Forgiving Jackson (21 page)

“Really?”

“Yes!” Christian drove down the long driveway and turned toward town. “They were talking at breakfast. The daughter was complaining that you left before the party was over. The parents said so long as nothing went wrong, what difference did it make? But, Emory, I’ve never known you to go home until every spoon was clean and every piece of equipment was put away.”

“I did last night.”

Christian nodded. “I understand you were last seen dancing with Jack Beauford’s cousin, who looked remarkably like him. Thing is, I’ve known the Beaufords all my life and I don’t know of any cousin who looks like Jackson—or one who works at Around the Bend. Seems like I would have run into him.”

“Hmm.”

Christian started to laugh. “I’m not going to give you any trouble about this, Emory. It’s been way too long since you’ve had a date.”

“It wasn’t a date, Christian. It was a dance. And we watched a movie.” And had an emotional upheaval unlike any she had ever imagined. Still, she might be better for it.

“Sounds like a date to me,” Christian said.

“How would you know? It’s not like you’re giving the poor men of Beauford a chance.”

“A Beauford man will break your heart if you don’t watch it,” Christian said lightly.

“Beauford man, as in a man who lives in Beauford or one named Beauford?”

“
A
is a subset of
B
but
B
is not necessarily a subset of
A
.”

“That’s for sure,” Emory said because it made as little sense as anything.

“Anyway, I think it’s very romantic—Jackson dressing up like an Around the Bend waiter and pretending to be his cousin so he could dance with you.”

Secretly, Emory agreed—as much as she would allow herself.

“Let’s not forget that Mr. Romance is still planning to put us out of business.” Emory had finally shared what Jackson had proposed about moving Around the Bend to Firefly Hall but Christian had been pragmatic.

“I’ve told you. He won’t go through with it,” Christian said.

“And if he does?”

“We’ll take him up on his offer. It’ll be rough until we get the new facilities built, but we’ll bounce back. But it won’t come to that.”

“I hope you’re right. I thought he would have gotten bored by now and left but he hasn’t shown any signs of it.”

Christian grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s got inspiration to stay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Emory was talking as much to herself as to Christian. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start fanaticizing about something that was never going to happen. Even if she was capable of having a relationship, this was Jackson Beauford. She’d do well to remember that.

But, still. Last night she had felt comfortable enough to let him touch and kiss her, to fall asleep in his arms. A month ago that would have been unthinkable.

“He’s just a guy, Emory,” Christian said. “And there’s no reason he can’t be yours.”

“Maybe I don’t want him.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Christian pulled into the church parking lot. “Jackson needs someone. You know what he’s been through. And though he doesn’t talk about it, he worries for Beau all time. Weeks and weeks can pass without anyone even knowing where he is. Jackson takes that hard. He could use a little help finding his way back right now.”

“Even if I wanted a relationship with Jackson, I wouldn’t want it that way—based on need.”

“Everybody needs something, Emory. There’s never been a love that wasn’t born of need.” Christian opened her car door and then whipped her head back around. “Is that Jackson’s truck?”

“I guess I didn’t mention that he’s singing in church today.”

“I guess you didn’t.”

Time for a subject change.

“Look. There’s Abby waiting for us on the steps.” Emory hurried to embrace her.

“I ran into Gwen after dropping Phillip at the nursery,” Abby said. “She said if I saw the two of you, to tell you there’s Sunday night supper tonight.”

“About time!” Christian said. “We haven’t done that since wedding season started.”

Occasionally, when it was a light weekend and they didn’t have an event going on until midweek—like this week—Gwen cooked a big meal on Sunday night and gathered everyone around the big Beauford Bend dining table.

No doubt the Lord of the Manor would occupy the place at the head of the table tonight.

Emory wondered where her place at the table would be.

• • •

Christian and Abby stopped to talk to Neyland, who was seated with her family, but Emory slid into their usual pew where Dirk was already seated.

Dirk gave her a sidelong glance. “Sleep well last night?”

Damn. She had hoped Gwen had missed that Jackson wasn’t the only who had slept on the sofa.

“Your wife talks too much.”

“Don’t criticize my wife.” He waved to Christian and Abby as they took their seats beside Emory.

Then the organ began to play and the acolytes marched in followed by Pastor Tim. The choir, including Gwen, filed into the choir loft. Emory scanned quickly. No Jackson.

“He’s in the robing room waiting to make his big entrance,” Dirk whispered.

Caught. “Who?” She tried to make an innocent face.

Dirk just shook his head and gave her a knowing look.

The service progressed—prayers, hymns, the children’s moment.

Finally, Pastor Tim announced the anthem.

“Trite though the phrase may be,” he said, “our soloist today truly needs no introduction.”

And Jackson stepped through the door to the left of the choir loft and made his way to the microphone beside the piano.

An audible gasp emitted from the congregation and Jackson smiled. It wasn’t the stage smile, the sarcastic grin, or the one that had a little sadness etched in the corners of his mouth. No. He smiled like he was happy to be seeing old friends he hadn’t seen in a long time. Emory was happy for him. Of course there were people in this church and in this town who he’d known all his life. If he did, indeed, stay in town, he would eventually reconnect with those people. Then he wouldn’t need her companionship anymore.

Just when she was getting used to it.

He nodded to the pianist and when the music began to play, the smile disappeared and he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, she became anxious for him, which was ridiculous. He’d played arenas that held thousands of people. Singing one song before this congregation would be easier for him than planning a birthday party for a five-year-old would be for her.

Still, she didn’t breathe easily until he began to sing.

And he smiled a smile so radiant and pure that her heart turned to warm butterscotch syrup. Amelia had always said that the twins looked like angels, but in that moment, in his silvery white choir robe, no one could have looked more angelic than Jackson Beauford. He continued to sing.

He stepped back a bit from the microphone when the choir joined in on the chorus.

He looked so serene for the rest of the hymn, as he sang the verses alone and the choir joined in for the chorus. Was it possible that he actually felt that serenity?

It was not until Jackson met her eyes at the beginning of the second to last line that Emory realized he had not looked at her at all until then—not that she would have expected him to. When his smile widened on the word
love
, she knew that smile was just for her. Her gut turned over and her hair stood on end.

Ridiculous! He was singing about God’s love—not romantic love. And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have been singing about her. This wasn’t like her, and she had to stop it now. But maybe there was nothing to stop. Probably, her reaction could be attributed to the emotional roller coaster she’d just ridden and her gratitude to Jackson for his help and care.

When the music ended, the congregation remained completely quiet, as if they had just witnessed something great. And hadn’t they? Hadn’t she?

Jackson delivered a little piece of heaven everywhere he went.

From where he sat at the head, Jackson surveyed the people gathered around the big dining table. He’d never gotten used to sitting in this spot, though Aunt Amelia had moved him here the first time they’d eaten in this room after burying half the family. They had always taken most of their meals in the family wing around a big round table, but on Sundays and holidays, they ate in the original formal dining room.

“You can,” she’d said to him that Sunday when he’d told her he couldn’t sit in his father’s chair. “You have to. Just like I have to go sit at the foot of the table. If we don’t act like a family, pretty soon we won’t be.”

So he’d put his twelve-year-old self in a chair that wasn’t his then and wasn’t his to this day. Tonight, the chair at the foot of the table that would have belonged to the hostess of the house if there had been one, had been moved to make room for two highchairs. Gwen and Abby sat across from each other beside their babies, spooning some kind of nasty slop into Carter’s and Phillip’s mouths. He remembered another hand bringing a silver baby spoon to another mouth and he looked away.

“Who needs more iced tea?” Emory asked from where she sat directly to his right. He’d pulled out the chair and put her there himself. She started to rise.

“Keep your seat, Emory.” Sammy jumped up from his plateful of fried chicken, stewed squash, creamed corn, and sliced tomatoes. “I’ll get it.” He headed to the sideboard where the full tea pitchers sat.

Sammy made the rounds, pouring the same way Amelia had taught Jackson and his brothers, with a cloth napkin at the ready in case there was a drip.

“This is a mighty fine meal, Gwen.” Jackson spoke the same words his father had always uttered a few minutes into a meal, though Jackson would never sound as cultured, as educated.

“Thank you, Jackson,” she said. “It’s your reward for singing today.” She spooned more green goo into Carter’s mouth and then took a bite of her own food. How did she do that?

“If I’d have known I’d get a meal like this, surrounded by all these beautiful women, I’d have sung sooner.” He acknowledged Gwen, Abby, Christian, Neyland, and Ginger by briefly meeting their eyes. Then he let his eyes settle into Emory’s for a longer look.

“The table is really beautiful tonight,” Neyland said.

Was it? Yeah. He supposed so. There was a highway of green stuff paving its way down the middle with some flowers thrown in this way and that. There were so many old dishes and glasses in this house from so many generations of Beauford brides that he couldn’t have kept up with them, even if he’d been interested. The dishes tonight had a lot of gold on them—which meant they couldn’t go in the dishwasher. He knew all about that from his dishwashing days.

“What’s with having everything all fancied up?” Dirk was cutting up bites of chicken for Julie. “We usually eat off plain white plates.”

“I think it looks nice,” Gwen said. “Emory did it.”

“It was nothing.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I just salvaged a few flowers from the party last night.” She looked at her plate, embarrassed.

Then it hit him. She’d made the table look nice for him and the best thing he could do was keep quiet because it would embarrass her even more if he mentioned it in front of the others.

“I’m not going to have to wash all these dishes, am I?” he asked and that got a laugh from the whole table. Her embarrassment forgotten, Emory looked up and joined in. “You laugh.” He raised his tea glass. “Go ahead. But there was a time when I did a lot of dishwashing. I’m not too good.”

“No?” Gwen said. “We might just let you prove that tonight.”

“I’ll do the dishes!” Sammy said quickly.

“And
that
,” Jackson said, “is why Sammy is my main man.”

• • •

After serving the strawberry shortcake, Emory slipped back into the chair that Jackson held for her. Christian made her way around the table pouring coffee and Sammy came in with the sugar and cream.

“Is that regular cream, Sammy?” Jackson asked.

“Half and half. Organic. That’s all Gwen gets.” Sammy set it on the table at Jackson’s place. “Do you want some? I thought you drank yours black.”

“I do and I’ll pass this around. But will you go out to the kitchen and see if there’s any of that sissy, flavored-up stuff for Emory?”

And she turned to mush. He remembered. She shouldn’t like being mush but it felt so good.

“Oh, Sammy, that’s not necessary,” she protested.

“Yes it is,” Jackson said. “I decide what’s necessary around here and I say it’s necessary for you to have what you like.”

Careful what you wish for.
Christian shot her a
told you so
look.

Jackson dug into his strawberry shortcake. “I just ate like a field hand at noon with no supper in sight, but I can’t turn this down. It looks great, Gwen.”