Chapter Nine
Walker had been arguing with himself over telling Tina exactly how he felt about her all morning. Finally, he gave the cash register a dirty look and growled at it. “No, I am not.”
I can’t risk a broken heart, he thought.
Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, the aggravating little devil sitting on his shoulder said, quoting a line from Tennyson.
Tina rounded the end of an aisle and asked, “You ‘am not’ what? Are you ready to talk about whatever is making you so moody?”
“I was arguing with myself,” Walker said, “and I’m not sure it’s a good time to talk about anything.”
“I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Tina told him. “Let’s meet up at the tree after supper and talk it out.”
“We’ll see how the day goes.” Walker blinked and looked away. “I’ve still got some thinking to do.”
“Well, I am ready, so I’ll talk while we drive home and you can listen.”
“I can do that much,” he agreed, and without taking time to balance the day’s receipts against the money in the register, he gathered everything in the drawer into a bank bag and put it in the safe.
“Is this thinking about us or about the store?” Tina asked.
“I’m not through thinking about either one,” he answered.
“Are you about to fire me?” Her hands trembled, and from her expression, her thoughts seemed to be on a wild roller coaster.
“You are supposed to be talking, not asking questions.”
“Okay then, I’ve got an idea about all that high-dollar stuff that isn’t selling so well.
We should have a big half-price sale. That would at least get most of your money back that’s tied up in it.
We could run that for a couple of weeks, then put it all at seventy-five percent off.
What doesn’t sell then, we could get hold of a jobber to come get the rest at fifteen percent on the dollar. What do you think of that?”
“I love it, but what’s a jobber?” he asked.
“A jobber is someone who comes in at the end of the sale time and takes everything that’s left. Then he or she takes all the merchandise to the lower-end stores that will mark it up a little, but the price is still way below the original,” she answered.
“I love that idea,” Walker said. “Then we can use the space for something that will sell, like flannel shirts, coveralls, and work boots. Let’s get on it in the next few days. How are you at painting on windows?”
“Pretty good.” Tina smiled.
“We’ll start as soon as you get that done. I knew it was a good sign when you came home.”
As Walker drove them home—that word home still seemed a bit strange in Tina’s ears—she kept playing out scenarios on how to approach her mother for a very serious conversation.
To take her mind off what her mother might say, she stared out the side window at wildflowers and a few of those wind farms in the distance. They might be making energy, but they ruined the landscape.
When Walker braked and turned in to the driveway, she was shocked that they were already home. But then, she’d been deep in a merry-go-round of thoughts.
“You sure have been quiet all the way from the store, to have been so gung ho about talking about whatever is on your mind. You aren’t going to give me a two-week notice, are you?”
“Nope, not at all. I love being home”—there was that word again—“and working with you,” she answered. “I was comparing myself to the wildflowers and those ugly windmills.”
“Which one do you want to be?”
“A wildflower,” she answered without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because they get a fresh start every year. They might have to survive the heat and wind, but they make seeds that come back again when spring comes.”
Walker turned to face her. “Then you have the right to make that claim for sure. I never thought of you planting seeds before you left, though.”
“I didn’t even know that I did,” she whispered, “but evidently I left behind a few.”
“Why don’t you want to be a windmill?”
“They ruin the simple beauty of nature,” she said.
“Those things are almost already in the past. Something will come along to replace them, but the land gives us the flowers to enjoy every year, and nothing can take that away. Don’t look at the windmills—focus on the new life and colors that are here for you to enjoy.”
“Are you preaching to me or yourself?” Tina asked.
Someone honked their horn, and a truck pulled in behind Walker’s vehicle. A young man waved out the window.
Walker recognized the truck as Herman Richman’s, and got out of his vehicle and walked back to see what the old guy might need. But he was surprised when Lyle, Herman’s grandson, got out and stuck his hand out to shake with him.
“Evening, Mr. Cosay. I’m doing odd jobs this summer. If you hear of any, I’d appreciate a call,” he said.
Tina got out of the truck and walked over to join Walker.
“Meet my friend and new employee,” Walker said. “Tina, this is Lyle. Lyle, Tina.”
“Grandpa said you had hired someone. I’m a little jealous. I was going to come in and ask you for a job. But I shouldn’t complain. So far, I’m keeping busy. Got to run. I’ve been out doing yard work today and still have to help Grandpa get some chores done at home.”
“I could use some help on Saturday mornings,” Walker said. “Just from eight to noon, but the hours are yours if you have time.”
“Thanks.” Lyle grinned and got back into his truck. “I’ll be there.”
“I remember Lyle from back when. I can’t believe he’s old enough to drive,” Tina said as the truck disappeared down the street.
“At six feet, eight inches, he is now the star basketball player for Benson High School. He’s kind of like me and you.”
“Hey, I might look like a giant sunflower growing wild in a bed of petunias, but I’m not that tall,” she argued.
“In my opinion, sunflowers are prettier than petunias,” Walker said. “And I meant that in the way that we were stars our senior year and thought we’d go on to be famous.”
Tina barely heard anything past the part about her being pretty—at least that’s the way she took it. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which one?”
“When you were talking about wildflowers and windmills,” she reminded him.
“Oh, I wasn’t preaching to anyone. I was only making an observation. Why are you so . . .” He couldn’t seem to think of the right word.
“So what?” she asked.
“I was about to ask why you are so philosophical this evening.”
“I’ve been dodging an issue about my parents all day,” she admitted, “but you haven’t been forthcoming about your moodiness, either.”
“You go first,” he said as he opened the door.
“I’m trying to figure things out in my mind before I talk to you about my mother.”
“Well, you’ve got about an hour to get it done.”
Tina frowned. “Do I have to clock in and out to be able to talk to you?”
“No, ma’am. That’s about how long it will take us to eat supper and tell Cleo and Mae about our day.”
“Then I’ll meet you at the—”
A loud clap of thunder cut her off. The noise sounded like it was a wrecking ball hitting the top of the truck. “Beat you to the house.” She jogged across the yard and onto the porch seconds before a downpour started.
“You win,” Walker laughed when they were on the rug inside the house.
“You kids don’t track up my floor,” Cleo yelled from the kitchen.
Mae’s voice floated into the foyer right behind Cleo’s. “If you got soaked, then don’t take too long to change into dry things. Supper is ready.”
“We’re on our way—and starving,” Walker said.
Tina kicked off her shoes and asked, “Meet you in the sitting room, then?”
“We could make that work,” he agreed. “See you there in an hour?”
“I’ll be the one with extra-curly hair. This kind of weather is . . .”
“Wonderful,” Walker finished for her. “Our tree can’t survive without water.”
Tina looked up at the ceiling. “Then thank you for the rain.”
“It’s getting cold!” Cleo raised her voice.
“Are you really hungry? We had a late lunch,” Tina asked.
Walker led the way to the kitchen. “No, I’m not, but they have looked forward to us coming home all day.”
During the tough times, when Tina couldn’t afford to buy cable television or even a streaming station, she watched whatever she had on DVDs—mostly what she bought at thrift stores.
She sold back most of her collection each time she moved, but she always kept all the seasons of McLeod’s Daughters.
That evening, while she waited on Walker, the theme song from the series played through her head on a continuous loop.
The lyrics talked about it taking some time to find a person’s heart and come back home.
“That’s me,” she muttered as she pushed open the lacy curtains in the sitting room and stared across the street at the Tomorrow Tree.
“Like the last words of the song, you’ve always been here waiting for me, haven’t you?
And so have all the folks in this house, but I was too stubborn to stay in touch with them. ”
“Yes, I have, and yes, you were,” Walker whispered right behind her.
His voice startled her so badly that she whipped around and slapped him on the arm. “You scared me!”
“Sorry about that, but you were talking to me, weren’t you? Or is there someone else that’s been waiting for you?”
“Just Gracie, Mae, and Cleo,” she answered, “and the Tomorrow Tree. Have I told you that during the worst times, memories of us around that tree were what kept me going?”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Those same memories have been good to me also, but those were the past. We can’t keep living in that time frame. We have to make new memories to lean on in the future.”
His touch seemed to magically put everything in perspective, but his words were another matter. “Why?” she asked. “I liked those days better than the ones that followed.”
“Because . . .” He removed his hand and sat down on the gold velvet settee. “We do not want to be like Reesa, Sabrina, and Faith. We want to look ahead to a better life.”
“What if it’s not better?” Tina sat down beside him, pulled her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them.