Texas Sweet

by Jean Brashear

  “Sure you are,” Ben scoffed. “First of all, you’re quiet. Not that many people here are quiet.”

  She laughed.

  “And you’re sweet. You make people want to protect you. Take Henry, for instance.”

  “Henry?”

  Ben grimaced. “Okay, I’m shutting my mouth now. I have to go tell Dad I’m here.”

  “Ben, wait. What do you mean about Henry?”

  Ben mimed zipping his lips. “That’s between Henry and you. He’s worried you’re too young for him, but—nope. Not saying anymore.” He rushed away then, leaving Brenda to wonder what more Ben might have said.

  But she smiled to herself a little. A mystery woman…that was something Mère had always been to the men in her life, not Brenda. Her larger than life, glamorous mother could have been an actress or a star, her light shone that brightly.

  When she was feeling happy, Brenda reminded herself. Not in the dark times when Mère huddled beneath the covers and wouldn’t leave her darkened room.

  She was nothing like her mother, and she had no desire to be. She wanted to be strong like Miz Mabel or Ruby. Like Scarlett and Rissa and Penny, so sure of who they were and what they wanted.

  Then Jackson and Ben returned, excitement on their features.

  “It’s really beautiful,” she volunteered.

  Jackson’s face lit. “You think so?”

  “She’s going to go crazy over it.”

  All the love he felt for the woman he’d been parted from for so long glowed in his amazing blue eyes. “I sure hope so.” He hefted the cradle from the bed of the truck and let Ben hold one side. “You coming in to see?”

  The town had taken her in, no questions asked, and they treated her as one of their own. Maybe she didn’t have a birth family, but she had something better now. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Good.” Jackson nodded. “Then you can hold the door.”

  This was what she loved about Sweetgrass, that she was allowed to play a part, that nobody treated her like a charity case.

  She skipped ahead, then watched the expression on Veronica’s face as the love of her life and the child they’d created walked her way. How she wanted that to be her someday.

  Haven’t you noticed how Henry looks at you?

  Could it be?

  He thinks you’re too young.

  Maybe it was time to shed a few secrets. Or at least one.

  She closed the screen door behind her and joined the fun.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m eighteen,” she said later as she stood over Henry, watching him spade up dirt.

  “What?” He rose.

  “Um…how old are you?”

  “Twenty-one, nearly twenty-two,” he replied, his eyes intent on hers. “Seriously? You’re eighteen? When’s your birthday?”

  She tensed but forced herself to relax. This was Henry. He’d been kind to her from the first day. “August eighteenth. When is yours?”

  “I would have gotten you something if I’d known.”

  “It’s okay. I haven’t—no one has celebrated my birthday for a long time. I don’t mind.”

  His features took on a look of calculation. “Why not?”

  She knew her shoulders were hunching, but old habits were difficult to break. “They just…didn’t.”

  “How many foster homes have you been in?”

  She shrugged. Several.

  Henry made a noise of frustration. “Haven’t I shown you that you can trust me?”

  Her gaze whipped to his, and she realized he wasn’t angry so much as hurt. “My past doesn’t matter.”

  “Everyone’s past matters. It makes up who we are.”

  “Then when is your birthday?”

  “October eighth.”

  “That’s next week. We should have a party—”

  “No party,” he said decisively.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t need one. But you do.”

  “No, I don’t. I—” But she realized suddenly that she could have that and more if only she could break her habit of silence.

  You’re eighteen now. No one can take you away now. She’d been very careful to check. To be certain.

  She inhaled a breath ragged with uncertainty. “I was in the last foster home for a year, but my foster parents got a divorce, and I didn’t want to get put in yet another new foster home, so I—” She shrugged. “I ran away.”

  His gaze was surprisingly piercing. “So you were all alone after that?”

  She stiffened. “I survived.”

  Henry touched her arm, and she stared down at his hand, dirt under the fingernails.

  “Sorry.” He withdrew it quickly, wiping his hand on his jeans.

  She tried to figure out how to tell him she didn’t care that his hand was dirty, it was only that she wasn’t used to being touched. “It’s—”

  “My grandma and I didn’t have much, but we had each other.” His hazel eyes were warm and sad. “I hate that you didn’t have anybody.”

  For a moment she let herself feel how scared she’d been, how alone she’d always felt, but the sorrow would crush her if she let it. “It was okay. I managed.” But she couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes.

  “Brenda, I’m so sorry—”

  The lump in her throat was choking her. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does,” he said gently. “When my grandma died, I was all alone, too. I was scared, but I was older, old enough to make my own way. You were—”

  For the second time that day, tears threatened. She really wanted to lean on him and knew she could. That he would let her.

  “Brenda…”

  She couldn’t take anymore longing, any more kindness. “I’m okay,” she managed.

  Then she ran away before she could put the lie to that statement.

  Henry stood and watched her go, not sure what he’d done wrong or what he could do to fix it. He’d only wanted to make her see that they had things in common, that he understood some of what she’d been through.

  She’d had no family since she was eight? How badly had those intervening years marked her?

  She was shy, he knew that, but he hadn’t realized how much of that shyness stemmed from fear.

  She was barely eighteen. She’d arrived when she was sixteen, only a few weeks from seventeen as best he could recall.

  They could have taken her back. She could have been put in another foster home. No wonder she never volunteered anything. No surprise that she always stood outside everyone a little.

  He knew how that felt, but he’d been here longer. Never had to fear being taken back, placed in some home with strangers or worse, in some kind of shelter.

  Why hadn’t anyone ever adopted her? She was beautiful and sweet and smart…somebody should have wanted her.

  But in the midst of his outrage, he recognized one truth: if she hadn’t run away, he never would have met her.

  Then a second thought arrived, relief accompanying it: she was of age. He wouldn’t be breaking the law to be with her.

  At that same instant, he thought of Big D always hovering around her lately.

  She’s mine. A low growl rose from his throat.

  But she wasn’t, not really, only in his mind. To change that, he’d have to stop hanging back. How are you ever going to get the girl if you run away every chance you get? Scarlett had questioned.

  She’s eighteen, he thought again. And smiled. He’d never had a real girlfriend, had always been too shy to go after one. But Brenda was different—

  Wait. Was her name even Brenda?

  He didn’t care. It was what she’d asked to be called, and she’d had too little of what she wanted, he thought.

  Including a birthday party.

  That, he could do something about.

  He glanced back over the garden plot. He’d finish planting, and as soon as possible, he’d talk to Ruby and Scarlett. He knew they would help him throw
the party Brenda deserved. He didn’t know anything about throwing a party—except, wait, he did. He’d been watching Sweetgrass pull off one celebration after another, hadn’t he?

  He went back to work with renewed energy. He could plan while he planted.

  “Blue, these are wonderful,” Kitty said. “This flak jacket is in great condition, and the sailor’s uniform only has a couple of moth holes. You did—” She broke off, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing. I’m great.” But Blue couldn’t quit thinking about Dilly. Was going crazy with the yearning to seek out this little town called Sweetgrass Springs.

  Except that Dilly might not want to be found. Might hate her for just showing up with no notice—and why wouldn’t she? She had every right to hate her for that and more.

  Memories had begun to creep into her dreams, hard ones. Mère, I brought you beignets. Solemn blue eyes, scared blue eyes as the small hand stretched toward her. How young would Dilly have been, four? Five? Where had she gotten the beignets? How had she managed? Even now, the pinched look of cheeks that should have been round and soft and pampered rose in her mind.

  How many times had she forced Dilly to worry over her at an age when her daughter should have been playing with dolls and doing hopscotch on the sidewalk?

  She’d recorded the memories dutifully, though every line of ink felt stained with blood and shame.

  Why would Dilly welcome her? How could she possibly care now, after so long?

  But how would Blue ever move on, now that she knew where to find her child to tell her how sorry she was? To make amends? On her list of those to whom she’d needed to admit her faults, her child remained the outstanding item on her list. Writ large in bold.

  Aurora Daffodil. Blue shook her head. Dilly should hate her for that name alone. But in those high-flying days after her baby had been born, when Blue couldn’t get enough of tracing the soft cheeks and kissing the dandelion fluff of hair, the name had seemed perfect for a fairy child as Dilly had been.

  “Blue?”

  She jerked her attention back to the woman studying her with worried eyes. “I’m fine. I just—” Her breath hitched on a sob, and she cratered. Bent double over the glass counter, the pain ripping into her with sharp teeth and claws.

  “Hon, what is it?” Kitty was around the counter in seconds, grasping her elbow, wrapping an arm around her waist, leading her like a child to the sofa back in her office. “Sit down. I’ll get you a brandy.”

  “No!” Blue leaped to her feet. “No alcohol. I can’t.”

  Kitty halted. “I didn’t know. I guess I should have noticed. You never drink, do you? Not even when everyone else is.”

  Blue shuddered at how desperately the craving struck. Knowing she was so close to seeing—“I can’t risk—” Blindly she stumbled toward the door.

  Kitty gripped her hand. “It’s okay. It’s hidden. I wouldn’t tell you where if you held a gun to my head.”

  Another memory made Blue squeeze her eyes shut. Why had she left with that loser she’d been with that night? The one with whom she’d spent hours drinking, then had stumbled along as he’d gone after more money for another bottle by whipping out a gun and pointing it at the convenience store clerk?

  Her whole body was shaking as Kitty led her across the parking lot to the little house the older woman owned.

  “I should—”

  “I’m making you a cup of tea, and you’re going to lie down for a few minutes. Then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, and we’re going to figure out how to fix it.”

  “I can’t,” Blue moaned. “You’ll hate me. I hate me.” The grinning maw of darkness she’d skirted for so long gaped open, wet and gleaming with the slickness that had so often lured her to fall. Come in to the darkness. It’s soft here and safe. You can forget.

  “I have to go—” Blue whipped around and sought the door.

  “Blue, honey, sit down.”

  “I can’t. It’s sucking me back in and—”

  Kitty wrapped her up tight and rocked her. How long had it been since someone had held her? Another shudder wracked her. The fight she’d thought she’d won was never won, she saw now. She hadn’t been safe in her false tranquility, she had only been telling herself a story. Another story.

  Dilly had liked her stories once, but she wouldn’t like the only ones Blue knew now.

  “Shhh…” Kitty patted her back and settled her on the sofa. “You’re okay. I’ll just get—”

  Blue gripped the older woman’s hand with both of hers. “Please don’t leave.” She hated how pitiful she sounded, but she couldn’t afford to care. She was hanging on by her fingernails. “God grant me the grace—” she began.

  “—To accept the things I cannot change,” Kitty continued.

  Blue glanced up in shock.

  “My Ralph was a drinker,” the older woman said. “Until the day he nearly killed us both, drinking and driving.” She settled beside Blue, and Blue gripped her fingers for dear life as she battled to settle her heartbeat, to quit feeling as if there was no air.

  Getting there seemed to take hours, but Kitty remained beside her as Blue clawed her way toward calm. When at last she felt it settle over her, she heaved a long breath. Dragged deep until she found it, that scrap of pride, that tiny sliver of strength she could build on. To aid her cause, she forced herself to sit up straight as though she could be more than the wretch who’d faltered so badly this morning.

  Then she took a deep breath and spoke. “I have a daughter, but she was lost to me long ago.”

  Kitty only nodded and remained quiet.

  “I know where she is now. I just—” Again her breath hitched as she turned toward the kind if gruff older woman. “But I don’t know if she’d want me to find her.” She grimaced. “I don’t know how she could.”

  Kitty was silent for a long time, and Blue kept watching for her friend’s judgment to descend on her, as rightly it should.

  “You don’t expect me to decide for you, do you?”

  Blue’s mouth turned up a tick. “I wish you would. I don’t trust my judgment. Not in a long time.”

  “Do you want to see her?”

  “Desperately.” The answer took no time at all.

  “Even if she hates the sight of you?”

  Blue thought of that little girl who’d never looked at her with anything but love. No, that was wrong. She’d looked at her mother, the person who should have been caring for a small child, with worry and fear. But still the love.

  Could she bear it if Dilly turned away from her? If she ordered her to go? Told her all the bad things Blue deserved to hear?

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’d have to respect her wishes. It’s the least I can do for her. Doesn’t she deserve the chance to tell me how much I hurt her?”

  “Would she?”

  Blue subsided. That small child had always held so much in. She’d been stoic, far too young. “I don’t know.” She thought a minute. “I should probably write her a letter, but—” She needed to see Dilly. Needed to see that she was okay with her own eyes. The lawyer didn’t know her—how could he be sure?

  “I don’t want to upset her, though. I’ve done too much of that.” Even as little as she remembered, she was certain of that. “If only I could observe her first without her knowing…” An idea stuck. She turned slowly to look at Kitty. “I don’t look anything like the woman she remembers. Maybe I could just go and, I don’t know, maybe hang around a little. If she’s okay, I could leave again and she’d never have to—” Agony stabbed right into her heart at the thought of leaving Dilly.

  But she was remembering a child. Maybe she wouldn’t even like the older Dilly. And what would she do then?

  “You really think that’s a good idea?”

  “You don’t? I’d be careful. She’d never have to know.”

  “What about making amends?”

  Some people, she’d learned to her chagri
n, didn’t want the past dredged up. Sometimes making amends out loud was the selfish option. “I can’t know what’s right until I see her, get to know her.” A warm enthusiasm grew in her at the thought of being near Dilly. Wasn’t it more right to refrain from upsetting her until she had a better sense of whether encountering her mother again would damage Dilly? “Brenda,” she said aloud.

  “Who’s Brenda?”

  “That’s what she’s calling herself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she didn’t want to go back into the foster care system, is my guess. She wasn’t old enough to be out on her own when she left. Ran away,” she amended. As Blue had once run away from her stable, boring life in search of adventure.

  Which had been more seedy than the dreamer could have ever imagined.

  “That’s the answer,” she said slowly. “I can watch her and see. Watch over her, too.” She needed to know that Dilly was safe, that she was okay.

  “Blue…” Kitty began.

  Blue pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing. I just keep wondering if maybe she…” Needs a mother. Her mother. The right kind of mother, which Blue wanted desperately to become. “I don’t want to hurt her more. This is the only way to be sure what to do. If I just walk up and tell her who I am—” She shook her head. “She deserves caution. The careful approach.” She hesitated. “The truth might be the worst thing she could hear.”

  “Or the best.”

  Blue’s gaze whipped to her friend’s. “Maybe, but I lost the right to barge in long ago. If she’s okay, I can just…leave. No matter how it hurts me to walk away without her knowing. But maybe…” She shook her head. “No. Can’t get lost in wishful thinking. I have to be prepared to live with the facts. She may not need me, and if she doesn’t, then I’ll go and I’ll send her that letter and offer her the choice.” That felt more right, letting Dilly decide, once Blue knew she was strong enough to hear from her mother.

  “But then she’ll know you were there lying to her.”

  “But I’ll explain why. Surely she’ll see that I was doing it for her.” Because what she desperately wanted was to sweep in and grab her daughter and hug her and apologize and tell her how much she loved her and—