Sweet Contradiction (4 page)

“You should eat, Jen,” I said softly. Jen’s gaze met mine and then she glanced down at the cobbler and tea in front of her in confusion, as if she were wondering how they had gotten there.

“I probably should,” she murmured. Her motions seemed mechanical as she grasped the fork in her fingers and cut into her cobbler. When she had taken a few bites, she sat her fork down and jumped up from her chair so abruptly that I jumped out of my own in concern. She had a panicked look on her face and wisps of her hair that had come free of her French braid floated around her head as she glanced around wildly, looking for something. “I need to find some boxes.” I looked up into her face, not understanding what she was saying—boxes?

“What do you need boxes for?” I asked her as I came around the table. She didn’t seem to hear me as she turned and strode through the kitchen door. I followed close behind her as she made her way into the hallway and jerked open a closet door. “Jen, what do you need boxes for right now?”

“I need to go through my momma’s stuff. She’d want some of it donated to a woman’s shelter or something. She would have wanted it that way,” she said frantically as she started throwing hangers, pillows, and miscellaneous items out of the closet. I tried to wrap my brain around what she was saying. She was wanting to go through her momma’s things on the day of her funeral? I put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to do this right now? It can wait a few days at least.” She threw my hand off of her shoulder and began stomping through the house toward the back guest bedroom.

“I need to do this now, Beth. If you ever loved me you’ll help me find some boxes,” she hollered over her shoulder. I ran down the hall to catch up with her. She was on her hands and knees, looking through the guest bedroom closet. “No boxes. Why don’t we have any boxes? We have everything else in this house, but no boxes.”

“Jen—you know I love you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea …” She was already out the door and moving onto another room before I could finish. I had never seen her like that before, she was always so calm, always so orderly. I’d never seen her so worked up over anything. She was entering her mom’s bedroom when I caught up with her. “Surely this can wait until later, Jen. You need some time….”

“I don’t have time, Beth!” she screamed the words and I flinched. Jen never screamed. “Don’t you understand? Time is always running out, we think we have time, we think we have one more day, but tomorrow
never
comes for some of us.” Her voice broke and she covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide.

And just like that, the dam finally gave way, as if she had finally given herself permission to break down and really mourn her mother. As she let the cloak of strength she’d been carrying around for several days slip away from her shoulders, she crumbled to the floor. I caught her in my arms at the foot of her mother’s bed and rocked her back and forth as she cried her heart out. I smoothed back her hair, murmured how sorry I was, and sang softly to her as the afternoon wore into the evening hours. I cried along with her, my heart breaking for her and with her, and when we couldn’t cry any longer, we climbed into her momma’s bed and wrapped a hand stitched quilt around us and fell asleep wishing we’d had more time with one of the best women ever to grace this dusty old planet.

had my ear buds in my ears and was bouncing around the kitchen, preparing breakfast when Jen finally came down. Well,
preparing
was a bit of a stretch—I was warming up a breakfast casserole and apple pie and had some coffee brewing.

“Hey,” I said softly. “How are you?” She looked better than I did. When I woke up at 10 o’clock am, I had eyes so puffy I was surprised I was able to open them and let’s not even mention the circles under them or the rats nest of hair on top of my head. Jen looked picture perfect. She always seemed to be able to pull that off effortlessly. She smiled at me and to anyone else it would have looked genuine, but I could tell the difference when the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m good,” she answered easily.

“I made breakfast.” I waved around a plate full of casserole and apple pie and then placed it before her with a flourish.” She raised her eyebrow.

“Made?” she asked a little too politely. I snorted.

“Well, I warmed it up, anyway.” I waved off her little smirk.

“So, how does Salem look to you after four years?” she asked around a mouthful of food. I washed down a bite of apple pie with some ice cold milk.

“Same as always. I ran into Beau Montgomery at the Piggly Wiggly not fifteen minutes after I rolled into town.” Jen’s eyes rounded and she sat down her coffee cup.

“You. Did. Not. Holy cow. What happened?”

“Why would you think anything happened? Maybe I just said hello and went on my way,” I said sweetly. Jen stared at me and then rolled her eyes.

“Elizabeth Michaels, I’ve known you since we were in second grade and there’s no way you were able to just say
hello
to Beau Montgomery,” she said with her fork pointed in my direction. I sighed. She was right—subtle was
not
my middle name and I was never one to back down from a fight.

“I told him his muscles were bigger … and his brain cells were still diminishing.” I shook my head, still wondering what I’d been thinking when I heard a snort coming from the other end of the table. I glanced up and found Jen’s face red and a smile splitting her face.

“I’d loved to have seen that,” she said with a laugh. I smiled and shrugged.

“I just snapped. Unfortunately, Beau wasn’t none too pleased and he was spittin’ fire angry. He actually acted like he would’ve hit me,” I said, remembering the dangerous glint in his eye and the bulging red vein on his neck. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Sexy Eyes….

“Beau isn’t the same guy we knew in high school. You’d do best to steer clear of him,” Jen said as she forked a mouthful of pie into her mouth. I nodded. She was right, he wasn’t the same. He was a whole lot more dangerous.

“I did meet someone I’d never seen in Salem before,” I said. Jen stood and took her plate over to the sink.

“Oh yeah, and who’s that?” she asked as she washed her dishes.

“I don’t know, but Beau called him
Rev.
I assume that’s short for Trevor or something,” I said thoughtfully. Jen made a choked sound and turned around to look at me.

“Rev?” she asked. I shrugged. “Describe him,” she said quickly as she began drying her hands. Okaaaay.

“Well, he was taller than me by about four or five inches, had nice, wavy, sun-streaked brown hair, and the most amazing pair of eyes—the color of warmed honey,” I answered, picturing the guy standing right in front of me. Too bad he wasn’t my type, I thought with a regretful sigh. When I looked up, Jen was staring at me with her mouth hanging open in surprise.

“What?” I asked in confusion. “Do you know him? He said he knew your momma,” I said softly. Jen looked at me a moment longer, her gaze growing thoughtful before she turned around to put away the dishes she had just washed.

“Yeah, I know him,” she answered. When she didn’t go on, I found myself impatient, wondering, despite knowing that he wasn’t my type, who exactly the guy was.

“Well?” I asked with a tap of my foot.

“Well, what?” she asked, grinning impishly.

“Well, what do you know about him?” Geez, make a girl sound desperate for some info on a guy, why dontcha?

“Oh,” she turned and shrugged her shoulders as she sat back in her seat. “Not much to tell, really. His name is Matthew Wright. He’s a few years older than us and his family is mostly from Rolla. His mom and dad bought a small farm here in Salem a few years back. He has two brothers—one older and one younger, but I haven’t met either one of them yet.” Wow. She knew a lot about him. I wondered what she thought about him. He was exactly her type. Smart, small town guy, even the way he dressed. They would make a beautiful couple. “He’s not your type though,” she stated matter-of-factly. I bristled at that.

“What makes you think he isn’t my type?” I asked, offended for no apparent reason. She just smiled and raised a brow. I groaned. I forgot how it was to be around someone who knew you better than you know yourself.

“Well, just so you know … I’m not interested anyway,” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest. “He’s a small town kinda guy and I don’t plan on being here long enough to check out the local stock.” I was joking, but I realized my error almost immediately when I saw the look on Jen’s face. Her face flushed and she cleared her throat.

“How long do you plan on staying, anyway?” she asked, not meeting my eye. Crap.

“I don’t know, long enough to make sure you’re okay and to help with whatever you need me to.” I glanced down at the coffee cup in my hand. “A few days,” I said, honestly.

“A few days?” Jen slammed her hand on the table and I jumped guiltily.

“I need you. Surely you can stay a couple months,” she said as she stood with her hands on her hips. I slunk down into my chair.

“Jen, I can’t—I …” She cut me off with a withering glare.

“You have been gone for four years,” she said too calmly. She walked over to a drawer and pulled out a stack of cards. “Four years and all we’ve ever received were postcards from all over the U.S., and the occasional phone call.” She tossed the postcards on the table and I saw my own handwriting and pictures of cities from at least a dozen different places scatter across the white table in front of me. “I need you right now, Beth.” I sighed, I knew she was right, I just didn’t know how long I could stomach staying in this town.