by Lisa Wingate
“All right,” he said and wandered off, looking like he didn’t know which way was up. It sure was cute.
Amanda-Lee gazed after him as he went. She finally caught me watching her, turned the other way, and blushed even deeper red. “The crew’s … ummm … not here yet.”
I couldn’t tell whether that was a fact or a question, so I said, “No, hon, I guess not, but I’m sure they will be soon. Long as they don’t miss the exit off the interstate, they really can’t get lost, coming here from Austin. They just follow Bee Hollow Road, then take a right at the four-way like the directions said, and they’ll get here.”
“Rodney’s good with directions,” she muttered absent-like, and stole another glance toward the barn. “I hope Butch finds Amber.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I slipped my arm in hers and guided her toward the door. “Come on inside, hon. I got a roast in the oven and some crust ready for apple pies. O.C. and Brother Harve went after some potatoes and ice in town. After that drive from Austin, I figure your people will show up hungry.”
Amanda-Lee followed me into the house, and we walked slowly through the entry hall, past the staircase toward the living room and the kitchen in back. She looked up at the high old ceiling my mama complained about after those low-roofed houses came in style. My daddy would have no talk of remodeling it. He valued things with some history to them.
“Now, there’s plenty of light in here,” I told Amanda-Lee as she stopped to look back at the staircase. “It ought to be fine for filming. I’m sorry the place is a mess. I don’t keep house as good as I used to now that it’s only me living here.” Of course, I’d been housekeeping all morning and the place looked all right, but it’s always good to apologize for the condition of your house so folks will think it normally looks better.
“It’s beautiful.” Amanda-Lee’s voice was wistful and dreamy. With the state she was in, probably everything had a little halo around it. My house isn’t beautiful. It’s old and homey and wellused, which is fine with me.
“Well, y’all just make yourselves to home when your crew gets here,” I said. “Now, I mean that. You go in any of the rooms, move things, do whatever you want to do. You need anything, just ask me. Don’t open any of the closets, though. That’d be taking your life in your hands. The Anderson boys and I cleaned in a hurry this morning.”
Amanda-Lee laughed. “You should see my apartment.” She seemed to be coming back down to earth a little bit. “I can’t even get to the closets.”
“I always thought it’d be fun to live in an apartment in the city somewhere,” I told her as we walked into the living room, where the stained glass windows cast colorful strips of light over the bridge table, my recliner, and the blue corduroy sofa Jack bought when he retired. I hated that sofa from day one, but I put up with it because Jack thought it was comfortable.
Lately, I’d noticed how good the old picture of him in his navy uniform looked next to that sofa. The picture was one of those that had been hand colored years before Polaroids. The photographer got Jack’s eyes just right. “That’s Jack,” I said when Amanda-Lee looked at the picture. “He was wearing that uniform the day we met, and oh mercy, my heart just fell at his feet when I saw him across the pier. He smiled at me, and I just stared at him. I couldn’t move or breathe. I’d never had anything like that happen to me, ever.”
I laughed, picturing how smitten I must have seemed. Watching Amanda-Lee and Carter brought it back to me. “There was a winter carnival down the way, and he asked me to go with him. I forgot all about the girlfriends I came to Galveston with, and I said yes, and that was that. I never had eyes for another man again. Even when Jack was gone far away in the navy, all I thought about was him coming back and us starting a life together. People say love at first sight doesn’t happen, but it does.” Amanda looked at me, long and soulful, like she wanted to believe such things weren’t just for storybooks.
I went on talking as we moved into the kitchen. “The funny thing was that all my girlfriends, and my folks—just about everyone—had a pure conniption fit right at first. There was a fella waiting back home for me with a ring. Everyone knew it, and so did I. We’d already talked about getting a ring at Christmas and having a wedding here at the house in the spring when the bluebonnets were blooming in the yard. It would’ve been a beautiful wedding, but once I met Jack, I knew it wasn’t the right thing. I knew I’d only said yes because I felt it was time I got married, and I’d found a good boy who liked me, and I thought that was enough. But the first time Jack kissed me, the world shifted under my feet.” I stopped by the window, then turned back and looked into Amanda-Lee’s face. “Not everybody gets the chance to feel that.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes, and it was like looking in a mirror. I could see myself all those years ago, standing in that very spot, trying to decide if I had the courage to do something that wasn’t what I’d planned.
“That’s a sweet story,” she said. Turning away, she pretended she had something in her eye.
“Oh, it ain’t a story, hon, it’s real. Don’t let anybody ever tell you the good Lord don’t have certain plans for folks. When you run onto one of them plans, you know it. He planned for me and Jack to be together, and I guess He planned for Jack to go on to heaven and me to have this time by myself.” I opened the oven to check the roast, and my glasses steamed up. “It’s taken me a while to accept that, but I guess He wanted to give me a few years to find out what I could do on my own—like riding the roller coaster.”
Amanda-Lee nodded, and I truly felt that she understood. “How about we get these pies finished up?” I suggested, and she seemed willing enough. I stirred the cinnamon and sugar into the apples, then she held up the bowl while I scooped the filling into the crusts. “Feels good to make apple pies. I haven’t had occasion to do that in a long time. It’s my own fault, though. Just this morning, it came to me that all I been doing this past year is sitting around my house missing Jack. He would sure be disappointed in that.”
“It takes some time,” Amanda-Lee said as we started pinching in the top crust. “To adjust to the loss of a spouse, I mean—about a year on average. There are some changes in the chemistry of the brain—it’s not all just emotional.”
I stopped for a minute, surprised. “Lands, I didn’t know that. All this time, I just been thinking there was something wrong with me. The doctor gave me some pills, but I don’t know if they really help.”
“Medication can be a key part of treatment, but it’s also important to realize that grieving is a process. It doesn’t stop just because the family wants the parent or grandparent to get on with life.” Amanda-Lee finished her pie and dusted off her hands.
“I think my kids get frustrated with me sometimes.” I hadn’t admitted that to anybody, not even to Donetta, but I could tell calling twice a day and driving down on the weekends to mow the lawn and take care of things was getting to be a strain for them.
“Family members are often just frustrated that, no matter how hard they try to provide companionship, take care of chores, and so forth, they can’t replace the person who’s gone,” Amanda-Lee said sympathetically. “When the grieving spouse talks about that person, the children and grandchildren take it as a complaint or a signal that they’re not doing a good enough job. The reality is that the grieving spouse just needs someone to talk to, someone to reminisce with.”
I stood there with my mouth open, thinking she’d surely been a fly on my wall. “Why, that’s it exactly. I feel like the boys get their feelings hurt when I talk about Jack or say how much I still miss him. You hit the nail right on the head.”
“I did a show on it once,” she said, glancing up at me in apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“No, goodness, this makes me feel a lot better—knowing other folks have gone through the same things. It makes me think it’ll get better, eventually.”
“It will
.” Amanda-Lee poked down a bubble in her pie.
“You’re pretty good with those pies, too,” I pointed out. “You must have a mama or a grandma that bakes.”
She shook her head, watching me cut slits in the top crusts. “I was in news production for ten years. I always enjoyed the cooking segments on the morning show. One of these days I’d like to learn to cook.”
“Watch out for ‘one of these days.’” I shook a finger at her and smiled as I opened the oven, and we each picked up a pie. “You’ll end up an old lady, wishing you’d got out and done more things.”
We put the pies in, then I got the meat fork and a hot pad to check the roast.
Amanda leaned up against the counter. “When I was taking care of my email, I saw an ad for a seniors’ cruise that departs from Galveston and goes to five different ports of call. You can snorkel, take a rainforest tour, visit ancient ruins. I thought about you.”
I stood back and closed the oven, then pulled off my glasses because they were fogged up again. “Me? Why in the world?”
She looked out the window, watching Carter and the other fellows looking at a tire on the horse trailer. “You mentioned that your husband had wanted to take you on a cruise and you wished you’d gone. You could still do it.”
“Oh goodness, I’d never …” I stood there feeling flustered, with the kitchen blurry around me. For a minute, I forgot all about my glasses being in my hand, and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t see. “I’d never go off on a ship like that, all by myself. With a bunch of strangers. I don’t think I’d ever do that.” I remembered my eyeglasses and put them on, looking around for something that needed to be done. Imagine the idea of me getting on a big boat and setting sail!
Amanda-Lee cut a sly look my way. “You never know. It might be like the roller coaster.”
The screen door opened, and Otis Charles came in with the potatoes and a couple bags of ice. I took advantage of the distraction and introduced him to Amanda-Lee, but they’d already met before out at Harve’s Chapel.
“Amanda-Lee’s in charge of the American Megastar show,” I said, and she gave me a panicked look, then glanced over at O.C. “Oh, it’s all right, hon,” I said. “O.C. won’t tell anybody. He plays football for the University of Texas. Got a full scholarship.”
Amanda-Lee frowned and stuck her hand out to shake O.C.’s. “Mandalay Florentino,” she said, even though I’d already told him her name. She sure had a strange way of saying that name. The way she said it, Amanda-Lee sounded almost like a foreign word.
“Nice to meet you … again,” O.C. answered. “The guys in my dorm watch the show, especially since Amber’s on it and all. You think she’ll win?”
“I hope so,” Amanda-Lee answered. “I’m going to do everything I can to give her a good shot at it.”
O.C. nodded. “Sure is a lot of excitement about it in town. There’s people everywhere.”
Amanda was concerned. “That’s part of the problem. We don’t want crazy. We want natural. A media frenzy isn’t going to win votes for Amber. The hometown segment is a big part of the Final Five.” She raised a finger like she’d just had a thought. “Would you, by chance, be willing to do a short interview, maybe tell the story about you and Amber and the calf … what was it … calf wrestling or something? I overheard you talking about it at the feed store.”
Otis Charles took a step back. “The calf scramble?” he asked, with a funny look. “You mean the time I stole Amber’s calf? My grandma Beedie pretty near tanned my hide that day.” He grinned, and I started to laugh. I could still see Miss Beedie dragging that big old boy through the fence by his ear, him already a foot taller than her but looking scared to death of that little old woman.
Amanda nodded. “Would you mind our using that story in Amber’s segment? We could get you talking about it—you know, reminiscing about growing up here and that kind of thing.”
Otis Charles shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” he said, then looked at the ice bag dripping on his shoe. “I’ll put this in the cooler, then go see if I can help get the tire changed on that horse trailer. I think they got a flat out there.”
“Oh mercy,” I muttered. “I hope the spare’s good.”
Amanda looked like she might faint. I gave her the potatoes to get her mind off things. “Here, hon, why don’t you wash and fork these and put them in the microwave? They’re not very good that way, but we don’t have time for much else.”
Amanda moved to the sink and started in washing the potatoes. Every few minutes, she’d stop, walk to the hallway, and look toward the front door. Finally, she gave up and stayed at the sink.
I couldn’t imagine what she was so worried about. “If your people get lost, they’ll call, I’m sure.”
Amanda let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging. “It’s not the crew I’m worried about. It’s Amber. She left LA in Justin Shay’s private plane last night instead of coming with the crew today, and nobody knows where she is. Right now, one of our interns is driving all over the county, trying to find her. He thinks she might be at some secret place she used to go to when she was a kid.” She closed her eyes, like she’d finally done all the pie making and potato scrubbing, small talking, and waiting she could. “If I don’t find her in the next couple hours, we’re dead in the water.”
“If Amber’s supposed to be here, she’ll be here. She’s a good girl, and in all the time she worked at the café , she never once called in sick or showed up late. I don’t believe all that hogwash about her carrying on with that Justin Shay, either. Amber would never do such a thing, and certainly not with the likes of him. She’s a good Christian girl.” I felt sorry for Amanda-Lee, worrying about where Amber was and when the crew would get there, and whether the filming would go all right. “If Amber’s around here, she’s probably out at the old Barlinger ranch. Many’s the time I drove by there and saw the Anderson kids climbing around that old house, playing in the barns and whatnot. Used to really get my hackles up, because it wasn’t safe for little kids to be at an old empty farm with junk everywhere and the weeds up to your waist. It’s a wonder none of them ever got snakebit out there, and …”
Amanda-Lee turned from the sink and grabbed my shoulders like she was going to hug me off my feet right then and there. “You know where Amber’s special place is? Can you show me? Can you take me there?”
“Hang on a minute,” I said as she headed for the front door. I trotted after her, not sure what to do. “I got pies in the oven. I can’t just leave.”
Amanda-Lee spun on her heel. “Can I borrow your car? Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Well …” I looked past Amanda-Lee, and outside a glimmer of sunlight on glass caught my eye. “I might just be able to save you the trip, ’cause there’s a bunch of folks pulling up in the drive right now.”
Chapter 21
Mandalay Florentino
I burst onto the porch as a car, a Cadillac SUV, and three vans stopped in front of the house. Momentarily blinded by the glare, I hurried down the steps and ran along the walkway, trying to see who was inside. Butch! Butch was driving the lead car, and in the passenger seat, a blond head, a pair of wildly gesticulating arms, long bouncing ringlets of hair … was that Amber? My knees, which had been locked all day, went weak as I ran around the car. It was! It was Amber. Thank God!
The driver’s side door opened, and the next thing I knew, I was giving Butch a bear hug and babbling incoherently, “You’re here! You’re here! You found Amber. Butch, you found Amber. You found Amber. Butch found Amber. Amber’s here.” The words repeated over and over in my mind as I tried to assimilate the reality. From the first moment I’d set foot in Daily I’d been preparing for the eventual collapse of the Amber segment. It was hard to grasp the concept of potential success, the brass ring suddenly within reach.
I released Butch, and he stepped away sheepishly, eyeing me like a boy who’d just had his cheeks pinched by a senile relative at a family gathering. “Uhhh, hi,
Ms. Florentino.”
I took a yoga breath and blew out as the crew exited the vans, grabbing camera equipment, cables, lighting, boom microphones, and reflectors. Luckily, everyone was so busy they hadn’t noticed me mugging Amber’s handler.
Still inside the vehicle, Amber leaned toward the open car door. “Hey, Ms. Florentino. How are ye-ew this mornin’?” Her voice jingled with her usual zippity-doo-dah rhythm. “Ye-ew look ni-ice today. That sure is a cu-ute sweater.”
I wanted to reach through the door, grab her by the neck, and squeeze. Instead, I clenched the window frame and leaned in. Be calm. Be calm. Don’t make the talent cry. When she starts crying, it goes on forever. The last time the director had screamed at Amber for missing her mark during rehearsal, the rest of the day was a wash. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. “Amber, where have you been?”
“Oh, well, it’s a long story. I told Butch all about it.” Amber glanced at Butch and then back at me, her blue eyes enormous, round, soulful, saying, You’re not mad at me, are you? “Ya’ll shouldn’t have worried about me, Ms. Florentino. If there’s one place I do know how to get to, it’s Daily, Texas.”
“Amber, you took off from LA without telling anyone.”
Amber blinked innocently. “I left a note.”
I clenched the window frame harder, my fingernails digging in until it hurt. “You were supposed to come with the crew. It takes days to put all the travel plans in place, Amber. You can’t just take off by yourself.” I felt like a parent, telling a toddler why she couldn’t follow the bouncy ball into the street.
Amber blinked her long lashes in earnest surprise. “Oh, I wasn’t by my-say-ulf,” she drawled cheerfully. “I was with Justin. He said he could fly me in his play-un, but then a while after we got in the air, it started to have some trouble, and we had to land so the pilot could have it checked out.” If Amber was the least bit concerned about any of this, it didn’t show. From the corner of my eye, I could see Butch slashing a finger across his throat, trying to give Amber the cut sign. Clearly he’d already heard this whole story and thought I’d be better off without it. I flashed a dirty look over my shoulder, and he froze midstroke, then pretended to be scratching his ear.