Like Sweet Potato Pie

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  I raised my palms in a laugh. “Well, I had to try.”

  Jerry guffawed and then opened his mouth to retort then abruptly checked his watch. “Did Trinity clock in yet? She’s on the schedule for half an hour ago.”

  “Trinity?” I felt my stomach lurch. “I—I don’t know. I just got here.”

  “Wait just a second. I’ll be right back.” Jerry pushed back his chair and disappeared into the busy kitchen, hands on his hips. A muscle in his jaw clenching.

  Uh-oh. I blew out a deep breath and hastily dialed Trinity, praying hard that she’d pick up. Answer, Trinity! For goodness’ sake!

  Trinity’s voice mail clicked off as Jerry pushed open the door. He slumped down at his desk, eyes sorrowful. “I reckon I’m gonna hafta let her go.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t wanna do it, but she can’t leave us in the lurch like this. We run a tight ship here, and …” He tapped a pen on the table, staring into space. “It’s the third time in two weeks.”

  “Jerry, please don’t.” I put my phone away. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Trinity’s not herself. Something’s wrong.”

  “I know.” He scratched his hand through his brown redneck bowl cut, frowning. “But I got a rest’rant to run, Shiloh. I jest don’t know what to do sometimes. She seems like she wants to talk ev’ry now an’ then, but …”

  “She called me this week.” I held up my cell phone. “Four times. Trinity never calls me. But every time she started to say something about what’s bothering her, she broke off and hung up. I’m worried about her.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” Jerry just sat there with his face sadly slumped, fingers twiddling a pen. “Well, I reckon it’s time for you ta clock in, ain’t it?”

  “Jerry.” I leaned forward, mouth suddenly dry. “Let me go.”

  “What? Ya want me to fire you, too?” He jerked his head up.

  “No. Let me go find Trinity. I think I know where she is.”

  “What? Now?” He threw his arms up. “You’ve got that big group from Mary Baldwin College s’posed ta come in tonight—an’ they’re yers! You scheduled ‘em, an’ they asked specifically for that cute li’l Shiloh Jacobs. Somethin’ like thirty of ‘em! You wanna give your tips to Blake?”

  I hesitated, imagining those stacks of green bills tucked in Blake’s apron pocket as he waved them a cheery good night. Great. I needed that cash to pay my light bill. I bowed my head and shot a silent prayer toward heaven.

  “I’ll go talk to Trinity,” I said with a sigh, raising my head. “I don’t have any other choice.”

  “Yes you do. You can work your hours and let Trinity fend for herself. She’s a big girl.”

  “She’s in trouble, Jerry.” I picked up my purse. “I can sense it. And I’m going.”

  I slipped my jacket back on, leaving Jerry shaking his head under all those pipes.

  As soon as I opened the office door, I almost ran smack into Jamie—dressed post-shift in nice jeans, a milky jade-green sweater in a gorgeous weave, and a fitted gray wool peacoat that suited her perfectly. None of which smelled like fry oil.

  On the contrary. Something sunshiny and floral. I sniffed closer.

  “Wow, Jamie Rivera. Did Shane ask you out, too?”

  “Me? Not this week.” She giggled.

  “You mean he has before?”

  “Of course. This is Shane we’re talking about.” She poked my shoulder. “Although he only sent me roses once, not three times. He was pretty smitten with you, I must say.”

  “Well. I’m sorry for that.” I switched my bag to the other shoulder. “He’s nice and everything, but he gives me the creeps, too.”

  “Tell me about it. But listen, Shiloh. I’m just waiting for you before I talk to Jerry.” Jamie grinned and plopped a piece of paper in my hand.

  “You want to talk to me?” I checked my watch and then turned the paper over. An address. In Ohio. I looked up at her in confusion. “This has your name on it. But you live here.”

  “Not anymore.” Jamie took my arm and pulled me over to the side so Blake could squeeze through, carrying a huge bucket of blue-cheese salad dressing. “I’m starting college again in January and scheduled to graduate next June.”

  “What?” I covered my mouth. “You are? How?”

  “This job,” replied Jamie, wrapping her arm around me as we stood there together at the edge of the noisy kitchen, Flash alternately hollering orders to José and belting out something from Randy Travis. “My income has more than doubled since I started here—way more than I ever made at Barnes & Noble. I’ve saved up enough to replace the scholarship they canceled.” She sniffled and fumbled with her gloves. “I just couldn’t wait to tell you. To thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?”

  “You’re the one who invited me to work here. Remember that night?”

  “The Harlem Globetrotters. How could I forget?” I felt my smile grow misty, thinking of Jamie walking to the front of a crowded auditorium to receive her diploma in a roar of applause. No more community college and financial-aid meetings and taking semesters off. “And you don’t need to thank me, Jamie. I always knew you’d finish well.”

  I traced her new address with my finger. “Can I keep this?”

  “Of course. It’s for you. And I’ll hunt you down if you don’t come for a visit.”

  Jamie looked up at the framed black-and-white autographed photo of all of us standing next to the Harlem Globetrotters, their huge arms draped around our shoulders like octopus tentacles. We looked like midgets. “You know something, Shiloh? Just before you called that night, I read in the Bible about the miraculous catch of fish.”

  “Fish?”

  “You know the story, right?” Jamie blinked at me, her dark hair shining like the tears that glittered in her eyes. “ ‘Throw your net on the right side of the boat’ and all that?”

  “I know it.” My throat constricted as I thought of Adam’s Greek fish tile still perched on my kitchen wall, its glossy, colorful surface motionless and cold.

  “Well, I’d just prayed over my finances … and then you called. I guess God still overflows our nets in ways we’d never expect, doesn’t He?”

  I stared down at my feet, wondering how to answer. “I know He does. I just haven’t seen it yet. But I will.”

  I raised my eyes, remembering the cold sliver of moon over the Best Western parking lot as I pulled out, leaving behind Adam as well as Carlos. I’d paused at the red light to dig, through my tears, under my stuff and pull out Beulah’s tiny Bible. Flipping through the pages in the red glare and following with my finger the lines she’d marked: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.”

  And then, there in the book of John, as if waiting to remind me—to circle my aching heart with a strong reminder, like a hug so tight it nearly squeezed my breath out: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

  I’d bowed my head right there and wept and prayed the rest of the way home, feeling the hardness ease inside my heart. Replaced by something soft and tender.

  “This is love, Shiloh,” He seemed to whisper, holding out two scarred hands. “Never forget it.”

  And I reached out in my mind and took His hands, feeling as if I’d never let go.

  Jamie put her arm around my shoulders, and we just stood there. Me dreading the thought of another good-bye. Another figure retreating slowly into patches of memory. “So you’re leaving us?”

  “I’m going in now to give Jerry my notice.”

  I played with the address card, feeling lonely. Picturing our green Barnes & Noble aprons covered in espresso. Her book-scanning gun. Her heartfelt smile, urging me to love Jesus. “We’ll miss you, Jamie. You … helped point me to God.” My eyes filled.

  “And now you’ll be holding down the fort.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For Him.�
�� She pointed up. “You’re the one who needs to pray for Jerry and Trinity and everybody else. To shine His light in a world that needs Him.”

  “Me?” I shook my head. “Jamie, I’m not like you. I’m not all bright and shiny and …” I swallowed hard, playing with a curl of dark hair that fell over her shoulder.

  “And what?” She leveled her chin at me. “You have your own gifts. Don’t be me. Be Shiloh.” She winked. “On steroids.”

  “Ha.” I tried to steady my voice. “The restaurant would explode.”

  “Well,” she teased, putting her hands up, “you win some, you lose some.”

  I laughed and hugged her, and she patted the back of my head. “You can do this, Shiloh,” she whispered. “God’s using you. I’m so glad you came to Staunton.”

  “Then pray for me,” I said, giving her a final hug and turning toward the door. “Because Trinity might not be so glad when I find her.”

  It took me longer to weave my way through the dilapidated streets than I expected, each house getting ricketier as I turned the corner. Stray dogs barked, running loose alongside my car as the woods thickened into a dark smear.

  I idled my car at the entrance to the unpaved driveway, flanked by a broken mailbox and SOLD sign, and checked the address again in a pale shaft of moonlight. Then I cut the engine and got out of the car. My boots crunched softly over earth and gravel as I peeked down the driveway between the pines.

  Bingo. Trinity’s orange Volkswagen Beetle, hidden in the shadows.

  I pursed my lips together, wondering if I actually had the courage—or stupidity, I wasn’t sure which—to go after her. The wind cut like redneck pocketknives, shivering a lone wind chime in the distance, which mingled with the sound of barking dogs.

  “Trinity?” I whispered into the phone as her voice mail switched on. Not answering? Fine. I switched to text. I’M STANDING OUT BY YOUR CAR. PLEASE COME TALK TO ME.

  And I waited, shifting from one freezing foot to the other, until I saw my cell phone light up.

  THERE’S NO WAY YOU KNOW WHERE I AM, Trinity texted. I’M NOT EVEN AT HOME.

  IS THAT A DATSUN NEXT TO YOUR CAR? I texted back. I CAN’T TELL BECAUSE THE BACK BUMPER’S RUSTED OFF IN A PILE BY THE DOGHOUSE.

  Wind whished through the pine trees, blowing a few bits of leftover snow as my cell phone remained silent. And then, as if rocked by surprise: GIVE ME TWO MINUTES.

  I saw the porch light go off outside the double-wide trailer parked deep in the trees.

  Chapter 22

  Shiloh P. Jacobs. What on earth are you doing out here?” Trinity hissed, looking so furious I started to think I’d made a mistake. “You could get us both—” She broke off and looked away, shivering in a too-big puffy coat. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I could get us both what?” I stood my ground, urging my teeth not to chatter.

  “Forget it. Just get out of here. Please.”

  “Jerry’s going to fire you, Trinity.” I stuck my shivering hands inside my pockets, trying not to stare as she flinched. Her eyes filling with sudden tears.

  “Fine. I knew he would eventually.” Her face fell, and she brushed at her eye with a gesture of irritation.

  “But he won’t if you come back and tell him the truth. I’m certain of it. He’s worried about you.” I hunched my shoulders against the wind. “We all are. I just wish we knew how to help.”

  Trinity scrubbed a foot in the gravel, looking back over her shoulder at the trailer. “Aren’t you on the clock at The Green Tree tonight?” she asked abruptly. She rubbed her nose, red from tears and cold.

  “Yes.” I held her gaze as it turned watery again. “You’re important to us all, Trinity. Please talk to me. Name the place, time, anything. I’ll be there.”

  She lifted her chin, sizing me up. “How’d you find this place? I never told you a word about it.”

  “No, but when you called me I heard somebody in the background playing that music on a keyboard and changing the words around.”

  “What music?”

  “The tune from the septic-service ads. Don’t you remember?” I hummed it. “And when I checked my answering machine yesterday, they’d updated the song. Get it?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Flash told me the name of the guy who does all the music and voices for local ads.” Poorly done local ads, mind you. “Like that clothing store and mechanics shop in Churchville. Their jingles all kind of sound the same. Am I right?”

  Trinity winced and turned away, crossing her arms rigidly. “Okay. You win. This is Chase’s place. He’s … yes … got a keyboard.”

  I shrugged, trying to lighten her tight gaze. “Good thing I found him. Now I can ask him to write something for Jerry. Since he’s so open to my restaurant ideas these days.”

  “Oh no. You don’t want to go in there.” Trinity shook her head hastily. “Don’t worry though. That ad company won’t be around much longer.”

  A couple of dogs howled in the distance, and we both lifted our heads. Waiting for the wind to groan in the pine limbs, covering us with quiet.

  “You really want to talk?” She pulled the coat tighter.

  “I do.”

  “Waffle House, then. Two a.m.” Trinity took a few steps toward the trailer. “Sit in the back.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I waited until the trailer door eased closed, and then I started my car and did a U-turn on the lonely road. Wondering, as I so often did, what on earth I’d just gotten myself into.

  “So you really waited for me.” Trinity pushed open the door and slid into the too-warm booth across from me, her fitted black leather coat beaded with drops. Two men looked up from their pancakes, eyes flitting to her dark lashes and long, slim jeans. Trinity coolly ignored them, obviously used to such attention.

  “Of course I did.” I moved my purse and took my legs off the opposite seat, sweat trickling inside my sweater. Short of disrobing completely, there wasn’t much I could do for relief under Waffle House’s exuberant heating system. Too bad I couldn’t funnel some of it to Mom’s house, where the cranky heating system left me freezing.

  “I’d wait all night if I thought you’d really come.” Although they’d probably scrape me off the floor, sound asleep.

  Trinity flicked her light brown eyes in my direction, surprisingly soft. “Why, Shiloh? You don’t even know me that well.”

  “So?” I shrugged. “Why not?”

  Trinity didn’t answer, blinking back what looked like sudden moisture in her eyes as she paged listlessly through a menu. She gave a nervous glance once or twice over her shoulder then settled back in the booth. “You hungry?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m trying to decide which pancake platter to order.”

  “After whatever else you ate already?” She nodded to my empty plate, which previously cradled a chicken Caesar salad.

  “I might order two.” I fanned myself with the plastic menu page. “With eggs and bacon.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You need to. My grandma’s worried about you. Says you’re turning into a skeleton.”

  “She’s worried about you, too.” I closed the menu.

  “I know.” Trinity sighed and pushed the menu away. “But not about my weight.”

  “Nope. You look gorgeous.” I tried to flatten my frazzled hair, which didn’t bend into thick spirals like Trinity’s did, even in the snow-flurry-turned-weepy-rain and humid streets. “But unhappy.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed again and waited until the waitress brought some ice water and took our orders then sipped in silence. “You going to the surprise birthday party Grandma’s throwing for my grandpa?”

  “Sure. She’s sweet to invite me. How about you?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got to work at Cracker Barrel tomorrow and Friday, too. And at The Green Tree, if I can talk Jerry into letting me stay on.” Trinity shook her head sadly and played with her straw paper.

  “Do you want to stay on?” I aske
d bluntly.

  My question seemed to surprise her, and she flinched and dropped the straw paper. “I do.” Her eyes watered. “I really do. I just don’t know if I can.”

  “What do you mean ‘if you can’?”

  The waitress appeared with Trinity’s coffee, and then Trinity just sat there, twisting her hands together. Her lips sealed even after the waitress left, down-turned in a frown. She twirled a fork back and forth between perfectly manicured red nails.

  “Look,” I said, leaning forward and softening my voice. “I’m not trying to be nosy, Trinity. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just … want you to be okay.”

  I thought she wasn’t going to reply, by the way she kept twiddling the fork and not meeting my eyes, but all at once her words slipped out. “It’s Chase.”

  “Who?” I set my water glass, which had nearly reached my lips, back on the table.

  “Chase. My boyfriend.” She practically whispered the words, eyes flashing up to the nearly empty tables and booths.

  “That big guy who comes in to ask for you sometimes?”

  “Yep. That’s Chase Fletcher.” She tore off the corner of a sugar packet and dumped half of it in her coffee. Stirred it with a spoon.

  “The owner of the company that does music and voices for ads.”

  “Right.”

  Trinity was shivering, even under her sweater and leather coat. I picked up my expensive Japanese scarf, which lay in a shimmering pile of mother-of-pearl tones, and leaned forward to wrap it around her neck. Fluffing the ends and straightening her earrings. Trinity fingered the soft ends, nodding her thanks.

  “Why, did you and Chase have a fight or something?” I settled back in the booth.

  Trinity sighed, turning her water glass in the light. “Well, yeah. Kinda. See, here’s the thing.” She leaned closer. “He’s got a temper, Shiloh. A really bad one. I mean, it’s not his fault. He works hard, and his ex-girlfriend was a jerk, and—”

  “Huh?” My fingers tensed on my glass, and I forced myself to react as little as possible. “What do you mean ‘he’s got a temper’?”