by Tamara Leigh
Monday, October 11
Prayer answered. Not the way I wanted it, but closer than it could have been. Thank You up there, God. Mama doesn’t have cancer, but she does have something called celiac disease. Providing she sticks to a gluten-free diet, the doctor says her intestines should heal and she can expect to live a long, healthy life. If she can stick to it.
In this case, it’s good Daddy has an eye on her diet, since Mama loves her grains. In the week since her release from the hospital, my father has been more attentive to her needs than I can remember him being. In fact, he’s decided to sell one of his classic cars—the one I supposedly put a ding in—so he can update her kitchen and take her on an Alaskan cruise like she’s always wanted. I just hope the possibility of losing Mama stays with him.
“Okay, kiddos”—I look from Birdie to Miles, who have polished off their grilled cheese sandwiches—“go outside and play while I finish cleaning up here; then we’ll get on home.”
I’m pleased when they bring their dirty plates to me before running out the back door.
“I wish you could stay longer,” Mama says as the screen door bangs behind her grandchildren.
“I know, but we’ve been here two hours, and you need your rest.” I return her cast-iron skillet—the one that was mine before it was hers again—to the cabinet, wipe my hands on a dishtowel, and slip into the chair beside hers. “How was your salad?”
She considers the remains. “Tasty. Of course, it would have been better with croutons—you know, those Texas toast ones?” She sighs. “But I suppose I’ll get used to all this deprivation.”
I check my watch. “Daddy should be home any minute.” It’s nice that I can say that with confidence. “Do you want to lie down while I finish up here?”
She nods, and I reach to her, but she waves me away. “I’m not an invalid, dear.”
Awhile later, as I’m drying her salad plate, my cell rings. I set the plate in the cupboard, check on Birdie and Miles through the kitchen window, and take the call. “What’s up?”
“Bad news,” Piper says. “The offer we received from Dirk Construction? Withdrawn.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“Withdrawn.”
Then it’s over, though I’d thought it had only just begun when Wesley Trousdale submitted the offer the day after J.C. left Pickwick—a full-price offer that included the provision that Uncle Obe could remain in his home without cost for a minimum of one year. “Did they say why?”
“No, though I’m thinking, as you probably are, that it has everything to do with the revelation.”
That’s what we—Piper, Maggie, and I—call the bolt from the blue that scorched the earth between J.C. and me. Piper’s fiancé, Axel, and Maggie’s boyfriend-turned-fiancé, Reece, know about it as well, but that’s all. There seemed no reason to muddy the water further, though Piper suggested Uncle Obe be told since one of the reasons for selling the estate is to make restitution to the wronged Calhouns. I saw her point, but Maggie had her own point—Uncle Obe needs to focus on his relationship with his daughter, not on a vendetta born a hundred years ago.
“It makes sense. J.C.’s withdrawal of the offer has everything to do with his Calhoun roots,” I say. “I’d just like to know if he pulled out because he saw the error of his ways or because it caused him to reevaluate the purchase of the estate and realize it isn’t a good investment after all—that he was letting his emotions run roughshod over business sense.”
“I’d like to think the first,” Piper says, “but we may never know.”
True, because it appears that J.C. is entirely out of our lives. I feel a pang I wish I didn’t. “So that leaves us with Caleb Merriman. Well, when he finally gets around to submitting an offer.” Piper notified him that Dirk Construction had offered on the property, and he’d told her his own offer would be forthcoming, but so far nothing.
“Unfortunately, the only other serious offer we have is for a large single-family home development,” Piper says.
“That horrible thing? Not only will most of the homes be slammed up against one another on one-sixth acre lots, but there was nothing ecologically friendly in the proposal—a sketchy proposal, I might add.”
“And the offer is far below market value.”
Half—nowhere near enough to do what Uncle Obe wants to do. I sigh. “Hopefully, Caleb will come through with a decent offer.”
“And he’ll keep the estate as a private residence.”
It’s good to know I’m not the only one concerned about that. Piper was appalled at the possibility of the estate becoming an industrial park. Unfortunately I have no proof one way or the other, and it’s my fault. J.C. offered and, from atop my high horse, I refused. Of course, without the interest of Dirk Developers, it doesn’t matter, since Caleb may be the only viable buyer.
“All we can do is wait and see,” I say.
“And pray.”
That solution seems to come naturally to her, like it did to Easton, as if the moment trouble strikes, it’s the first place to turn. Will it ever come naturally to me? I can’t see it, but I suppose unnatural is better than not at all. “I should do that more often.”
“You’re doin’ just fine,” Piper says.
Based on yesterday’s church attendance? Two Sundays in a row? I have my doubts. “Thank you. Let me know if you hear anything from Caleb.”
“I will.”
As I end the call, Daddy enters the kitchen. “That Piper you were talkin’ to?”
When did he get home? And how much of my conversation did he catch? “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Just a minute ago.” He smiles and, from behind his back, produces long-stemmed red roses. “I bought these for your mama. They don’t smell much, but they’re a good sight prettier than the perfumy ones they had.”
I nod, pleased he thought of it on his own. “I’m sure Mama will love them.”
“Is she nappin’?”
“She went down a little while ago.”
“Rest’ll do her good.”
I look out the window at where Miles is swinging from a tree limb and Birdie is chasing Mama’s little dog round and round. I forgot Itsy was out there. Hoping to avert whatever fate awaits her in the dog apparel department, I head for the back door. “The kids and I are heading out. Trinity’s expecting them in a half hour.” Trinity, who continues to be my saving grace since I stepped up to the plate with my niece and nephew.
“I worry about that Trinity. You know, her bein’ attentive enough with my grandchildren.”
Lord, I could use help with patience. A hand on the doorknob, I glance out the window to verify Itsy is staying ahead of Birdie. “Number one, Daddy, I believe your daughter-in-law has proven she is responsible with Miles and Birdie. Number two, she is going to be the mother of another of your grandchildren. Number three, I couldn’t do what I’m doin’ without her.”
Though nursery business has slowed with the season, I still need to be there. Thankfully Trinity once more rearranged her schedule so she can keep the kids in the afternoons, freeing me up to take care of business.
Daddy shrugs. “You might be right. She does seem to be pulling her weight.”
That wasn’t exactly where I was going, but all right. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, expect to hear from Caleb soon.”
I look over my shoulder. “About?”
“The estate.”
“Do you think he’s ready to make an offer?”
He smiles, and for a moment there’s a glint in his eyes like light reflecting off gears in motion. “I can pretty much guarantee it.”
Is he up to something? “How’s that?”
“Well …”
As he ruminates, a yelp sounds from the backyard, and I wince at the sight of Birdie holding Itsy tight to her chest, the little dog’s head where her rear end ought to be. “Gotta go!” For Itsy’s sake, not mine, ’cause that glint worries me.
Now he sn
eaks up on me. Now that he’s washed his hands of Pickwick. And me. Until Piper’s call, I’d done just fine turning away thoughts of J.C. that got too personal for comfort—like the sorrow I’d felt for the poverty he and his family suffered … their loss … remembrance of his hand on mine … the kiss I hadn’t wanted to end … and the thought that maybe, just maybe—
“Fool.” I direct my hose at the next thirsty shrub. “It was all about sniffin’.”
In the beginning.
“So he said.”
You, of all people, know how hard it is to let go. You clung to Easton long after he was gone. J. C. clung to a promise made to his father. And look, he let it go.
“Hey there!”
I whip around, causing the stream of water to fall short of Maggie by inches—fortunately, since she’s wearing a designer-looking woolen skirt and fabric-covered high heels.
“Sorry.” She makes a face. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I sweep the hose to the side. “It’s all right. I was just thinkin’.”
“Deeply.” Her bottomless legs close the distance between us. “I called to you three times.”
“Er, your shoes.” I point at them, the lower edges of which are picking up hose-dampened earth.
She looks down. “Oh no.”
I close the valve to the nozzle, drop the hose, and cross to her in my muddied sneakers. “What are you do in’ here?” My gorgeous red-headed cousin is not a gardener. In fact, I can count on one finger the number of times she’s come by the nursery expressly for the purpose of beautifying her home with greenery.
“Piper asked me to stop by. She’s tried calling you several times.”
I frown. “Something wrong? Oh! Uncle Obe—?”
“He’s fine. In fact, I just came from one of the most lucid conversations I’ve had with him in a while—well, with him and his daughter.”
“I’m glad she’s doin’ him good.”
“Seems to be. She’s nice,” Maggie says.
“And his son?”
“Daisy believes she can get him out here to meet Uncle Obe, but obviously he’s not as keen on knowing his father as she is.”
“What about her mother?” Uncle Obe’s one and only love.
“Apparently, she supported Daisy’s desire to meet her father, but Anita is happily married and doesn’t want to open old wounds any further.”
“It probably is for the best.” I swipe at the hairs on my brow that have come loose from my ponytail. “What does Piper want to talk to me about?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Caleb Merriman. Though his real estate agent called this morning to tell us he would be sending over an offer today, this afternoon he called and said it might be another day or two.”
I pick off my cotton gloves and tuck them into my waistband. “In the big scheme of things, what’s another couple of days?”
“Well, what with the timing, Piper wonders if Caleb got wind that Dirk Developers pulled out of the running. She’s worried that if he knows, he’ll offer less.”
I shake my head. “How would Caleb—?” My day rewinds with a blur, lands on my visit with Mama, fast-forwards through my phone conversation with Piper, and slows upon Daddy’s appearance in the kitchen. How much of the conversation did he overhear? Something tells me too much—the glint in his eyes. Oh, Daddy.
“What is it?”
I blink at Maggie. “The kids and I had lunch with Mama today.”
She ducks her head back, clearly confused by what seems a change of topic. “How is she doin’?”
“Better. But Daddy got home before we left, and I’m afraid he may have overheard a phone conversation I had with Piper about J.C.’s withdrawal of his offer.”
She whistles long and low. “Oh.”
Her tone is clear, and I can’t take offense. She knows my daddy well enough, so she has good cause to believe he’s our leak.
“Why would he do that?” Maggie turns her hands up, then has the grace to add, “That is, if he did run to Caleb?”
You did, didn’t you, Daddy?
She takes two steps away and comes back. “The more Uncle Obe gets for the estate, the better off his heirs, right?”
I draw a tired breath. “Caleb’s family invested in the textile mill before it went under. Maybe it’s Daddy’s way of makin’ restitution for the money they lost.” The moment I say it, I cringe. Since when has my father taken responsibility for his financial failings? He certainly didn’t want his brother Obe making restitution to those our family has wronged.
Maggie’s frown deepens, and I know she’s thinking the same thing.
So I dig deeper. “He’s been encouragin’ me to return Caleb’s interest. If he did tell him about the withdrawal of the offer, and I admit it’s not a stretch, it may have been in hopes of securing a husband for me—one better suited to what he believes I need.”
“It may be more than that.”
I don’t have to dig much deeper to know what more is. I don’t want to believe it, but it’s true that Daddy has always had an appetite for the biggest piece of the pie. If he’s angling for a backhander … a kickback … a bribe …
My cousin sighs. “I suppose we’ll never know for certain, but my guess is that Caleb’s offer will be substantially less than if he’d submitted it this afternoon.”
This is turning out to be one peach of a day. “I’m sorry, Maggie.” The apology is weak-kneed, but I don’t know what else to say. I do, however, know what to do. Unfortunately since Trinity will soon be dropping off Birdie and Miles, my confrontation with Daddy will have to wait.
Maggie gives her shoulders a shake as if to dislodge a load of worry. “Gotta go. Devyn and I are being fitted for our bridesmaids’ dresses in half an hour.”
I gasp and look down my grubby self. Though I was supposed to stop at the wedding boutique after Trinity picked up the kids, I headed straight for the nursery. See, I told Piper she’d regret asking me to be in her wedding—my way of giving her an easy out since it was probably a sense of obligation that made her ask.
“Let me guess; you missed your fitting.”
“Yep.”
“An act of passive aggression?”
“No, I—” I snort. “Come on—me? Passive aggressive?”
She grins. “Good point. So why don’t you come with Devyn and me? I’ll bet the seamstress can squeeze you in.”
“Yeah, but can she squeeze in Birdie and Miles? Trinity will be dropping them at my house shortly, and something tells me that boredom and racks of satin and lace are a bad combination.”
“Gotcha.” Maggie gives my arm a squeeze. “I’d better get goin’.”
So had I. I don’t want to repay Trinity’s kindness with inconsideration.
Maggie turns and comes back around with a big old smile on her face. “Speaking of weddings, expect another invitation in the next day or two.”
Then she and Reece have set a date. I’m happy for them, and for Devyn. “Congratulations. Count on me being there.” Just as I’ll be there for Piper and Axel, all gussied up in some impossible dress—Oh no!
Maggie’s laughter is proof my face is speaking my thoughts. “Nothing fancy for Reece and me. Just a simple ceremony with Devyn as my bridesmaid. You can wear whatever you like.”
I breathe easier. “I appreciate that.”
She turns and waves over her shoulder. “See ya.”
Fifteen minutes later, Reggie and I jostle down my dirt-packed driveway in my once-more-faithful truck. Sure enough, parked in front of my house is a VW Beetle painted to resemble Cinderella’s pumpkin coach, with Cinderella Sanitation Inc. painted on the side. And there’s my sister-in-law hurrying off the porch as I park alongside her car.
“You got one too!” She waves something as she hurries across the yard, Miles and Birdie following like a couple of chicks.
I retrieve Reggie, climb out of the truck, and slam the door. “What is it?”
“I know what it is,” Birdie calls,
her little shoes crunching through the fall leaves beginning to dry out. “It’s a happily ever after.”
Another Little Golden Book? Great.
“Birdie’s right.” Trinity halts before me. “The kids wanted to get your mail out of the box—”
“Can I hold Reggie?” Miles reaches for my opossum.
At my hesitation, he glances at his sister and says quietly, “Poor Birdie can’t find her baby-doll clothes.” He winks.
I wink back and ease Reggie into his arms.
“Anyway,” Trinity says, her voice its usual breathless self, “we got your mail, and look-it here what was in it.”
In her hand isn’t a book but a cream-colored envelope with Maggie’s return address. The wedding invitation.
“Bart and I got ours today too.” Trinity shudders. “Don’t you just love happily ever afters?”
I’m tempted to say there’s no such thing, but Birdie is following her brother toward the porch, and she’s still too near for me to remind Trinity of my husband’s death and tell her about J.C.—
J.C.? What’s he doing serving as an example alongside Easton? Why, he was barely a maybe. Or was he?
“Don’t you love ’em?” Trinity asks again, nodding as if to show me how it’s done.
“I …”
When she leans in and up from her two-inch deficit, her breath carries the scent of cinnamon. “Of course,” she whispers, “if there’s one thing us grownups know, it’s that there’s only one true happily ever after, and that’s with Jesus. Just ask Scarlett O’Hara.”
A fictional character. And was she even a believer?
“Yep, only one true happily ever after.” Trinity points her chin at the sky. “And not until we get up there.” There’s a smile in her eyes bettered only by the one on her mouth. “Not that we shouldn’t try to get a taste of it here on earth—you know, so we have somethin’ real good to compare it to.”
She’s right. As I stare at her, I feel a rush of gratitude that my brother found and kept her despite the initial opposition from Daddy and me. “Off” she may be, but in a good way. “You, my sister, are wise.”
Surprise opens up her face, and I feel it open up mine. I just called her sister.