by Rachel Hauck
Ordering coffee drained Joy’s last ounce of energy and she nestled among the pillows, her eyes on Allison, her own thin, taut emotions suffocating her heart. Her belly rumbled. The clock beamed 11:32. She couldn’t remember when or what she’d last eaten.
“How can you not cook? You host a cooking show, Joy.” Allison guzzled this time. “Unbelievable. And I don’t want to even ask how you got a show hosting cooking when you can’t cook. Downright un-be-lieve-able.”
“After Daddy’s second heart attack, when he was in the ER, barely breathing, he asked me to help Duncan do the show. Then Duncan begged me to step in as host since he’d invested so much in the new studio.” The story sounded old and sour to Joy now. “I couldn’t say no.”
“I’m going to kill Duncan. First you, then Duncan. Hollywood career, my hide. Tried to tell me you had some kind of phobia. Ha. I’ll phobia him. He’ll be lucky to get a job painting sets on a local morning news show after my smear campaign.”
“I know this isn’t going to change anything, Allison, but I’m sor—”
“Dan Greene’s called me a dozen times. But I’m not answering . . . No, siree. TruReality will sue me.” She tapped her fingernails against the bottle. “The universe will not, will not, cut me a break.” She raised the bottle to Joy. “Nail in the coffin. Thank you, Joy Ballard. Never thought my own star would bury me. Twenty-five years, and all I have to show for it is a boatload of humiliation. Bette won’t speak to me. What good is a producer if she can’t promote her own shows? No good, that’s what. No. Good.”
“This could’ve been avoided if you’d honored my rider. Why do you think Duncan and I had such a stupid clause?”
“No, no, Joy, a phobia is not the same as I-can’t-cook. Besides, Bette wasn’t going to honor a lowly cooking show host rider. Psssht. Nobodys like you get a shot at a show like hers, and riders go out the window. I wanted you to beat Wenda on Bette’s show. Dan Greene would’ve kicked my hide if I turned down such a rich opportunity. But look now, Wenda and her ilk are laughing all the way to the bank. Though Bette is spitting nails at her too.”
The odor of bourbon began to permeate the room.
“So, Allison, nothing about the way Ryan shot my food segments tipped you off? Or when Sharon quit in such a huff?”
“No, I’ve seen that kind of stuff on cooking shows before.” Allison dropped her head against the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. “Poor Luke. He’ll be lucky to get a job at McDonald’s.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Oh no, no, the foodie community is small and close-knit. They don’t like being mocked. You mocked them and made Luke your accomplice. You made me your accomplice. Do you know how many lives you’ve ruined? When I said I wanted to make you a household name, this is not what I had in mind, Joy, not what I had in mind.”
“I’m sorry, Allison.” Joy brushed the fresh remorse from her chapped cheeks. “Truly sorry.”
Allison slid out of the chair and teetered toward the door. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
Twenty-seven
Joy woke to the sound of rain. The thick drops drummed on the roof, slipped down the windowpane, and soaked her soul.
Shivering, she burrowed deeper under her blankets. From the low gray light beyond the shading oak by her window, Joy couldn’t tell if the world slipped toward morning or turned toward evening.
“Aunt Joy?” Annie-Rae’s whisper chased the echo of the creaking hinges.
Don’t breathe.
“Are you awake?” The mattress gave as Annie leaned against the side. Joy could smell her hair and skin. “I want to make this, Papaw’s banana bread. Granny said it used to make you happy.”
“Go away, Annie, please.”
The door slammed and Joy squeezed her eyes to keep from weeping. She’d never yelled at Annie-Rae like that before, and the boomerang of her tone added to her sorrow. The door’s hinges creaked again. “Annie-Rae, I told you—”
“It’s me, Lyric.”
Joy sighed. Mama mentioned something when Joy slithered home about Parker standing up Lyric. “What is it?”
The girl inched into the room. “Can I talk to you?”
Joy sat up, twisting her top in place, squaring away her jeans. She’d fallen into bed last night—no, the night before—not bothering to change. “What’s up?” In the glimmer of a second, it felt good to talk about something beside herself.
Lyric dropped to the bed so the mattress shook and sighed. Joy plumped a pillow behind her back. Lyric picked at the frayed hem of her shorts. Joy closed her eyes.
“Lyric, is he ignoring you? You think he likes someone else?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know . . .”
“What’s going on?”
“At school, he walks past me like he doesn’t know me. Then when I go see Siri, he comes in to watch TV with me and holds my hand. Then he kisses me when Siri’s not looking.”
“How does that make you feel?” The rain thickened against the window. “Does he try more than kissing?”
Lyric let her hair slip over her shoulder and cover her face.
“Teenage boys are these weird monsters, Lyric. They like a girl because she’s pretty and fun, or easy to talk to, then it becomes all about what’s under her clothes. And you’ve shown Parker a bit of the goods and whetted his appetite.”
“It’s not true. He likes me. He really, really likes me.”
“Then ask him why he ignores you in school.”
“He’s with his friends, the team, and they don’t talk to any girls.”
Lyric lifted her head, shifting the wavy river of her hair over her shoulder, piercing Joy with a fiery glance. “Why do you hate him?”
“I don’t hate him, but I don’t like him taking advantage of you. You deserve better, Lyric.” Sawyer, oh my brother, your neglect is destroying your girl.
“He says I’m his girlfriend.”
“When he’s kissing you, running his fingers along the top of your shirt, or wiggling them underneath?” Joy kicked out of the covers, her skin warm, her passion for Lyric flaring. “Baby, he’s not into you for you, only what he can get from you for his own gratification. If you let him have his way, he wins and you lose. There’s no win for you here. You’re daydreaming of happily ever after while he’s boasting of his conquest in the locker room.”
Horror lit her eyes, tainted her cheeks. “No, he is not. That’s mean, Aunt Joy.”
“You think he’s in love with you?” Joy slipped her hand down Lyric’s arm. “That he wants to marry you the day after you graduate? Well, he doesn’t. If you let him, he’ll go as far as he can, and when you either give in and go all the way, or push back and end his sexual pursuits, he’ll be gone. He’s already started ignoring you in school. Does he talk to other girls?”
“It’s because I’m a freshman. His friends will tease him because I’m so young.” Lyric puffed out her chest. “But I’ll be fifteen in a month.”
“Lyric, listen to me, he’s out for one thing.”
“No, no, he’s not.” She fired off the bed. “Gosh, just because you can’t get Luke to love you—”
“Luke? Love me? Who said anything about love and Luke?” He’d tried to call, finally, but by then she’d had enough fortitude not to answer. Had he called in the hotel the night Allison visited, she’d have answered, weeping and blubbering in his ear. Time and sleep saved her that additional humiliation.
“Parker loves me. I know it.”
“Then why are you in here complaining about him?”
Lyric opened her mouth, stuttered, then exited Joy’s room without a word.
“You’re in love with her. Poor soul.” Rosie nodded toward the tinfoil-covered plate in Luke’s hand. “What’d you make her? She hasn’t eaten since she got home. Probably hasn’t eaten in days.”
“It’s risotto. I made it on the show a few weeks ago and she liked it. Why’d you call me a ‘poor soul’?”
“Joy is one
tough bird when it comes to love. She’ll give her whole heart without condition if she lets go. Then she falls hard and deep. There was a ballplayer in college, Tim, who chased her from sophomore to junior year. Finally, in their senior year Joy gave in, committed, fell in love, came home talking about a wedding, and then when she expected a proposal, he dumped her for her roommate two months before graduating.”
“So she ran off to Europe.” Light broke over his thoughts as a low rumbling thunder rolled over the house.
“That’d be the end of the romance tale, yes.” Rosie motioned toward the stairs. “End of the hall, first door on the right.”
“So, what about since then? Who has she loved?”
“No one. I told you she’s tough. But if you’re a hearty man, she’s worth it.”
Luke started upstairs, slow, thinking. His anger after the YouTube fiasco subsided into sorrow for Joy, then a veiled brand of pity. Back to anger again when he continued to field challenges from his foodie friends. Linus continued to be a beacon in this storm.
The day after the show, Luke drove Red home, set him up with a nurse, and headed to the airport, drumming the steering wheel, pressing the speed limit, praying to catch an earlier flight.
He prayed during the flight to Charleston and the trip home to Beaufort. Conversations with God about his future, about Joy, about the man God called him to be. Luke listened, waiting, sensing the breath of God.
As he crept up the stairs, all he knew was he had to see Joy. “Hello, there’s a man upstairs. Everyone decent?”
Rosie had told him Lyric had left. And Luke had patted Annie-Rae’s curly head when he crossed the living room. Crimping the tinfoil around the plate, Luke approached Joy’s door. It stood ajar. He knocked once. “Joy, hey, it’s me.”
Beyond the wall, the sheets didn’t rustle.
“Joy?” He peered around the door to see her sitting with her back against the headboard, staring toward the rain-washed window.
“When I was sixteen, I decided to pitch. I was tired of standing between third and second base, playing shortstop, frustrated with our pitcher who wanted to ‘give the batter a chance.’ She shouldn’t have been playing softball. Most pitchers started in their early teens, so I had a lot of work to do. But I wanted it, to pitch, to command the game. To this day, I throw a wicked fastball. I found Coach, showed her what I could do, and she said, ‘Let’s get to work.’ That’s always what I’ve done, gotten to work, made it happen. But this time, I failed.” She looked at him. “How’s Red?”
“Off to move cattle to a different pasture.” He entered the room and set the plate on the bed next to her. From his right pocket he pulled a fork wrapped in a linen napkin. From his left, a bottle of water. Losing Ami’s didn’t take away his love of fine dining. “Risotto.”
“From the show?” She peeled away the tinfoil, unleashing the fragrance of rice, cheese, and sauce. The garlic hint was subtle, but alluring. “Thank you.” She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand.
Luke sat in the rocker across the room and watched her eat. She ate tentatively at first, then hungrily, scooping the rice with vigor. Her countenance began to change. She was beat up but oh, so beautiful.
Yeah, she’d come out of this all right. Made the delivery of his news easier. Less like he was abandoning her in her hour of need. Leaving Beaufort and the beautiful Ballard women rent his heart in a way closing Ami’s never did, but he had to get his feet in a level place. He couldn’t make Bubba’s buttery biscuits at the Frogmore Café the rest of his life.
Joy set the cleaned plate on her nightstand and twisted open the water. “Do you hate me?”
“Hate you?” Her tentative question twisted around his heart, and he rocked back. Disappointed? Yes. Hate? “Impossible.”
“It’s all a blur.” She drank deep from the bottle, drawing her knees to her chest, wiggling her toes against the bunched-up sheets.
“That’s probably a blessing.” The air in the room was hot and stale but Luke rested in the midst of it, unwilling to disturb the atmosphere of Joy’s open heart.
“Probably.” She collapsed against her pillows, cradling the water against her chest. “I can’t bring myself to watch the news, read e-mail, answer calls.”
“The YouTube clips already have close to two million hits. You’re more popular than ever.”
“For all the wrong reasons. Bunch of rubberneckers.” The sheen in her eyes was unmistakable in the rainy gray shadows.
“Ah, there’s your infamous wit. I was worried you’d go completely to the dark side.” Luke leaned forward, drawn by her vulnerability, wanting to crawl onto the bed and wrap her in his arms and whisper everything would be all right. But it wasn’t his privilege or place.
“The dark side, huh? I was tempted, but the clothes are hideous.” She peered at him with clear, blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Luke.”
“Hey, you tried. You can’t brown hamburger, but I can’t pitch a fastball to a palm tree.”
“Yeah, those two things are exactly alike.” She covered her face with her hands. “I just quit replaying the show in my head, and now there it is again.” She bolted upright and her jerky motion caused Luke to sway back in the rocker. “And oh, Luke, what I said, about kissing and all?” She shook her head and hands with a wild-eyed, silent scream. “I was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”
“I see. Well.” He’d been dead serious about kissing her the next time he saw her, but now that he was leaving, it didn’t seem right. “So, what’s next? Any plan?”
What . . . what if she moved to Portland with him? No, no, come on, man. And then what?
“Sleep.” Joy got out of bed and paced to the dresser under the slanted dormer ceiling. She absently moved a jewelry box from one side to the other. “Find courage. Go on somehow. Folks have survived worse, right?”
“Sure, much worse.”
“What about you?” She shrugged. “Allison said you wouldn’t be able to get a job at McDonald’s.”
“Did she now?” Luke ran his palms against his jeans. How could he tell her? I’m leaving. The chips were down and he was bailing. “I–I have an offer . . .”
“An offer?” Joy sat lightly on the edge of the bed in front of him.
“A friend of mine is opening a new place in Portland.”
“Oregon?”
“Maine. He wants me as his new exec. Portland is a hot little place these days and the restaurant will be a teaching kitchen . . . which I love. I’d like to give back . . .” Her eyes glistened. “Help out new chefs.”
“Maine. It’s a long way from Oklahoma.” Joy scooted off the edge of the bed and landed on the floor. When she gazed up at him, his feelings for her crashed through his heart’s thin lattice barrier.
“It’s a long way from here.” He dropped to one knee, facing her.
“But Beaufort isn’t home.” The tips of her fingers touched his. “You have Heath and Elle, but—”
“I have Rosie, Lyric, and Annie-Rae.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “You.”
Her lips trembled as she checked her tears. “I can’t, Luke.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Can’t. Can’t.”
“Choose me, Joy. Choose us. Come with me to Portland.”
“Then what? Carry on in a pity relationship? We don’t even know how we’d be together. We only know each other around the kitchen, on the set, in front of cameras. Besides, I can’t leave Mama and the girls.”
“Let’s find out how we are beyond the show. Move to Portland. Write articles, freelance edit or whatever literary people do. Rosie is very self-sufficient. The girls have parents, Joy. Stop doing their job. Stop doing your dad’s job. Stop clinging to your past and all the mistakes.” He caressed her cheek and the tender skin melted against his palm. This wasn’t going at all like he’d planned, but he rowed with the flow of his heart. “You’ve paid any debt you owed to your dad, and now it’s time to live for you, to find your destiny.”
“In Portland? What could I possibly find for myself in Portland, Luke?” She jumped up, turning her back to him, scooping her hair away from her face.
“Me. Be my wife, Joy.” Luke jumped at the sound of his voice. The unplanned proposal ignited him. “Come with me and—”
“Be your wife?” She whirled around, hands on her hips. “How is that different than what I’ve been doing? You just accused me of not living my own life. That I am doing Daddy’s will, raising Sawyer and Mindy’s kids.”
“There’s no replacement Mrs. Luke Redmond, Joy.” Luke’s courage careened against his chest as he argued his case. “You’re not standing in for another woman.”
“I can’t believe this. No, I’m not going to Portland. I was the daughter of a chef, and I’ll be darned if I’m going to be the wife of one. I watched Mama and decided it was a pretty rotten existence.”
“I’m not Charles Ballard.”
“You’re not. But I have no idea who you’ll be when the honeymoon is over.”
“You have to trust me.”
“Trust you? How about love you? Does love factor into your recipe for solving my problems? Do you even love me? No, don’t answer. I don’t want to know. Because my answer is no, Luke. I’m not going to Portland with you.”
“Seems you have it all figured out.” He needed to leave. Now.
His footsteps hammered the hardwood. But he paused at the top of the stairs. “Your mom told me about Tim, the guy who broke your heart. I hate him for what he did to you.”
“This has nothing to do with Tim.” She faced Luke in the hall, brash and uncompromised. “This has to do with you offering marriage because you pity me. Who does that, Luke?”
“Pity? Is that what you think this is?”
“Hey, go to Portland. Get on with your life. Forget you knew me. Hopefully the rest of the world will too.”
He lingered on the top step, regarding her, torn with each beat of his heart.
“Go. I said, go.” She stomped her foot and gestured to the stairs.
