For Your Love (6 page)

In the midst of the applause, Bobby shouted, “
What?
”

“Now, that's all the new business. Anyone have anything else they want to talk about?” Trent chose to overlook Bobby's stunned face. Kelly raised her hand. Thinking she had something negative to say about her husband's surprising appointment, he acknowledged her warily. “Go ahead, Kelly.”

“Is there someplace in town I can start doing hair, so the ladies don't have to leave town the way they do now?”

Before he could reply, Bernadine shouted happily, “Yes!” The women in the room hooted and applauded. “See me after the meeting.”

A shy smile crossed Kelly's face, and she retook her seat.

“Anything else before we close?”

No one stepped up, so Trent gaveled the meeting closed.

Bobby was furious, but held it inside as he told Kiki, “I need to talk to Trent. Be right back.”

“What're you so mad about?”

He didn't reply. Instead he made his way through the crowd to where Trent stood talking with his wife. When he reached him, he said through his teeth, “Can I talk to you for a minute? Privately?”

Trent eyed him calmly. “Sure. Let's use my dad's office. I'm sure he won't mind.”

Bobby had no idea who Trent's dad was, but didn't care.

Trent led the way to a small room at the back of the diner and leaned against the desk. “What's up?”

“Why did you say I was going to be your assistant?”

“Because you are.”

“No, I'm not. You think it's funny, playing me in front of all those ­people?”

“I'm not playing you. Don't you need a job?”

“Yeah, I do, but I need one I can do.”

“How do you know you can't do this one?”

Bobby's jaw tightened. He didn't know what the hell was up with Trent, but there had to be some kind of a catch. “Look, let me ask you up front. You gay? Are you trying to hit on me? Is that what all this is about?”

Trent stared, and then laughed, hard. When he finally recovered, he said, “Oh, that's funny. No, Bob. Not gay. I have all I can handle with Lily, and besides, you're not that cute.”

Bobby stared off angrily. “Then tell me what it is, so I can understand.”

“It's called H-­E-­L-­P. Nothing more, nothing less. This is what we do here. Other places do it as well. We—­meaning the ­people who live here—­want you and Kelly to be all you can be. That's it. Not trying to play you or get you in bed. I understand this is all new, but it's the real deal.”

Bobby sighed. He was so out of his element, he was having difficulty determining up from down and front from back. “But all I want to do is start a detailing business.”

“Great goal, but you're going to need workers. Can you set up a payroll system so they can get paid? You're going to need suppliers. Do you know anything about inventory or invoices? What about small business taxes?”

Bobby's lips tightened. Admittedly he knew nothing about any of those things.

“If you want that business of yours to be successful, you'll need to know all of that and more. You're what, nineteen?”

Bobby nodded.

“Perfect age to begin setting up for your dreams, and you start by learning all the things you need to bring to the table. Let us help you.”

Bobby met Trent's gaze. Since the age of thirteen, he'd been in charge of his own life because he'd never had anyone in his corner—­not parents, teachers, or social workers. Kiki had always been supportive, of course, but aside from her, the closest he'd ever had to someone having his back was during his gang years. The members functioned as the family he'd never had. But now Trent was proposing something totally new and foreign, and the way he broke it down made Bobby consider a different path and a different way of tackling his life. He wanted better—­had he not, he wouldn't have moved his family to this place in the middle of damn nowhere. Could he really achieve his dreams here? Trent was making him realize all the things he didn't even know he didn't know.

“Well?” Trent asked.

“What if I can't do it?”

“What if you can?”

Bobby smiled and looked down at his feet for a moment. When his gaze rose, Trent was smiling, too. “You're something. You know that?”

“My sons think I'm an okay guy.” Trent's voice took on a serious tone. “I need you to try this, Bob. It can't hurt. If you don't want to, I suppose we can find something else. The school and the Dog are always in need of custodial help. It's honorable work, but it won't set you on the path you say you want to be on.”

“Can I think about it?” Bobby asked. He could tell by Trent's posture that it was not the answer he wanted, but Bobby never liked being pressured.

Trent relented. “Sure. If the answer is yes, I need you at my office in the morning, eight sharp.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

On the drive back to their trailer, Bobby was silent.

“I'm really excited about being able to do hair again,” Kiki said happily.

Bobby, lost in thoughts about Trent's offer, replied distractedly, “Yeah, baby. That's great.”

“What's up with you? Was Trent serious about making you his assistant?”

“Yes. Not sure I want to do it, though.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know anything about being a mayor's assistant.”

“He's going to teach you, though, right?”

“He said he would.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“Still trying to deal with how they roll here. Never had anybody want to do something for me with no agenda attached.”

“It's different, but it's a good different, don't you think?”

“I suppose.”

“So if you don't take the job, what're you going to do?”

He turned onto July Road. “Custodial work for the diner and the school.”

She looked away, shaking her head in what appeared to be either disbelief or disgust, he wasn't sure. “What?”

“Did we come here to get a better life or not?”

“Well—­”

“Yes or no?”

“Yeah, but—­”

“But, my ass. Come on, Bobby. Either we're in, or we go back to Dallas. I'm just as scared as you. This seems way too good to be true to me, too, but what if it isn't? What if you actually can get that business you've been dreaming about? What if we can really have a life that's not paycheck-­to-­paycheck, and have a few dollars left over at the end of the month instead of having to borrow from your mom to buy diapers?”

He pulled in to the drive that led to the trailers, and when they reached their own, they sat with the engine running while the twins slept in the backseat. Bobby spoke earnestly. “All my life, ­people told me I'd never be nothing, and I've always wanted to prove them wrong, which is why I had that dream of owning a business and got my GED. So now I get here, I got some ­people who want to help me out, and I guess I'm scared, like you said.”

“When the babies were born, you took a beatdown to leave the gang that put you in the hospital for three days. You had four broken ribs, a busted collarbone, and your face looked like something out of Halloween. You're the strongest, baddest man I know.”

That made him feel good. “I guess I'm so used to hustling and having that golden ticket just out of my reach, and now that I have the ticket in my hand . . . This is the next step, isn't it? Why I took that beating and worked two jobs, and tried to do the right thing.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed softly. “And you've made me incredibly proud.”

Her words filled his heart. “Then let's do this. Let's take this second step. Trent wants me there at eight sharp.”

“Then I'll cook you a big breakfast and give you a kiss out the door like the women on TV do their men.”

He chuckled, and his voice turned serious. “You're amazing.”

“Yes, I am,” she replied shamelessly. “And I have an amazing man. So let's go in and put these kids to bed, and then you can give me some loving and get a good night's sleep. You have to see a man about a job in the morning.”

Leaning over, he kissed her with all the love he felt. After turning off the engine, he gently picked up the sleeping Tiara, Kiki did the same with Bobby Jr., and they went inside.

After Trent and his family got home, he went up to talk to his sons, as he did each night before they turned out their lights. Devon was in his pajamas and in bed. “Hey, Dad.”

He sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Hey, son. Homework done?”

“Yes.”

“Saw Zoey sitting with Wyatt at the meeting. You two still haven't worked things out.”

“No. She still doesn't like me. I don't like her, either.”

Trent sighed inwardly. “You haven't been very nice lately, Dev.”

“No one's been nice to me.”

“Why?”

He turned his eyes away. “I don't know.”

“I think you do, and if you take a real look at how you've been treating ­people, you might see your way out of this corner you've boxed yourself into. Growing up is tough. It was tough for me, your mom—­for everybody we know—­but being nice helps a lot.”

Devon looked chastened, but Trent wasn't sure if it was a true reflection of remorse.

“Give me a hug, and you get some sleep.” Trent hugged him tight. He loved this little boy so much. “Love you a lot, buckaroo.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

As Trent exited, Devon turned out his light.

Trent stuck his head into Amari's room. He too was in sleepwear, lying beneath his blankets, staring at the ceiling. “You okay?”

“Not sure.”

“Something you want to talk about?”

“Not sure about that, either.”

Trent walked in. “Should I press?”

“What makes you like girls?”

Trent paused and eyed him for a moment. “Science says it's a biological need to propagate.”

“As in kids?”

Trent nodded.

“God!” said Amari, sounding anguished.

“Having girl issues?”

“Not sure. Hoping it's just the flu, or maybe something Dr. Reg can give me a shot for.”

Trent held on to his smile. “Well, if and when you're ready to talk about it, I'm your guy.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome. Homework done?”

“Yeah,” he said, but Trent could tell he was distracted.

“I'll see you in the morning. Good night.”

“Night, Dad.”

Downstairs, Lily was watching the news. “Our sons good?”

He sat beside her on the couch. “Devon is still in denial about why Zoey's treating him like persona non grata, and I think Amari's in love.”

“I know he is.”

Trent stared. “With who?”

“I think it's Kyra Jones.”

“From church? The one with the six-­five dad who looks like he eats tractors for dinner?”

“Yeah. She and Amari are on the same acolyte team, and the past two Sundays I noticed him peeking at her, a lot, and her peeking back, a lot.”

“How come I didn't notice?”

“Because you're not his mama. Mamas always know who's trying to get next to their sons.”

“She seems nice.”

“Yes. Way quiet, though. I don't think I've ever heard her say more than two or three words, but then Amari talks enough for everybody in town. Going to be interesting to see how this plays out.”

Trent thought so too, but wondered how the six-­five tractor eater would react.

Lily's voice broke into his thoughts. “What did Bobby want to talk to you about? He looked pretty upset.”

He told her about the conversation in Mal's office.

“He thought you were hitting on him?” she asked, laughing.

“Told him he wasn't that cute.”

“Definitely not as cute as your wife.”

He put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close, and then related the rest of the talk they'd had. When he'd finished, Lily asked seriously, “Do you think he'll show up in the morning?”

“What do you think?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know him well enough to even speculate, but I hope he does.”

“So do I.”

 

S
itting on the bed in her motel room, Rita Lynn knew if she wanted to get past the hurt brought on by the letter, forgiving her parents was paramount. But it was difficult. They'd loved her and did what they felt was best for her future, but that future was impacting the present with a heartache so consuming she was finding it hard to sleep. Because of their decision, so much was owed, but after the passage of forty years, did it matter? Had she been written off—­forgotten? Worrying about how she'd be received couldn't be a factor. That she'd played no part in her parents' actions couldn't be a factor either—­it didn't banish the guilt plaguing her, nor salve her overwhelming sense of loss.

The loss, more than anything, brought forth such a tremendous rage that her fists balled, and she shook with the urge to scream, but that wouldn't change anything. The past was done. She had only the future, which meant returning to the place where it all began. There was no other choice.

She put on her coat, locked the door of the motel room, and, pulling her roller bag after her, headed down the open walk to the rental car she'd picked up yesterday evening at the airport. Having lived in California most of her adult life, she'd forgotten how cold the Kansas plains could be in early December, especially at dawn. She blew on her freezing hands and shivered as she waited for the heat to cut the chill in the car's interior.

She hadn't slept well last night. She hadn't expected to. Worries about how she'd be received kept resurfacing, but she fought them down, reminding herself this was the only way.

The rental car was fairly new, so it didn't take long for the warmth to rise or the defrosters to take care of the iced-­over front and back windshields. Once she could see clearly, she activated the GPS on her phone and let the electronic voice guide her out of the parking lot and onto Highway 183. Heading north, she swallowed her fears. “Dear God,” she said aloud, “Please see me through this day. Amen.” Hoping the small prayer would be answered, she settled in for the drive to Henry Adams.

An hour later, she pulled up in front of the house and studied it. The big porch looked the same, but the outside had under­gone some renovations. The old shutters were no longer on the upstairs windows, and the roof looked new. She had no way of knowing if the person she sought was still the owner. Common sense said she should've called before leaving California and traveling all this way, but after her mother's letter, her determination to come back to Henry Adams and share the truth had overridden rational thinking.

The drapes on the front windows moved. Someone inside was checking out the car, so she gathered her nerves, picked up her purse, and walked to the porch. Climbing the steps brought back memories of how many times she'd done this before. Girding herself, she knocked.

The door opened, and there she stood. Older, of course. The passage of time had turned her hair silver, but the dark eyes were still keen and the bearing just as proud. “Ms. July. I'm—­”

“Rita Lynn. I know. We've been waiting for you a long time. Come in.”

Tears filled Rita's eyes.

“Come on,” Tamar invited softly. “You're here. Nothing else matters.”

Inside, Rita wiped at her tears and noted that the home's interior had undergone some changes as well. It was larger, more airy. The old furniture she remembered had been replaced with modern pieces.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Then join me. We'll talk while we eat.”

Rita opened her purse and took out the letter. “I need you to read this first. My mother died two weeks ago. She left it for me.”

Tamar viewed her curiously, but took it and began to read. Shock claimed her face, and she stared at Rita. “Oh, my lord,” she whispered. “I need to sit down.” She sat on the sofa and resumed reading.

When she looked up at Rita again, Tamar's voice shook with rage. “Ida told you he was dead?”

Too overcome to speak, Rita nodded.

“That bitch! She brought him to me like he was something she'd found in a sewer. Her only words were ‘Here's your grandson.' And she drove off. All these years I thought . . .”

“I'd abandoned him, or didn't care?”

“Both.”

“No,” Rita assured her softly. “They told me he'd died a few hours after birth.”

“My god,” Tamar whispered.

“Is my son still here? I don't even know his name.” That lack pierced her heart.

“Yes, he's here. In fact, he's the mayor. Name's Trenton. We named him for my father. Mal's still here, too.”

“Ms. July, I am so sorry.” Rita broke down.

Tears rolled unchecked down Tamar's cheeks as she stood and gathered her close. ”You've nothing to apologize for, Rita Lynn. Nothing.”

And for the next few moments the two women connected to Trent since birth cried out the pain and loss caused by a terrible lie kept secret for forty-­five years.

“Let's call Mal,” Tamar said softly.

Over at the Power Plant, Trent stuck his head in Bernadine's office door. As always, she'd beaten him in to work and was seated at her desk drinking coffee. “Morning, Bernadine.”

She looked up. “Good morning.”

“Came to grab some coffee.”

“Help yourself.”

He never bothered making coffee in his own office because hers was always available. As he picked up the carafe and poured the dark brew into his mug that read “My Dad Rocks!”—­a gift from Devon for Father's Day—­she said, “I was surprised by your announcement last night about Bobby.”

He shrugged. “Need to get him a job doing something. Figured why not?”

“Do you think he can handle it?”

“No idea.” He took a sip. “May take him a while to get up to speed, but I do need the help, and he's the only one in town not already wearing six hats.”

“True.”

“He's supposed to let me know this morning whether he's going to take me up on the offer.” He checked his watch. “Told him to be here at eight sharp.” It was seven thirty.

“I'll keep my fingers crossed.”

“Lil's over at the school with Jack, trying to find a room for the library. Said to tell you she'd be in as soon as they were done.”

“Okay.”

They spent a few more minutes talking about their individual agendas for the day. Just as Trent was preparing to head down the hall to his own office, Bobby appeared.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Trent replied, pleased.

Bernadine echoed his greeting. She looked pleased as well.

“I'm ready to go to work,” Bobby said.

“Then grab some coffee if you want, and let's get going.”

It turned out that the young man wasn't a coffee drinker, so with a departing nod to Bernadine, he followed Trent out to begin his first day.

“Glad you decided to take the offer,” Trent said, watching him over his cup as he hung his coat on the free-­standing rack.

“Didn't make sense not to. This is why Kiki and I moved here.”

“Ever read a blueprint?

“No.”

“Then we'll start with that.”

Trent was explaining the basics when Mal walked in. His face was somber, and Trent could have sworn he'd been crying. “Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Trent's first thought was Tamar. Had something happened? Was she hurt? He willed himself to remain calm. “Tamar okay?”

“Yeah, she's fine. Need to talk to you.” Mal nodded at Bobby. They'd met last night after the meeting. “Morning, Bobby.”

“Morning, Mr. July.”

“Trent, can you come out into the hall for a minute?”

“Sure.” His confusion was high. Excusing himself, he followed his dad.

Out in the hallway, Mal asked, “Is there someplace private where we can talk?”

“Dad, what's going on?”

“Your mother's here.”

Trent froze, studying his father's face for signs of joking. “Not funny.”

“No, it isn't. She's out at Tamar's. I just talked with Rita. Came to get you.”

A million questions screamed in his head. He drew in a deep breath, hoping it would slow his racing heart. “Let me send Bobby home.” Stunned, he walked back into the office.

Bobby took one look at his face and asked, “You okay, man?”

Trent's brain was stuck on
Your mother's here.
“No. I mean yeah, but I need to talk to my dad. Take the day off. I'll probably be tied up most of the day.”

“Everybody okay? Your wife, kids, Tamar?”

Trent nodded. “Yeah. Just something needing my attention. I'll pay you for the full day. Go on home. I'll give you a call later.”

Still viewing him with concern, Bobby put on his coat. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will.”

After Bobby had gone, Mal stepped back in and closed the door.

“So why is she here after all this time?” Trent asked. The bitterness of being abandoned crept up even as he fought to keep it from claiming him. “Does she want forgiveness? Money? A kidney?” The sadness in Mal's eyes was something he'd rarely seen, and it made him pause. “What? Tell me.”

“Up until recently, she thought you'd died at birth.”

Trent's heart stopped.

Mal nodded. “Her mother told her you were stillborn.”

Trent's eyes widened. Horror overrode bitterness.

“It's in a letter her mother left for her to read after she died a few weeks back. She has it with her.”

Trent's knees were so watery he thought he might fall. He dropped into a chair. All these years, he'd never imagined anything close to this. “Why would her mother have done that?”

“Shame, I guess. Rita Lynn was seventeen. Out-­of-­wedlock babies were the ultimate disgrace back then. Her parents thought they were doing the right thing.”

“God, Dad, look at my hands. I'm shaking.”

“It almost put me on the floor when she told me, too. Tamar wanted me to come and get you because she wasn't sure you'd be able to drive safely.”

He wanted to say he was fine and could manage on his own, but it was a lie
. Your mother's here.

“She's waiting to meet you, Trent. Do you want to see her?”

Focusing was difficult, so he drew in another deep breath. “Yes.”

“Okay. I'm going to let Bernadine know what's going on, if that's all right with you.”

“That's fine.”

“I'll meet you in the parking lot.”

Like a man entranced, Trent stood alone for a moment in the silent office, not knowing what to say, think, or do. His world had been turned upside down. Nothing in life had prepared him for this.
She thought you'd died at birth.

Minutes later he was in the passenger seat of Mal's souped-­up red Ford truck being driven to Tamar's. He had so many questions. “Did she come alone?”

“Yes. She's married, but came by herself.”

“Where's she live?”

Mal looked his way. “California. Parents moved there after they left here. I guess they wanted to get as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.”

“All this time, I thought . . .” He stopped, not wanting the angst tied to forty-­five years of being without her to rise again.

“I know what you thought. Me, I was damn mad that she never reached out. I know I wasn't ready for prime time back then, but you were a baby. Hers and mine.”

“Tamar raised me well.”

“Yes, she did. But a kid needs his mother. I cursed her every day for turning her back on you the way I thought she did.”

“But she didn't.”

“No. You two have a lot to catch up on.”

“So it's okay with you—­she and I connecting?”

“Yes, but even if it wasn't, you're her son, too.”

He noted the tears shining in his father's eyes. They mirrored his own.

Mal stopped the truck in front of Tamar's house.

“Are you coming in?” Trent asked.

“No. She and I visited a little earlier, and we will again later. It's your turn now.”

Trent looked up at the house, wondering what his mother might be thinking as she waited. He opened the door.

“Trent?”

He looked back. “Yeah, Dad?”

“A man couldn't ask for a better son. I'm so proud of you. Even prouder of the way you're raising your sons. You're much better at it than I ever was. Rita's going to be proud of you, too.”

In spite of Mal's faults of the past—­the years of drinking, the womanizing, and all the worrying he'd caused family and friends—­Trent had loved him, and he loved this new and improved version even more. “We'll talk later.”

“Okay.”

As he climbed the steps to the porch, Mal drove away.

Tamar met him at the door. “She's in the kitchen. I'll look in on you two later.”

He looked into his grandmother's familiar eyes and suddenly, there were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to thank her for raising him and being the strong rudder he'd often needed to keep him on course in life. She, who drove her ancient truck Olivia as if they were qualifying for the pole at Indy, who'd taught him to catch fish and ice skate and made him paint the Jefferson fence
twice
one summer for what she called “stupid boy tricks,” was the main reason he was standing there today. She meant so much, he'd love her until night turned into day.

“I'll see you in a little while.” He walked into the kitchen.

She was wearing a soft gray sweater and matching gray slacks. “Trenton?”

“Yes,” he replied softly.

Her eyes welled up, and the tears spilled down her brown cheeks. Her hand covered her mouth as if she were too overwhelmed to speak.

“Please don't cry,” he whispered, even as his own eyes filled up. He'd had no idea what he'd planned to say to her, but realized there was no script, only emotion. He went to her, she stood, he took her in his arms and held her like the treasure he'd been searching for his entire life while she held him like she never wanted to let him go. They rocked. She sobbed brokenly. He cried silently.