Page 12 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“And you?” he asked.

“Divorced. Two years now.” I hoped the terse tone would keep him from asking any more questions.

He touched my arm and pointed to a limb high in a nearby pine. At the outside edge of a branch, a familiar shape perched. I reached for my phone, but knew it wasn’t going to be possible to get the shot I really wanted. Still, it was sweet of Joe to point him out.

I took a few pictures of the eagle.

“Let me see,” he said.

Even he would be able to tell the images weren’t in a sharp focus.

“You still have an eye,” he said. “What you need is a camera that suits it.”

“It’s just a thing I do,” I told him. “No need to spend a lot of money on something that’s only a hobby.” As I said the words, I recognized the echo of my ex’s comments.

But he’d been right. Spending several thousand dollars on a camera and lenses didn’t make sense if I was an accountant.

“It’s not just a thing you do.” Joe turned to face me. “It’s a gift. Talents shouldn’t be ignored. Not everything has to make money just to be worthwhile.”

I forced a shrug, then started walking again, my mind grasping for a different topic.

“Did you have children?” I blurted out, before remembering what a mine field that question was.

“Two,” he said proudly. “Joe teaches English at the university in Dillon. Tess is finishing up her masters at MIT.”

“MIT?” I asked. “Cambridge, Massachusetts? That MIT?”

“Yep.” If there had been buttons on Joe’s shirt, they would have popped right off. “Got her smarts from her mother. Joe takes after me.”

“Joe Junior?”

“The third. He hates it. But my dad was pleased as punch.”

“You always got along with your dad.”

“Still do. He and Mom still live in the same house. Neighborhood’s one of those places stuck in time. Know what I mean?”

I nodded. There were those places everywhere in Montana. Even in big cities like Butte, one could easily identify the time periods when houses were first erected. Joe had lived on the outskirts, in a section built in the 1940s, while our ranch was further out of town. In high school my bus route had been changed to pick up the kids from his neighborhood, and our friendship, established in junior high, had deepened.

“Your folks?” he asked.

“Gone for a while now. Kathleen—my younger sister—took over the ranch. Liz—she’s the youngest—has a small house on the property, too.”

“Who’s taking care of the cattle while you’re RVing?” he asked.

“We sold the cattle, kept the two houses and acreage. Someone’s managing it for us. Now we’re on our great adventure.” I clutched onto the present. No more meandering around in the mucky murk of maudlin memories.

I’d put my purple prose up against Joe’s limericks any day.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Inside joke.” I grinned.

“Have it your way.” We walked down the park road, and, in spite of my vow, the past crept back in. Joe and I had walked forever through the mountains next to Butte. We were just friends meeting up on a Saturday morning to get outside.

At least that’s what we’d told ourselves.

We reached his spot. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to see that it was the Airstream RV I’d noticed the night before. A big jug of sun tea was sitting on the picnic table.

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