Becca's Baby

“I may just take you up on that,” he said as she walked away, knowing he wouldn’t consider it for a second. Thelma was well-known in town, and basically harmless. She was too obvious to do any real damage.

Several ten-gallon water jugs heavier, the cart was a little harder to push, but Will was determined not to repeat this experience anytime soon. He intended to load up, get out and not come back.

He had only one more stop to make before he was done. Potato chips. And beer. He’d run into an old buddy from high school, Duane Konch, at a comedy club in Phoenix the night before. Duane was a lawyer, divorced, but doing quite well in Phoenix. He was driving out to Shelter Valley with a couple of buddies for a poker game with Will.

Something Will would never have done at home with Becca. And yet, something he was looking forward to.

He didn’t make it as far as the potato chips before he was accosted again. But this time, at least, it was with only a pitying glance—not words. He didn’t actually have to stop. Or respond.

One of the sociology professors. Damn. School was starting soon. Could he look forward to pitying glances all day there, too? Did everyone have to know everything? Couldn’t his life just fall apart in peace?

He could just imagine what would have happened if he’d brought home one of the women who’d come on to him at the comedy club the night before.

There would’ve been a race to his front door to tell Becca the news.

Picking up two bags of the chips Becca usually bought, Will paused befo

re putting them in his cart. She usually bought some of that dip stuff to go with the chips. Looking around the aisle, Will didn’t see any dip. Or any signs to tell him where the stuff might be. Besides, dip was a women’s thing. Men didn’t dip.

He started to put the chips in the basket a second time, then changed his mind again. The chips were a bit bland without dip, as annoying as the stuff was. Looking around one more time, he saw a display of chips that were sour cream and onion. Just what he needed. The dip already in the bag. Must’ve been made for men whose wives had kicked them out. Picking up four of them, he headed, eyes downcast, to the checkout.

He couldn’t take another well-meant condolence, spoken or otherwise. He didn’t want somebody to stop him and ask him what he was doing with chips and so much beer, either. Didn’t want to answer any more questions, period.

He didn’t want anything to get back to Becca.

He wasn’t doing anything to hurt her.

But she’d told him to figure out what he wanted. She’d told him to find a home of his own that he really liked.

She expected him to be gone long enough to need a home of his own.

Will grabbed another bag of chips from an end-rack display on his way to the checkout.

Enjoying bachelorhood was what this separation was all about. Wasn’t it?

“YOU SHOULD MOVE to Phoenix,” Duane told him later that evening as he laid down his cards to Will’s winning hand again. They’d been discussing Will’s trip to the grocery. “It’s the only way to get away from the gossip. The people in this town will remember everything about you till the day you die.”

Will knew that. He just wasn’t sure moving to Phoenix would be any improvement. Shelter Valley was home. Not just “home” as a place to live but “home” as something more fundamental—part of his very nature. What kind of man was he to turn his back on it the minute it got ugly, lost its youthful sheen? Or was he the one who’d lost the sheen? He, who was finally seeing the cracks in the sidewalk?

Shelter Valley hadn’t been young the day Will was born. The cracks had already been in her sidewalks. As irritating as they were, he was rather fond of them.

“There’s a condo for sale near my country club,” Roger offered. He was the doctor, if Will remembered correctly. Podiatrist. Or was it pediatrician? After four beers, Will wasn’t positive.

“It’d be a long drive to work every day,” he said, offering the deck to Scott for a cut.

The youngest of the four, Scott was a radio announcer in Phoenix. He’d been divorced twice.

“But a short drive on weekends,” Scott said, grinning. “Not so far to take a lady home to bed after a night of dancing.”

Will might be feeling a little blurry about things, but he knew he wasn’t at that point yet. The point of bringing women home.

Having the guys in, drinking far more than he should, sitting in a room full of smoke and foul language—that was enough of a stretch.

But damn, he thought, looking around the table, his gaze landing on the chips piling up in front of him, this sure was fun.

“Let me know when you’re ready to file the papers,” Duane said. “I’ll save you a bundle.”

Staring at his cards, not sure if that was a six or a nine, Will’s fun screeched to a halt.