Page 4 of Misadventures Of A Single Mom

He lifted an eyebrow, but made no comment.

Small talk. I needed to make small talk. The kids could do it. Forget the past. The dildos. Bad hair. It was all about the future. He was my neighbor and I had to stop feeling embarrassed someday. “I…I didn’t know you were a volunteer fireman.”

Ty shook his head. “I’m not. I work in town for Bozeman Fire. Station One on Rouse. Here, this area south of town, is volunteer. I have friends on the department and offered to help with the breakfast this morning.”

So, it was small town coincidence I bumped into him. First thing in the morning looking a total mess. It would have worked better if I’d primped a bit and taken brownies to him at his house, welcoming him to the neighborhood. The only perk of running into him this way was I didn’t have to bake.

“What about you? Is Goldilocks your shop?”

“You must be new to town.” I reached out and grabbed Bobby’s OJ cup before it tipped over, moved it out of the way.

“Yeah, Montana raised, but new to Bozeman. I’ve been in the military for years and decided to settle down close to home. Bought the house down the street from you.”

“Goldilocks belongs to Goldie, my mother-in-law. It’s her store.Everyoneknows Goldie. She’s famous around here. You’ll know what I mean when you meet her. She’s a pistol. I just work there to help her out since my husband died.”

Ty had a look on his face I couldn’t read. Pity, sadness, heartburn. It could have been any of them.

“My dad died in a hamburger,” Bobby told Ty.

Now Ty just looked confused. He was frowning and eyeing me as if we were all crazy.

“All done?” I asked the boys, grinning, glad to see the man at a loss. “You can go check out the fire trucks if you want.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They were out of their chairs faster than a hunter at the start of elk season. I slid Bobby’s plate in front of me and I dug into the pancakes and eggs left on the plate.

Ty cleared his throat. “Your husband died in a…”

“Hamburg,” I said, and then laughed. "As in Germany. Blood clot that traveled to his lung, supposedly from flying.”

This was where I usually stopped when I talked about Nate’s death. Juicy gossip wasn’t something I wanted to deal with. But as I looked at Ty, I decided to share the rest. What the hell. What could it hurt? The man thought I was a Looney Tune already. For some reason, I wanted him to know the truth. The details. “He was there on business—and pleasure. He died in bed with another woman.” I took a deep breath. “And another man.”

“Holy crap,” he murmured, his mouth hanging open just a touch. I could see his straight white teeth.

I got lots of pity parties and uncomfortable sympathy when people heard Nate had died, especially since I wasn’t that old. Only a select few knew about his extracurricular activities, that he’d cheated on me. Not only was I a widow, but my husband had cheated on me before he decided to up and die.

I was long over it—and him—when I’d gotten the call. I’d wanted to kill him myself a time or two for being a two-timer, so I found it ironic he’d died going at it. But I was still working on my self-esteem because of him, even years later.

Ty leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table. When they came away sticky with syrup, he grabbed a napkin and scrubbed at his arm. Someone messy must’ve eaten at the table before us. “Did you know about her—them, his…Jesus…you know, before?”

The fire truck horn, which was probably one of the loudest things in the entire county, blared. Everyone within a mile must have heard it. Those in the bay were lucky if they hadn’t dumped their coffee in their lap. And gone deaf. Babies cried, old people placed hands on their chests contemplating a coronary. I saw Zach wave to me from the driver’s seat of the fire truck with a guilty look on his face. I waved back. “Long story. Gotta run before they arrest him. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

2

At seven, the sun was still high in the sky, but I sank lower in my chair, sheltered by the patio umbrella. The remnants of dinner were spread out before me on the teak table. Plates, napkins and silverware were strewn about, cobs were corn free, grilled chicken a memory. The aroma of burning charcoal still lingered in the air. I slumped down, comfortable with my head resting against the high wooden back. Relaxed with a full stomach. Wiped out. The tip of my nose was hot and stung a little, probably sunburn.

It had been a long day. After the breakfast fiasco at the fire station, we’d hit six garage sales then hiked up Pete’s Hill and had a picnic lunch. PB&J with a view. I loved that trail as it was right downtown but up on a ridge that offered expansive views, especially at sunset. Bozeman was in a valley bordered on three sides by mountains. The Gallatins, Spanish Peaks and Tobacco Roots. Big Sky vistas in every direction. The kids liked it because we could see the roof of our house from our favorite bench.

While I watched from the patio, the boys played in the backyard wearing their Halloween costumes from the previous year. Zach, dressed as a Stormtrooper, was on the rope swingpretending to be either a futuristic Tarzan or a pirate. Bobby wore his Spiderman suit with Zach’s Stormtrooper mask. They had to be hot and sweaty in their polyester wardrobe.

Bobby dug in the sandbox with a garden trowel, pretending he was Indiana Jones looking for lost treasure, although how he could see through the little eye holes was beyond me. My kids weren’t obsessed with one favorite children’s character splattered across bed sheets, beach towels and lunch boxes. They liked all kinds. They didn’t discriminate.

Next to Bobby, tilted at a cockeyed angle, was the ceramic garden gnome he’d bought with his dollar at the second garage sale. It had a little blue coat, red pointy hat, and white beard. A foot tall. It smiled that creepy closed lipped smile. Zach got a gnome, too. His was different, red coat and blue hat. Same white beard. His sat on its own patio chair at the table with me. Zach had insisted it join us for the meal. If I leaned back in my chair, its beady eyes weren’t trained on me. Fortunately, there had been two gnomes at the sale because only one would have caused global nuclear meltdown. I couldn’t split a ceramic garden figurine down the middle to share like a brownie or cookie. At a dollar apiece, the kids were happy, which made me happy. Life was good.

“Arr, put your blasters down!” shouted Zach as he whizzed through the air. The swing hung from the ash tree that shaded the yard. The fence between the Colonel’s house and mine was waist high, so Zach climbed it and launched himself from there. Even though the houses weren’t shoehorned into small lots—mine was over a quarter acre—from my position on the patio I could see inside the Colonel’s family room at night. He too, could see into my house, although his view was the bank of windows into my kitchen. Maybe that was why he came for dinner so often. He could see what I cooked.

We live on Bozeman’s Southside, ten blocks off Main. Each house was different, some original mining shacks from the town’s start to sixties ranchers. Mine fell toward the latter. It was a mid-century modern one story with a flat roof and tons of character. Typical dingy basement. Redwood siding painted a dark gray-green with black trim. Deep set eaves gave the house a Frank Lloyd Wright feel. What made it special was the floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall windows. The family room, kitchen, dining room and master all had walls of glass that let the outdoors be a part of the house. Unfortunately, the huge windows let anyone see in. Neighbors, Peeping Toms. They didn’t discriminate either.

I loved my house. It had been Nate’s before we married, his parents’ house before that, and Goldie’s parents’ house before that. Nate’s grandfather bought it brand new in ’59, gave it to Goldie and Paul, her husband, as a wedding present in the late sixties. They lived there until Nate and I married and gave it to us as a wedding present. I would have been perfectly content with china or a fondue set for a present. But giving the house to the next generation had turned into a tradition. Nate, being the selfish bastard he was, hadn’t turned down a free lunch. Or a free house.

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