The Sweet By and By (18 page)

She buried her face against his neck and sobbed. Now that she was safe, she was terrified.

When they came out of the field, the deputy who took away Mr. Barlow signaled to cut the big lights. “She's out. Snoops found her.”

Mama teetered on the edge of the porch as Daddy carried Jade home. “Jade Freedom, what on earth . . . ?”

“Leave her be, Beryl. She's been through enough.” Daddy cupped his hand over the back of her head and carried her into the house, sitting with her on the couch. “We thought you were in your room, asleep. Mama went to check on you and your bed was empty.”

Mama came toward Jade with cotton balls and peroxide, dabbing at the cut on her leg, her fingers trembling. “What on earth possessed you to run into the cornfield?” She glanced at the open screen door. “Eclipse, is that you? Come on in, Jade's doing fine.”

Daddy brushed the sticky strands of hair from Jade's cheeks and eyelids. “Did Boon-Doggle or Sticks put you up to it? Aiden?”

“No.” She cast her eyes down, picking at the dried wound on her knee. “Hey, Eclipse.”

“Hey, kiddo.” The strawlike man with greasy braids knelt beside her. “Did you hear the nightingale sing for you?”

Jade sat up. “I did, I did. The birds watched me. I told them to get Daddy.”

Eclipse closed his eyes and brushed the air with his palm. “The earth is one, Jade, the earth is one.”

“All right, Eclipse, that's enough.” Daddy stood. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Harlan—”

“Fix Jade something to eat, please, Beryl. I'm taking her up for a bath.” Daddy carried her upstairs to the bathtub, singing, “When Irish eyes are smiling, 'tis like the morn in spring.”

Later, when he tucked her into bed, he stared at her for a long time. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Why you ran into the field?” Daddy curved his arm around her head and leaned against the wall.

“I just ran.” Jade stared at the ceiling, inhaling Daddy's end-of-day scent. She liked his cologne. It was her favorite smell.

Daddy sat forward, clearing his voice. “Jade-o, Daddy has to, um, well . . . go away on business for a while.”

“To Washington?”

“So you know. Of course, you're smart, aren't you? Yes, to Washington. But I'll see you real soon. You go on to sleep now.” Daddy tucked the sheet in around her and turned on the floor fan. “Remember, I love you.”

“I love you too.” She rolled onto her side but didn't fall asleep, listening to the sounds of the house. She reached to the fan and clicked off the motor.

Bump, bump, bump.
Footsteps pounded the stairs.

“Did you tell them?” she heard Mama ask.

“I said I was going away on business.”

More bumping sounds. Suitcases.

“Harlan, don't leave this for me to handle alone. It's not fair. You're the one—”

“No, you're the one, Beryl. Tell the kids I'll call them later.”

“Harlan, could you find a worse way to do this? Talk to them. I bet they'll understand.”

“Beryl,”—Jade scrambled to her door, cracked it open, and crawled into the hall.
What happened to Daddy's voice? It sounded like the rain dripping from the eaves
—“I can't.”

Aiden crept down the hall. “He's leaving.”

The peace and security of thirty minutes ago leaked from Jade's pores. “Shh, you're lying. He's going away on business. He told me.”

“Are we really doing this?” From the top of the landing, Jade could see the shiny black of Daddy's head. He was angling toward Mama; Jade could only see the tip of his shoulder.

“We're different people than we were ten years ago, Har.”

“At least one of us is.” Daddy stepped out the door, onto the porch. Jade caught the tips of his Nikes in the yellow porch light.

“Daddy,” Jade murmured, crawling down the hall to Aiden's room so she could peer into the front yard. “Don't go.”

At his car, he lifted his suitcases into the trunk, gazing back at the porch as he walked around to the driver's side door. “I'll send for the rest of my stuff.”

“I told you,” Aiden whispered in her ear. “He ain't coming back.”

Jade smashed her fists into his arm. “Shut up.”

“There's money in the account. I'll call you about details. Beryl, are we—?”

“See you, Harlan.” Mama's voice came from the porch, the voice she used when she asked if they wanted pizza for dinner because she was too tired to cook.

Daddy hesitated by his open car door, playing a jiggling melody with his keys.
Don't leave, don't leave.
Jade dug her fingernails into the paint of the windowsill. He glanced toward the second-floor windows, lifted his hand halfway, as if wanting to say good-bye, then slipped into the Porsche and fired up the engine.

“Told you.” Aiden rolled onto his back, away from the window.

“Wait, Daddy. Wait!” Jade stumbled from the bed, her toes caught in the hem of her nightie. “Daddy, wait!”

“It's too late, Jade.”

“I want to go.” She tripped as she flew down the stairs, her gown too tight around her legs. “Wait for me, Daddy. I want to go with you. I promise to be good. I promise. You'll be glad I'm born.” Jade smashed open the screen door. “Wait, Daddy, please. Don't leave me. Please!”

Pumping her legs, wishing for wings, Jade raced to the end of the drive, the soles of her bare feet pierced by the sharp-edged gravel.

But Daddy didn't even slow down. Jade watched until his car disappeared around the bend, his red taillights swimming at the end of her vision. She crumbled to the asphalt and became one with the grime and the pebbles.

Sixteen

By Wednesday afternoon, shop details had stacked up on Jade. Four messages from estate brokers, seven from consignment clients, and an in-store shopper asking for the history of the banister rocking chair.

In the loft, Willow surfed cable channels while waiting for Jade to go with her to BoutiqueCouture for her fitting.

“What do you want me to tell Mrs. Ellison about the rocking chair?” Lillabeth followed Jade to the office.

“Tell her it has a history. We just don't know it yet.” Dumping the mail on the desk, Jade reached into Roscoe's treat bin and tossed a soft bone to his spot under the desk.

Jade snatched up a sticky note and maximized QuickBooks. Ah, Luella Wentworth. That's right . . . She needed to print a check for her.

“The chair is eight hundred dollars. She thinks it's a lot of money unless there's some story behind the chair. She's worse than you about wanting a history with her antiques.” Lillabeth and the rocking chair.

“Okay, yeah.” Hands on her hips, Jade gazed out the alley window. “Here . . . How about I found it in Atlanta. Is she a Rebel or a Yankee?”

“Transplanted Yankee.”

“Okay, good. Found it in a house once occupied by Union troops during the war. It's believed General Grant used the rocker during his nightly prayers.”

“Ooh, good.” Lillabeth started out of the office. “I like it.”

“Wait.” Jade grabbed her arm. “Don't tell her unless she presses. Start with finding it in Atlanta and go from there. If she starts to negotiate, go straight to General Grant.”

“I'm on it.” Lillabeth hurried through the shop. “Mrs. Ellison, I just read up on the chair's history.”

Jade stooped to say hi to Roscoe. “We're busy today, old boy. But soon, you'll have a house with five acres all to yourself and a fenced yard. You won't have to fear runaway trucks.” She massaged his neck and front quarters.

Three thirty. Where did the day go? She had to get Willow and head to the city. “Lillabeth, thanks for holding down the fort for me. I should be back to close.” Jade crossed the shop, heading for the loft stairs. “Mama.”

She was seated on the bottom step.

“I'd like to go with you.” She reached for the rail to pull herself up. “Willow thought it'd be all right. After so many years on the road, sitting in a B&B all day gets a bit tiring.”

“You can come to the shop anytime, Mama. No one said you had to sit at the B&B. And Max promised you a tour of the house tomorrow, didn't he? You should call him—”

“I just meant I'd like to go with you this afternoon, Jade. Don't need a lecture.”

Jade bounded up the steps and rapped on the door. “Willow, let's go. Bring my truck keys.”

Just as they stepped out the storeroom door, Jade's cell rang from her hip pocket. It was Max.

“I'm on my way to see you.”

“Now? We're on our way to the boutique for Willow's fitting.”

“Have her handle it without you.”

“Why? What's wrong?” The edge in his voice disturbed her. She knocked her toe against the surface of the blacktop.

“Wait for me at the shop. I'm in the car. Be there in ten.” His cell went silent.

Jade glanced at Mama, then Willow, the palm of her hand sticking to the phone. “Max.” She held up the phone as if were exhibit A. “He's on his way. Needs to see me about something important.”

“Like what?”

Jade tossed the truck's keys to Willow. “Take Mama and go. The boutique is on Market Street by the Read House.” She eyed Mama. “Do you have a dress for the wedding?”

Mama sliced her fingers through the tip of her braid. “Hadn't thought much of it until now.”

“Help her find one, Wills. Charge it to the account.”

“Right-o, Jade-o. Let's go, Beryl-o.” Willow looped her arm around Mama's shoulders. “Feeling a bit boney today, are we?”

Standing in the alley, Jade watched Willow drive down the hill with Mama, her arms folded, hunching against the nip in the air. Curly, puffy clouds drifted between the Appalachian peaks and the pale blue sky.
What's up with Mama?
Showing up for the wedding, unannounced, three weeks early, contrite and quiet. She'd been distant and curt at Granny's funeral, but today Jade noted a softness about her and a poised expression as if she was about to speak.

“I sold it.” Lillabeth skip-jogged over the pavement to where Jade stood.

“The rocker? Fantastic.”

“For the whole price, but only half the story.”

“Double fantastic.” Jade slapped her a low-five.

“I think I'm salesgirl of the year.” Lillabeth started back toward the shop. “I thought you were going to the city.”

“Willow took Mama. Max called. He's on his way here.”

“So, do I get a commission?”

“On?”

“Selling that chair. Full price.” Lillabeth stood in the storeroom door, angling to see into the shop. “A workman is worthy of her hire.”

“I'll see.” It was unusual for Lillabeth to be so concerned about earning money. It's not like she needed it. Her family was part of the Whisper Hollow elite.

Jade wandered back into her office to work, but her mind drifted. What could drive Max from his office in the middle of the afternoon to talk to her?

She tried to discern her thoughts by rattling the bag of bones stored in her emotional closet.

“Max just pulled up,” Lillabeth announced.

Jade met him in the middle of the shop with a casual, “What's up?”

“Can we talk in the loft?”

Jade's mind twisted with the purpose of this demanded meeting. Was it the house? Did the deal fall through?

Wait, was this about her dad? Oh please, don't tell her Max went looking for Harlan Fitzgerald. Jade would wish she'd left him dead if that were the case.

Was it something to do with June? Maybe Rice? A chill numbed her thoughts.

Max shut the door as Jade entered. “You're scaring me.” She fingered Paps's medallion, wishing she had the courage to pray. But she'd surrendered her rights and any possible access to Jesus thirteen years ago.

Max stood on the other side of the coffee table. “Why didn't you tell me?” He locked his eyes on her, piercing and drilling.

“Tell you what?” Jade sank to the edge of the sofa and picked a loose thread from her sweater. “That Mama was weird? What? Is this about my dad? I don't—”

“I feel like such a fool.”

“Max, enough, what are you talking about?” Jade tightened the loose thread around her thumb until the tip was blood red.

“I bought into your line, Jade, about the past being in the past. Hook, line, and sinker. Deaf, dumb, and stupid.”

“Like you don't have a few skeletons to hide?” Jerking her thumb free, Jade rubbed it until the skin was normal and pink. The direction of the conversation made her shiver. “Like the real reason you and Rice broke up. She told me she wanted it to work, but you were in something . . . denial, deceit, something. And your mom being all funny about your back problems and your meds, refusing to talk in front of me. What's going on there, huh, Max?”

“Never mind me. You're married, Jade. Mar-
ried
.”

She rose slowly to her feet. “What?”

“Yeah, you're married.” He faced her, chin out, feet apart, arms akimbo. “My secrets have a long way to go to top yours, babe, trust me.”

The blood drained from her head and gathered in her toes. Purplish-red spots swirled before her eyes. A cold sweat dotted her forehead and neck.

“No. I'm not married.”

“You sat in Reverend Girden's office and lied. I defended you when he questioned your spirituality, told him you were good and honest. Do you make a habit of lying about your past?”

“I'm not married, Max.” She balled her hands, gripping them in her lap. “I'm not. Stop saying I am.”

“Does the name Dustin Colter ring a bell?” He pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and dropped it to the coffee table.

No, no, no.
Jade knocked the paper to the floor. “I'm not married.”

“Well the state of Iowa sure thinks you are. How did you get married in '96 anyway? Did Beryl give you permission?”