“That’s a good song.”
“I know that was your song with Mom, and I know you’re all alone, and it was my song with Luke and now I’m all alone . . .” I buried my face in his shirt. “I miss her so much, Daddy.”
“We’re just a big mess, aren’t we?”
I nodded and laughed through my tears. I stood there for a moment and wiped them, saying nothing else. But then I wanted to say more. “He’s very kind. He once bought a painting for me that he hated. Admittedly, it was pretty hideous. Hard to describe. Big and yellow. But he knew I liked it, so we hung it in our living room and he had to look at it every day but didn’t care.” I sniffled. “Not many people realize what he gave up for us. . . .”
“It’s a sacrifice, and it should be. But nobody ever tells you it’s a risk, too. Because it can be ripped away from you.”
I shuffled uncomfortably under his vulnerability.
“There is always hope,” he said.
“What about for you?”
“Even for me.”
I closed my eyes and heard Lee’s words, that it was going to be okay. I clung to Dad but had to let their words slip away. I couldn’t believe them. Perhaps there was a new hope I could find, but any other hope was crushed by bitter reality.
“Maybe a new horse would be good, Daddy.”
28
LUKE
I DROVE TOWARD the Upper East Side, with my hands wrapped around the steering wheel of my Jaguar XJ like I was wringing its neck. My bloodless knuckles refused to relax their grip.
The idea that I was going to see him churned my stomach, so I thought of other things, but my mind tossed them aside as meaningless. And my mind was right. There was really only one thing that meant anything to me, and she’d fled. I wasn’t totally sure where she’d gone but suspected it was back to North Carolina. We’d talked often about going there to see her family, but we were both busy . . . except I never bought into the idea that busyness was what was keeping her away.
Besides, we’d built a nice life together, and it seemed the less distracted we were from that, the better. We were insulated, and that’s how we remained strong for so long. Or so I thought.
The thing with Faith was that she just didn’t seem to belong in the scene we were both so familiar with. She was there, and she fit, believe me, but it never fit her, if you know what I mean. There was a richness to her that could never be paid out in gold or silver. And there was no amount of money that could buy that kind of heart.
She challenged me to be a better man and to live in the present, which I always had such a hard time with. She taught me about living in the moment.
She might not ever understand it. But I would do anything for her. Even this.
I easily found a parking space a few houses down from Jake’s brownstone. I took my time getting to the sidewalk. Days ago I would’ve envied this lifestyle. The nannies walking the children. Dog walkers pulling at eager leashes. A quiet, tree-lined street that spoke to wealth and status. Faith and I had talked about moving to the Upper East Side, but I never wanted to be like Jake. Except sometimes I did.
I stepped onto the sidewalk and strolled, enjoying for a moment the fresh air. It was the little things, things that I took for granted before, that I would never take for granted again. I stood there for ten minutes watching one bird in one tree. It flew away. But I could not. So I walked.
I’m not certain how long I stood in front of Jake’s heavy red door, staring at the paint, admiring the old-world knocker engraved with the Carraday family emblem. Then I stared at my last name, tracing each line with my eyes, remembering the dignity that it held. Dad had started, as he tells the story, with $304 in the bank. He’d built an empire for himself. It had cost him a lot of things, but never his dignity and never his good name. And maybe that was what I was trying to save. That, and my marriage. Mostly my marriage. Except it seemed an impossibility at this point.
And that was what led me there, because there was something about Jake. Impossible didn’t resonate with him. It was a word that never got in his way, just annoyed him. Sometimes he seemed like Superman to me. Not that he didn’t seem like the devil, too. But more Superman.
I stood there for a moment longer, figuring by now neighbors were starting to notice a man just standing in front of the door, and then knocked, harder than I meant to.
The door swung open. Candace stood there in a floral wrap dress and heels that didn’t seem to indicate at all that it was Sunday. Faith and I lived in sweats and slides on the weekends. She touched her pearls as shock and recognition passed over her face. “Luke . . .”
“Hi, Candace.” I smiled. I always liked my sister-in-law. She was pleasant, proper, and always polite. It was like Jake had stepped into a machine and created the perfect match for himself. She was even tall, like him. “Is Jake home?”
“Yes. He’s back watching the Yankees game. You know where to find him.” She stepped to the side and, after a second of me not moving, said, “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” I stepped inside. It had been a while. Candace had changed the decor. Upscale. Traditional. Hints of hip. I guess it wasn’t all that changed. Different colors and patterns but same feel.
“Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? You know Jake—the fridge is stocked with anything you might want.”
“I’m good. But thanks.”
She touched my arm, and it felt a little strange because I sort of regarded myself as having leprosy these days and figured everyone else did too. I flinched, but it didn’t deter her. Her eyes were warm. “Luke, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too. Thanks, Candace.”
It was probably the shot in the arm I needed to head to the back and find Jake. I could hear the game on. The crack of the bat. The cheering crowd. With the surround sound he had set up, it sort of felt like I might be walking into the stadium.
He didn’t hear me come in.
“Hey.”
He turned, regarded me for a moment, but didn’t look stunned. “Yankees are down.”
“Can’t win ’em all.”
“Clearly you are not a real Yankees fan.” He gestured with his glass for me to move into his line of sight and take a seat. “You want anything?”
“I’m good.”
“At least sit down. You’re making me nervous standing there like that.”
There was a lot of seating to choose from. Leather lounge chairs. Wingbacks. Three different couches. The floor.
I chose a leather chair with an ottoman but couldn’t kick my feet up. Nothing about this felt relaxing.
Jake finally seemed to sense the tension with which I carried myself. He set down his drink and leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Criminal deposition is next Monday.” It was hard to say. All of it. “With the SEC.”
Jake muted the TV. “You bringing Yates with you?”
“Yeah. He’s telling me to take the Fifth.”
“Nobody’s taking the Fifth. You tell him to make a deal before you ever walk in there.” Jake sighed loudly, looked jittery. “Candace, get me the phone! I’ll tell him.”
“I could go to jail.”
The clacking of Candace’s heels against the hardwood floors was the only sound. And maybe the thumping of my heart.
Then Jake laughed. A short, staccato laugh that broke the tension but not the reality. He looked hard at me. “You’re not going to jail.”
I stood, though not sure my legs could hold me up. “The deposition is the last step before the grand jury!”
“Calm down.”
“I am going to get indicted over this!”
Candace walked in, gave Jake the phone, walked out. Jake set the phone on the table. “Sit down.”
“I can’t sit down. I can’t—”
“Stop freaking out of your mind and sit down. Seriously, sit.”
I sat. My body trembled at the thought of what was before me. And the flash of panic that I saw cross my brother’s expres
sion.
“Are you asking for my help?” Jake stared hard at me.
I couldn’t look at him. “Yes.”
“Okay. You talk with Dad about this?”
“What do you think?”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“Picture that conversation.”
“He’s not Zeus, you know.” Jake sighed. “All right. Fine. I’ll get him to the deposition.”
“Thanks. I should go.”
Jake stood with me. “How’s Faith?”
“Gone.”
His expression said he wasn’t surprised. “Probably better that way, right?”
This time I sighed. There was no way to answer that to Jake’s satisfaction. I walked to the front door, let myself out, and stood looking at that tree again. I was so desperate to get Faith back, I realized, that asking Jake for help didn’t even sting. It gave me some hope. But as I walked to my car, I fought the temptation to believe I was completely alone. The family I had run from since I got my legs underneath me might be the only thing that saved my own family.
I stood under that tree and wondered if I should pray. But the sky looked too expansive. And the need seemed too heavy. And the broken man I knew I was could not fathom why God would take a single request from me.
29
OLIVIA
I WAS FINGERING through some music when I heard her voice. There she was, inching forward like a frightened mouse. Choir members, all of whom were over seventy, swarmed to her in greeting. I glanced at Dad.
“Pretty amazing she’s here,” I said. “And you too, you old geezer.”
Dad laughed. “Are you kidding me? I’m practically the youngest one here.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” I watched Faith hug and smile. “Well, we certainly can use her. We need a good, strong voice.” I patted Dad on the shoulder. “Just please remember not to belt it out. When Essie Mae says belt it out, it means everyone but you.”
“I’ve been practicing all week.” Dad beamed, and I gave him a side hug. I’d never met anyone who had such a terrible voice, with such a terribly strong urge to use it loudly.
As if she parted her own Red Sea, Faith walked through the small crowd and toward the church stage. “Hi, Olivia.”
“Hi there. Welcome.” I smiled as best I could, especially in front of Daddy. The last thing he needed was to hear us squabble.
“Dad encouraged me to take a step, so this is it,” she said, her arms swinging nervously by her sides.
“Super. This choir can always use an extra voice, but it’s nice when it’s an extraspecial voice like yours.”
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”
“I’m no music expert. Just a faithful parishioner.” Didn’t mean for that to sting so much, but I guess it did. She looked down, and I was kind of sorry for it. Wasn’t implying anything, though it’s not my fault it’s the truth. “Well, we best be getting lined up here. Essie Mae never accounts for the fifteen minutes she allows everyone to visit and catch up, which always baffled me because there’s plenty of time catching up at the grocery store. Heck, we all live within a square mile of one another. What is there really to catch up about?” I glanced at her. “Except you.” A wink helped that go down. I patted her on the shoulder. “Come on, you can stand next to me. I don’t want Dad by me. Last time he joined the choir, my right eardrum never recovered.”
Faith followed me up the carpeted steps. “You’ve always been so funny.” I could hear the smile in her voice, and I had to admit, it was kind of nice. Way better than that mopey, poor-me business we’d been seeing since she arrived.
We stood next to each other and watched the other choir members file in, trying not to trip each other with their canes and walkers. Dad ended up on the end and looked a little disappointed he wasn’t next to us, and Faith and I pretended to be disappointed too, waving at him. Unfortunately, landing on the other side of me was Betsy Cook, whose breath could cook a side of beef. Why I bothered with this silly choir I didn’t know.
Well, I kind of did know. Nobody in the family knew this, but I always had a dream of singing. I never had that “wow” type of voice like Momma and Faith, but I held my own, and actually it had a nice tonal quality to it. But unlike Faith, I was fulfilled just serving the church with my voice. Didn’t need all that fancy education and the bright lights and such. Unless you’ve sung in a Christmas cantata, you just don’t know what you’re missing.
But to each his own. Faith always needed more. She always had the more gaudy Halloween costume. And the fancier prom dress.
Essie Mae began our warm-up, and Faith cut her eyes sideways to me. “Ouch,” she whispered. “This is how they sound all the time?”
“Only on the good days,” I said, cracking a smile. It kind of felt like old times.
Essie Mae announced our song list for Sunday, including “How Great Thou Art.”
“Oh, boy,” I said, leaning forward to glance at Dad. “That one’s his favorite.”
“Yeah . . . he’s not going to be able to contain himself.”
It was four words into the first stanza that we proved ourselves right. Concern was visible on Essie Mae’s face by the time “I hear the rolling thunder” boomed loud enough to nearly rattle the stained glass.
But even Dad’s big voice didn’t seem to outperform Faith’s. It’s like it floated above everything else in the room, like it was the instrument by which all other instruments were tuned. Every voice found its footing beneath hers, and the harmony was so marvelous, I actually got a little choked up myself. We hadn’t sounded that good in years.
Essie Mae was having the time of her life, her hands running up and down those keys like she’d never suffered a day of arthritis. I looked down the rows and the old women were swaying and shifting and a few were raising their hands. This must have been what one of those old-time revivals felt like.
Faith had closed her eyes, but I had a feeling she wasn’t missing a thing. This was her element. We all knew it. She knew it. And in my opinion, this was where she was supposed to be. Right here at home. I didn’t say it at the time, but I always knew Faith wasn’t ready for the world that was waiting for her out there. She couldn’t be. All she’d ever known was this place. It was all any of us had ever known.
Essie Mae was tearing it up on that piano. “Uh-huh . . . yep . . . that’s it, darlings. Belt it!”
Our voices might’ve shook the walls of the church. I wondered if they could hear us across the road at Bernie’s store.
Essie Mae was fanning herself when we finished. “Ohhhh, that was like cool water on a hot, steamy evening. . . .” She tapped her pencil on the piano. “Everyone, indulge me for a minute, will ya? I just want to try something. It’s been oh so long since we’ve sung this. Many of you will remember it.”
As soon as I heard the first note, I knew it. I never thought it had a place in church, but Essie Mae always liked all those worldly songs. I growled under my breath, trying to avoid Faith’s wide, panicked eyes.
“Calm down,” I said. “It’ll be fine.”
It was a song, for crying out loud. I glanced at Dad, who had the same panic-stricken look on his face. Oh, brother. I faced Faith. “You know how much Essie Mae loved hearing you sing this. You and Momma. She’s an old lady. She could be dead in twenty-eight minutes. Just see what you can do, you know what I mean?”
“It was their song,” Faith whispered. I hated when she whispered. That meant she was about to cry. She looked at me. Sure enough, gigantic tears were welling in her eyes. “And mine and Luke’s.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, do the best you can.”
She nodded. I didn’t know what else to say. Faith started singing and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. She sounded just like Momma. I closed my eyes. It took me straight back to a time in my life when I thought nothing could ever go wrong.
I remember sneaking into the living room late one night. I had every intention of
going to the kitchen to steal a cookie or three but was stopped in my tracks watching Momma and Daddy dance to this song. Momma giggled. Daddy twirled her like he knew what he was doing. But it was the moment when she laid her head on his shoulder and sang to him that caused me to drop to my knees and watch with great intensity.
It was true love and I knew it. She sang like an angel and it was one of those times that is etched not just into your mind, but into your soul too.
Hearing Faith sing was like I was right there in the living room, hidden by a table and a doorframe. There was something about Momma that you just couldn’t put your finger on. She was magic and hope and warmth and goodness all wrapped into one. When she walked into a room, all eyes were on her, but her kindness radiated as brightly as her persona.
I was pretty young when I realized you either have it or you don’t, and there’s nothing you can do to get what Momma had. I stopped wishing for it when I got married and had kids, because by then I knew that I didn’t have it and never would. I had other things to deal with . . . Daddy and his grief, newborn babies, bills to pay, life to live.
Besides, it had already been handed out.
Suddenly the song stopped, like all the words had crashed into a brick wall.
I opened my eyes to see Faith carefully pushing through the elderly people and down the front of the platform. “I’m sorry,” she said as she rushed past Essie Mae.
Everyone started murmuring. I looked at Dad, who was making his way down. I scooted past everyone and followed him.
Essie Mae was getting up from the piano, her poor face filled with regret. “Calvin, I’m sorry,” she said.
Dad put a gentle arm on her shoulder. “It’s okay. She’s just not ready for that.”
“Her momma used to sing it just like that. It was like seeing a ghost.”
I watched Daddy’s expression flicker like a slight breeze passing over a flame. Grief. Sorrow. All the things that I’d worked so hard to dig him out of. He turned like he was going to chase Faith out the door.
“Dad, she’s okay. Let’s give her a moment.” I had to put it that way, for Dad’s sake. But what I really wanted to say was that I was afraid she was going to sink and bring us and the whole community down with her. Because what I knew to be true was that she was revered in this county. Like the heartbeat to its dim life. I patted Dad on the arm. “She’ll be okay. You know, just needs to get some of this stuff out.”
Heart of the Country Page 11
