The Sweet By and By (15 page)

“Head rush. Moved too quickly.”

Jade paced around to the back of the recliner and brushed her hands over the wooly upholstery. “Mama, remember the night Mr. Barlow came to the house with his gun, ready to shoot the hide off Daddy?”

Mama turned stiffly. “What makes you bring that up?”

Jade shrugged. She'd been remembering a lot of things the past few days since Mama had shown up, fragments of her past. “Aiden and I were so scared.” Jade walked over to a stack of boxes and began to sort—which ones to keep, which to break down for the Dumpster.

“How could I forget? I was furious at your dad. That night was the final straw in our relationship.”

“Yeah, well, here's the thing. The Bensons sort of think Daddy's dead.”

Mama frowned. “How do they sort of think a man is dead?” She tucked the album under her arm, walking slowly toward Jade.

“Funny you should ask.”

“Jade.”

See, mail one invitation and everything tucked away and hidden worked toward center stage. Might as well fire up the spotlight and write a musical score.

“That's what I told them.”

“Why on earth—?” Mama stopped. “I guess I don't need to ask why.”

“My freshman year of college, someone asked me about my dad. It just came out. ‘He's dead.'” Jade ripped apart a damaged box and tossed it on the Dumpster pile. “Not a thought or plan ever to say it. People seem reluctant to pry about dead parents. One line about how painful it was, and no one ever asked me about my father again.”

“Was I ever dead?”

“No.”

“So why tell Max your dad's dead?” Mama's feet remained planted. Not moving away, not moving closer. “New town, new friends. Start clean.”

“Same scenario. It just came out. Kind of a natural story after a while.” Jade picked up another box. It was good and solid. She added it to the keeper pile. “I knew Max was special, but I didn't imagine marriage. Besides, it's not like I'll ever see Dad.”

“Let me guess. You don't want me to tell June?”

“If she finds out Dad's alive, she'll probably demand I invite him to the wedding. On top of everything else—” What in the world? Something sticky coated Jade's hand when she reached for the next box. “Max took a class from Judge Harlan Fitzgerald when he was at Duke and thinks the man is brilliant.”

“I see.”

“Have you talked to him?” Jade wiped her hand on a towel, then broke down the sticky box and surfed it over to the trash pile. “Dad?”

“Not in the past nineteen years or so, since you and Aiden were ten and eleven.” Mama perched on the arm of the recliner, smoothing her hand over the blue and brown Don McLean album. “I can't think how I'd do anything different, Jade. Between your dad and me. The marriage had run its course.”

“Is that why you came down early?” Jade tossed another broken box to the trash pile. “To defend yourself?”

“Am I defending myself? You brought up your dad. Not me. I'm merely telling you how it was, if that's okay with you—or do I have to stand against the wall like a flower until your wedding?”

“I didn't tell you to come down three weeks early.”

“I foolishly let Willow and Sharon talk me into it.”

“Willow and Sharon? You listen to those two?” Jade jerked the broom from the corner. “What happened to Rolf?”

“Nothing. Unfortunately.” After a delay, Mama laughed low. “Rolf 's all right. Certainly put up with me over the years.”

“Just don't tell June about Daddy.” Jade swept box particles into a pile with quick, short strokes.

“Are you planning on keeping this secret forever?”

“Worked well for the past ten years.” She lifted the dustpan from the nail on the wall by the broom's corner.

“I loved your dad, Jade,” Mama said. “I didn't talk to you kids about our divorce because I didn't want to complicate matters. How do you divorce a man you love? The father of your children? We wanted different things. Our marriage simply ended.”

“Aiden and I heard you two arguing that night after Mr. Barlow left. You were on him pretty hard. You forced him out, Mama.” Jade gripped the broom tighter, sweeping farther out from the pile, reaching under the shelves along the wall, filling the dustpan with dust bunnies, paper bits, and torn cardboard.

“He wanted to leave, Jade. For a long time. He just didn't have the courage.”

“Well, thank you so much for giving it to him.” She dumped the dirt into the large trash can by the back door.

“He took the job in Washington without a thought toward me and you kids. That was the second time he'd taken a job without discussing it with me. What does that tell you? He knew how I felt. On top of that, he helped Land & Farm Bank take Mr. Barlow's place away from him. A farm that had been in his family for a hundred and fifty years. He betrayed our friend and neighbor, not to mention what we stood for as a family.”

“What about standing for love and marriage, commitment? You picked Todd Barlow over Daddy, Aiden, and me.”

“Is that why you've been so mad at me all these years?”

“Mama . . . if I have to tell you . . .” Jade tossed the broom into the corner and hung the dustpan on the nail. “Just don't tell June.”

Jade walked with Max against the throng of exuberant trick-or-treaters— four-foot superheroes, princesses, cowboys, and angels.

Whisper Hollow had designated Begonia Valley Lane, a magnolia-lined street with some of the Hollow's most treasured old homes and cottages, as Halloween Alley.

Max ducked under a crooked swag of orange pumpkin-head lights dangling from a branch of reddish-gold-tipped magnolia.

“I think they hired third-graders to hang these things.”

“I love this.” Jade tapped a masked monster on the head as he, she,
it
, ran by. “It's like a big street party.”

Despite the dark side of Mama's parties, Jade grew up loving the sound of laughter behind good music, the shriek of freedom from the day's cares.

Tonight, the air was heavy with the steady sound of children's voices and music. Residents on the lane had gone all out. Bright orange inflatable pumpkins and scarecrows loomed and swayed in almost every yard—and old Clint Smith had hitched up Bessie and Boss for hayrides.

Jade swerved into Max, avoiding a run-amok Stormtrooper.

“Careful.” Max caught a drip of mustard from his Froggers corn dog with his tongue.

“I can't believe you're eating that thing.” Jade counted the lazy scrape of Max's loafers against the sidewalk—one, two, three,
scrape
, one, two, three,
scrape
. His back was better, so he insisted on a Halloween night stroll.

“What do you mean
that thing
? This is dessert.” Max shoved the last of the corn dog in his mouth and chewed with his cheeks puffed out.

“Your mom served lamb with rosemary potatoes. And you top it off with a cheap hot dog rolled in cornmeal.”

“
Mm
, good.” His goofy grin made her laugh.

“A coffee from Diamond Joe's would've been a lovely dessert.”

“But Diamond Joe's is not in the direction I want to go.” Max continued down the lane, pushing against the trick-or-treaters.

“Do you have a specific direction in mind?” She thought he just wanted to stretch his legs, buy a corn dog.

“You . . . with all your questions.” He stepped aside to let three elbow-linked ballerinas wearing fuzzy crowns pass. He bowed. They giggled. “So what'd you think? About Beryl meeting the Reb and June-bug.”

“I was too busy hoping she'd not be Beryl Hill, hippie first-class.” She slipped her hand into his. He leaned toward one of the city trash cans and tossed in his corn dog stick.

“The hippie and the socialite seemed to gel a bit. Reb was his usual charming self. Seemed to take to Willow.”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“Not everyone.” He scooped her into him, kissing her temple. “Too bad your dad isn't around. I'd like to have met him. Beryl was saying he was a good man. Did I hear her say he was a lawyer?”

Jade didn't know how it had happened, but right in the middle of dinner, Beryl launched into a grand story about the greatness of Harlan Fitzgerald, only she called him “the kids' daddy,” and how he loved the law. . . . About then, Jade's glass of red wine mysteriously tipped over.

“Jade, hey Jade.” Lillabeth dashed across the lane wearing the '50s house dress she'd bought from the shop, low-heeled pumps, a short-haired silver wig, pearls, and white gloves.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Jade said.

“June Cleaver.” Lillabeth motioned to her friends. “Tabby's Carol Brady and Anne is Rosanne Barr.”

Max laughed. “Lose a bet, Anne?”

“
Noo
.” Anne curled her lip.

“Jade, I was wondering if you had any extra hours for me this week?”

“You're already working every afternoon.”

Lillabeth glanced at Tabby. “Maybe I could come in before school, help clean or do inventory. Work after closing, go on pick-up runs.”

“What about basketball?”

She jiggled her ankle from side-to-side. “I can miss a few practices.”

“Lillabeth, what's going on?”

“I owe someone, is all.” She and the other girls backed away. “So, can I come in early on Monday?”

“I'll find something for you to do.”

“Thanks, Jade, you're the best.”

“Wonder what she's up to?” Jade stared after her, straining against Max as he tried to steer her down the lane.

“Babe, come on, one foot in front of the other. Let's go, we're almost there.”

“There? Where?” Jade stopped to peer through the bars of the wrought-iron fence surrounding an old gabled house at the end of the lane. “I love this place.”

The three-story with a wraparound porch sat in a weedy, overgrown yard, looking neglected and alone, but Jade thought it was magical.

Max enclosed her between his arms, his hands gripping the bars. “It's gorgeous on the inside. Hand-carved trim and molding, jib windows, open floor plan. Unusual for the day. Huge eat-in kitchen. Living room and family room. A den. Six bedrooms. Forest Wesley built it in 1898. He hired an Italian carpenter to install all the wood and design a curved staircase with a carved walnut banister.”

Jade turned toward the gate. “You've been inside?”

“Last week.” Max dangled a brass key in front of her. “Welcome home, babe.”

Jade twisted out from under his arms. “What? You're lying.”

Max slipped the key in the lock. “Am I?” He swung open the gate.

She couldn't move. “You bought this place? For me?” The subtle knot of tension she'd felt during dinner, trapped between his family and hers, loosened.

“Remember the call about the judge throwing out our contingency motion?” He shook his head. “It was the Realtor. Part of the inspection failed, and he asked the seller to lower her asking price. She agreed, and I needed to get the paperwork going. Do you like it?” Max tapped the keys against his palm.

“I can't believe it.” Chills slipped down her arms and legs as she walked through the gate.

“It is okay, isn't it? I wouldn't have bought it if I didn't know how much you loved it.”

Jade collapsed against him. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It was my pleasure, babe.” Max curved his arm around her back to draw her close, resting his cheek against her hair. “You are so welcome.”

“Max . . .” Jade sniffed. “You smell like mustard.”

He bent to kiss her. “Get used to it.”

She laughed, her lips against his. “Can we go in?”

“All yours.” Max handed her a set of keys, then grabbed the flashlight he'd stored on the porch for this special occasion.

Inside, he moved the light beam along the walls and windows, up the curved staircase to the open second floor, and along the walnut crown molding.

With a slow turn, Jade took in every detail. She was home, finally home. It was as if Forest Wesley had built the house for her. “It's beautiful. Musty smelling, but beautiful.”

“Yeah, it's been closed up for a few years. All the bathroom fixtures need replacing. The kitchen needs to be modernized—”

“Modernized? Max, no. You can't
modernize
a vintage work of art.”

Max laughed. “Spoken like the true queen of vintage. We have to do some work, Jade. When I turn on the shower, I'd like a steady spray of hot water. Not a sprinkle of green mold.”

“You're so demanding, Benson.”

“What can I say, I'm a product of my upbringing.” Max nuzzled her neck, leading her to the steps. “Want to make out? In our new house?”

“What are you? Fifteen?”

“Yes. All guys are basically fifteen. We only pretend to be mature so you'll like us.” He kissed her softly, pulling her to him as he sank to the steps.

Jade swam into his affection, her heartbeat reminding her of how good he was, how much she needed his love. She didn't deserve him, nor this crafted house of beauty and history.

Fraud . . .
A prickly sensation gripped Jade and she pushed out of his arms.

“Hey, that was some of my best kissing.” Max ran his hand over his hair, breathing deep. “What's wrong?”

“I need to tell you something.” Max deserved the truth. How could she go into marriage with such a big lie on her conscience? Deadbeat, albeit alive, dads didn't fall under the ‘past was the past' clause. “My dad . . . Max.”

“What about him?”

Jade paced the open, high ceiling foyer, the hem of her skirt brushing her calves. This would be Max's first memory of her in this house—discovering his wife was a liar.

“Jade?”

“My dad.” She pulled her hair away from her face with her hands. “He's . . . you're going to hate me.”