by Sara Evans
“Is Daddy’s old truck running? I might like to drive it for a while.”
“It runs . . . barely.” Mother held her gaze for a moment, peering a bit too close. “Keys are where they always are.”
Beryl nodded, knowing the keys hung on the wall hook. “Thank you.”
“You’ll always have a home here, Beryl. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, Mother, I know.” After all Beryl’s rebellion, Mother’s kindness was humbling.
The phone chimed again, and Jade caught it on the half ring. Beryl munched her toast, debating if she should just go upstairs and talk to her daughter. Help her out, make sure she had everything she needed for her future in Knoxville and the University of Tennessee.
Brushing bread crumbs from her fingers, Beryl got up from the table, carrying her coffee mug. “I’m going to see if she needs help.”
“All right, but Beryl, Jade hasn’t needed your help since she was about nine.”
Mother’s hint triggered the dull ache in the middle of Beryl’s chest—her baby was leaving home for good. Always before, Beryl had been the one leaving, but she knew Aiden, Jade, and Willow were home safe with Mother. Now, she didn’t know exactly where Jade would live or with whom.
At the top of the stairs, Beryl gazed down the hall toward Jade’s room. Her long, lean shadow moved against the wall. Thankfully, she wasn’t on the phone.
“Need any help?” Beryl called, cat-walking toward Jade’s room.
Silence. Beryl braved a stance in the doorway, leaning against the wood frame so it fit perfectly between her shoulder blades.
Several taped-up boxes of Jade’s things lined the wall, ready to go.
Last year, when Aiden packed and headed off to college, Beryl had been on the road with her third husband, Gig. But she didn’t worry about Aiden. At nineteen, he was a man and beyond competent. She was proud of him.
Jade, however, fluttered around Beryl’s heart like a wounded little bird, and she didn’t want to let her go.
For the past two years, since Dustin Colter and that whole ordeal, Jade had posted an emotional Do Not Enter sign between her and Beryl. Respecting her daughter’s boundaries, Beryl figured she’d get over it soon enough. So she continued to wait.
“Your room looks so empty.”
Jade surveyed the wall and floors, her gaze skipping over the door and her mother. “I’m only taking a few things, really.”
“What time do you leave tomorrow morning?”
“Six. Marilee’s parents want get to Knoxville before dark. I’m spending the night at their house. Her dad’s coming to get me soon.”
Beryl swirled her coffee, fighting sadness. So she was leaving tonight. “Do I need to give him money for gas?”
“Nope. All taken care of.”
“Can I pay you back, then? Or Mother.”
“It’s all good.”
“I feel like I’ve hardly seen you this summer. With you working two jobs, and—”
“You off with Gig and his merry band of idiots.”
“We’ve been around a good bit this summer. Most of July, in fact.” Then Gig decided he needed to travel light and drop a hundred and thirty pounds of Beryl.
The phone rang, and Jade snatched it up. While she bubbled and talked, Beryl braved another step into the room. Show her your feelings with actions, not words. Peeking into the oversized leather case that used to belong to Paps, she found Jade’s tops and sweaters wadded and mashed instead of folded and organized. Beryl set her coffee on the end table and reached into the suitcase.
“. . . Yeah, it does seem like a long time until Christmas, but the time will go by fast.”
Beryl snagged the comment and stored it for her own comfort. She’ll be home for Christmas.
“I know, I can’t wait. College is my ticket out of this hole in the wall . . .
Absolutely I have football tickets. Yeah, it’s a long drive from Knoxville to Prairie City.”
Beryl snapped the top straight, laying it out on the bed, folding the sleeves in, then the bottom hem toward the neckline.
When she was Jade’s age, she believed that her ticket out of Prairie City was protesting the war in ’Nam, marching on Washington, living in communes, and avoiding The Man named corporate America.
“What are you doing?”
Beryl glanced up to see Jade wide-eyed. “Folding.”
“Well, I don’t need you to fold.” Jade tossed the phone to the bed and took the top Beryl had in her hands.
“I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re meddling.” Jade smashed the shirt into the suitcase.
“You’re going to college, Jade, so I bet you know the true definition of meddling.”
“Yeah, and it has your picture beside it.”
All right. This conversation wasn’t working. “Isn’t Paps’ old case great?” Beryl patted the leather edge.
“Yep.” Jade dumped a wad of underwear between the tops, mashing them into place with a glare at Beryl. The praying hands medallion dangling around her neck swung back and forth.
“Once a year, Paps would pack up this bag and drive off to some fishing cabin in Canada. He’d come back relaxed and happy. Mother started teasing him about having a secret lover.”
“Paps would never.” Jade snapped around from the dresser, her arms loaded with jeans. Some still with the tags.
“It was Mother’s joke, Jade.”
“Paps was the finest man I’ve ever known.” She dropped her jeans into the suitcase. “Why did you tell me that, huh? To make yourself feel better?”
“It was a joke.” Beryl sat on the bed out of Jade’s way, reaching for her coffee, which was now lukewarm.
“I’m taking the video player,” Jade said, lifting jackets and coats out of the closet. “I bought it with my money.”
“I’ll buy a new one for Willow.”
“She likes Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen and VeggieTales movies. Granny has some old cartoons on tape, Bugs Bunny and that lispy cat, but don’t show her anything scary, including The Wizard of Oz. She’ll have nightmares. I’m not kidding, Mama. Don’t turn it on thinking I was exaggerating. There’s something about Winnie the Pooh that frightens her too.”
“She’s eight, Jade. Good grief—”
“Who cares how old she is? If it scares her, don’t put it on.”
“All right, I hear you. Be mad at me all you want, Jade, but Willow’s still my kid. And it wouldn’t hurt you to show me some respect.”
“Respect is earned.” Jade stopped jamming her coat into the case long enough to peer at her. “Willow likes to write to Aiden at school. We’ve been coloring pictures for him on Wednesdays before she goes to bed. We call him once a week and send e-mails.”
“I don’t have an e-mail account.”
“Yes, you do. On AOL. Willow wanted one for you so she could e-mail you when you’re gone with Gig or Midwest Parcel, or wherever you’ve run off to.”
Jade’s voice and expression were rock hard. “Pretty sad when your eight-year-old feels she has to e-mail you to keep in touch. She has four e-mail addresses:
Aiden’s, mine, her dad’s, and yours. She’ll show you how to use it when you’re home long enough.”
“Gig’s gone. I’m home now. Back at Midwest.” Beryl smoothed her hand over the worn quilt.
“Do you have something against marriages lasting longer than two years?”
Jade went to her desk, opened drawers, and picked out pencils, pens, and other office-type supplies. “By the way, Willow’s been asking to see Mike.”
“I’ve called him already. Do you think it’s wise for me to let her go with him?”
“About as wise as it is for her to live with you. He is her father. And he’s married now. He came by with Vickie a few weeks ago. She seems nice enough, and Wills liked her.” Jade stood in the center of the room, a collection of pencils and pens in her hand. “I’d never wish it on any girl to grow up without her dad.”
“Don’t
judge me with that tone of yours, Jade. Harlan wasn’t exactly calling up begging for you and Aiden to visit. Sorry if that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.”
With Mama, the truth was always someone else’s fault. Jade unplugged her alarm clock and bedside lamp, adding them to the box of bedroom items. “Sorry about Gig, Mama.”
“Yeah, well, it was fun while it lasted.” For a quick second, their eyes met.
“Hey up there!” Mother called from the bottom of the stairs. “Joe Farrell and Marilee are here.”
Jade ran to the banister and bent over. “Be right down. Go Vols!”
“Hurry,” Marilee called. “Mom’s making lasagna for our going-away celebration. And a bunch of people called to say they’re coming over.”
Jade barreled back into the room, slamming down the lid of Paps’ suitcase. Mother hurried in, breathless from the stairs, and without a word fell into rhythm with Jade.
“You’ve got your money in a safe place?” Granny asked.
Jade snatched her backpack off the floor, still with the store tags dangling from the straps. “In here, in my wallet. I’ve got my credit card in there too.”
“Just send me the bill.” Beryl watched as Mother lifted the suitcase lid, her hands deftly rearranging, folding, and organizing. “I’ll cover up to two hundred a month, but Jade, make sure it’s for school stuff, or clothes. Not pizza for your dorm floor.”
The girl kissed her granny’s cheek. “Promise. And thank you.”
“All right. Shoes.” Mother glanced around. “Do you plan on going to school barefoot?”
“Shoes. I forgot.” Jade dropped to her knees in front of the closet and started shuffling out sneakers, loafers, boots, clogs, flip-flops, discussing with Mother what she’d need and when, deciding what items could wait until she came home for the holidays.
Beryl headed down the hall. She’d call Willow home from the Pattersons’, then wait in the living room with the Farrells to say good-bye to Jade.
But at the bottom of the stairs, she sank to the bottom step. Her girl was going off to college, leaving home. Beryl brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand. Four months until Christmas. Already it felt like an eternity.
Ten
“That’s the last one, Jade.” Harvey Roper jumped down from the flatbed he had double-parked in front of the Blue Umbrella, wiping his forehead with his red checked sleeve. “What in tarnation are you going to do with two dozen pumpkins?”
“Decorate the shop. Give it a fall look.”
“You wouldn’t be waiting for the Great Pumpkin to appear now, would you?”
“Not since . . . hm, never.”
“Well all righty.” Harvey jerked open the passenger side door and took out a slip of paper. “Here’s the invoice. I’ll be along later for the money. No hurry.”
“Are you sure? I can cut you a check now.” Jade motioned for him to come inside, cradling the last pumpkin he’d handed her in the crook of her arm.
“Naw, best get these pumpkins off the sidewalk before someone trips and sues you.”
“Yeah, well, I know a good lawyer.”
The Indian summer day was perfumed with the sun-browned, dying fall leaves. And the subtle mountain chill made the day perfect for opening the shop door to do a little hauling. The Victorian-style street lamps were adorned with gold, red, and brown leaf wreaths.
“Need some help?” Mae called from across the street where she stood in front of Sugar Plumbs.
Jade squinted in the light. “Yeah, I do. Come on.”
“Ah, sugar, now why’d you have to go and say that?” She cupped her hand around her ear, turning toward the diner door. “What’s that, Al, the kitchen’s on fire? Jade, got to run.”
Jade laughed. Mae would give a person the shirt off her back, but not an ounce of muscle.
When she’d moved about half the pumpkins, Max appeared in the doorway, his suit coat hanging open and free, his tie knot cocked to one side.
“Hey,” he said, carefully stepping through the pumpkin patch.
“What are you doing here? You’re wearing an Armani. Were you in court today?”
“Until two thirty.”
“Is it that late already?” She was meeting Daphne and Margot at five to try on their dresses.
“Three o’clock. The judge recessed, and I didn’t have anything pressing this afternoon.” He slipped his arms around her and bent his head toward hers.
Jade loved the taste of his kiss. And the treat of seeing him in the middle of the day.
“Can you take a break?” He held her hand, glancing around the shop. “I mean, if these pumpkins don’t need you.”
“Well, I don’t know.” She gazed around, hands on her hips. “Pumpkins, what do you think? Should I go with him?”
“Jade, sorry I’m late.” Lillabeth burst into the shop from the back room, scooping back her hair with her Oakleys. “I’ll make up the time.”
“Yeah, that one minute is really going to cost you.”
“But if you need me to work extra hours . . . Oh, pumpkins.” She smiled, rubbing her hands together. “What are we doing?”
“Decorating. Why don’t you see if you can make twenty-four pumpkins— and no, I didn’t really think this through—look appealing while I am whisked off by my handsome fiancé?” Jade tugged him toward the door. “We only have about an hour. I’m meeting Daph and Margot at five. Call my cell if you need me, Lilla.”
Max suggested walking to Laurel Park. Jade suggested shakes from Froggers. They ordered—strawberry for him, chocolate for her—and sat at a round stone table.
“Did you really come home just to see me?” Jade tore the paper from her straw and wadded it into a ball.
“Yes, and to talk to you about some stuff.”
“Ah, stuff.” Her eyes met his for a second, then she focused on mixing her shake with the straw. She didn’t want to talk about her episode at Aretha Frankenstein’s. The memory embarrassed her. How could she let panic win? Even for a moment?
“I talked to Mom.” Max shrugged off his suit jacket and folded it over his legs, then spread a napkin on the table and set his shake in the middle. “I wanted to know why she thought you should open a second shop. Why on River Street.”
“What’d she say?”
Max drew long on his straw. “The usual, she was just trying to help. Jade, she really does thrive on helping others. She’s the ultimate team player. Coaches, cheers, reminds everyone of the rules.”
“Then why’d she send me out of the kitchen the night of the party?”
Max set his cup on the table and stared out over the green lawn of the park. “That’s a different story. Mostly, she worries. Do you know a mom who doesn’t worry?”
“Yeah, one.” Beryl Walker Fitzgerald Ayers Parsons Hill. “What’s the story?”
“First, she was upset the Reverend Girden suggested we have a civil ceremony. I’d talked to Dad about it during lunch the other day, and he mentioned it to Mom.” Max sighed. “You’d think he’d know her better by now. Anyway, church is important to her, and her standing in the community. It upset her that her only child won’t have God in the wedding. She said marriage is hard enough, and couples need all the spiritual guidance they can get. I know this is all about what Mom thinks and feels, but she does so much for people, Jade, Dad and I try to humor her.” He reached around for his ringing iPhone. “Max Benson.”
He stood, lowering his chin to his chest, his countenance fading. “When? Yeah, I’m on my way.” Clapping his phone shut, he walked his shake to the trash. “The judge turned down a motion for continuance. I’ve got to go back to the office, babe. I’m sorry.”
Jade tossed the rest of her milkshake into the Froggers trash can and fell in step with Max as he headed toward Broadway, slipping on his jacket. “So, you’re telling me that June kicked me out of the kitchen because Reverend Girden suggested a civil ceremony? I’m not buying it, counselor. There’s more to this story.”
“Y
eah, well, June’s not exactly a closed book. Look, Jade, she stood by me through a hard time in my life and she gets a bit protective, worried.”
“When you broke up with Rice?”
“In a way.” Max picked up the pace as they crossed the street. At his car, he paused to regard Jade. “This is not a two-minute conversation. Can we talk about it later?”
What was the resonance in his tone? The shade over his eyes? “Yes, of course.”
Jade stood in the lane, watching Max drive down the hill, until Arthur Kettle rolled his produce truck right up to her and blasted his big-honking horn. “Jade, girl, what are you, crazy?”
Jade met Daphne and Margot at the Read House Starbucks for lattes before heading to BoutiqueCouture. Rain clouds ballooned above the Cumberland Mountains, leaving the air wet and frosty.
“The bride cometh.” Waiting by the register, Margot smiled as Jade entered Starbucks, sweeping the air with her arm.
Daphne met Jade with a one-armed hug as she snapped her wallet shut. “Still going through with it, Jade? The whole marriage thing?”
“Bitter, oh so bitter.” Margot leaned over the counter to place her order. “Grande latte please, size zero.”
The barista made a face. “Zero?”
“Skinny, sweetheart. No fat.”
Daphne picked napkins from a dispenser and gathered yellow packets of Splenda. “You could dump Max the day before the wedding, and the three of us could go on the honeymoon trip and write a book about it, titled something like—”
“Two Stupid Women and a Shrink,” Margot offered.
“We’ll go on Oprah—”
Jade ordered a latte, staying tuned to her friends’ banter.
“I’m telling you, Daph,” Margot said, shoving her wallet into her overstuffed Coach bag. “Oprah won’t launch your dream of being the female Dr. Phil.”
Jade led the way to a table while they waited for their names to be called. “I’m marrying Max, Daph. You’ll have to find another way to get on Oprah. I love you, but I don’t plan to honeymoon with you.”
Starbucks was quiet and calm, a peaceful reprieve for Jade from a busy afternoon of pumpkin hauling and hearing that her intended had an issue that still worried his mother.