by Rachel Hauck
The Italian loafers echoed again. “Here.” Linus smacked two shot glasses on the desk and splashed them with bourbon. “To Joy, the beautiful one that got away.”
“To Joy.” Luke raised his glass, then set it back on the desk without tossing down the shot, refusing to toast the one that got away. Besides, he’d given up medicating his emotions with a shot of alcohol, no matter how small. Feeling was healing.
“Speaking of Joy . . .” Linus downed the liquid in Luke’s glass.
“Were we speaking of Joy?”
“We have a spot on Good Morning America next week. Be ready to answer questions about Joy.”
“I’m not going to talk about Joy on Good Morning America or any other show.” Luke braced for Linus’s challenge, keeping his gaze steady on his friend’s Old World features.
“She played with fire, Luke.” Linus dashed another shot of bourbon in his glass. “And got burned. The foodies are demanding answers. You need to ingratiate yourself back into your community.”
“Ingratiate, nothing. Don’t tell me there’s not a one of them who wouldn’t have done the same thing. Shoot, half of them would’ve sold their soul to stand in Joy’s shadow.”
“Oh man, you are gone. So gone. Choo, choo . . .” Linus tugged an imaginary whistle cord. “All aboard the love train.”
“Are you through?” Luke went back to his Menu page. “I have work to do. Isn’t it a little early in the day to be doing shots?”
“Luke, go on the show.” Linus stacked the shot glasses in his hand. “Do a little yada, yada about Joy, then I’ll plug the restaurant. We’ll be eating breakfast at Eatery’s before most of the country is awake.”
“Linus, Joy is off limits to Good Morning America.”
“But you’ll do the show?” Linus peered down at Luke.
Luke sighed. “You’re exhausting. I’ll do the show. They bring up Joy, I’ll walk off the set.”
Joy never thought spending time with Miss Jeanne would be a divine setup, but God knew exactly what she needed. The wisdom and spiritual insight of an eighty-something. For the third day in a row, Joy joined Miss Jeanne for lunch at Silly Dog.
What was it she said today? “You can’t get your faith from your feeling or your truth from your experience.”
The pain of losing the show still smarted when Joy drew in a quick breath, and she missed Luke. How many times a day did she reach for her phone to call him, but resisted? He was gone. Let him go.
Pulling the truck alongside the house, Joy glanced at the faded memory verse. My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me. God, what is Your food for me?
A mustard slathered hotdog in a soft bun was a good start, washed back with a sweet, tart lemonade and topped off with a chocolate dip cone. But as she moved away from the Bette Hudson disaster and losing her career, Joy began to hunger for more.
Tucking her keys into her pocket, she let the truck door shut, eyeing an abandoned pallet of flowers in the backyard, Mama’s spade, and gloves scattered haphazardly on the grass as if she’d removed them on the run.
But since there was no sign of blood, Joy headed on into the house, dropping her handbag on the table. “Hey, who’s home? Lyric? Annie?” School let out at noon today. The girls should be home by now.
Wandering into the kitchen, Joy halted. Bananas, flour, and sugar had exploded all over the counter. Batter dotted the granite surface in sporadic clumps until it finally spilled over the side and collected on the floor tile. A bag of semisweet chocolate chips sat open, half empty.
Joy spotted a laminated recipe card peeking out from under a dish towel.
“Annie-Rae?” Lifting the spoon from the mixing bowl, Joy stirred the thin, runny batter. “Mercy, girl, you were trying to make the banana bread.” Brown dust circled the bowl. Cinnamon and brown sugar.
Joy checked to make sure the stove was off, then walked to the stairs and leaned against the banister. “Annie-Rae, were you making banana bread?”
The silence of the house disturbed Joy’s peace. She jogged halfway up the steps and peered through the banister rungs. A veil of evening light warmed the worn hallway runner and exposed the dust dancing and twirling in the air.
Mama’s bedroom light was off, the door ajar. Lyric’s door stood wide, as did Annie’s. Joy patted her pockets for her cell, realizing she’d left it in her truck, tucked in the glove box, banned from disturbing her day.
As she reached for the house phone to give Mama a call, it rang beneath her palm.
“Where have you been? We’ve been calling all over for you.” J. D. Rand? Why was the Beaufort County Sheriff calling her?
“J.D., this is scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, Joy. But it’s Lyric. She’s been in a bad accident.”
Joy found Mama in the Beaufort Memorial waiting room. “Is she all right?”
Mama released into Joy’s arms. “She’s in surgery, oh Joy, shug, she’s all broken and cut up.” Mama’s Ballard Paint & Body shirt was splattered with paint and her brown-gray curls were wrapped in a do-rag. “If anything happened to that girl on my watch, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“Our watch, Mama, it’s our watch.” Joy cradled her hand against Mama’s shoulder and spied J.D. across the room with Annie. “Mama, go sit with Annie, and I’ll talk to J.D.”
J.D. rose, ruffled Annie-Rae’s hair, and gave his seat to Mama. Joy led him to the other side of the waiting area. “What happened?”
“She was riding in the back of a truck.” J.D.’s reflective sunglasses rode on top of his short-clipped hair. Thick biceps choked his uniform sleeves, and his cologne tinted the air around him.
“Whose truck, J.D.? Why was she in the back?”
“Promise me you won’t go off half-cocked, swinging ball bats.”
“Parker Eaton. She was riding in the back of Parker’s truck, wasn’t she?” Joy wrapped her hand around J.D.’s wrist, squeezing out the truth.
“I guess you know it was a half day at school today. Parker and some of the boys were going down to the beach before football practice. A car pulled out in front of them and he overcorrected, hit a tree. The boys are corroborating the story.”
“The boys?”
J.D. switched the grip so he held on to Joy’s wrist. “Some of the guys from the team.”
“And they were taking Lyric out to the beach?”
“Yeah . . . I don’t know what that was about, Joy.” His fingers pressed into her skin. “But let’s assume the best.”
“She’s barely fifteen, J.D. I will not assume the best.” Joy twisted her hand free. “How bad is it?”
“Broken femur, broken arm and collar bone. From what I saw, her face was pretty cut up too. But it’s hard to tell with the blood.”
“Oh my gosh.” Joy pressed her hand to her forehead. “My beautiful Lyric.” Everything I touch falls apart. “What about the boys? Are they all right?”
“Bruised and banged up, but home. Nothing serious.”
“And Parker?”
“His truck is totaled, and his wrist is sprained so he won’t be catching footballs this weekend, but he’s fine.”
“Fine? He’s fine while beautiful, innocent Lyric is in surgery?”
“Joy, settle down. He didn’t do this on purpose.”
“He most certainly did do this on purpose. Maybe not crash the truck, but he led Lyric on, played with her emotions. The back of the truck, J.D.? Even in your dog-days you wouldn’t have put the girl in the back of the truck.”
She whirled toward the door, a boiling scream in her chest, and sprinted toward the exit.
“Joy, where are you going?” J.D. thudded after her, his fingertip grazing her skin. “Stop, right there.”
“I’m going to his house, going to call him out, and, and . . . that no-good, football-playing, arrogant, son of—”
First step into the parking lot, J.D. grabbed hold and clamped a cool metal ring around her wrist.
“Handcuffs? Are you kidding me
?” The cuff bit into her arm when she tried to twist free. “Okay, J.D., take it off.”
“You’re not going to Parker’s. Don’t make this worse than it is.” J.D. pulled Joy to his chest. “When you calm down, I’ll go with you. But you have to promise to behave.”
“Did Parker behave? Not since the day he met Lyric. Why should I?”
“Then you’re cuffed to me.”
“J.D., please, let me go. I’ll absolve you of all foreknowledge. I’ll make sure his body is never found.”
“Inside.” He pressed his hand into her back and walked her to the ER. “And stop jerking your wrist around. You’re going to hurt both of us.”
“Then let me go.” When Annie-Rae saw Joy, she jumped to her feet, her eyes wide and scared. “Aunt Joy, are you arrested?”
“No, just shackled to this lummox.” She plopped into a chair.
“What’d she do, J.D?” Mama asked with a sigh.
“Nothing. It was what she wanted to do.”
“I told you she’d try to go to Parker’s.” Mama patted Joy’s leg. “Not our week around here, is it? Beating up Parker isn’t going to fix Lyric. Or get your job back. Or Luke.”
“This is not about me or the show. Certainly not about Luke.”
Joy leaned forward when echoes and whispers rounded into the waiting room from the hall. J.D. removed the cuff. “Go see if you can find out what’s going on.”
The nurse at the desk knew only that Lyric remained in surgery. Joy returned to her seat between Annie-Rae and J.D.
“Do we know why she went with those boys in the first place?”
“Hanging out after school, I reckon.” Mama slipped off her dorag and ran her fingers through her hair. Her curls remained flat and asleep. “She’s so into that boy she’d go anywhere or do anything to keep his attention. Been moping around the house for days waiting for him to call. She visits Siri, hoping he’ll be there. Then just when I think she’ll hear me if I tell her to move on, he calls. Five minutes on the phone with him and my little wilted sunflower blooms under the power of his rain.”
“Want me to talk to him?” J.D. said, sounding tender and sweet.
“With a Louisville slugger?” Joy answered, sounding angry and vengeful.
J.D. rattled his cuffs.
Joy rocked forward and buried her face in her hands. “The waiting is making me crazy.” The peaceful lunch with Miss Jeanne seemed like a dream.
“Aunt Joy, can I play a game on your phone?” Annie-Rae propped against her knee.
“Was that you trying to make banana bread in the kitchen?” Joy surrendered her phone, brushing her hand over Annie’s hair, catching her finger on a clump of batter.
“Mercy, yes.” Mama’s low chuckle withered away. “She was hard at work when I came in to . . . Well, here we are.”
“I wanted to make the bread for Mama and Daddy. And Aunt Joy.” Annie-Rae moved to the neighboring chair. “Granddaddy said it used to make her happy.”
“Someone’s been reading the old recipe book.”
“Someone shouldn’t leave it lying around.” Annie-Rae mimicked Joy, sitting back, tapping the face of Joy’s phone.
Mama motioned for Joy to lean toward her across the aisle. “I haven’t called Sawyer and Mindy yet. I thought I’d wait until Lyric came out of surgery.”
Maybe this time Sawyer would answer. “Go ahead and call, Mama. Give them time to get here. Wouldn’t it be great for Lyric to see them first thing in the morning?”
“Oh, Joy, baby, they can’t move that fast.”
“Let’s give them a chance.” Joy lightly brushed J.D.’s shoulder. Her sense of reason returned. Her peace. Rising from her seat, she paced to the window, propped her forehead against the glass, and prayed.
For Lyric’s sake, she needed to confront Parker. “J.D.,” Joy asked, turning from the window, “can you take me to the Eatons’? Please?”
Thirty
Luke’s phone buzzed from the rented dresser across the bedroom. Afternoon light framed his drawn shades, and his intention to sleep until he woke up kept being interrupted by Linus, the restaurant gambler, working his odds.
None of it was earth-shattering, have-to-do-it-now. “Sorry to disturb you, buddy, but just one more thing. If we have one less seafood dish, we can marginalize our costs . . .”
When the buzzing stopped, Luke drifted back to sleep. Later, on his way to work, he’d lob his phone into the Atlantic. He didn’t need it anyway.
Only one who ever called was Linus. A house phone would suffice for calls from the restaurant, Red, and Heath. Should he send Joy his landline number if and when he switched over? She had yet to call. But to be fair, he’d not called her since the day he left her standing in the upstairs hall.
Did she think of him? He couldn’t get her out of his head. He dreamed of her, turned his fare at the phantom scent of her skin, grinned at the memory of her voice teasing him about talking in “recipe.”
On the last show they taped, she made up a whole bit about him.
“We’re going to take a one fourth commercial break and earn some luscious green money. Don’t you just love that color? We’ll be back for the last two thirds of our show after this level tablespoon of a commercial break. Don’t forget to set your timers. Back in one sixtieth of an hour.”
Luke buried his head under his pillow, groaning. He’d never survive up here if she dominated his thoughts. With his nose against the sheets, he tried to fall back asleep, but his mind was awake. His stomach rumbled. Might as well get up and shower. And maybe . . . he stared at his phone . . . call Joy. Then his phone pinged. Not a call or voice mail notice, but a text.
Crossing the room, Luke opened the window shade and reached for his phone.
Mr. Luke?
Joy’s name displayed on the screen, but she’d never called him Mr. Luke. He texted back, Hello?
Its Annie-Rae.
Annie? How r u?
Lyric is hurt.
Lyric? Texting took too long for this. Luke hit Call. “Annie, what happened?”
“She was riding in Parker’s truck. She broke her leg and stuff.
Granny and I are waiting for her to get out of an operation.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah . . . I’m scared.”
“I know, I know, but everything will be all right. Is Granny with you? And Aunt Joy? Is she there?”
“She went with Mr. J.D. to beat Parker up with a baseball bat.”
He grinned. I bet.
“But Mr. J.D. handcuffed her.” She snickered. “She looked funny.”
“Can I talk to Granny?”
“Okay, oh, she’s sleeping . . . Granny?” The girl’s whisper awakened every dormant cell in Luke’s body. Why was he here? In cold, dark Portland?
“Annie-Rae? Don’t wake your granny.”
“Okay.”
“But don’t leave the waiting room. Stay put until Aunt Joy or Mr. J.D. comes back. Hear me?”
“I tried to make Papaw’s banana bread.” Annie-Rae sighed with a settled-in kind of resolve.
“You did? By yourself?” Luke scooted onto the bed, stuffing pillows behind his back. “I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, there was no one to help me. But I can do it. It’s just fractions.” Her small but bold voice was fast becoming his favorite sound.
“Well, fractions are a start. So, tell me how you worked the recipe. From the beginning.”
“First, see, I mashed up the bananas in the bowl.” The pitch of her voice arched. “Is that right? I can barely read Papaw’s handwriting. How’d you do it, Mr. Luke?”
“A lot of squinting.”
She giggled. “I can try that too.”
Was he ever more enchanted by a banana bread recipe? Luke’s smile sank all the way to his soul and silenced the whispers of loneliness.
Flanked by Elle and Caroline outside room 321, Joy talked with Dr. Shapiro. She was commanding, intense about caring for her patients.
&nbs
p; “She’s been sleeping well, but we’ve had her sedated. A broken femur is painful and slow healing. The break was above her knee, barely missing the growth plate. She’s a lucky girl. We’re going to keep her for a few more days to keep an eye on her. ”
“She has a guardian angel. Can I see her?”
“She’s been awake this afternoon and asking for you. Go on in.” Dr. Shapiro finally smiled.
Elle ran her hand along Joy’s back. “Caroline and I will be in the waiting room. If you want, we can grab a bite at the Frogmore afterward and talk.”
Lyric’s eyes were closed as Joy set her bag and sweater on the chair. She picked up the chair to move it closer to the bed when Lyric spoke.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Joy.” Her weak words struggled to be heard.
“It’s okay, baby.” Joy smoothed Lyric’s hair and kissed the spot on her forehead not gathered in stitches. Lyric struggled to open her swollen eyes. Her lips were cut and bruised. A cast encased her arm and damaged leg. “You look like Frankenstein’s bride.”
She winced, trying to smile. “It was an accident.”
“Lyric, you could’ve been killed. Our hearts would’ve been broken. You are blessed to only have broken bones and cuts.”
“Parker . . . wanted me to . . . go . . .” She worked for every word.
“To the beach? With his friends? And do what, Lyric?”
“No, Aunt Joy.” Tears soaked her eyelashes. “Parker and me . . . but then the others . . . got in . . . no room in cab . . .”
“So he put you in the bed?”
“Me, no, me.” Lyric moaned. Even in her pain, she clung to him.
“I paid a visit to Parker, Lyric, and he said he didn’t know you were in the back.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Joy could see her heartbeat spike on the monitor. “Whaa—Yeah, he, he did.”
“Hey, you know what, this is not important right now.” Joy kissed her wounded cheek. “Let’s forget about it, okay? You focus on getting better.”
“Is Mama, Daddy—” Lyric exhaled with great exertion through her dry, pale lips.
“They are frantic, baby.” Joy stretched for Lyric’s water and set the straw to her mouth. “So worried.” As of this morning, no word. Mama was fit to be tied. “They’re getting here as soon as they can.” Joy would see to it.
