“Such good manners, sweet girl,” I say. “I love you.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“Thank you,” Anna says to Reggie. “That’s so . . . You’re very kind.”
“This your first Tupelo Festival?” Merrick asks.
We both shake our heads.
“First as Wewahitchkaians,” I say.
“Makes a difference,” he says. “How’s the house working out for you?”
We had bought and are living in and fixing up his dad’s old house, a red-brick ranch-style house built in the late sixties located on the other lake in town, Julia—the sister to Alice—just across Highway 22, less than a football field away.
Wewahitchka—Wewa to everyone who lives here—is a Native American term that means water eyes, named for the two lakes in the center of town, Alice and Julia.
“Perfectly,” Anna says. “We love it.”
“Sorry again about your dad,” I say.
“Thank you,” Merrick says, averting his gaze momentarily, blinking, clearing his throat. “It’s amazing how many times a day I pick up my phone to call him or start to drop by and check on him. Don’t be surprised if you open your door and I’m standing there sometime.”
“You’d be welcome anytime,” Anna says.
“Speaking of dads,” Reggie says, “I had a thought about yours, John.”
“Oh yeah?”
This past November, my dad lost his bid for reelection as sheriff of Potter County—the first time in decades—and has been adrift ever since, stuck in a sort of self-imposed purgatory.
“How do you think he’d feel about being a mentor and consultant for our department?” she says.
“Really?”
“I couldn’t pay him much, but—”
It’s the badness and brutality that gets the coverage and attention, but there is goodness all around us all the time.
“That’s so extremely thoughtful of you,” I say. “I’m sure he’d love to do it. And it’d be so good for him.”
“He’d be a real asset for us, for me,” she says. “I could really use a mentor.”
“See?” Anna says. “That’s why we need more women in office. No macho, ego, id bullshit to keep them from asking for help.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
Merrick nods his agreement.
“I’ll talk to him about it,” I say. “Thank you again. I know just being asked will do a lot for him.”
“Well, we better check on our booth,” Merrick says.
He has a booth set up to sell tupelo honey and Gulf County Breeze subscriptions.
“How was the flow this year?” I ask.
The tupelo flow—the narrow window when the tupelo trees bloom each year, usually less than two weeks—is a very delicate, fragile, and vulnerable event. Too much rain, too little, temperature changes, all affecting how much pure tupelo the bees can produce.
“Not as good as we had hoped,” he says, frowning and shaking his head.
“Really?” Anna asks. “Thought the weather was perfect this year.”
“Seemed like it, which is why we were so hopeful, but it got pretty cool a couple of nights. Think maybe that had something to do with it. Or I could’ve done something wrong. This is my first year doing it by myself. Still, we did okay. Stop by and get a jar before you leave.”
We say we will and part ways with them.
“It’s time to get your girls some vendor food,” Anna says, flashing me a sweet smile beneath wide eyes.
“What would you like?”
“Some of all of it,” she says. “It all looks and smells so good.”
“What would you like to start with?”
“Surprise me.”
While she takes both girls to find us a spot at a shaded picnic table, I go in search of food.
Food trucks and trailers are side by side with E-Z Up canopy tents—the latter used by local churches and school groups, such as Project Graduation. Behind them all, smoke from open-flame grills wafts up to hang in the tree branches above us.
I decide on fried fish dinners for us and chicken nuggets for Johanna.
Shane McMillan is in line when I walk up. He turns toward me as I approach.
His hair is closely cropped in a military-style buzz cut, his nineteen-year-old body lean and muscular, his blue eyes bright and clear and penetrating.
“Hey,” he says. “Do I call you Chaplain or Detective?”
“John,” I say.
He smiles a big, warm, toothy smile and extends his hand. His handshake is what you’d expect from a young man in Ranger training at Fort Benning.
“No, sir. My mama would’ve never gone for that,” he says. “How about Mr. Jordan?”
As a young teen, he had lost both his parents to different but equally lengthy and brutal illnesses.
“How’s your training going?” I ask. “I’m surprised you got a weekend off.”
“Don’t get many, that’s for sure. It’s going good. I like it a lot. Plan to make a career out of it.”
“That’s great. What’s Megan think about that?”
Megan Stripling is his girlfriend of several years. One year younger than him, she’ll be a senior at Wewa High this year.
“She’s not happy about it—or any of it, really, but we broke up,” he says. “Or we’re about to. That’s the real reason I came home this weekend.”
I nod. “Sorry,” I say.
His bright blue eyes glisten a little and he blinks several times. “Thank you, sir. It’ll be okay. It’s for the best.”
“I know you have Tommy, but let me know if you need to talk or—”
“I will, but I’m okay. Really. Thank you.”
“How is Tommy?” I say, just to be saying something.
Tommy McMillan, Shane’s older brother, is one of Anna’s favorite cousins, a youth minister here in town, and the one who raised Shane after their parents passed away.
“He’s good. He and Michelle are around here somewhere.”
“I’ll look for them,” I say.
But I don’t have to. They are sitting at the same table as Anna and the girls when I walk up with the food.
“Look who I found,” Anna says.
“Hey John,” Tommy says.
“Hey man. How’s it going? I just saw Shane.”
“He’s supposed to be grabbing us some food,” Michelle says.
Tommy and Michelle McMillan are in their midthirties but look younger. His hair is stylishly long, hers stylishly short. They’re dressed more like teens than thirtysomethings. He’s ruggedly hip with beard stubble and bright blue eyes. She’s striking with a sharply angular face and eyes so dark they appear to be pupilless pools of blackness. They’re youth ministers, but he looks like a musician, she like a primetime news anchor.
I place the chicken nuggets down in front of Johanna and begin pulling them apart to let them cool.
Anna opens the food containerwith one hand while giving Taylor small spoonfuls of pureed carrots with the other.
The open container reveals fried catfish filets, hush puppies, coleslaw, and baked beans.
Anna enthusiastically nods her approval. “Excellent choice. Good job there, Mr. Jordan.”
“Will she let me feed her while y’all eat?” Michelle asks.
“Are you sure?” Anna says.
“Are you kidding?” Michelle says.
She and Tommy have been unable to have children, and though half the town’s teens have adopted them, there is an essential if subtle sadness about them. Anna and I have always believed it’s why Tommy remains a youth minister after all these years.
I stand and lift Taylor from Anna’s lap to hand her to Michelle, but Tommy intercepts her on the way.
“Me first,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Just for a minute. Do you mind?”
“Yes, I mind,” Michelle says with a smile.
“You can feed me,” Johanna says.
“I’d love to feed you,” Michelle s
ays.
“Me first,” Tommy says.
Johanna beams.
While they fuss over and love on our girls, Anna and I eat together without having to do anything else—a true rarity these days.
“God, I love it here,” she says.
“Me too.”
“You know what we should do,” Michelle says. “We should keep these angels one night each week for you two to have a date night.”
“I’m only here on the weekends,” Johanna says in her soft, sweet voice.
“Then we’ll have to do it then,” Michelle says. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
Shane walks up with containers of food and sets them on the table near Tommy and Michelle.
“Mission accomplished,” he says.
“Thank you, Private,” Tommy says.
“Aren’t they just the cutest dorks you’ve ever seen?” Michelle says.
It is then I realize that in many ways Shane is more like a child than a brother to them.
“Permission to be dismissed, sir,” Shane says.
“Where’re you wanting to be dismissed to?”
“The river, sir.” All roads lead to the river and one dead ends into it. “Me and Cody and Matt are gonna go to the end of the road and swim and hang out a while. We’ll be back up here later this afternoon before everything’s over.”
The end of the road is what everyone around here calls Gaskin Park, the place where Lake Grove Road ends at the Apalachicola River.
“Good, ’cause here’s where we’re having dinner tonight,” Michelle says. “So don’t miss it.”
“I won’t.”
“Have you talked to Megan, yet?” Tommy asks.
“Not yet, but—”
“Shane, you need to quit putting it off,” he says. “You’re not doing her right. Word’s gonna get back to her and you’re going to wind up hurting her, and I know you don’t want that.”
“Yes, sir. No, I don’t. I’ll do it as soon as we get back. Promise.”
Cody and Matt meander up, the distinct hint of pot coming with them.
“See y’all later,” Shane says.
“Shane,” Tommy says. “Be careful. Respect the river. Respect your future.”
“He’s an Army Ranger,” Cody says. “Can handle anything. Scared of nothin’. Indestructible.”
Without another word, Cody and Matt drift away in the general direction of Matt’s old Ford pickup.
Shane lingers a little longer.
Tommy makes eye contact with him and gives him an I’m serious expression.
“Yes, sir,” he says. “I always am. I always do. I will. Love you.”
“Love you,” Tommy says.
“Love you too,” Johanna says.
The sweet sentiment coming from her soft little voice beneath her big, brown, kind eyes melts my heart and makes me want to envelop her in hugs and kisses.
As if somehow having a premonition of the import of this particular parting, Shane hesitates another moment before leaving.
“Love y’all,” he says, then turns and slowly drifts away, disappearing into the crowd of people moving about.
Chapter Two
“What is it?” Tommy asks.
“Huh?” I say.
“What are you looking at?”
“Oh. I thought I saw Megan over there in the crowd, but I can’t be sure.”
“Why the look?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say. “Just looked like she was over there watching Shane from a distance and then started following him.”
“Let me call him,” Tommy says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I hope word hasn’t gotten back to her. She’s a sweet person and has been a good girlfriend. She’s gonna be hurt as it is. I don’t want it to be worse than it has to be.”
“Breakups are so difficult,” Michelle says.
“That’s why we don’t ever intend to have one,” Anna says, looking over at me.
“Exactly,” I say, and kiss her on the head.
“Us either,” Michelle says.
Tommy taps his phone and places it to his ear.
“Hey,” he says after a moment, then starts smiling. “Yeah, I miss you already. Hey, John thought he saw Megan. Is she with you? Well, look around. See if you see her. Is she supposed to be up here? Okay. Huh? Maybe so. I really think you should talk to her before you do anything else. Well, okay. It’s your call, but think about it. And be careful down there. I’m serious. Yeah. Okay. Love you. Bye.”
“What’d he say?” Michelle asks.
“Says he hasn’t seen her and she’s supposed to be in Panama City with her sister.”
Since Wewa is such a small town and Panama City is so close, many locals do most of their shopping, eating out, and entertainment activities in the larger city just a thirty-minute drive away.
“I could’ve sworn that it was her,” I say, “but . . .”
“Eyes aren’t what they used to be,” he says.
“Nothing is.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Anna says with a sweet, sexy smile.
“This has been a long time coming,” Anna says.
We are walking hand in hand through the park, passing booths and stands and people, Tommy and Michelle each holding one of our daughters, close by, ambling about at their own pace.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“This. Us. Our family.”
“Way too long,” I say.
“But we got here eventually.”
“Yes we did,” I say. “And I will never, ever take it for granted.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“What is what?”
“Something passed behind your eyes. It was subtle and quick, but it was there. Pain? Sadness? What?”
“Just wish we had Johanna all the time.”
“Me too. Maybe we will one day.”
“Can’t imagine her mother going for anything like that.”
“It’ll work out,” she says. “Look how everything else has.”
“Hard to argue with that,” I say.
While Michelle holds Taylor and Tommy pushes Johanna on one of the swings, Anna and I step over to Reggie and Merrick’s booth.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“We’ve almost sold out,” Merrick says.
“Well, let us get some before you do,” Anna says. “Do you have a two-pound jar left?”
“We already have yours set aside,” Reggie says.
Her seventeen-year-old son, Rain, normally a friendly and outgoing kid, sits in the back of the booth on his phone, sullen and downcast.
Reggie notices me looking at him. “Girl problems,” she says.
“Are there any other kind?” I say.
Merrick smiles knowingly.
“Sweet girl he was seeing,” Reggie says. “At least, I thought she was. Didn’t seem sketchy at all. But she ghosted him. Then after a week of not answering her phone, he finally gets through and it’s her new boyfriend.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s tough.”
“Keep trying to get him to let go and move on, but . . . guess he’s just not ready yet.”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Rain asks, standing and walking to the front of the booth to stand beside his mother. “I know you don’t believe me, but I know she wouldn’t do it.”
“What?” Reggie asks.
“Any of it. It’s just not her. Know what I’m sayin’? She ain’t like that. Somethin’s going on. Know what I’m sayin’? Not gonna stop until I figure out what it is.”
I nod.
“Look at that face,” he says, holding his phone out toward us.
He fingers through pictures of him with a pretty, sweet-faced blonde girl at the beach, a ballgame, the carnival, and in the woods at a bonfire.
“Let me know if you want help looking into it,” I say.
“Thanks, but it’s something I need to do on my own. Know what I’m sayin’?”
I nod.
<
br /> “Yeah, I offered to help him,” Reggie says. “To put the full force of the sheriff’s department behind finding out what—”
“Somebody change the subject,” Rain says. “Please.”
“I will,” Anna says, looking over at Merrick. “We want the honey and a subscription to the paper too.”
“Just fill out this form,” Merrick says.
As Anna fills out the form, I pull out my wallet.
“What’s the damage for both?” I ask.
“On the house. Welcome to Wewa.”
“We can’t do that,” I say. “We know how difficult it is to have a business in a small town.”
“We insist,” he says. “We’re just glad you’re here.”
As I begin to thank him, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s Susan—my ex and Johanna’s mom.
“Thank them some more while I take this,” I say to Anna.
I then step over a few feet and answer the call, my pulse quickening a bit as I do.
I never know how things will go with Susan, never know what sort of mood she’ll be in, which iteration of her I’ll get.
Following our second split and our final divorce, she had refused to speak to me for nearly four years, and had hidden Johanna’s very existence from me that entire time. I might still not know I had a daughter if I hadn’t shown up at her parents’ doorstep and discovered her for myself. Since then, everything between us has been tenuous, and I have attempted to keep her happy as much as possible in order to maximize my time with Johanna.
“Y’all still at the Tupelo Festival?” Susan asks.
“We are. Is everything okay?”
We aren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow evening.
“I need to talk to you,” she says. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Here?” I ask, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.
She lives some eighty miles away in Tallahassee and never comes here. Occasionally we meet, but most often I drive all the way over to pick up or deliver Johanna back.
“Yes, John,” she says. “I’m coming into town now.”
Chapter Three
“I’m glad you’re finally part of Johanna’s life,” she says.
Her use of finally is disingenuous, since the only reason I wasn’t part of Johanna’s life from the moment she was born was because she had hidden her from me.
Blood Oath: a John Jordan Mystery Book 11 (John Jordan Mysteries) Page 2