Like Sweet Potato Pie

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

“Well, if he finds out I’m here with you, he’ll hit the roof. He’ll …” She sat back in the booth, shaking her head. “I don’t know what he’ll do. I told him I saw a possum after the dog food in order to meet you outside.”

  “What?” I yelped. “Why can’t you have coffee with me? I don’t even know the guy!”

  “I know!” Trinity’s voice clipped in irritation. “It has nothing to do with you. He’s just … possessive. Doesn’t want anybody spending time with me that’s not … well, him. If he finds out Shane sent me roses, he’ll blow his stack.” She rubbed her hands together, looking away. “I gave them to my sister. Told her Grandma sent them.”

  “Trinity,” I began, suddenly not hungry.

  Her teeth chattered, and she tugged down the sleeve of her coat, the same way I did to hide my burn from Adam.

  I sat up straighter. “Are you sick? It’s a million degrees in here.”

  “I’m not sick.” Her eyebrows flicked irritation. “And don’t give me a speech about Chase! He loves me.” She punched her ice water with her straw. “I know he loves me. He wouldn’t act this way if he didn’t care so much.”

  God, what am I supposed to do now? I’m completely the wrong person for this!

  “Is that why you haven’t been coming in to the restaurant?”

  “Yeah. Chase says he needs me, and after he’s had too much to drink, he’s just unreasonable and doesn’t care about the time or my commitments. I mean, he needs to drink a little, of course. He has a hard job. And now with his new plans he’s …” She stopped, resting her forehead in her hand. “Well, he calls me all the time, Shiloh. He’s always got to know where I am. He thinks I’m at home packing now.”

  I drank some water, trying to formulate words and not show the despair that flickered through my weary brain. I’d seen these women before. Denying reality. Making excuses. A lot like me in a nasty dating relationship I had back in my late teens. Which ended, I might add, with him getting arrested for assaulting a coworker. And I went on with my life and tried to be smarter next time.

  “Why did you want to talk to me then?” I finally asked, wondering what kind of scumbag would treat Trinity like a criminal, watching and checking up on her.

  “Because I’m … scared.” She twisted a sparkly red ring, not touching her coffee. “He’s pretty intense sometimes, and now he wants me to move to California with him—first thing in the morning. He’s sold the trailer and everything.”

  “What? You? To California?” I sputtered.

  “Yeah. He says he needs me, and he’ll throw a fit if I say no. The last time I said no about something he … Well, things didn’t go so well.” She stirred her coffee again, finally lifting the cup to her lips. “And I love him, so I should probably go.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “What about his ad business?”

  “That?” She rolled her eyes. “There’s really not much business there. Which is what got him into his next endeavor.” She put her coffee cup down with a nervous clatter, shifting her gaze around the restaurant. “Can they hear us over there?”

  “Where?” I turned around. “I don’t think so.”

  Trinity shrugged and leaned closer, voice barely audible. “I don’t know what he’s into, but it’s bad. Drugs and stuff. I found documents and pieces of a fake passport once, and … well, he got pretty upset.” She pulled her arms closer to her.

  The waitress came and set my plate in front of me, and I nodded in thanks. But didn’t move to pick up my fork.

  “Where is he now?” I asked when the waitress walked out of earshot.

  “At a friend’s house over in Waynesboro. He left home around one o’clock, so I slipped out to meet you. But he’s got a key to my apartment. If I’m not there when he gets back by five this morning, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  “Trinity.” I pushed my plate aside and reached for her hand. “Do you want to go to California with him and be involved in all this stuff?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I mean, I love him, but he’s wrong on this one.”

  “Has he ever … you know. Hit you? Or …?”

  Trinity snatched her hand away, scowling. “No. Of course not! He loves me! Why would you ask a thing like that?” Her voice raised just a touch.

  “Sorry.” I put my hands up. “You just said he was possessive, and … Sorry.”

  She didn’t speak for a while, playing with her straw. “Okay. Maybe once.” She let out a shuddering breath, and I jerked my head up to see tears shimmering in her eyes. “He said it wouldn’t happen again. He was drunk. Didn’t know what he was doing. But then last week he … Okay. More than once.”

  My eyes flicked to her jacket. Long-sleeved sweater. She crossed her arms, fingers tracing the outline of what seemed to be a tender spot on her upper arm.

  I covered my face with my hands.

  Trinity fumbled with the metal dispenser for a napkin and mopped her cheek. “I’m a mess, Shiloh. I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck. That’s why I called you this week, but every time I tried to talk he interrupted me, hovering over the phone.”

  I came to my senses and fished a tissue out of my purse and handed it to her, my own fingers shaking. “Well, I’m a mess, too. I’m not sure my advice’ll do you much good.”

  “Yeah, but you seem like you …” She sniffled and steadied her breath. “I don’t know. You have something that I don’t.”

  “Stitches?” I showed the scar on my finger.

  See, God? I told you I’m the wrong person for this. I don’t know what to say. What to tell her. I don’t know anything! Love? Relationships? Give me a break!

  “No.” Trinity rolled her eyes and laughed. “You just seem like you have a heart.”

  “What? I was born on the wrong side of the bed.”

  She laughed again, a tear spilling down her cheek. “That’s the thing though. When I thought of who to talk to, I kept coming back to you. I have no idea why. You just seem to have this … I don’t know … something, and I need help. I love Chase, and he loves me, but …”

  “What he’s doing to you isn’t love, Trinity,” I said soberly, raising my eyes to her. “Please understand me. Love isn’t like that.”

  She recoiled again, tears still burning in her eyes. She sponged at them, trying not to smudge her graphite-colored eye shadow. “How do you know? You haven’t even met Chase.”

  “I’d like to.” So I can knock him into next week!

  “Do you know what love is? Is Adam the one for you?”

  “Adam?” I jumped, my gaze jolting from the glistening shadow of my glass on the table to her eyes. “Why’d you ask that?”

  “I don’t know. I just saw the way you guys looked at each other in the restaurant that time. With your Japanese friend.” She raised a palm. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I thought you made a good match.”

  I blinked quickly and looked away, trying to recover. “I don’t know about Adam. He’s a nice guy, and at one time I thought maybe we … But he’s with somebody else.” I tried to shrug in indifference, but it came out more like a shiver. A good match. I pulled my coat on, hugging myself to calm my sudden jitters. “But regardless, I can’t see him … you know, treating a woman badly.”

  On the contrary. Adam noticed my bandages. Lent me his cell phone. Held the door. I stuffed my scarred finger in my pocket, wishing Trinity hadn’t brought him up.

  “How am I supposed to know whether a guy is good or not?” she asked in a voice that almost pleaded. “How? Why is it so hard?”

  I shook my head and shrugged. “It is hard. But you look at his life. You see how he treats other people. That’s what Faye told me, anyway. If he loses his temper and mistreats other people, then he’ll probably do it to you, too.” I twirled my glass. “Don’t look at me. I’m hardly the expert. But I know you have to go into relationships with both eyes open and let God show you his true character. Pray a lot.”

  Trinity thought a long while, tracing the edges of the sugar packet
with slender fingers. The way I’d traced Adam’s business card.

  “Real love just feels different from anything I’ve ever known before, Trinity. I’m still learning about it.”

  “How?”

  I sat silently a long time, trying to choose my words. Then reached out and cautiously took Trinity’s hand again. She didn’t pull away.

  “ ‘Love is patient,’ ” I began from memory, feeling an inexplicable lump swell in my throat. “ ‘Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud …’ ”

  So much for Becky’s prayer for a night without crisis. Which ended … oh, around four in the morning.

  I should have included the following afternoon in my prayer as well, when I drove home from Barnes & Noble, taking back roads and checking my rearview mirror over every rise, every turn. Keeping an eye out for Chase’s red Blazer.

  And why not? I’d absconded with his favorite punching bag. Hidden her inside Mom’s cream-colored walls and blue-and-white-checked gingham curtains, begging her to talk to Jerry and call in a sick day at Cracker Barrel. Or maybe three or four of them until Chase got tired of looking for her.

  What on earth have you gotten yourself into, Shiloh Jacobs? I scolded myself, slipping on a pretty gray sweater dress. Stockings. Nice, trendy Mary Janes—unlike the scuffed ones I wore to the restaurant. I pinned up my hair and grabbed my plate of cheap Rice Krispie squares, the three-ingredient budget dessert, just in time for Frank’s birthday party.

  “Don’t you dare call Chase, Trinity.” I pulled on a winter white jacket that probably wasn’t warm enough and slung my purse over my shoulder, giving Christie one last scratch behind the ears. “Promise?”

  “I won’t. And he’ll leave, Shiloh. I’m sure of it. He’s got everything all lined up in California. The trailer is sold. He can’t stay here very long.”

  “He might bash your stuff in when he finds you missing.” I propped my sunglasses over my hair. “Just to warn you.”

  “I know.” She stood at the window, avoiding my eyes. “He’s done that before, too.”

  Jerk. I watched her there, arms folded on the sill and eyes reflecting barren trees and soft sunny skies of early winter, and I felt suddenly thankful for God’s new love opening up in my heart. No matter what Carlos said about my pitiful life.

  “You sure you don’t want to go to your grandfather’s party?” I hesitated, gloves in hand.

  “No. Chase might look for me at Grandma’s. Or my car, anyway.”

  “He won’t find it here.” Not hidden behind Stella’s bus, just like the night we spied on Faye and Earl. “As long as you—” I broke off, words sticking in my throat at Trinity’s focused frown. Her eyes turned past me toward the front yard. “What?”

  “I thought I saw a car.”

  “What? Here?”

  We both jumped as someone banged at the front door. Loudly. The glass of water on the table shook, and Christie leaped from my arms, hackles raised.

  Chapter 23

  Great. Great. Great. I ran my hand through my bangs, trying to decide what to do. Keep quiet? Answer it? Confront him? God, this is getting over my head! What are You doing to me?

  “Wait—that’s not Chase’s car.” Trinity spoke in low tones, peering through the living-room curtains.

  “You can’t trust anybody, Trinity. Don’t you get it? He’ll—”

  “It says U.S. Mail.”

  “Mail?” I jerked my head to the split in the curtains. “What?”

  The door pounded again. I clenched a hand over my racing heart and shoved Trinity out of the room then moved to open the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

  “Sign here.” The uniformed guy shoved a clipboard at me.

  “For what?”

  “Registered mail. I need your signature.” He held up an envelope.

  I stepped through the screen door and scrawled my name with the attached pen then reached for the envelope.

  And there grinned the words in crisp, no-nonsense font: JAMES REUBEN PRUFROCK III.

  I fumed all the way through winding back roads to Beulah’s, trying to avoid the main highways. I know, I know. A surprise party. I was supposed to be cheerful. But I couldn’t tear my thoughts from that stupid letter by Ashley’s lawyer. Lying on the passenger’s seat, a malevolent block of black and white. And all the while, keeping an eye out for Chase’s Blazer.

  My cell phone trilled. “Trinity?” I shook off my gloves and jerked my phone up to my ear, against my own driving regulations. “What’s up? You okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just … Christie sort of chewed on one of the couch cushions.”

  I drove over a bump of roadkill. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, she really did. Just the corner where you … Well, you can see some split threads. I can try to sew it back.”

  Of all the …! I covered the phone and groaned. “Just keep her out of the living room,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don’t worry, Trinity. She does it with me, too. I have to watch her constantly. She’s getting better, but …” I stopped at a desolate intersection, not sure whether to go right or left. I snatched up a map from the passenger’s seat and turned it one way. Then the other. Turn signal blinking as I tried to find the road.

  “Oh, and some guy named Carlos called.”

  “What?” I hollered. My foot slipped off the brake, and the car rolled a few feet.

  “He just said he’d call back later.”

  “No!” I pounded the steering wheel. “I don’t want him to call back! Ever!”

  “Sorry, Shiloh. I—I didn’t know.”

  “No, it’s not your fault.” I felt like blubbering again. I gave up trying to read the map and turned down the road to the right, which forked at an unmarked intersection. Right again, and the two-lane road meandered into a cow-spangled distance. “We’re done. Over. Period. Why can’t Carlos leave things alone?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you this or not, but …”

  “But what?” I swallowed hard and drove over a weedy hill then down into a long stretch of pasture. Not seeing any of the landmarks the map suggested.

  “Right after Carlos, somebody from that septic service called, saying you’d scheduled some maintenance work.”

  “I did NOT! Wait ‘til I get my hands on those … Wait a second. What is this?” I turned, cell phone to my ear, as the road narrowed down to a sparse one-lane, lined with gravel on either side. Marked with flagging tape.

  The road coiled around several turns with dusty, brush-choked shoulders, and paint faded into unmarked asphalt.

  “This can’t be right.” I slowed and tried to turn, but the overgrown woods hemmed me in. Asphalt under my tires littered with layers of rust-brown pine needles and decaying leaves.

  The road bumped off pavement into dirt and then abruptly dead-ended. Right in an unfinished patch of dry, tan soil, grasses waving. Land surveyors were already checking the area for construction readiness, as evidenced by the perk holes—scattered brown mounds of fresh earth like fresh cow pies. Snow melting between them in pale patches.

  “Shiloh? You still there?”

  “I’m here.” I let out a sigh and pulled to a stop. I checked the map again then tossed the useless thing on the seat. “You don’t know where Smokewood Meade is, do you?” I peered out the window at a COMING SOON construction sign next to some roped-off areas marked with flagging tape.

  “Where? I don’t think so.”

  “Great. Then you can’t tell me how to get to your grandma’s place from here.”

  Trinity paused. “Um … sorry, but no. What’s the nearest main road?” I checked the map, turned it right and left, and tried to find the name with my finger. None of the route numbers on the map made sense.

  “I have no idea. I came from that road by the barn.”

  “What barn? There are tons of barns.”

  “The red one. The one near that church. What is it, Route 254?” I shook out the map. �
�No. Not that one. I don’t know.” I looked out the window again, phone under my chin. “How about if I call you when I get out of here and figure out where I am?”

  “Sure. I’ll stay by the phone.”

  “Thanks. And stay safe, Trinity.”

  “I will. Thanks for your help. Really.” Her voice quivered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Are you kidding? I don’t even know what county I’m in.”

  I tried to turn my car around on the loose jumble of rocks and branches, pausing only when an out-of-state number vibrated on my cell phone. I answered, holding it under my chin as I turned the wheel sharply to the left, steering column complaining.

  “Shiloh Jacobs? This is Doreen from USA Today. How are you?”

  I jammed on the brakes. “Fine, thanks. You received my résumé?”

  “We did. It looks great. You’ve got a lot of experience.”

  My heart hammered loudly in my ears. “Thank you. I’d be glad to send my portfolio, or—”

  “Well, actually we’re not hiring for news-desk positions right now. But we’ve got a receptionist job if you’re interested.”

  Receptionist? A receptionist job? Answering phones while all the big-shot reporters laughed together in the lobby, lanyards over their perfect trendy suits, all laden down with Starbucks cups and briefcases?

  Tears burned in my eyes as I sucked back my pride, eyes landing on James Prufrock’s envelope. My Green Tree to-go bag still on the floorboard. “What’s the salary?”

  She told me, and I slumped against the back of the seat. Barely more than I made already, but without the free rent.

  “Um … thanks,” I mumbled, trying to force a little politeness in my voice. “I’m probably not interested, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

  As soon as I pressed off the phone, I gunned the engine and abruptly hit something hard. It reverberated through the entire undercarriage, and my wheels on one side spun in the muddy, snow-slushy dirt. I shifted into REVERSE, horrified, and something—a rock, tree branch—hung against the back of my wheel, refusing to budge.

  Oh. My. Goodness. I turned off the car and sat there in perfect silence, a single pine needle sifting down onto my windshield. Crows over the field flapping soundless wings as they soared off into soft blue sky, making black specks in the distance.