This time she didn’t pull away when he took her hand. His eyes were steady on hers, and she let herself sit for a moment in the sympathy he offered there. She hadn’t permitted herself that luxury often, and certainly not in a very long time.
Drawing back inside herself was an old habit, but she fought the urge, determined that this moment, at least, would be genuine and complete. So she sat with him for several silent minutes, letting the memories wash over her, letting herself share this with someone else. Because after all, there was no chance now of him ever having the opportunity to use it against her, was there? He was lost to her, forever.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Yeah, well…me too.”
“Tell me about her.”
She didn’t think she could do that. Just acknowledging that Anne-Marie had been was difficult enough. Discussing details would surely send her over the edge.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “I can’t. Promise me, you’ll see baby this as the gift it is.” She stood before he could ask more.
“Dusty, wait.”
She bit her lip again, ready to walk out if he asked anything she wasn’t prepared to answer.
But he lay and looked at her, and finally said, “I will. I will treasure this child with everything I have. I guess there’s not much else to say, is there?”
“No,” she said, disappointed and relieved.
“I’m truly sorry.”
“I know.” She moved toward the door. “I have to get out of here. Remember what I said.”
As she drove away, Dusty’s mind whirled with a dozen different visions – Luke, pale and tired, gripping her hand. Anne-Marie with fat red cheeks. Melinda’s hand on her stomach. Dusty almost forgot what she’d come into town for, and had to double back to return to the Aloma Grocerette.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and bit the inside of her lip hard to chase away the urge to cry. Not that anyone here would notice if she didn’t look happy.
Inside, she pulled out a cart, anxious to get this over with and back to Tumbleweeds where she felt more comfortable. She almost cursed out loud when she saw Becca at the end of the aisle.
Dusty didn’t feel like talking to anyone, not right now. And Becca would undoubtedly consider it her duty to make conversation. Dusty started to push her cart to the next aisle and pretend like she hadn’t seen her, until she took a closer look at Becca.
She didn’t look good. She was pale and wan and there were dark circles under her eyes. Now that she thought about it, Becca had looked pale last night, too.
It wasn’t any of her business, Dusty told herself. She hardly knew the woman. She returned Becca’s greeting as she loaded up on toilet paper and napkins. When she looked back, Becca had a white-knuckle grip on the handle of her cart, and she swayed on her feet.
“Oh, what the hell,” Dusty sighed. She pushed her buggy back toward Becca. “Are you okay?”
Becca’s mouth tilted up wryly. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
“Well, I don’t know you that well, but you look...”
“Like warmed-over death?”
Dusty shrugged.
“I was afraid of that. I’m going to have to fake a flu bug or something.” She took a deep breath, one hand flat against her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
Even with her obvious discomfort, it was clear that Becca was excited about this news.
Dusty wondered if she was expected to give her a hug or something. She decided she’d had enough emoting for one day, and kept it to a smile. “Congrats.”
“Thanks. I’m very excited. When I’m not throwing up, of course. Don’t say anything, though, okay? I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“You haven’t told Corinne?” Dusty was touched by that, for some strange reason.
“I haven’t even told Colt yet. You’re the first to know.”
Dusty’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”
“Because…” Becca gave another sigh and her thin shoulders shrugged. “I’ve had three miscarriages in the last two years. It’s heartbreaking, for me and for Colt. And for all of our friends who care about us. They’ve taken this roller coaster ride with us, and…I don’t know. When you asked how I was, it struck me that you were the perfect one to tell. Because you don’t have any emotional investment in this pregnancy, and because if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to burst. I can tell you and don’t have to worry about breaking your heart if I don’t carry this one to term.” She stopped and was silent for a long moment, then gave Dusty a tentative smile. “And I think you know what it’s like to suffer a terrible loss.”
“What – what makes you say that?” Dusty took a step back.
“I don’t know. The way you guard yourself. The distance you keep from us.”
“Maybe I just don’t like you.”
Instead of being offended, Becca just smiled. “Not possible. You remind me of my husband. He used to do that, too. Push people back, especially when he was pushed first.”
Dusty grabbed a box of saltines off the shelf. She really did not like this girl acting like she could see inside her. She steered the conversation back around where it belonged. “How far along are you?”
“Just a few weeks. I’ve learned to spot the signs early on.”
“How far along were you when you lost the others?”
“Six weeks with the first two. Nine weeks the last time.”
Dusty hardly knew the woman, she reminded herself. There was no logical reason she should feel hot tears building behind her eyes. She’d made it through her visit with Luke without crying, but she’d been on her guard, then. She was unprepared, and had to bite her tongue hard to keep the tears back.
She’d thought she’d cried all it was possible to cry. She’d seen other parents – different news stories, interview shows – of people talking about children they had lost, and they seemed to reach a point when they could talk about it without crying. She’d come to accept that she was never going to reach that same point. Where Anne-Marie was concerned, there was a never-ending reservoir of tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, because she was, suddenly.
“How about you?” Becca asked softly.
She started to brush the question aside. She didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart moment with a practical stranger in the aisle of the Aloma Grocerette. But it was too late, she realized. She was right in the middle of it and powerless to stop herself from answering, “She was three months old. SIDS.”
Becca placed her hand on Dusty’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
Dusty shifted her weight and cleared her throat. “Yeah, me too. For, you know.” She tilted her head toward Becca’s stomach.
“How long ago was it?”
A lifetime ago. “Nine years in March. Aren’t your scared?”
“Of course. I get more scared every time, in fact. I know how much I have to lose.”
“Then why…” But even for her, that question was over the line.
“Why put myself through it again? Believe me, I’ve asked myself that a lot, Colt and I both have. We thought long and hard before getting pregnant the last time, and we had already decided that, three strikes and we were out. We would look into adoption, or become foster parents. We couldn’t do it again. But… I don’t know.” She took a deep breath and looked off, as if she was trying to find the right words. “When Colt and I were… well, let’s be polite and call it ‘dating.’ When we were dating, I made the conscious decision that I would never make a decision based solely on whether or not I was afraid of the consequences. Afraid of failure. If I really wanted to do something, and the only reason not to was because I was afraid…well, then, that wasn’t enough of a reason. Because I learned a long time ago that all of life is a risk, and if all we’re living for is to protect ourselves from the risk… well…that’s not really living.” She cocked her head and curled her lip. “Isn’t that just a ridiculous platitude?”
“Actually…” Dusty said.
“I know. It is. But platitudes get to be platitude because they’re true. Each person has to decide for herself which risks are worth taking.” She placed her hand on her stomach, then looked up at Dusty. “And you can’t tell me that, as terrifying as it is, this isn’t worth it.”
The words she’d just spoken to Luke echoed in her mind, and Dusty shook her head. “No.
The tightness in Dusty’s throat had almost eased by the time she’d made her purchases and was loading them into the back of her pickup. She heard tires on the gravel parking lot, and turned to see a large brown sedan heading for her. She gasped, spun and plastered herself to the pickup bed, and Louise stopped her car inches from her.
“This is a sign!” Louise proclaimed as she opened the car door – knocking it into Dusty’s pickup – and jumped out. “I was headed out to Trailertopia to talk to you, and here you are.”
“Were you planning on running me down?”
“No, I was going to give you the wonderful news. Look what I found.” She leaned back into the car and brought out an instrument that Dusty had never seen before. “I knew I had this somewhere around the house, and I finally found it just while ago.”
“That is good news.” Dusty eyed the contraption, roughly the size of a small handbag, with a tiny mouthpiece at the top and keys down each side. “What the – what is it?”
“I think it’s called a recorder, but I could be wrong. I lost the box it came in, of course.” She put it to her mouth and blew, tapping her fingers along the keys. Her cheeks puffed out and her eyes bulged, until the gadget finally emitted a strangled, high-pitched squeal.
She put it down and gasped for air. “Whew! I’m going to have to practice a lot before this evening.”
“What’s this evening?”
Louise cocked her head. “You’ve been out in the sun too long, Sweetie. The Jubilee, of course.”
“You’re playing that thing at the Jubilee?”
“That’s the good news. All us girls were talking this morning, and we feel just awful about the way we’ve acted with the Jubilee choir. Especially with Luke getting shot and all, it just made everyone realize how stupid we all were to argue over silly things that don’t matter anyway. We’re focusing on what’s important, you know. Getting our priorities straight.” She slapped her hand against the fender of her car. “Figuring out what really matters in life—“
“So anyway…” Dusty said.
“So anyway – and this was my idea – we decided to put together a band instead. Isn’t that exciting?”
“A band.”
“Yep.”
“For the Jubilee. Tonight.”
“Yes, and we only have a few hours. That’s why we need your help.”
If the rest of ‘the girls’ sounded anything like Louise and her… whatever it was, they were going to need more help than she’d ever be able to give them. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to help you with that.”
“Oh.” Louise’s mouth turned down at the corners and her head drooped. “I was afraid of that. You want to just play the Jubilee by yourself?”
“What? No.” She hadn’t given the Jubilee much thought, except to decided she definitely was not going to get up in front of all those people to play by herself. She wasn’t sure what Brother Mark was going to do, but with a whole town full of people who actually belonged there, she felt like it was someone else’s problem to deal with.
“So, does that mean you’re going to abandon us in our hour of need?” Louise narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.
Not in the mood to be manipulated, Dusty cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
Louise shrugged. “That’s okay. Like I said, we’ve got it all worked out. I have this thing, Becky Ann Tillman has her daughter’s saxophone, Regina Wingtry has a tambourine and a triangle she bought at a garage sale and has been dying to use somewhere. Georgette Buchanan is the band director’s wife and she said she’d be happy to play the bass drum. Plus Yvonne’s son is a disk jockey and she’s going to use his stuff to make us sound good. She’s even going to bring his record player and make those scratchy sounds with the needle. You know.” She held her hand out, palm down, and shot it in and out. “Scritcha scritcha scritcha.”
“Yes, I know scritcha scritcha scritcha. You ladies are going to get this band together before 5 o’clock this afternoon?”
“I know, it sounds impossible. But the Lord will work miracles when the heart is in the right place. And our hearts are all on bringing this town back together.”
Dusty pictured ‘the girls’ lined up in front of the gazebo, scaring the very devil out of any Alomite still stubborn enough to be holding out. It would be a living nightmare.
Then she thought about Luke, hearing about the catastrophe from his hospital bed. He’d worked so hard on this Rain Fest, and he would be disappointed that his absence had led to this. And, she thought tiredly, he would wonder why she’d refused to help. It wouldn’t matter to him that it wasn’t her problem. It wouldn’t matter to him that she didn’t belong here.
Just as it didn’t matter to her, she thought as she sighed and said words she could scarcely believe she was saying. “Get the girls together at the Baptist Church choir room in half an hour. And tell them to bring their… instruments.” Maybe she could start a small fire and get rid of them all.
Louise watched Dusty drive away, then reached into her car for her cell phone. She punched a button and Helen Tanner’s number went through.
“She’s in,” Louise said with triumph.
“Seriously? I didn’t think she’d do it in a million years.”
“My kids don’t call me the Master Manipulator for nothing. Now help me get everybody rounded up and in the choir room in half and hour. Bring something horrible to play.”
“Something horrible? Like what?”
“Something that will convince Dusty we can’t possibly live without her help.”
Helen laughed. “I have Luke’s old David Cassidy guitar in the hall closet. It probably has three or four strings on it.”
“That’s perfect. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Luke stared out the window, the ache in his heart for Dusty rivaling the pain in his leg. Everything – Wayne, Melinda, their baby, everything – seemed minor in comparison to what she had gone through.
He should have gone after her. To hell with the bum leg, and Melinda, and everyone else. He should just get up and go to her, do whatever he could to take that hurt from her eyes.
He strained to sit, his leg and head both protesting. He made it to a sitting position, but no further, before weakness had him slumping back down. The door squeaked open, and Geralyn Thompson came through carrying a tray of little paper cups.
“If it’s not the town hero. The doctor said you could have another pain med if you want it.”
Luke shook his head and pulled the blanket back up, attempting a smile. He and Geralyn had gone to high school together. In fact, he had a distinct memory of dancing with Geralyn in eighth grade, and he’d fantasized for weeks afterward about what was underneath the black and blue sweater she wore.
“Just buzz me if you change your mind.” She busied herself marking his chart, then came over and took his wrist in her hand, checking his pulse against the watch on her wrist. “Boy, you’ve got a story to tell at our high school reunion, don’t you? The class clown gets shot by the class nerd. My trip to Dollywood is going to sound pretty lame next to that.” She dropped his wrist and wrote something else on his chart. “Who am I kidding? It was going to sound lame anyway. Okay, I’m going to pull down the blanket so I can check the wound. Are you ready?”
“No problem.” He didn’t bother correcting Geralyn about the shooter’s identity. That, and having her see his upper thigh weren’t exactly points of concern for him at the moment. He couldn’t stop thinking of Dusty, young and ful
l of hope for her new family. Then heartbroken.
He had promised her he would treasure his child, and he already did. He thought again about Melinda saying she’d fainted, and fear clutched his stomach that already something was wrong.
“Geralyn, weren’t you working in Dr. Buchanan’s office when I was there with Melinda the other day?”
She nodded. “That’s my full-time job. I picked up some extra hours here in the hospital because they’re shorthanded. My son goes through high top sneakers about every three weeks.”
Her son. Dusty had had a daughter, she said. A girl, that’s what she said. A baby girl.
He didn’t know if it was the painkillers, the trauma of being shot, or the emotions on the surface after talking to Dusty. But he couldn’t quit thinking of mothers and babies and loss. He was surprised at how much he wanted this baby. He didn’t want to be married to Melinda. He didn’t know how on earth he was ever going to come to terms with that, but he would find a way. He wasn’t going to let his kid grow up wondering why his mom and dad didn’t live together. And he wasn’t going to let his kid grow up wondering why his parents hated each other. Surely, after time, he would quit thinking about Dusty and wondering about what could have been. After enough time.
The idea of his own flesh and blood both fascinated him and terrified him, especially after his recent lesson in how quickly and easily life could be taken away.
Melinda had been pretty evasive after her doctor visit, refusing to let him come in the exam room with her or even talk to Dr. Buchanan. She assured him she and the baby were both fine, that lightheadedness was a common symptom during pregnancy. But still, he would feel better if he could go hear the heartbeat himself.
“Geralyn?”
“Mmm?” She poked around at his leg, then turned her head to meet his eyes.
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