Leaving Normal Read online

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  Leaving Normal

  By

  Stef Ann Holm

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

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  Also by STEF ANN HOLM

  PINK MOON

  UNDRESSED

  GIRLS NIGHT

  And watch for the next book by

  STEF ANN HOLM

  Coming October

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  ISBN 0-7783-2222-X

  LEAVING NORMAL

  Copyright © 2005 by Stef Ann Holm.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  www.MIRABooks.com

  Printed in U.S.A.

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  This one is for Millie Criswell.

  As things happen in life, there are the ups and downs, joys and pains. You were there for me in those times, and I will never forget how kind, generous, wise and steadfast your friendship was and continues to be. I believe

  Arnette is smiling at us from Heaven.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND THANKS

  Thank you to all the Boise firemen who kindly answered my questions and let me ride along with them. I'm especially grateful to Station under the command of Captain Bill Sipple,

  Station 8 under the command of Captain

  Don Fry, Station 6 under the command of

  Captain John Peugh and Station 9 under the command of Captain Dave Muir.

  The hero in this book was one day away from being recast as a police officer if it hadn't been for the two firefighters who work out at my

  Gold's Gym. I'm sure when I first approached them to help me they didn't know what they were getting themselves into. They allowed me to ask detailed questions and both were forthcoming with their answers.

  Many thanks to Hoseman Rob Townsend, who has the body to be shirtless on the cover of a romance novel (and who is the hot guy for the month of May in the Boise Firefighter Calendar)—you rock, dude.

  A very heartfelt thank-you to Hoseman

  Matt Owen, who let me shadow him on the job.

  The fictional depiction of the hero in this book was influenced by your generosity, thoughtful insight, masculinity and sense of humor.

  Lastly, thanks to Hoseman Shawn Res, who tolerated me writing down a lot of what he said. You know it—"I hear ya."

  To all who wear the Maltese cross, stay well and be safe.

  Stef Ann Holm

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  Chapter One

  Mail, Saint Therese!

  Natalie Goodwin's dream of owning her own flower shop would be a reality in less than one month. Joyous excitement fluttered in her heart, especially now that her business loan had been approved.

  Hat and Garden would open just in time for Christmas.

  The old 1904 house that she was converting into a flower and gift shop was located in Boise's North End. The oak floors were original, as were the heavy banisters and narrow stairs that led to the second floor. Each room upstairs was going to be decorated with a distinct theme: the teddy-bear room with cute little bears in all shapes and sizes, the nature room with gifts that celebrate the great outdoors and the Victorian room with its china tea sets for sale.

  Natalie's vision of her shop was a place brimming with one-of-a-kind items from local suppliers.

  To inspire her family members who were helping with the setup of the store, the holiday smells of burn-ing cranberry and pine candles perfumed Hat and Garden while Christmas carols played through hidden speakers in every room.

  "How high do you want this shelf, Natalie?" her father, Fred, asked. He held on to a shelf, raising and lowering it for her approval.

  Stepping back to assess, she imagined the inspirational display of Saint Therese figurines and wanted them at eye level. "About right there," she said.

  "Okay, I got it."

  The fact that her dad didn't object, offer a critique or alternate suggestion relieved Natalie. As far as he was concerned, Target was the best—the only—store in town.

  Fred Miller had retired from civil service a few years back having been a U.S. mail carrier for thirty-one years. Now his days were spent feeding the squirrels and birds, keeping his lawn green and his many trees and shrubs trimmed to perfection. Widowed twelve years ago, he had never remarried. Sometimes Natalie grew sad when she thought about him living alone.

  He had been somewhat of a hardhead when Natalie and her sister, Sarah Brockner, were growing up, but he'd mellowed since Mom died of breast cancer. Still, there was a part of him that couldn't resist offering a strong opinion without being asked.

  So when he took her direction about the shelf, Natalie smiled and thought he was turning into an old softy.

  Colorful Christmas decorations still in their boxes filled the main level. The place overflowed with everything from fireplace garlands to ornaments from Germany, to strings of multicolored lights.

  Sarah approached, holding a snowman. "Where does this go?"

  "Right over there with the snowmen display."

  The two sisters looked as different on the outside as they were on the inside. Natalie was the fairer of the two, taller and more curvaceous. She wore a size larger in clothing than Sarah, and dressed far more conservatively than her younger sister.

  Sarah had curly dark hair, was petite in every way— and the spitting image of their mother. She was friendly, more outgoing than Natalie, and verbally expressive when it came to topics of sex, romance, men, dating and anything else found in the pages of Cosmo.

  "Where's the hunky-man display?" Sarah questioned with a lift of her eyebrows. "I saw the new firefighter calendar at my gym. I keep telling you, if you filled a rack of them, they'd be sold out in one day."

  "I'm not putting any hunky men in my shop," Natalie declared.

  "But I'll bet plenty of hunky men will come and buy flowers and things from you. Maybe you'll date one of them."

  "I'm not dating anyone. I don't have any time, nor do I have the interest."

  Sarah frowned. "You've been divorced for almost two years and the only relationship you've had since being single went bust, but that's in the past. It's time for you to get back out there."

  "Hmm." Natalie hoped her noncommittal response would end the discussion. She didn't like talking about Michael Williams, didn't like being reminded about the short-term relationship that ended disastrously just under a year ago.
She'd felt more pain going through that breakup than she had ending a twenty-one-year marriage.

  "Michael Williams was your transitional guy," Sarah went on, ignoring Natalie's warning glare. "So you dated some duds after him, so what if none of them panned out? You can't expect to meet Mr. Right when you do five men in five minutes."

  "It was called speed dating," Natalie clarified, trying to tamp down her agitation. "And it was eight men in eight-minute increments. And, at the time, I wasn't looking for Mr. Right. I would have settled for Mr. Right Now to share the basics with—dinner and a movie."

  "You were on the rebound without a clear perspective."

  "I hate all this divorced-people language—rebound, transitional and newbie. It's all so horribly depressing. Sarah, I'm done with dating. I just don't want to go there anymore. I need to focus on the shop."

  Hat and Garden had come to fruition at a time when she was looking for an outlet to channel her creativity and to make positive changes in her life. She'd always been a gardener, loved sunshine and flowers, making things grow, so this new shop offered a perfect blend of all her interests.

  When her daughter, Cassandra, had entered high school, Natalie finally took a part-time job. As a floral assistant she learned a great deal, and found a deep sense of satisfaction in the work. She knew then what she wanted to do with herself.

  Greg, her husband at the time, never thought she was up to the task of opening her own shop. Which is one of the reasons he was now her ex-husband.

  There had been a time in her marriage when she'd been blissful and alive: her courtship, her wedding day, those years before she got pregnant. Even after Cassandra had been born, Natalie knew a limitless peace and satisfaction. But then things had changed when Natalie went back to work.

  It wasn't so much being out of the house as it was discovering who she was without Greg. She'd married in her early twenties and had never completed college. She had been content to stay at home with her baby, loved every minute of it and didn't want to change a thing. She would forever be grateful to Greg's income for allowing her the opportunity of being a stay-at-home mom.

  But when she was arranging flowers, blending colors and creating bouquets, she found a piece of herself she hadn't known had existed. She felt a self-worth that had purpose beyond that of being a wife and mother.

  Natalie began to realize that she needed more from her marriage than what she was getting from Greg. Her husband had been content to maintain the status quo; doing no more and no less each day. Get up, go to work, come home, watch the evening news, eat dinner and go to bed. He liked the routine, the safety of it all. Natalie had become, in her older years, more of a risk taker. Life was short—she wanted to embrace it.

  And yet, she hadn't had the courage to do so at the time because she worried about the effects of divorce on Cassie. She stayed with Greg who, in all fairness, hadn't changed from the man she'd married.

  But she wanted more for herself: emotional balance and the desire to be loved and nurtured. They'd gone to marriage counseling, but the sessions only frustrated her and added conflict to the relationship. She hated the tension, the feeling of things unraveling with no way to knit them back together.

  When Cassie entered her junior year at college, Natalie could no longer live in the strained marriage, so she finally filed for divorce.

  There was no one to blame. Not herself. Not Greg.

  It was just one of those things. You either grew together in a marriage or you grew apart.

  They'd grown apart.

  The twenty-one year union that had been dying a slow death for years had been dissolved. At forty-three, for the first time in her life, Natalie had confronted facing things on her own, making her own decisions—both good and bad. And, in the past two years, she'd lived with the consequences.

  It had taken a year to regroup financially, going from part-time work to full-time to support herself. Then she'd temporarily been distracted by her brief romance with Michael. A mistake she was not going to repeat.

  In a moment of retrospect, Natalie conceded, "Sarah, I don't want to be alone all my life, but I'm not going to worry about it. I'm going to enjoy what I have around me." Sitting on the cash-register counter was a box of miniature Saint Therese statues. They could be arranged in houseplants or in window gardens.

  "She's pretty," Sarah said. "Who is she?"

  "Therese of Lisieux. The saint of flowers." Natalie sighed, a feeling of contentment settling through her. "To me, she also represents patience and simplicity. I love appreciating the curling detail of rose petals as they form a flower, the textures and smells around me. I have to live for the moment, Sarah, and not focus on the big picture or I'll go crazy. In my marriage, I focused on my husband and what was going wrong and how I could fix it. Even when I was with Michael, I repeated history. I can't fix the whole world, but I can fix what's going on in front of me. From now on, I'm going to enjoy taking pleasure in the small things."

  Sarah's expression grew introspective, still not sur-rendering to the battle. "But you have so much going for you. With the perfect man—"

  "You've already taken the perfect man. Steve is the best." Natalie laughed, trying to make light of everything. Then in all seriousness, she added, "I'm happy, Sarah. Truly. I've worked hard to get where I am. This is the best time of my life and I don't want to miss any of it because I'm blinded by love—or blind by what I think is love."

  "I understand that, Natalie, and I agree. Hat and Garden is going to be fabulous. I'm proud of you." Gazing at the snowman in her arms, she added with a sparkle . in her eyes, "He's cute, but he'd be even cuter with a Mrs. Snowman."

  Natalie shook her head. "She's too busy making snowballs to throw at a certain sister. Besides, she got tired of him leaving the toilet seat up."

  "I did not. I made sure I put the dang thing down," their dad grumbled, coming toward them carrying a string of holly berries.

  Smiling, Natalie assured, "Not you, Dad."

  "Oh." His expression relaxed. "Where did you say you wanted these hung?"

  "Over the front door. Weave them through the pine boughs."

  "They'd look better on the counter."

  "I have more for that."

  "Where'd you get these? I hope like hell not at that big 'W' store. Target has the best selection and quality. I could run up and buy some extras."

  "I don't need any more."

  Fred Miller grew silent, a sullen look spreading across his face. He was a handsome man for his age with silver-gray hair, and a full head of it. He kept it cut in a half pompadour, half crew, combed back from his high forehead. Thin age lines bracketed the corners of his eyes, his nose straight and slightly wide, his mouth generous. The upper lip was thinner than the lower, his teeth a nice neat row, thanks to dentures—something he was not happy about—but they had never looked artificial to Natalie. Of course, she was biased, but she thought her dad quite distinguished.

  "Well," he said at length, "if you do, they've got plenty."

  Sarah went back to work and her dad headed for the front door. As Natalie walked through the shop, she knew in the back of her mind that she had to do something, but with so much going on, she couldn't think what it was.

  Hands on hips, she stopped to ponder, then walked into the living room.

  BreeAnn and Sydney, Sarah's daughters, who were ages eleven and thirteen, assembled the train set that ran on a track between the two fir trees displayed in the front window.

  "How's it coming?" she asked.

  Sydney looked up. "Good, Aunt Natalie."

  Since she was unable to remember what she'd intended to do next from her list of a hundred different things, Natalie gravitated toward her office.

  In what used to be a parlor in the old house, Natalie entered the room and slipped behind her desk. Stacks of papers, invoices and envelopes spread out before her. Paperwork wasn't her strong suit, but she did have a method to keeping track of everything.

  She sat down,
gazed at her surroundings and allowed herself to reminisce—a moment when she dared to dredge up memories—if only to analyze the whys and the hows. To tell herself that she really meant what she had said to Sarah about being single.

  In thinking back on her marriage to Greg and to her brief encounter with Michael, Natalie told herself that she would much rather be alone than with either man.

  In the beginning, Michael had been wonderful. They were so alike. Both had had marriages that had failed for similar reasons, and both had daughters the same ages. It was the girls' junior years in high school and Michael had suggested they take them to Hawaii for spring break. Natalie thought the trip would be great, ran the idea past Cassie who had no objections. In fact, she was looking forward to surfing and shopping on Waikiki with Brook, Michael's daughter.

  But on the vacation, something went wrong. Natalie felt it in Hawaii, and sensed it when they returned home. In the following weeks, Michael distanced himself emotionally. In hindsight, she realized he'd never really made himself available. She was too open, too trusting, and she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable.

  She wore her heart on her shirtsleeve and it had cost her.

  Michael would have continued the relationship if she hadn't started a discussion about it one evening, at his place, just before he was about to go out of town on business. She asked him point-blank if he wanted to be in the relationship or not. He got this stupid smirk on his face that spoke volumes: "Ah, you caught me." Then he said he never had any time to himself. She thought this strange since he was always inviting her to be with him—a family reunion, outdoor activities, dinners in his home and weekends spent together. He said he felt pressured to be "a couple." Then he'd rambled on about the women in his life—the way they'd mistreated him. She had listened, then quietly commented that he was penalizing her because she was a woman—and once a woman had done him wrong, none were to be trusted.