Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  There’s a spell wrapped around us, and I could stand in this moment forever. “But you did kiss her”

  Charlie slowly nods. “Some of the best things are on the other side of fear.”

  I give him a smile of my own. “I’m glad you pushed through.”

  “Me too.” His finger strokes down my cheek and across my jaw. “If I can do hard things, you can too.”

  “You’re comparing my eulogy with kissing a girl?”

  “She wasn’t just any girl.” His eyes hold mine, daring me to look away. “She was you.”

  “I—”

  “You can push through the fear, too,” he says. “Tomorrow’s your moment to say what you’ve wanted to say.”

  His belief in me is like a balm, and I take a deep breath, willing it into all the wounded places. I’ve done hard things all my life, and Mom’s funeral would be another in the long list. If only I could bottle up Charlie’s confidence in me and uncap it when I step into the church tomorrow.

  As long as we’re being brave, I toss out the question I’ve been dying to ask since he settled onto the stage beside me. “Why’d you come back to In Between tonight, Charlie?”

  “Because my friend lost her mom.” The lights illuminate the highlights in his toffee-colored hair. “Did you think I would stay away?”

  “I don’t have a lot of experience with this whole death of a parent stuff, so I didn’t have a lot of expectations. But thank you. It means…everything.” Just like he does. “What did you tell your girlfriend?”

  “That I needed to see someone very important to me.” Charlie’s thumb sweeps across my cheek. “I think if the roles were reversed, you’d be here for me.”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Because that’s what friends do.”

  Right. Friends. I can’t recall the last time my bff had looked at me with a gaze that smoldered like Charlie’s. I think probably never.

  “Where’s Tate this weekend?”

  I smile at the slight disdain in his tone. “He’s not here.”

  “If you were mine, I wouldn’t have left you to deal with this alone.”

  “But I’m not yours.” I move closer until a script page couldn’t fit between us. “Why aren’t I yours?”

  “Because we’re both dating other people. Because we have horrible timing.”

  My gosh, how I’ve missed this boy. His fierce protectiveness, his loyalty, the humor in his eyes, the way he knows me. And the way he shows up.

  “Tate and I broke up.” Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but I stop him. I pull his hands from my face and shake my head. “If this past month has taught me anything, it’s that life is short, and keeping important words to ourselves is a punishment that can go on far too long.” Do I even have the nerve to say this? But I have to, consequences be darned. “I love you, Charlie Benson. I’ve never said the words, but they’ve always been there.”

  “Katie—”

  “Don’t say anything, okay? I’m walking out of here right now. By myself. Maxine said I’ve used Tate as a substitute, and that I just didn’t want to be alone.” I laugh pitifully. “And Tate told me I’d never given him my whole heart, that I’d always held back. He said I’d never gotten over you.”

  Charlie defies me and speaks. “Is that true?”

  “I do love you, Charlie. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve envisioned throwing myself in your arms and begging you to break up with what’s-her-name.”

  “I broke up with her two weeks ago.”

  Oh.

  Well, there’s an unexpected plot twist. And once again, our timing couldn’t be more terrible. “I realized today that I need some time. I want to love myself. I want to be the girl on campus who holds her head up and walks with confidence. My mom never worked on her stuff, you know? I don’t want that to be me. I need some space to deal with all that’s hit me.” With shaking fingers, I brush away this seemingly endless supply of tears. “I’m a little broken right now. But one day I’m going to find all the pieces and put them back together. And when I do, I’m going to find you.”

  He steps closer, the fingers of one hand finding mine. “Is that a promise?”

  “It is.” Then I do what I’d threatened. I throw myself into Charlie’s arms and kiss him like a girl held together by tape and tragedy. My heart pressed against my chest longs to sync with his, but not tonight. But, God willing, someday soon. His lips brush mine—a promise, an oath.

  “I love you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I love you, Charlie Benson.”

  Then I walk away.

  Stepping off my beloved stage, I don’t look back.

  Leaving behind the only boy I’ve ever truly adored.

  It’s a risk that might not pay off.

  But I owed it to myself to get this right.

  To get me right.

  “This isn’t over,” Charlie calls as I reach the last row.

  Stepping outside into the night, I hold those words and clutch them tightly. I have a feeling I’ll need his promise in the days to come.

  I just hope when my healing comes, Charlie will still be there.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  On Saturday morning, I sit in the front row of the In Between Community Church, my body torqued in my seat as I openly marvel at the packed house in the sanctuary. James and Millie flank my other side, and James reviews the sermon notes in his lap. A small choir sings “Amazing Grace,” a fitting song to honor the life of Bobbie Ann Parker.

  “All these people showed up for my mom?” I whisper beside Maxine.

  “Oh, honey.” She clutches my hand and gives it a kiss. “They showed up for you.”

  There is no heady an elixir as the love of friends and family, no other earthly power this strong. Had I never been dropped on the doorstep of James and Millie Scott, I never would’ve known. Every seat is filled and, in the back, stand rows of folks breaking the fire code in glorious defiance. Friends from high school. My handful of friends from college. Familiar ones from church. Even some folks who barely know me.

  Kira and George wave from the back, and I blink back tears. Oh, my heart. What would my mother say? I think she’d love all the fuss. She always did enjoy a grand gesture.

  After the final verse of “I’ll Fly Away,” James squeezes my hand. A hundred declarations of love and support couldn’t speak louder than his gentle grip.

  With his worn Bible beneath his arm, James takes to the stage, surveying the crowd as he removes his glasses and rests them on the podium. “On behalf of Katie Parker Scott, the Scott family, and those who loved Bobbie Ann Parker, we’d like to welcome you to this celebration of Bobbie Ann. I first met Bobbie two years ago…”

  I try to tune in to James’s eulogy, but it’s hard. Because after James steps off that stage…the next person to speak is me.

  I haven’t been this nervous since my first play production when I’d inherited the part of Shakespeare’s famous Juliet. I didn’t know what I was doing then, and I don’t now. How do I talk about my mom? The paper of words I’d typed sits folded into a wrinkled fan in my lap, but every line still seems so lifeless and sterile, as if I’d written a research paper on my mom instead of a tribute. I’d also left out a lot of details as if Bobbie Ann hadn’t been captivated by her own flaws.

  The old shame perches on my shoulders, hissing in my ear to protect my ego, to gloss over the truth, to let the past stay hidden.

  But that isn’t the real story of my mom. We’d found a place for her ashes, but true liberation for Bobbie Ann—and for me—had to come wrapped in revelation and bold truth. I wish my mom had traded in her ashes for beauty in this world, but she hadn’t. So maybe I could do it for her, sharing her story and redeeming the struggle that was her life.

  After I left the Valiant last night, one of the singular hardest things I have ever done in my short life, I went home, took a shower, and while the hot water fell over me like Baptism waters, I composed a new eulogy for my mom.


  “…Bobbie Ann Parker will live on in the life of her daughter, Katie.” James smiles at me from the stage. “My wife and I will forever be grateful to Bobbie for entrusting us with her daughter…and ours.”

  “Amen!” Maxine hollers.

  Used to her outbursts, James ignores my grandmother and continues. “We’re thankful to Bobbie because we can’t imagine our lives without Katie.”

  I blink back tears, pressing his words into my brain, wishing I could tattoo them forever on my heart.

  “What Bobbie leaves behind is a life cut too short, but lived at full speed. . .” He continues to talk, touching on how my mom made strides in prison, taking GED classes, and attending a Bible study. After a brief reading from Ecclesiastes, James gives a thoughtful prayer, then steps off the stage.

  “You’re up, kid,” he says as he resumes his seat. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  “You don’t have to go up there if you don’t want to,” Millie whispers.

  But I do. It’s time to tell everyone about Bobbie Ann Parker. Time to let her story slip into the air and circle around hearts that might need it. Like mine.

  Clearing my throat, I mount the steps to the podium. I organize my scripted notes, the ones I brought up just in case.

  But I don’t need them any longer.

  It’s time to compose Bobbie Ann’s final chapter, and I know that job is all mine.

  So, I take a deep breath. Look at the intimidatingly large crowd.

  Then tell them about the woman who gave me life.

  “I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts and feelings the last month, attempting to make sense of everything and find simple logic. But, thanks to the help of strangers and friends alike, I finally realized it’s okay if I’m not yet at peace with the life and death of my mom. She was complicated. Bobbie Ann Parker’s life was hard, and she wasn’t always easy to love.”

  Surveying the crowd, I’m comforted no one looks like they’re ready to make a beeline for the exits. I think I even see Tate slipping into the sixth row. “Losing a parent you weren’t close to is difficult. But if Bobbie Ann Parker had been anything more than what she was, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t know all of you, and I wouldn’t have my family. That’s a gift I’ll always be profoundly grateful for.

  “There were good times.” My lips push into a smile as I recall the memories. “Like our dance-offs as we waited for our clothes at the laundromat. There was the summer Mom worked at a hotel, and I got to swim every day in the pool. She’d come out on her lunch break with something from the kitchen that someone had sent back. I remember being disappointed that she was home so much, instead of keeping a job. But on those many days off, she’d watch soap operas by the hour. I’d often sit by her, sucked right into the stories, as Mom would explain why someone was getting married for the sixth time or why some character had come back from the dead. I believe that daily dose of melodrama planted a seed, and now here I am, telling my own stories on stage.”

  I spot Frances on the third row, swiping away tears. I wonder who else is out there that I’ve yet to notice. So many faces of people I love.

  “Initially, I didn’t want to have a memorial.” My voice in the microphone sounds strange to my ears. “What would people think? What would there be to say? Wouldn’t we all just pretend like my mom wasn’t severely” —I fumble for a softer word—“challenged? I used to list all the ways I wasn’t like my mom, holding each one like a treasure. But today, as I think about Bobbie Ann, I believe it’s time to be grateful for the ways I am like her.” I sniff my runny nose. “I have her street smarts, which has saved me more times than I can count. And beneath this salon job, I have her red hair, a piece of her I see every time I look in the mirror. I have her same silly laugh, as well as her weakness for Pop Tarts and resistance to vegetables. She taught me to question everything, how to fend for myself, and how to survive when the world was against you.

  “One day, maybe I’ll have children.” My words grow louder and stronger. “And I’ll tell them about Bobbie Ann Parker. I’ll tell them about her fierce loyalty. Her fiery spirit. Her quick laugh. I’ll tell them about her love for French fries and milkshakes. Her love of a good story, sweet tea, and a hot day of sunshine. And, yes, I’ll tell them about her mistakes and her flaws. Because those are part of me too.” I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders, hearing the words of Sister Betty of the Campus Chapel. “I’m Bobbie Ann Parker’s daughter. Someone who’s learning to love my mom, as well as myself, with all our flaws and failures. I’m learning not just to be proud of where I am today, but also of the road I traveled to get here. I wouldn’t be who I am without my mom.” Tears thicken my throat, and I take a moment to breathe through my nose and gives my nerves a chance to catch up. “May my mother’s life be redeemed through me, as I work every day to make her proud and embrace the opportunities she didn’t receive. And may her memory be a blessing—to me and all who knew her.”

  I step down and run toward my family.

  Maxine tackles me first.

  Then Millie.

  Then James.

  I don’t know how long they hang on.

  But I’ll be forever grateful that these people I call mine will never let me go.

  Chapter Forty

  It’s been eight days, twelve hours, and fourteen minutes since I walked out the doors of the Valiant and left Charlie behind.

  It’s been fourteen days since Tate and I broke up.

  One bothers me a lot more than the other, but I don’t want to talk about that now. Because I’m going to be okay. And it’s time to get my mind off myself and be a cheerleader for Maxine.

  I sit beside James, Millie, and Sam in the performing arts center of the In Between High School and watch my grandmother give it her all. It smells like hairspray and Ben-Gay, and the audio system squeaks and squawks like it’s possessed by the spirit of an angry beauty queen. Maxine handles the pageant like a pro, sailing through each category and absolutely knocking it out of the park during her dance.

  When she meets us after the contest, she beams and holds up her winning sash for all of us to oooh and ahhh over.

  Millie reads the glittery cursive of the sash. “Runner-up, Mrs. Silver Texas. Mom, I’m so happy for you.”

  “Me too.” I kiss my grandmother’s rouged cheek. “How do you feel?”

  Maxine hugs her husband. “I did what I set out to do—and then some. I got back in shape, fit myself into a slinky evening gown, then danced like a girl half my age.”

  “You were amazing,” I say.

  “I think you mean, I am amazing.”

  “Always.” And this evening was just the pick-me-up I needed. “But tonight, especially so.”

  Millie hands her mom a bouquet of roses. “Though he won’t admit it, James bought the flowers.”

  “Aw, James,” Maxine coos. “You really are a softie.”

  “We’re proud of you,” James says. “Your performance was incredible.”

  I wholeheartedly agree. And so did the audience. They clapped along to Maxine’s routine and gave her a standing ovation. “You’ve still got it.”

  “Of course, I do.” Maxine does a little cha-cha step. “But I owe it all to you, Katie. If you hadn’t convinced me to change my dance, I would’ve stuck with that boring modern routine that injured my tushie. And probably would’ve cost me my place as runner-up.” She clasps my chin in her hand. “You gotta be who you are and not be afraid for everyone to see it.”

  Sam throws an arm around his wife. “Everyone definitely saw it. Especially when your sequined skirt got tucked into your Spanx.”

  Maxine shrugs one indifferent shoulder. “So they got a little more show than they paid for.”

  Millie hands her mother a bottle of water. “Are you sad you lost to Gloria Hardcastle?”

  “No. She deserved the crown. I mean, it would look better on my head. Hers is so oblong in shape, while mine is a perfect orb for regal things such as tiaras. But sh
e did look stunning, and I have to admit her talent program was impressive. I think she got me in the interview portion. Maybe my answer was wrong.”

  The ladies were all asked the same question: If you could grant a wish to the world, what would it be?

  Nine of the ten ladies responded with some variation on world peace.

  Maxine said she’d grant everyone endless cookies.

  I smile and share a look with James. “I think your answer was just right.”

  Maxine slips off her six-inch, flashing LED heels and dangles them in one hand. “You know how I do favor practicality.”

  “It’s just who you are.” I hug her to me, not caring if I’m messing up her big pageant hair or smearing her makeup on my white t-shirt.

  “Let’s go celebrate the big win at the Burger Barn.” James jangles his keys, a sure sign he’s ready to wrap this up. “Double scoops on me.”

  “I’m in,” Millie says.

  Maxine dabs at some perspiration on her contoured brow. “I could use a double order of cheese fries. But when we’re done eating, Sam and I have a little road trip we need to take.” Her eyes, fringed with fake eyelashes, hold mine. “Katie, we’d like you to join us.”

  That’s odd. “Where to?”

  “It’s a surprise,” Maxine says.

  My nose hurts already. “I think I’d like to take a sabbatical from surprises.”

  She gathers me to her side as we walk to the car. “Trust me, sweet pea. I think I’ve found something you want to see.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Where are we going?” I ask for the tenth time on this road trip.

  Sam Dayberry turns on his blinker and passes a car on the interstate. “Wherever my sweetie tells me.”

  I lean forward from my seat in the back of Sam’s truck and get close to Maxine. “Sam seems all too happy to drive you on one of your shenanigan runs. What’s up with that?”

  She turns around, her voice low. “He caught me pulling the riding lawnmower out of the garage.”