The Sweet By and By (9 page)

“Are you sure you're not my mom instead of Beryl?”

“Technically, yes, but—” The rapping echoed again, louder this time. Roscoe bounded to his feet with a low grumble.

“Jade?” Max's muffled voice seeped through the door. Roscoe trotted across the loft, wagging his tail.

“Max?” She jumped over the coffee table, phone still to her ear, her bare feet thudding against the floor.

“Hey,” he said when she opened the door.

“Willow, call you later.”

“Have fun. Say hi to Max for me.”

Jade clapped her phone shut. “Willow says hello.”

“Hello to Willow.” He'd worn jeans and a cotton pullover under his tan barn coat. His blue eyes were clear with repentance. “I'm better now—”

She lunged into his arms. He
oomphed
as she knocked him into the wall.

“I'm sorry, so sorry.”

“Careful,” he managed to say before her lips covered his.

“I didn't mean to . . .” Her eyes watered.

“Me neither.” He pulled her against him. “I'm sorry too.”

“It's just that when I was a kid, my mama put Aiden and me on a charity list—”

“Hey, it's okay. The past is the past, right?”

“Yeah, the past is the past,” Jade echoed.

“We can give the money away if you want.”

She held his face in her hands. “Want a chocolate shake?”

“Best offer I've had all night.” He stepped into the loft, kicking the door closed with his foot.

Seven

On the corner of Madison and Washington, the Midwest Parcel offices sat in the shade of towering silos. Beryl parked and cut the engine of her '82 Corolla.

The fall air, scented with grain and dying leaves, had grown colder since sunrise. Taking the familiar walk to the front door, Beryl's middle fluttered.
It'll be good to return to work.

Rolf Lundy motioned for her to come in when she tapped on the glass pane of his door and waved.

“To what do I owe this privilege?”

“Well . . .” Beryl took the wooden chair across from his desk. “I'm ready to be behind the wheel again.”

Rolf 's light faded. “Beryl, all the routes are taken. I had to fill—”

“I'm a senior teamster, Rolf. You can't take away my job while I'm on vacation.”

“Don't you mean a leave? I know the rules, Beryl. Shoot, I hired you.”

“Like you'll ever let me forget.” After Harlan left, Beryl had been desperate for a job. Thirty-eight and living back home with Paps and Mother with an eight- and nine-year-old. She almost went crazy with domesticity until she ran into Rolf at The Tavern one night.

She begged him for a job. Flirted and tempted. One all-night with him was worth the price of her freedom.

“I love the I-80 corridor to Chicago,” she said. “But I understand that route might have been reassigned.”

“Dr. Meadows won't release you to drive, Beryl.”

“You've talked to him?” Her shoulders slumped as she gazed at her feet.

She'd been so pushy and cocky, coming in here, all ready to work. But Rolf knew all along.

“You mean he didn't tell you?” Rolf sat on the edge of his desk.

“Maybe. I'd sort of hoped he hadn't told you. I only fainted a few times, Rolf.”

“I can't let you drive, Beryl. Not with lives on the line. But I can keep you in the office, working administration. Mindy goes on maternity leave in a few weeks.”

“No.” She'd rather be on the disability list. Besides, “You remember when I broke my leg and worked a few weeks in the office?”

Rolf flicked his hand dismissively. “Doris recovered fine from the stapler injury. Beryl, let me put in your retirement papers. Let's do it up right. Enjoy what you've worked so hard for.”

And what would that be? After twenty-one years on the job, three kids, and four husbands, what did she have to show? A worn-out Toyota and her parents' old farmstead. “No thanks, Rolf. I'm not ready to retire yet.”

“Where's the Beryl who used to tick me off when she requested leave for three or four months so she could travel with a carnival or go on the road with her musician husband?”

“Grown up, finally. A bit wiser for her troubles. Gig squandered half my pension on his so-called
music
. I'm just now back to where I was when I met him.”

“Ah, so loving a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be?” A laugh drifted behind his quote.

“Thank you for that bit of insight, Steve Perry and Journey. Since when did you start quoting song lyrics? Look, Rolf, I like my routine and steady job. The mundane has lost its chains. Shoot, if they tear down the BP at the I-80 Newton exit, I won't be able to sleep for a week.”

Rolf regarded her for a moment, resolve in his gray gaze. Beryl released the tension in her back and shoulders, reclining against the chair's spindles.

“What's this I hear about Jade getting married? Congratulations. You must be thrilled. Are you looking forward to the wedding?”

“To be honest, I was looking forward to getting back to work.” Beryl rose, hitching her bag over her shoulder. He didn't have to paint with such bright colors. “Is Sharon here? Thought we'd go for some lunch.”

“She's around. Beryl—”

“I'll let you know when Dr. Meadows releases me to drive again.”

“Have a good lunch.”

Beryl found Sharon out back on the smokers' porch. Sliding on top of the picnic table, she dropped her bag to the bench seat.

“Let me bum one of those.”

Sharon exhaled a stream of smoke and passed Beryl a pack of Marlboro Lights. “Aren't you supposed to be quitting?”

“I did. From around eight a.m. till now. What is it, noon?”

Sharon flicked her ashes in her soda can. “Rolf said the doctor wouldn't release you to drive.”

“Not yet. You want to go to Goldie's for lunch?”

“Sounds good.” Sharon doused her cigarette in the last of her drink. “I hear Jade's getting married.”

“Was it in the paper or something?” Was Beryl the last to know?

“My son heard from Willow.” Sharon tossed her soda can in the trash by the porch post. “You're going to the wedding, aren't you?”

“I'd hoped to be back to driving by then.”

“Listen . . .” Sharon scooted in next to her. “Don't hate me for this, but you've been stubborn about her long enough. Beryl, look at your life. Is this what you want?”

“She's the one being stubborn.” The cigarette tip burned and crackled as Beryl took a drag.

“From where I sit, you've been pretty stubborn too.”

“I thought she'd grow out of it.”

“Maybe she thought the same about you.” Sharon pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “If we're going to lunch, let's go now. Goldie's fills up so quick.”

Beryl picked up her bag, stamping out her cigarette in the glass tray. “I'm not even sure she wants me to come. Too much water under the bridge.” And a whitewater rapid of memories.

Sharon stepped off the porch. “Come by the house tonight. I'll loan you my canoe.”

September 1992

Beryl sat with her knees against her chest on the fading summer green Iowan burial mound that snaked along the line between Mother's backyard and Paps' cornfield.

The prairie breeze, woven with a bric-a-brac fragrance of warm grass and moist soil, tangoed with her loose hair. If she looked down, Beryl could catch the red reflection of the setting sun in her golden strands.

Tonight was her last night. Hallelujah and pass the peace pipe. Maybe she could convince Jade to braid her hair.
One, two, three, right, left, middle.

“Aiden said you wanted to see me.”

Twelve-year-old Jade stood next to her in shorts and a top, her bare feet tanned with play-day dirt. Wild wisps of her walnut-colored hair danced around her face and over her head, freed from her untidy ponytail. Beryl patted the ground. “Nothing like a summer night on the Iowa prairie.”

“Yep.” Jade dropped to the ground, body posture as stiff as her tone.

“I'm leaving in the morning.” Beryl closed her eyes and tipped her nose toward the breeze, feeling the light of sunset on her skin.

“All of us, or just you?”

“Carlisle called and needs a driver for her carnival truck until the end of the season. You remember Carlisle, don't you?”

“The lady with the black-and-white hair and spooky eyes.”

“Spooky? Carlisle will like that one when I tell her.” Friends since her Haight-Ashbury days, Carlisle visited Beryl on the “Fitz Farm” every year with her traveling band of beatniks and hippies. They pitched tents in the backyard until Harlan, when he was around, blew up and tossed them off
his
land. Such a big deal because Jade caught Mama's friend Eclipse naked, showering outside.

“You have a job at Midwest Parcel.” Jade sounded so prissy and adult, so much like Mother.

“I'm taking a two-month leave.”

“Then Aiden and I are going to see Dad in Washington. And Willow? Is she going with you? She's only two, so you can't leave her—”

“I know how old she is, Jade.” Beryl glanced at her through the blowing strands of her hair. How she loved the prairie wind. “She's staying here, with Granny. I need you to help out.”

“I ain't her mother. Where's Mike?”

“Don't be smart. If Mike comes 'round here for Willow, call the police. He'll take her, and I'll never see her again.”

“Like you'd care. If he comes around, I'll give him Willow.” Jade shot Beryl an optic fireball. “Then I'll go live with my dad.” Her words were laced with venom.

Jade, Jade, Jade. Why did she push and push? Harlan didn't want his kids invading his busy, snooty, political Washington life. His silence spoke a thousand words. Maybe Beryl
should
let Jade call her dad, hear how truly uninterested he was in her. In Aiden.

“I know you're upset about your dad, but he's got a very busy life. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you, Jade-o.” It was a lie, but for the good of the cause.

“Now, listen. There's diapers for Willow in the crawl space between your room and the attic stairs. And in my top dresser drawer, there's a wallet with three hundred dollars. Use it on the extra stuff you guys need. Don't spend it all on pop and movies. If you start your period, there are pads in the bottom of my closet.”

“Mama.” Jade jerked up clumps of grass.

“Maybe you don't understand, but trust me, baby. If I keep hanging around here, I'll go mad. I need space, get my head on straight, soothe my soul from the damage done by that rancid Mike Ayers.”

“He's gone because of you, same as Daddy.” Jade plucked more grass, digging her thumbnail into the dirt.

“It may seem that way to you, but it takes two people to make or break a marriage.”

“My friends' parents stay married. How come it's so hard for you?”

“Yeah, you want me to be like all the other kids' parents? Hm? You and Aiden have it pretty easy. Are your friends allowed to go to bed whenever they want? Play outside until the sun is down, have liberty to visit their friends whenever? Not clean their plates at dinner? Or do they get yelled at, grounded, get a whipping or two? As long as you and Aiden act responsible, you guys are free to come and go.”

“Except when you want me to babysit Willow so you can go off and do whatever you want. Besides, I'm not supposed to get my way. I'm twelve.

You're supposed to ground me when I'm bad, stay home to take care of us.”

“Yeah? Tell your little friend Rachel's mother to keep her parenting advice to herself.” Beryl popped open her cigarette case.

“At least she's still married to her first husband and takes care of her kids.”

“Do you
want
to be grounded, Jade?” Beryl shook the match, extinguishing the tiny flame, and exhaled a stream of smoke. “Cause we can arrange that if you want. I'm just saying—”

“I'm not watching Willow. Take her with you. Mr. Wimple said Rachel and I could help out at his country store.”

“You can work in the store on Saturdays or after school, but be back by the time Mother gets home. She'll be tired from working. Jade, I know it seems like the sky is falling—after all, you
are
twelve. But you can do this. Aiden will help out, and he's already volunteered to take care of the yard and garbage. You two get along, no fighting.”

God didn't make sons much better than Aiden. Thirteen going on twenty-five. Harlan didn't know what he was missing by ignoring that boy.

“If you're not here, I don't have to mind you.”

Beryl spit out a laugh. She tapped her ashes into the wind, watched the floating flecks with orange edges twisting then fading as they fell to the grass.

“I reckon you don't, but don't think Granny will put up with much. She still believes in that ‘spare the rod, spoil the child' crap.”

“Yeah? Seems it didn't work so great on you.”

Let her be. She's young; she'll learn
. Beryl let the silence defuse the atmosphere. For a long three or four minutes, only the wind spoke, whistling through corn silk and evergreen leaves.

Finally, Jade gathered the grass she'd been plucking, held up her palm, and let the blades blow into Beryl's hair and face. “You're so selfish.”

“Back at you, Jade-o.”

The girl jumped up and ran toward the barn.

“I'll write,” Beryl hollered. “And call.”

“Don't bother. We won't answer.”

Eight

“What do you think?”

“I think it's . . . empty.” Jade turned a small circle in the hollow, dark, and musty River Street space with a view of Coolidge Park. The floor was cement. The open ceiling's steel beams stretched toward the water-damaged, cracked plaster walls. “And it would need a lot of work.”