandmothers forgot to give Danny his medicine?

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He was old. He no longer knew who he was—only what he was to others. A dad. A farmer. A son.

There was no him inside his body.

When he leaned forward, a dark form stood in front of him. The night seemed clothed in fog the color of her blue cape. The low streetlights were balls of fuzzy fluff, not offering enough light for him to see beneath the hood of the cape.

“You drunk, Jesse Keaton?” The woman’s voice didn’t sound too friendly.

“It would take more than one bottle of beer. Besides, what do you care?” He wanted the shadow to go away. He had enough shadows following him.

She moved closer and lowered her hood. Long auburn hair danced in curls around her shoulders. “I don’t much care, mister. I like to walk in the stillness after dark, and your long legs almost tripped me.”

He folded his legs in. “Sorry. Thought I was invisible.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I thought I was alone.”

Her voice softened as she asked, “You all right?”

“Sure. Today’s my birthday. I’m celebrating.”