Black Beans & Vice (29 page)

The twins shook hands with their boss, hugged Jane once
more, and rushed out of the building.

"Do you need to get back too or do we have time for lunch?"
Jane asked, linking her arm in James'.

"Forget about lunch. Let's go shopping!" James led her to the
passenger side of the Bronco and gallantly opened the door.

Jane laughed. "Stranger words have never come from your lips.
You hate shopping!"

"Not in this case," he assured her. "It's not every day that I get
to buy a pair of wedding bands."

JAMES KNEW THAT HE should be focusing more of his energies on unraveling
the mysteries of Tia Royale's death and
Kenneth Cooper's whereabouts, but he
couldn't stop thinking about Jane. He
walked around the library with a light
step, his mouth turned upward in a
goofy smile. He greeted each patron as
though he or she were his favorite person on the earth, and several
older women felt inclined to pinch his cheek and tease him for being hit by an entire quiver of Cupid's arrows.

When Willie Lamont came in to pick up a fresh stack of presidential biographies, he shook his head and made a clicking noise with his tongue. "You got it bad, my man. You're gonna break out
in zip-a-dee-doo-dahs any minute."

"Stranger things have happened," James cautioned as he
checked out the frozen custard shop owner's books with a flourish. "Hey! Summer's right around the corner. The song might
make a good name for your next flavor."

Willie raised his brows. "Little wordy, don't ya think?"

"How about `Second Time's A Charm'?" James slid the books
and the checkout receipt across the counter.

Laughing, Willie gathered up the thick tomes. "I might just
have to do some experimentin' this afternoon. Maybe I'll create
somethin' like `Wedding Bell Buttercream"'

"Sounds perfect. Especially if you make it as guilt-free as that
Grasshopper Parfait flavor."

Willie shook his head. "No way, man. We're talkin' about eternal love here. You gotta have sugar and cream and plenty of pure
vanilla! I can practically hear the church bells a-ringin'!"

James found it hard to bite back his secret at the mention of
wedding bells, but he wished Willie a good day and said nothing more. The twins knew all about James and Jane's upcoming
nuptials of course, and having them in on it helped James keep
quiet. The toughest part of remaining mum until their vows were
exchanged would be keeping the engagement from Jackson and
Milla.

Though part of James wanted the ceremony to be private, another part desperately wanted to share the good news with his
parents. Milla would be delighted and even though it would take
Jackson time to come around, James knew that his father would
approve of the family becoming a bona fide unit. What James really wanted to do was to rush to his father's side and shout that
Eliot would not be going back to Harrisonburg in the fall. Or ever,
for that matter. James would love to see how such an announcement would bring joy to Jackson.

James and Jane had arrived at several decisions about the future the day after their engagement. Jane had immediately called
the head of her department and asked to continue teaching
courses online. Because these high-tech courses were growing in
popularity, she would be able to retain her position by teaching
three of these. She'd have to appear on campus to attend faculty
meetings and other business, but there was no longer any reason
for her to reside near the university.

"As soon as we're married, I'll put my house on the market,"
she assured James. "Thanks to my parents, there's no mortgage.
We'll put every cent of that money in savings and live happily ever
after at 27 Hickory Hill Lane."

The arrangement suited James perfectly. He didn't want to give
up the library or his little yellow house for Jane, but he would have
in a New York minute. Instead, he and everything he loved would
remain in Quincy's Gap. It was no wonder he believed he was the
luckiest man in the world.

In fact, James felt so blessed that he did his best to tone down
the jubilation radiating from his face when he took Eliot to visit
his grandparents on Saturday morning. Jane wanted father and
son out of the house so she could clean before Donna Woodman's
visit, so the Henry boys ate a hasty breakfast and knocked on the
back door of James' childhood home at a quarter past nine.

Naturally, Milla was cooking up a storm in the kitchen.
She'd made breakfast for Jackson and was now baking a chicken casserole and a peach pie for a woman from church who'd fallen
and bruised her hip. She also had a mixing bowl filled with cookie
dough on the cluttered counter.

"I smell peanut butter," Eliot said after returning Milla's warm
hug.

She wrinkled her nose. "That's because I'm making you a special batch of chocolate chunk peanut butter cookies." Lowering
her voice to a whisper, she led her grandson to the mixing bowl.
"Do you think it's too early in the morning to lick a beater?"

"Nope," Eliot answered hungrily.

"Me either." Milla smiled at James over Eliot's head. "I've got a
beater for you too, if you'd like one."

James grinned as Eliot poked his tongue through the tines of
the metal beater. "Thanks, but I'll wait for a cookie when it's hot
from the oven instead. How's Pop?"

"Already painting," Milla answered proudly. "Some top-secret
project"

Gesturing toward the shed behind the house, James asked, "Is
he out there now?"

She nodded. "He won't use the walker, so he hobbles out there
with his crutches and leans on one while he paints with his other
hand. It seems to be doing him a world of good-to be working
again so soon after the stroke-but he gets real tired. Can you remind him that he's got to stop and rest? Trick him into coming in
for some coffee and cookies."

"I'll try," James answered without much hope. Jackson Henry
wasn't easy to manipulate.

As usual, James had to knock on the shed door and wait for
admittance. It took Jackson several minutes to put down his paintbrush and palette and shuffle to the door. Poking his head
out through the crack like a suspicious turtle, Jackson looked at
his son. Though his mouth remained an immovable line, his eyes
smiled.

James had been calling his father every day since he'd come
home from the hospital, but Jackson was even more reluctant
than usual to talk on the phone. His speech was still slurred and
the already taciturn man had grown even more so. Milla served
as Jackson's communicator, giving James updates on his father's
physical therapy and general well-being, but none of the details
regarding his slow and steady recovery were as rewarding as seeing
that unique glimmer return to Jackson's eyes.

"I'm glad you're back at work, Pop. Can I come in or would
you rather take a break and have some coffee and cookies in the
house?"

Jackson hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to let James view
his unfinished painting. Finally, he stretched his lips into a lopsided grin and waved his son inside. The finished paintings were
on large horizontal canvases. Jackson had always painted on vertical canvases before and never on such a large scale. The painted
shapes were difficult to distinguish at first, but as James stepped
closer, he saw that his father's new pieces were actually made up of
dozens of small paintings, similar in style to a collage.

"The amount of detail," James breathed in awe. He leaned
closer, noting the familiar features of his childhood self staring
back at him. There he was in his high school marching band
uniform, as an infant in his mother's arms, as a seven-year-old
scarecrow at Halloween. In another square, as precise as a photograph, he was raking leaves with his father. In another, Jackson was laughing as he carved the Thanksgiving turkey. These were
pictures of a happy life, but there were representations of pain and
loss too. There was his mother's casket, strewn with white lilies,
and a portrait of Jackson sitting on the bed with her wedding ring
in his hand, his face crumpled in grief.

"Your memories, Pop." James felt a tightening in his throat.
"This painting shows glimpses of your life."

Jackson nodded and reached out to James with his good arm.
"It's been a good one, my boy. I need you to know that."

James turned to his father fearfully, but Jackson shook his
head. "I ain't gonna drop dead. I just wanted you to know. You're a
fine son and a damned good daddy to Eliot."

The two men embraced and for once, Jackson was in no rush
to pull away.

Later, after a second breakfast of cookies and milk, Eliot joined
his grandfather in the shed and spent the rest of the morning
painting his own masterpiece using only two colors of paint. By
the time he'd placed the final brush stroke and named his work,
"Melted Popsicles," it was lunchtime. Knowing Jane would soon be
entertaining Donna Woodman, James decided it would be wiser
to spend another hour with Milla and Jackson. After all, he didn't
want to arrive home just as Donna was on the brink of revealing
something important.

However, as soon as Eliot had finished eating a grilled cheese
sandwich and a ripe nectarine, he suddenly seemed to run out of
steam. It was time to take the little boy home.

"Let's go work on your LEGO fire station, okay buddy?" James
wiped Eliot's sticky chin, clapped his father affectionately on his good shoulder, and gave Milla a kiss on the cheek. In return, she
handed him a baggie filled with cookies.

"These are for Jane. Tell her we're sorry we missed her and hope
to see her soon" Milla squeezed Eliot and beamed as he broke free,
only to wrap his arms around Jackson's neck. He whispered something into his grandfather's ear and Jackson's entire face crinkled
in amusement and delight. As Eliot darted out the door, Jackson
gazed after him in wonder.

"I'll be damned," Jackson chuckled and looked at James. "I
never thought I'd say this but hell, I wish you'd had more kids.
That one there just..." he couldn't find the right words, but the
light in his eyes spoke volumes.

On the drive home, James considered what his father had said.
Would he have another child? Were he and Jane too old? Did they
have enough money or enough room in the yellow house for more
children? Suddenly, the idea of a helpless infant shrieking out its
wordless demands in the middle of the night filled James with
anxiety. He knew nothing about babies. Eliot had come into his
life eating solid foods, speaking in sentences, and completely toilet
trained. But a baby! Now there was a mystery!

"What did you whisper to Grandpa back there?" James asked
his son at the next red light.

Eliot shrugged. "I said he was my favorite play date friend." He
colored. "'Cept you, Dad."

"That was a nice thing to say," James told his son. "To both of
us.

Minutes later, the two Henrys stepped through the front door
of their house to the sound of a woman sniffling. "We're home!" James called out and then hurriedly followed his greeting with,
"I'm going to take Eliot to his room for some quiet time."

He winked at Eliot, signaling that what he really meant by
"quiet time" was an hour of design and construction using LEGO
blocks. Eliot shouted, "Hi, Mom! Bye, Mom!" and dashed down
the hall.

Jane didn't answer, but as James tiptoed after Eliot he heard her
murmuring gently to the other woman. Donna, or at least James
assumed that's who it was as he didn't dare go into the living room
just yet, sounded as though she was crying.

I've got some sense of timing, James thought. He lingered in
the hallway for another moment but was unable to hear distinct
words, only the rise and fall of exchanged voices, soft and melodic,
like two instruments playing a lullaby in pianissimo.

James soon forgot about the women as he and Eliot built their
own version of the Empire State Building. When James heard the
front door close and a car engine start in the driveway, he told Eliot it was time to rest and handed him a portable CD player and
an audio CD of Curious George stories. Eliot snuggled under his
covers, put on his headphones, and loaded the CD player. James
was amazed at the technical savvy of today's four-year-olds and
knew it wouldn't be long before Eliot ran circles around him when
it came to all things electronic.