Page 5 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“Remember that one time?” Liz began as she sat down. “That cow was having none of the chute. She’d get up close, just enough to think you had her this time, then veer off at the last minute.”

“You had to lasso her and lead her down the chute while Michael pushed from behind.” Kathleen laughed. “We had some good times during roundup. We sure did.”

Abruptly, her laughter stopped and she reached for the baked beans.

Michael had been gone a little over a year. It was obvious she still missed him.

On the other hand, I didn’t miss my ex one bit. Not one iota. Not even for a nanosecond.

Life was much better without Larry’s constant put downs or the rising volume of the TV as his hearing gradually worsened. Nope. I didn’t miss him and had no intention of repeating the experiment again. I was done with men in this lifetime. Only a fool would take up caring for a man at sixty-five, and my mama didn’t raise no fools.

“When are we going into the park?” Liz asked as she helped herself to a hunk of ham. “I want to see the geysers and the mud pots. All that power under the ground. Do you know Yellowstone is actually one big volcano? It would be awesome if it ever blew. Terrible. But awesome.”

“I can skip that event,” Kathleen said, as she passed the beans to me.

After putting a small amount on my plate, I put the bowl back on the table. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Liz’s beans; I liked them too much. The doctor had already put me on high cholesterol medication, and I didn’t want it to get any worse. In fact, I was already up to two pills a day, not counting the vitamins I downed daily.

“Stop counting calories,” Kathleen muttered.

“Well, I can’t eat like you. I’ve got a desk job.”

“We’ve all got desk jobs now,” Liz said. “That’s why it’s going to be important to walk around a lot. There are lots of boardwalks by the mud pots.”

“Mud pots stink,” Kathleen said.

“Maybe,” Liz said, undaunted. “But we’re going. That first guy—well, white guy—that stumbled across the geysers and all, he thought it was hell.”

“Colter’s Hell,” I said. Facts had always had a special place in my brain. The more useless they were, the more they tended to stick.

“That’s it!” Liz shook her head. “I never know how you remember all that stuff.”

I took a bite of the baked beans. They were better than I’d remembered. I must have groaned because Kathleen gave me the side eye.

The next bite I took was bigger and almost finished what was on my plate.

I was definitely going back for seconds.

“So from here we’re going to Jackson Hole for a few days, then to Moab, then head east to see the foliage, right?” Liz asked.

“Yes, we’re all set for reservations,” I responded. For months before we left I was calculating miles and making reservations. We were set through the fall when we hoped to be in New England, the cradle of the revolution. I was looking forward to it. Every school kid in Montana knew pretty much everywhere Lewis and Clark laid their weary heads, but Boston could be in the middle of the Atlantic for all we knew.

“And the Hudson River,” Liz said softly. “I want to see where those painters worked. And maybe do some of my own. We have enough time, don’t we?”

I smiled at her. “We have plenty of time. You can paint to your heart’s content.”

“There will be enough time then,” she said.

For a moment I wasn’t sure she was talking about painting.

“What are you working on these days?” I asked. “Have you sold anything recently?” I knew Liz made her living selling her paintings, but I’d long been fuzzy on the details.

“A few things here and there,” Liz said vaguely. “I’m trying a new style, but the gallery that usually buys is being resistant. I’ve sold a few from my website.”

Website? My sister had a website?

“Don’t bother looking for it,” Kathleen said. “She paints under an assumed name. I’ve tried for thirty years to get it from her, but she should have been a spy, she’s so tight-lipped.”

“For heaven’s sake, why?” I asked.

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