“Mercy, I shore stopped at the right house tonight,” Shane muttered under his breath, glancing from Trinity to me. He leaned on the hood of his car, poking that toothpick in his teeth. “So, Beck, ya gonna give me the scoop on ‘em or what?”
“As soon as you get outta Shah-loh’s driveway I’ll think about it,” bossed Becky with a toss of her head. “How about we go next door with them fool lights out, real quiet-like, and I’ll fill ya in?”
Staunton. Exhausted. Me. I couldn’t reach any other conclusion as I plodded back over to Stella’s yard. Shane was one of Tim’s high school classmates—apparently one of the better-looking ones, which I found hard to believe—and did nothing more than halfheartedly relay my name and address back to headquarters.
“What’d ya say about bills, Shiloh?” He leaned in a little too close, profile glowing in the streetlight. Eyelashes blinking against the dark night sky.
“Me? Bills? I just thought … Forget it.”
“Why, ya need money?” He inclined one elbow on the tree I was leaning against, invading my space like Tim’s weirdo cousin Randy. “How about a night out on the town? I can hook ya up.”
I shoved myself off the tree trunk and stared at him.
Shane laughed and slapped his knee at my annoyance. “Well, here’s my number if you change your mind.” He shoved a scrap of paper with his phone number into my startled fingers, and I took it distastefully, as if he’d slapped me with a speeding ticket.
“Ya oughtta take pride in livin’ in a safe place like this, ma’am.” Shane drew himself up tall and gazed longer than necessary, a whiff of his too-strong cologne wafting through the cool evening chill. “Although it’s always better to have a man around.” He winked at Trinity then turned back to me and crossed his beefy arms.
“I’m safe!” I snapped. “I’ve got a German shepherd, thank you very much.”
“It’s eight weeks old,” Becky giggled, and I tried to kick her. So much for all her “guard dog” talk. “By the way, can ya get some info on Shah-loh for me? She never tells nobody her middle name. Cain’t ya run it through again?”
After Shane got out his flashlight and checked out my driver’s license for the third time, carrying on about the green and gold in my eyes—as if he hadn’t ever seen hazel eyes before—I snatched my license back and told him I was going home.
Shane winked and backed his squad car out of the driveway stealthily, lights off, and gave me a slow wave out the window before cruising on back to his rounds.
Hmph. Good riddance. I turned my back on him.
“Sheewweeee!” Stella fanned herself. “That’s one fine-lookin’ man! Even if I am old enough ta be his mama!”
“You’re not related, are you?” I scowled, feeling cranky. You could never tell with family trees in the South.
“Well … third cousin or somethin’. In-law, I think. Ain’t sure.”
Trinity covered my coughing fit at Stella’s familial announcement with a laugh. “All the waitresses love it when he comes in.”
“All but one.” I dropped his phone number in Stella’s ashtray.
“Consider yourself lucky, Shiloh. He gives good tips.” Trinity pushed my shoulder. “I’m taken though. You?”
“I don’t need Shane’s money.”
“Wale, ya shore need somebody’s!” Becky teased, grabbing my arm. “Now git back over there an’ see how Romeo an’ Juliet are doin’!”
“Wait a second.” Trinity leaned over suddenly as if sick, staring at her watch. “Is this right? Is it almost eight?”
“I think so. Why?” I glanced up at her. “I thought you didn’t work at Cracker Barrel tonight.”
“I don’t, but … oh boy. I’ve gotta go. Sorry.” She breathed frantically, shallow and fast, digging frantically for her purse and keys on Stella’s porch with her hand on her forehead. She practically fell in her haste to scramble down the walkway then threw herself into her car. Her hands shook so much she dropped her purse on the gravel, fumbling with it before slamming the door.
“Trinity?” I knocked on her window, hands circling my eyes as I tried to see inside. “What’s going on?”
I saw her hesitate then lower the window with an expression of unmistakable fear wide in her eyes. “Everything’s fine, Shiloh. I’ve just gotta be back before … It’ll be fine.” Her lips quivered. “I’ll see you.”
She gunned the engine, backing into the street and screeching toward the highway in one fluid motion.
“What’n the world’s that all about?” Becky put her hands on her hips.
“I have no idea.” I stood there watching the street. “But she’s acting differently lately. Sadder. Something … I don’t know. She says everything’s fine.”
“Lands! She’s always smilin’ when we come to The Green Tree.”
“Of course she is. Happy servers are one of Jerry’s rules.”
“Well, ya can’t solve all the world’s problems, my friend,” said Becky, pushing me toward my yard. “Gotta take ‘em one at a time! Startin’ with the folks in your daggum kitchen, if they’re still there!”
I plopped down at the empty kitchen table with a cup of hot green tea, replaying the way Earl had handed Faye a business card and how she’d received it graciously like a bouquet of flowers. How he’d lingered, tongue-tied, by the screen door and finally waved good-bye, nearly missing the porch step and falling into the grass.
And all Faye had said, turning to me in the doorway with Christie in her arms, was this: “So, you gonna keep this little girl, Shiloh?”
I didn’t know what to make of it. Not yet. But my heart inflated with hope. I nuzzled Christie to my chin and felt her heartbeat. She closed her eyelids, yawned, and her little warm paws sagged against me.
Since I had no family except Dad and Ashley, both as distant as the moon (both geographically and emotionally), I’d gotten used to empty apartments and empty houses. But this? I scratched Christie’s silky neck as she groaned and stretched. I might get used to fuzzy companionship if I wasn’t careful.
The kitchen phone trilled, and I scooted back my chair and answered, cupping Christie gently in the crook of my elbow.
“Where’ve you been, Shiloh? I’ve tried to call you like six times.”
I didn’t recognize the voice at first. “Ashley?”
“That’s me.”
I sat back down and nestled Christie on my lap, my initial surprise beginning to fade into tense worry. When Ashley called, she usually had an ulterior motive. No, not usually. Always. I just had to uncover it.
An awkward silence hung between us, and I cleared my throat, fishing for conversation. “I’ve left messages at your house for months, Ashley. I never got any reply, so I assumed you’re … busy?” I rested my head in one hand, scratching Christie’s ears with the other.
“Sorry. Wade must’ve taken those. I never got them.”
“Really! Then how did you get my number?”
For some reason the question seemed to catch Ashley off guard, and she stammered. “Oh, I’ve … you know. I’ve always had it. I used to call here all the time to talk to Mom.”
I closed my eyes at the sliver of unexpected pain. I hadn’t spoken to Mom in years. When she died, I didn’t even know what state she lived in.
Wait. Ashley’d called her … “You mean my mom, right? Mom wasn’t your … Never mind.” I decided to shut up and sip my tea. “So when’s the baby due?”
“In December. And he has a name, Shiloh. It’s Carson Clay.”
“Sorry. You never told me.”
“It’ll be expensive—all the hospital bills and baby stuff. It’ll take months to pay off our credit-card bill. Maybe even years. Do you have any idea how much a sonogram costs? The insurance company says …”
This is going to take awhile. My empty stomach complained, and I pictured the Japanese dried fish in my cabinet, silver and crunchy.
Yep. I know. Dried fish. Japan has a way of warping people for life. You go in sta
nding up and come out all twisted like a bonsai tree. Bowing and avoiding eye contact and giggling at things typical Americans don’t find funny. Covering your mouth when you eat or laugh. Craving weird sea creatures and saying, “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” ad infinitum. I once caught myself apologizing to a houseplant.
“Yes, babies are expensive,” Ashley repeated as I munched my fish, their hard silver sides tinkling against Adam’s borrowed mug. Yet another thing of his marooned at my house for months.
“What are you crunching?”
“Dried fish.” Like I said, warped for life.
“Ugh. Disgusting. Don’t Japanese people eat monkey brains and rats?”
“Of course not! Gross!”
“Whatever. Your munching is annoying.”
Oh brother. Here we go. I rolled my eyes and reached into the bag.
Come to think of it, fish showed up an awful lot in the Bible, as I was learning. Fish completed the little boy’s lunch that Jesus multiplied to feed thousands and became Jesus’ first meal after His resurrection. Fish, in fact, had eluded Jesus’ disciples all night long when Jesus called out to them, “Throw your net on the right side!” And the net nearly broke from the heavy catch.
Maybe sushi really is divine.
“Are you listening to me?” Ashley snapped. “I just said how lucky you are to have all your house bills paid. We’ve got all these expensive repairs … and you have how many bedrooms? Two? Three?” She sighed dramatically. “Ours is so small. Just a teeny, tiny little place for three people.”
I played with the phone cord, a bad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Ashley wanted something. Three times she’d used the word expenses or expensive. But if she wanted money, she was definitely barking up the wrong tree.
“Look, I have plenty of expenses,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. After all, I’d become a Christian, and Christians are supposed to be … uh … nicer or something. Right? “I work all the time at … well, I work.”
I couldn’t bear to let Ashley know that her once-headed-for-stardom half sister, who’d won awards and a promotion to the politics beat at the Associated Press, got herself fired for plagiarism—and now shelved books and took dinner orders.
Ashley’s breath caught slightly. “Wait—did you say you’re working there?”
“Well, how else do you expect me to pay the bills?”
I froze, realizing what I’d just blurted. Nobody in my family knew I’d burned my bridges with the Associated Press. My dad, off in Mexico City with his über-young, belly-dancing wife, couldn’t care less anyway.
“You live in Japan! Why would you be working stateside?”
“Well, for a while I am.” I swallowed my tea nervously, not liking this conversation.
“For how long? Aren’t you selling the house?”
I set my teacup down, its little blue painted brush strokes glinting a warning like Shane’s police lights. “It’s on the market.”
“How long will it take to sell?”
“How am I supposed to know? And what’s with all the questions?”
“Me? Oh, I’m just curious, as always, about my wild, wandering sister!” She laughed, sounding too exuberant.
Sister? Has Ashley ever, in her entire life, called me sister? Something niggled in my brain, and a wave of uneasiness quivered inside. I’d felt this way when Tokyo earthquakes hit, floor shifting under my feet.
“What is it you want, Ashley?” I put my dried fish down, suddenly not hungry. “Just tell me.”
“Me? Nothing,” she said, her laugh chilling me. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 4
Listen,” I said, dragging my fingers through my scraggly bangs. “Let’s talk another time. It’s late.”
“So how much do you think the house is worth?” Ashley steamrolled right over me. “I mean, just out of curiosity?”
That came out of nowhere. And now with that pristine IRS envelope glaring at me, I might never know. I’d simply find myself and my belongings stuffed in Mom’s Honda.
If I got to keep the car.
“Worth? It’s a prefab! A kitschy country starter home surrounded by satellite dishes and pink flamingos. Don’t get your hopes up.” I chuckled.
“My hopes?”
“I’m joking. I meant, if you guys visit, it won’t be the Hilton. I can barely fit in the bathroom myself, and I’m just one person.”
Ashley didn’t laugh. An icy silence fell over the line, so I politely tried to fill it. “It’s not a bad place though, for the short time I’m planning to stay. A lot of families nearby. Good yard. All the other houses are—”
“Well, it should net at least a hundred grand, right? The other prices in the area seem relatively …” Ashley seemed to realize she’d blundered. “I mean, I guess so, knowing Mom.” She laughed nervously.
I twisted the cord around my hand, earthquake tremor increasing. “Ellen,” I corrected. “She’s not your mom!”
“Of course she is! You and I both cared for her dearly, despite her difficult but … uh … charming personality. She certainly doted over Carson.”
Ashley made no sense. I’d lived with Mom for years after Ashley left with Dad. I, not Ashley, put up with Mom’s psychological problems, depression, cults, and occasional beatings. She’d left me alone with drunk neighbors whose creepy boyfriends hit on me, and I slept at the homeless shelter after Mom got evicted. I wouldn’t call any of it “charming.”
Ashley Jacobs (now Sweetwater, although I found little sweet about her) sprang from one of Dad’s “wild oats” before he married Mom. After Dad left, I got Mom’s coldwater flat, while Ashley spent her childhood skipping across Dad’s marble floors.
Ashley’s voice slipped into a condescending tone. “Shiloh, you two didn’t really have a close relationship, right? To be quite honest, I see us—you, me, and Carson—as equals in our relationship with her.”
“Ashley, Carson isn’t even born yet.”
She gasped, tone sharp and accusing. “Like his due date makes any difference! At least we stood by her, unlike you!”
“Now wait a minute!” I smacked my teacup down, shaking Ashley’s ludicrous postulations out of my head like cold seawater. “Don’t you start on my relationship with my mom! You know nothing about it, and frankly, it’s none of your business!”
“Who took care of her while you ran off to Japan and did who-knows-what at Cornell?”
“Did ‘who-knows-what’? Dad paid for your tuition, but I earned my academic scholarship fair and square. I worked to pay my own bills!” The blood rushed angrily to my face. “You? Taking care of Mom? You didn’t even invite her to your wedding!”
“Well … well … sure I did! She came for the ceremony and then … uh … left right after. That’s why she’s not in any pictures.”
What a big, fat lie! An amateur lie! Dad himself told me Ashley had banned Mom.
“Where did she live?”
“What?”
“At the time of the wedding. You did mail her an invitation, right?”
“I have no idea, Shiloh! We got married years ago.”
“Five. Just name the state.”
Silence. “Texas.”
“Wrong, Ashley! Try Staunton, Virginia! She lived here for the past six years.”
“No she didn’t!” Ashley gasped, spluttering again. “She just … lived there part of the time. You know. Like migrant workers.”
I choked. Fish particles spewed everywhere.
“Forget where she lived, okay? Maybe you just went off and left her, Shiloh, but we didn’t!”
“Oh, right! Chicago is just down the street from Texas!”
Our voices rose and met like two angry sumo wrestlers.
“Don’t pretend you thought so differently, Ashley! You didn’t want to live near her any more than I did, and it was her fault.”
An odd stillness fell over the kitchen, and the night breeze ruffled a corner of Mom’s frilly, country-style curtains. Blue-and-
white-checked gingham with tiebacks. I walked over and shut the window tight. Locked it, hand lingering on the sill.
“Although, toward the end Mom did change.” My words fell out unintentionally, like a shrimp from an overstuffed sushi plate. As I recalled letters and packages she’d sent me after she “got Jesus.” The offers to visit. My throat swelled, wishing I’d answered. Cared. But no.
I sat back down and squeezed the phone cord until my knuckles showed. “What do you want, Ashley?”
Expensive. Expenses. Her words rolled in my head.
She can’t possibly think Mom’s house … no. Not even Ashley would stoop that low.
“Want? It’s not about me, but what Mom had in mind for Carson. Too bad she didn’t have time to write it in her will.”
“Carson. In Mom’s will.”
“That’s right. My son. Her grandson. If you need any proof of her affection or intentions, I’ve got it in black and white. A letter.”
“Mom writes in blue ink.” My hands trembled on a silver fish.
“Okay, then blue.”
“I don’t believe you! Mom never planned to put Carson in her will.”
“Oh no? Let me make it plain for you, Shiloh. Half of a hundred thousand, if that’s what her little matchbox is worth, still makes fifty grand. Which belongs to Carson and me. After all, she was my mother, too.”
The cup wavered and tipped, scattering fish all over the linoleum. I slid to the floor.
“Stepmother!”
“Mother!”
“Dad did DNA tests to see which secretary told the truth before marrying your mom,” I hissed. “Before he divorced her and married mine. You’re Susan’s daughter! Not a cell in your body belongs to Ellen Amelia Jacobs.”
My sumo wrestler grunted, nearly shoving Ashley out of the ring. But she roared and righted herself, slapping her thighs.
“No more playing nice!” Ashley screamed. “I gave you a chance to fix things yourself, but since you’re such a selfish monster, I’ve hired a lawyer!”
Ashley’s shrill words hit me like a redneck frying pan slathered in bacon grease.
“You … what?” I wobbled, plopping back down on the floor. Breath gone out.
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