CHAPTER TWO

      Joey put an arm around her mother and led her to the door where she turned around to see Cole staring after her. Backlit by the bright emergency room sign, his silhouette proclaimed his cowboy roots. His broad shoulders, slim hips and slightly bowlegged stance reminded her of her long-ago heroes. No wonder that, with his Stetson in hand, short denim jacket, well-wrapped jeans and boots, he looked comfortable and familiar.
      Feeling a pang at leaving, she tucked her still sniffling mother into her rental Trans Am, then followed her directions to the motor home. She noted the thick cables snaking from an exterior outlet to the big luxurious RV. With electrical hookup, the unit was totally self-contained. A light burned in the living area, welcoming them. Marie dug in her purse for her keys. She dropped them twice before Joey took them from her and unlocked the door. Immediately, the shrill yapping of her parent's two miniature dachshunds, Romeo and Juliet, rent the quiet night.
      "Ssh, shh, babies," Marie soothed. "Mommie's here."
      Joey grimaced. She'd never understood her mother's devotion to those yapping animals, but the dogs were company on her parents' travels. Following her mother inside, she submitted to the ritual barking and sniffing until the dogs remembered who she was and decided not to nip her ankles. While her mother put on their leashes and walked them around the bushes, Joey got her suitcase out of the car and took it inside. She unpacked enough for the night and eyed the sofa bed in the living area uneasily. It brought back memories of the many times she'd shared it with Tom on family vacations. She tightened her lips against the threat of tears and went to turn down the king-sized bed in the single bedroom. By the time Marie returned with the dogs, Joey had made up the sofa bed for herself.
      Marie put out fresh water for the dogs, then turned to Joey. "Are you hungry, dear? Want anything?"
      Joey shook her head. "Why don't you go to bed, Mom? You must be exhausted."
      "I am, but I don't think I'll sleep." Marie's hands moved restlessly. "I can't help seeing Frank on the ground. So pale and..."
      "What happened, Mom? Want to talk about it?"
      Marie sat, a little stiffly, on the edge of the sofa bed. "It's hard to believe. We'd stayed overnight in Idaho, then decided we'd take it easy, cruise on up to Glacier. Frank was fine in the morning, nothing seemed wrong, but after we stopped for lunch, he started complaining of indigestion. I got him some of his antacids, but he complained that he didn't like the taste, so he wouldn't take them until he was really hurting." She pulled at a loose thread on the pillow slip. "Stubborn old man. Always thinks he knows better than anybody."
      Joey reached to comfort her. Marie's trembling hand felt cool and moist. She seemed not to notice Joey's gesture. "Oh, Joey, I tried to make him stop in the next town and see a doctor but he wouldn't. He just wouldn't!"
      "No one's ever made Poppa do anything he didn't want to," Joey soothed through the familiar frustration with her father's high-handed ways. "You can't blame yours--"
      "Finally, he pulled into a rest stop and thought that if he walked around a bit, he'd feel better..." Marie paused for breath. "We took the babies with us, and after Romeo had done his business, I saw Frank let go of the leash. I was about to yell at him to grab Romeo before he scooted off, you know how he likes to get away and run around? But Frank seemed to curl up and fall down...I didn't know what to do."
      When Marie said nothing more for a moment or two, Joey gently prompted her. "What about Poppa?"
      "Oh, dear, I was bending over your father, trying to get him to answer me, when a highway patrol car pulled up. Oh, Joey, I was never so glad to see anyone in my life! That young officer called for an ambulance and gave him CPR. I should have taken those classes at the Senior Center--I don't know what would have happened..." Marie's voice fogged with emotion.
      Joey didn't want to think about that, either. "You were lucky, both of you. You got Poppa here in time."
      Marie sniffled. "It was touch and go. They took him away and wouldn't let me see him. I could hear shouts and people running, but I couldn't get in there. You'd think they'd let me stay with him when he was in such pain," she complained, almost in tears at the memory. "No one would tell me anything until minutes before I called you."
      "At least you had a chance to be with him," Joey murmured.
      Marie lifted anguished eyes. "Oh, Joey, I'm sorry. I didn't think...You must be thinking of Tom."
      "It's okay." Joey shrugged off the comparisons, though she couldn't deny the pain. "What's the diagnosis for Poppa?"
      "Well, he survived the first hours," Marie said, sounding a little stronger. "His heartbeat is irregular. They gave him medication for that but he may need a pacemaker—-"
      "Lots of people have those," Joey said encouragingly. "How long will Poppa be in the hospital?"
      Marie's eyes filled again. "I don't know. I don't know what I'll do if-—"
      Joey put an arm around Marie's shoulders and gently hugged her. "Ssh, ssh, we'll take it one day at a time."
      Marie blew her nose and made an effort to pull herself together. "I'm glad you came so fast, dear. Did I ask you how the kids are? Who did you leave them with?"
      Joey had to smile. "With each other, Mom. Ellen's looking after Greg."
      "She's a good girl. Reminds me of Tom, you know, that steady way she has? Greg, he takes after you. Hot-headed, impulsive and reckless."
      "Now, Mom," Joey started to defend herself out of habit.
      "Nothing wrong with that," Marie said slowly. "You and Tom balanced each other." Her gaze roved slowly over her daughter, widening as they lingered on the colorful costume jewelry. "I don't think he'd like what you've done to yourself, dear."
      Joey bit back an instant retort and settled for a milder comment. "Maybe not, but he's gone."
      "Is that any reason for all these changes?"
      Joey swallowed. "It's time to find out who I am after all these years of being Tom's wife."
      Marie sniffed. "What's wrong with that?"
      Joey rolled her head to ease her stiff neck. "Nothing, Mom. I loved it. I loved Tom. But he's not here now."
      "Look at you, wearing such bright colors and your hair all over the place. No one would know you're a widow. Tom wouldn't even recognize you. And you lost so much weight--honestly, Joey, sometimes I just don't understand you."
      "You don't have to, Mom," Joey said gently. "Just accept me."
      Marie shook her head. "It seems like you're trying to forget he ever existed."
      "That would be pretty hard, wouldn't it, when I have two children?"
      "Greg's the only one who still misses Tom."
      Joey stood quickly, moving away from Marie to hide her face. Even if her bright clothes hid her grief, they didn't mask her feelings. For all her newly adopted vivacious manner, underneath she was lonely. Though she hated to admit it, she was also scared. "You're wrong," she said softly, her back still to Marie. "We all do, but we show it in different ways."
      Later, after she'd gotten her mother to bed, Joey lay in the surprisingly comfortable sofa bed and tried to sleep. If Poppa didn't make it, how was her mother going to stand up to being alone? She'd expect Joey to help, and how could she help anyone else when she felt so helpless herself? No matter how hard she tried, it wasn't easy without Tom, not even after eleven months. Not even after making the choice to put the past behind her and get on with her life. If she went a little overboard in making a new life for herself, she only had herself to answer to.
      And the kids. Joey half-smiled in the dark. They thought she was a nut-case, making them change their eating habits and go on a low-fat, no cholesterol, no sugar, no caffeine and no salt and very little meat diet after years of eating whatever they wanted. No fun diet, Greg called it. Laugh at her however much they wanted, she was determined that they wouldn't be candidates for heart disease. Not like Tom.
      She was going to keep the rest of her family around her for a long time to come.
      "Joey?" came her mother's voice out of the darkness.
      Joey switched on her lamp. She rolled out of bed and went to the bedroom door. "What is it, Mom?"
      "Who was that man you were talking to, dear?"
      She'd put the cowboy out of her mind, but now the image of him gazing after her, hat in hand and a strange look on his face, flooded her. As if he didn't want to lose sight of her. She found herself flushing for no reason and was glad the darkness hid her face. "He introduced himself, Mom."
      "Well, yes, but who is he?"
      "I don't really know. He was there because his son was hurt."
      "I thought at first that he was with you."
      Joey hesitated. Her mother had an instinct about people. She'd never been able to pull the wool over her eyes. "No-o. I just met him tonight." Briefly, she outlined the circumstances.
      "How nice of him to spare a few minutes for us when he had his own troubles," Marie murmured. "You don't see that much anymore."
      Joey listened to her mother's sleepy drawl and agreed. Climbing back under her covers, she wondered about the unaffected, simple kindness Cole had shown her and her mother. Was his manner natural courtesy, left over from the old code of the West, or had his interest in her been more personal? She'd thought so, from time to time, when his look warmed, became a little more intense, but for all she knew, maybe he treated all women the same way. She considered that.
      No, she might be kidding herself, indulging in a little fanciful thinking, but somehow she knew Cole had treated her differently. And surprised himself by doing it. Not that he meant anything by it. Nothing could come from it, either. She wasn't ready to consider getting back into the social mess of men-women relationships. What she'd had with Tom had been so perfect that no man could ever measure up. Not that she was looking, either.
      Still, she couldn't forget the sound of his voice, low and rough-edged. "Tomorrow," he'd said, making it into a promise.
      "Tomorrow," she whispered.

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Chapter Three -- posted October 4, 1997

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Last updated: January 4, 1998