Hope Springs

by Jaime Berry

  The lump in my throat was the size of a full ball of yarn.

  Arletta laughed her wind-chime laugh and said, “Here we are, folks. In my hometown of Hope Springs. I can’t tell y’all how good it feels to be back!”

  Abby rolled her eyes, Colton crossed his arms, the sign flashed, and the audience cheered. The show went by like a dream. Arletta Paisley started with her intro. Then the Hope Springs middle school principal talked about the problem with bake sales: promoting healthy food choices versus the importance of student-led fundraising. He and Arletta made some healthy treats together that could be sold along with braided key chains and bracelets in school colors. The signs for applause flashed again, and we went to commercial break.

  Abby and Colton whispered about the festival, but my eyes were glued to the stage where Arletta Paisley sat with a herd of Hearth & Home employees fluttering around her like the birds and mice in Cinderella, refreshing her makeup, fluffing her hair—one even buffed her boots with a white cloth napkin. A girl who looked a little older than me carried out a plate piled high with a signature Frank burger and fries from the One Stop. Arletta Paisley took one look at it, cupped her hand over the microphone hidden in the fold of her blouse, and said just loud enough for someone really listening and watching her lips to make out, “I can’t eat that crap. Bring me a cup of hot tea with a wedge of lemon.”

  Before too long the camera came back on and so did Arletta’s signature smile. The next section was the one I’d been waiting for. An audience member asked a prepared question, and Arletta Paisley gave a natural but also prepared answer. Every time the camera was off Arletta, her smile disappeared. With each cut to commercial, I worried more and more that my Arletta wasn’t who I thought she was.

  When it was Abby’s turn, she held the microphone and waited. I started to whisper “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and, with her free hand, Abby grabbed mine and squeezed.

  I’d memorized her question, practiced with Nan and Wynn for about an hour, and could recite it as easy as I could my own name. When the camera panned over to us, Abby passed the mic to me, and I stood. The Hearth & Home employees went ballistic and swung their arms like they were waving in a jumbo jet.

  And I froze. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open. Then I saw Arletta Paisley—I mean really saw her. She rolled her eyes, whispered something to someone off stage, and shook her head. Then she pulled on a smile like a roman shade rolling up, motioned at me, and then mouthed the words “You’re on.”

  “Hi, Arletta. I’m Jubilee Johnson. I’ve been a fan of yours for—well, about forever,” I said. The audience laughed.

  Arletta Paisley didn’t miss a beat. “What a sweet name, Jubilee. Do people call you Jubi for short?”

  “Some people do,” I answered.

  She beamed and nodded for me to go ahead. “And you have something you want to ask? Let’s hear it, sweetheart.”

  Abby’s question was stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth, so instead, I asked what I needed to know.

  “I’m wondering how you feel about SmartMart building a Superstore just down the highway. A lot of people in Hope Springs are scared it’ll cause local business to suffer.”

  The audience murmured, and Arletta sat there and blinked and smiled for a few seconds too long. She recovered quickly, though, and out came that wind-chime laugh, a little strained this time. “Well, Jubilee Johnson, that’s a good question. Change can be scary, but I can assure you SmartMart doesn’t mean any harm to Hope Springs. I personally plan on doing some shopping downtown today right after the show.” The applause sign flashed, Arletta laughed, the audience clapped, and she moved on. She answered the other questions flawlessly. It was minutes before I could breathe like a normal person.

  Abby leaned over to me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”

  “I didn’t know it myself until it happened,” I said.

  She shook her head and smiled.

  “Now, that was something,” Colton said. It was only four words, but I played them over and over in my head and almost missed the whole segment on school-wide fundraisers for charities.

  During the next commercial break, a Hearth & Home employee with a grubby goatee approached our aisle and pointed at me. “Ms. Paisley would like to see you after the show,” he said.

  I hesitated, and Colton said, “We’ll all go.”

  The man shook his head. “Only Jubilee Johnson.” He gave us a tight-lipped smile and walked away.

  I knew Arletta might be miffed over my question, but she was my idol. I wasn’t ready to give her up altogether. Besides, maybe she was just having a bad day. Bad days could set even the most wonderful person’s mood crooked. Heck, they often sent Nan and me packing.

  The rest of the show went by without a hitch. When it was over, the same goateed guy showed Abby and Colton to a bench backstage. I kept picturing him wearing a clown wig and fanny pack, but it wasn’t helping much. He walked me to an emergency exit and pointed to a fancy RV parked across five spaces in the roped-off parking lot, the same tour bus from Main Street. A gold glittery star bearing Arletta’s name in looping fuchsia cursive sparkled on the door.

  I tripped up the two steps in a daze, my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my ears. I knocked and jumped when a woman with a long ponytail opened the door.

  Arletta sat in an overstuffed armchair covered in a country rose pattern. I pasted on a smile and hoped she couldn’t hear my pulse hammering. She smiled back and the other woman gave me a worried glance before leaving and closing the door behind her.

  Then it was just the two of us.

  Me and Arletta Paisley. My Arletta. My TV momma. With me through every move and in every new place.

  “Jubilee Johnson,” she said. She held out her hand, not for me to shake, but in front of her face, examining her nails. She flicked one, and her smile vanished. “Who sent you?”

  “What?” I asked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Was it Martha’s people? She’s been after my audience for years.”

  “Nobody sent me. I just moved here. I work at the Fabric Barn with Holly Paine,” I stammered. “She went to high school with you. Hope Springs High.” I made myself stop talking and bit down nervous laughter.

  “Holly Paine. Oh, I remember her. Mousy little thing. Does she still wear her hair in that awful braid?” Arletta asked.

  Then she laughed like we were old friends gossiping.

  “Let me tell you a little secret, Jubilee. If you have any sense, you’ll get out of this town. I left as fast as I could, and look at me now.” She did a little ta-da motion. “I heard all about this rally some kids whipped up. I’m guessing that’s you and your friends. But what if I offered you a top-of-the-line Crock-pot or a new bedspread or a whole room makeover?”

  I didn’t answer. And Holly wasn’t mousy. She was dedicated and generous and kind. With each good quality I could name, my brow furrowed deeper. And what in the world would I do with a Crock-pot?

  “Hmm. What about another chance to be on the show? All of America would forget about you standing there like a deer in headlights.” She paused to act out an impression of me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Then you and I can just forget all this rally nonsense.”

  Each word she spoke chipped away at what I’d thought of her. Then I finally saw it, what Abby and Holly Paine had seen all along. Arletta Paisley was a phony. From her gel-tipped fingernails to the ends of her glued-on eyelashes. All the way through and back again, a fake. She was trying to bribe me, buy me off so I’d back out of the rally. I bit my tongue and crossed my arms.

  When I didn’t answer, her smile disappeared, and she stared at me colder and harder by the second. “Oh well. I tried to make friends with you, Jubilee, but it doesn’t really matter in the long run. I mean, I’m me and you’re just a kid, after all. Be sure to tell my old friend Holly to read the paper this week.”

  I’d pushed away or justified every piece of evidence that
Arletta was a phony. Like a little kid believed in fairies or princesses, I’d believed in Arletta. I’d not only been childish, but foolish too. I stood there feeling more like a donut hole than all the times I’d been called one.

  “Well, go on,” Arletta said. “Shoo.” And she actually did a little skedaddle motion with her hands like I was a stray cat.

  I backed away but stopped with one foot out the door. “You know, I’ve moved a lot and never really met a place I didn’t mind leaving until I moved here. Maybe you should think about whether there’s something wrong with Hope Springs or with you. Now, after having met you, I know what I think.” Then I turned and left without giving her a backward glance.

  As soon as I got back to the hallway, Abby and Colton ran up to me.

  “Are you all right?” Abby asked. At first, I couldn’t answer. Was I all right?

  Colton grabbed my hand. “What happened?” His fingers around mine felt like being struck by lightning. That jolt was exactly what I needed.

  I looked back and forth between them, their faces all serious with concern. Concern for me. They were my friends, real through and through. One of Nan’s favorite quotes from that Hemingway guy floated back to me, the inspiration for Relocation Rule Number 17. “Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.” Maybe some of the Relocation Rules were still worth something after all. Hope Springs had given me more than I’d ever had.

  “We’re going to need reinforcements,” I said.

  “We’ve already called everybody in town about the rally,” Abby said.

  “I have someone else in mind.”

  “Like who?” Colton let go of my hand, but I hardly noticed.

  My mind was two-stepping around a plan. “You two ever heard of a country singer named Lexie Kirk?”

  A Place to Sing

  Moving every six to nine months had made me an expert at doing new things. I still got nervous, but after a while, the stomach-twisting nerves that went along with the unknown turned into only a flutter. But calling Momma and saying a few unfamiliar words had my heart feeling like it was stretched across Holly’s quilting frame.

  After my slap-in-the-face meeting with Arletta, I was out of sorts and doubting most of my hard-held truths. Our Relocation Rules had more holes than fishnet. But one thing I’d clung to longer and harder than Arletta being the best thing since hot glue was that Momma was unforgivable.

  As soon as I walked through the door, Nan asked how it’d gone. “Well, I learned Arletta isn’t who she pretends to be.”

  “Few of us are,” she said. “You want to talk about it? There’s something I need to run by you too.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I just need to do some things first.” I walked back to my room, trying to hold on to some of the determination I’d felt earlier.

  Momma’s letters started off with pale pink envelopes that increased in intensity over the years to a bright fuchsia. When I slid one out, my hands shook. The pages quivered so much, I had to rest them on my bed to keep the handwriting of Momma’s first letter from wiggling away from me.

  Jubilee,

  There is something magical about singing, something transformative. I read once that music can change us. When I sing, I’m not a wreck or a widow. When I sing, I’m something better than myself. Maybe that’s why I love it so much, because I get to escape being me and get to forget for a little while.

  Only two things have ever come close to giving me that same feeling. That’s your daddy and you. Never in my life have I felt so lifted up and more than myself than when I met you for the first time. That’s why we named you Jubilee. It means a season of celebration, and that’s how me and your daddy felt, like dancing and raising our hands up thanking God for giving us you.

  In the hospital, I held you and thought there had never been anything so perfect.

  The truth is, your daddy was better than me. I pray every day that you end up with more pieces of him than me. I pray that you are strong but forgiving, that you are resilient but hopeful, and that you are kind but nobody’s fool. Though I didn’t have much to do with it, it makes me proud to see those things in you already.

  There’s a part of me that knows you’ll be the best thing I ever do.

  You’re not going to remember your daddy, and it hurts me to think about that. But maybe it’s better that way, because remembering him and being without him was truly killing me. I know it’s not reasonable to think you’ll forgive me, but I hope you don’t let my leaving hurt you too much for too long. Yes, I knew it would hurt, but I also knew I was capable of hurting you worse if I stayed. Nan raised your daddy, and I hate to admit it, but she’ll do a better job than I ever could.

  Being a singer has always been my dream, and I know I’m a much better singer than I am a mother. But that isn’t the reason I left you with Nan.

  I didn’t do it so I could sing, I did it so you could.

  I love you still and always will,

  Your Momma

  It took me a few hours, but I read every letter. Almost a whole box of tissues lay wadded up from crying over her words. But my feelings for Momma didn’t work like a light switch; they were all tangled, one on top of the other. A nest of anger and hurt knotted up inside me, and I felt that loosen a little—not all the way, but a little.

  After I’d calmed down, I called. When she answered, I didn’t even say hello. I took a deep breath and said, “Momma, I need your help.”

  Her first word was yes, then she cried for ages. One thing I’d forgotten when I realized Momma might give us the upper hand against Arletta and SmartMart was that she was still Momma. But she didn’t make it about her this time.

  “What can I do?” she asked. I told her almost everything, and we worked out a plan. Turned out Momma was good at planning too. Before we hung up, she said, “I’ll help, but I might be able to recruit one more person who could make an even bigger difference.”

  After that call, I was too excited to sit for dinner.

  “You’re awful riled up,” Nan said. “Need any help?”

  “I think I’ve got it about figured out. There are a few details to get sorted, though.” I filled both Nan and Wynn in. Nan nodded and offered to call the businesses that hadn’t yet agreed to participate in the festival. Wynn was quick to pull out his phone and call Momma to discuss the concert details.

  “I’ve got a couple of calls to make too.” I started toward my bedroom.

  “Maybe we can talk later?” Nan asked. “There are a few things I could use some help figuring out.”

  “Sure,” I said, ignoring the worry in her tone. Nothing bad could happen. Not now when I’d almost solved all my problems.

  My fingers shook when I dialed Colton’s number.

  “How big is the stage you’re building?”

  “Big enough for about five people sitting in chairs,” he answered.

  “What if I told you I could get my momma and maybe Brent Chisholm too?” I asked.

  “I’d say we need a bigger stage.”

  The very next day, Brent Chisholm sat for an interview on The Country Call, a Dallas morning news show, and announced his free impromptu concert in Hope Springs—a chance to show his support for local small businesses across the heartland. The broadcast gained national news coverage. All my plans seemed to be fitting together like the teeth on a zipper, and I forgot all about the few things Nan needed help figuring out.

  Happily Ever After

  The smell of Wynn cooking up a heap of bacon and eggs wafted through the air when I entered the kitchen. I was just about to greet him but stopped dead in my tracks. Nan sat at the table and so did my Arletta Paisley® linen expandable snap-top folder in robin’s-egg blue with a matching damask liner.

  The maps were out for breakfast.

  “I give up. What’s in the box?” Wynn asked.

  “Well, Jubilee and I have a family tradition of picking out new towns together. These are all our maps, but I
guess we only need the one of Texas this time. I’m due to start at the nursing home here soon, so we have some decisions to make. Dallas might work or we could move back to Arkansas. I say Dallas. I’m always up for a change of scenery. ‘The measure of intelligence is the ability to change.’ Albert Einstein.” Then she gulped down the last of her coffee and slammed the mug on the table like that was that. Seemed she’d figured everything out without me.

  “Well, it seems like this solution works for you and Lexie. But what about what Jubilee wants? You know she’s settled in here. Besides that, Nan, a change for you would be to stay in one place.”

  I eyed him. He’d stopped what he was doing and was staring at Nan. She glared right back. He was tiptoeing up to what I didn’t dare do—disagree with Nan.

  “I don’t see how it’s your business, Wynn, but if you must know, Alexandra called and she’s forcing my hand. These are the only two options I could get her to agree to. She likes the idea of Jubilee going back to the same school and having some consistency, but she likes the idea of Jubilee being closer even better. I figured you’d know all about it, being her right-hand man.”

  “No, I… Lexie hasn’t talked to me much about her decisions lately. But I’ll call her today if that would make a difference.” I noticed his mouth shut in a hard line, and Nan clenched her fork. I’d never fought Nan on a move before. In fact, I’d never fought much for anything before. They both turned to me, and I fell back on the only way I’d learned to handle big problems—I made a dash for the door and left.

  The walk to the pond was different on my own. Quieter, for one. I’d never noticed the way the tall pasture grass bent with the wind. I yanked up a handful and threw it on the path, then stomped on it for good measure. I’d been wrong about Arletta, maybe wrong about Momma too. Maybe I was wrong about everything, Hope Springs included. Believing in perfect places was as stupid as believing in unicorns, or that a TV personality was a good substitute for a real momma.

  No sooner had I sat down on a stump than I heard someone huffing and grunting up the path. I stood and saw Nan limping along, already red in the face from the effort. When she finally reached me, she said, “Scoot over so I can sit with you for a minute.”