Between Us Girls (39 page)

They stood in the middle. Without much of a stretch, each woman would be able to touch the bed, the love seat, and the table.

“Sammi, I'm sorry it's not the Ritz.”

“Did you ever take me for a Ritz person?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I'll be fine if you're sure you want to give it to me. I'm happy to check into a motel.”

The other two burst into laughter.

Quinn said, “Forty-five minutes down the road.”

Jasmyn said, “Don't worry about it, Sam. I'm fine on Quinn's couch for the week. I thought you'd prefer having your own space here.”

“Thank you.” Sam smiled. Jasmyn understood she would want that.

They showed her light switches, the coffeepot—tucked into a corner because there was no other space on the counter for it—and the trick to flushing the toilet. The shower appeared to be a closet.

Quinn had gotten things ready for her, clean linens and a few food staples. “Including our all-time favorite ice cream. Call if you need anything. We're half a block away. Yellow house, third on the right, one oak tree and a bunch of dead mums in pots. Missed your green thumb, Jazz.”

They left and within a few minutes, an exhausted Sam crawled into the small bed. Her feet hung off the end. It made her think of Abraham Lincoln. She was in the land of Lincoln. She was also in the land of her ancestors.

She wondered how tall Hannah Carlson had been.

As she drifted to sleep, she felt content, glad that she had come.

Sixty-Eight

Quinn handed Jasmyn a bowl of Melly's Mississippi Mud ice cream and plopped down on the other armchair in her living room. “I like Sam.”

“I do too.” She spoke around a mouthful of chocolate fudge, Oreo cookie chunks, and Kona coffee ice cream. “She's the one I told you was uptight.”

“Nah. No way.”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess our Miss Sunshine has been busy.”

Jasmyn crinkled her nose and changed the subject. “Mmm, Melly could make a fortune if he sold this ice cream on the West Coast. I have missed it.”

Quinn laughed. “Did you miss anything else?”

“You.” She scooped another spoonful. “You and Mississippi Mud. That about covers it.”

“Girl, you are a puzzle. You bring home a stranger. All you talk about is Liv and Coco and Inez and Tasha and Piper—what kind of a name is Piper? I don't know, hon. Somehow you're just different.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“You tell me.”

She smiled. “It's good, Quinn. It's very good. I'm ready to tackle the world. Or at least Valley Oaks. I seriously think I want to take over the Pig when Danno retires. With you as co-owner.”

“Jazz, I love the idea of running it together, but I can't co-own anything. You know I don't have the money—”

“Shh. Think outside the box.” She smiled at hearing Keagan's words come out of her mouth. “There might be a way to do it. What do you think? Would you want to?”

Quinn stared at her, clearly taken aback.

Jasmyn waited for the idea to take hold.

“Wow. It actually sounds fun. Better than a beauty shop. But come on. You just told me you didn't miss anything about Valley Oaks. Why would you go into business here?”

“For a new start.” She shrugged. “What I didn't miss was the old me in Valley Oaks. It was good for me to get away and meet people. Gain new perspectives. Reinvent myself.” She swirled the ice cream with her spoon. “Okay, this is going to sound totally like a cliché because it is one, but I don't have another way to say it.” She looked at Quinn. “God did something in me. He let me know that He's in every breath I take.”

Quinn stared at her.

“Weird, yeah. I lose my family. I lose my house and belongings. I can't work. I lose the rental car. I'm glad I didn't lose you too, but the point is—even before any of that happened—I felt lonely and pointless.”

“You did? You never acted like it.”

“Like I said, I
felt
it. I functioned okay. Except for work and you, though, did I have a life?”

“You had Nick.”

“Evidently, not for real.”

“True. I thought you liked being alone out on the farm.”

Jasmyn pondered her words. “Being alone isn't the same as lonely. Lonely happens when you're with other people and yet know you're not with them.”

“Because your family were outcasts and you always got chosen last for a team?” Quinn made her dried apple face, scrunching her nose, lips, and eyes. “Sorry. I'm just trying to understand.”

Jasmyn sighed. Quinn's delivery had always been right between the eyes. “Yes, that sums it up.”

“And now you don't feel lonely and pointless?”

“I do sometimes, but deep down I know I'm not.”

“How does knowing deep down make a difference?”

“It feels like there's solid ground under my feet. Quinn, it's what you've heard all your life in church about God.”

Quinn's eyes unfocused, a sign that her thoughts were chasing down an answer. She shook her head. “But you're tweaking things. You're saying God is not Santa Claus.”

“That's what you hear in church?”

“Basically. He has the list going, checking it twice.”

Jasmyn chuckled. “He loves us, silly.”

“Oh, that.” Quinn winked. “But it's more personal to you now.”

“Yeah. I wasn't in very good shape when I left here.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“I was that bad?”

“More than that.”

“Oh. Anyway. I met Liv at one of the really bad moments. She showed me God. She's the closest thing to Jesus I can imagine. And so I started paying attention. I started listening. Then I got on my knees. When I got up, life wasn't the same.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm. Well, Jazz, however it happened, here's what I think changed. The sunshine got a little brighter.”

Jasmyn frowned.

“Sorry, you're not losing the nickname. Sunshine just happens when you're in the room.”

It just happens?

Did that mean she wasn't responsible for making sure it glowed?

Of course it did.

That was Someone else's job.

Talk about not feeling lonely and pointless.

“Nice car,” Sam said from the passenger seat.

Jasmyn flashed her a smile. “It still smells new, doesn't it?” She turned her attention back to the highway, the morning sights almost too much for her eyes to take in at once. The rolling hills. The knots of oaks and pines. The fields of corn and beans ready for harvest. The white puffy clouds skittering.

“It's the color of Keagan's eyes.”

Jasmyn whipped around. “Sam!”

“I'm just saying…” She grinned. “Hey, you want to watch the road?”

Jasmyn watched the road. Sam grinned? That might be worth putting up with her teasing about Keagan. Sam had even told Quinn about him at breakfast.

They had been talking about the Casa Detainees, as Sam referred to them. The mention of Keagan's name drew Quinn's attention because it reminded her of Sheriff Cal and Jasmyn's comparison of the two guys. One thing led to another and— And, well, there really wasn't anything to tell. Somehow, though, Quinn found things to ask and Sam found things to tell.

Sam pointed at the windshield. “What is that huge green machine up there with the line of traffic behind it?”

“A combine. They own the highways this time of year, going between fields. Be sure to watch out for them when you drive. And the grain trucks too.”

“Grain trucks?”

“You'll know them by their overflowing corn kernels.” She slowed, flipped on the turn signal, and turned onto a side road. “They're not powder blue like my car.”

“They're not?”

“Peacock blue,” she muttered.

“I'll take your word for it. All blues are not created equal. I knew that. I guess I never looked at his very closely.” She laughed as if she'd said the funniest thing ever.

Now she was laughing?

Maybe getting away from home and work had given Sam a new perspective, similar to what had happened to Jasmyn in San Diego. She vowed to take regular vacations from now on.

Jasmyn's stomach churned. Given her plan for the morning, she should have skipped breakfast.

They had eaten at the Valley Café downtown. To her surprise, a few people stopped at their table and welcomed her home.

Welcomed her home.

Two of them—Jonah Thurm and Hayley Banks—mentioned how smart she had been to sell her land. Jonah's son, a project manager, and
Hayley's nephew, an electrician, were in on the windfall of the mall's construction jobs.

Windfall of jobs. Imagine that.

After Quinn had kicked Jasmyn's leg under the table, she realized her jaw hung open.

Despite the encouraging words, though, she wasn't exactly eager to see the construction work in progress.

She turned again, at a tight clutch of tall, fat pine trees onto a lane of cracked blacktop. It was short, maybe half a football field long. It felt like a driveway, although it led nowhere. Two willows drooped along one side. A soaring walnut tree stood alone, round walnut shells dangling from its leafless branches.

Sam said, “Is this it?”

“Yeah.” Jasmyn braked at the widened end, switched off the car, and crossed her arms over her stomach. “This is it.”

Sam touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Sure. But I should have skipped the pancakes.”

“Seven months isn't all that long. You must still feel sick about it.”

Jasmyn gave her a wan smile, grateful for Sam's presence. “It's so empty here. That just doesn't compute. My whole entire life there were willow trees on both sides of the drive. There were a dozen apple trees off to the right. There were six walnut trees and four oaks around the…” She gazed at the emptiest of empty spaces. “Around the house.”

“Show me?”

Jasmyn nodded and they got out of the car. They walked across flat, graded dirt. “It's unrecognizable. Where was the front door?” She zigzagged over the ground.

She had been to the area once after all the broken wood and glass, the roof tiles, and concrete blocks had been hauled away and the basement filled in. There had still been vague outlines in the dirt of the house and barns, remnants of the grass yard. Now even those references were gone.

“Nuts. I can't see it.”

Sam turned sideways. “I'm facing the sun. It's midmorning, late October, so the sun is lying to the south and east.” She looked over her shoulder at Jasmyn. “Did you see it from the kitchen window when your grandmother cut up the apples for pie?”

Instantly Jasmyn tasted a thin slice of apple coated with cinnamon and sugar. She shut her eyes and saw the kitchen…its east-facing window over the sink…the corner table where her grandmother sat, cutting board and a large bowl of apples before her, windows behind.

Jasmyn looked at the sun and walked to a spot. “Here. This was the corner in the kitchen where the autumn sun hit, where Grammy June cut the apples for pie.” She turned in a slow circle, and then she moved slowly, this way and that, describing what she saw in her imagination.

Kitchen, mudroom, back porch, doorways to dining room and back staircase, living room, entry, front stairs, front porch. She pointed a finger upward. Grandparents' bedroom, mother's bedroom, spare rooms, bathroom, attic stairs. She raised her arm high. “And there, in the northeast corner of the attic, was my room.”

Sam smiled.

Jasmyn smiled. “Come on. Let's go do the barns and then we'll take a run.”