by Ellen Dye
“I’ve got plenty of leftovers from my own remodel about six months back. And you know I’m pretty darned handy with a hammer.” Sam grinned.
“I remember. It was the finest tree house in Buckston County.”
“Just say you’ll keep it in mind?”
“Okay,” I agreed, for the sake of keeping peace. Reed would be coming after us soon. I could feel it in my bones. Or at least I hoped that’s what I felt.
“Well, I guess that’s all, then.” He leaned down and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re home, Wanda Jo.” He turned to go. “’Night, Olivia,” he called over one shoulder.
I turned to see my daughter’s giggling face over the tower of boxes. “Now, that’s what I want to talk about.”
“What?”
“That man.” She gave me one of those looks teenagers save for those times they clearly feel their parents have lost too many functioning brain cells.
“What man?” I was truly baffled.
“Sam?” The look was more intense this time.
“Oh, honey. He’s not a man—”
Olivia cut me off with a snort. I started again. “Okay, he is a man. But not really a man. Sam’s just a friend. Just a friend of the family.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Huh?”
“I saw the way he looked at you. He thinks you’re a major hottie, Mom.” Olivia smiled broadly. “And he’s pretty darned fine himself. I mean, he’s got that whole Hoss Cartwright thing going on. Grrrr!” She purred low and waggled her brows.
I don’t know which shocked me more, my daughter thinking Sam was “Grrrrr” or that she thought I could possibly be anybody’s idea of a hottie.
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what about the flowers?” Olivia propped her chin on her hands atop the box. “Or the way he tried to take up for you at dinner? And just now he offered to fix up a place for us to live.” She pursed her lips and shot me a look.
“Honey, he was just being neighborly. People are that way in smaller towns.”
Olivia snorted. “C’mon, Mom. ’Fess up. He’s probably always had a crush on you.”
I shook my head.
“He built a tree house for you.”
“It wasn’t just mine. It was for both of us.”
Our secret place of sanity where we could disappear from my maddening family with our books for hours. Come to think of it, most of the happier moments of my childhood were spent in that tree house.
“That still sounds pretty serious to me.”
“Only if you’re a sparrow,” I returned.
Olivia laughed but then pressed on. “I know what I’m talking about, Mom. He’s got it bad for you.”
“Sam’s just an old friend. That’s all. And besides, what about your father?”
“What father?”
“Don’t be smart.”
“I’m not. Mom, he dumped us.”
“No, he didn’t. He was hurt and upset. He found something of mine and misunderstood what it was. That’s all. We need to give him some space and a little time. He’ll come after us, and then we’ll work all this out. You’ll see.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “It’s been months now. If he wanted us, he’d have come home while we were still in San Francisco. It’s time to face the facts, Mom. Dad ran off to be some old biddy’s boy toy, and he’s not coming back.”
I stood in shocked silence. Where had she gotten this stuff?
”I’m sixteen, Mom. And I’m not stupid.”
“Honey, I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re just upset right now. It’s been a lot of upheaval for you. Your family is separated—”
She cut me off. “No, not really.”
“Sorry?”
She heaved a sigh. “Think about it. It’s you and me now, right?”
I nod.
“That’s all it’s ever been. Reed Trews was just some man who dropped by from time to time. Or took us out when it benefited him to show off his family. I mean, like, I really don’t even know the man.”
I was simply not having this conversation with my clearly upset sixteen-year-old daughter. “Olivia, that’s enough. You know your father very well. And we will get back together as a family.” I leveled my best, because-I-said-so gaze directly at her.
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
Olivia was taking this much harder than I’d realized, I thought as I opened our suitcases and started pulling out our assortment of night things. Of course Reed was a good father. He was a wonderful father. And he’d been devoted to us.
Hadn’t he?
What bothered me most, I thought as I located Olivia’s favorite nightshirt and drawstring pants, was my complete inability to recall the last time we’d done anything together just as a family.
****
The next morning came all too quickly for me. I stifled a yawn as I held up my sage green Power Suit in one hand and its rust-colored counterpart in the other.
“So what do you think?” I directed the question to Olivia, who was lounging cross-legged on the bed.
She squinted, giving the matter at hand serious consideration. “The green one. Definitely.”
I nodded and set about the task of finding the matching heels and bag.
A loud knock sounded at the door, followed by, “Wanda Jo, breakfast’s ready.”
“Thanks, Nettie. We’ll be right down,” I called over one shoulder.
“Mom?”
“What, honey?” I shoved another carton out of the way. With my luck I’d have to dig through half the room before unearthing either item I needed.
“I’m a little confused about something.”
“What’s that?” I tore open the carton, and there were my coordinating Ferragamos—both heels and bag. Hot dog. Maybe my luck was changing.
“Why does everybody here call you Wanda Jo?”
“It’s my name.”
“But Reed always called you Ashton. Or Ash.”
I bit my tongue at her casual use of Reed’s first name instead of Dad, as it should have been. “Yes, he did.”
“Where do you get that from Wanda Jo?” Olivia snorted. “Or did the hotshot law dog make it up?”
I took a deep breath and reminded myself Olivia did have the right to be angry and upset. “It was my last name before I married your father,” I said, emphasizing the last word.
“Wanda Jo Ashton,” Olivia tried it. “I like that. It’s a really pretty name, Mom.”
I shrugged.
“So what’s the story?”
I began to sigh, thought of Mama, and quickly sucked it back in. “Your father thought it was too country sounding, especially in San Francisco.”
Olivia huffed. “And you let him get away with that?”
“Olivia,” I warned.
“Mom, he changed your name to suit his purposes!”
“Enough.” I gave her a look. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get some breakfast,” I suggested by way of changing the subject.
“He’s the reason we never came here, isn’t he?” Olivia asked, mulishly refusing to cooperate.
Actually that had been the main reason, I realized somewhat belatedly. Mama’s anger about being referred to as Granny, or any other variation thereof, had been nothing compared to Reed’s very vocal distaste during our one and only visit to what he called Hillbilly Hell. I couldn’t blame him. Really. There were times, a good many of them, when I’d felt exactly the same.
“Mom,” Olivia prompted.
“Honey, it’s a long story. Let’s not dredge up the past right now. We’ve sort of got our hands full with what’s going on right here and now.”
“Right.” Olivia blew out a breath. “I’ll just go check on that breakfast.”
I heaved a sigh of relief as she walked through the door.
There were so many things about my past she would never understand. Could never understand. And right now her anger toward Reed was interfer
ing with her normally mature outlook and good judgment.
Reed had been right about my name. It was as he’d said long ago: Who could take an attorney seriously who’d married a woman with a hick name like Wanda Jo? And besides, he’d cajoled, I didn’t look like a Wanda Jo. I looked like a sophisticated woman, with class and elegance—naturally my name should reflect that.
And I’d been happy to comply; he was only helping me become the best person I could be. It was a goal I’d worked on alone for a long time.
My last two years of high school had been devoted to studying secretly. I devoured issue after issue of glossy fashion magazines, learning to dress myself properly. I studied speech through self-help tapes from the library and managed to erase the backwoods twang from my voice. I learned to walk, one foot directly in front of the other, with my head held high and shoulders back.
I became an expert at skillfully reproducing the fashions for sale in the better department stores on my secondhand Singer sewing machine. I learned to hoard my tips from the diner, craftily investing in expensive accessories that gave my handmade outfits a chic, expensively purchased look.
After a grueling six-month stint in a small salon in Worthington (the nearest town, across the state line, where work could be found), I realized that Valiant Knight wasn’t going to miraculously plop down in my chair requesting a haircut. Serious action was called for.
I packed up my belongings, bought a Greyhound ticket to the most romantic city in the country—San Francisco—and said goodbye to Buckston County.
Once there, I quickly found a studio apartment and a job. But after a few months I realized that Valiant Knight wasn’t any more likely to seat himself in my San Francisco chair than he’d been in Worthington.
Streamlining was called for. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then he must go to the mountain. And I figured if it was good advice for Muhammad, it was fine and dandy for me. With one quick typing class at night school, I was on my way to Valiant Knight’s mountain.
Quick as a flash, I’d landed at the Law Offices of Burn and Wainright and met Reed.
My life changed completely from the second I looked into his light blue eyes. I was in love, totally and completely. And I had no doubts he was the Valiant Knight I’d been searching for. I pulled out all the stops in my personal quest for his affections.
Finally my efforts were noticed, and we had our first date, coffee from a vending machine while waiting for records at the courthouse. Which led to a second date, hot dogs from a street vendor during a working lunch. Which naturally led to our third date, a home-cooked meal at my humble studio apartment.
That third date led directly—and rapidly—to all the other Firsts. And by the time the beef stroganoff was consumed and before the chocolate torte, which was never eaten, the Sacred Three—first kiss, first verbal endearment, first lovemaking—took place.
Six short months later, Reed popped the question and presented me with the first of a long line of E and E from T’s, which I still wore on my left hand with pride.
I sat down on the corner of the bed, hard. How had this happened? How could Reed have misunderstood?
He claimed my old book advocated marrying for money. It didn’t. It advocated making oneself worthy—worthy of a good life, worthy of a good relationship. But most of all, worthy of love.
In fact, it suggested much the same as Reed had done by changing my name to Ashton.
“Hell,” I muttered under my breath.
As I’d told Olivia earlier, this wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. It was time to get on with the future.
I gave my hair another comb-through and fastened my favorite solid-gold earrings. Not bad, I thought, as I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror propped against a carton tower. Fabulous outfit, tasteful makeup, elegant jewelry, and every hair in place.
Yes, Corporate Power Suit was a good look for me.
Today I was making a new plan. Code name, Reed’s Return, or R.R. for short.
So he thought I’d only married him for his money? I’d show him. And I had no doubt that as soon as he got the news about my fabulous job—proof positive that I loved him—he’d be on the next available mode of transportation to West Virginia.
I tucked the names and addresses of the four most promising temp services into my coordinating purse and left the bedroom.
Today was the start of a brand-new life. Or at least I hoped like hell it was.
Chapter Four
The partial crew was assembled around the kitchen table by the time I arrived downstairs. Aunt Nettie, Mama, Uncle Claude, Jamie Sue, and Sam were all seated in their usual places. On my way to the coffeepot, I noticed the table was laid with the usual cholesterol-laden fare. Namely sausage, scrapple, eggs, and potatoes—each prefixed by the word “fried.”
The only difference between the scene before me and that of any other morning during my first eighteen years was my daughter’s presence. Olivia sat nibbling a piece of toast and looking through the morning paper. I noticed every so often she’d cock her head to the right before peering even more closely at the paper and shake her head before proceeding on to the next nibble.
Clearly what passed for news in Buckston County didn’t make too much sense to my Olivia. Completely understandable. After growing up with the San Francisco Chronicle, chock full of world news, I was sure the front-page story of Mrs. Dalworth’s prize Big Boy tomato bearing a striking resemblance to the late Robin Williams seemed a bit odd.
I grabbed a mug from the rack and filled it to the brim with grocery store generic blend coffee. Lord, what I wouldn’t give for a Starbucks right now.
“Morning, Wanda Jo,” Sam called as he popped up from his seat, napkin still tucked in at his collar.
I was touched by his good manners. “Good morning,” I returned with a smile. Only after I’d seated myself between him and Olivia did Sam once again take his seat.
Jamie Sue jumped up, her empty plate in one hand. “Fashion show today?” She swept her gaze from the top of my head to the tips of my Ferragamos.
“Maybe I’ll squeeze one in later this afternoon,” I answered sweetly.
“I think you look real nice,” Sam offered.
“Thank you.”
Jamie Sue snorted, deposited her plate in the sink, and (thank goodness) headed out the door without further comment.
I turned to Sam. “Long haul today?”
“Nope. I’m strictly local. I didn’t like those long trips Daddy used to make. I’ve had the county delivery route a couple of years now.”
“Eggs?” Mama offered a platter of eggs surrounded by a puddle of congealing bacon fat.
My stomach did an unpleasant little flip. Bacon fat was no longer a dietary staple of mine. “No, thanks.”
“Afraid you’ll get something on that outfit of yours?” Mama set the platter down harder than necessary.
“Not at all.”
“Nervous about the big interview?” Sam changed the subject.
Hell, yeah. “Not a bit.” I took a sip of coffee, hoping he wouldn’t notice my shaking hand.
“You should be.” Mama took her breakfast plate to the sink. “I know I’d be, if I had to wear that outfit.” She peered under the table at my feet. “And those shoes…” She finished with a tsking sound and then completely devoted her attention to filling the sink with hot, soapy water.
“I still think you look real nice,” Sam offered again. “Don’t you think so, Uncle Claude?”
Claude seemed to focus on me for the first time. “Green’s a good color.” He paused for a sip of coffee. “They can’t see you so good when you wear it.” He nodded as though he’d said something terribly profound.
Wisdom to live by. “Thank you both.” I stood, preparing to leave before all-out tribal warfare erupted.
No sooner had I placed my half-empty mug on the counter than I heard a distantly familiar hissing sound. But before I could remember when I’d last heard it, there wa
s the unmistakable groan of old wood, followed quickly by an explosion loud enough to rival cannon fire, and then the sound of splintering wood.
“Incoming!” Uncle Claude charged out of the kitchen, presumably to find his musket.
Olivia looked at me, eyes wide with shock. I looked at Sam. We both looked at Nettie, who was sitting with her eyes wide and one hand clasped over her mouth.
“Oops,” she squeaked.
Mama just sighed loudly and kept washing dishes.
Sam and I hurried to the front door. He got there first and shoved it open with one massive shoulder.
I stared out in stunned disbelief. The right side of the porch had been reduced to a pile of splintered boards sprinkled here and there with broken glass. One of the posts had collapsed, and the other dangled limply from its gingerbread trim.
The usually fresh morning air reeked of fermenting apples.
“A tad too much yeast.” Nettie tsked from somewhere near my elbow before turning to toddle back toward the kitchen lost in thought.
Olivia grabbed my arm. “Don’t leave me here,” she hissed.
I stepped back from the doorway as Sam crossed to assess the damage.
“Honey, you’ll be stuck in a hot car all day,” I tried to reason.
“At least it’s not likely to blow up.”
She had me there.
“Look, I’ll just grab a book. I’ll keep the window rolled down. I won’t be any trouble,” she finished in a squeaky voice high-pitched enough to suit a cartoon character. Her gaze darted back and forth between my face and the wreckage of the front porch. “Please,” she squealed.
Sam re-entered the house, shaking his head slowly from side to side, his large fingers rubbing his temple. He heaved a sigh that must have originated in his boots.
“Please, Mom,” Olivia whined.
“Honey, you’ll be fine here. They’re…” I trailed off in search of a properly reassuring descriptive word to fit my family and came up empty.
“Hey, Olivia,” Sam came to the rescue. “Ever ride in a rig?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Great. Want to come along on my delivery run today?”
“Will we be going far away from this house?”
Sam shrugged. “Far end of the county.”