Magnolia Market (9780310330585)

by Christie, Judy

  Martha made a clucking noise. “That’s right funny, now that I think about it, you and Kathleen getting so tight. She’s good people. Hard worker.”

  “You’re close to her?” How might this affect the insurance debacle?

  “You know what it’s like when you’re a shopkeeper. Everyone wants to tell you their troubles. I could write a book of all the stories I’ve heard.”

  Avery couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Our customers are—or rather, were—more discreet. They shop to cover up their troubles.”

  “I reckon we hear more of people’s everyday lives here.” Martha’s frail hand trembled again as she let go of the counter. “I’m going to miss this place.”

  And then she fell to the floor.

  Chapter 9

  Every now and then Avery sniffed, but T. J. had not seen her shed a tear since they had arrived at the hospital waiting room.

  Her hair was in a messy ponytail, her feet muddy. Her gray pants had gotten a small rip in them at some point—maybe when she jumped over the counter to perform CPR on Martha. Although the room was stifling, her coat was draped across her shoulders, her arms around her middle.

  Six hours had passed since Avery had screamed T. J.’s name with so much terror that he had nearly burst through the plywood patch job.

  She refused to leave the hospital, even when the doctors said it would be hours before they knew if Martha would make it. And she turned down sandwiches Bud had brought around eight o’clock.

  T. J. wanted to put his arm around her but figured he’d have better luck petting one of the feral cats living under his porch. Still in his work clothes, he brushed at the knees of his jeans and whispered another silent prayer. He longed for a shower.

  Kathleen, who arrived at the store minutes after the ambulance, sat next to Avery, murmuring indistinguishable words. Avery shook her head, hair flying back and forth. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

  After leaving for a few minutes, Kathleen returned with a large plastic binder and flipped through it as though cramming for an exam. Her red hair stuck up in more directions than seemed possible, and she had shed her jacket hours ago.

  Bud was praying on the far side of the room with a subdued Bill, who had been shooed out of Martha’s room a few minutes earlier. The only one allowed in the Intensive Care Unit, he was permitted to visit every two hours. His face sagged more with each return, his jowls reminding T. J. of Bud’s dog, who had been rescued on a dirt road near Sweet Olive.

  “She’s not breathing on her own,” was all Bill had said when he entered the room most recently. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Avery, who hitched her breath. “What’s she doing here?”

  Avery had been through some bad weeks in her life.

  When Cres had told her he wanted a divorce, her broken heart joined her broken marriage vows. She pleaded with him to talk to their pastor, see a marriage counselor, even move to another town. Maybe a baby would have held them together. Or maybe a child would have been hurt by the breakup.

  Then he had been killed on a getaway “to clear his head.” That day the shards of Avery’s heart had been crushed into a fine dust.

  When the pain of those weeks subsided, Avery had made the promise—to God and herself—that she would make better decisions.

  Yet here she sat. Do I cause bad things to happen?

  The sequence of events was like watching a TV show on fast-forward, everything happening too fast to comprehend. And now she hit Pause again, seeing details in slow motion. Putting her ear to Martha’s chest, pumping, breathing, praying as she had prayed when cancer was wringing her mother dry. T. J. grabbing the ancient wall phone to dial 911. Bill hurling blame at Avery as Martha was loaded into the ambulance. Kathleen slapping a Closed sign on the screen door of the store, Avery standing with her hand on the stretcher.

  She had not even minded begging for a ride to the hospital, had climbed in the car though Kathleen seemed unsure.

  Officers who zoomed to the corner, including Jazz Hamilton, converged on Avery in the hospital lobby while curious staff and visitors inched closer, held at bay by a stoic T. J. All but Jazz seemed suspicious, tying Martha’s collapse to Avery’s crash, asking questions that made a medical emergency seem like a crime.

  Avery wouldn’t dwell on the new wave of gossip sure to be broadcast, still shaken by the memory of Martha’s limp body and clammy skin when she had jumped across the counter. Had she missed a clue that could have prevented the calamity?

  Jazz’s husky voice was soft as she wrapped up the interview, then placed a card with her name and phone number and the insignia of the Samford PD into Avery’s hand.

  Avery stared at it.

  “And could you tell me how to reach you? In case anyone has additional questions?”

  Gulping a breath of the warm, medicinal air, Avery slipped the card into her pocket. “Here. I’ll be here.”

  Jazz frowned. “Do you think that’s wise, considering the tension you’ve described with Bill?”

  “Where else would I be? I owe it to them to wait.”

  “I’ll know where to reach Avery,” T. J. interjected. “If she’s not here, give me a call. She lives near me.”

  “Is there anyone else to notify?”

  “A nephew,” Avery murmured. “They don’t have children. Martha told me they don’t go to church, but she trusts—” Her voice cracked. “She trusts that things work out.”

  Now, in the ICU waiting room, Avery could not turn off the endless loop in her mind, dissecting her conversation, remembering how frail Martha had looked.

  And while Martha clung to life, Bill disintegrated from elderly to ancient, his head bowed while Bud prayed from the seat next to him. Avery closed her eyes and begged God to listen to the prayers and heal Martha, to somehow make everything right.

  A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she looked up, disoriented.

  T. J.’s dark eyes shone above her. “Hey.”

  “Is there news?” Avery looked across at Bill as she spoke.

  “She’s resting comfortably.”

  “Who could rest with tubes up her nose and in her arm?” She put her face in her hands, too ashamed to look at him.

  “Don’t you want to take off your coat? It’s sweltering in here.”

  “The heat feels good.”

  T. J. squatted in front of her chair. “You’re exhausted. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “Don’t.” She held up her hand. “I’m staying. This is my fault.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this. Martha’s had heart trouble for ages.”

  With a quick shake of her head, Avery shifted to the other side of the chair, her arms still tight around her middle. “I upset her. All the commotion from my wreck caused her blood pressure to go through the roof.”

  T. J. drew back. “Did the doctor say that?”

  “No, but it’s true. I caused her heart attack.”

  “That’s ridiculous. When did you move to Samford?”

  She tilted her head, puzzled. “Almost six years ago.”

  “And you knew Martha before that?”

  She glanced up. “I’d never been to Samford before that. Of course I didn’t know her.”

  “Martha had her first heart attack eight years ago. She was in the ICU for two weeks. She had triple-bypass surgery seven years ago.”

  He reached for her hands. “Martha’s been declining for weeks. She complained of chest pains two weeks ago and again this morning before work. Bill’s beating himself up for not calling a doctor.”

  “I should have done something different.” She rocked back in her seat. “If only I had done something different.”

  “It’s been a long day. Let me take you home.”

  She searched T. J.’s eyes, the hum of the waiting room sounding like a plane about to take off. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because Bud’s always reminding me to love my neighbor.” His mouth curved into a lopsided grin
.

  “Be serious.”

  “I’ve been in enough messes for two lifetimes, Avery. Someone always gave me a hand. You’ve had a lousy week.” He shrugged. “You look like you could use a friend.”

  The sound of footsteps approached from behind her, and Avery whirled. Bud, in battered work boots, stood nearby. “She’s stable. They just called Bill back to ICU.”

  “Thank goodness, thank goodness,” Avery said.

  He reached out to touch her arm. “We met a few years back, at a fund-raiser, I believe. I’m Bud Cameron, T. J.’s friend.”

  “And business partner,” T. J. said. “Rescuer of hurt creatures and wild teenagers.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t recall . . .” She studied his face and thick salt-and-pepper hair. His bright blue eyes sparkled.

  “You did a fine thing today, Avery,” he said.

  She drew back as though he had struck her.

  “I’ve been trying to tell her that.” T. J.’s gaze locked on Avery’s face.

  “If you had not been there to give Martha CPR, she likely would have died.” Bud enveloped her in a bear hug. “You saved her life.”

  Chapter 10

  Avery woke up with a crick in her neck and an unfamiliar dog licking her face.

  “Howie, leave her alone.” Kathleen’s voice held more laughter than scold. “She doesn’t want you slobbering on her first thing in the morning.”

  “Hey, guy.” Avery sat up and rubbed the sheltie’s head. “Where’d you come from?”

  “I let him in from the yard after you went to sleep. He stays in the yard during the day but likes to come in at night.” Kathleen let out an embarrassed laugh. “He’s good company.”

  Avery looked around the paneled bedroom where she’d slept on a daybed. The drive to Kathleen’s house the night before had been solemn, and they exchanged few remarks while they put sheets on the mattress. “Do you live alone?” Avery asked now.

  Kathleen picked up a throw pillow and fluffed it. “Except for Howie.”

  “So you’re not married?”

  “I’m a widow.” She sat on the edge of the bed.

  Avery’s eyes widened. “I had no idea.”

  “We don’t exactly move in the same circles. At least not usually.”

  With a self-conscious shrug, Avery sat on the side of the bed, pulling the loaned T-shirt over her knees. “Since my husband was killed, I feel like I have a sign flashing ‘Widow’ on and off. I sort of thought other women did too.”

  “It felt like that the first year or so,” Kathleen said, “but not anymore.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Nearly four years now. Wayne was hooking up his bass boat and dropped dead of a heart attack.” She paused. “One day I was fussing about his socks on the living room floor, and the next I was picking out a coffin.”

  Avery could not hold back a moan at the matter-of-fact words. “Were you . . . there when it happened?”

  “I was.” Her lips twisted. “I discovered I’m not good in a crisis. You did much better yesterday than I would have.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “A daughter who’s twenty.” Kathleen pointed to a framed picture of a girl with coal-black hair, a stud in her nose, and a defiant glare at the camera. “I worked for years to have a baby, and then she grows up and decides she’d rather run off to Tulsa with her boyfriend than live with me.”

  Kathleen picked up the photograph, then ran her fingers over the glass. “Lindsey was only sixteen when her daddy died. She took it hard. Davis says she’ll come to her senses one of these days. He hangs around here with his son, Jake, to make me feel better.”

  Kathleen kissed the picture before placing it back on the dresser. “We’d better hurry. Big corporate meeting at work, so I sure can’t be late.” She started from the room.

  “Wait! Have you heard anything from the hospital?”

  “T. J. called a few minutes ago.”

  “And?”

  “Martha will be in the ICU for a few days at least. They’re not sure from there.” She paused at the door. “I put clean towels in the bath there. Come on, Howie, give Avery a little privacy.”

  “Kathleen?” Her voice was hesitant. “Lindsey’s fortunate to have you for a mother.”

  Kathleen squeezed her lips together, then vanished into the other room.

  Avery rushed into the pink-tiled bathroom and threw cold water on her face. A small glass shelf sat above the tiny lavatory, lined with a new toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and hotel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner. The air smelled of floral air freshener, and plush rose-colored towels were folded on the side of the tub.

  Reaching out to stroke them, Avery drew in a deep breath and stepped in the shower, turning the hot water on high. As it streamed down her dirty hair and sweaty body, she gave in to the tears.

  “What are you doing here?” The gruff voice startled Avery, and she sloshed lukewarm coffee onto her hand.

  “Bill! How’s Martha? Is she . . . ?”

  “Is she what? Dead? Do you think I’d be talking to you if she were?”

  She bit her lip. “I came to see what I can do to help. Do you need breakfast?”

  “What I need is to be at my store selling biscuits.”

  Avery, heart racing, patted a nearby sofa. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

  “T. J.’s gone to get me something. Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see if you and Martha need anything.”

  Bill held up three gnarled fingers. “One, a buyer. Two, reimbursement for the damages.” His shoulders stooped forward. “Three, to be back at our store.”

  Lowering herself to the couch, Avery cleared her throat. “I’ve told you I’ll come up with money for repairs.” She would cash the Broussard check, even if it meant she had to leave Samford.

  “That ain’t much, but it’s a start.” Bill ambled toward the door. “Make it snappy. I’m not getting any younger.” When he reached the hallway, he turned. “Tell T. J. I lost my appetite.”

  Avery paced around the room, rubbing her face.

  “Hard morning?” T. J. strode into the room with two white sacks and a bottle of juice. He wore a long-sleeved T-shirt advertising an art festival and a pair of worn khakis. Scuffed Doc Martens that looked like something from Avery’s high school days were on his feet. His brown hair was damp, which it seemed to be every time she saw him.

  “You changed,” she blurted out.

  He nodded. “I ran home while Bill was in with Martha.”

  “You spent the night here?”

  Another brief nod.

  “I didn’t realize you were that close to them.”

  “Their nephew couldn’t make it down from Little Rock. It wasn’t a big deal.” He gave up a small smile. “After years of crashing on friends’ couches, I can pretty much sleep anywhere. And it’s easier on my bones than it would have been for Bud.”

  “So he’s good friends with Martha and Bill?”

  “Not exactly.” He sat beside her, setting the sacks on an end table. “Bud likes to help others.”

  “So do you, obviously.”

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “I’ve got a long way to go.”

  “My dad’s like that. He serves wherever he goes.” She sipped the coffee. “That’s a gift.”

  “Is he in Lafayette?”

  “He used to be.” Her eyes widened. “So you were eavesdropping that day at Evangeline’s.”

  “It was hard not to when the shouting started.” He made a face. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

  “Half of Samford knows my business anyway.” She fidgeted with her bracelet. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t part of the Broussard circle.”

  An odd look ran across T. J.’s face. “My mother is—” He stopped when Bill rounded the corner into the room, face drawn, steps slow, his cane making a thunking noise.

  They jumped up. “What’s wrong?” Avery
asked.

  Bill limped over to the couch and let himself down as though the weight of his body was too much to hold. “They say Martha may not be strong enough to go home for weeks.” He looked at T. J. instead of Avery. “When she’s well enough to leave, she’ll be sent to some sort of cardiac-rehab unit in Shreveport.”

  “That’s good news,” T. J. said. “That means they expect her to improve.”

  Bill sank even lower onto the sofa, like a tire with the air seeping out. “Who’s going to run the store? We’ll have to close.”

  “Only for the short term,” T. J. said.

  “Our customers will leave us for that new gas station down on Trumpet.” He stopped and glared at Avery. “We’ll never find a buyer for a run-down building without any business.”

  Avery reached for his arm but let her hand drop back into her lap. “I can talk to Ross Broussard. He’s an expert on commercial property.”

  Bill opened his mouth, an argument on his face before it reached his lips. Then he shrugged. “Whatever. I should have listened when my nephew told me to sell to the outfit that wanted the land.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I held out to get more. Now I’ve got nothing.”

  T. J. leaned forward, arms on his knees. “This doesn’t have to be resolved today. Give it a little time.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  Avery squirmed in her seat, and Bill flung his hand out as though to sweep her away. “You shouldn’t even be here. Without you, we wouldn’t be here either. We’d be preparing to move to our new condo.”

  “Bill . . .” T. J. said.

  But Avery held up her hand. “He’s right.” She swallowed. “I swear I will pay for the repairs.”

  “No point in fixing it up now. We might as well take the money and leave the place boarded up.”

  T. J. looked from one to the other. “Now’s not the time to make a decision like that, Bill.”

  “I can’t afford to keep that place closed.” His eyes searched T. J.’s, looking less antagonistic. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Avery glanced at a picture of Christ in prayer on the far wall. “I can run the store.”

  “What you talking about?” Bill said. T. J. shook his head at the same time.