The Scent of Lilacs (19 page)

David climbed through the hole in the rock fence and walked through the apple trees. He picked up one of the June apples that were beginning to fall and rubbed it off on his shirt. It was still so tart it set his teeth on edge, but he kept eating around the bruises as he went through his prayer routine in the apple trees. As he passed each tree, he repeated one of the Beatitudes and prayed for someone on his prayer list.

“ ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ Dear God, please bless and protect Hazel Warren as she goes to the doctor this week. ‘Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.’ Watch over James Perry as he continues to grieve the death of his wife.”

And on he went past the trees and through his prayers. He didn’t normally offer up his family prayers in the trees, but this morning when he got to the Beatitude about the pure in heart, he paused and prayed for Jocie’s party.

“Lord, a birthday party may not seem all that important. But
we need some help down here, and we’re trusting you to know the sort of help we need.”

He went through the rest of the trees before he let himself think about birthdays and birthday cake and who was bringing a cake today. He’d noticed Leigh this week. Really noticed her. He didn’t know why he hadn’t before. She seemed to be in his line of vision at least two or three times a day.

She was young but not all that young. She had an air about her as if she’d heard a funny story but she’d forgotten the ending and didn’t know if she should laugh or not. He wanted to tell her to laugh, that no matter what the story was, it was better to laugh.

He’d heard her laughing with Zella a few days ago. He didn’t know what they were talking about, had tried not to eavesdrop on their conversation, but Leigh’s laugh had been so clear and honest that it had lifted his spirits and made him think about getting up to go see if he could find a way to get another laugh to bubble out into the office air. But while he was wavering on whether he should or shouldn’t, the front door had opened and shut and Leigh was gone.

When he had stuck his head out of his office door, Zella had looked up and said, “Too late. The story of your life. Always a minute too late.”

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” David had said.

“That’s the truth if you ever spoke it.” Zella had given a little snort as she turned back to her typewriter and began pounding it extra hard.

He’d retreated into his office knowing she was right. When Adrienne had left, he’d never thought about another woman. Adrienne was his wife. He’d made vows. For better or worse. Through sickness and health. Till death.

At first he’d thought Adrienne would come back. Weeks had passed and then months. And he’d known, but he’d put off thinking about it. Even when the divorce papers had come in the mail,
even when he’d finally signed them, he’d still felt married, still felt as if he had to be faithful to those vows even though they were empty and meaningless now. Perhaps that was just because he was afraid of moving past those vows, afraid of starting over.

So now he looked straight into the eyes of that fear. The fear of being hurt again. The fear of not being worthy of a woman’s love. The fear of failure. How could a young woman like Leigh think a man beginning to lose his hair like David was attractive? Maybe it was just an elaborate Jupiterian joke Wes had thought up, but no, Wes and Zella never worked together on anything. And even Jocie had been pushing Leigh at him last night. Of course, she’d also been humming “Hound Dog” all night. She’d said Leigh had all of Elvis Presley’s records.

David didn’t need another daughter. He didn’t know what to do with the two he had. Especially one of the two. Tabitha had been a mystery ever since she’d shown up in the rocking chair on the front porch. That night she’d seemed happy enough to be home, but ever since then she’d acted half afraid to even look in his direction. He couldn’t help wondering what Adrienne had told her during the years she’d been gone. And it wasn’t just him. She would hardly talk to Jocie either. David just hoped she’d stay quiet and polite through the party today and not pitch an Adrienne birthday fit. Adrienne had hated having birthdays, had made you sorry if you mentioned the day. Surely Tabitha couldn’t be worried about a birthday. Didn’t kids want to turn twenty?

David forgot to pay attention to where he was walking and set his foot down in a squishy cow pile in the middle of Herman Crutcher’s cow pasture. He scraped his shoe bottom and sides against a tall clump of grass. “Okay, Lord,” he said. “You got my attention. I’ll get back to praying and trust you to help me figure out all this other. I’m so confused I don’t even know what I need to figure out first.”

He was coming back through the apple trees when he spotted
someone waiting for him at the gate. Not Jocie. Jocie would have been waiting at the hole in the rock fence, because she knew that’s the way he went. He looked at Tabitha standing with her hand on the old unused gate, and a pain stabbed through him. She was a stranger. His daughter, but a stranger nonetheless.

T
abitha rubbed the rose on her cheek as she watched her father walking toward her through the apple trees. She remembered the apple trees being taller and not so gnarled.

That’s the way everything had been since she’d come back. Of course, she remembered things. After all, she’d been thirteen when she’d left, but nothing was quite as big or bright or good as she remembered. She had treasured her thoughts of home until they had become a kind of fairy tale, a Hansel and Gretel gingerbread house without the witch.

But there wasn’t any gingerbread. There was cabbage and burnt beans, and a weird aunt who wasn’t so crazy that she didn’t know why Tabitha kept flipping her breakfast, and a little sister who was nothing like the little kid she remembered, and a father who she didn’t know anymore, who maybe she’d never known.

A thirteen-year-old can’t know her father. She certainly hadn’t known how much she had depended on him, how much she would miss him, until she went with DeeDee. A thousand times she’d wished she’d never awakened in the middle of that night and caught her mother packing.

DeeDee hadn’t intended to take her, had told her to go back to bed and keep her mouth shut till morning. That’s what she should have done, but instead she’d gone to her room, stuffed an armload of clothes into a duffel bag, scribbled a quick note to her dad, and gone to sit in the car till her mother came tiptoeing out of the house
with her own bag. Tabitha’s heart had pounded in her chest as the black night closed in on her. Off in the distance, a dog had started barking, and Stumpy had answered from behind the house. A train had passed through town a couple of miles away, and the sound of its whistle at the crossings had been like a signal to leave.

Her mother had ordered her out of the car, but Tabitha had grabbed hold of the steering wheel and threatened to scream if her mother tried to push her out. DeeDee had surprised her by laughing. “You’re making a mistake, girlie. A big mistake.”

“Then maybe we should both stay.” Tabitha had turned loose of the steering wheel.

“It’s not a mistake for me. The only mistake I made was not leaving about a hundred years ago.” She’d started the engine and looked over at Tabitha. “Last chance for a normal life. I’m not leaving to find normal.”

Tabitha had looked back at the house. No lights, everybody inside asleep. Not just asleep but practically petrified by their dullness. Nothing ever changed in Hollyhill, and Tabitha had been ready for things to change.

“Okay, girl. That’s it. You can’t start crying ten miles down the road and expect me to turn around. I’m driving out of here and never coming back. Ever.”

Tabitha hadn’t said anything, and her mother had slowly inched the car down the lane without the headlights on. In the years since, she’d often wondered what her life would have been like if she’d opened the door and gotten out. For sure she wouldn’t be in the mess she was in now. She’d never have met Jerome in California.

She should have known better. DeeDee had told her over and over she should have known better, but Jerome had made her feel so special. It had been so long since she’d felt special. So loved. Of course, he hadn’t loved her. Had split at the first hint of a problem. Left her to face the music alone. Her mother had asked her what else she expected from a musician, especially a drummer. Hadn’t
she been around enough of the sorry losers her mother had dragged in to know better?

Her father was close enough that she could see him smiling at her now, and she wanted to run back into the house and climb into the back of the closet and just stay there in the dark. She wouldn’t think. She’d just breathe and count the spots that floated in the dark air. Her stomach rolled, and she started to stick her finger down her throat so she could go on and throw up and get it over with.

That’s what Aunt Love kept telling her. That she needed to get it over with. She’d begged Aunt Love to tell her father for her, but Aunt Love said it was something she had to do herself. That hiding things didn’t make them go away, especially not babies. That stomachs kept getting bigger and bigger and babies always came out eventually.

Sometimes Aunt Love didn’t sound like an old spinster aunt. She sounded as if she really knew what she was talking about. Of course, she’d told her that the morning sickness should have ended a week or two ago, and Tabitha was still throwing up at least once every morning.

Tabitha swallowed down the nausea as best she could and pushed a smile across her face as her father got closer. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart. I’m so happy I can tell you that in person today.”

“Birthday?” Tabitha hadn’t looked at a calendar for weeks because she didn’t want to think about the days passing, the baby growing inside her pushing out her belly. “Is it my birthday?”

“You didn’t remember?”

“No. DeeDee never made much fuss over birthdays. I don’t even know when hers is. She didn’t want to have birthdays.”

“But you always had fun celebrating birthdays when you were here.”

“Things were different after we left. We had fun other ways.”

“Did you have fun, Tabitha? I always hoped you did. You always
loved to laugh when you were a little girl. You used to laugh about the silliest things until you had to sit on the floor and hold your sides.”

“I remember,” Tabitha said. “I used to beg you to tickle me just so I’d have something to laugh about. I wish I could laugh like that now.”

“Why can’t you?” her father asked.

“Nothing’s that funny anymore.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that. I’d have thought everything in Hollyhill might seem funny to you after California.”

“I haven’t been to Hollyhill. I’ve only been here with you and Jocie and Aunt Love.”

“Well, there you go. That should be enough to keep you laughing for days, especially if you throw in Jocie’s ugly mutt and Aunt Love’s crazy cat.”

Tabitha hadn’t intended to cry. She hadn’t cried when DeeDee had given her the money Jerome had left with DeeDee to get rid of the baby. She hadn’t cried when DeeDee had told her she couldn’t be a grandmother, that Eddie wouldn’t be able to live with a grandmother.

Tabitha had understood. Always before it had been DeeDee who had gotten tired of the men she brought home and kicked them out, but ever since the first time DeeDee had heard Eddie singing with his band, she’d done whatever it took to keep Eddie happy. Even though he was years younger than her. Even though he drank too much. Even though he made no secret that he was just there till something better came along. But DeeDee wasn’t willing to give up even a day with Eddie for Tabitha or her baby.

She didn’t know what she’d expected from her mother. Not tears, but DeeDee had cried when she’d put her on the bus. Tabitha had been too surprised to cry then. She hadn’t cried all the way across the country on those bouncy old buses. She’d just put her hands over her stomach and worried the baby might be jostled out. That
had surprised her too—how much she wanted the baby to be okay when heaven only knew everything would be easier if the bumps had knocked her loose. She just knew the baby was a girl.

But now she cried. Great racking sobs that had to have been stored up inside her for weeks. Her father pulled her close and let her cry, still not knowing, still not guessing the trouble she’d brought him from California.

DeeDee had told her what to expect. Not from her father, but from the people in Hollyhill. Especially the church people. She said they’d whisper about her, point fingers of shame at her, shun her. And that it would just get worse after the baby came, especially if he took after Jerome.

But she’d said her father would help her. That he had an inner core of goodness that even DeeDee hadn’t been able to dent, though she’d given it her best shot.

Of course, they hadn’t thought about her father still preaching, much less having his own church. That’s the reason Tabitha hadn’t told him. She hadn’t wanted to spoil things for him at Mt. Pleasant the way her mother had years ago at New Liberty.

Her father stroked her hair and spoke softly. “Let it all out, sweetheart. It’s okay.”