Maddie felt a contemptible surge of color blush her cheeks. “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.” She closed the drawer with her hip and leaned against the counter for support, tapping the fork against her crossed upper arm.
“Then we’ll see you there.” Parker exited through the swinging door.
Listening to the squeaky hinges, Maddie had the distinct feeling she’d been issued a time-out, even though Parker had been nothing short of . . . gallant. Why should she care what some guy from high school thought of her or her boyfriend?
She glanced at an oblivious Justin sitting at the table shoveling serving-spoon-sized mounds of stuffing into his mouth, straight from the bowl.
Acknowledging her stare, he stopped midbite. “What?”
“Ever thought of using a fork?”
He dumped the spoonful of dressing back into the container, waved the big utensil in front of his sideways smirk, and slowly dragged his tongue over the smooth, shiny surface. “That better?”
Maddie’s insides melted. She sighed. If she was going to have to spend time in her room, she might as well make the most of her boy toy. She put the wrinkled paper back in the drawer, handed Justin the fork, and then sank into a chair beside him.
Running her hand along the top of his leg, Maddie watched her boyfriend stab a piece of turkey off the large ceramic platter. “So, you missed me?”
“Sure.” Justin crammed a hunk of dark meat into his mouth. He swallowed. “Got anything to drink?”
Maddie went to the drying rack and retrieved a clean glass. She listened to Justin chatter on about the band’s latest gig while she took the milk jug from the fridge and filled the tumbler, but her mind drifted back to the look on Parker’s face when she walked into the kitchen. For a split second she’d seen . . . Well, she wasn’t sure what it was. Discomfort maybe? But how had she made Parker Kemp uncomfortable? The guy had always been way too sensitive.
Justin put down his fork. “Milk?”
“You’re in a parsonage.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” He accepted her offering.
“And you’ll have to sleep on the sofa.”
He winked at her. “Sure. Anything you say, babe.” He tilted his head back and drained the glass.
Sensitivity had never been one of Justin’s struggles. As Maddie watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling Miss Story might have diagnosed something she’d overlooked in her initial examination of their relationship. Since he’d come in, Justin hadn’t asked her a single thing about her father’s funeral, or how she’d managed these past few days sandwiched between her mother and grandmother. Had he always been so self-absorbed?
Maybe Justin was like the bent jigsaw puzzle piece she found years ago under the couch cushions while searching for Coke machine change. She tried to cram the piece into the new scene her mother had spread out on a card table in her sewing room, but she never could make it fit. Momma said to throw the rogue piece away, but for some unknown reason, Maddie tucked the unyielding shape in with the old book reports and science projects she refused to part with.
Too bad men weren’t like mathematical equations: plug in the right variables, juggle things around, and presto . . . balance. Foolproof solutions with finite answers were solid comfort. Maddie eyed the stranger sitting in her father’s chair. Justin was definitely an unknown quantity. She sighed. Maybe her prognosis about their future had been a tad optimistic.
* * * * *
A lightning-sharp twinge burned through Leona’s nose, cutting through the gathering storm of her emotions. Hearing
I told you so
was the last thing she needed. She held up a stiffened hand. “Mother, do not say a word.”
Her mother circumvented her exit. “This is what comes from giving Madison so much freedom.”
If Leona did not escape immediately, the cloudburst brewing behind her lashes would beat the thunderous comments sure to roll off the tongues of her self-righteous guests. “I mean it, Mother. Don’t mess with me.” She executed a quick sidestep maneuver and broke for the stairs, but the staccato click of designer high heels trailed her breakneck retreat. Leona took the steps two at a time, anxious to reach higher ground.
“You let Madison wear whatever she wanted. You sent her off to those foolish church camps. You—”
Leona’s foot froze in midair. She wheeled and faced her mother. “Don’t lecture me on how to raise a daughter. Maddie is a great girl. She’s going to be a doctor, for heaven’s sake. And with absolutely no help from you.” Planting both feet on the landing, Leona ignored the crowd forming at the base of the stairs. Her tongue, possessed by a mind of its own, slashed the roiling darkness like heat lightning. “Since when do you care about Maddie? You’ve never so much as sent the girl a birthday card.”
Years of bottled-up emotions discharged like buckshot. Her mind gathered another load of unsettled scores and crammed them into the firing chamber. Leona raised her chin and took aim. “How do you think you made David feel, knowing you doted on him while you ignored his sister?”
David’s face, cold and silent, fell into Leona’s sights. Nausea swept over her. No matter what she thought of her mother, David didn’t deserve to be the rope in this tug-of-war. She blinked, unable to see a thing through the tears threatening to run her off the road like a driving rain.
Her mother marched up the stairs, unfazed. “Well, I must say, it is gratifying to see that you’ve raised a daughter just like you.”
“Like me? What is that supposed to mean?”
Mother charged up even with Leona and squared off face-to-face. “Now maybe you’ll know how it feels when someone you’ve loved more than life itself throws everything in your lap and runs off with a no-account loser.”
The acrid words slammed into Leona’s chest with the force of an eighteen-wheeler, flattening her like a varmint on a stretch of deserted highway. “Is that what you really think, Mother?”
“You bet it is.” Her mother’s steel trap snapped shut.
Leona swiped away the tears, but she could not escape Mother’s viselike glare. She would have to gnaw her leg off to break free. Her mind backtracked through the haze of thirty years. But the sequence of events that set in motion years of animosity had blurred beyond recognition. Leona remembered being young and impetuous, but she could not recall a deliberate plan to hurt her mother. Suddenly, comprehension cleared Leona’s muddied thoughts, and the staggering weight of the fallout caved her shoulders.
“Mother, do you think I married J.D. to get even with you?”
“What other explanation is there? You up and married him without so much as a ‘I wish you were here.’”
“We eloped because you and Father made it very clear that if J.D. chose ministry over the firm, he could not have me. Mother, I was never yours to give away. I belonged to God.”
“Is that why God stood in my place before that justice of the peace? Not even a district judge.” Mother brandished a pointed finger in Leona’s face. “Who is this God you love more than your family? Where was God when you took your first step, lost your first tooth, or nearly died of pneumonia? This ludicrous idea you worship wasn’t there to hold your hand on your first day of school or dry your tears when Sarah Michaels found a new best friend. Who was there? Your mother, that’s who!” She raised a balled fist as if she were shaking it in the face of God, demanding a rematch on Leona’s life.
Mother loves me. In her warped, possessive way, she loves me.
The startling realization smoothed the hairs standing along the ridge in Leona’s neck. Right or wrong, her mother felt she had been dealt a dirty deal and somebody was going to pay. Leona considered the blame forming a hard shell around her own heart. Why had God allowed J.D. to die and leave her in a such a painful lurch? For the first time in three decades, she and her mother had something in common.
Leona twisted the thin gold band on her left hand, pondering the injustice she had swallowed in the past few days. Maybe nothing could wash the bitter taste from her mouth, but one thing she knew for certain: she refused to chew on it for the next thirty years.
The knot in Leona’s tense insides loosened. She reached for her mother. “I know you—”
The agitated woman backpedaled from her touch. “If you
knew
how much I loved you, then how could you throw it in my face and run off with that . . .
preacher
?”
“Because I loved him.” Leona searched her mother’s eyes, looking for evidence that the understanding she hoped to communicate had sunk in.
“You didn’t have a clue about love. If you had, you would never have walked out our door. It killed me that you didn’t have a big wedding and a reception at the club.”
Leona stiffened. Why did her mother have to make everything about what people thought? Could the woman never see past herself? “If
you
understood love, Mother, you would have flung the door open and welcomed my happiness. But instead you slammed it shut.” Leona caught a glimpse of David’s accusing face.
Reality pricked her rod-straight backbone and deflated her spine. By insisting her own children live by her choices, Leona had become the very person she swore she never would. She had become her mother. Fresh tears spilled down Leona’s cheeks. While obsessing over the speck in her mother’s eye, she had missed the log in her own.
God, forgive me.
Her mother poked Leona’s shoulder with a glossy nail. “You want me to fling the door open and walk out of your life? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Mother released her hold on the banister, both hands flailing the air as she plowed on with her tirade. “I can walk out that piece of plywood you call a front door and never look back.” She pivoted her stylish heel on the landing, missing the first step.
Leona’s mother tumbled head over heels down the stairs. She landed at David’s feet with a loud crack, then a sickening thud. One designer pump headed north, while the other shoe pointed south.
Staring at Roberta Worthington’s still body, Leona was unable to move from the landing.
What kind of horrible person kills her mother . . . twice?
* * * * *
David lunged forward, but as usual, his feeble attempt was too late. He couldn’t believe he’d witnessed such mayhem. Momma yelling. Grandmother backing down. Usually it was the other way around. His father’s death had upset the delicate balance of the Harper world, maybe even the universe. Nothing was right. Nothing would ever be right again.
He knelt beside his unconscious grandmother, afraid to touch her. The conflicting emotions fermenting in his gut united, nearly doubling him over. The newly formed beast thrashed about for an instant, then clawed the sides of his throat, making its exit as shrieking fear. “Somebody get Maddie!”
Parker pushed through the crowded hall. “What happened?”
Nola Gay grabbed Parker’s shirtsleeve and shouted, “Mrs. Worthington is dead!”
Placing both hands on the old woman’s shoulders, Parker spoke to her in a measured tone. “Calm down right this minute. Go back to the kitchen and get Maddie.” He drew his cell phone from the holster on his belt, snapping orders at the dumbfounded onlookers. “Maxine, I’ll try calling Charlie. But he’s probably got the ambulance in line for the parade. If I can’t get him, I’ll need you and Howard to run down to Main Street and see if you can find him.”
Maxine shook her head and wrung her hands. “Melvin drove Howard to the Zip Trip for more ice.”
“Then you call Howard’s cell. Tell him to get Melvin and that limo back here. We might need it to transport Mrs. Worthington if we can’t find Charlie.” Parker removed Etta May from the fray. He placed her against the wall. “You gotta let the poor woman have some air.”
“What can I do, Parker?” Etta May’s lips quivered.
Parker’s face softened. His arms enfolded the sweater-clad woman and she disappeared in his comforting hug. “Pray, Miss Etta May. Pray.”
David envied the conviction he heard in Parker’s voice. The guy spoke as if seeking God’s help was the only thing to do. A wave of shame washed over him. Praying had fallen off of his to-do list since he decided to match God’s lack of communication about his future with a silence of his own. From his place on the floor, David sat immobile, watching helplessly as everyone else sprang into action.
Momma silently clutched the banister, her face a pale shade of green. “Is she breathing?”
“Cotton.” Parker motioned to the janitor. “If you can step over Mrs. Worthington without bumping her, I think Mrs. Harper could use a shoulder to lean on.”
The custodian gave a quick nod. “I’ll do it, Parker.” He picked his way around the crumpled woman and bounded up the stairs to the landing. “Leona, I think you better hang on to me. You don’t look so good.”
“Watch her, Cotton.” Roxie peeked through the painted balusters. “She’s fixin’ to pass out.”
“Where’s Maddie?” David could not take his eyes off his grandmother’s face. He’d never seen her so peaceful. He could not resist the temptation to touch her wrinkle-free skin.
In a flash, his sister pushed past Parker and knelt beside him and their grandmother. “What happened?”
“I killed her.” Momma wilted into Cotton’s arms. How he managed to keep her from tumbling down the stairs before he got both of them seated on the top step, David couldn’t say.
Maddie pressed two fingers against the vein in the old woman’s neck. “Did anyone call an ambulance?”
“I’m trying to get Charlie.” Parker towered over them. “And I’ve sent Maxine to find Melvin and the limo.”
David lifted his grandmother’s hand, tracing the blue veining with his thumb.
“Don’t move anything.” Maddie gently removed their grandmother’s hand from David’s caress. “I need to check her injuries.”
“Tell us what to do, baby.” Roxie hovered over David’s shoulder, blocking the light and casting a shadow over Grandmother.
“Pray.” Momma lifted her head off Cotton’s shoulder. “Pray the Lord spares my mother long enough for me to ask her forgiveness.”
The sadness in his mother’s eyes broke David’s heart. “Momma, it wasn’t your fault.” He wanted to scoop his mother into his arms and make everything better, just like she used to do for him. But cartoon Band-Aids were no match for the destructive tilt of the earth’s axis his father’s death had caused or the inequities he had allowed his grandmother to heap in his favor. “She missed the step. It’s my fault. I should have caught her.”