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“It’s fine. I really don’t care what they think.” She blinks rapid-fire and quickly amends that to, “I’ve had a long time to get used to it and I’ve got far bigger fish to fry.”
“I’d have thought that in a small town like this, the other women would have rallied around you when you lost your husband.”
“You’d think so,” she says. “But luckily, I’ve got my family, and now I’ve got Harper. She’s terrific, and at the end of the day, one true friend is all you really need.”
“Harper’s the best, and she’s got nothing but wonderful things to say about you.”
I want to say more, but the door opens, setting off the bell again. Moira slides out of the booth. “Back to it for me. Thanks for the chat.”
She leaves me alone with my thoughts and I start wondering what I can possibly do to help make Moira’s life a little easier. I’m not talking about becoming her sugar daddy or anything, but there has to be something.
Chapter7
Moira
After the lunch rush, I take off my apron and tell Abigail, “Shelly and Barb will be in at four for the dinner rush. You can take off when they get here.”
“About that …” She leans against the counter, resting her full-figured bottom against the ledge. “Shelly called earlier and she’s not coming in tonight.”
“Is she sick?” I ask.
“Sick in love,” Abigail tells me. “Toby Quinn just came home for summer break and Shelly made plans with him. She’s hoping she can talk him into taking that logging job with her dad’s company, so he won’t go back to college.”
I roll my eyes so hard I feel like I pull a muscle. “What’s wrong with that girl? If she’s determined to have a future with Toby, she should follow him to college and get herself an education. That way she won’t be stuck working here for the rest of her life.” I hurriedly add, “No offense, Abigail.”
She waves her hand in front of her face. “None taken.” Given that she’s only a couple years older than me—making her thirty-four—that might mean she could be here for another thirty years or so.
“Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to live someplace else?” I ask her. “Do something else?” I sound like I’m trying to talk my best server into leaving me, but I really want to know.
“Moira …” Abigail shifts so her weight is on her heels. Crossing one foot over the other, she says, “My family has lived on this land for thousands of years. My spirit is rooted so deeply that moving away would probably kill me.”
“I love how the Sugpiaqculture respects their ancestry. All I know about mine is that there’s some Scots, Irish, English, and Dutch. I don’t feel a connection to any of it.”
“You might if your people had stayed on their land for as long as mine have. But no matter, I’ll hang out and cover Shelly’s shift. I remember what it was like to be young and in love.” Abigail married her high school sweetheart, and all signs point to it being a wonderful marriage.
“You’re the best,” I tell her. “Close early if you’re not busy. No sense standing around for nothing.” As I walk out the door, I have an insane urge to run away. I don’t know where I’d run to, but I’m not sure it matters. I just want to go.
When I get in the truck, I immediately open the windows to let some air in. I spot Wyatt’s baseball photo taped to the dashboard. Alas, no running for me. After turning the ignition, I back out without looking and nearly get my back end hit by a logging truck. Pulling forward again, I shift into park and try to force my heart rate to slow down. I’m so distracted lately; I’m becoming a liability.
When I finally get home, I spot Digger out front playing baseball with my boys. I cut the engine in time to hear him yell, “That’s right, Ash, swing like you’re trying to hit the moon!”
“I’ll give you the moon,” Colton adds before turning around and dropping his shorts, so his startling white bottom is front and center.
Opening the driver’s side door, I yell, “Pull your pants up, Colton!”
All three of my sons turn and run toward me. Before I can bend my knees to center my gravity for impact, they’re on top of me like a puppy pile. My initial response is to push them off so I can get up, but I suddenly want nothing more than to have my babies in my arms. I roll over, pulling them with me, and then I start tickling them like I did when they were little.
“Mom, stop!” Wyatt convulses in giggles. “You’re gonna make me pee!”
“I already peed!” Ash nudges his older brother.
Digger walks over and looms above us with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. “Now this is a sight,” he says. “Remember how Grandpa Jack used to tickle us?”
“Of course,” I tell him as I roll over on my back to catch my breath. Staring up at him, I say, “We had a pretty good childhood, didn’t we?”
He nods his head. “I’d say that we made the best out of a less-than-ideal situation. As in, we’d both have preferred our mother was a different person, and that our father hadn’t turned to bourbon after she left, but we didn’t have it so bad.”
“Grandpa Jack and Grandma Adele were awesome though.” I look over at my boys who are once again rolling around in a ball of youthful excitement. A feeling of peace comes over me. I’ve spent so much time feeling angry about the things that have gone wrong in my life, I don’t think I’ve felt nearly enough gratitude for the things that have gone right.
