The Sweet By and By (13 page)

“What
did
Max say about your relationship with Dustin?” Daphne, ever calm, always soothing, lobbing cherry bombs.

“He doesn't know.” Jade avoided visual confrontation by gulping her latte, her very hot latte. She twisted the cap off the water she'd also purchased and took a long swig.

“Max and I made a pact about our past . . . it doesn't matter. Especially relationships. Our lives began when we met.”

“Dustin did a number on you, Jade.” Margot shook her head and played with her stir stick, bending it between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell her, Daphne. She needs to get it all out before Max touches an old wound or something. Right?”

“I'm not wounded, Margot. Some people grow up and get over their hurts. So don't shove your issues off on me.”

“Max deserves to know. Daph, back me up here.” The dentist and her five cents of advice. “I took psych in college; I remember a few things.”

“The psychiatric world thanks you for going into dentistry,” Daphne said. “I'm with Jade on this one. There are benefits in
not
dragging out all the skeletons in our closet. Might be the best decision you've made for your marriage.”

“What about you and Rainy, Daph?” Margot began with a smirk on her lips. “I seem to recall you guys ‘talking all night' and ‘sharing your hearts.' And he was the poster boy for lying scoundrel.”

Daphne snarled at Margot. “Forgive me for being trusting and not asking if he had a wife and family on the other side of the country.”

“Jade, have you asked Max if he has a wife and kids?” Margot teased. “Not if he has ever been married, but if he
is
married?”

“No, but I'll clarify that with him.” Jade laughed low, winking at Daphne.

“You two are just cruel. Cruel.” Daphne smiled now, but it'd taken two years before her eyes didn't glisten when she heard a romantic melody or the words
love
and
happily ever after.

Tender and kind, with a wide open heart, Daphne had never suspected the sincerity of the eloquent and august Rainy Collins. She'd found her Mr. Darcy.

But he turned out to be a Mr. Wickham.

“Jade”—Margot held up her BlackBerry—“It's five fifteen. What time is our appointment at BoutiqueCouture?”

“Five thirty.” And it was only a minute's walk away in the lobby of the Read House. So—“I met Max's ex-fiancée at his parents' house, the night of the infamous money-giving dinner party.”

“What's she like?” Daphne said.

“What you'd expect as a potential Benson wife. Athletic, beautiful, educated, accomplished, blah, blah.” Jade stared toward the window, the pink of twilight reflecting in the glass. A river of red taillights flowed down Broad Street.

“You think she'll be the one crashing the wedding?” Margot laughed, but the comment pinged Jade's fears.

“I caught them at Aretha Frankenstein's—” She hadn't planned this confession, but hearing her words caused the air in her lungs to feel lighter.

“Across the river from Benson Law? Hm, some sort of secret meeting . . .”

“Margot, you make everything sound suspicious.”

“What? You're the one who said you ‘caught them.' Is it Margot-is-the-bad-guy day or something?”

“It's just that—” Jade had trusted a man before, and . . . “Nothing. Max said they're just friends, and I have no reason not to believe him.”

“Any word on your mom coming to the wedding?” Daphne asked.

“Willow said Mama got the invite but doesn't know if she's coming.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Uh-oh,” Margot moaned. “Every time she prefaces a question with ‘Can I ask you something?' she's in headshrinker mode. You have to cut this out, Daph. You don't see me walking up to people asking to see their molars.”

“That's because your job is disgusting. Mine is about healing people's souls.”

“Disgusting? Who else can turn the world on with a smile?” Margot threw her arms wide. “A big, bright, white, perfectly capped smile?”

“Mary Tyler Moore.”

“Deflect if you want, but I'm on to you, since our freshman year. You secretly want to tell everyone how to think and feel.”

“On to me? Freshman year?” Daphne countered. “You were so into Chris Herman you couldn't walk across campus without hitting a tree.”

“At least he was human. What was that science project you dated—Rico somebody?”

“What's your question, Daph?” Jade waited.

“Why don't you just call your mom? Ask her to the wedding.”

“Because . . .” She fiddled with her napkin. “I don't know if I want her to come.”

“Is there
anything
you like about this woman, Jade? Other than her giving birth to you?”

Jade's thoughts shot through her heart. Sweet, gentle, dangerous Daphne and her cherry-bomb questions.

“When I was a girl,” she started slowly, digging deep, “Mama taught me to braid her hair. I loved running my fingers through the long silky strands that shone like gold threads when the sun hit them. She was larger than life, so alive and free with these unique, interesting friends. She would throw these grand parties at our farmhouse in Iowa, and her hippie buddies would pitch tents and park their vans. Then one day, it all changed, at least that's how it seemed to me at eight years old. I thought Mama and her friends were magical, but now I know they were high and out of it.”

Jade rubbed the lipstick stain from the rim of her latte's lid. Daphne and Margot waited, listening.

“One summer, Mama threw a party every weekend, and a deputy would come around about sundown every Sunday to shut her down. By then, at nine, ten, eleven, I realized how stupid she was behaving.”

“But look, here you are, Jade.” Daphne gripped Jade's arm with her steady hand. “Successful, smart, about to marry one of the most eligible bachelors in the Southeast. What a blessing.”

Jade exhaled a staccato laugh. She didn't deserve any blessings.

“Aiden and I watched the parties from my bedroom window. I had the large room in the back of the house. Daddy stood guard by the bonfire, arms crossed, feet apart. Now I know it was the beginning of the end.” She peered into Daphne's olive eyes and absently touched the praying hands medallion at the base of her throat. “Granny and Paps made life stable for Aiden, Willow, and me, and then I went to college and met you and Margot. You became my family.”

“Remember when Daphne found you in our room, practically paralyzed by a panic attack?” Margot recounted the memory as if discussing an all-night study session.

A gray sensation doused Jade. She'd never forget that afternoon. It was terrifying, and even now it haunted her. She stirred herself. “What time is it? . . .

Five twenty five. We'd better go.”

Jade followed Margot out Starbucks' front door, stepping into the cool evening. Daphne walked alongside, linking her arm through Jade's.

“Max's capped teeth will drop right out of his head when he sees you,” Margot said, the skip of her heels on the sidewalk moving in rhythm with Jade's.

“He doesn't have capped teeth.”

“I'm a dentist, Jade. Trust me.” Margot tipped her head to see Jade's face. “Maybe you don't know everything you need to know about this man.”

“I'm telling you.” Daphne pulled up before going inside and gestured at their reflection in the glass. “This could be the cover of our book. Just leave Max at the altar.”

Margot backed away. “No way is my face appearing on a book cover with the word
stupid
in the title. Not even for a chance to be on
Oprah
.”

“Hey, it was your title idea.”

Jade swung open the door. “You two can fight among yourselves, but I have an appointment inside to try on my wedding dress. I'm getting married in three weeks.”

Mama or no Mama.

Eleven

She passed the Blue Umbrella for a third time.

“Beryl,
helloooo
.” Willow waved and pointed her hand out the window like it was on fire. “Where are you going?”

Home. Prairie City. To blackmail that crazy Dr. Meadows into giving her a release to go back to work. Coming to Whisper Hollow was a stupid idea. Jade didn't want her at her wedding. And her first night at the “cozy and quaint” Magnolia Tree Bed and Breakfast was loud and uncomfortable. Beryl had slept for two seconds.

“Hey, kids, this is your brain on drugs . . .” Willow knocked the top of Beryl's head.

“Stop it.” Beryl smacked Willow's hand away as she downshifted, braking for the stop sign at the bottom of Main Street. The old Toyota's gears groaned.

“The street is what, three inches long? How can you miss the Blue Umbrella? It's right there.”

Beryl swerved, pulling off into a muddy patch marked with tire treads. “Get out.”

“Gladly.” Willow smashed open her door. “Do you want me to tell her you were here, or just pretend—”

Beryl gunned the gas, kicking up a bit of mud with her tires. Willow was too bright and too stupid for her own good. One of these days, she was going to have to choose a side.

All Beryl wanted was a moment of quiet, a chance to think, to go over what she wanted to say when she saw Jade for the first time in three years. Turning left at a light, Beryl circled through a park parking lot, came out on a side street, and once again crept up Main toward the Blue Umbrella.

Choosing a spot in front of the diner, Sugar Plumbs, she parked the Corolla, cut the engine, and set the brake.

Yep, there was the Blue Umbrella. And inside, her girl. Girls, for that matter. Dropping her forehead to the dry, peeling steering wheel, Beryl gathered an arsenal of small talk to use when the conversation began and ended with “Hello.”

“Sugar, you okay?” A sparkling cherub face peered through the passenger window.

“Yes, I'm fine.” Beryl rubbed steering wheel dust from her forehead.

The woman came around to her side of the car. “Mae Plumb.” She nodded toward the diner. “Are you Jade's mama?”

Beryl crinkled her brow. “I might be. Why?”

“I see it in your eyes. Same shape and color, yeah, and the same . . . same . . . I don't know. Sadness.”

Same sadness? “Beryl Hill, nice to meet you.”

The woman shook her offered hand. “Listen, I own Sugar Plumbs, so you come on over to lunch or supper. On the house. We love Jade around here. Her pretty little shop has already helped tourism. And marrying that Max Benson ain't hurting nothing neither, you know? How do you like him?” The diner owner was chattier than Willow, but twice as nice.

“I haven't met him yet.”

“No fooling? Well, you'll love him. He's a catch, a mighty fine catch.”

With her fingers on the door handle, Beryl listened to the woman—Mae, was it?—go on about the Indian summer weather and how the town planned to really do up trick-or-treating for the kids this year.

But past the round, pink woman was the Blue Umbrella's front door. By now, Willow had informed Jade, “Beryl's here.”

So what was her delay? All she had to do was walk across the street and say hello.

Then somehow build a bridge across a deep valley of whys.

“What's she doing now?”

“Sitting in the car, drinking coffee. Mae just brought her a cup.”

Jade fussed with the pumpkin display, moving the biggest one in the front to the back. And the cluster of small ones Lillabeth had arranged in the back to the front.
There. Perfect
. Then she gazed out the front picture window over Willow's shoulder. “Why won't she come in? It's been over an hour.”

“It's Beryl, Jade. She's been even weirder than usual lately.”

“Weirder than usual?” Jade fluffed the orange tabby cat pillow sitting on the banister-back rocking chair. “How could she get more weird?”

“Different weird, like taking long vacations. Agreeing to come down here three weeks before your wedding. I mean, what's up with that? Wonder if she's on the outs with Rolf again.”

“After all the abuse she's given him . . .” Jade peered across the street again. Navy blue clouds rolled in with the noon hour, and a stiff wind blew rain sprinkles against Main Street's windows.

Mama sat behind the wheel of her Toyota, windows rolled up, sipping Plumbs' coffee, looking straight ahead, her silver braid slinking down over her shoulder. Stubborn woman.

“Jade, are these Calvin Kleins?” Willow had wandered from the window to the clothing racks. She was holding up a pair of jeans with gold stitching on the hip pockets.

“From the 1980s. There are a couple of pairs. The lady who consigned them wore them when she went discoing in Manhattan during the Studio 54 days.” The shop's phone rang. Jade leaned over the counter for the portable receiver. “Thank you for calling the Blue Umbrella.”

“What in tarnation are you doing?” Mae asked. “Get on over here and greet your mama.”

“Is her leg broke, Mae?” Jade straightened the small stack of Blue Umbrella business cards by the register. “I don't see her walking inside.”

“She just drove eight hundred miles to see you. I think you can hike your hindquarters across the street to say hello. Come in the diner and have an early lunch. Everything gets smoothed over with a good slice of pie.”

“Does the UN know about you? Mae Plumb's solution to world peace? Pie.”

“You surprise me, Jade. I've seen you put up with June Benson's silliness, smiling against the urge to pluck her eyes out. Mercy knows, she can grind your last nerve into the dirt, but this is your mama.”

Jade collapsed over the counter, propping her forehead against her palm and sighing. “It's complicated, Mae.”

“I understand that, girl, but leaving her sitting in the car when it's fixing to pour buckets ain't going to make it uncomplicated, is it?”