by Diane Moody
She blinked, unable to speak.
“Half a carat. It’s the stone from your mother’s wedding ring.”
“What?!”
“Well, sure! She left it behind when she took off with that home-wrecker. And I figured, why let a perfectly good diamond go to waste? So I took it into town, had a jeweler yank the stone and make me some bling with it. I like to think of it as a fitting symbol of my new life. My own little declaration of independence, if you catch my drift.”
“That’s Mom’s diamond?”
“Not anymore!” His guffaw rolled across the parking lot as he reached for the luggage handle.
Still aghast, Tracey slowly started following him again. The last time she’d seen her father—had it been a year? —he was better, but nothing like the larger-than-life guy he’d always been. Known for his abiding faith and contagious sense of humor, Buddy Collins never met a stranger. But that had all changed a couple of years ago when their mother up and left him. Then a few weeks later, the church he’d pastored for more than twenty years let him go when a handful of deacon bullies deemed him “unfit to serve.”
The double punch decked him hard, sending him into a severe depression. Tracey and her sister Alex were devastated for their father and seriously concerned. Alex—short for Alexandra—moved back into the family home with him not long afterward. Since then, she’d kept Tracey informed of some recent “changes” but hadn’t been specific.
Still, watching his easy gait and that swinging ponytail, Tracey had to admit it was good to see him happy again. She looked forward to a long chat on the way home to find out where all these changes had come from.
And that way we keep the conversation on him, not me. Perfect.
Tracey switched her leather bag to the other shoulder. “Dad, where’s the car?”
He whipped around, his face lit up. “That’s the surprise!”
“What do you mean?”
He took a few steps to the right, put her bags down, and posed like Vanna White—at a huge motorcycle. “Ta da! Tracey Jo, meet Stella. Stella, meet Tracey Jo!”
“You have GOT to be kidding.”
“Ain’t she a beauty?! She’s a 2007 Harley-Davidson Touring Road King Classic. Paid extra for the Pacific Blue Pearl color. Worth every penny. Check out those white wall tires. Sweet, huh?”
“Dad, this isn’t funny. In the least.”
His face fell. “Ah, sweetie, don’t spoil my fun! I could hardly wait for Stella to meet you!”
“There’s no way I’m riding a motorcycle forty-five miles to Jacobs Mill.”
“But I’ve—”
“No. I said no. I meant no.” She snatched the handle of her rolling bag and tried to grab the one off his shoulder.
He held it tight, pulling away from her. “Tracey Jo, please. It’ll be fun! Look, I even borrowed this Sport Trailer for us to stash your bags.” He unlocked the fancy three-wheeled trailer and started loading her things. “See? Worlds of room. And here’s your helmet.”
“Dad, I don’t—”
He put it on her head, oblivious to her protests, explaining the proper way to strap it on. “We can even talk! Here’s your built-in microphone. Just keep that turned on, and we can jabber all the way home. Cool, huh?”
Tracey stared at him, uncomfortable with the helmet pressing against the tortoiseshell barrette holding her long brown hair up off her shoulders. She pulled the helmet off her head. Her father sighed wearily, visibly disappointed, then reached out to take the helmet from her hands.
She held tight, refusing to give it up. He looked up at her. Narrowing her eyes, she cocked her head to one side. “Patience . . .” she scolded. Then, tucking the helmet under her arm, she reached up and unclipped the barrette, releasing her hair. She pulled the helmet back on.
“There. That’s better. What are we waiting for?”
Chapter 2
Exiting the airport, Tracey could hear her screams grow louder as the Harley gained speed up the entrance ramp to I40. She clung to him, her eyes squeezed shut behind the protective sunglasses, and her arms in a grip lock around his ribcage.
“Tracey Jo! I can’t breathe! Ease up on that grip, will ya?”
“I CAN’T! I’LL FALL OFF!”
She heard the sound of his laughter over the roar of the engine. He raised his voice just enough for her to hear him. “You’re not gonna fall off. But we’re heading into some heavy traffic, so I’m gonna need a little oxygen to get us through it, okay?”
She tried to relax her grip.
“Yeah, that’s better, but a little more, sweetie. C’mon, you can do it.”
Visibly shaking, she consciously made the effort to stop squeezing his middle.
“Atta girl. Now sit back and enjoy the ride!” The Harley roared to life as they blended in with six lanes heading into Nashville.
She cracked open one eye, peeking just long enough to see the mass of cars, trucks, and tractor-trailers crowded around them. “DAD! CAN’T YOU TAKE A BACK ROAD AND GET US OFF THE INTERSTATE?”
“First of all, you don’t have to shout. You are right in my ear. I can hear you just fine. Second, you just need to take a nice deep breath and trust me. We’ll be out of the thick of it in just a few minutes. We’ll hop on I65 and head south to home. The traffic will ease up. You’ll see.”
She swallowed hard and talked herself into opening both eyes this time. She darted her eyes to her right hoping to see the skyline of Nashville, but a semi eclipsed her view. Its side showed the façade of a Cracker Barrel restaurant, complete with a row of rocking chairs out front. She’d always loved the cozy restaurants and their familiar menu of good Southern cooking. But at the moment, those rockers seemed much too close for comfort. She looked the other way just as they started up the ramp that arced high then banked them south.
I will not scream. I will not scream . . .
When her breathing finally started returning to normal, she tried to keep her mind off the vehicles zooming past them. “Why do you call her Stella?”
“It’s from that old Marlon Brando movie. You know, the one where he stands outside her window and yells, ‘STELLAAAAA!’”
“Okay, but what’s that got to do with a Harley?”
“Absolutely nothing. I just enjoy yelling, ‘STELLA!’ every time I see my girl.”
As Stella ate up the pavement beneath them, her father chatted about sights they passed along the way. Soon the congested traffic unknotted itself, giving them plenty of room on the road. As the sprawling commercial areas gave way to neighborhoods then farmland, she felt the tension slowly slipping away. She let her eyes feast on the stunning fall palette coloring the rolling hillsides beneath a perfect blue sky. Here and there she’d see cattle grazing and flocks of birds flying in perfect formation.
The wind sailing around her soothed her soul and sent her mind down an unexpected path. How long had it been since she stopped to notice the landscape around her? Washington offered spectacular displays of the changing seasons, but the frantic pace had somehow blinded her to it. That same frantic pace had robbed her of a personal life, zapped her energy, and sent her home exhausted every night. When had she lost that initial zeal? What happened to the excitement that once propelled her to work each morning? When had she lost that camaraderie she’d always enjoyed with her friends at church and at the office?
With each question floating through her mind, she saw his face, and she knew. The disillusionment hadn’t come from the projects she’d so passionately worked on or the long days she put in. It was all because of him.
Tracey shook off the stress that had trickled back in, instead taking another deep breath, willing the fresh air to somehow repair what was damaged inside her. I’m gonna be okay. Right, Lord? I didn’t just leave D.C.; I’m walking away from my life there. I lost my way. Open my heart to something new. Show me what You want me to do.
Tracey let her mind wander imagining all kinds of possibilities ahead of her
. Still she couldn’t imagine anything that didn’t involve politics. She decided optimism would surely come later. For now, she just wanted to go home.
Forty-five minutes later they rolled into Jacobs Mill. The small town located just a few miles east of I-65 seemed to welcome her with open arms. The row of Bradford Pear trees on Neely’s Lane almost took her breath away, their deep crimson leaves making quite a show this year. As they turned onto Main Street, it seemed nothing much had changed, and that made her smile. Barrows Hardware Store, the cozy log cabin library, Emma’s Coffee Shop, Dorsey’s Barbershop, The Depot—the town’s only pub—they all looked just as she remembered them.
Tracey leaned slightly to her right to see around her dad. Here, the four blocks of Main Street came to a three-way stop, but straight ahead—Walnut Ridge.
Home.
Tracey smiled again as she looked up at their 190-year-old home sitting high above town on 45 of the plantation’s original 500 acres. The two-story home had been in her family since it was first built by her father’s ancestors. With its two wings flanking the original structure, four white columns, six working fireplaces, wide front porch, and seven outbuildings, Walnut Ridge had been the hub of Jacobs Mill from its beginning.
As they rolled up the long driveway, Tracey felt her heart swell at the sight of the magnificent oak tree that sheltered the front of her home. She hugged him hard, this time from sheer joy. “Oh Daddy, it’s so good to be home.”
They rolled to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, pulled off their helmets, and climbed off the Harley.
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it!”
At the sound of her sister’s voice, she ran up the steps. “Alex!”
“Tracey, Tracey, Tracey!” Alex cried, embracing her little sister. “I can’t believe you let him drive you home on that thing!”
Buddy beamed. “Are you kidding? She loved it! Didn’t you, Tracey Jo?”
“Not so much at first, but I have to say—”
“You don’t have to say another word,” he said, joining them at the top of the steps. “I rest my case. Now c’mon, big family hug here.” He wrapped them both in his strong arms and planted a noisy kiss on both their cheeks.
“I made us some tea,” Alex said, pulling back. “Y’all have a seat, and I’ll be right back.”
He squeezed her shoulder and hustled back down the steps. “Thanks, honey, but I’ve got to skedaddle.”
“Dad, you just got here!”
“I know, but I’ve gotta check on my Elders. They’re helping over at the city park. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Elders?” Tracey whispered.
“Tell you later,” Alex mumbled, tossing a wink as she turned to go back inside.
Buddy bounced back up the steps. “Here’re your bags, Tracey Jo. You need me to run them up to your room?”
“No, I’ll take them later. Thanks anyway.”
“Good. See you tonight.” He hooked his elbow around her neck and pulled her close enough for another peck on the cheek. “Good to have you home, sweetheart!”
A moment later, he brought the Harley to life and took off down the long winding drive.
Alex backed out the front door then let it slam shut, a wooden tray with two glasses, a pitcher of tea, and a small basket of sugar cookies in her hands. “So Biker Buddy took off, did he?”
Tracey grabbed a cookie and took a seat on one of the cushioned wicker rockers. “Good grief, Alex. You said he’d changed, but seriously—who is that guy with the ponytail?”
Alex sat down and poured their glasses of tea. “The ponytail, I’m used to. It’s the—”
“Earring? I almost passed out when I saw it! Buddy Collins got his ear pierced?!”
“I’m sure he told you where the diamond came from.” Alex took a sip of tea.
Tracey tucked one leg beneath the other and leaned back. “With great pleasure, I might add. I’m sure Mom could care less, but don’t you think it’s a bit juvenile on his part?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Though I admit I was upset about it at first.”
“How come you never told me?”
“Because I didn’t want to bother you with it. To be honest, I thought it was just a phase he was going through. First the Harley, then the hair and the beard . . . I kept thinking one day he’d come downstairs looking like the clean-cut Buddy Collins we’ve always known.”
“You mean like the Pastor Buddy Collins we used to know?”
Alex stopped and slowly turned to face her. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I kept hoping for.”
Tracey looked out across the sweeping lawn as a breeze swirled some leaves down the hill. “That guy’s never coming back, Sis.”
“I know.”
Tracey studied her sister’s profile. She had always envied Alex’s thick blonde hair, even her wispy bangs. She had their father’s smile and compassionate eyes, though Alex’s glistened a deep sable. The ever-present readers gave her a sophisticated but somehow endearing look. Hers was a sister everyone loved.
Alex had always been the Martha in their family, always trying to stay a step ahead, anticipating everyone else’s needs. Hers was the shoulder Tracey had cried on when Randy Simmons broke her heart in sixth grade. It was Alex who always baked the cake or cupcakes for her birthday parties. And when she was older, Alex was the one who explained the facts of life to her. For as long as she could remember, Alex had been more of a mother to her than Mom ever was.
Which was good since their mom never seemed to have much time for them when they were growing up. Or any time, come to think of it.
“And I have to say, I’m not sure I want that guy to come back.”
Alex turned to look at her. “Why not?”
“Well, think about it. He devoted his life to that church for twenty years. He was at their beck and call, day in and day out.”
“But he loved it, Trace.”
“I know he did. And they loved him. But the first hint of trouble with Mom, and what did they do? They kicked him out the door.”
Alex took another sip of tea but said nothing.
“All those years he gave to them. Then at the worst time of his life, when Mom humiliated him by taking off like she did, instead of supporting him in his time of need, they gave him the boot.”
“You know it wasn’t like that. It was—”
“Dad did nothing wrong. They punished him for something Mom did. It isn’t right.”
“Why are we rehashing all this again? We’ve been over it a thousand times before.”
Tracey blew out a huff. “I know, I know. But it still irks me.”
Alex reached over and covered Tracey’s hand with her own. “You’ve got to let it go, Sis. Dad did, so you need to forgive them and move on.”
Tracey picked at the polish on her thumbnail. “Dad may have forgiven them, but it took a long time before he could.”
“I know. I don’t know what we would have done if Uncle Rob hadn’t shown up.”
“Of all people, who would have ever thought Uncle Rob would be the one to get through to Dad.”
Alex smiled. “The Lord certainly moves in mysterious ways. But dragging Dad out of the house on that road trip was exactly what he needed.”
“Remember how funny he looked perched behind Uncle Rob on his motorcycle?” They both laughed out loud. “I thought for sure he’d fall off before he got to the end of Main Street.”
“And he looked so serious, sitting ramrod straight, with his hands clamped to Sam’s waist but at arm’s length?”
They simultaneously mocked the pose then laughed at themselves.
“My, how far he’s come now,” Tracey chuckled. “He looks like he’s ridden all his life.”
Alex grabbed a cookie and turned to face her sister. “Enough about Dad. Tell me about you. I can’t believe we’ve got you home for two whole weeks! What do you want to do while you’re home? Any p
lans?”
Tracey’s thoughts jumbled at the sudden question. She took a long sip of tea, wondering what she should say. “Well, to be honest—”
“Out with it, already!”
“I don’t know, Alex. Mostly, I just need a break. I want to unplug, sleep late, maybe do a little cooking—” Her cell phone chirped, interrupting her wish list.
“So much for unplugging,” Alex added.
Tracey silenced the tone as she saw Morgan’s name on the small screen. “Yeah, I might have to keep this thing buried somewhere. I really need to be unreachable.”
“Do you need to take that call?”
“No. I absolutely do not have to take it.” She slipped the phone back in her pocket. “So where were we?”
“You were telling me what you want to do while you’re home.”
She waved her off. “I’m here. I’m home. That’s good enough for me.”
“Good! And since you mentioned cooking, come on in and help me get dinner ready,” Alex said, standing. “I made apple cobbler for dessert.”
“Yum! I think I gained five pounds from just visualizing it.”
Alex took her empty glass. “Which you could stand to gain. You’re too thin, Trace. I’ve got to fatten you up while you’re home. But first I’ll help you get settled up in your room.”
Tracey opened the door for her. “Martha, Martha, Martha. I’m pretty sure I can handle that by myself. You go. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Deal. And stop calling me Martha. You know I don’t like that.”
“Sure thing, Martha—I mean, Alexandra.”
“Thank you, Tracey Jolene.”
Chapter 3
Buddy wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Alex, I believe this may be the best meatloaf you ever made. And I’m not just saying that.”
Alex passed the biscuits to Tracey. “You say that every time I serve it, Dad. You just love it because it’s Granny Jo’s recipe. You grew up on it.”
Buddy smiled. “Maybe, but I still say yours is the best.”
“It’s the chili sauce. I use chili sauce instead of the ketchup in Granny’s recipe. Gives it a little more flavor.”
