by Myra Johnson
And I was glad. I didn’t want to be fussed over, didn’t want to be different. I ached to be plain old Julie Pearl Stiles again.
Promptly (for him) at 12:08, Clifton arrived for work. Wearing a black Lord of the Rings T-shirt with Gandalf on the front, he didn’t notice me at first. He headed straight to the snack bar, where Grandpa was filling the slow cooker with nacho cheese. “Sorry, got caught in the lunch rush at the DQ,” Clifton told Grandpa. “I can take over now.”
I had to smile. So Clifton had gone from sacking groceries at Friendly’s to dishing out nachos at the Swap & Shop.
“I got it covered for now, son,” Grandpa told him with a wink. “You might want to say howdy to the cashier we got working today.”
Clifton swiveled his head in my direction. I wiggled my fingers in a shy wave.
“Julie Pearl!” He leapt over the two-foot-high wrought-iron railing surrounding the snack bar, skidded around the end of the checkout counter, and collided with me in a monster bear hug.
“Clifton, I—can’t—breathe!” Laughing, I squirmed out of his embrace. “I’m happy to see you, too, you dork!” I took his guileless face in my hands and planted a kiss on his forehead.
Turning fourteen shades of scarlet, Clifton jerked away. He glowered and studied me from one end to the other like I was a used car. Any minute he’d be kicking my tires. “Well, at least you didn’t come back looking all citified. I hope you didn’t let nearly two weeks of living high on the hog go to your head.”
Leave it to Clifton to say what I’m sure everyone else had been thinking. “I’m the same person I was before, Clifton. I promise.”
Even so, I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince myself and everyone else that I really was the same Julie Pearl Stiles they all knew and (mostly) loved. And all the while I kept one eye on the front door and wondered when—or if—Renata Channing would show up and once again turn my peaceful little world upside down.
CHAPTER 29
February, 9 years earlier
Little Rock, Arkansas
Perusing the society pages of the morning paper, Renata barely glanced up when her husband entered the breakfast room. “Weren’t you supposed to be on your way to the airport by now?”
“O’Hare’s iced in. The flight’s been delayed until early afternoon.” Larry Channing slid into the chair across from Renata and signaled Walter to pour coffee.
Renata pasted on a sugary smile, but her tone was venomous. “I’m sure that pleases Nadine to no end. You two will have the whole morning for extended good-byes.” Ignoring Larry’s stony glare, she laid the newspaper aside and stirred skim milk into her artificially sweetened coffee. “Oh, and by the way, don’t expect Nadine to be here when you get back.”
Larry’s cup clattered against the saucer, coffee spilling over the rim. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m letting her go. I’ve already begun interviewing replacements.”
“You have some nerve.” Larry grew silent, his gaze following Walter as the white-coated butler carried a tray of empty dishes to the kitchen. When the door whisked closed, Larry continued with a sneer. “After your rendezvous with your old flame Hobart, you don’t have any business meddling in my affairs.”
At least he had the decency to look chagrined at his own choice of words. Renata pressed both hands on the table. “What will it take to convince you? Nothing happened between us.” Not that she hadn’t tried.
“I’m supposed to believe that? After finding the two of you locked in each other’s arms on the living room sofa?”
Renata seethed. Served him right for coming home unexpectedly at four in the morning. Her gaze drilled holes into his back as he strode to the buffet and heaped a plate with sausage links and French toast casserole, to which he added a huge scoop of butter and a generous dousing of maple syrup. “You know your doctor doesn’t want you eating like that. If you don’t be careful, you’re going to have a stroke.”
Larry gave a cruel laugh. “I should think you’d be thrilled—but only if I didn’t survive, because wouldn’t it be too awful if you ended up shackled in marriage to a drooling invalid.”
“Not to worry.” Renata shifted sideways and hooked her arm over the back of the chair. “Your stock portfolio will buy a lot of years of private nursing.”
“Humph. A big, strong, good-looking male nurse, if you had your way.” Larry took his seat across from her and shoveled in a mouthful of the eggy casserole.
Revulsion filled her as she watched melted butter ooze from the corners of his lips. “It would serve you right, you pompous control freak.”
“Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black.” He shook his head in disgust as he sawed a juicy sausage link into bite-sized pieces. “Honestly, Renata, I worry about you,” he said with a sneer. “Have you taken your pills this morning?”
She skewered him with a glare. “Don’t you talk to me about my pills. All the pills in the world won’t change the fact that I’m married to an egotistical bully.”
Larry snorted. “Since you insist on resorting to name calling, here’s one for you to try on: narcissistic, psychopathic b—”
Renata silenced him with a resounding slap to the table. “Just shut up and eat your breakfast. The sooner you finish, the sooner you’ll leave me alone.”
“Good idea. That’s the first sane remark you’ve made all morning.”
Fuming, Renata shifted and wished she had the fortitude to get up and walk out. But this was her house, too. She’d earned the right to sit at this table, to reign supreme over Channing Manor.
Dear God, it didn’t use to be this way between them! Once upon a time they’d actually loved each other. At least she thought it was love. She couldn’t forget the night she first met the strikingly handsome Lawrence Eugene Channing, newly appointed vice-president of GigantaMart, Inc., and first in line to inherit the Channing fortune. If not for her best friend from college, Janet Slaughter, inviting Renata to share hostess duties at a charity dinner-dance hosted by her parents, Larry would never have given Renata a second look. But of course he had no way of knowing when he asked her to dance that she wore a borrowed dress, borrowed shoes, borrowed jewels—that everything about her was counterfeit. She’d never even allowed him to call for her at her father’s house, that dreary little two-bedroom bungalow with the pale green vinyl siding and cracked sidewalk. She always arranged to be in town visiting at Janet’s so that he could pick her up there.
Then things started getting serious between them and he pressed to meet her family. Ultimately she had to confess the truth, even if it meant he’d never want to be seen with her again. “I’m poor, Larry. I’m a nobody,” she’d told him with tears in her eyes. “My dad sells insurance, and my mother—she—” Her throat closed, her heart twisted. How would she ever get the words out?
But Larry had been patient and understanding, at least in those days. As they sat shoulder to shoulder in the bucket seats of his tiny German sports car, he’d stroked her hand until she could continue.
“My mother . . .” She swallowed, drew a bolstering breath. “My mother was mentally ill. She committed suicide. Oh, Larry”—sobs wracked her body—“I’m scared, so scared I’m going to go crazy someday too!”
She didn’t tell him about the disconcerting symptoms she’d already begun to experience—the jumping thoughts and moments of reckless abandon, the freakish episodes when she could go seventy-two hours or more without sleeping. She didn’t mention the crashes that came afterward, when she couldn’t drag herself out of bed for days. At least the little yellow tranquilizers the doctor gave her for “nerves” helped keep the monsters at bay.
But Larry didn’t act the least bit concerned about her family background, promising he’d make Renata the most admired woman in Little Rock society. They married less than a year later, and Larry’s parents immediately began pressing them for a grandchild and heir. Otherwise, the family fortune would go to Larry’s ne’
er-do-well younger brother, whose embarrassingly fertile wife popped out babies like she was trying to populate her own country.
But after three years of fertility treatments and as many miscarriages, Renata’s OB/GYN advised them to stop trying. Heartbroken, she lapsed into a deep depression, worsened by the discovery that Larry had been sleeping with his secretary. He claimed the “clinical sex” he and Renata had been having in an effort to conceive had destroyed whatever love he may have once felt for her.
Desperate to keep her marriage intact, she convinced Larry to consider adoption, but when they began the process, Renata learned they’d both have to undergo a psychological evaluation. During one of her interviews, while the counselor stepped away for more coffee, Renata had stolen a glance at his notes. The words narcissistic tendencies and possible bipolar disorder jumped out at her. God, no, it couldn’t be true—she’d inherited her mother’s sickness!
Then the final report had come back declaring them unsuitable as adoptive parents and strongly urging Renata to consult a psychiatrist. Neither Larry’s money nor a new prescription regimen could repair the damage already done to their marriage, and two weeks later Larry moved out of Renata’s bedroom for good. If Renata’s mother weren’t already dead, Renata would have strangled her on the spot. Leave it to Mama to ruin Renata’s life even from the grave!
Well. She’d show Mama and Larry. Publicly, she immersed herself in fundraisers for children’s advocacy groups, support centers for unwed mothers, various adoption and foster-care agencies, and eventually established the Channing Children’s Foundation.
Privately, she vowed Lawrence Eugene Channing would never hurt her again.
Sipping her rapidly cooling café au lait, Renata closed her eyes against the sight of the man she had grown to detest. She could never leave him, of course, nor he her. His wealth made possible everything she did for the less fortunate women and children her foundation assisted—not to mention securing her enviable reputation among Arkansas society. And were he ever to ask for a divorce, she’d only have to remind him of several incriminating photos locked away in her safe-deposit box.
Ah, Nadine, I suppose I should thank you for luring my husband into your bed. You weren’t the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.
Unfortunately, the gossip had already filtered back to her about his infidelity with her personal assistant, and Renata had her reputation to protect, after all. Time to end Larry’s latest flirtation and introduce a new player into the mix.
Larry tossed his napkin onto his syrup-smeared plate. With an icy glower, he rose and strode from the room. A moment later, Renata reached for the manila envelope tucked beneath the corner of her lace-edged placemat. She pulled out the stack of résumés she’d collected and once more perused the one she had found most intriguing.
“Felicia Beaufort.” She fingered the attached photo of the attractive blonde, a well-educated woman in her late twenties. “Yes, I think you’re the one.”
And once again she wished something had happened between her and Micah. Why should Larry have all the fun?
CHAPTER 30
Present Day
“Thanks, Miss Hart.” I handed my former sixth-grade English teacher a heavy paper bag containing her latest purchase of used books from Herman Trapp’s Paperback Place. “I’ll remind Herman to give you a call when he locates that Nicholas Sparks novel you’re looking for.”
“You’re such a sweetheart, Julie Pearl.” The prim, bespectacled woman reached across the counter to tweak my chin. Continuing in a stage whisper, she said, “But, honey, I thought you’d gone off to the big city to meet a nice young man.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “And who told you that, Miss Hart?”
“Well, talk around town and all . . .” She cast a furtive glance in both directions, then leaned closer. “Pickin’s are pretty slim in a small town like Caddo Pines. Why else do you think I ended up a crotchety old spinster?”
“What?” I slapped a hand to my chest and barely suppressed a knowing grin. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but rumor has it you and LeRoy Tuttle have been seen—what’s the word?—spooning on the Hot Springs Promenade.”
Reddening, Miss Hart drew herself up to her full five feet. She clutched the bag of paperbacks to her bosom. “Humph, Katy Harcourt’s the only one coulda let that cat out of the bag. Ooooh, you just let me get a-hold of that gossiping old biddy.”
I winked and nodded across the way toward Katy’s Vintage Shoes & Bags. “I do believe she’s working her booth today. Why don’t you mosey on over and say hello?”
As she tromped off to give Katy a piece of her mind, Grandpa joined me behind the counter. “You stirring up trouble already, young lady?”
Hooking my arm through his, I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Gotta do something to keep from wondering when Renata will show up.” I glanced at my watch—the plain gold Timex Grandpa had given me for my high-school graduation and another of my favorite treasures. “Or I guess I should say, if Renata shows up. It’s after four-thirty already.”
“Still think it was a crazy idea, expecting the woman to give up her high-falutin’ ways and come live in a flea market.” He popped open the cash drawer and exchanged several one-dollar bills for quarters. “Clifton’s about out of change at the snack bar.”
I turned to watch Clifton hand a customer a hot dog and a Coke. “He seems to like working here. I’m glad.”
“Always was a good kid. Right honorable of him stayin’ at home to help his mama.” Grandpa planted a kiss on my forehead before returning to the snack bar.
I knew there was no dig intended about my recent departure from Caddo Pines. It just felt so good to be home and to see Grandpa smiling again.
The brass bells clanged as the front door opened. Just like I’d done all afternoon, I jumped, hoping and dreading it might be Renata. Another false alarm. Sandy flounced into the Swap & Shop. Sliding her sunglasses up over her dense brown bangs, she paused to glance around.
Catching my eye, she smiled and waved. “Hey, Jules, how’s it going?”
I waved back. “Couldn’t be better. I was—”
Clifton’s baritone rang out. “Hey, beautiful, you’re early. I still gotta shut down the snack bar and clean up.”
Sandy glanced at me with a sheepish grin. “No hurry. I’ll visit with Julie for a few minutes.”
I winked at Sandy. “Sounds like you two are back on solid ground.”
A steamy blush rose up her neck and into her cheeks. “Clifton’s like a new guy since he started working for your grandpa. He’s matured, more settled somehow.” Her gaze drifted in Clifton’s direction. “All he needed was—”
“Someone to believe in him,” I finished in a hushed voice.
She looked back at me, her eyebrows twisting into sideways question marks. “It’s no secret I’ve been falling in love with Clifton since we were sophomores at Caddo Mountain Consolidated High, but it’s only been in the past couple of weeks that I could actually see myself married to the guy.”
My heart did a little flutter dance of happiness for her. Plus a teensy bit of surprise. “Seriously? Has he proposed?”
“Not officially. But I’ve started dropping hints that I sure might be open to the idea.”
Sandy and Clifton. My, oh, my.
And I understood my grandpa a little bit better just then. Otto Stiles, the man who turned trash into treasure, the man who valued the valueless. The man who taught me everything I knew about life and love and hope. Why did I ever think the answers to my questions could be found anywhere but right here at the Swap & Shop?
~~~
We’d long since closed up shop, and Grandpa and I were watching Masterpiece Mystery! on the PBS channel, an “Inspector Lewis” rerun. With Sneezy curled up on my lap and Brynna snoozing with the pups in her box beside the sofa, I tried to follow the plot while quietly wondering what Lewis and Hathaway would make of the mysteries unraveling in my life this summer.
Then
the phone rang. I looked at Grandpa and he looked at me, but neither of us made a move to answer it.
“Come on now, Julie Pearl, you know it’s prob’ly her.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not in the mood to listen to her excuses. Let the answering machine pick up.” Nose in the air, I pretended to be engrossed in the program.
Grandpa watched me for a moment, then sighed and mimicked my posture.
The phone kept ringing until the machine clicked on, and Grandpa’s recorded voice announced, “Howdy, you’ve reached Otto Stiles’ Swap & Shop, open Thursday through Monday. We’re closed now, but you can sure leave us a message, and we’ll be right happy to return your call.”
After the beep came Renata’s voice. “Oh dear, where are you, Julie? I tried your cell phone, but apparently it’s turned off.”
Oops. It was still in my purse, crammed into the tote I’d brought home from the hospital.
“Anyway, I’ve had a bit of car trouble. I called Triple-A, but the utter idiot I spoke with must have been from Upper Berserkistan and I couldn’t understand a word—”
My stomach plummeted. I heaved myself off the sofa and sprinted to the phone. “Renata? I’m here.”
“Thank goodness! It’s getting dark, and I’m afraid I’m hopelessly lost. I know I took the right exit off the Interstate, and I made it to Caddo Pines but my GPS lost the signal and I must have taken a wrong turn in town—I’ve only been to your place that one time, you know—and now I’m out in the middle of nowhere, and your little car started making a strange noise, and I managed to get to the side of the road before it died, but now it won’t start up again and—for heaven’s sake, Julie, why doesn’t this thing have OnStar?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s okay, Renata, don’t panic.” Turning to Grandpa, I mouthed, The Beetle died.
