The Sweet By and By

by Sara Evans

  “No, it’s not.” Heat rolled down her neck, across her torso. “Put your checkbooks and wallets away, please.”

  “Jade, sugar, settle down.” Rebel chewed on the tip of his unlit stogie. “This is our tradition for our kids and grandkids.”

  “Whose tradition, Rebel? Yours? Bump’s? Tom and Taylor’s? Nettie’s?” The burn on her face intensified, and she began to tremble. “Certainly not mine.”

  “Jade.” Max’s fingers bit into her flesh. “Shh.”

  He walked her to the edge of the great room and said in a low voice, “These people are my parents’ friends. My friends, soon to be yours. Not to mention, your business demographic.”

  “This is humiliating, Max.” Her whisper was too loud. “Do they think I expected this? Wanted it? We don’t need their hard-earned money. I saw your last bonus check, and the shop is holding its own. We don’t want for anything.”

  “It’s not about how well we’re doing or not doing. It’s about tradition. My parents and their friends have been doing this for their children since I was a kid. I’m not the first recipient. In fact, I’m one of the last.”

  “So that man Tom, the Scrooge, who has to add an extra zero after the comma, has to give us at least a thousand dollars? That’s absurd.”

  “A thousand? More like ten thousand,” Max said, shaking his head, smiling. “Tom’s the most generous.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?” Hot embers burned between Jade’s ribs, and without looking, she could sense the guests’ curious stares. “I don’t even know these people.”

  “But I do.” Max’s tight-lipped response lacked patience.

  “I can’t do this, Max. It’s embarrassing. These people are my clients and customers. How can I look them in the eye after this? I’ll feel as if they think I’m charging prices based on the size of their wallets. Or as if I owe them something. Money changes relationships and people. Trust me, I know. Max, we’re fine without being beholden to tens of thousands of dollars from the Whisper Hollow elite.”

  Jade was a bit of a chip off her mama’s shoulder. She had no desire for things, or wealth, or the attached strings.

  The kitchen door burst open with a wide swing and June’s petite form created an angular silhouette in the block of light falling on the imported wool rug.

  “Jade.” June jerked her into the kitchen, away from the guests. “Would you please be quiet? Who do you think you are? Coming into our home and insulting our friends.”

  “I’m not insulting anyone.” Jade’s pulse thickened in her veins. “But I’m trying not to be indebted to half the town. This is ridiculous, coercing people into giving Max and me money just because you served homemade beef Wellington.”

  “It’s not the beef Wellington, Jade. It’s the tradition, the friendships, how we do things in the Hollow. Something you know nothing about.”

  “Mom.” Max stepped between them.

  “Rebel and I have given thousands of dollars to their children and grandchildren.” June pointed toward the door. “Tonight is our night, our season to celebrate our only son’s wedding with them. Then you come along, and—”

  “Calm down, Mom. She didn’t know.”

  “Don’t speak as if I’m not here, Max.” Jade glowered at him. “June, the Hollow is my town too. And this is my wedding.”

  June closed her eyes, inhaling deep. “—and you stand there, Jade, in all your vintage shop glory and demand they put away their checkbooks, insisting their money isn’t good enough for you.”

  “I never said their money wasn’t good enough.” Tears washed her eyes and she shivered a bit from the confrontation despite the warmth of the kitchen.

  “Your actions spoke loud and clear.” June trembled as she clenched her hands into fists. “In the twenty years we’ve been celebrating in this way, no one has ever protested our generosity. Not even the Pryor girl from up the mountain, the one Clyde Jones’ boy married.”

  “All right, Mom, enough, we get it. Don’t make more out of it than it is. At least she had the courage to stand up for her convictions. Your friends”—Max motioned toward the great room—“will understand. Half of them wish they had her boldness.”

  “Our friends, Max?” She crossed her hands in the center of her chest. “Yours too. And will they understand? I can just imagine the conversations driving home tonight, while lying in bed, in the morning over coffee.” She wagged her finger at him. “You’re partly to blame. Why didn’t you tell her?”

  “I don’t know . . .” He reached for Jade’s hand. “Didn’t seem like such a big deal.”

  Jade tightened her fingers around his when she caught the spark in June’s eyes.

  “Big deal?” She punched “big” and “deal” with a one, two of her lips and tongue. “How could you not know it was a big deal? This was a dinner party, in your honor.” June deflated and turned away, the chiffon skirt of her wine-colored gown whirling a half second behind. She pressed one hand to her forehead, another against the kitchen island.

  “Mom.” Max stretched his hand to her shoulder, and the movement made him moan and wince.

  “Max.” June faced him, her pink-ringed eyes dark with concern. “Your back? Still?”

  “Yeah, Mom, still.”

  June pinched her lips into a thin, pale line. “Jade, can you give us a moment?”

  “Mom, no, she doesn’t need to leave.”

  “I need to speak to you alone.”

  A server smashed through the dining room side door. “Mrs. Benson, dessert is ready and the guests are leaving.”

  “Oh, shoot.” She upbraided Jade with a single glare. “Serve those who remain. Freeze the rest. Now, Jade, please.”

  “Mom,” Max protested, hands on the island as he gently stretched his left leg.

  “Max, I’ll get our things.” Jade brushed her normal sense of self.

  As the kitchen door closed behind her, Jade collapsed against the wall. Except for a faithful few guests, the great room echoed with clicking glasses and silverware as the servers cleaned up. Trays of chocolate mousse remained untouched.

  Jade had ruined June’s evening without intent. How could she make it right without taking their friends’ money? Ever since the first Christmas after Daddy left, she wondered if she’d ever resolve her feelings about Mama signing them up for charity gifts at school.

  “Aiden and Jade Fitzgerald,” Mr. Ellison called over the squealing loudspeaker at the end of the school Christmas pageant. “Here are your Christmas gifts from the Salvation Army.”

  Her classmates’ snickers seeped out through hand-covered lips and burned Jade’s skin.

  Jade glanced at the dark door haloed by the kitchen light. What was June saying to Max in there? Dump that girl. Jade’s nerves twitched. Her track record with mothers was less than stellar.

  Jade had tried to erase the twenty-year-old Christmas memory, but it had found a permanent place in the front of her soul, pulled up a comfy chair, and ordered a tall latte.

  She and Aiden had been the only ones in the whole school who received charity presents that year—and for three years after.

  Jade pressed her hand over her middle. Miserable memory. She wanted to go home.

  “Caught you off guard, did we?” Rebel walked over and stood beside her.

  “A bit.” Jade stood straight, gathering her composure, putting elementary school behind her, scraping together her normal sense of self.

  “Get used to it.” He inhaled from his unlit cigar and blew a fake stream of smoke over Jade’s head. “I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  Six

  The conversation between Max and Jade on the short ride from the Bensons’ to the Blue Umbrella faltered.

  “I’m sorry, Max, about the money,” Jade said absently, staring out the passenger window. Max had exited the kitchen, after talking to his mom, stiff and closed.

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Your mom—”

  “Forget it.” Wincing, Max shifted
sideways in his seat, gripping the steering wheel. “Oh, man, pain shooting down my leg.” He popped the wheel with his palm.

  “Max, aren’t you taking the pain pills?”

  “Mom still has them.” Another moan pinched his expression. He barely made the turn down the alley behind the Blue Umbrella.

  “Why?” Jade sat forward, away from the warm leather seat. Max had fired up the seat heaters to relieve the leathery chill and soothe his back.

  “I’m fine, Jade, just need to keep working with the physical therapist.” Max slowed at the Blue Umbrella’s delivery door and shifted into Park, leaving the engine running. He jerked the bow out of his tie.

  “You’re not coming up?” Jade’s chilled fingers gripped her pocketbook.

  “I have an early appointment with a client.” He shifted in his seat again, his face tight, one hand squeezing his leg.

  Jade popped open her door and gathered her skirt, moving with hesitation.

  “Max, if you—” She hated being here, feeling isolated and on the outside.

  “Jade, don’t push. You do that sometimes, you know?” He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

  Out of the blue, it happened. The dormant sensation of dread awakened, possessing her from the inside out. The light of her emotions flickered, trying to hang on, before a whisper of hopelessness puffed it out.

  Jade flinched, straining her shoulders, squirming to stay above the pool of darkness, holding on to her bag as an anchor. “Please, Max. Stay.” Her fingers glided over the skin of her neck. She hadn’t worn Paps’ praying hands tonight.

  “Jade, I need to think. I have a lot on my mind, never mind this pain.” He snapped his gaze to her face. “Why don’t you want the money?”

  “Please.” She gazed in the opposite direction. “Come up for a minute or two.” Her rapid heartbeat stole her breath, and her request sounded weak and needy, clinging. “I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

  “Won’t sleep? What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Trembling, she forced herself out of the car.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Jade stooped to see inside the car. “Max, if you’re going to break it off with me, do it now.” Cold vibrations surged through her veins like an electric pulse, increasing in intensity as she waited, exposed. She tried to surface her thoughts from the blinding deep by searching for a lifeline of happy emotions—like the feel of snuggling between clean sheets, the security of sinking into a mound of pillows, or the hope of cradling Granny’s tattered old Bible to her chest.

  “Sheesh, Jade.” Max thumped the gear shift with the flat of his hand. “I’m not going to break up with you. You think I’m that shallow?”

  “You smoked a cigar tonight, something you hate, because a frat bro teased you. How much more power does your mother have? I have no idea what she told you, Max, but it must be pretty bad for you to barely speak to me on the ride home.”

  A stream of cool mountain air threaded down from the top of Eventide Ridge, and as quickly as the dark panic hit, Jade’s jitters and spiking sensations began to ebb.

  “Mom is . . .” He shook his head. “Mom. She worries. Sees and believes what she wants.” Max leaned against the headrest and peered at Jade. “Don’t worry; she doesn’t have that much power over me. I’m tired, irritated, in pain, and need some space. Is that all right?”

  “Then why do I feel like the enemy?”

  “Jade, you’re not the—”

  “Good night, Max.” She clapped the car door shut. No, she wasn’t the enemy. But did June realize it? Jade had been on this ride before—the girlfriend caught between mother and son. Maybe she should wake up, see the signs, and be the first to walk away.

  Through the Blue Umbrella’s storeroom and up the loft stairs, Jade’s heart ached as Max’s high-octane engine revved down Main Street.

  Five large scoops of vanilla. No, six ought to do it. Jade scooped another ball of Breyer’s from the carton and dropped it . . .

  On the floor. Nice.

  She grabbed the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and swiped the cold blob into the sink. Turning on the hot water, she melted it down the drain and once again scooped vanilla from the carton. This time into the blender.

  Next, a cup of milk. Maybe a dash more. Finally, chocolate syrup. Jade squeezed the Hershey’s bottle over the concoction until syrup ran down the sides of the blender jar.

  Slapping on the lid, Jade mashed the Liquefy button. The KitchenAid motor grunted as the blades struggled through the wad of ice cream. Maybe six scoops was a bit much.

  At one a.m. she’d accepted that she couldn’t sleep. The events of the evening ran through her head like high-pitched munchkins from Oz. The dinner party, meeting Rice, the money, June’s reaction, Max’s sudden silence. And her bout with panic.

  She’d gotten out of bed to draw a hot bath when she was hit with an overwhelming craving for a chocolate shake. When she was a girl, her daddy sometimes drove her to the Dairy Queen, just the two of them, until . . .

  Jade straightened her pajama pants, tugging the hem over her heels, and pushed the Stir button.

  If Froggers had been open, she’d have hooked Roscoe to his leash and jogged over to Laurel Park—PJs and all—and ordered an extra-large double chocolate shake with whipped cream. But they closed at nine in the fall.

  Her own mixture would have to do, and so far, the blender contents swirled together nicely. Jade’s tongue buzzed with anticipation. She cut the motor and tiptoed for the old-fashioned soda fountain glasses she kept in the cupboard.

  Grabbing a long spoon and a handful of treats for Roscoe, Jade wandered into the living room, dropping to her 1930s beige channel back sofa.

  The first drink of her shake tasted creamy and sweet. Just the right amount of chocolate and ice cream. Roscoe sat patiently at her feet. Jade tossed him a meaty bone, setting her heel on the low cherry coffee table.

  But the soul-drink didn’t cool her hurt or settle her thoughts. She debated calling Max, yet what if that didn’t go well? What if he didn’t confess the reassurance she longed for from him? His grumpiness had to be the back pain, and maybe a response to whatever meddling thing June said to him in the kitchen. Of course, making a scene out of the gift money didn’t help. She’d explain tomorrow. To Max. Apologize to June.

  Jade glanced at her cell phone, wanting company. She could call Daphne or Margot. Wake them up. Margot, the dentist, would be asleep at this hour, but she’d hop out of bed and drive up to the Hollow with more chocolate just to talk it all out.

  Daphne, the psychiatrist, also asleep, would chat with Jade incoherently, rattling off solutions. Probably tell her, “Stop eating chocolate, go to bed, and be at my office by ten a.m.”

  Jade tossed Roscoe another dog bone, deciding not to call her college friends. She didn’t have the energy to explain. So at the wee hour of one-fifteen, the only sound in the loft’s still atmosphere was the crunch of Roscoe’s munching.

  Jade romanced her milkshake for a few minutes, then reached for Granny’s Bible. Closing her eyes, she cradled it against her chest.

  What was the prayer Granny always prayed? Grant to her . . . wisdom and revelation . . . something, something of You. Roots and love. She knew the words were from Scripture, but she couldn’t remember where.

  And Paps. He prayed for Jade to have praying hands. Oh Paps, you died before teaching me.

  The Book was comforting and solid in her arms. She liked holding it. A longing for home, for Paps and Granny, colored her emotions. Jade snatched her cell phone from the end table and hit the number four on her keypad.

  “What are you doing awake?” The voice on the other end was slow and sleepy.

  “Wow, what are you doing in bed already?” The milkshake spoon clanked against the side of the glass.

  “Catching up on sleep. Got to do it every once in a while. What’s up?”

  Willow’s voice gained energy. Jade needed to hear her si
ster, to care for someone other than herself for a moment.

  “Are you with Linc?”

  “Now or in general?”

  “Whichever.” Jade tipped up the glass for a gulp.

  “In general, yes. At the moment, no.”

  “Willow, be careful. I’m not sure it’s wise to—”

  “Mo-om, I am being careful.”

  “Don’t ‘mom’ me. Someone has to keep you in line. So are you being careful with your body and your heart?”

  “It’s just a fling, Jade.”

  “And that changes your answer in what way? You’ve been flinging a lot lately, Willow.”

  “While I still got something to fling.” She laughed. “That was a joke, big sister, a joke. Enough snooping into my life. What are you doing awake, and why are you calling me?”

  “Just am.” Jade set the glass on the end table coaster, then cuddled a throw pillow.

  “Vintage shop stress?”

  “No, more like mother-in-law stress.” Jade ran the pillow’s fringe through her fingers. “Fiancé stress.”

  “Ooo, dish.”

  “Wills, I—” Jade slid to the edge of the sofa, tossing the pillow aside. “I sorta felt panicky again.”

  “Sorta? Did you have a panic attack? Get a text message from one? What?”

  “Your compassion moves me. It’s scary, Wills.” Her sister’s flippancy reminded Jade the panic was only a shadow. She was fine . . . just fine.

  “Why don’t you talk to Daphne, Jade? Can’t she prescribe a good drug?”

  “I don’t want drugs.” Jade ran her fingers through her hair. “I thought I was past this.”

  “You are, you just had a bad moment. Don’t wrap your life around it. Sheesh, if I got all bent every time I had a bad day, I’d be a living pretzel.”

  Jade laughed. Willow had a way of throwing her a lifeline, adorned with gold charms and white lights, and perhaps a fuzzy pink boa or two.

  “I made a chocolate milkshake.” Jade had created her own type of lifeline.

  Willow’s laugh went down smooth for Jade. “There you go, the best comfort food on earth. Beryl sent me to get her one the other day. In fact, the day she got your invite.”