The Sweet By and By

by Sara Evans

  “I think you should do what you have to do, Sean.” She tried not to feel set up, but she did.

  “Tell you what, Sean.” June brushed her hand against his sleeve. “Send the details over to the office. Reb will have Lance Olin take a look and advise Jade.”

  “I’ll do it.” Sean turned to Jade. “What do you say?”

  She liked to think she learned from her mistakes. With a nod, she said, “Send it on over.” She’d worry about saying no later.

  “Good.” June popped her hands together, looking as if she’d won. “Now let’s eat. Sean, we’re going to Aretha Frankenstein’s. Care to join us?”

  “My mouth is watering for one of their ‘waffles of insane greatness,’” he said, holding open the door, slipping a key from a large ring into the lock. “I’ll meet you ladies there.”

  Walking to June’s Audi, Jade struggled to keep her thoughts to herself. But once they were in the car, June kicked the door wide.

  “Could you be a little more gracious?” June adjusted the heat blasting from the vents as she backed out of the parking spot. The noon sun had defrosted the cold morning. The deep chill rolling down from the hills had melted in the city’s warmth.

  “About being railroaded?” Jade snapped her seatbelt in the lock. “I’m not even sure what happened back there.”

  “I brought you an excellent investment opportunity.” June headed east on Tremont, toward Aretha Frankenstein’s.

  Jade cradled her handbag. So far, none of the responses running through her head were appropriate.

  “June, don’t take this wrong, but no, you didn’t bring me an investment opportunity. You brought me along for one of your ideas. I’ve got enough going on with one shop. If I opened a second, I’d have to hire a manager, divide my time, increase my inventory. It’s not like manufacturing reps come knocking on my door. I have to go out and find what I sell, look for consigners. Besides, I want my first year of marriage to be about Max and me, not a Blue Umbrella Two.”

  “Are you adverse to any help? Or are you so self-sufficient you don’t need others?”

  “Is this about the other night?”

  “You tell me.”

  If she only knew. “June, you’ve done so much for me already . . . planning the wedding, paying for most of it, welcoming me into your family and circle of friends. Can it just be simple and straightforward? I don’t want another shop.”

  June cruised up to the curb by Aretha Frankenstein’s, shut off the Audi, and set the emergency brake. “Yes, it can. As long as you know it’s fine to be independent, but it’s also wise to know when to say ‘Yes, thank you very much.’ To know when to speak, and when to hold your opinions to yourself.”

  Jade paused. “We’re not talking about the property anymore, are we?”

  “There are things, Jade . . . Expectations.” June combed the ends of her hair with her fingers.

  “Like?” Small knots floated through Jade’s emotions.

  “Like understanding the way the game is played.”

  Jade reached for the door handle. “I’m not playing games, June.”

  Sean Dunham was in the waiting area of the colorful restaurant, converted from an old neighborhood house. If Jade had rattled June with her comment, the elegant woman hid it well.

  “How about the corner table, under the window?” Sean led the way, motioning for the waitress to come over. He had a commanding air; he obviously knew which privileges to expect.

  After ordering lunch, the table conversation started off slow, with chit-chat about the weather and UT football, and Sean’s season tickets on the fifty yard line. He’d already invited Reb to the Florida game.

  Then one of them mentioned the city council, and the conversation raced down the political track. Jade mentally checked out.

  Really, what was June’s motive today? Hijacking their lunch for a real-estate pitch. Jade uncrossed her legs and shifted sideways in her chair, peering out the window. Did June want to make a point about her control? Her power and position?

  It’d been over a week since she’d rebuked Jade for protesting the gift-giving dinner. Since then, Max had been busy with a client and a weekend seminar in Atlanta on blogging law. They had yet to talk in-depth about his conversation in the kitchen with June.

  June’s laugh rose above the din of the dining room and cut into Jade’s musings. Across the table, the woman pressed her hand against Sean’s bicep, then squeezed his chin with her fingers.

  “I don’t believe you. No sir, not the great Sean Dunham. There must be dozens of eligible women for you to date. You just don’t want to see—”

  “Excuse me.” Jade slid away from the table. “I need to make a call. June, I’m meeting an estate broker from Kentucky at two, so we should leave by one thirty.”

  “All right, dear, whatever you need,” she said, propping her elbow on the table, resting her chin between her fingers. “Fine.”

  Was she flirting? With Sean? Right in front of her? There was Southern-charm flirting, and then there was make-your-husband-jealous flirting. And June flirted with the line.

  Cheating on Rebel wasn’t June Benson’s style. She had her rules and traditions, her very strong opinions, and her flirtatious charm. But she was faithful.

  Walking toward the ladies’ room, Jade autodialed Max. A longing for him made her heart pump, and she wondered what he’d think about her adventure with his mom today. He was good about giving Jade perspective.

  “Hello?”

  Jade stopped. “Max?”

  “Hey, Jade, what’s up?”

  She whirled around. “Why am I hearing you in stereo?”

  “Stereo? What are you talking about?”

  Jade scanned the dining area. Because it was a converted house, the room wasn’t exactly square. There. She spotted the tip of his dark head and started weaving his way. “Are you at Aretha Frankenstein’s?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Because I’m here too.” Jade stopped just shy of his table. His head was tipped toward a dark, feminine one, and his hand rested on a woman’s slender forearm.

  “Where are you?” Max jumped up, whirling around, almost colliding with Jade.

  Rice McClure looked up at Jade, her eyes watery and red.

  “What’s going on?” Jade gazed between Max and Rice, who stared at a wadded napkin. The scene made Jade feel as if she were on the outside peering in, like the scorned girlfriend trying to win back her man.

  “No-nothing’s going on. What are you doing here?” Max peered down at Rice.

  It started with a thought. What if he still loves her? The notion exploded in Jade’s mind, scattering fear fragments over the valleys of her heart. The light of her soul flickered.

  She’d been here before . . .

  Don’t . . . think . . . Sinking . . . No, no . . . Jade shifted her weight, taking a step backward. Her eyes darted about the small room. Alone, they want to be . . . alone. Where to . . . focus. Daphne said . . . the window . . . light . . . focus on the window.

  The clanking sounds of dishes faded to the background. Jade’s fingers gripped the praying hands medallion hanging around her neck.

  Don’t want . . . to go . . . crazy.

  “Jade?” Confusion, no, impatience darkened Max’s expression.

  Rice rose from her chair, her eyes red, her brunette hair neatly tucked behind her ears. “Jade, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine . . . fine.” Jade pulled her arms tight against her torso and moved backward, bumping into the table behind her. Water and tea sloshed over the tops of the diners’ full drink glasses. A bully-faced man jumped away from the table, knocking over his chair.

  “Babe, babe.” Max lunged for her, apologizing to the Aretha Frankenstein’s patron. “Your lunch is on me.”

  Jade peered at the man. I’m sorry. So sorry.

  “Jade, sweetheart, what’s going on?” Max grabbed her by the waist and steered her to a nook in the back of the restaurant.

&
nbsp; The walls gathered around, the ceiling hovered just over her head . . . Out . . . I want out . . . Need air. Jade broke free from Max and bolted between the tables and out the front door. The golden afternoon sun cut a bold light across her vision as she stumbled down the stone steps. His footsteps crunched behind her.

  Where did she park? Darkness slashed through her thoughts, raiding her sense of self. Her car. Where was her car? Jade wanted to go home, to the Hollow, to her safe boundaries.

  “Jade, tell me, what’s going on?” Max handcuffed her wrist with his tight grip.

  “You, Rice, your mom . . . I, I . . .” Jade shook her head gently, releasing her arm from Max’s hand, and teetered on the edge of reason.

  “Mom? She’s here?”

  “What are you doing here with Rice?” Jade tore off her jacket, letting it slip down her arms and hang from her wrists. The cool air felt perfect against her hot skin.

  “She wanted to talk.”

  “You work at the same office, Max—on the other side of the river I might add. You had to come here to talk? You had to hold her hand?”

  “I wasn’t holding her hand. She’s upset about her boyfriend in D.C., and she asked if we could go to lunch.”

  With a deep inhale, Jade peered at Max. “Do you love her?”

  “No.” Max propped his hands on his leather belt, eyes narrowed at her. “Is that what this show is about?”

  “Show?” He had to hate seeing his fiancée insecure and clinging. Jade stepped off the curb. “I need to go. An estate broker from Kentucky is meeting me at the shop.”

  “Jade, is everything all right?” June asked, with Sean and Rice following.

  Max slipped his arm around Jade. “Mom, she’s fine. Sean, how are you?” Max clapped his hand into the developer’s.

  Jade’s pulse slowed as reason gained ground, and she rested her head against Max’s shoulder. Rice stood off to one side, her eyes narrowed and observing. She smiled with a mini wave when Jade’s gaze crossed hers.

  “What are you and Jade doing down here, Mom?” Max said.

  “Blame Sean here. He has a property on River Street he thought would be great for a second Blue Umbrella.”

  “You want space in the city?” Max peered down at Jade, his smile rescuing her from the muddy emotional pit.

  “Your mom thinks I should open up a second shop.”

  “But do you?” Tender, patient, focusing only on her.

  “No, actually.” There, she confessed it for June and Sean to hear. “Maybe someday.” Jade pulled Max away from the watching gallery. “It’s you I want.

  Not a second store. Not your parents’ friends’ money. Just. You.” The confession came from a deep, secret place in her heart, where only a few treasures lived. Paps and Granny, Aiden and Willow. And now Max.

  His lips brushed her ear. “It’s you I want. Just. You. Not an old fiancée who couldn’t stick around when the going got tough. She was always more like a buddy than a girlfriend. And don’t let Mom’s ideas become yours . . . unless you want.”

  “I’ll stick with you, Max, I promise, if you’ll stick with me.” She whispered her promise against his chest, the pound of her pulse matching the easy pulse of the breeze.

  “In a few weeks, I’ll say it in front of Whisper Hollow and all of heaven.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him as her will and emotions rebounded from the raw bomb of anxiety. She’d work every day of their marriage to deserve him.

  “Jade, darling, it’s one forty.” June started for her car. “We’d better get you back to the shop.”

  “See you tonight?” Max said, still holding her close, kissing her softly.

  “See you tonight. And Max”—she brushed her hand over his thick chest— “if your mother doesn’t make it home . . .”

  “Benson Law has a fine capital defense team.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled, everyday brightness returning to her internal world.

  “Back there . . .” Max walked with her to June’s car. “That was about more than me talking with Rice, wasn’t it?”

  “Back there was just a little bit of my old life trying to cheat the new.”

  Nine

  Riding ten hours in the car with Willow from Prairie City to Whisper Hollow wore every fiber of Beryl’s being down to a bare thread.

  “Why didn’t we rent a car? It’s a hundred degrees in this death trap.” Willow hooked her bare heels over the edge of the seat and hung her head out the window of Beryl’s Corolla as it clattered and rattled toward Whisper Hollow. “Sorry we didn’t make your wedding, Jade. We spontaneously combusted.”

  “Would you please, please, for the love of Pete, shut up?” Beryl swore, white-knuckling the wheel. The Corolla was a good, solid vehicle. So a little hot air blew in from the engine. And the floorboard was like a griddle when the muffler pipe heated up. At least it was warm. “I didn’t see you forking up the money to rent a car.”

  “Hey, I’m a poor college student.”

  “Aren’t you throwing the word student around loosely?”

  “I’ll go back to school. Sheesh, between you and Jade.” Willow picked at the exposed foam in the torn vinyl seat. “I need a little time to find myself.”

  Beryl squinted at Willow as if seeing herself forty years ago. What could she say? Do what I say, not what I did?

  “We should’ve flown, Beryl. This is ridiculous. Aiden said he’d buy our tickets.”

  “Can you complain a bit more, Willow? I’m not quite sick of you yet.” Beryl had refused her son’s offer. The least she could do at this stage of her life was pay her own way to her daughter’s wedding. “What would we do for wheels once we got to Whisper Hollow? You want to be cooped up in a bed-and-breakfast for three weeks?”

  “Have mercy, no.”

  “Try to sleep,” Beryl said in a softer tone. “You’re driving in an hour anyway.”

  “It’s too hot to sleep and the seat doesn’t even go all the way back. And look, this side is broken. My face falls against the door. Hello, white trash, your name is Beryl Hill.”

  “Willow.” Beryl sighed, holding back the rest of her rebuke. The girl was right; the car was hot and old, with broken, battered seats. Beryl just couldn’t see paying good money for a new car that devalued the moment she drove it off the lot.

  “Wake me when it’s my turn.” Willow stuffed ear buds into her ears and scanned her iPod for a playlist selection.

  “Sleep well.” Beryl recognized her daughter’s unique way of saying “I’m sorry.”

  With Tennessee a few hours away and night beginning to fall, Beryl let her thoughts wander, moving between anticipation and indifference. Seeing Jade tomorrow will be the first time since Mother’s funeral.

  Bearing down on the gas with the vibrations of the old car in her chest, Beryl took an I-24 curve and headed south, her thoughts drifting, her mind wandering time’s old corridors.

  Prairie City, August 1998

  Sitting in the kitchen with Mother, Beryl raised her coffee mug to her lips with a glance at the ceiling. Directly above them, Jade packed for college, the radio blasting. In between dragging her suitcase across the floor and the metal clap of dresser drawer-pulls, she answered the incessant phone calls.

  Her excited conversations drifted down through the floorboards and boxed the silence hovering between Beryl and Mother.

  “I’d forgotten how you can hear the gnats gnawing in this house,” Beryl said.

  “Paps and I never could figure out why they built this place with paper walls. But it was forty years old when we bought it, so who knows what the builder had in mind.”

  “Do you want more coffee?” Beryl got up, her empty mug hooked over her finger.

  “I’ll never sleep if I have another cup. Beryl, how’s Gig? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  Gig was gone, but Mother didn’t need to know right now. “Did I tell you I’m back at Midwest Parcel?”

  “Rolf let you co
me back again, did he?” Mother twirled her cup, a gold-trimmed Lennox with the holly leaves, against the saucer.

  “Whether he liked it or not. Union rules.” The phone rang again. Jade’s footsteps thundered over their heads. The bed squeaked as she landed on the mattress, probably diving for the phone. “Seems all of Prairie City is calling to say good-bye.”

  “You’re upset she’s leaving, Beryl? Mercy knows I didn’t sleep the entire summer you were in San Francisco. Paps would turn on the news so we could see what was going on out there, and . . .”

  “It’s not that she’s leaving, Mother, but how.” Beryl popped open the bread box. A piece of toasted bread sounded good.

  “I’ve prayed a lot of prayers for that girl. She’ll be fine.”

  “Because you prayed?” Beryl shoved down the toaster lever. “Who knows, maybe. More likely, she’ll be fine because she’s a smart girl.”

  “Even the wise need wisdom.”

  Didn’t Beryl know it. Growing up, she resented her parents’ religious beliefs.

  Do this; don’t do that. She fought them. Quit church at her first opportunity.

  But in the past few years, there’d been nights when Beryl’s only comfort was the thought of her parents’ prayers.

  “Think she’ll ever come home?” Beryl opened the drawer for a butter knife, the cupboard for a small plate. “From school?”

  “She best come home. I’m here, and Willow and Aiden. You work out your differences with her on your own time. Besides, Beryl, can she ever really leave?

  This is her home, where her heart lives.”

  What girl did Mother observe around the house these days? Jade was already gone in mind, soul, and spirit. Tomorrow, the body.

  “Why isn’t she down here asking for help? Doesn’t she need something washed or ironed? Or mended?” Beryl carried her buttered bread and coffee to the table.

  “She’s been shopping for clothes and supplies all month,” Mother said. “I gave her some money from what Paps set back for the kids’ college. Good thing she and Aiden earned scholarships. I hated using the savings to replace my dead car, but I have to get to work.”