The Summer of New Beginnings: A Magnolia Grove Novel

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Pages flew by. Some words released the anger in her heart, and others asked for a stroke of luck to turn possibility into probability. When the pages of the composition book were full to the center, she turned another page and continued to write.

  She told of the doctor Lucas would see and counted the days until it would happen. After numbering the days, she gave each day a specific wish: that Lucas might speak a word or mimic a sound. She asked that Tracy’s fear be lifted from her shoulders and that their mama’s wisdom of boys who are late to talk be changed from speculation to fact.

  After Meghan had emptied her heart of all those things, she wrote of Sox. Those words were penned with a gentle touch. The ink seemed to grow paler as she acknowledged a responsibility to at least try to find his owner.

  “I’m certain someone loves him,” she wrote. “It’s impossible not to.”

  When there was only a single page left in the book, she penned a prayer for herself.

  “Please, God,” she asked. “Let Sox be mine.”

  She closed the book, then stood and pulled a box from her closet. Beneath the lid was a nest of ribbons in a perfusion of colors: white, blue, pink, yellow, green, silver, gold, black. All of them were exactly one yard long and one-quarter-inch wide.

  Tonight she would do as she had done with all the other composition books. Once the pages were filled, she tied a ribbon around the book and sealed the thoughts inside. Knowing the book would forever remain closed enabled Meghan to write the deepest secrets of her heart, no matter how foolish or hopelessly sentimental. She was free to wish for the moon or entertain thoughts of romance that would turn her cheeks crimson if they were spoken aloud.

  Each time, the color of the ribbon was chosen according to the mood of the book. After Clancy’s disappearance she’d filled five notebooks with hopeless prayers for his return; all five of those books had been tied with a black ribbon. These pages were more hopeful, so Meghan chose a sash of rose-colored satin, looped it into a bow, and then slid the book into the box beneath her bed.

  When she snapped off the light, Sox padded across the floor and jumped into bed. As she climbed in beside him, Meghan noticed a thin band of rose-colored dawn feathering the horizon. A whispered sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. This was indeed a good omen.

  It was almost nine when Meghan awoke. By then Lucas had already eaten breakfast and was toddling from room to room in search of Sox. The minute the dog thumped down the stairs, Lucas squealed and ran toward him.

  Meghan hoped to get a picture of Sox for the Snip ’N’ Save ad, but instead she ended up with more than a dozen photos of Lucas and the dog. In one, he was lying on the floor beside the dog, so squished together there was not a sliver of space between them. In another, he squatted nose to nose with Sox. Each picture was cuter than the previous one, and Meghan kept clicking the camera.

  When she loaded the photos onto the computer and scanned through them, it crossed her mind to use one of these wonderful photos for the Snip ’N’ Save ad, but it seemed unfair. If Sox did have an owner who wanted him back, it would appear heartless to snatch the dog from a baby who so obviously loved him. As much as Meghan wanted to keep Sox, she wasn’t going to resort to underhanded tricks.

  Hopefully she didn’t have to. Hopefully her prayer would be answered, and Sox would end up being her dog. If not . . .

  In her mind, there was no “if not.” Sox was simply meant to be her dog. She’d already fallen in love with him.

  At eleven o’clock, when Lucas went down for his nap, Meghan took Sox into the backyard to snap a picture of him alone, but for some odd reason the dog wasn’t cooperating. He’d sit in the right position for a second or two, but the moment she began to focus the camera, he turned away.

  The first shot was of the back of his head. The second shot caught his tail as he walked off. The third shot showed him lying down with his face buried in his paws. After each ruined shot, Meghan moved him back into position and started over. The ninth shot, although not head-on, at least caught his profile and was a reasonable likeness. She decided to use that one.

  She loaded the picture into the computer and began assembling an ad; that’s where she got stuck.

  Meghan had written hundreds, maybe even thousands, of words about Sox, but now she couldn’t find the right ones for an ad that could conceivably take him away from her. If she were to tell the absolute truth as she saw it, the ad would read “Awesome, wonderful dog who understands every thought.” But, of course, that was only her perception of Sox, and if she wrote something like that, it was possible every person in Magnolia Grove would want to claim him.

  One by one she ran through the words she’d written in her journal: gentle, loving, smart, loyal, funny, good with children. There were so many words and not one of them right.

  After nearly an hour of deliberation, she wrote, “Found: What appears to be a mixed-breed puppy with white paws. For more information, contact the Snip ’N’ Save.”

  Meghan leaned back in her chair and eyed the finished product.

  Even turned away, Sox looked far too cute. Dozens of people would want an adorable pup like this, and it would be heartbreaking enough to let him go if someone else were the rightful owner. No way could she risk having a stranger show up and lay claim to Sox. In these few days, he had gone from being a stray to one very tiny step away from being her dog.

  She clicked on the picture, dragged it out of the layout, then reduced the size of the ad from a half-page feature to a one-eighth insert that would go back by the classified listings.

  Perfect, she thought, and slid the ad into the FILLERS folder. If there was space, she’d run it in the next issue. If not, she could do it the week after or even two weeks out.

  A Spiteful Deed

  After a full day passed without any more calls from Dominic, Meghan thought for sure the wish she’d written in the black-and-white composition book had been granted, but the following night at nearly 3:00 a.m. the phone rang and woke everybody in the house.

  Lila, fearful that something catastrophic had occurred, was first to grab the receiver.

  “What happened?” she asked in a rush.

  “Nothing,” Dominic replied. “Just let me talk to Tracy.”

  Suspecting something like this, Tracy had already picked up the receiver in the guest room. The moment she heard the thickness of his voice and slurred words, she knew Dominic was drunk. Chances were he was still at the bar.

  “Good grief,” she grumbled. “It’s three o’clock in the morning! Go home, Dominic, and get some sleep.”

  Tracy plunked down the receiver, but it was too late. Everyone in the house was already awake. Lila pulled a bathrobe over her gown and headed for the guest room. Meghan came right behind her, and Sox followed along.

  Seconds after they walked into the room, the phone started ringing again.

  Tracy knew from past experience when Dominic was drinking he became more obnoxious and more persistent. If no one answered, he’d sit there and let the phone ring all night.

  “Let me answer it,” she said. “I’ll tell him to stop calling this late.”

  She lifted the receiver and in a fairly calm voice said, “You can’t keep calling this late at night, Dom. Everybody’s trying to sleep.”

  “I’ve got something to say—”

  “Well, call tomorrow and I’ll—”

  “No, I’m not gonna call tomorrow. I got every right—”

  “You don’t have a right to keep waking everybody up. If you call here again, Mama’s going to telephone the police and say you’re harassing us.”

  “I got something important to say—”

  “Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. Call back in the morning, and I’ll talk to you then.”

  He gave an evil-sounding chuckle. “I think you maybe need to hear this right now. I canceled your and the kid’s health insurance. I told ’em you’re not really my wife, and my name’s not even on the kid’s birth certi
ficate.”

  Tracy gasped. “You what? Are you crazy? You know Lucas needs—”

  “Yeah, well, you should’ve thought about that when you decided not to put my name on his birth certificate. Now, if you’d get your ass back here—”

  “Dominic! This isn’t about us and our problems. It’s about Lucas. He—”

  “Unless you’re ready to come home and apologize for aggravating the crap out of me, I’m not interested in hearing it.”

  Tracy stood there for a few minutes saying nothing as tears welled in her eyes, then rolled slowly down her cheeks. She knew Dominic had a mean streak, but she never thought he’d do something to Lucas just to spite her.

  “I am home,” she finally said, and hung up the receiver.

  Through the thin cotton of Tracy’s sleep shirt, Meghan could see her sister’s heart pounding against her chest.

  “Calm down,” Meghan said. “I told you, whatever the problem is we’ll work through it together.”

  Feeling somewhat in the dark, Lila eyed one daughter and then the other.

  “Would someone mind telling me what is going on?”

  Tracy sat on the bed next to her mama and tried to explain.

  “The only way we could afford health insurance for Lucas was through Dom’s Municipal Workers Union group policy, so he listed us as his wife and baby.”

  “Well, isn’t Lucas his baby?”

  “Yes, but . . . ” Word by painful word, Tracy told of how she’d had the baby at home and, because of her anger, refused to put Dominic’s name on the birth certificate. She went on to say he’d now told the insurance company they weren’t married and Lucas wasn’t his baby.

  A washboard of ridges settled on Lila’s forehead. “Health insurance isn’t something you should have to worry about. I’m certain we can get you and Lucas an individual policy.”

  “It isn’t that easy. It’s expensive, and there’s a chance they’ll consider Lucas’s problem a preexisting condition.”

  The look of concern on Lila’s face deepened. “What problem?”

  This wasn’t a discussion Tracy wanted to have, but now it seemed she had no choice.

  “We’ve got to face facts, Mama. Lucas still isn’t talking, and by now he should be saying several words. I think there’s a possibility he might—”

  Lila eyed Tracy with an angry glare. “I told you, boy babies are late talkers!”

  “It’s not just his talking, Mama.” Tracy seemed to fold in on herself as she spoke. “Haven’t you noticed when you’re talking to Lucas he pays no attention? It’s like his mind is a million miles away.”

  “Well, shoot, that’s a baby thing. He’ll outgrow it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We’ve got an appointment with the pediatrician . . . ”

  As Tracy spoke, Meghan was running a dozen different scenarios through her head, thinking, What if . . .

  “I’ve got an idea,” she finally said, and outlined the plan.

  The next morning, Meghan sat at the computer and redid the “About Us” page of the Snip ’N’ Save website. Before noon, Lila was listed as the bookkeeper, Sheldon the production manager, and Tracy the graphic designer. That afternoon, Meghan applied for a group insurance policy. By pooling what she, her mama, and Sheldon all paid for individual policies, they could almost cover the cost of Tracy and Lucas. Plus, there was no preexisting exemption.

  Tracy

  I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but there was a time when I had a bug up my nose about Meghan. Not that I didn’t love her; she’s my sister, so of course I love her. I always have. She’s the kind of person it’s impossible not to love.

  That was what irked me. She was too damn perfect.

  For a long while, I actually believed she was being good just to make me look bad. Thinking back, I realize I didn’t need anyone to make me look bad; I did it all by myself. If there was a speck of trouble to get into, I was there. It was kind of like if Meghan cornered the market on good grades and obedience, I was determined to do so with being the popular party girl. I was the fun sister, the one who was reckless and carefree.

  I was also the sister who was always in trouble.

  Mama once said she was a lot like me when she was younger. But now I’ve got to wonder how she got lucky enough to marry a settled-down man like Daddy. My bet is that she wasn’t anywhere near as wild as I was.

  In my junior year, Daddy grounded me for a month. I’d tell you about it, but it’s another one of those stories I’d sooner forget. Anyway, Meghan stayed home with me almost that whole month. We rented movies and watched them together. We gave ourselves manicures and pedicures, and some nights we’d stay up until after midnight playing Monopoly. I actually had a better time that month than I did with some of my “cool” friends, but of course I didn’t tell Meghan that. I’m lucky to have a sister like her, and this time I’m going to let her know how I feel. Regardless of how hard it is, I’m gonna stay here and help her with the Snip ’N’ Save.

  Dominic is not the last man on Earth, and it’s high time I stopped thinking he is. Sure, I miss him something fierce, but what Meghan says is also true. We’re better off without him. I’ve got to stop remembering how it used to be and start thinking of how I can build a future for Lucas.

  I know Meghan really wanted to go to college after Daddy died, but she gave it up because she cared more about our family than pursuing her own dreams. Now it’s time for me to do the same.

  When I start missing Dominic again, I’m going to remind myself of how stupid it is to love a man who doesn’t give a fig about his own child.

  Sister Love

  Once she was listed on the Snip ’N’ Save website, Tracy began helping out. She spent most of the week sitting beside Meghan at the computer learning how to use templates to create an ad.

  “It’s not all that hard,” Meghan said, sliding a photograph of work boots into place. “Upload the image, then click on it and drag it into position.”

  Tracy watched, and it looked easy enough, but when she moved into Meghan’s seat and tried to do it herself, the ad looked overcrowded in some places and bare in others. The block of copy was squashed together with a ragged edge on the right, and the headline floated several spaces above the spot where it was intended to be.

  It didn’t take an expert to see the layout needed help.

  Her hand poised atop the mouse as if she were still working, Tracy eyed the layout on the screen and frowned.

  “I’m not exactly sure what I did wrong, but this looks—”

  “It’s fine,” Meghan said. “You just have to tweak the copy.”

  She reached across, covered Tracy’s hand with her own, and slid the cursor to the navigation bar. “Let’s left-click on the text box here . . . ”

  Both sisters moved their index finger up and down at precisely the same moment and then laughed. Their laughter had a girlish sound. It was light and flowery like it had been all those years ago. Before the Snip ’N’ Save, before high school.

  Before Dominic.

  Tracy turned and glanced at Meghan. “This is nice. I mean, us working together. It feels . . . I don’t know. Sort of comfortable.”

  Meghan smiled. “Yeah, it does.”

  She looked at Tracy with her dark hair in loose curls, one strand dropping lazily onto her forehead. Despite the hardship of the past three years, Tracy hadn’t changed a lot. Her skin was still dewy and glowing. The only thing that appeared to be different was the look in her eyes. Meghan thought back to the time when they sparkled with the fire of mischief. Now they were softer, a more sensible shade of brown.

  Tracy clicked “Justify,” and the ragged right edge of the text disappeared. It was replaced with a square of copy evened out on both sides. She laughed.

  “You’re right, this isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” She again turned to Meghan. “I wish I’d done this sooner.”

  “Me too,” Meghan said.

  She thought back to the early yea
rs when they’d walked to school together every morning. Although Tracy was only a year older, Meghan felt grown up walking beside her. Back then they’d been more than sisters; they’d been best friends. Friends no one could separate. Not Elise Conklin with her whispered “stupid kid sister” innuendos or sexy-eyed Bryce Miller when he rode up on his bike, inching along beside them, urging Tracy to hop on.

  “Do you remember when we were in elementary school?” Meghan asked.

  Tracy nodded. “Sure. Those were fun years . . . ”

  Once they started talking, the fond memories rolled out one after another. They remembered the parties, the best friends, the whispered secrets, and the stories of the early years when they’d shared a bedroom. Meghan was recalling that last year in middle school when Tracy cut in.

  “We were close for so many years, then we just kind of drifted apart,” she said wistfully. “What happened?”

  “You went to high school,” Meghan said.

  “But why did that change everything?”

  “You were going to a different school, you had all new friends, and I felt left out.” Meghan gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “It wasn’t like we were angry with one another; we just didn’t do things together the way we did before.”

  She remembered that year all too well. It was the same year Clancy disappeared. There were endless days of walking home from school alone and knowing that alone was better than being bullied by Madison Cramer or Kevin Hurley. They’d taken to calling her “Beanpole Briggs” and found a thousand different ways to torment her. That year her heartache was greater than she’d ever dreamed possible. She filled ten tearstained composition books, because feeling the scratch of a pen beneath her fingers was easier than wondering about Clancy or listening to Madison find ways to embarrass her.

  “Left out?” Tracy said as she dragged a picture into position. “That’s odd, because I felt the same way. You and Daddy were so close, and you seemed to understand all the stuff he was doing.”