by Hope Ramsay
• • •
It was almost three in the morning before Clay made it home, exhausted, emotionally drained, and longing for a few hours of shut-eye before he had to haul his butt out of bed and play organ at Sunday services.
Ray was in the custody of social services and likely to end up permanently in a halfway house. Clay had failed to rescue him.
Worse than that, Stony wasn’t nearly the idiot Clay had figured him for. His brother had some pretty damning evidence that suggested Jane was guilty of something terrible. Jane Coblentz might not be Jane at all, but some other person. Maybe someone named Mary.
He didn’t want to believe it, but when Stone laid out the facts, there were only a few conclusions he could draw.
Clay didn’t want to feel disappointed, but he did. He needed to get some sleep, and get a grip, and regroup, and try to figure out what his next move needed to be. One thing was clear. He needed to get over his midlife crisis, put that little gal out of his head, and focus on the important stuff: saving Ray from a state-run institution and finding a nice girl to settle down with.
Clay stumbled through the door of his little bungalow, intent on falling into bed and finding oblivion. But the Almighty had another plan for him.
He hadn’t gotten three steps into his tiny living room before he tripped over something that wasn’t supposed to be there. He landed hard on his hands and knees.
“Crap,” he muttered, as he remembered that his exes were cohabitating in his small house. Obviously they had decided to rearrange not only his life, but his living-room furniture as well.
“Clay, is that you?” A sleepy voice murmured in the darkness. Tricia was sleeping on his sofa.
The lamp on the end table snapped on, blinding him as he pushed himself off the floor.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left my suitcase open like that.”
Clay turned around. Tricia looked like crap. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose was red. She had obviously been crying herself to sleep.
He stifled the urge to pull her up into his arms and pat her back and offer a Kleenex. Instead he just studied her for a long moment thinking ugly thoughts.
Like it served her right.
Like he had cried himself to sleep only a few million times after he caught her and Chad humping like bunnies in the back of Tumbleweed’s tour bus.
Like he’d given up his dreams for this woman who had pretty much burned all her bridges when she’d told him he had never satisfied her in bed the way Chad did. He ought to put her out onto the street. Only he couldn’t. Because he still loved her.
Maybe not like he’d loved her a year ago, but he loved her just the same. It was a feeling he would probably never lose. He kind of loved Ricki, too. Or at least the memory of her when they were both seventeen and chasing a dream.
Tricia sniffled. He felt himself weaken.
Why did stuff like this always happen? A woman would cry, and it would twist up his insides. Like he needed to do something about it when he was in the presence of a distressed female. He stared hard at the glittering tears in Tricia’s eyes, but this time the only thing that crossed his mind was how Jane had come out to the alley earlier that night and given him a place to rest his head.
He couldn’t think of any other woman who had ever done that for him. It had felt so good resting his head against her shoulder. It had felt as if that little gal had enough strength to actually hold him up for a small space of time.
Neither Tricia nor Ricki could have managed that. They didn’t have such strong shoulders, he reckoned.
“Oh, Clay, what am I going to do?” Tricia dissolved into sobs.
He crossed the carpet and sat down on the couch and took her into his arms. It felt good to have her there. Not mindless and out of control like having Jane pressed up against him. Just nice. The kind of nice he was looking for.
Tricia blubbered against his shoulder. The feel of her, even rounded in pregnancy, kind of turned him on. Not the way Jane turned him on down in his sexual parts. But in a manly way that had more to do with being a good person than being a rutting bull.
He could get used to this. He could be happy with Tricia in his life.
He could go for having babies, too. He wanted a family. He wanted a whole passel of kids. And Tricia would make a good momma, too.
There was only one bad thing about this scenario.
Tricia was crying over someone else.
That pretty much made this a nice fantasy. But it wasn’t real. Even if he wanted a mature and stable woman to marry, he also wanted that woman to love him. It wasn’t enough for him to love Tricia, and Tricia just to need him in return. He wanted more than that.
He didn’t want to settle. He wanted the whole shebang: the mature, stable woman, the marriage, the kids, and love, too. In short, he wanted his soulmate. And he just wasn’t certain she had arrived yet.
The next nine-thirty bus from Atlanta came on Monday. So maybe there was still hope.
Haley Rhodes touched her new necklace to make sure the little camel was showing. Granny said the little green charm looked pretty against the yellow of Haley’s Sunday dress. Granny said it had been nice of Jane to give her the jewelry.
Of course, Granny didn’t know that the necklace had belonged to Jane’s peckerwood boyfriend or that Haley had dug it out of the trash. Haley knew better than to tell Granny the entire truth of how she had sweet-talked Jane into giving her the necklace. Besides, she liked Jane and didn’t want to get her in trouble. Jane was way more interesting than the last babysitter.
Like for instance, in addition to maybe being a floozy, Jane didn’t go to church, just like Daddy. Jane must be angry at God, too.
Haley sat on a folding chair in the fellowship hall, her feet tucked up under her as she sipped on a cup of apple cider. She was keeping an eye on things, which was hard because the Sorrowful Angel was being a poop-head.
The Angel was hovering across the room at the long table where Miz Randall sat, instead of hanging around near the doughnut table at the opposite corner where Jeremiah Jones and Lizzy were standing. Haley needed to have eyes in both sides of her head to keep track of both the Angel and her older sister. She really kind of wanted to spy on Lizzy and Jeremiah, but Haley needed to keep an eye on the Angel, too.
And then there was Uncle Clay, who had come to church and played the organ just like always. Right now, the Sunday school teacher, Miz Bray, was giving him dirty looks from her place by the coffee station. Granny said Uncle Clay was in big trouble on account of the fact that he had broke Daddy’s nose.
Daddy had two black eyes.
Daddy said Uncle Clay had apologized, but Granny said that wasn’t enough. Granny said Uncle Clay was acting like an idiot. Daddy kind of agreed about that and blamed Jane for the way Uncle Clay was acting. Granny didn’t seem to think Jane was to blame.
Anyways, Granny was really mad this morning about Uncle Clay, so Haley was staying out of her way.
Haley gave up watching Lizzy, and instead, she watched Uncle Clay. He said something to Miz Bray and smiled at her. But the Sunday school teacher didn’t smile back. Yup, Uncle Clay was really in the doghouse about breaking Daddy’s nose, even though Miz Bray didn’t even like Daddy that much.
Uncle Clay left the coffee station with two cups in his hand. He headed toward Miz Randall. The Sorrowful Angel watched him, like maybe she was mad at him, too.
That was interesting. Why would the Angel be mad at Uncle Clay? Haley needed to find out. So she hopped down from the folding chair and skipped in the direction of Uncle Clay, Miz Randall, and the Angel, trying for all she was worth to look like she was just playing around like all the other bored kids, instead of moving in so she could hear what the grown-ups were saying.
• • •
Miriam Randall took the Styrofoam coffee cup from Clay’s hand and blinked up at him from behind her rhinestone bifocals. “Busy night?” she asked.
Clay sank down into a hard-ba
cked folding chair and watched his niece as she skipped past the table. Miriam looked at him expectantly, and he was suddenly at a loss for words. Clay leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes. He could fall asleep right here.
Miriam took a noisy sip of her coffee and then spoke. “So it appears to be raining single white females around here, doesn’t it?”
Clay opened his eyes and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
Miriam giggled like a little girl. “Honey, I’m good, but I’m not that good. I can’t make women fall from the sky—or arrive on the bus from Atlanta. But the Lord, well now, the Lord has a way of answering prayers. I have been praying for you, if it’s any consolation. It does appear that the Lord has answered our prayers in a big way. He sure has given you a wide range of choices.”
“You think?”
Miriam nodded. “Oh, I know, honey.” She shifted her gaze across the room to where Ricki, who was dressed for church in a little pink designer number that made her look like go-to-church Barbie, was working the room like the flirt she had always been. Ricki was cruising for a place to stay, and by the look of things, Dash was interested in signing up.
“She’s getting pretty cozy with my nephew.” Miriam’s voice didn’t sound too pleased.
“Not his soulmate, huh?”
“Most definitely not. You need to tell Ricki to keep her hands off.”
“Right. Like Ricki listens to me.”
“Honey, if you want to marry that girl, you’re going to have to find some way to keep her.”
“Miriam, you can’t be serious. Ricki isn’t my soulmate, either. And you know it. She’s only interested because she has this misguided notion that the royalties from Tumbleweed’s first album have made me rich.”
“They haven’t?”
“No, ma’am. I’m comfortable, but not rich. Not even close to rich if you measure by Dash’s standards. Baseball pays better than songwriting, believe me.”
She gave him an enigmatic smile, then shifted her gaze toward Tricia. “So maybe it’s the girl behind door number two. And this one has the advantage of coming ready-made with that family you’ve been hankering for. Sometimes the Lord is magnificent in the way He answers our prayers.”
Clay gritted his teeth. Chad Ames was a class-A jerk. How could anyone walk away from Tricia and the baby she was carrying?
“Yeah, Miriam, she’s got it bad for someone else.” Clay swept the hall with a pair of eyes that burned from lack of sleep. And alighted on Betty Wilkins, who was dressed today in a yellow dress with a sweetheart neckline that showed off her cleavage. Her dark hair was piled high, and her makeup was a little on the heavy-handed side, but the woman looked comfortable in her own skin. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t so smart. But she was sweet, and she was built.
“You know,” Clay said aloud, “right now Betty Wilkins looks like the best choice of the lot. At least she’s steady and—”
“Honey, Betty is not for you,” Miriam said in a flat voice. “And you know this, so don’t fool with me.”
“You’re sure she’s not the one?”
“No, honey, she didn’t come on the bus. And besides, she’s already spoken for.”
Clay blinked at the erstwhile chairwoman of the Ladies Auxiliary. “You’re serious, aren’t you? About the bus, I mean.”
Miriam patted his hand. “Of course I am, honey. I never joke about these matters. When I told you that your soulmate was not living in Allenberg County, I was being completely honest.”
“So who has spoken for Betty? Please don’t tell me it’s my older brother.”
Miriam snorted. “No, it’s not your brother. Stone still loves Sharon, and there isn’t any more to say on that score. I’ve told your momma that, but of course, she wants to see her oldest learn to love again. Quite frankly, I’m skeptical that it will ever happen. The Lord has been silent about your older brother for quite some time.”
“Well I guess that’s semigood news, since I’m not sure I want Betty Wilkins as a sister-in-law.”
“Well, you can relax. She’s meant for someone else.”
Clay leaned in, not averse to sharing some gossip, himself. “Who is it?”
Miriam shrugged. “Not for me to say, Clay. I told you I’m not a gossip.”
“Much.” He leaned back in his chair. “I just hope whoever he is isn’t using her, you know what I mean?” Betty was too sweet for her own good.
“You are a good man, Clay Rhodes. And no, Betty’s beau is not taking advantage of her. He is, in fact, her soulmate. He just hasn’t figured it out yet.”
Clay sighed deeply.
“Now, that was a sorrowful sound. You have no reason to be that sorrowful, boy.”
“No, ma’am. My best friend is in a state institution, my mother is not speaking to me on account of the fact that I messed up my brother’s face, and I’ve got two women living in my house with me, one of them divorced, and the other an unwed mother.
“Add to that the fact that my cousin-by-marriage is a jerk, and my father, who swears he talks to angels, expects me to eventually take over the management of his miniature golf course devoted to the Lord. As you can see, my life is a picnic.”
“Yes, but the Lord is doing His best to answer your prayers.”
Clay blinked down at Miriam. “What, by sending a steady stream of women on the nine-thirty bus from Atlanta?”
She shrugged, her eyes lighting up like the sparkly rhinestones in her glasses. “You have to admit, three in the space of five days is pretty extraordinary, seeing as nobody ever comes to Last Chance these days.”
“Oh, so you’re including the third one—the one who isn’t here today because she isn’t a Christian.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, honey. Your momma says the girl has a deep faith in something that might be the Almighty. She just doesn’t realize that’s what it is.”
Clay leaned in. “Trust me on this, Miriam, Jane is not a Christian, unless we have taken up the concept of karma and manifesting better realities. And besides, I know you ladies know all about what Jane and I did on Wednesday night. So in addition to not being Christian, Jane is not what y’all would call a sweet little thing.”
“I don’t think she’s fallen that far, honey.”
Obviously the town gossips had not yet heard about that hotel room in Lexington, but it was only a matter of time.
“For the record, Clay, Jane did my nails on Friday. The girl’s got a gift.”
“Yeah.” Like for crime.
“Yeah? That’s all you have to say? Jane has a wonderfully positive outlook on life, son. And she’s a strong woman. She’s learned how to take care of herself, and she’s determined. That’s something.”
“I think I’ll just wait to see what comes on Monday’s nine-thirty bus. Jane is kinda young for me.” And kind of crazy. Not to mention the walking embodiment of trouble. And her name might not even be Jane.
“Well, that’s true, I guess. Jane’s not exactly the mature woman you were looking for.”
“No, Miriam, I don’t think so,” Clay said, feeling a little hitch in his chest because he didn’t want to think the worst of Jane. He kept thinking about the things they had talked about last night. He’d been ugly to her, and she just came back for more, like some kind of punch-drunk fighter—or a remarkably strong and mature woman.
“And she’s running from something, isn’t she?” A little frown folded into Miriam’s brow.
“Yes, she is. And I have a feeling it’s not very nice,” Clay said.
“Well, of course, it isn’t nice,” Miriam said with a little sniff. “People don’t run away from nice things, do they?”
CHAPTER 15
Sunday started off clear and semicool. Jane opened the windows and let in fresh air touched with the bite of autumn. The October breeze lifted the curtains, and restlessness stirred inside her. It had been a while since she’d experienced the turn of a s
eason. When she was young, autumn always brought this restlessness on, as if she were a migratory bird that needed to hit the skyway for warmer climes.
She tuned the kitchen radio to a country station, and the sexy tones of that stupid Tumbleweed song filled her ears as she stared down at Palmetto Avenue, watching folks go to church.
She listened carefully to the words because Clay had written them.
Do you love me more than need me?
Baby I gotta know
’Cause if it’s just needing, then
I gotta go
Here in my heart
Where I’m not so damn tough
I want you to love me
Needin’s not near enough
Do you love me?
Or just need me.
Baby, I gotta know.
Hoo boy. Her pulse rate kicked up a beat or two. It would be easy to fall in love with a man sensitive enough to understand the difference between wanting and needing and loving. But was Clay that guy? Or had he just written a song with some good words?
That was a dangerous question. Maybe she had been looking for the wrong thing all these years. Maybe the best a girl could hope for was a simple man like the narrator in the song. Not a hero, just a guy who wanted to be loved.
Yeah, like there were really men like that in the world.
She knew it wasn’t a positive thought. But love songs weren’t reality, either. Songs were bought and sold like everything else. And pinning her hopes to a song lyric was like wishful thinking.