7
Lola stood in front of the roadside bar in the Ozarks, snow falling a little faster now, dampening her denim jacket and hoodie.
“Not much of a coat you got there.”
Lola turned quickly at the gruff voice. The man in the leather boots was back. “I’m from California,” she said.
He held out a paper cup. “Here.”
She shuffled toward him a little, the soles of her sneakers scraping against the dusty-brush sidewalk. The drink instantly warmed her hand.
“So, you lost, California?” he asked.
She inhaled fresh coffee and took a sip. “No.”
“Liar.”
She almost spit out her drink, raising her eyebrows at him. “What?”
He nodded at her pocket, where she’d stuffed the guidebook. She’d folded the corner of a page that had information about a nearby lodge.
“What brings you around?” he asked. “Business? Pleasure?”
She took another drink, too quickly this time, and burnt her tongue. She ran the tip of it over the roof of her mouth, her eyes watering. He didn’t strike her as anything other than curious, but she’d thought the same of Beau when she’d met him. “Mostly sightseeing.”
“Anything good so far?”
“Sure.” She angled her body a little more in his direction. “I stood in the geographic center of the continental United States.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”
Lola nodded. It’d been more exciting than the twine, at least.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
She glanced upward. Information was precious. “I…”
“Give me that.” He held out his hand for the guidebook, so she passed it to him. He flipped to the dog-eared page and grumbled, “Moose Lodge. It’s for tourists, you know.”
She shrugged. “Aren’t all hotels
?”
“Got a point. Not much to see around here, though.”
Lola frowned. She didn’t mind that. The open road and countryside had been good for her. The snow was magical. Kind of like Los Angeles from a distance when it was all lit up at night. Her heart thumped once when she thought of home.
“This lodge isn’t far,” he said. “You by yourself?”
Lola glanced at the lid of her coffee. She palmed the cup, welcoming its warmth. Yes, she was by herself. No, Beau was not waiting in the car for her. He was where she’d left him, where she’d spent twenty-nine years of her life—minus eight days.
“Ah,” the man said. “I see what you got now, and it ain’t insomnia.”
“What is it?” Lola asked, still looking down.
“Lonely. I got that too, plus the insomnia, ever since my wife passed. Not a nice combo.”
Lola nodded, swallowing. Things were rarely as bad as they seemed when she looked outside herself. “How long were you married?”
“Almost twenty years.”
“Long time,” Lola murmured. A long time to screw things up, to break each other’s hearts. A long time to put them back together.
“She had cancer,” he continued. “But you know how she died? Hit by a car. Believe that?”
“I’m sorry,” Lola said lamely.
“So was I, until I realized all the ways Maxie makes me better, even from the grave. Just this morning, I drive a few towns over to Costco and someone’s pulling out of a front spot. Never happens, right? I wait a good couple minutes. Then this guy comes from the other direction, swipes it at the last second. You know what I did?”
Lola hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “What?”
“Before Maxie passed, I would’ve taught the scrawny shit some manners. Instead, I rolled down the window and said, ‘You know what? Take the goddamn spot. I’ll park in back, get myself some exercise.’”
Lola chewed her bottom lip, trying to connect that back to their conversation. She’d never been much of a religious person, so she wasn’t sure of the polite way to proceed. “So, you’re saying…that was Maxie’s way of keeping you fit?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m saying since she left me, I don’t sweat the small stuff. Actually, I don’t let the big stuff get to me anymore either. Because it’s really not that important if you think about it. I’m going to go to Costco lots more times before I die, God willing, but never again with her. I’d park in the back every day if it meant she were walking by my side.”
Lola’s nose tingled. What Beau had done wasn’t small stuff by any means. Not to her. It wasn’t like he’d stolen her parking spot. This man would agree if he heard her story. Wouldn’t he? He’d lost the love of his life—well, so had she, and it wasn’t either of their faults. To forgive Beau would be a betrayal to herself—she’d always believed that. But maybe this man was telling her the opposite was true. Forgiveness was the path back to herself, to the woman who’d never gone out of her way to hurt someone else the way she had Beau.