Unconditional (11 page)

“You the po-po.” The police.

“Nope.”

“FBI.”

“No, Macon. This is ridiculous. I'm just a friend of Joe's, all right?”

“Naw, I'm not buyin' that. Give it to me straight, or I'm tellin' Joe you up to somethin'. I'll tell him you were in T's house.”

I stopped again, this time facing him head on. I felt my face flush, my eyes grow narrow. “Oh, I see. Okay, I'll play along. Name your price.”

“What?”

“Name your price. I've seen how you play. You want something from me. Am I right? So what's it gonna cost me, Macon? Name your price.”

I watched his eyes shift back and forth as he calculated an answer. “Double what was in the grocery box. A case of Coke.
Three
big bags of M&Ms. And a
roll
of quarters.”

“Is that all?”

Macon looked over to his sister, back to me. “The horse! You gonna take Keisha to see that horse of yours. And if you do one more crazy thing, I swear I'm telling Joe. I can
promise
you that.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Macon was a player all right. But he was straightforward with anyone who understood his rules. “Uh-hunh,” I said, extending my hand toward him, daring him to shake it. “Well, sir.
You
just made
me
a promise.”

Chapter Ten

I told the
children to run on ahead of me and that I'd catch up to them. “Just get on back to Joe's,” I said.

As soon as they were out of earshot, I pulled my phone from my purse. After meeting with Detective Miller the week before, I had entered his number into my phone in case I ever needed to speak with him again. Obviously, going to his office was a waste of time. But with what I now knew about Anthony Jones, there might be something more for him to look into.

I dialed the number, and it went straight to voicemail. “Detective Miller, this is Samantha Crawford. I know you think I'm crazy, but I need you to run a name for me. Anthony Jones. Five-seventy-eight Shelby Avenue, here in Nashville. He's a mechanic. Please. Just run the name and call me back.” I recited my number before ending the call.

I flipped the top of my cell phone back into place just as a door squeaked open behind me. Anthony stepped out of the door and onto his stoop, no more than thirty yards away. He wore clean slacks and a pressed shirt. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. As he lit it, his eyes locked on where I stood, startling me. There was no mistaking it this time: He saw me.

I turned and walked, moving as quickly as I dared, forcing myself not to run so as not to appear afraid or out of place.

Quite honestly, I couldn't have been more of both.

Back at Joe's,
I found Macon sitting with Joe at one of the tables and having a private conversation. The noise of happy, playing children drowned out his words, but it was obvious Macon was telling on me.

Joe's look said it all.

He stood and confronted me. “Is this true?” Concern laced his words.

I closed my eyes momentarily, opening them to look at Macon with eyes of accusation.

“About the horse and the farm?” Joe said.

Denise stepped out of the back door, carrying a plate stacked with peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. At seeing her, the kids rushed noisily for a seat at the picnic tables. I was grateful for the brief interruption, for the chance to look Macon in the eye, to see the mischief there. He was no deceiver—at least, not this time. This time he was a plotter.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

Joe's face showed nothing but gratitude. He clapped his hands. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen!”

The children stopped instantly, as did Denise. All gave their full attention to Papa Joe. “I got a huge announcement. Out of the graciousness of her heart, Miss Sam has invited
all
of you on a field trip to her farm!”

The children erupted in cheers of pleasure and excitement.

And what was I to say? I could only smile at them. At Denise, whose hand was now clasped over her mouth in surprise. At Joe, whose look of genuine appreciation was almost more than I could bear.

And at Macon, who gave me his best “I just got you so good” expression. I swallowed. He may be the child, and I may be the adult, but there was no doubt I'd have to get up earlier in the morning to keep up with him.

One of the older girls raised her hands. “Papa Joe?”

“Yeah, Peach?”

“When?”

Joe looked at me.

Today was Wednesday. Thursday and Friday were school days. If they came on Saturday, we could make it an overnighter. “Uh . . . Saturday?”

Joe clapped his hands once, before rubbing them together. “Saturday it is!”

Bernard raised his hand. “Papa Joe? How we all gonna get there?”

Joe blinked. He looked first to Denise, then to me. I certainly couldn't get everyone in my car, and it wasn't safe or legal to allow the children to ride in the back of Billy's truck. I shrugged.

Then Joe said, “No worries. Papa Joe is about to place a call to the best bus driver in Nashville!”

With that, the children cheered again.

Brick made the
necessary calls to secure the school bus for the field trip to my home. Joe and Denise used the time to obtain permissions from the parents and guardians of the children, while I spent all of Thursday and Friday cleaning a farmhouse that had barely seen a dust cloth or a spritz of Windex since Billy died.

I got a call from Denise on Friday afternoon that everything was a go. We decided I'd drive to the city and leave my car at Joe's so I could ride with the children on the bus. This would allow me to point out various animals and locations to kids who'd never seen a farm animal in person—or a stretch of land that was not marked by cement and graffiti.

I arrived early on Saturday, helped Denise and Joe with last-minute arrangements, gathered permission slips from fifteen highly excited children, and then waited on the sidewalk as impatiently as they for Brick to show up. Finally, at about a quarter till nine, the long yellow bus lurched down the narrow, tree-lined street of Joe's neighborhood.

The kids jumped up and down—all except Keisha. She quietly sidled up to me and took my hand. I glanced into her lovely face—I thought a more beautiful angel could not be found anywhere—and smiled. Mattie had dressed her in jeans, a yellow sweater, and a denim over-shirt. Her hair was caught up in thick pigtails by ponytail holders with large yellow balls. Keisha was nothing short of wonder and color, and she looked at me with eyes of gratitude beyond any I'd seen before.

The moment shook me. In my mind this was just a two-day field trip to a farm. But to Keisha, it was a taste of something more than life had offered her so far. Whatever had happened to strike her silent, I didn't know. What I did know was that in the few short years of her childhood, she had never experienced the fairy tale world I had written books about. Had
always
written about, even as a child. Because that life was all I had ever known.

While Brick helped Joe load backpacks filled with clothes and toiletries, Denise and I counted heads as each child climbed onto the bus. “Take your seat, take your seats,” she called, though there was really no need. These children were anxious to get where they were going.

Denise sat in a middle seat near the children. Joe sat behind Brick, who wore a brightly colored cowboy hat and seemed as excited as the children, if not more so. I sat across from Joe, close enough to the driver to give directions. Every so often I caught a glimpse of the wheeled medical apparatus I'd seen in Joe's bedroom, which was now wedged between him and the side of the bus. Periodically, he pushed it back into its place.

It wasn't my place to ask, but I couldn't help but wonder . . .

The children sang songs at first, but as the city gave way to rural stretches of land, they turned their attention to new surroundings, sticking their faces and arms out the opened windows.

“Coooooowwwwwwssss,” they hollered when we drove alongside a pasture.

“Gooooooaaaaaattttssss!”

“What's that, Papa Joe?” Bernard hollered, pointing across the road.

“That's called a silo.”

“A silo? What's a silo?”

Joe shook his head with a mixture of amusement and sorrow. He looked at me, his eyes saying,
How is it a kid doesn't know what a silo is?

“It's a place for storing grain,” Denise answered.

“Grrrrraaaaaiiiiinnnnn!”

As we neared the road leading to my farm, I grew more anxious. No one had been here, really, since Billy died, other than the men who worked the farm, and my parents who came for an occasional visit to make sure their daughter hadn't curled up and died. But I hadn't
entertained
anyone, child or adult. Not that I expected the children would rate me on my hospitality skills. I did wonder how the children would see me once they saw where I lived. By Tennessee standards, it was an adequate stretch of farmland, though it barely broke even. But for these children who lived in little more than a thousand square feet of peeling paint, dark hallways, and secondhand furniture, my little farm would seem a paradise.

Joe and Denise lived and worked in their world; the children could identify with them. But would the kids think less of me after today? Would Joe or Denise?

But really, why should I care? How was it that, in a little more than a week, this small group of inner-city kids had come to mean so much to me? A week and a half ago I'd been ready to end my life. Now, here I was, sitting in a school bus with a bunch of singing, shouting children.

“Turn here,” I said to Brick, pointing to the narrow dirt road that led to the farm.

Joe looked out the front window. I could read his thoughts as his eyes skimmed the rolling hills dotted by hay bales and farm equipment, the changing colors of the trees, the large red barn, and the farmhouse. My home was more than he'd imagined it to be. He looked at me, smiled as though he were embarrassed at being caught taking it all in.

He turned in his seat. “How's everybody doing back there?”

The kids shouted, dancing in their seats.

“Everybody having fun?”

“Yeah!”

Denise threw back her head and laughed. I looked straight ahead. The lives of everyone on this bus were about to change. I could feel it.

Maybe even mine.

Brick parked the
bus next to the barn. The children filed out in a funny sort of chaotic order. As soon as their feet hit the gravel, they scattered. I stood near the door, with my back pressed against the bus, hands clasped low and in front. Joe stood a few steps away, hands on his hips, breathing deeply, surveying the world around him. Once the kids were all accounted for, Denise walked over to me and said, “This is really special, Sam. Thank you.”

I could only nod. My thoughts at that moment had shifted to Billy. At how he would have enjoyed today. The delight of the children. He would have answered their endless questions with patience and knowledge, and he would have made great friends with Joe and Denise. My childhood would have met my adulthood with grace and laughter.

I felt a tug on my arm, and I looked down to see Keisha's smiling face beaming up at me. I held out my hand and she took it. “You ready?” I asked.

She nodded, lips now pressed together in nervous anticipation.

“Come on.”

We started toward the barn just as Joe was unloading the medical apparatus from the bus. “Sam?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I need somewhere to set this up. A bedroom in the house maybe?”

He offered no further explanation, and I felt no invitation for me to inquire. “There's a bedroom on the first floor,” I said, pulling the house keys from my purse and tossing them to him. “Just off from the living room.”

He nodded his thanks before ambling off toward the house. Once again his hand hovered over his left side and his gait faltered. It took everything I had not to run after him, to help him, to ask about his medical condition, whatever it may be.

Keisha squeezed my hand, reminding me of my previous commitment.

“Okay, princess,” I said. “Let's go.”

As we neared the backside of the barn, I placed my hands gently over her eyes. “Keep 'em shut, now,” I said.

I felt her cheeks rise beneath the palms of my hands. She was smiling. Cricket clomped to the open barn door, snorting. I felt Keisha draw back. “It's okay,” I whispered, tilting her head up as we stopped to allow Cricket to come the rest of the way.

I removed my hands and squatted next to Keisha. Her hands instinctively went to Cricket's muzzle and forehead. Wonder filled her eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, breathing out. “They're my favorite too.”

Her hands continued to explore what she'd only seen in pictures and on television.

“You know they have a special gift, right?”

She looked at me, tilted her head, wanting to know more.

“It's true. Would you like to know what it is?”

Keisha nodded eagerly.

“They keep all your secrets safe. Cricket here knows every one of mine. Happy things. Sad things. And she's never told a soul. You can tell her anything, Keisha, and it'll always be safe.”

Keisha looked from me back to the horse. Her dark eyes sparkled with emotion, but I wasn't fully able to read it. Still, if she would venture enough to “talk” to Cricket, perhaps one day she'd talk to me. To Mattie and Macon.

I heard the clearing of a throat. Macon stood at the far corner of the barn, leaning against a door jamb and watching. His eyes locked with mine, the player thanking the one he'd hustled. I knew then just how deep Macon's feelings went for his baby sister, how far down the well of his love ran.

“Hey, Macon,” I said.

“I was wondering. What're we gonna do first?”