It's Never too Late

When he saw his home address right there, in black and white, he was beyond surprised.

The good news was, the savvy old lady had gotten a decent price for the place. She’d have safeguarded the sum, too. There was no doubt in his mind about that. Her money would sustain her until he could get back on at the plant, find a home in Bierly for them to rent.

It was when he pulled out his cell to call his former boss to ask for his old job back that he caught himself. He had a job. One he actually liked. With good benefits. Right there in Shelter Valley.

A town that he also liked.

The duplex was on loan to him only for as long as he was a student at the university—a condition of the scholarship—but there were other places to rent in town.

And someday, when he saved up the money, he’d find a school in Phoenix that would accept him and he’d get his safety engineering degree, too.

If he stayed, he wouldn’t risk Nonnie’s life with another long drive.

This was how a guy fixed things. He took what he’d learned and continued moving forward, one step at a time.

By the time he’d almost reached his truck, he’d convinced himself that life was good. And then he had a flashback: Addy, naked and open to him. He pushed the image away. Started walking faster—to the point where he was working up a sweat.

He remembered her soft skin. Her laughter. The vulnerable look in her eyes when he’d walked out on her that morning.

He almost made it out of the desert. Almost, but not quite. When his truck was only feet away, when he knew he was going to have to drive back to town and face a life without Addy, Mark fell to his knees and wept.

And then, in control once more, he went home.

* * *

“SHE CAME BY.”

He didn’t want to talk about it.

“I asked her if you slept with her.”

“I told you, you’re overstepping your boundaries. I suggest you shut your trap.”

“She said it was the most incredible night of her life. Those were her words. Most incredible.”

What did the old lady want from him? His blood and guts on the table in front of her?

“She told me, Markie-boy.”

“What? What did she tell you?” He hollered the words. Looking up from the homework due in an hour, which he now had no reason to complete, Mark glanced behind him at the frail woman in the wheelchair facing a computer with a gambling hand opened on it. His eyes dropped. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t remember the last time you raised your voice at me.”

He could. It had been the night she’d hauled his ass out of that bar and back to Bierly. The night the sixteen-year-old boy had become a real man.

Silence filled the room and Mark told himself he was thankful for it. He spent the next ten minutes reading the same six words on the same page, trying to find any meaning in them at all.

“She told me she’s a lawyer.”

He didn’t want to know.

He read the line several more times.

“It doesn’t change what we know about her, boy. It’s her heart that matters, you know that.”

“She lied.”

“I imagine she did it for good cause.”