Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

sledgehammer, pull apart some ceiling tiles and crawl through an area that simulates a small space. Just basic stuff."

He made it sound so effortless, but she was impressed. She was sure not just anyone passed these tests.

His profile was sharp and confident. She wavered, trying to collect herself. Why was it whenever she was around him she felt out of sorts? She had to conquer these involuntary reactions to him. He might be separated, but he was still married and in for a long road ahead if he was really going through with a divorce.

Natalie tried to refocus her thoughts. "How long have you been a fireman?"

"Eight years."

"Can you see yourself doing the job until retirement?"

"Oh, yeah. Very few people quit."

They directed their attention back to the Gilligan's Island episode, and Natalie rolled her eyes at the outlandish comedic antics of Gilligan and the Skipper that, back when she was younger, she thought funny. Now the acting just seemed silly. "I remember this show from my day." Cutting off a gasp, she immediately cringed and ran the topic in a different direction. "Do you have cable or a dish?"

"Cable," he said shortly. His eyebrows lifted. "What do you mean—'my day'?"

She groaned and figured she'd just make a joke about her age. "Back when there were black-and-white televisions."

"Give me a break. How old are you?"

Natalie drew in a breath, expelled it, then closed her eyes a second. She wished she'd never brought up the subject. Bucking her composure, she stated in a bland voice, "Forty-three." Then slanting a glance at him, she dared herself to ask, "How old are you?"

No hesitation marked his reply. "Thirty-four." She gave a choked laugh, confused by her unexpected response. His age should have been of no consequence to her, and yet, her stomach flip-flopped. An unexpected heaviness settled in her heart and she faltered in the dry silence that engulfed them.

A nine-year difference was a large enough gap to give her pause. It might as well have been ninety years.

"You're only as old as you feel," he said simply, intuitively knowing that's all he needed to say. Then he clicked through the channels once more, stopping on a movie with Matthew Broderick.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off. A classic. She hadn't watched it in ages.

Ferris and his friend were calling the school principal to get Ferris's girlfriend out of class for the rest of the day. The scene was priceless, and Natalie's misplaced sense of their ages being an issue faded. It wasn't as if she were looking for anything but friendship.

As Matthew Broderick grabbed the telephone from his friend, Natalie laughed; an undiluted sound that came out soft and buoyant, very natural.

In that moment, she forgot she'd made a date with Jonathon Falco and had been indecisive about it ever since. Sarah had coaxed her—more like backed her into a corner—into returning Jonathon's call. Natalie had told herself it was a mature thing to go out with an adult of the opposite sex, and that it would do her some good to get out there again, to circulate and just…well…she didn't want to think about that date right now.

She allowed herself to simply enjoy right now, to not analyze the whys or hows. To just…feel alive.

Feel good. No worries. No cares.

"You have a really great TV," she commented, enjoying the movie even more because the screen was so large and the sound was crisp and theater quality.

"It's a guy thing," Tony replied, standing up. "We have to have the biggest TVs and the biggest garages for the biggest trucks." He went into the kitchen. "Can I pour you some more wine?"

Gazing into her glass, she realized she'd finished what she had. She probably should be going home, start a load of towels.

Disregarding the idea of being sensible, she said, "Please."

He came to her, poured, and then grabbed himself another beer.

Resettling next to her, they sat with their backs against the wall and their legs stretched in front of them.

Outside, the "snow came down in fluffy, featherlight wisps. Tranquility and peace seemed to surround them as they were amused by a movie with teenage humor.

Inwardly, Natalie smiled.

The shadows that had touched her heart over the holidays lifted. It felt good just to sit. Just to breathe. Just to laugh.

To be reminded that life moved on in its strange ways, and today was a day she wouldn't soon forget.

Tony sat at his mom's kitchen table, the morning paper open to the obits where she'd been looking at the columns. She had this interest in reading about people after they'd died. It wasn't a morbid thing, she just said it was interesting to see how men and women had lived their lives, what they had done and accomplished.

The aroma of coffee grounds filled the air, the sound of it perking broke into the silence as his mom leaned against the counter to wait for the coffee to finish.

She looked great at fifty-four, better than she had in her forties. She was five foot eleven and stood out among other women. She wore her hair shoulder length and layered. She kept the color dyed a dark brown with some brassy red in it. He'd inherited her deep brown eyes, the shape of her jaw and her smile.

"How did your last meeting with the attorney go?" she asked.

"Okay. He had everything written up like we'd discussed. I only made a few changes."

"Are you sure he's good?"

"I liked him. I interviewed a couple and I thought he was fair."

"How'd you find him?"

"My neighbor recommended him." Tony gave pause. Every now and then, especially late at night at the fire station if they came in from a call and he had to try and fall back asleep, he caught himself thinking about Natalie Goodwin, and it sort of took him by surprise. He found her attractive, smart and resourceful, but maybe there was more to it. He definitely felt a pull toward her, although examining why hadn't been a priority for him,