In the afternoon, Jade picked up Mama for a doctor’s appointment. The news wasn’t good. The doctor wanted Mama to submit to another round of Rituxan.
She’d jumped to her feet, billowing, “No!”
As Jade steered her out of the office, Mama barked at the nurse. “No.”
To the receptionist, Mama said, “No.”
On the ride home, she repeated no a dozen times, and muttered against the window she was going home to Iowa no matter what.
When Jade brought her back to the Blue Umbrella, Mama greeted Lillabeth with a no. Then asked what she was doing on the weekend. “How about a girls’ road trip?”
Okay, Mama, I get it
.
Meanwhile, Lillabeth watched over the shop.
“Is June still upstairs?”
“She left about fifteen minutes ago. Said something about going to the club for a meeting.”
All morning Jade heard June’s melancholy, “Simply tired,” bounding around her heart. When she prodded her mother-in-law for more, she evaded. So Jade whispered to Jesus, asking Him to help her in-laws.
Now she worked on the day’s accounting while Mama played records, filling the shop with music. A half hour ago Lillabeth had taken Jade’s truck down to the Blue Two to load up with inventory.
The shifting sunlight glinted off the pieces of the shattered porcelain jewelry box Jade had set on the windowsill and captured her attention. Delicate pieces with no hope of repair.
Her view was of nothing more than the alley, the back corner of Mario’s Pizza, and a green swath of the trees racing down the ridge to the valley of the Hollow. She rested her chin in her hand, closing her eyes, listening to her heart.
Jade wanted Mama to go through the chemo and live. For Rebel and June to go back to being the don and dame of their small village. For Max to hold his own son. For her house to be full of love and laughter.
A ripple of peace warmed her heart. God had been good to her. Deep down, she believed He loved and forgave her. But a son for Max and a daughter for her would . . . well, redeem her past and seal her future.
“Tired?” Mama appeared at the shop door, stirring a cup of tea.
“A little.”
“I’m sorry about the doctor today. Perhaps I overstated my point.”
“Maybe a little. And”—Jade patted her hands on her desk—“to prove your sincerity, go for the next round of Rituxan.”
“You can’t kid a kidder, Jade-o.” Mama perched on the edge of the metal chair, catching herself as the chair listed starboard as it always did. Despite the warmth of the shop, Mama was bundled in a turtleneck and a sweater. “I’m going home.”
“Alone.” Doubt tinged Jade’s expression. “You’re going to live alone?”
“I’ve got friends. Bet you didn’t know this, but Carla Colter and I are good friends now. Plus, there’s Linc. And I’ve been thinking my good ol’ friend Sharon can drive down to get me. One teamster doing a favor for another.”
“Dustin’s mom is your friend? She’s going to sit with you when you’re sick? Take you to the doctor, buy your groceries? Or Linc? What’d it take him . . . a week to repair your porch screens?”
The last time Jade saw Mama and Carla Colter together, they were fighting.
Her
daughter had married
Carla’s
son. Illegally. Mama had shoved her bosoms toward Carla when she accused her of being a bad mother
. “Bite me
.”
“Jade-o?”
“Who’s going to cook? And clean? What if you have a dizzy spell and fall? Who’s going to help you?”
“I’ll call 9-1-1.”
“How are you going to call 9-1-1 if you’re on the floor? What if you hit your head?”
“If I hit my head, I’ll be knocked out until Linc comes.” Mama sipped her tea, the sincerity in her eyes accented by the wide base of the cup.
Jade crossed her arms and legs. Two could play this game. “I’m not taking you home to die.”
“Jade, either you take me or I’ll find someone. Hey, June seems to be at loose ends these days. Maybe I’ll call her.” Mama set down her tea. “I have leukemia, Jade. I’m not recovering from this. Refusing to take me home isn’t going to prolong the inevitable. I was born in Prairie City, and dear girl, I’m going to die in Prairie City.”
“You seem to be set on this.” Blinking the sheen from her eyes, Jade peered out the window for a long moment. “Willow e-mailed today.”
“I am. What did my baby girl have to say? Can’t imagine how she’s faring in the hills of Guatemala.”
Jade reached for the e-mail she’d printed out earlier. Willow didn’t exactly write it to her
and
Mama, but Mama didn’t need to know that. Knowing Willow, she didn’t even think about Mama still being in Whisper Hollow. She lived in her own universe, the one she created in her head. Willow-world.
“‘Hey, Jade-o,’” Jade began reading, adding what Willow didn’t. “And Mama.”
Yes, I live, I breathe. But cyberspace doesn’t break open over the hills of Guatemala often, so take what you get. I can just hear you complaining. “Oh, finally, my baby sister e-mailed me.”
“I see she’s not changed. Everything is about her.” Mama sipped her tea, slowly settling against the back of the chair.
We had electricity and running water for a whole week and I wanted to declare a village celebration, but everyone was too busy washing, cooking, cleaning. Then one morning, blip, back to the Stone Age. All I got to say, no wonder the folks have so many kids. What else do they have to do at night? (And no lecture from you. I’m behaving myself.)
“Ha, I take back what I said. Maybe she has changed a bit.”
“I’d say giving up a hospital position to volunteer with the Guatemalan Red Cross shows some growth, Mama. I never thought she’d give up Starbucks for humanitarian work.”
Anyway, after two months, I’m still the tall, white American girl, genetically incapable of rolling her Rs as in
perro
(that’s dog for you Gringos). I crave Starbucks, and you don’t want to see my hands and feet. Pedi and mani first chance I get.
I’m glad I volunteered, Jade. It’s good to get a taste of the real world, taking a break from my final year of school, deciding if I’m right for med school. I know my dad wants me to go, but I’m not sure. So much brainpower, and so little ambition. What’s a girl to do?
Being a physician’s assistant might be enough for me. Like, do I want to go to school six more years just to write prescriptions? Shoot, I can do all the fun stuff as a PA. “Drop your drawers” and “This won’t hurt a bit.”(Insert sinister laugh here.)
Next month I’m on a medical team going into Cuba. I thought it’d be fun to drop in on the Fidel boys and see what’s got them all stingy and uptight.
“I was a Communist for a while,” Mama said.
“And probably on some blacklist in Washington.”
“Maybe.” Mama sipped her tea, grinning. “These days you’re the one probably on a list for
not
being a Commie.”
“I’ll remind them you’re my mother.”
So how’s things in Whisper Hollow? How’s the hunky hubby? You’re lucky I didn’t meet him first. I might just have stolen him right out from under you.
Mama spewed a bit of tea. “Oh Willow, always a dreamer. The kite in the breeze, that one.”
Any babies yet? It’s okay to ask, isn’t it? I am your sister after all.
Jade peeked at Mama, whose expression revealed nothing of her heart or thoughts.
How are the shops? Is Lillabeth still married to that gorgeous flyboy? Now him I did see first. Tossed him back in and don’t you know, your little Lillabeth hooked him.
Oh, here’s some news. Almost forgot. This will crack you up, Jade-o. I actually went on a date. One of the women who runs the clinic here, she’s from Kansas, what can I say, told me she thought I’d hit it off with this friend of hers. A local. I told her, nothing doing if he wasn’t at least five-nine. She said, “Oh yeah, he’s at least that tall.”
The woman needs a new measuring stick. Jade, he like came to the middle of my chest. He had a bird’s-eye view of my ladies, if you know what I mean. And he wanted to go dancing.
Jade laughed between words, a full picture of tall Willow and a short Guatemalan forming. Mama twittered behind her cup.
Every time he tried to put his hand on my shoulder, he had to dig his fingernails into my flesh or lose his grip. Twice his hand slipped, twice he caught my bra strap. I swear he was doing it on purpose.
So I decided. If he wants to kiss me good night (ha!), he’s going to have to figure out how reach my lips without me bending over. I’m sorry, I’m sounding like a snob, aren’t I?
Mama mumbled, “Yes.”
He really was nice, handsome, extremely intelligent. But we looked like circus freaks walking into the movie. The man must have read my mind, or gone out on a lot of dates with tall women, because when he brought me back to the clinic, he reached around the back of his seat and pulled out . . . brace yourself, a small stepladder. I kid you not. Step. Ladder. He walked me to the front door, snapped it open, climbed the two steps, grabbed my shoulders, and went for the kill.
Jade dropped the paper to her lap, shaking. Mama’s soft snicker powdered the room. Oh, Willow . . .
I held it in. I did. But he got a stiff-lipped kiss from me because, if I loosened up, I’d have never gotten control. And well, the man has feelings.
As soon as he left, I ran up to my room, dove to my bed, and laughed into my pillow for ten minutes. Felt the residuals of that one for two days. Some things really are worth the laugh.
So, what’s up with Aiden? I need to e-mail him, Mr. Shove-My-Religion-Down-Your-Throat. Here’s news that will freak you out. If what I’ve written already hasn’t tweaked your freak. I’ve started reading the Bible before going to bed at night. Don’t tell Aiden, though. I’m still mad at him for giving me the stupid thing for Christmas. What kind of present is that for your sister?
Oh, look at the time. Need to run.
Mama was listening, staring at her tea. “Tell Mama hi for me, hope she’s feeling better . . . and I love her.”
Write me. Love mucho, Willow
Jade folded the paper as Mama leaned to see. “She did not write, ‘I love her.’”
“Yes, she did.” Jade opened the middle drawer and slipped the e-mail inside.
“If you’re going to lie for your sister, Jade-o, at least try to sound like her. ‘Tell Mama hi for me, hope she’s feeling better . . . and I love her’? That’s what you, my roots-in-the-ground daughter would say. My kite-in-the-breeze daughter would say, ‘Tell Mama to give the doctors heck . . . and kiss, kiss, hug, hug.’”
Jade spun around. “So she didn’t write it. She meant to.”
“You don’t have to excuse her to me, Jade.” Mama rose, cradling her cup in her hand. The music had stopped. “I wasn’t there for her like I should’ve been.” Mama paused in the doorway, staring into the light-soaked shop. “It’s why she calls me Beryl and gives me a hard time about nearly everything. You and Mother raised her.”
“But you were there for her when I went to college.”
“Some. Mother mostly. Willow hated when I married Bob.” A silky laugh slipped through Mama’s nose. “Turns out, I hated being married to him too.” She regarded Jade with a lingering gaze. “I was born in Prairie City. Married four times in Prairie City. Gave birth to three children . . . in Prairie City. And Jade-o, I’m going to die in Prairie City.”
“It’s all in your mind, man. In. Your. Mind.” Max gazed out of his tenth-floor office window to the blooming garden of Chattanooga’s glowing streetlights.
Planting his feet, he fought his craving with his thoughts. Yet how could he deny the pain wrenching his back? Very real pain.
Today in court, when he saw he’d not convinced the jury, subtle twinges in his back had turned into a raging inferno.
One Percocet and he’d be fine. Okay, two. He’d be good for hours. Days. It didn’t mean he was addicted. Just meant he had a really bad back.
He’d call Tripp, be accountable like he’d pledged when he left rehab. Then he’d pop two pills and bye-bye misery.
A sharp, fiery pain gripped his hamstring and slithered down his calf. He trolled his yesterdays trying to find the beginning of the pain. Rice’s call? Jade’s news about Dad and Mom? Not that he was completely surprised by Dad’s indiscretion.
Office gossip flowed Max’s way from time to time. He’d observed Dad’s wandering eye a time or two but passed it off as harmless admiration of God’s handiwork.
Max grabbed a handful of his shirt at the waist. The pain was making him nauseous. And his day was far from over. In an hour, he’d head up the firm’s partner meeting with the satellite offices on videoconferencing. He needed to bring his A game. Not worries over infidelity or phone calls from ex-fiancées.
But he’d told Jade, right?
“Rice called
.” No secrets there. Well, no more secrets. Just the one he’d buried before the wedding when the past-is-the-past pact mattered. But then?
Pain sank deeper into his muscle, and on reflex Max jumped toward his closet. Toward his stash.
As his hand wrapped around the knob, moisture beaded on his forehead.
God, help me here
.
Since high school football, he’d been on some kind of pain medication. During college intramural basketball, he’d torn a rotator cuff. Pain meds became a permanent part of his mental and physical landscape.
Max glanced back at his desk where his iPhone sat in its docking station.
Call Tripp
.
A knock sounded on his office door as it was pushed open. “Max?”
“Dad.” He met him in the center of the room.
“Got a second?”
“For you? Sure.” Max used the diversion to work past his craving.
“I received some interesting news today.” Dressed casually in a polo shirt and loafers, Dad stood in front of the desk with his hands in his pockets. “I made the governor’s short list to replace Judge Lewison on the supreme court.”
“Really? Well, congratulations.” Max gave his dad a one-armed hug and the traditional backslaps. One-two-three. “The state supreme court. And before sixty-five. You said you’d do it.”
“Too early to celebrate. The other two are excellent choices, Robert Beisner and Ralph Bell.” Dad walked to the window. “It’s supposed to go below freezing tonight. Here we are, the end of March.”