Hope Springs

by Jaime Berry

  Arletta took a few steps forward, but Abby’s mom stopped her with a hand and motioned for me. I walked past Arletta, making sure not to meet her eyes. One misstep and I might lose my nerve. It wasn’t until I got close to the microphone that I realized I was humming “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”

  My insides felt like they’d up and turned into fireflies. I took a deep breath and smelled fresh hay bales and the pine planks used for the stage, and I thought I even caught a whiff of the pond—scents that alone wouldn’t have been anything special, but together were “just right” perfect.

  A Wishing Penny

  Not that long ago, I went to the wishing well downtown. Nan and I haven’t lived here long, and we’d been searching for our ‘just right’ place for a while. When I first got to town, I almost wished for Hope Springs to be that perfect place for us. But really, I moved here for one reason only. Because it was Arletta Paisley’s hometown.”

  The audience clapped politely. I fought to steady my voice, and continued.

  “I thought everything Arletta Paisley did was pure gold. One thing I lived by was her saying ‘Nothing says you care like a handmade gift.’ But lately, I’ve been around a lot of people who care, and giving gifts doesn’t have much to do with it. Nothing says you care like spending time with your friends, family, and neighbors.”

  Abby’s face in the crowd caught my attention, and she gave me a smile that boosted my courage.

  “I had the honor of meeting Ms. Paisley backstage at her show.” I paused and looked at Arletta then. She gave a nervous smile to the smattering of applause. “She told me if I had any sense, I’d leave Hope Springs as soon as I could, just like she did. But of all the places I’ve lived, I’ve been the happiest here. I got a job, helped with this rally, and made a few best friends that I hope I can keep.

  “I’ve decided there aren’t really any perfect places, but Hope Springs is close. If you ask me, I got what I wished for, even if it was only for a little while. I got a home.”

  Then I focused on Momma. I dug deep and hoped my eyes told her how sorry I was that my home wasn’t with her. Her smile had fallen, but I saw Brent reach for her hand.

  “And I just wanted to say thank you to everyone here who had a part in that. I don’t want SmartMart to fail. Really, I don’t. But with my whole heart, I don’t want Hope Springs to either.”

  Abby’s mom walked up and circled her arm around my waist. There was so much chaos from the audience, it was a long while before she could talk again.

  “And now we have Ms. Arletta Paisley herself here to say a few words and kick off the big event.” Abby’s mom held an open arm out to welcome Arletta to the microphone. I stood right there and looked my ex-idol straight in the face. Her high-heeled cowboy boots hadn’t taken two steps before the first boo came, low and clear. Then a few more boos joined in, and more until the crowd sounded like a herd of cattle.

  Arletta’s smile vanished, and she stared at me with her true face. All the makeup in the world couldn’t have covered up the ugliness in that look. That’s when I noticed several flashes and looked out to see a few people crouched around the stage with cameras, and some in the audience were recording the whole thing with their phones. Arletta must have seen the same thing because she turned, showed her toothpaste commercial smile, and waved to the crowd.

  She cleared her throat, the microphone screeched, and she shot a look to the sound booth. I wished toe-achingly hard that she’d fall off the stage and land face-first in the mud. She didn’t. She cleared her throat again and started speaking.

  “Hope Springs has always been special to me. My time here shaped me in ways that to this day contribute to my success, and for that, I’m very grateful to this community.” There were still a few boos, but not nearly as many.

  “I often talk about being from here, but something I don’t often talk about is how I ended up here.” Arletta paused to soak up the silence. I swear her eyes glistened with tears. Every mouth shut, and not a single ear wasn’t listening. “My mother raised me by herself. We moved here because a friend of a friend promised my mother a job that fell through on our second day in town. Preacher Fleming arranged for us to stay with a widow who owned a large house and rented out rooms. Mrs. Prudence Hatley let us live with her for months and wouldn’t take a penny in rent while my mother looked for work.

  “Mrs. Hatley taught me to sew, knit, and crochet. I owe that woman more than just my career. I’m sure a few of you knew her. She passed a while back, but it’s in her honor that I’d like to donate twenty-five thousand dollars to the Hope Springs Downtown Revitalization Fund.”

  At first, only a few claps rang through the crowd, but after a few seconds, the people sitting on hay bales and blankets stood, applauding and hollering. Arletta Paisley got a standing ovation. Far from the muddy face-plant I’d been picturing.

  Abby’s mom tightened her arm around me and whispered, “Well, you gave her a piece, and we still get that donation.” She was a politician with a big heart, but still a politician.

  I wasn’t sure if Arletta had won. She sure hadn’t lost.

  Staring out into the crowd, I knew I hadn’t lost either. Nan and Wynn stood in the front row, Holly smiled up at me, Abby’s dad towered above everyone with Garfield on his shoulders and Harrison holding his hand, and Abby and Colton were there beside them. Abby was right. The best thing about Hope Springs was the people. I’d never felt a part of something so special.

  After the clapping died down, Arletta smiled for a few photos. Then she said, “Okay, folks. It’s time for what we’ve all been waiting for. Lexie Kirk and Brent Chisholm!”

  As Momma took the stage, she gave me a true hug and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

  I nodded and said, “Me too.”

  Arletta rushed past us in a flurry of blonde hair and denim. For once, I didn’t feel like pulling away from Momma. I hugged her right back. I far preferred my real momma.

  As I turned and neared the steps, Abby and Colton rushed the stage and tackled me in a hug that felt better than just about anything. We stood together, our trio at the corner of the stage, and listened as a steel guitar started off the first song.

  Momma and Brent really tore it up. Momma sang three songs all on her own before the duet with Brent. Then she sang backup while he sang hits from all his albums, but he had her stand right beside him. I was so proud, I felt like telling everyone around that that lady up on stage was my momma, but I also thanked my stars they didn’t sing that dang donut song.

  Afterward, we went to my house, and Abby’s dad brought all the leftovers from the One Stop booth to set up in our yard. Brent, Momma, Nan, Wynn, Holly, Miss Esther, and Abby’s family all managed to squeeze onto our patch of lawn together. Everybody ate and laughed and made toasts. It was what Thanksgiving dinner should be like, but never had been. Happiness seemed to float on the breeze, but I had one more cliff to climb.

  While everyone laughed and carried on in the front yard, I sneaked around, grabbed Momma and Nan, and dragged them into the house.

  “Could you both sit down?” I asked. We all scooted around our tiny table with our knees almost touching. “Nan, I love you. But I don’t want to keep moving all the time. In fact, I don’t think I want to ever move again.” Momma crossed her arms, the glimmer of an I-told-you-so smile creeping across her lips. “And, Momma, I can’t even picture living with you. We hardly know each other.” From the look on Momma’s face, the whole truth was as hard for her to hear as it was for me to say. “Though I’d like that to change.”

  Wynn still hadn’t fastened the cabinet doors back on, and all the contents of the shelves were visible. I felt the same way. Nan and Momma were about to see all I had to show. All my doors were off.

  “Momma,” I took her letter from my pocket, unfolded it, and slid it over to her, “you remember writing this?”

  She glanced down, her eyes filled, and she nodded.

  “You were at the rally. You
’ve met all my friends and have seen how happy I am here with Nan and Wynn. This place, Hope Springs, this is where I sing.”

  Momma leaned her head down and nodded. “I missed my chance, didn’t I?” she asked.

  “Maybe you missed one chance. But luckily you don’t get just one,” I said.

  Nan cleared her throat. “I’d like to say something too. I justified moving us by telling myself it was to protect Jubilee. I thought her life had already been tough enough. So anytime there was trouble, I packed us up. But if I’m honest, I did it to protect myself too,” she said. “And to keep everyone at a distance. After I’d been left by my husband and son, I guess I decided I’d do all the leaving from then on.”

  “Nan—” I started, but she stopped me.

  “I want you to have what’s best. ‘Hearts have windows, but mine has doors a painful past has closed.’ Travis Tritt.” Nan looked at Momma. “I think we might all suffer from the same problem, Alexandra. It’s time to open up our hearts and let a few more people in. I’ve shut you out, and that wasn’t right.” Nan reached one hand out to me and the other out to Momma.

  Momma sat and stared at Nan’s hand. She sniffed, wiped a tear away, and then took it. She held her other hand out to me, and we sat holding hands in a ring. Me, Momma, and Nan. If I hadn’t been a part of that little circle, I’d never have believed it was possible.

  “I don’t understand it, but if you want to stay here, I’ll visit more often. Dallas is only a few hours away,” Momma said.

  “I can stay?” I asked.

  She looked at Nan and nodded. “You can stay,” they said together.

  I screamed the loudest hooray and danced around the kitchen like a fool. Momma managed a tight smile. Nan hopped up faster than she’d moved all month, put both arms around me, and squeezed.

  “I think it’s time we come up with some Staying Put Procedures,” she whispered. I could only nod. Momma stood too, wiped a few tears from her cheeks, and we all walked back out together.

  Everybody stayed until around midnight when Nan made such a show of yawning, they took the hint and started heading out. For the first time, Momma was the last person to leave. Brent waited in the tour bus while she said goodbye.

  “You call me soon,” Momma said. She smoothed my hair. “I love you, you know.” I nodded, and for the first time ever, I believed her.

  I turned and looked at our little rental house lit up by a pale moon. First days I was used to, but a home… a home was a whole new project.

  Staying Put Procedure Number 1

  By the time school started in August, Nan and I had done a heaping handful of hard things. Nan had even gone on a date and afterward, though I suspected she thought about the maps, she didn’t mention them once. She’d worked a full month at the nursing home without the normal complaints, she and Miss Esther were regulars at ladies’ night bingo, and she went to Holly’s classes once a week. And we bought a couch. A big, overstuffed, almost impossible to move couch. It took Colton and two of his brothers to unload it and carry it into our house.

  “What about above your bed?” Abby asked. She held one corner of the Dresden plate quilt I’d recently finished. Each square had a plain white background, but in the center was a pinwheel-shaped flower, every petal a different colored fabric. I’d used a few of Nan’s old black denim shirts, some of Abby’s shorts, plenty of vintage prints from Holly, the skirt Momma wore to the rally concert, a bright John Deere–green cotton, some embroidered patches here and there—a donation from Wynn’s collection of Western shirts—and even a few of Rayburn’s well-washed bandannas. Nan had given me one of my daddy’s shirts, but I couldn’t bear to cut it up. Each piece in the quilt was special. Just a glance at it made me want to run my fingers across the stitches.

  “Hmmm. I’m not so sure I want it hanging over my head,” I said.

  Abby and I rotated houses for sleepovers almost every weekend. We weren’t in the same class, but she was right across the hall. School didn’t give us enough time to visit, so Abby lifted her talking ban while fishing. And we always had a lot to talk about. She still caught a lot of fish, a fact I wasn’t about to mention. I even snagged my first fish, a tiny bluegill. The photo Colton took that day sits in a frame on my nightstand—all three of us smashed together right in the middle of a laugh.

  Miss Esther came out of retirement to train the new middle school librarian, and she’d been glaring into classrooms and eyeballing teachers for weeks. Holly also asked Abby and me to start a quilting club at school, and she provided all the fabric. So far, we had twelve kids signed up.

  Holly started our first quilting club meeting with what she called “The History of American Quilt Making.” She told us how, long ago, paper was scarce so women cut up old letters and newspaper articles to make patterns, then stuffed the paper between the quilt layers for extra insulation.

  The next meeting, I brought in some of Momma’s letters cut into a Dresden plate pattern. Dresden plate quilts were also called friendship rings, grandmother’s sunburst, and sunflower quilts. I didn’t feel right throwing the leftover letters away or keeping them under my bed again; so I placed them inside the quilt along with the batting just like they did in the old days. Abby helped me during school, and Holly helped me after. Momma had quit writing letters and I was done letting them follow me around, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to sleep under them every night.

  Letting go of the letters was easier than getting close to Momma, but so far, she’d kept her promise. She’d visited twice, and I had plans to spend the weekend with her and Brent once their tour wrapped up. When I’d searched for Ernest Hemingway quotes to persuade Nan to stay in Hope Springs, I’d come across one I was trying my hardest to believe in: “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”

  “Well, what about in your crafting room? Right above the sewing table,” Abby asked.

  “Perfect!” We made our way down the hall. Just then, Wynn appeared, still wearing his uniform from working at the new Wreck O Mend, an auto repair shop in the SmartMart center. According to the newspaper, SmartMart’s grand opening was a big old dud. It was still there, and though Nan and I were tempted, we hadn’t stepped foot inside.

  Wynn came over every Saturday for dinner. Now that he’d moved out, I missed him, but on the bright side, I did have my crafting room back.

  I rushed over to help him with the groceries and he held a finger to his lips and whispered, “Help me set some things up. I’m going to trick Nan into a cooking lesson.” We pulled out a loaf pan and a cookie sheet and set all the ingredients on the counter.

  Nan poked her head in and said, “Well, you’re here early.”

  “Thought I’d make us my mother’s famous meatloaf.” Wynn made a big show of dropping the packaged ground beef in the sink, and then both pans hit the floor.

  “What’s going on with you?” Nan asked.

  “Oh, I got a bit of a burn on my hand at the shop today.” He held up his bandaged hand and sent me a quick wink.

  “You want me to look at it?” she asked.

  “No, it’ll be fine,” he said. “But I could use a hand in the kitchen.”

  For the next half hour, Nan banged around and said at least half a dozen almost-swears. Abby and I sneaked to the door as she yelled, “Spiny lumpsucker!” and waved her fingers around, dripping egg yolk on the floor before dashing over to the sink.

  “Is Nan going to be all right?” Abby whispered.

  I nodded.

  “Oh, fishsticks and fuzzbuckets!” Nan hollered.

  “We’ll pick the eggshells out. There’s not many in there,” Wynn said.

  “We’re going for a quick bike ride!” I grabbed Abby by the arm and pulled her out the door. “Or a long one,” I whispered.

  “Be back here in thirty minutes for dinner!” Nan yelled. “Wynn, is this broccoli?”

  Wynn met us at the door. “Probably more like an hour,” he said. “And no sneaking over to Abby’s
for dinner,” he added like he’d read my mind.

  Abby and I stepped onto the porch with the August evening sun lowering and lighting the belly of clouds in pink and orange neon. Wynn’s sunflowers from early in the summer still stood tall in our front beds. There on my porch with my best friend, everything felt just right, from top to bottom, through and through just right.

  “Colton’s working at the track. Want to ride over and say hi?” I asked.

  “Sure. Race you?” Abby asked, already crouched to a ready stance and eyeing our bikes. I nodded, certain we’d race a short while before slowing down to ride side by side.

  “Ready, set—” Abby started to count down, and I took off. “Cheater!” she yelled.

  We ran out in my yard, where Wynn’s shiny red truck sat next to our dusty hatchback and Abby’s bike lay beside my carefully propped up new-old bike. It reminded me of how lonesome our apartment complex parking lots used to be. Even though those lots were full of cars, we didn’t really know anyone, never let anyone get close to us. But I’d learned the more I loved didn’t have to mean the more I had to lose. Love didn’t work like anything else in the world—the more I gave away, the more I got back.

  My life was turning out a lot like one of Holly’s scrap quilt squares. Some ugly patches mixed in here and there but, overall, it was shaping up to look like a mismatched jumble of better than perfect.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I consider myself incredibly lucky to have so many people to thank. This book would not exist if it weren’t for the help of others.

  First and foremost, thank you, Mom and Dad, for making sure stories and books were a part of every day from the very beginning.