The Sweet By and By (32 page)

“Basically. The annulment never happened. He wanted to see me, so he drove to Whisper Hollow.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Walked the park . . .” She didn't have the emotional energy to recount the conversation with Dustin.

“So is that the big angst between you and Mama?”

Moonlight broke through a stand of trees on the edge of the garage's pavement.

“Aiden, I—” She ran her fingers through her hair and shifted in her seat, envisioning the black-and-white sketch of her ordeal. What would he think of her? Her big brother, the one who came into her room at night when he discovered the truth about Dustin, and prayed good night and encouraged her to find her destiny. “I was pregnant.”

“I see.”

The temperature in the cab rose a degree. Jade kicked open the door and stepped out. “Mama took me to a clinic . . . in Des Moines. She told me she'd been through the same thing, before Daddy, and that it was no big deal.”

Aiden whistled down the digital line. “Jade, I'm sorry.”

“I've been so mad at her for so long. Hated her really. Hated myself.”

“So what happened tonight? Why are you telling me this now?”

“She lied, Aiden. She never aborted a baby. She just told me that so I'd feel better. Then she dropped me at Granny's and ran off with Gig. I thought I was dying. I needed her to put a soft hand on my hot skin and tell me I was going to be fine.”

“Did you ask her to stay?”

“Do you think she would have?” Jade pressed her forehead to one of the square glass panes of the garage bay's door.

“Whether she would've or not isn't the question. Did you ask her?”

“Whose side are you on? You know darn well she wouldn't have let Gig go to Chicago without her.”

“You didn't ask her because you were already ticked.”

“So what if I was? She made me go to the clinic.”

“Jade, I'm sorry for what you went through, but since when did Mama make us to do anything? Granny was the one with all the rules. Mama would come home and say, ‘Leave the kids be, Mother. They're doing fine.' She had three life platitudes: ‘Stand up for yourself, stand up for your fellow man, and follow your heart.'”

“Then she should've stood up for me, her daughter.”

“What are you saying? She dragged you to the clinic? Come on, Jade. You got in the truck and went with her, didn't you?”

“I was sixteen.” Jade tucked her chin to her chest. “Dustin walked out on me. I was devastated.” A whiff of grease made her queasy.

“Why didn't you go to Granny? Or a teacher? Why Mama?”

“Stop, stop. I call you for help and you condemn me. You sound like her, like it's all my fault!” Jade's voice bounced against the garage walls. “Well, it's not. Everyone abandoned me. Even you abandoned me . . . for Jesus. And when I got in a bind, I was left to suffer on my own.”

“Pity isn't your shade, Jade. The first step to healing is being honest with yourself. You made the decision to go.”

“He walked out on me, Aiden. He chose wrestling over me. Why are you being so mean?” Jade fired the phone across the garage, rage careening through the canyon of her soul.

Jade bolted awake, gasping, her hair clinging to the side of her face and neck. She exhaled in short puffs. Where was she?

The garage. Wayne. Right. The cab of her truck. She crawled out, her eyes burning, her muscles without power. Did someone get the license plate of the Mack truck that hit her?

The cold air of the garage chilled her warm skin. Shivering, Jade zipped up her jacket as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. If she had the truck keys, she'd turn on the headlights. But she'd given them to Wayne, and the office door was locked.

She needed to find her far-flung phone. Getting on her hands and knees, Jade searched the grimy floor by the soft illumination from a distant street lamp. She moaned when her hand landed in an oil slick. Ah, her phone. In the back right corner.

Checking to see if it still worked—it did—Jade exited Wayne's shop by the back door and stepped into a solemn, hushed night.

Two a.m. How many nights had she been awake in the early morning hours, wrestling with the ghosts of condemnation and fear?

The cold pushed her into a jog toward Miss Linda's, and Jade's conversation with Aiden came alive in her mind. He'd blamed
her
. All the years Mama ran off, having a fun ol' time, neglecting her responsibilities, and he had the nerve to indicate Jade was the one responsible for their estrangement, for the drive to the clinic, for her own pain?

Her brother was crazy. Did he not see the picture she'd painted?
Baby, abortion, no choice.

Pausing outside Miss Linda's gate, Jade called Max again. Still no answer. He always had his phone with him, on, charged up, ready to go. Her heart thumped with the idea that something might be wrong. His back? Who knows what those overgrown frat boys had talked him into doing?

Lifting the gate latch, Jade followed the walkway around to Miss Linda's back patio. She gently tried the sliding glass door, but it wouldn't budge.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Jade curled up on the bench swing, laying back so her head rested on the swing's arm between the chains.

She couldn't blame herself for that day. No. Not. Her. Fault. Mama made the appointment, and—

Jade shot upright, catching the ends of her hair in the chain's links.

Besides, she alone was her heart's final port of call. A haven when all else failed. When safe places turned off their cell phones. When safe places ran off with musicians. When safe places moved to Washington, D.C., and never looked back. When safe places chose a sport where men wrestle men instead of loving her.

Anxiety bullied her sanity and reason. Jade absently set the swing into motion, back-and-forth, higher and higher, her fingers gripping the varnished seat slats. The chains creaked and moaned as they wore against a heavy, gray beam.

A nightingale sang. Jade gripped her medallion as her heart rhythm increased. A heavy, almost liquid breeze blew past her. Goosebumps tightened the skin on her scalp and down her arms.

“Hello?” She slid off the swing, anticipation burning in her chest. This was it. She was finally going crazy. “Who's there?”

The wind gusted again with a distinct, other-worldly chill. Jade dropped back onto the swing as if it made her untouchable and safe. Her eyes darted around the porch as she strained to hear.

“Who's there?” Her skin prickled. If someone answered . . . This was crazy. She was alone, completely alone. There was no one here.

Me.

She swallowed. “Okay, what if I did decide? What if it was what I wanted? Not to have Dustin's baby. Not to be humiliated for nine months. Not to raise a child alone.”

The wind gusted again, against only her face. Not even the ends of her hair moved. Adrenaline pumped her pulse, and she wanted to run.

“Is that what you want me to say? I did it. I got in the truck and went to the clinic.”

Bile burned the base of her throat and hot tears warmed her cheeks. How could she stand before the court of heaven and testify against herself?

If possible, the air thickened even more, and Jade labored for each breath, feeling as if she might jump out of her skin. The force inside her churned, warring with the power outside, the one in the wind. Jade fired off the swing's seat, stumbling into the yard weak-kneed. The swirling air, alive with energy, followed. A suffocating scream swelled in her torso.

Let go, Jade. Come to Me.

Under the moon's milky eye, Jade spread her trembling arms wide and screamed, thumping her chest. “I chose . . . me.”
Thump
. “I got in the truck and went with Mama. I chose me over my child. I did it.”

Dropping to her knees, she sobbed, covering her face with her arms. “Forgive me.”

The Wind snapped, but instead of a distinct chill, a searing heat formed in the bottom of Jade's feet and crawled up her legs, into her chest, down her arms—hotter, hotter—creeping up her neck, burning along her cheeks to the crown of her head. The Wind had become Fire.

Purifying fire.

“Oh God, oh God, please, I'm sorry, so sorry.” Jade drummed out her confession.

Intense and gripping heat engulfed her, and every pore of her burned. She couldn't move or cry out.

Then, as quickly as it came, the heat vanished, leaving a cool river of peace.

Jade mentally walked through the memory of that day at the clinic, seeing herself on the table, and anticipated the throb of decade-old shame and hurt. Instead, she felt free of her sadness and grief.

For the first time in thirteen years, Jade wept for her child.

I was always with you.

Closing her eyes, Jade felt the hand of Jesus as she drifted along the current of a sapphire-blue day with cotton-candy clouds and lemon-drop sunbeams.

She was finally free.

“Isn't this a pickle?”

Jade bolted upright, banging her head on the swing chains—again—and surveyed the porch in the bright white of a new day.

“I suppose you'll want a refund for sleeping on the back porch?”

“Miss Linda, hello.” Jade rubbed the spot on her head where she'd lost a clump of hair to the swing's chain, eyeing the caught dark strands billowing in the early morning breeze.

“Good morning. Did your bed have bugs?” Miss Linda was perky and dressed for church.

“No, well, maybe . . .” Jade raked back her hair, waiting for the familiar dull ache to remind her last night was a freakish, emotional moment. Did she dream it all? But there was no twinge. She felt light, as if she was floating. “Is Mama still asleep?”

“The bedroom door is closed. Goodness, girl, didn't you freeze?”

“I was surprisingly warm.” Jade ran her hand along the base of her neck where His fire had burned.

Miss Linda perched on the edge of the swing. “He comes here often. Never understood why. I just learned to appreciate it.”

“Who comes here?” Jade jumped from the swing, jostling Miss Linda so she had to hang on.

“Jesus, the Spirit. In a wind, most often. Oh, the peace I've experienced out here. It was so pure and deep, I never wanted to move from my chair.”

“I was out walking, and when I came back, the door was locked.” Jade snapped a dangling, dead violet off the plant sitting on a plastic stand.

“He brought you here, Jade. He's been wanting to meet with you for a good long while.”

Jade fixed her gaze on Miss Linda. “Why would He want to meet with me?”

“He loves you. It's why most people come here. Jesus and Wayne bring them around. I can see in your eyes that He's been with you. The pain is—”

“Does He forgive me too?” Jade smashed the dried bloom in her hand, letting the crumbled pieces fall to the floor. It was strange to breathe without that familiar catch in her lungs.

“Jade, if you sacrificed your life, gave everything you valued and loved to redeem another, wouldn't you forgive them just about anything if they asked?”

“Is that what Jesus did for me?”

“You, me, and all those who believe.” Miss Linda made a gentle humming sound.

For Jade, last night was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her broken-down truck had driven her to a place of healing.

“Well.” Miss Linda clapped her hands against her legs and stood. “Breakfast will be in an hour. You still plan to join me for church?”

Jade's gaze met hers. “I think I'd like to stay here on the porch for a while.”

“Can't say as I blame you.” Miss Linda smiled, waving her finger in the air. “Let Jesus put His seal on what He started.”

In the pink-and-gray light of the flower-power room, Mama slept. Her form was barely visible under a mound of blankets. Jade peeled off her coat and stepped out of her shoes.

“Mama?” Jade gently touched her arm and smoothed her hair away from her face.

“Jade?” Mama stirred but couldn't open her eyes. “I'm so cold.”

“Cold? It's an oven in here.” Jade pressed her cheek to Mama's. Her lips were pale, and she was shivering.

“W-where were you? Are you-you all right? I'm s-s-so sorry, Jade—”

“Shh, it's okay.” Jade slipped underneath the blankets, molding her body against Mama's, rubbing her hands along her thin arms. “Let's get you warmed up.”

Compassion bloomed in the ravine of Jade's heart where thorns once grew.

“I've b-b-been thinking, Jade. You're right, I-I-I wasn't there—”

“Mama, it's okay. I did choose to go with you. I've been mad at myself but blaming you. I'm sorry, Mama. Now, let's get you warm. Later, I'll tell you all about my night.”

“Was it good?”

“Strange, but good.” Jade nestled closer, memorizing the scent of Mama's skin, wondering how to describe an encounter with the Divine.

“Nehru jacket.”

“What?”

“N-Nehru jacket.” She shivered. “I have one in the attic. An original. In-in great shape. For your shop.”

“My shop? For me, shoot.”

The encounter with Jesus didn't remove all of Jade's obstacles. Liking Mama might not happen overnight, but being free compelled her to love. And that had to be a real fine place to start.

Twenty-eight

Monday evening, when Jade and Mama pulled into the Blue Umbrella's alley, the truck bed loaded with items for the store—turns out Mama was an excellent antiquer—Max was waiting for her.

“You're a sight for sore eyes.” Max wrapped his arms around her, his kiss hot on her lips. “Evening, Beryl.”

“Max.” Mama hugged Jade, then brushed her hand over her hair. “I'm going to get on over to the Magnolia Tree, see what Willow is up to, and take a nap.”

“See you tomorrow, Mama. And . . . thank you.”

“Thank . . . you, Jade-o.”