by Jaime Berry
Nan shut off her phone and smiled at me. “Electric company. The account is under Dr. Burgess’s name, and we need to switch it over. They want a deposit.”
Before moving to Hope Springs, the idea of Arletta Paisley within spitting distance would’ve caused me to fly into a million pieces. And for one full evening, I flat-out soared. Then I remembered everything else and hit the ground hard.
Nan limped over to the couch. Her hair was flat on one side, and she wore the same clothes I’d helped her into the day before. She slowly lowered herself onto the cushions, sucking air through her teeth in short bursts until she sat next to me.
“Feeling bad today?” I asked.
She shook her head, but there was no doubt about it. She was lying.
“I’ll help you get dressed again,” I offered. She patted my knee, and I could tell that even slight movement hurt her ribs.
“I’ll call and see what I can do about getting some stronger pain medication. And then we’ll have to figure out a way to go pick it up,” she said.
Deposits were normally a few hundred dollars, and who knew how much medication would cost. I wasn’t going to earn enough money at the Fabric Barn to make a real difference, and I couldn’t take care of Nan on my own. We were a team, but like one of Abby’s baited hooks, we were sinking fast.
“Nan, I know it’s normally just the two of us. But what if this time we let some people help. I barely know Abby, but you said yourself she’s great. There’s Holly too.” I wanted to say more, but I could feel Nan straighten next to me.
“I’ll figure something out,” Nan said. “I’ve always taken care of us, haven’t I?”
I nodded. She narrowed her eyes and asked, “Is there something else going on?”
I normally didn’t keep secrets.
“Nan, I haven’t talked to Momma,” I said.
“Oh, I’ll call her. I should’ve called her right after I fell,” she said.
I looked at her and then down at the floor.
“You mean, you never called her? At all?”
I kept my eyes down. “I called. She just never called back. And then I didn’t call again. I don’t know… I was mad at her, I guess.”
Nan took a deep breath and winced. Then we both stared at her phone.
“Well, we don’t need her permission to move. But I should’ve at least let her know. She’s going to be hopping mad, that’s for sure.” She picked up the phone. “‘A man can be destroyed but not defeated,’” she said.
“Hemingway again?” I asked. Nan nodded.
I always thought of Nan as tough as beef jerky. This talk of being destroyed reminded me more of marshmallows—squashed ones.
“Don’t worry. We all make mistakes. I’ll sort it out with your momma. She should understand making mistakes well enough.”
Nan dialed, and I crossed my arms, held tight, and listened in. Momma answered, and as soon as Nan told her we’d moved, things headed south fast. “What’s best for Jubilee? You gave up the right to make that decision a long time ago,” Nan said. Then I couldn’t make out what exactly Momma said after that, only that she had a lot to say, and she said it loudly. Nan interrupted occasionally and said, “I know. I should’ve called sooner.” Then Nan told her about being injured. She waited a bit before holding the phone out to me. “She wants to talk to you.”
If I could’ve said no, I would’ve.
I called Momma on her birthday, and she called me on mine. She and Wynn came at Christmas and stayed a few hours. Nan and Wynn got along, but those hours were full of tightness and a lot of quiet. Wynn did most of the talking.
“Jubi, honey, I’m so glad Nan called. I was just thinking about you.” Momma’s voice was light and soft, welcoming almost, like her singing voice.
“Hi, Momma.”
Well, at least this time I had something to say to her. I told her the move was my idea, I told her that I’d let Nan think I’d called, and I told her that I left a message with Wynn. I thought I’d smoothed everything out, that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. But then the unthinkable: “I’ll be there no later than five,” she said. “I promise.” She ended the call without a goodbye.
Nan patted my leg. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. You shouldn’t have to hear me and your momma argue.”
“She’s coming,” I said.
“Today?” Nan asked. I nodded. “Well, we better get dressed and straighten up,” she said. “But let’s not hold our breath.” She gave my hand a squeeze. Just like Nan never met a town she couldn’t bear to part with, Momma never made a promise she wasn’t willing to break.
So, late that afternoon, I sat on the porch and waited. I was experienced in waiting for Momma. Despite Nan’s warning, I was excited and nervous, but after fidgeting for over an hour that nervousness developed a sour edge. Once, in kindergarten, Momma forgot to come get me—just completely forgot all about me. I sat in the office while the school secretary sighed and looked at the clock. My teacher called Nan, and when she got there, they spoke in the hallway in whispers. Not long after that, I moved in with Nan, and not too long after that, Nan and I moved for the first time.
Wynn’s truck pulled into our driveway around seven o’clock that evening, long after I’d given up and gone inside. Momma stepped out of the truck with dusk as a backdrop. She wore skinny jeans and a long white gauzy shirt cinched around her tiny waist with a wide leather belt. Her hair blew around, and a pair of huge sunglasses hid most of her face. She looked like a movie star or a genuine country music singer, not the Momma I’d last seen nearly six months ago.
Nan said Daddy’d stayed behind to take care of me when Momma got her first touring gig. And again on her second. One night they’d had a big argument about her never being around. He left on the motorcycle and never came back. Nan said it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but I could tell she didn’t believe it. What she didn’t say was that Momma dumped me after my daddy died because it was easier—easier to fall to pieces without me to worry about. And easier for her to get better and move on with her dream once I was out of the way.
Her letters can’t change the truth.
Momma rushed over and wrapped her arms around me. She smelled like roses, sweet and sharp.
“Jubi, you look beautiful,” she said and touched one of my dark curls. I saw parts of my face in hers.
Just looking at her hurt a little.
Wynn wiped the dust off his black boots with his hands and then tried to clap the dirt off. The boots had a white panel with little red roses stitched into the leather. Even his footwear was too much. He gave me a wide smile and lifted me off the ground with a hug. “Let’s see that grandma of yours,” he said. He put me down and whispered, “Don’t worry.” And those two words, combined with the way Momma stomped toward the front door, made me worry a million times more.
Nan was sitting on the couch when we walked in. She’d done her best to get ready, but she sure didn’t look up for a fight.
“Nan, how are you?” Momma asked. They never quite looked each other in the eyes. Mostly, they picked something to stare at and then talked. Nan chose a spot on the ceiling, and Momma gazed off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Been better,” Nan said. “But, Alexandra, I’ll be fine in a few weeks. In fact, this all seems a little extreme to me.”
“Nan, no one’s as tough as you. Believe me, I know that better than most,” Momma said, and her voice made it clear she didn’t mean it as a compliment. “But someone’s got to be around to help out, get the groceries, drive Jubi to register for school, make dinners. Maybe provide a little stability in the wake of all this?”
I knew the look on Nan’s face. It was the get-out-the-maps look. She stood, cleared her throat to cover the little whimper she made whenever she got off the couch, and said, “I’ll let you visit with Jubilee while I go freshen up for dinner.” She wasn’t hitting the road, but she was making a run for it. She looked at Wynn. “Nice to see you again.” Then she glared at Momma,
making a point of leaving her out, and hobbled down the hallway.
“That went well,” Wynn said as soon as Nan’s door closed.
Momma gave me a sad smile and shrugged. She looked around at our rental house and said, “This is a nice one you two picked out. I like the curtains.” She pointed to the pink ones Nan hadn’t managed to rip down. “Well, show us around. Let’s see how you’re living.”
There wasn’t much to show. But as I opened the door to my craft room, I felt a rush of pride. I’d done everything in there myself.
“Wow, Jubi,” Wynn said. “Your own hobby room.” Hobby! I clenched my hands into fists, but Wynn caught his mistake. “I mean, it’s a beautiful craft room. Looks fit to be filmed.” Wynn knew I loved Arletta Paisley, and he occasionally sent me gifts from Arletta’s housewares line. Momma signed the cards, but I knew they were from Wynn. Last Christmas, he couldn’t keep himself from asking if I’d liked the desk organizer Momma sent. I loved him. But love is tricky. Sometimes, I couldn’t help remembering he was Momma’s number one ally, that she stuck with him and not with me. Or maybe it was the other way around, and what bothered me was that he stuck with her after she’d given me up.
“It’s nice, real nice,” Momma said. She put her hand on my arm, and I thought of us as clashing prints, like orange paisley satin and red checked gingham. No way to put those two together.
“Maybe we could go for a walk. Show me the pond I saw when we drove up?” She moved her hand and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I let her, though I felt like stepping away.
We walked out together and were on the porch before I realized Wynn had disappeared.
“So, how are things with Nan?” Momma asked. “You like it here?”
“Fine. I like it just fine,” I said. This was one of her standard questions, and it rubbed me the wrong way every time. “In fact, I like it a lot.”
“Well, have you heard the new song? It’s been getting some radio time. It’s a duet with Brent Chisholm. I sing it with him during the shows.” That’s as far as Momma’s concern for me went—a few questions and back to her. “Not just backup anymore, sweetheart. This could really be it for me—for us. Maybe a solo album and TV appearances. I’m talking no more moving from place to place, no more rentals, no more sewing your own clothes, Jubi.”
It showed how much Momma knew about me that she assumed I minded making my clothes.
“Brent is really helping me. He grew up in his dad’s bait shop in a little Texas town like this one. He knows what it’s like to struggle, just like us.”
I dragged my feet along the gravel of our driveway. Momma talked like this every once in a while, like we were sisters who’d grown up together. Like the only thing separating us was an age difference and not a decision she made. Every year, there was always some opportunity that would lead to us being together more. And it never happened. A long string of almosts that led right to what kind of momma she really was versus the kind I wished she was.
“This moving all the time, it’s not good for a kid,” she said.
“But it’s good for you?” I asked.
“Touring’s different,” she mumbled. “She moved your daddy a lot too.” I shot her a look. She better not say a word against Nan or it’d be the last words she said to me tonight. Momma held her hands up. “I get it. Believe me, I do. After your granddad up and left and then your daddy…” She got quiet. The sounds of a country evening settled on us while the sun dipped below the horizon and lit the clouds orange.
She cleared her throat. “The song’s called ‘You Had It Wrong All Along.’ Brent sings most of it. But I get to belt it out all on my own for almost a full minute if you add it all up. You sure you haven’t heard it?” she asked.
I had, but I still shook my head.
Momma looked toward the pond and wrinkled her nose. “If it’s all the same to you, this is as close to that pond as I’d like to get. Looks like the set of Creature from the Black Lagoon.” She laughed but stopped when I didn’t join in. The whole walk back, she talked on and on about recording booths and Brent Chisholm.
When we got to the house, Wynn was making scrambled eggs for dinner, and Nan sat at the kitchen table drinking a glass of juice. Wynn turned and said, “There are casseroles in the freezer, not much else. But no worries, Nan. I’ll head to the grocery store first thing.”
I glared at him. I knew for a fact we had marshmallows and instant oatmeal. Plus, I didn’t want Momma getting the wrong idea. Nan and I were fine. We only needed a little help, not a full-force intervention. Besides, if Wynn had made Momma call me back like he said he would, she and Nan wouldn’t be in such a twist.
“Well, I guess one of you can stay in Jubilee’s craft room. And that couch folds out,” Nan said. Wynn looked at Momma. It hadn’t dawned on me that they’d stay with us. I certainly didn’t want to give up my craft room when I’d hardly had a chance to call it mine.
“Nan, I won’t be staying. Don’t get me wrong, I want to,” Momma said, reaching toward me. I pulled my hands off the table before she could grab hold of them. “But we’ve got Dallas in two nights, then Austin, Houston, Oklahoma City, and Tulsa. Wynn is going to stay with you, and trust me, there’s no better person for it. As soon as this tour wraps up, I can be… more involved. But until then, you’ll have my right-hand man.” She motioned to Wynn, but he didn’t smile at all, only stared out the front window.
Nan took a long drink of her juice and harrumphed. I guessed she was suppressing a lot of quotes and probably a few almost-swears.
Whatever Momma meant by more involved, I’d drop dead of shock if anything changed. Momma didn’t change, and she wasn’t staying. I knew it, but suddenly I realized giving up my craft room wouldn’t have killed me.
Before Wynn drove Momma back to Dallas, she leaned down and gave me a hug. Her hair fell over me, and for a half second, I remembered when I was a kid and we played peekaboo through the curling thicket of her hair.
“If you ever need anything, I’m only a phone call away. I swear, you could ask me for anything at all, Jubi, and I’d be here,” she insisted. She kissed my forehead, stepped up into the truck, and leaned out the open window. “I mean it.”
I nodded, and they drove off. She’d said I could ask her for anything, but she never stayed long enough for me to know what I needed from her. I wasn’t sure I really wanted her to stay, but I wasn’t sure I wanted her to leave so soon either. It didn’t matter, though, because she left and the words wouldn’t come out anyway.
Donut Hole
Wynn was back by early morning making a show of flipping blueberry pancakes. Worse yet, he brought an air bed, meaning he didn’t plan on taking the couch. While giving up my craft room for Momma might not have killed me, for Wynn, it just might.
I stood in the hallway surveying the kitchen scene when Nan said, “You know Alexandra. She talks big and makes promises to Jubilee, then never follows through. It’s career first with her. It always has been. She left for good after Clayton died, but she left plenty of times before that. I’ve made mistakes with Jubilee, but at least I’ve put her first.”
When Wynn turned to face Nan, I backed into the bathroom doorway. “Things were different then. Lexie was grieving and fighting to get a foothold in a very tough industry. I won’t pretend to know what’s best for Jubilee. But I know you, Nan. I know you’re always ready to move on to the next adventure, but to me, Jubilee seems ready to stay put.”
Wynn tossed a pancake that landed with a hiss. I walked in and acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, and Wynn carried on like he was a regular in our kitchen.
“What do you two say to getting ready, going into town, and picking up some supplies to repaint these cabinets? If you want, I could talk to the landlord. I can’t imagine anyone in their right mind would say no. Thought we’d also pick up some Greek yogurt too. It’s packed with protein. Nan, you need your strength.” Wynn flipped another pancake and then set a steaming stack of them on the table.
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I didn’t like the idea of Nan and Wynn having secret conversations behind my back, especially conversations that involved me. Just as I was working up the nerve to complain about things, including how I hated blueberries and had planned on working in my craft room until someone decided to camp out there, I saw Abby riding down our drive on her bike. She balanced a cardboard box across her handlebars with one hand.
“See you later, Nan!” I yelled over my shoulder and ran into the front yard like I’d been held prisoner.
Abby rode up and dropped the box on the ground. Inside were four cans of spray paint, painter’s tape, and a staple gun.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“Well, something Arletta said stuck with me,” she said. “‘Crafters know crafting is fulfilling, but crafting alongside a good friend feeds the soul.’ So, I thought we might fix up that bike together.” She nodded in the direction of Wynn’s pickup parked next to Nan’s car. “Whose truck is that?”
“Just a family friend here to help out for a week or two.” After her quoting Arletta, I felt like telling Abby the whole truth, but something stopped me. I never told other kids about my mother being a singer. Not since Alabama, where some kids found out and nicknamed me Donut Hole after Momma’s song. That nickname stuck quicker than a coat of fast-drying decoupage.
Right then, Wynn came out carrying two glasses of lemonade and wearing a black shirt with blue embroidered flowers winding their way around his chest. Wynn’s style was classic country chic.
“Thought you two might be thirsty.” He waited and, after I neglected to make introductions, he asked, “This a friend of yours, Jubi?” Only Momma and Wynn called me Jubi, which was only slightly better than their retired Juju Beans of my earlier years.
“Abby, this is Wynn. Wynn, Abby,” I said. “And it’s Ju-bi-lee.”
“All right, Ju-bi-lee,” Wynn said, copying me, and I felt my eyes roll clear to my forehead. He smiled and handed me the two glasses.