Stepping to a New Day (12 page)

“How?”

“Because as I said, they love you, Marie. Very much. Gather your courage and talk to them. Then make peace with yourself so your blessings can flow.”

Marie blew her nose and thought about how she might do it, and realized she knew. “When Mal first started AA, I went with him to some of the meetings. At one, they talked about making amends being a big step in recovery. The members were encouraged to apologize to everyone they'd hurt.” She looked to Paula for reassurance. “Maybe I'll do that.”

“I think that's an excellent idea.”

Marie wiped her eyes and nodded to herself. “That's what I'm going to do.” Coming to see Paula was the light she'd needed. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Can I ask you something though?”

“Sure.”

“What made you decide to come and see me today?”

“Riley.”

“Curry?”

Marie nodded. “He came by to see Gen earlier and he was so . . . Riley—you just want to smack him 24-7. I looked at
him and then at myself and I felt like Gen wanted to do the same thing with me, especially after the way I taunted her this afternoon. I don't want people here dealing with me the way they deal with him. Might not make sense to you but it did to me.”

“The trigger doesn't really matter. I was just curious.”

“There were no visions or directives from the Lord involved.”

Paula laughed, then turned serious. “Welcome back.”

“You can welcome me back for real after I make amends.” She stood. “You're pretty good at this, Reverend Paula.”

“Just using my gifts the way I'm supposed to. And if you need to talk more I'm always here.”

Marie nodded and left the office. On her walk to the car, she felt lighter, freer. She was no longer Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain. A part of her was afraid to go through with the apologies she needed to make and wanted to run back to the house instead, but as Paula suggested, she gathered her courage and drove to the Dog.

When she walked in, Mal was behind the counter and surprise filled his eyes. “Marie?”

“Hey. Can we talk in your office for a minute?”

“Sure. Come on back.”

They entered and he closed the door. “Good to see you.”

“Thanks. Look, about Rita Lynn. I need to apologize.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do, Malachi, so for once can you just shut up, so I can say what I need to say.”

Humor twinkled in his eyes. “Floor's all yours.”

“I was loud, obnoxious, and wrong that day.”

“True.”

She exhaled an exaggerated sigh of frustration. “I'm trying to be serious here.”

He said softly, “I know, but I'm trying to tell you there's no need to be. If anybody should be apologizing, it's me. Marie, I'm sorry my cluelessness caused you so much pain. I truly didn't know. I've loved you all my life—and I still do, but not in that way. Nobody can kick me in the butt like you do and I've missed that and you these past few months.”

Marie swore softly as the tears broke free again.

He held out his arms. “Come here.”

He held her tightly and placed a solemn kiss on her forehead. “The love we have is strong. Always has been, always will be. And no, it's not the love I have for Bernadine but it's just as special and precious. Please forgive an old drunk for being so blind.”

Marie cried silently as that love filled her soul. And it was precious. They'd had each other's backs since they were old enough to walk and it was a bond they'd take to the grave.

He leaned back and looked her in the eye and she saw that his were wet, too. “I love you, girl, in a way I'll never love anyone else. Square business.”

She wiped her tears away and smiled. “Do you think kids these days say square business and mean it the way we did in the seventies?”

“Probably not, everybody's too busy lying.”

She laughed and for the next few moments thought back on all they'd done together, the shared fun, the arguments that never lasted long enough to be memorable, and she knew how blessed she was to call him friend. “Thanks, Mal.”

“You helped save my life, Marie. It doesn't get much better
than that. Now, before we both start bawling again, how about some lunch? My treat.”

“You're on.”

After lunch, Marie was still feeling good about herself and her friendship with Mal. When she pulled into the driveway at her home, she assumed Genevieve was home and she was hit by a bit of apprehension. Suppose Gen threw her apology back in her face because of the hell she'd put her through these past few months. She decided the only way to find out was to go in and see. And pray.

Marie heard her moving around in her bedroom, so she stuck her head in the partially opened door and knocked softly. “Gen?”

Gen turned and seeing Marie, frowned. “Yes?”

“I went to see Reverend Paula today to talk about my issues.”

Her face softened. “That's so great, Marie. Did she help?”

“A lot. I'm so sorry for being such a witch. You of all people didn't deserve the treatment I've been dishing out. I'm apologizing to everybody I hurt, hoping they'll forgive me.”

That earned her a soft smile.

“I've missed you.”

“I've missed myself. Can you forgive me?”

“You know I can. What brought this on?”

“Riley.”

“Huh?”

Marie laughed. “As the kids say: What had happened was . . .”

For the next hour they talked, shed a few tears over the pain that had divided them, and began slowly resurrecting
their lifelong friendship. “I'm doing my own 12-step program by apologizing to everyone I've hurt. I already talked to Mal.”

“How'd it go?”

Marie thought back. “It went well. I still need to talk to Trent and Lily and Rita Lynn.”

Gen paused. “You sure you want to talk to her?”

“No, but I need to. She's Trent's mother and she'll be visiting again sooner or later, so I need to clear the air. We'll probably never be BFFs but I don't want drama between us spilling onto Trent and Lily's marriage.”

“You're right,” she said, and added, “Look at you being all mature and rational.”

“And you don't have to move now.”

But Genevieve's response was not what Marie thought it would be. “I do,” she said gently. “It's time for me to fly on my own. We'll still be best friends and do what best friends do, but I need my own place. You taking me in after I left Riley has meant so much. You helped me grow up. A lot. Clay doesn't like this new me, but I hope you do.”

“I do,” Marie replied. “And thanks for not throwing my apology back in my face.”

“I'd never do that.”

“I know, but I worried I'd treated you so badly that you wanted to punch me out like you did Riley that day at the Dog.”

“Which he deserved. I admit, there were a few times I wanted to punch you too but I was more hurt than angry.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Gen said reassuringly. “We're good now, right?”

“Yes, we are.” Joy filled Marie's heart. “And let me apologize for the Morgan Freeman remark this morning.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So, tell me about him. Do you like him?”

“I do, but we're just friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We are, Marie.”

Marie smiled. “You're blushing, Genevieve.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Go away unless you want to help me pack.”

“Hand me a box.”

W
hen Eli came home from school, he checked the mailbox first thing, hoping to get news from the art competition. He rifled through the small stack of envelopes at warp speed and stopped at the one addressed to him. The return address showed the name of the museum running the contest. He ripped it open as if it held gold and read:

               
Dear Eli,

               
Thank you for your submission. The judges found your sculpture to be outstanding. However it was not picked as the best in its category. Much success with your artistic endeavors in the future. Your bust will be returned via mail. Sincerely . . .

He dropped his head and went inside. Disappointed, he sailed the letter across the room and plopped down onto the sofa. “Damn!” He'd been so confident the bust of his mom would win first place and he'd planned to use the scholar
ship money as part of the leverage he needed to convince his dad to let him attend community college in California. Now, he was no closer to that goal than he'd been a week ago. He sighed dejectedly. Feeling sorry for himself, he sat there for a good twenty minutes before deciding to hell with it. He'd planned to surprise his dad with dinner so he got up, walked into the kitchen, and washed his hands.

The meal would be a simple one: broiled whitefish, a salad, and mashed red potatoes. His dad always left for school earlier than Eli so that morning, after his departure, Eli took the whitefish fillets out of the freezer to let them thaw in the fridge. Now, following Siz's written instructions, he put the potatoes in a pot of water to boil, put the lid on it, turned on the burner, and began working on the fish and the marinade. Once the seasoned fillets were ready, he placed them on the foil-lined broiler pan, set it aside, and checked the potatoes. His eyes widened seeing white foamy water boiling out from beneath the lid and sizzling down the side of the pot. He quickly grabbed the lid, singed his fingers, and immediately dropped the thing onto the floor. Cursing, he danced around a minute before turning on the faucet in the sink and sticking his hand into the stream of cold water. With the lid removed the over-boiling water subsided. His hand felt better too, so he dried it gingerly, said a small prayer of thanks, and made a note for the future not to use a lid when boiling potatoes. He put the lid in the sink.

He let the potatoes boil for another twenty minutes and placed the fish under the broiler. Siz said it would only take a few minutes, so Eli very carefully poured the water and softened potatoes into the colander waiting in the sink. Siz suggested rinsing the pot and quickly putting the potatoes back
inside, adding some milk and butter and putting the lid back on so they'd stay hot while Eli searched for the potato masher. He found the masher and began mashing, and other than burning the heck out of his fingers he thought he'd done a pretty good job. There was a knock at the door. He put the lid back on the potatoes and went to answer it. Crystal.

“I came in first place!” Crystal exclaimed.

He wanted to slam the door on her. Instead he grumbled, “Cool.”

“Not really,” she confessed. “I got a Dear Crystal letter saying thanks for submitting.”

“So did I.”

“Well, we tried. You okay?” she asked gently.

“No. I wanted to win so bad.”

“Me, too.”

So they talked for a few minutes more and then Crystal asked, “Are you cooking something?”

And he turned to see smoke filling the air. “Oh, no! My fish!”

He ran to the kitchen to find black acrid smoke rolling out of the oven like dry ice in a horror flick. The smoke detectors screamed shrilly.

Crystal shouted, “Look through the glass in the door first! Make sure it isn't on fire. Where's your extinguisher?”

Ignoring her advice, Eli yanked down the oven door and billowing smoke rushed out like a fast-moving cloud. Coughing, he grabbed pot holders and quickly pulled the pan out. The fillets looked like charred black hot dogs. “Aw, man!” He was walking the pan to the sink counter when he noticed his dad standing beside Crystal.

“Hey, Eli,” his dad said, eyes twinkling with muted amusement.

An angry Eli tossed the pan in the sink. “No jokes, Dad. Okay?”

“No jokes here. What was that supposed to be?”

A chuckling Crystal said, “I'll see myself out.
Bon appetit.”

Eli glared at her retreating back. When he heard the front door close, he answered, “Whitefish fillets. I was going to surprise you with dinner. Thought I needed to step up so you could come home and chill and not have to cook for me all the time.”

“I appreciate the gesture.”

“Too bad it turned out to be crap.”

“The thought counts, though.”

“Can't eat thoughts.”

“No.”

“Didn't win the art competition, either. The letter came today.”

“I'm sorry. I know how hard you worked on the bust.”

Eli shrugged. “Thanks. Today sucks.”

“Mine didn't. My son tried to make my life easier, and that's a good thing in my book. Do you want to eat at the Dog?”

“No, because Siz will ask me how my cooking went and I don't want to have to tell him I screwed up after he spent all last week giving me lessons.”

“Then how about we make a quick run to the store, pick up some fish, and start over?”

“You'd trust me to try again?”

“Of course.”

His fingers tingled. “Burned my fingers learning not to put a lid on the pot when you boil potatoes.”

“We all learn that the hard way,” his dad assured him. “Do we need to swing by and have Doc Reg check you out?”

“No. I think I'll live, but I may have trouble typing that paper due next week.”

“Don't even try it,” his dad tossed back.

Eli grinned. He felt better. “Then let's go to the store.”

“I'll drive.”

Eli's second attempt at dinner turned out to be better than the first. There was no smoke, no singed fingers, and although the mashed potatoes had lots of lumps, not even he could screw up a salad.

When they were done eating, his dad said, “Good job, Eli. When you live in your apartment you'll need to know how to cook.”

Eli thought this might be the perfect time to bring up California, but he let the moment pass. His dad was just going to say no and he'd had enough disappointment for the day. “I'll try not to burn the place down.”

“Good plan.”

And they shared a smile.

“You haven't been going to Sam's in the evening lately. You two call it quits?” his dad asked.

Eli squirmed.

“Sorry. Didn't meant to get in your business.”

“It's okay. She called it quits. Said she didn't want to have a boyfriend when she goes away to school in the fall.”

His dad studied him. “And how do you feel about it?”

Eli shrugged. “It's not like I can tie her up and keep her in the basement like the mayor of Franklin did that kid last fall. I told her fine. We agreed to stay friends.” He wanted to change the subject. “Gram and Jack Sr. still coming this weekend?”

“Far as I know. And I want to tell you something before I tell anyone else. I asked Rock to marry me. She said yes.”

His mouth dropped. “Awesome, Dad.” He was genuinely pleased. Finally something to make the day better. “Can I be the ring bearer?”

His father laughed. “No, but I do want you to be my best man.”

Eli stared and the sudden lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. “Really?” he croaked.

“Really.”

“Then, yes.”

“Thank you, Eli.”

“Have you set a date?”

“Not yet, but I'll let you know.”

“I'm real glad for you two. Rock is a boss.”

“Yes, she is. I didn't think I'd love anyone else after your mother died, but . . .”

Eli wanted him to be happy and with Rocky he was pretty sure he would be. Which meant she'd be his stepmother and that was pretty awesome, too. When he and his dad first moved to town, she, like everyone else, had had no time for Eli's whining and complaining, even nicknamed him Oscar the Grouch, but since then he'd grown to care about her and she for him. “Do you think she'll let me ride the Shadow now that we're going to be family?” She'd restored a classic Vincent Black Shadow and it was the most badazz motorcycle Eli had ever seen.

“No.”

“Aww, come on. I can probably handle it.”

His father gave him the side-eye. “Probably?”

“Maybe.”

His father chuckled like dads do when their kids are talking crazy. “Take it up with Rock.”

Which also meant no, so he let it go.

“Have you been looking for apartments over by the community college?”

“Uh, not yet. I've been waiting to have a weekend free of work. Planning on taking Crystal with me when I do go.”

“Okay, I'll want to see the places you look at before you decide.”

“No problem.”

His dad stood. “And now, since you cooked, I'll clean up so you can start your homework. Thanks for dinner.”

“You're welcome. I figure I'll cook on Mondays and Wednesdays. You can have Tuesdays and Thursdays, if that's okay?”

“Works for me. That way we can both take the weekend off.”

For a moment though his dad simply stood there taking him in. “I'm proud of what you did for me today, son. You're growing up.”

“'Bout time.”

His father shrugged. “I knew you'd get around to it. If you don't mind, I'd like to buy the bust you made of your mother when the committee sends it back.”

“You don't have to buy it, Dad.”

“Yeah, I do. It's an incredible piece and artists should be paid for their work.”

Eli was humbled by that. “Okay. I'll figure out a price and let you know.”

“Good.”

Interacting with his dad made him think of Wyatt and all the things he was missing out on by not having one. “I'm going to teach Wyatt to skateboard.”

His dad stopped in the midst of clearing the table. “That's nice of you.”

“Most us kids have dads, but he doesn't and I just thought maybe I could be like a big brother or something. I talked to Ms. Gemma and she liked the idea.”

His dad stared. “Who are you and what have you done with the boy formerly known as Eli?”

He laughed. “Stop it, Dad.”

“I'm serious. Who are you?”

Eli eyed his dad with a growing fondness. They didn't usually talk smack to each other but he was enjoying it. “It may take me a while to save up the money for his gear, but it's something I want to do.”

“I'll tell you what. I'll throw in thirty dollars to get you started. On your salary, Wyatt may be twenty-five before you save up enough.”

“You got jokes tonight.”

“I do, but only because I like who you're growing up to be.”

The lump was back in his throat. “Thanks.”

“I'll transfer the money into your account once I'm done in the kitchen. Proud of you, son.”

Eli nodded.

Up in his room, Eli was on his back on his bed tossing a baseball from hand to hand while recapping the evening. His first attempt at dinner had been disastrous but everything turned out in the end. The praise he'd gotten for his efforts and for helping out Wyatt felt good and made him think he was redeeming himself in his dad's eyes. Eli didn't want the nasty smart-assed kid he'd once been to be his legacy. He preferred being thought of as mature and as his dad's best man. The offer made him smile again. Rocky would have Jack James jumping through hoops from Henry Adams to Saturn. Of course, she'd do it in a good and loving way. He wondered
what his mom would think of his dad marrying again, and of her son finally getting his act together. He was sure she'd be okay with the upcoming marriage because she'd always wanted the people she loved to be happy, and as for Eli, he sensed that she was as proud of him as he was of himself.

Eli got up to start his homework. Although he was still disappointed with not winning the art competition it wouldn't stop him from sculpting. If anything, he was more determined than ever to make a name for himself through his art. He just hoped he'd get to do it in California. His phone sounded. It was a text from Amari:
Have you talked to Tamar yet?! Father
's Day will be here in a hot minute!

Chagrined, Eli put the phone down. He'd totally forgotten his mission. He put it on his to-do list and settled in to begin the assignment.

The following morning, Gen woke up excited. Her mobile home was coming today. Its imminent arrival and knowing Marie was back in her right mind made for a very happy Genevieve. Of course Riley and his hog were in town but nothing said she had to deal with them. All in all, her life was on track and the future looked bright.

Downstairs, she and Marie ate breakfast and for the first time in months actually shared a conversation. Gen asked, “So, what's on your agenda for today?”

“Going to go over to the Power Plant and talk to Trent. Need to make my peace with him and Lily, then get Rita Lynn's number.”

“You're being very brave.”

“Thanks,” she said while mixing her eggs in with her grits the way she liked them. “And you? What's on your plate?”

“My mobile home of course.”

Marie smiled. “Oh, that's right. Today's the day. Pretty exciting.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What time is it coming?”

Gen looked up at the clock on the wall. It was seven thirty. “They said they'd deliver it by eight, eight thirty. They have to hook up all the utilities but I should be able to move in hopefully by this afternoon.” She felt like a little kid on Christmas Eve.

“Do you want me to drop you off on my way into town?”