Like Sweet Potato Pie

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  “We need to make you look more girly,” I’d told Becky. “You’re a beautiful woman, not the Abominable Snowman!”

  To her credit, she’d done the unthinkable. For the first time ever, Becky traded in her scuffed green Nikes for a pair of brown boots from Payless. NICE boots! With heels! And when she paired them with jeans—her new boot-cut jeans in trendy dark blue I’d practically forced her to buy—she looked fabulous.

  But then my plan backfired. Becky wore them every … single … day.

  “You need to wear skirts. Dresses.” I’d taken her to Goodwill, Target, and T.J.Maxx, where we did most of our discount shopping. Even Wal-Mart had a few surprising grabs every now and then.

  “But I don’t got nothin’ to wear no skirt with! An’ I git too cold.”

  “Long boots,” I suggested, pointing to mine. Knee length à la Tokyo, topped with tights and a wool skirt. “Longer than your brown ones. They’re warm.”

  She shook her head. “It works on you, Shah-loh, but they ain’t my style. I ain’t all fancy like that.”

  So we shopped, and I mulled. And finally had a breakthrough. I convinced her to buy a couple of things and rushed her home. Winter tights were delicate—so as much as I loved Gordon, he had to go. He sat outside the bedroom door mournfully, scratching his stinky collar and baying.

  “I ain’t never worn a dress in the winter,” grumbled Becky, reluctantly opening the shopping bag. “It’s too cold, an’ doggone if I’m gonna freeze durin’ church on account a some frippy li’l dress!”

  “Frippy?”

  “Frilly. Whatever.” She held up the fabulous dress: a warm brown print that came just to her knees. Tiny pale blue flowers. Long sleeves. Brown satin ribbon around the empire waist.

  “Trust me. Put these on.”

  “Those are tights.” She glared at them and at me, like I was asking her to wear a hula skirt. “I wore ‘em when I was two.”

  “Well, they’re back in style now. Put them on.”

  I waited, hands on my hips, while she tore open the package and scrunched one leg in at a time. Nice, thick, ivory tights, soft and patterned. Then she pulled the tags off the dress with her teeth (even though I always scolded her to use scissors) and shoved it over her head. I tied the bow in the back and fluffed out the skirt. “There. Now the shoes.”

  I always snapped into “bossy” mode when shopping with Becky. If I didn’t, she’d wind up in that same gargantuan Virginia Tech sweatshirt with one of Tim’s plaid button-ups over the top. The most hideous combination I’d seen yet.

  “It ain’t so bad, I reckon.” Becky raised an eyebrow as she stepped into the shoes. Brown leather Mary Janes with an extra-thick sole.

  “Ain’t so bad?” I muttered. “You’re gorgeous! Look at you!” I pushed her over to the mirror, and she turned around, smoothing the skirt. “The Fashion Nazi strikes again.”

  “I reckon it’s kinda nice.” She gave a lopsided grin. “Tim’ll like it, won’t he? He always says I’m cute in a dress. I jest don’t wear ‘em much. But mebbe …”

  “Told you.” I pretended to blow on my nails. “What can I say?”

  “But what if I get cold?”

  “Beauty hurts,” I said unsympathetically. “And you need to do your eyebrows again.”

  “Again?”

  “They grow back. Numb them with ice.” I surveyed her stock of wraps and sweaters, ignoring her ranting. “Now. Back to the dress. You can use one of those new cardigan sweaters we bought a couple of weeks ago. The light-blue crocheted one that ties in the front.” I riffled through her closet and held it up. “See? Gorgeous. Now all you need is a good winter coat.”

  “I got one.” She pointed to a hideous army-green thing hanging in plastic. I jerked it closer for a second look. Camo? Please tell me I’m not seeing …

  “What? It’s real warm.”

  Sheesh! Tim could use it during hunting season! I snatched my fingers away. “Like I said, now all you need is a good winter coat.”

  “I jest told ya—”

  “Do you really want me to start? Because I’m not budging on this one.”

  Becky laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yer awful picky, Shah-loh, fer somebody on a budget!” She punched me. “And hey, yer carryin’ a lotta cash these days. I ain’t seen ya use yer checkbook or cards in ages. Ya doin’ Tim’s envelope method?”

  I swallowed hard, not wanting to blab about my bank lien. I just cashed my checks at a gas station and lived on the cash. “Just because I’m on a budget doesn’t mean I eat peanut butter crackers three meals a day,” I replied, breezing over her question. “You have to look hard for deals, but they’re there. Now the last one! Hurry up.”

  The room chilled me. I pulled my sweater tighter, sniffling and rubbing my cold hands together. For a so-called Southern state, Virginia sure laid on the snow and frigid temperatures with all the gusto of upstate New York. I wouldn’t be fooled so easily next time.

  “Tim’s gonna keell me, buyin’ all this stuff!”

  “No he’s not, and you know it! His jaw’s going to hit the floor.”

  She grinned at her reflection, playing with the shawl. And then her eyes in the mirror turned to mine, and the smile faded like a slowly melting snowflake on my jacket sleeve.

  “What?” I looked away.

  “Yer just real sad lately, is all.” Becky turned her head downward. “You and … ya know. Adam.” She shrugged. “I don’t think either one of ya’s said a word ta each other durin’ church lately. Sittin’ as far apart as the ushers and the choir.”

  Church. Why did Becky have to remind me of that empty Sunday school room echoing with whispers and Eliza’s hand reaching for Adam’s arm?

  When we met by accident at the coffee table in the church foyer, he poured his cup in silence, setting the pot barely close enough for me to reach. I turned my back, pretending not to see him. Reading the bulletin boards as I stirred my lifeless black brew.

  Becky shrugged. “I know neither one of y’all wanna talk about it, but I jest hoped … Oh well.”

  I didn’t reply, picking up receipts and tossing them in the trash.

  “Did’ja know he got that big landscaping bid for next summer? That’ll be the most money he’s made in ages. Ain’t it swell?”

  “Adam’s not really speaking to me, so what’s the point?” I smushed up a shopping bag, jamming the plastic hanger inside.

  Becky waited a few seconds before answering, head still bowed. “I know. He won’t breathe a word about why, but lands—I shore wish I could figger things out an’ patch ‘em back together. Y’all seemed like a nice couple, you and Adam.”

  You and Adam. The juxtaposition of our names again. I threw away the bag, ignoring a slight jolt of something painful through my chest.

  “But … yer differ’nt, too, Shah-loh. I don’t wanna make ya mad or nothin’, but I been noticin’ it for a while. Seems like ya don’t wanna to talk to him neither. Did y’all have a fight or somethin’?”

  “No.” I kept my lips in a straight line.

  “Wale, then, what gives?” She lifted her head, and I shrugged, turning away.

  “He’s just not who I thought he was.” I threw a handful of tags in the trash. “Please, Becky. Let’s talk about something else.”

  I abruptly opened the door and shooed in Gordon, who practically bowled me over with his toothy smile and whapping tail, baying in relief. I gathered him up, toenails and stinky fur and all, and pressed my cheek to his floppy ears. Arms feeling inexplicably empty.

  “Hey, ya old hound,” said Becky, pausing in midpull of her new beige corduroy pants to kiss the top of his head. “Still recognize me? Or did my new la-tee-da fragrance throw ya off?” She sniffed her wrist and held it out to him. “It’s some ol’ vanilla-jasmine-somethin’-or-other the Fashion Nazi made me buy.”

  “Maybe you should put some on Gordon.” I gagged, pulling my head away. “And you got a great deal on that perfume, so don’t complain! Clinique, seventy
-five percent off?”

  “I reckon so.” Becky grinned and reached for her sweater—a nice green-and-gray Fair Isle knit that lightly hugged, not flooded, her slender figure. “I’s jest joshin’ ya. I like it all right.”

  She poked her head through the sweater like a turtle, eyeing me. “An’ don’t worry, Shah-loh. God’ll show ya when it’s the right one.”

  “Right one what?”

  “The right man for ya.”

  Goose bumps raised on my arms again, but this time with a measure of creeped-out-ness. Anytime someone talked about “the one,” I worried that I’d miss it. That out of all the billions of people in the world, I’d bungle it somehow, like I’d already done with so many other things in my life—and wind up with, say, a balding meat packer from Queens.

  Then again, I’d be in New York.

  “I never thought in a million years I’d say this, but you sound like Kyoko.” I rolled my eyes. “Telling me the right one will come by at just the right time.” I patted Gordon and put him down, flicking dog hair off my skirt. “To tell the truth, I don’t know if I believe there’s ‘the one’ anymore.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  “You really think that God makes—”

  “Yessiree.” Becky straightened her sweater and smoothed her hair, which looked cute smoothed back with a clip on each side. All wavy and tousled in the cold. “With all my heart.”

  I moved closer to Becky’s cranky bedroom heater, which smelled perpetually of burnt dust. And sat in front of it a minute, chin in hand, thinking. “How did you know Tim was the right guy? And don’t say—”

  “Ya just know.” She clasped her hands under her chin and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Not funny!” I scowled.

  Becky giggled and dropped the act. “‘Course I’m kiddin’! I didn’t just know.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how?” I checked my watch. “And make it fast because I’ve got to work.”

  Becky thought a moment, hands on her hips. “I have no idea! Really! I didn’t get into all that ‘how do ya know’ stuff. I had a crush on Tim fer about two years, and when he asked me out, I thought I done died ‘n’ gone to heaven! But ya know what? Once all the fireworks fizzled out a bit, he was jest a reg’lar, nice Christian fella.”

  I bit back a smile, trying to imagine “Tim” and “fireworks” together. I liked Tim, but seeing his hands stained red with deer blood would’ve crossed him off any list of mine.

  “And I figgered if a nice Christian guy asks me to marry him, and I wanna get married, why not? An’ bingo! There ya have it. Best decision I ever made, ‘cept fer Jesus Christ.” Becky giggled gleefully. “Might not be the most romantic story, but hey, that’s what I got! Have ya ever seen a happier woman?”

  “It is romantic. More than you think.”

  “Wale, that’s just it! They’s all romantic! Ev’ry bride is beautiful! People jest need to stop bein’ afraid an’ start livin’, instead of sittin’ around and waitin’ for some neon sign to pop on overhead. God never gave a snake instead of a fish. We might have problems, but that’s life. Who don’t?”

  I glanced at Becky’s belly involuntarily, my smile fading. “So … you’re okay with having problems?”

  The room fell so quiet I could hear Gordon’s rattly breath, turning quickly into a snore, and I prayed I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.

  “Oh, I’d have problems if I was single, too, or widowed, or whatever. God’s ways ain’t our ways, ya know. The prophet Jeremiah got thrown in a pit, an’ ya know what they did to Jesus. Life ain’t fair.”

  She reached over on her bookshelf and picked up the baby-names book she’d bought at Barnes & Noble back when she’d first bounced in with her happy news.

  I froze, recalling her shining face as she flipped through the pages.

  “I’m still hopin’ fer the Lord to give me another miracle. And when He does, I’m gonna be ready! Look.” She showed me with her finger. “There it is—the name I’m gonna give my little girl. Macy Alyssa.”

  “Wow. It’s … it’s beautiful. It’s you. I love it.”

  “An’ if He don’t give me what I want, the way I want it, I’ll still believe in Him.” Her eyes suddenly filled. “Hear me?”

  I tried to think of something deep to say, but instead Becky shut the book and plopped it back on her bookshelf.

  “You’re an amazing woman.” I stroked a hand through her hair, wishing I could somehow heal her pain. “I admire you so much.”

  Becky leaned her head against my shoulder and wiped her eyes. “Aw, yer real sweet. But I ain’t really in a cryin’ mood today. I’m in a put-my-nose-in-somebody-else’s-business mood. So watch out!”

  “Well, there isn’t anything to tell,” I retorted, whacking her with my Barnes & Noble lanyard to make her smile. “And nothing else to report on the house or new jobs either, except another rejection letter.”

  “From them newspapers ya keep applyin’ to?”

  “Yep. Washington Post this time.”

  “Aw, Shah-loh! Ya wanted that’n!”

  “Well. That’s the way it goes.” I gathered up my stuff and checked my watch. “And Ashley tried to sic Dad on me. He called my cell phone twice this week. I’m thinking of changing my number.”

  “Why don’t ya jest talk to him a little?”

  “No way.”

  “Not even—?”

  “No.”

  I slid on my wool coat, a gorgeous shade of avocado that matched the golden flecks in my eyes, and buttoned it up. Belted it at the waist.

  “Well, how’s Shane doin’?” Becky smirked and threw away her tissue.

  “Don’t you start.” I shook a finger at her. “I told you what happened, and it’s the truth.”

  “I hear he was pretty tore up.”

  “Well, too bad. I’m done with guys like him. When I find the right one, he’s going to be different. He’s going to love Jesus.” I raised my head, meeting her gaze. “And he’s going to love me. I’m serious, Becky. I’m not the same girl I used to be.”

  “I’m real proud of ya.” She beamed and patted me on the shoulder. “An’ Shane’s gonna be real sorry he missed out.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Shane. Seems like he’s got his eye on somebody else at The Green Tree.” I grinned and pressed an ivory knitted cap on my head.

  “Who? That cute li’l Jamie?”

  “No. That cute little Trinity.”

  “Red roses?”

  “Precisely.” I smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have dirty tables to scrub and dishes to break.”

  “Fun, fun.” Becky shot me a sympathetic smile. “I gotta scrub the rings outta the bathtub. Wanna trade?”

  I gagged. “No thanks. Just pray for me, Becky. Pray that I can have one calm night free of problems and go home by nine and get a good night’s sleep. Just once. Will you? Please?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” She saluted me.

  “Shiloh Phyllis Jacobs! Git in here right now!” A bespectacled Jerry waved me into his tiny office—a renovated closet, actually, ceiling and walls crisscrossed with thick pipes and gobs of Jerry’s recipes and Post-it notes.

  “What’d she do now?” Blake shook his head, refilling glasses from the ice pitcher.

  “Oh no,” I moaned, dropping my head into my gloves. “I’m not even clocked in yet, Jerry! If you’re going to ream me out, can’t you at least pay me for it?”

  “Git on in here an’ quit whinin’!” Jerry held the door for me. “Pronto! I’m in a hurry!”

  I edged uneasily into his office. “And my middle name’s not Phyllis.”

  “I don’t care if it’s Persimmon. Sit.” Jerry pointed to a tiny folding chair jammed against the too-tight wall and pushed the door closed a crack.

  “I didn’t break those plates on purpose, Jerry. And those people didn’t tell me they were allergic to dairy. I promise!” I stood there in my coat and hat, palms up. “Ask Jam
ie. She was there, too. And I had nothing to do with the samosas! You didn’t even have me scheduled because—”

  “For gracious’ sakes! Sit!” Jerry shoved me lightly into the chair and plopped down on the other side of the desk. “Lands, you’d drive the Pope insane! Here. Read this.”

  I sat, warily regarding Jerry as he stuffed a card into my surprised hands.

  Marble pound cake by the slice, it read, as I leaned forward to make out the curly script in Jerry’s dim office light. Caramel chocolate chip cookies. The paper wavered, and I looked up to see Jerry’s grinning mustache. “These are Stella’s recipes!”

  “Guess they taught ya pretty well at that fancy Cornell a yers, didn’t they?”

  I turned the card over. “What is this?”

  “Green Tree’s new dessert menu. Already sellin’.” He beamed. “Stel’s tickled pink! Says she always wanted to do somethin’ like this, to make some extra money, and she tole me it’s yer idea. Ya helped her choose the recipes and ev’rything.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I think we’re gonna work real well together, me an’ Stel. She’s had a rough go of it in life, ya know. And this jest made her day.”

  “Really?” A smile spread over my whole face, making me temporarily forget the ache in my heart. “Maybe if her baking takes off she can open a catering business—like for parties and things? She’s a good cook, Jerry. I’m serious. I’ll help her.”

  “Reckon she could.” His gaze softened. “You’re great with all that logo stuff. Think ya could give her some ideas?”

  “Absolutely.” I closed my eyes, picturing her new business cards. Country Confections, I’d call it.

  Jerry’s eyes watered as he reached to shake my hand. “Jest wanted to say thank ya. Yer gold, ya know that? An angel. Thanks for helpin’ out my ol’ sis.”

  “She’s a good friend, Jerry.”

  “Well, we can always use more a them, can’t we?” He smiled. “An’ listen, since yer so good with high-falutin’ international cuisine an’ whatnot, yer got any ideas for the rest’rant? We need some fresh updates. Don’t hafta be vegetarian, but in the ballpark.”

  “Sushi?”

  “Don’t even go there.”