Dancing on the Edge of the Roof
Page 19
“Elma wishes that she had been able to be such an independent thinker. Maybe she could have avoided the tragedy in her life.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I don't know if I'm such an independent thinker, Millie. It's just that, well, I don't want to go back to the kind of life I had before. I guess that means I have to go forward. Even though I'm scared to death.”
Millie smiled like a cat that had swallowed the canary.
“Remember what I told you, Miss Juanita,” she said, sounding like a prim Victorian schoolmarm. “Always do what you are afraid to do. Your life will be much richer that way.” The Siamese jumped onto her lap and purred. “Elma Van Roan agrees.”
“Well, I guess if she says so,” I told her.
I mean, who am I to argue with a ghost?
“Juanita, I got all your stuff loaded,” Carl interrupted, wiping his hands on his apron. “Bobby Smith helped me.” He grinned. Bobby Smith was practically my best friend these days.
“Now you remember to eat. I got one whole chicken in the cooler, along with salad, fruit, and bread,” Mary ordered, sniffing a little.
“Momma cooked all night,” Mignon added, putting her arm around her mother's shoulders. “She's got enough food there to feed you, Peaches, and the army for a week.”
“It was the least I could do,” sniffed Mary again. She looked at me with bright, wet, light brown eyes. “I'll miss you, sister. You see the world and come back home. Soon.” She hugged me tightly.
I pulled Mignon's braid, then pulled her to me.
“Bye, stinker.”
“Bye, Miss Juanita. Don't forget. You're supposed to call at least once a week.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And if you don't like California, call us and we'll come and get you.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And don't get out there to Hollywood and party all the time. You're getting to be an old broad and you need your rest!”
“Mignon!” Mary gasped in disapproval.
“Yes, ma'am,” I agreed, grinning.
I was getting to be an old broad, wasn't I?
“And please, please come back to us,” Mignon whispered, her voice catching.
I hugged her again.
“I will, little one, I promise.”
“Where the hell is Jess?” Abel growled, looking around.
I kissed and hugged everyone in the diner—all seventy-five plus of them. From Carl to Fish Reynolds, from good old Bobby Smith to Reverend Hare. Peaches asked again if I was going to call Jess, but I didn't answer her. Jess and I had said our good-byes all night.
No more words were really needed.
Even though I did want to see his quiet eyes again.
The whole crew stood in the parking lot as I climbed up into the cab of Peaches's huge purple rig. Carl pushed the door shut. It started to rain a little. I heard thunder in the distance. A storm was coming. Rolling in from Idaho again. As Peaches pulled around, everybody in Paper Moon it seemed stood there and waved at me.
Everyone but Jess.
Peaches turned the rig around in the parking lot so she could head out toward 90 North. As she did, I noticed Jess, for the first time, climbing a ladder that was in front of the diner sign. It was hard to see but he seemed to be covering the sign with a banner or something. At first, I couldn't make out the letters. Then as Peaches roared by, I rolled down the window.
I read the words: “Juanita's Place.”
And I watched the rain dancing on Arcadia Lake until the tears drowned out my sight.
This book is dedicated to the memory of Patricia Singleton Sabia,
whose spirit always danced
Acknowledgments
I have been told that patience is a virtue, but I never believed it until I met two phenomenal ladies who have patience in abundance and were gracious enough to share it with me. Many, many thanks to my agent, Alison Picard, for her support, faith, and encouragement. She believed even when I didn't. Grateful thanks are also extended to my editor, Shauna Summers, for her enthusiasm, support, and guidance—thank you.
I started writing because I couldn't think of anything better to do with a pencil and paper and because I loved to listen to and tell stories. Fortunately for me, I had family and friends patient enough to bear with me over these many, many years! Thanks to all of you! I am indebted to my mother, Myrtle, my “favorite” sister, Claire, my friends, and especially to my children, Bethany and Kevin, who kept asking me, “Mom, is that book finished yet?”
And, finally, thanks to Bruce, who is always there.
BOOKS BY SHEILA WILLIAMS
Dancing on the Edge of the Roof
The Shade of My Own Tree
On the Right Side of a Dream
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