'Til Grits Do Us Part (28 page)

“Sorry, Becky. But I'm furious that somebody's interfering with our life and harassing Adam. You know about the e-mails, don't you? The scratches on his truck?”

“Y'all told me.” Becky sighed. “Glad the police is lookin' into things. And I ain't coldhearted, ya know. I jest wanna see your weddin' day be really special, is all.”

“I know.” I tucked an arm through hers. “Anyway, just so you know, I've been talking to the prosecutor for my assault case in Winchester, too. And he doesn't think it's Jed Tucker.”

“Well, I shore don't know what Adam's got to do with ol' Amanda what's-her-name anyhow. Why, he never met the gal!”

“I know.” I sighed and scooted a bucket of peachy-pink snapdragons next to a pot of deep amethyst African violets, admiring the color contrast.

“Mebbe it's Tim's cousin Randy. He did like ya an awful lot. Told Tim he was gonna marry ya, but I reckon he done gave that up by now.” Becky snickered. “Seein' as how the competition got a little steeper.”

“Well, good for him.” I helped Becky push the stroller over a garden hose, remembering Randy in his gray Civil War reenactment garb—and me pushing his sneaky arm off my shoulders. At least he hadn't sent me any more pictures of us Photoshopped together in a while.

Becky lifted a bucket of china-white tulips to her nose and sniffed then checked the price. “Besides Shane, ain't nobody else who sent ya roses, is there?”

I didn't answer, fingering a bleeding heart stem. The little pink hearts dangled off the leafy green arch like jewels.

“What?” Becky put the pot down and turned to face me. “Is there somebody ya ain't told me about?”

“No. But I keep forgetting about Shane.” I ran my finger over the hearts, watching them quiver along the stem. “About the roses.”

“Why? What's he got to do with anything?” Becky's eyes popped as she apparently got a handle on my thoughts. “You ain't suggestin' Shane is sendin' ya all this stuff, are ya? He's a good guy! He was in our weddin', for cryin' out loud. He'd never try ta horn in on Adam.”

“I know. That's why I didn't think anything, but…doesn't he drive a dark green sports car?”

“Don't be silly! It ain't Shane.” Becky pushed me back toward the bucket of tulips. “So do you like these? They look real nice.”

“They do.” I put one to my nose and inhaled the scent of spring. A fruity perfume, like heady apricot jam. “But I'm sure they're out of my price range.”

“Well then carry
one
.”

Becky grinned and pushed the stroller through the jungle of plants like an expert, stopping only to fix Macy's sock and find the pacifier that had submerged itself under the blanket. I watched her there, remembering how we'd met for the first time in an empty church parking lot—where I'd been dumb enough to run out of gas in my rental car. She still beamed that same bright smile, same sassy laughter.

Which was exactly what a grump like me needed.

“You're right.” Becky straightened up. “I'm stumped. Maybe it's Santa Claus.” She played with a bunch of lavender lisianthus, its roselike whorl of petals matching Macy's soft corduroy overalls. “You got any enemies then?” Becky rolled her eyes. “Better forgit I said that. Your list'll take all day.”

“Hey, any enemies I have certainly aren't
my
fault.”

“Don't matter. Ya still got 'em.” She shook her head, sizing me up. “I've spent all twenty-six years a my life in this town, and ain't nobody done nothin' to me but steal my gym shorts an' hang 'em on the flagpole. But you? So far you've managed to git mugged not once, but twice—and then practically shot by Trinity's psycho ex-boyfriend. What's his name? Chad?”

“Chase Fletcher.”

“That's the one. You must have a force field or somethin' that attracts weirdos.”

“Like I said. Not my fault.” I sniffed the lisianthus, but it didn't smell like anything. Just leaves. I put it back in the bucket, disappointed.

“Besides, Chase has been gone for ages. I know he blamed me for breaking them up, but I haven't heard a squeak from him since last December.” I ran my fingers across a lily petal, smooth as satin. “Anyway, he hated my guts. Why would he send me love messages?”

“Don't ask me. I'm jest guessin' stuff.” Becky tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and gathered a bunch of indigo-blue irises. “Look. These are real pretty. But you're gonna go with red, ain't ya? For your flowers?”

“Red?” My mind hadn't moved past Chase Fletcher.

“For your weddin'!” Becky pretended to smack me in the forehead. “Lands, if you don't have a short memory!”

“Sorry.” I gave a rueful smile. “Brain overload.”

“Listen. I jest want you to relax an' have some fun tonight, ya hear?” She took my arm. “I bet this whole thing'll blow over in no time. Some silly mistake at the florist. An old high school crush. Somethin',” she said, scooting the stroller forward. “B'sides, ain't you the one who always says nothin' never happens in Staunton?”

Funny. She was right. And maybe—just maybe—she'd be right about all this rose stuff, too. A week from now it would all be ancient history, and I'd be back to cow tipping.

“Okay. Well then let me ask you something.” I dropped my voice slightly. “Since we're talking about wedding stuff.”

“Or s'posed to be.”

“Right. Well, it's about Adam.” I twirled the iris pot around, running my fingers over the sword-like leaves. “Has he always been this…how shall we say…opinionated about things?”

“What things?”

“I don't know. Life. Stuff.” I hunched my shoulders in a nervous shrug, not ready to throw my dirty laundry all over the flower shop. “You've known him practically all your life, so maybe you can help me understand him. I mean, I love him, but he's so…so…” I put the pot back, searching for the right word.

“Stubbern?”

“Yeah. For starters. And he has all these weird ideas about things.” I flipped a price card upright. “Not that they're bad ideas. They're just…different. And once his mind is made up, he doesn't do much in the way of negotiations.” I thought back to the Virginia Beach honeymoon package fiasco. His crazy “saving a kiss” speech. My mouth tingled, remembering how he'd trailed his finger across my lip.

Becky tried to hide a smirk. “Sounds like somebody I know.”

“Who?”

“You.” She poked me. “Stubborn and hardheaded. And picky, too.”

“I'm not picky!” My cheeks flushed. “Are you making fun of me? I asked you for advice.”

“Aw, simmer down.” Becky rested her arm on my shoulder. “I ain't makin' fun of ya. But we all got things we gotta work on, Shah-loh. Adam ain't perfect, and neither are you. You were a real snob when ya first showed up here, you know?”

I started to protest, but Becky shushed me. “But you had a good heart. We all couldn't help but love ya. And…well, we've been hooked on ya ever since. You're family now. Always was.” Her eyes softened. “Same with Adam. Ya gotta roll with it. Let him change things on his own, and don't always demand that he do stuff your way. He loves ya, but he's gonna make mistakes.”

“But that's just it.” I crossed my arms. “I like my way. I know how to do things.”

I started to blurt something about how Adam didn't even have a college degree yet then slapped my lips shut. As if my educational background somehow gave me superiority. Ha! I was the one who'd gotten fired for plagiarism while studying
ethics
, of all things.

Becky leaned close. “Well then, why are ya gettin' married, if you like your own way so well?”

Her question baffled me. I twirled a hanging pot of begonias, watching it untwirl in lazy loops. The layered coral petals, crystalline, twinkled back at me like tiny diamonds.

“Well, I love him. I want to be with him. But I don't want to lose my voice and become a…a…pawn. A figurehead. I don't know.”

“He ain't askin' ya to mouse around and not say nothin'. But ya gotta give a little, too, sometimes, Yankee. Love ain't all about callin' all the shots. Makin' all the decisions and havin' ev'rything your way like you're Miss Independent. Men, especially, don't take to that too well.”

“I guess not,” I muttered.

“Ain't no guessin'. God made a man and a woman differ'nt. And sometimes ya gotta sit back and let him do his job to protect ya. To step up to the plate an' make some decisions.” She pushed me playfully. “Might be even better than the ones you make. Who knows?”

I didn't answer, thinking.

“I know you've lived on your own a long time, decidin' everything for yourself. But that's gonna hafta change. A lot.”

Her voice hushed, almost wistful. “Matter of fact, love's more about givin' things up than anything else. Men can be real pains in the neck, ya know?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Naw, I'm serious. It's the truth. Why, Adam ain't no saint. Shoot, Tim ain't! But if you're gonna wear his ring, you're gonna hafta learn to forgive. Stop arguin' all the time. Be sweet anyway when you git your panties in a wad. That sorta thing.”

“How on earth am I supposed to do that, Becky?” I ran both hands through my hair. “There's not a sweet bone in my body.”

“Sure there is!”

“No there isn't. I'm telling you. You were just born that way or something.”

“Shucks.” Becky laughed. “Ain't none of us who like to git our feelin's hurt or follow somebody else's idea when ours is better. You jest gotta let God teach ya!”

“How am I supposed to do that? Spell it out plain for me, Becky. I don't know anything about this stuff. I've been a Christian what, a year? Less?”

“Practice! Ya gotta get in the habit sometimes when it don't come so natural. Turn the other cheek. Be positive. Smile. Ask God to give ya grace, an' sometimes to keep your trap shut when ya wanna say somethin' nasty—'specially when he deserves it! Like any new thing, like ridin' a bike, it takes a while. But it gits easier, an' sorta becomes a part of ya.”

The stroller quivered, and I saw a chubby brown arm flail, intersecting my thoughts. Becky bent over the stroller. “Aw. Look who's awake.” She reached down to unclip the safety belt and then scooped Macy, still limp with sleep, up into her arms. Resting the little curly head on her shoulder.

“Finally.” I ran a hand through Macy's curls, tracing the tip of her delicately curved ear. One chocolate-brown hand, its palm soft and pink, dangled. “I've been waiting the whole time for her to wake up. May I?” I held out my arms.

“Shore ya can.” Becky showed bucky front teeth in a grin. “Just lemme make shore she's good an' awake first. She's a li'l bit crabby when she falls asleep this late. Ain't ya, sugarplum?” She bounced her shoulder slightly, kissing the back of Macy's curly head.

Macy yawned in response, showing white baby teeth poking through pink gums. Then she rubbed her eyes with two brown fists.

“Come on, Macy.” I rubbed her back and offered my upturned palms. “No?”

She yawned again, contorting her face like she might cry. And buried her eyes in Becky's shoulder.

“Sorry, Shah-loh. She don't mean nothin'. Just hold on a bit.” Becky shifted her slightly, putting a clean cloth under her shoulder and reaching for a bottle of warm water from a thermal bag. “You see, she's started stickin' to us like glue these days. Not wantin' nobody else.”

“Well, that's good, I guess.” I stroked my fingers through one of her stray curls. “I miss her though.”

“Don't worry. She'll come around. Adoption agency says that's actually a real good sign, ya know? When she starts gettin' attached to us.” Becky's eyes took on a glassy appearance. “We ain't been with her that long, and after bein' passed around from nurse to doctor night and day, never findin' the same two people to think of as Mama and Daddy.” Becky's voice trailed off, and she looked away, brushing her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. “Gimme that container a milk, will ya? It's all measured.”

“I'll make it for you.” I poured in the dry milk and twisted on the bottle top, shaking it up as I'd seen Becky do a hundred times. Only I forgot to tamp the end of the nipple, and milk sprayed out, splattering my pretty green-flowered dress.

I laughed, wiping myself clean with the corner of Becky's cloth. “Sorry. I'm not a pro like you are.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “Shoot. I don't know nothin'.”

“Oh, you do. You kept the nursery at church for years.”

“Right. Like feedin' a bunch of kids Cheerios means I know somethin'. I'm as clueless as they come, my friend.” She shifted Macy up to her chin, nuzzling her cheek. “But you know what? When ya got love and an open heart, that's all they need. Love covers over an awful lotta mistakes.” She winked at me. “And that goes for the fellas, too.”

Open heart. Mistakes. Love
. My thoughts reeled back to Adam, sitting on that picnic table by the lake when he'd asked me to marry him. Thinking of how many things about him I didn't have in common, and frankly, would probably never understand.

And my stomach clenched in a tight ball, glad I'd said yes.