I'll Stand by You
Thank you for purchasing this eBook
.
At Sourcebooks we believe one thing:
BOOKS CHANGE LIVES
.
We would love to invite you to receive exclusive rewards. Sign up now for VIP savings, bonus content, early access to new ideas we're developing, and sneak peeks at our hottest titles!
Happy reading
!
SIGN UP NOW!
Copyright © 2015 by Sharon Sala
Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover image © Pat Canova/Getty Images
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
Fax: (630) 961-2168
Contents
An Excerpt from
The Curl Up and Dye
Chapter 1
Adorable Grant rolled over in bed and shut off the alarm as a familiar cramp rolled across her belly. The monthly miseries had arrived, and by the smell coming from the baby bed where her son, Luther Joe, was sleeping, the baby food jar of prunes she’d fed him last night may have been a mistake. Between her cramps and Luther’s runs, it was not the optimum way to start a workday, but she had already learned the hard way what it was like to live on leftovers.
She made a mad dash down the hall to the bathroom and came out a few minutes later carrying a tube of ointment for Luther’s diaper rash. There was nothing glamorous about being a seventeen-year-old unwed mother, but after giving birth, she had vowed never to complain about getting her period again.
She hastened her steps as she headed back to her bedroom. Luther was awake and beginning to whine, and she didn’t want to wake Granddaddy until the very last minute.
“Hey, little man,” she said softly as she hurried toward the crib.
Luther was big for his age and already pulling himself up and standing inside the baby bed. His little, fat hands were curled around the spindles, and he was chewing on the bed rail, probably trying to cut teeth, but it had yet to happen. As soon as he saw her, he smiled that toothless baby smile she loved while saliva dripped down onto his chin and points below. He clutched the bed rail and squealed as she approached.
Dori chuckled. “Shh, now! You’re gonna wake Granddaddy.”
The mere mention of his favorite male sent Luther’s gaze straight toward the door.
Dori sniffed, then rolled her eyes.
“Ooowee, Luther Joe! You sure do stink. Here, lay down a minute and let Mama get you all cleaned up again.”
She unsnapped the crotch of his pajamas and began to clean him up while making faces at him, then laughing as he tried to mimic the expressions she was making. It was a game they’d been playing for almost a week now, and she was convinced that he was going to be a genius. As soon as she finished, she picked him up out of the crib, settled him on her hip, and headed for the kitchen.
It was still dark outside, but Dori’s job as a dishwasher at Granny’s Country Kitchen began at six a.m., when they started serving breakfast. She settled him into his high chair, handed him a teething biscuit, and started making coffee and warming milk to put in his cereal as she glanced out the kitchen window. The sky was still dark, but she could see darker, heavy-looking clouds. May was always a rainy month and this May was no exception. Maybe if she hurried, she’d get to work before it began.
Within minutes, she had bacon frying and beaten eggs in a bowl ready to scramble. She was putting bread in the toaster when Luther let out a big squeal. She turned to see her grandfather entering the room. He was slightly stooped from so many years as a roofer but still in fine form for seventy-six.
“Mornin’, Granddaddy.”
“Morning, honey,” Meeker Webb said and wiggled his fingers at Luther, who squealed again and whacked his teething biscuit on the tray of the high chair.
Meeker eyed his granddaughter closely as he kissed the top of her head and swiped a piece of crispy bacon. From the day she’d been born, he’d always thought she was the prettiest thing in Blessings, Georgia, and still did, although her blue eyes weren’t as sparkly as they used to be, and she didn’t pay much attention to how she looked anymore.
He’d given up trying to get her to tell him who Luther’s father was. He had already figured out that she wasn’t telling because of what she feared he’d do to him. She wasn’t a run-around girl, and she hadn’t had a boyfriend when she turned up pregnant. Meeker might be old, but he wasn’t stupid. Somebody had his way with Dori and left her to suffer the consequences alone.
“Looks like rain,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Dori nodded as she strained off the bacon grease, then poured the eggs into the hot skillet and began to stir.
“I know, Granddaddy. I’m going to leave just as soon as I feed Luther.”
“I’ll feed ole buster here, and you sit yourself down and eat breakfast for a change. You’re wasting away. I can eat after you’re gone.”
She hesitated. He already did so much for her, but his offer was tempting. She sure didn’t want to work all day in wet clothes.
“But your breakfast will get cold,” she said.
He tweaked her ear.
“I know how to heat it up, now, don’t I?”
She grinned and handed him Luther’s bowl of cereal. She dished herself up a serving of eggs and bacon, grabbed a piece of toast as it popped up, and ate standing up.
Meeker frowned. “Honey, the least you could do is sit down.”
“No time,” she muttered, talking around the mouthful of food she was chewing.
Within minutes, she was in her bedroom, throwing on clothes without care if they matched or not and brushing out tangles in her long, dark brown hair. She used to take pride in her appearance. Before her parents were killed, everyone used to talk about how much she looked like her mother, with her baby-doll features and little turned-up nose, but she couldn’t see how it mattered much anymore. Her pride, along with everything else, had taken a great fall when she turned up pregnant, and like Humpty Dumpty, she didn’t know how to put herself back together again. She grabbed an umbrella and then stopped off in the kitchen before she left.
“I’m going now,” she said and kissed her little boy good-bye. “Luther Joe, you be good for Granddaddy.”
Luther grinned and blew bubbles with a mouthful of oatmeal, which made Meeker grin.
Dori rolled her eyes. “Don’t laugh at him, or he’ll just do it again.”
“Why not?” Meeker said. “You used to do the same thing, and I laughed at you.”
Dori hugged her grandfather’s neck.
“I hope you know how much I love and appreciate you.”
Meeker squinted and gruffly cleared his throat.
“I love you too, girl. Now hustle or you’re gonna get wet. Luther and I will be just fine.”
Dori blew him a kiss, then put on her raincoat and, after she stepped out onto the porch, opened her umbrella.
The sun had yet to come up, but the streetlights lit the way out of her neighborhood toward downtown Blessings. She took a deep breath of the cool morning air as she came down the porch steps. It even smelled like rain. Without hesitation, she lengthened her stride and shifted into work mode.
She’d never made it to a high school prom, and her days of going to football games and school trips were over. She’d tried homeschooling, then decided it was a waste of time and took the GED. Now she was almost through with online college courses on building websites. She could have felt sorry for herself, but all she had to do to get past it was think about her baby. She wouldn’t trade him for all the parties and dances in the world. She paused briefly to check for traffic as she reached the corner, and when the first drops of rain began to fall, she started to run.
* * *
When twenty-year-old Johnny Pine’s alarm went off, he rolled his long-legged self out of bed with a groan. Five a.m. came far too soon, but he needed the extra hour to do a load of laundry and make breakfast for his little brothers before he sent them off to school. When he was little, his mama never made him breakfast, let alone got out of bed. But he remembered what it felt like to go to school hungry and was determined that wasn’t happening to his brothers.
Marshall was ten and in fifth grade, and Brooks, a.k.a. Beep, was seven and in second grade. Although they were young enough to still need a mother, that wasn’t happening. Their mother had overdosed on meth two years ago and was buried in the Blessings Cemetery. Their daddy was doing time in prison with no hope of ever getting out. Johnny was all they had left, and he wasn’t going to be the next one to fail them.
He headed for the bathroom on bare feet, wincing at the feel of grit on the floor. He’d meant to sweep up last night after dishes and the boys’ homework, but he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d have time if he hurried through his shower.
A short while later, he was in the kitchen, stirring oatmeal and sipping his second cup of coffee. The washer was on the spin cycle—so far, so good. He eyed the oatmeal, then turned off the fire and set the pan on a back burner as he went down the hall to wake up the boys.
The Ninja Turtle night-light in their room used to be his. It was cracked, and one of the turtles was missing an arm, but it still worked, shedding a pale green glow on their faces. They both had black hair like Johnny’s, and when they got older, he suspected they’d look a lot like him, as well. He did what he could to keep them in line but feared he was a poor substitute for a parent. If he hadn’t already been eighteen when their mama died, the state would have taken them away from him. Now he kept everything on the up-and-up for fear they still might.
He turned on the light in the room and then leaned over the bed they shared and shook each one gently.
“Hey, Marshall. Hey, Beep. It’s time to wake up. Oatmeal is done. Get up now and don’t dawdle. You can’t be late for school.”
The boys were mute as they rolled out of bed and padded across the hall to the bathroom to pee. He got out their clean clothes and then set their shoes side by side on the floor before he left the room. He could already hear giggling inside and knocked on the bathroom door as he passed.
“Quit piddlin’ around and get dressed!” he yelled.
Silence followed his footsteps as he went back to the kitchen. The washer was through spinning, so he dumped the load of wet clothes into the dryer and turned it on. The clothes would be wrinkled when he got home this evening, but at least they’d be clean and dry. They might be living life at the bottom of the barrel, but they didn’t have to live it dirty.
He glanced at the clock. Already a quarter to six and he still hadn’t fixed their lunches. They qualified for the free lunch program at school, but he wasn’t putting that kind of stigma on the boys if he could help it. He got out a can of Spam and began making sandwiches. Marshall liked mayonnaise, Beep wanted butter, and he liked mustard. He made one for each of the boys and two for himself, added a banana apiece in their lunch boxes and a honey bun in his, and then left them on the corner of the table as the boys entered the kitchen. They were dressed, but their hair was a wreck. He’d work on that later.
