Somewhere Between Luck and Trust (20 page)

She was horrified, yet all the time she’d stood here, a part of her had worried that somehow, while they had been away from the house, Jackson had gotten inside, Jackson, who was hiding and waiting. And what if he had? Would she prefer to go back in unprotected? To grab a bread knife she could never use on another human being no matter how much she hated him?

Sully held it in the palm of his hand. “I want you to try it. Show me everything I just showed you, then I’ll leave it for you.”

She thought about Jackson inside her house, just as he had been inside the B and B that morning. Tears filled her eyes, but she gave a quick nod.

“This life of ours, it’s not always the one we would choose,” Sully said, his voice low and surprisingly comforting. “But it’s the one we’ve been given, and it’s up to each of us to defend it if we have to. If you have to use this, you won’t be the aggressor, but you won’t be the victim, either.”

“I never...never thought that life you mentioned would come to this.” She cleared her throat; then she held out her hand.

“Good for you,” he said. “Now, let’s go over everything again.”

Chapter Twenty-One

LUCAS LIKED HIS
little A-frame, although like the owner, he would shed no tears when the wrecking ball arrived. He could picture something extraordinary on this spot, maybe a graceful Arts and Crafts bungalow, popular in the area, or a farmhouse with spacious porches. He was surprisingly traditional, and he hoped the friend who owned this land didn’t build a gaudy contemporary that drew attention to itself and not the beauty of the land.

On Saturday morning he was outside on one of the decks when he saw Dawson trudging up the driveway. He was surprised to see the boy, who was usually too busy on weekends to have time to visit. Lucas had hoped to be busy with Georgia, but she had gone up the mountain to tutor the young woman living at the Goddess House.

He lifted a hand in greeting and waited for Dawson to join him.

“Nice to see you,” Lucas said. “I thought you’d probably have a bunch of stuff to do with the weather so pretty.”

Dawson pulled up a chair and joined him, turning his face to the morning sun. “My father’s out of town at a livestock show. He gave me a list of chores longer than a yardstick, but my mother tore it up and told him I deserved a day to myself.”

Lucas was pleased that Wilma—known as Willie—Nedley had given the boy a little slack. He was also pleased she’d stood up to her husband. Theirs seemed to be a traditional marriage, and Eugene was the undisputed head of the household.

“So what do you have planned? Going off with friends?”

“I don’t have friends anymore. You have to have time to have friends, and I don’t have any. Everybody I used to hang out with is already doing something with somebody else.”

Lucas thought loneliness probably contributed to Dawson’s depression. No professional had to examine the boy to convince Lucas. He just hoped BCAS and the new literary magazine would give the boy the boost he needed to move forward. His parents wouldn’t agree to counseling for him, not until things got a lot worse—which he hoped they never did.

“Want to go for a hike?” Lucas asked; then he thought of something else. “Or how would you like to earn some money
and
go hiking? Mrs. Ferguson and some friends have a place up in Madison County. They’re going to plant a garden, but they need somebody to till it. We could throw your tiller in the back of my SUV. There are some great places to hike up that way, too. I’ll pay you for your time.”

Dawson looked as interested as a teenage boy was allowed to. “Does she need manure? Because we have a big pile of composted manure ready to spread. No problem to take some with us in my pickup. If you’ll help me load it.”

Forking manure wasn’t the way Lucas had planned to spend his Saturday, but he knew Georgia would be grateful for the help. And he doubted the boy had much time to earn spending money.

“Let me see if I can get hold of Mrs. Ferguson.”

“How do you know so much about her?” Dawson asked.

Lucas believed in honesty. He also believed in too-much-information. “We’ve become friends.”

“She’s not so bad,” Dawson said.

Lucas managed not to smile. “There’s a young woman living in the house. Not too much older than you, I don’t think. Mrs. Ferguson is doing some tutoring with her.”

“Isn’t she pretty high-powered for that?”

“I doubt she thinks she’s too high-powered to help a friend.”

If Dawson saw the parallel to himself and Lucas, he didn’t let on.

* * *

Cristy was proud that, for the most part, she had answered all Georgia’s questions correctly today. They were working with tiles, most with one letter printed on them, some with two of the letters always had the same sound when they were used together. They were beginning with the most common sounds and moving toward the least common.

Today they had begun to work on syllables. That she had come this far already amazed her, and even Georgia was surprised at how quickly she had progressed in the weeks they’d been working together. Cristy studied whenever she wasn’t working at the Mountain Mist or in the garden, and for fun she had begun a sketch for each letter, adding objects that began with the letter into fanciful collages of images.

They had been working an hour, and Cristy was eager for more, but Georgia pushed back her chair. “An hour, tops,” she said. “Everybody’s brain shuts down after that, including your tutor’s.”

Cristy was sorry the lesson was over. “I just want to learn everything right away.” She softened the words, so they wouldn’t sound petulant. “It’s like cracking open the door when I want to see the whole house.”

“I’ve been thinking about this. Truth is you need two, even three hours a week of tutoring. You’re too committed to do this as slowly as we have to. So far you’ve made up for that by working on your own, but you can only do so much alone. Why don’t you consider driving down to Asheville one afternoon a week and working with me at the school? It’s closer than my house by miles, so it’s the best place. Your car’s in good shape, and I’d be happy to help you fill your gas tank if it saves me an extra trip up here.”

“You would do that? Tutor me twice a week?”

“I love this.” Georgia smiled, and Cristy could see the smile was genuine. “Being an administrator was always my dream, but I’m surprised how much I miss teaching. This makes up for it, and quite honestly, watching you bloom so fast is good for my ego.”

Cristy imagined coming home after dark to the empty Goddess House, which was not as frightening a thought as coming home to find it was
not
empty. She thought of the stun gun wrapped in newspaper in the back of a desk drawer even now. Then she thought about all the books she wanted so badly to read. Spring was here and daylight hours would be longer. She might beat twilight if she didn’t dawdle in town.

“I could do that. I’m done at the B and B by three o’clock. I could leave from there and meet you at the school if you give me directions.”

“That’s great. Let’s add one afternoon a week then, and maybe another later if we can work it out.”

Cristy knew this extra help was going to change her life. Then she thought about Michael. What if he was living with her? How would she work at the B and B? How would she drive down the mountain with a baby and expect him not to fuss or scream while she learned to read? Could she concentrate on syllables and vowel sounds while she was giving him a bottle or changing his diaper?

“One step at a time,” Georgia said, as if she recognized the look in Cristy’s eyes.

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“How could I not? You have a dozen important choices to make, but remember, you only have to make one at a time, and right now you’re learning to read so your future will be a lot brighter.”

“And Michael’s future?”

“I know that must haunt you.”

Cristy had carefully kept conversation about Michael to a minimum with Georgia, but now she broke her own rule.

“I still haven’t worked up the courage to see him.”

“Do you need company?”

Something about including Georgia in the visit didn’t feel right. Georgia was doing enough, and Cristy didn’t want to wear out her welcome.

“I’m not ready yet. But I’ll let you know.”

Gravel crunched on the driveway, and from a distance, somebody honked. As always Cristy’s heart leaped to her throat, but as she watched, a pickup truck appeared through the trees.

“I wonder who that is?” Judging from the age and condition of the truck, it didn’t belong to Jackson.

“I know who it is. It’s a surprise.”

Cristy frowned. “You
know?
”

“It’s my friend Lucas and a boy from BCAS named Dawson. He lives on a farm, and he has a rototiller. He and Lucas are going to till the garden and spread a load of composted cow manure.

“Are you serious?” Cristy jumped to her feet and stared toward the truck, delighted. “If he does that, I can plant.”

“Do you have seeds?”

“Zettie said I can have whatever leftovers she has from this year’s garden, and Lorna has some, too.” She switched her gaze to Georgia and saw she was smiling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cristy asked.

“Because I thought you might be as excited as you are, and our lesson would suffer.”

“So right!” Cristy started down the steps, and by the time the men had parked and gotten out, she was there to greet them.

“I’m Cristy,” she said, holding out her hand to the older of the two. “You must be Lucas.”

He smiled, and she immediately realized why Georgia was enjoying his company. He shook her hand, then nodded to the eye candy coming around from the driver’s side. “This is Dawson.”

She held out her hand and Dawson, who looked bored, took it and shook. “Yeah, where’s the garden?”

“I’ll show you. Thank you so much for doing this.”

“I’m getting paid,” Dawson said.

Cristy tilted her head. “To be grouchy?”

He looked startled, then she saw the hint of a smile. Dawson was an impressively good-looking young man, and she imagined he had many better things to do than spread manure.

“I’ll help,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you need. Let me show you where to go.”

“Hop in the truck with him,” Lucas said. “Mrs. Ferguson and I will join you there.”

Cristy climbed into the passenger side and told Dawson where to go. The moment they began to move, he started to whistle.

She wasn’t used to being ignored by young men. “Did I take you away from your girlfriend?” she shouted above what was a piercing and off-key shriek.

He had to stop whistling to answer. “Don’t have one.”

“What’s wrong with the young ladies of Asheville?”

He shot her a glance. “What makes you think I care?”

“Tough guy, huh? I’ve gotta tell you, I know what real tough guys look like, and you aren’t one of them. So lighten up and let’s have fun today.”

“Yeah, like doing farm chores is ever fun.”

“I love growing things, or I think I will. I never had a garden before.”

“Lucky you.”

They had reached the plot, and Dawson parked and got out. He surveyed the scene. “You have an asparagus bed?”

“Yeah, please don’t till there. And I think those blackberries in the corner ought to stay.”

He snorted, then he opened the gate and went in, heading right for them. For weeks Cristy had indulged in visions of delicious jam, imagining the sugary taste against her tongue. She even nurtured a secret hope that the bramble thicket was actually raspberries, or at least black raspberries. Dawson stopped in front of them.

“Nothing here but a plain old briar patch.”

“But they’re blackberries, right? They’ll bear fruit?”

“Sure they are, the same kind you’ll get outside this garden anywhere you look. Over by the barn, along the path. Lots of miserable little blackberries with seeds to get caught in your teeth. Nothing worth saving here. They’ll just spread and take over. Better to get rid of them now.”

“Oh...” She was disappointed. “I really hoped...”

“Nothing to hope for, trust me, just big trouble later on.”

“Well, darn. I guess you’d better take them out, if you can.”

“You just watch me.” For the first time he sounded as if he was looking forward to something about the afternoon.

* * *

Two hours later Cristy was so tired she could hardly stand, but Dawson looked as fresh as he had when he arrived. She and Georgia had spread manure as Dawson and Lucas tilled. Then they’d all raked and patted the soil into rows.

The plot actually looked like a garden now. Despite exhaustion Cristy was absolutely delighted. Tomorrow first thing she would go to Zettie and ask about the seeds. The older woman had said she might have plants for Cristy, too, and soon Harmony would bring up the “tomato trees.” Cristy couldn’t wait to get everything in the ground. She could do a lot of it tomorrow after work, because then she would have Lorna’s seeds, as well.

Lucas helped Dawson put the tiller in the pickup, then the four of them walked back toward the house. Earlier Cristy had made a pitcher of iced tea, and she planned to offer tuna fish sandwiches to go with it, since it was past lunchtime. She was sure they were all as hungry as she was.

She and Georgia climbed the steps, with the men right behind them. Cristy realized they had left all the tutoring materials out on the table—the pictures, the alphabet tiles, everything right there in plain sight.

She moved to the table to clear it, but Georgia got there first. Unfortunately Dawson was right behind her.

“What’s all that?” he asked, disdain in his voice. “I don’t see any little kids.”

Cristy didn’t know what to say. Dawson turned to look at her. “Lucas said Mrs. Ferguson was tutoring you. What, are you, like, learning to read?” He laughed, the happiest he had sounded that day.

She realized he didn’t actually believe he had guessed the truth. He had no idea she really might not read; it probably seemed inconceivable.

She stood a little straighter. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“No way!” He laughed again. “You mean you can’t read? Where’d you grow up, somewhere they didn’t have school?”

“That’s enough,” Lucas said. “It’s probably time for us to get moving.”

Dawson’s expression changed slowly. “Oh,” he said.

Cristy looked away. “I’m dyslexic. I never learned to read and finally somebody’s helping me, and now I
am
learning. It’s not really that funny.”

“Well, you have to admit it’s kind of strange—”

“Dawson,” Georgia said, “you and Lucas go now. I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

Cristy didn’t watch them leave. She was looking down at her feet, composing herself and blinking hard.

A moment later Georgia put her arm around Cristy’s shoulders. “You’ve had a lot of that in your life, haven’t you?”

“Some,” she said softly. “But I worked so hard to make sure nobody caught on. I pretended I didn’t care, or I was too good for the stuff they were teaching. And you know, maybe if I hadn’t? They would have given me more help.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Then why do I feel ashamed?”

“Because that was awkward, and you don’t want to be different. But you’re making such strides. Don’t let an adolescent boy with problems of his own set you back.”