“Hi guys.”
A rumbling chorus of male greetings filled the room, and Myra giggled. “So does this mean we’re still playing Poker? I just need to eat a little first, okay?”
There was a knock on the door, and Willow’s wild-hair-framed face peered in through the open screen door. “Hi Myra! Hi guys! Can I come in?”
Myra beckoned with her hand, and turned back to the men at the table, preparing to ask one of them to dig out the cards from her junk drawer. But the look on Donny’s face stopped her, and she clamped her mouth closed as she watched the strangest set of expressions pass back and forth between Eddie and Donny. What on earth was going on?
Donny stared at Willow for several moments, his sapphire blue eyes wide with appreciation. Then his brows rose in question, and his gaze darted from Eddie to Willow, then back again. Eddie, in return, scowled and blushed—he actually blushed!—and although it was just barely noticeable, Myra saw him shake his head quickly, his eyes narrowing, warning, maybe even threatening.
Donny stood and crossed the room, holding the door open for the woman. “Come in,” he welcomed her, and stuck out a hand. “You must be our new neighbor in Space #12.”
Willow smiled politely, and returned his handshake, but Myra was pleased to see the girl wasn’t responding to Donny with much warmth. Smart cookie, she thought. She knows a cad when she sees one.
“I’m Donny Banks, Eddie’s brother, and Mom’s favorite.”
“Nice to meet you, Donny. Willow Goodhope.” And with that, she withdrew her hand, and adeptly stepped around the man, crossing the room to the chair she’d sat in earlier. Myra didn’t miss the smug grin on Eddie’s face. He almost sneered at Donny, who seemed undaunted by Willow’s obvious dismissal.
“How are you, Myra? How’s your foot? Have you eaten lunch?”
“I’m fine, honey. Jack brought me some soup, but I fell asleep before I could eat any, so I’m just now getting ready to have some.”
“Here you go, Myra.” Jack had already reheated and served up a bowl of the chowder for her, and brought it to her on a tray, with a spoon, a glass of apple juice, and a slice of buttered bread.
“Thank you, Jack.” Myra avoided Willow’s eyes, but her cheeks burned as she thought of their earlier conversation.
“I brought the bread,” Al declared, his voice gruff; almost impatient. “I made it myself. In my bread machine.”
Myra tore off a thick chunk and popped it in her mouth before smiled brightly at him. “Thank you, Al. It’s delicious!” Poor thing. He, too, had a thing for her at one time, and she’d even gone out for a meal once or twice with him, but when he talked about making things official between them, she put a stop to that right away. She knew for a fact that Al was just lonely, that he simply wanted female companionship something fierce. Well, she was happy to be his friend, but he was not her cup of tea; not by a long shot. He drank too much, he smoked too heavily, and his red nose and basketball belly protruding from his otherwise slender frame did nothing for her.
Al wasn’t a bad sort, and if forced to choose between him and the handsome Donny, she’d take Al any day. No, he wasn’t a bad sort, just not her sort.
She glanced over at Jack who’d located the cards without her asking, and had pulled up another chair to the table. He nodded attentively, and she brought a spoonful of chowder to her mouth. She loved clam chowder, and the fact that Jack knew it was her all-time favorite, and had thought about it on his way over, made her belly warm even before the soup did. Seemingly satisfied with her silent appreciation, he began shuffling the deck, his movements intentional, methodical.
Donny made his way back to the table, too, but sat opposite his brother, instead of beside him, an impish grin spread across his face. “So, Willow,” he began. “Tell us about yourself. Are you married?”
“Don!” Eddie ground the single syllable out between clenched teeth; quiet, but firm.
“What? It’s just a question.” Donny seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Leave her alone.” The statement came out like a sledgehammer strike, and everyone turned to stare at Eddie, surprised by his uncharacteristic adamancy.
“It’s all right,” Willow said, standing and turning to face the men seated around the table. But before she could continue, there was another knock on the door. Doc had arrived.
“Come in!” Donny called out. “You’re just in time. We’re getting to know the new girl.”
“Donny.” This time it was a growl. “Show some respect or get out.”
“Seriously? You’re going to kick me out of Myra’s house for wanting to get to know this woman you can’t stop talking about?” Donny leaned back in his chair, his feet just out of range of Eddie’s booted toes, smug and confident. “Beautiful name, by the way. Suits you, Miss Willow Goodhope.” He winked at her. “Or is it Mrs?”
Doc removed his hat as he came inside, and his calculating gaze swept around the room. “Hey, Myra. Good to see you’re alive and well. Ms. Goodhope.” He nodded in Willow’s direction, then he went on to greet the guys. “You making trouble again, Donny-boy?”
It was like a pinprick in a Mylar balloon, deflating Donny just a little. No one called him Donny-boy but Doc, and everyone knew it was only because Doc could hardly tolerate the kid. And Donny knew better than to make waves with the soldier.
“Nope. Just curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, they say,” Doc commented.
Willow swept gracefully into the kitchen, past the table of men, past Doc still standing just inside the front door. Myra watched the men’s eyes follow her every move. She shook her head and rested back against the cushions of the couch, her bowl of soup half-eaten. “You don’t have to tell these boys anything, Willow,” she declared. “They’re only interested in the way your pants fit anyway.”
“Myra!” Willow spun around at the sink, obviously surprised, but a grin played across her mouth.
“What? Look at them. They’re all but drooling, just watching you walk across the room. I’m the invalid here, and no one is even looking at me.”
“I am.” Jack spoke quietly, and sure enough, Jack’s whole body was turned toward her, every ounce of his attention on her.
“Thank you, Jack. Now the rest of you. Are you going to be polite to Willow, or am I going to have to kick you all out?”
The laugh that burst out of the red-haired girl startled everyone, and when she stopped, she said, “You guys are awesome. I’m so glad you’re treating me like one of you, looking out for me like I’m your kid sister. I was an only child, you know.” And with that, Willow effectively declared her position in the group as a sister, a family member, not a potential love interest. Myra was rather impressed.
Willow filled a glass with water for herself, then turned and leaned against the sink. “Donny, in answer to your question, I honestly don’t know if I’m still married or not. And in answer to the question none of you asked out loud; the man you all refer to as Shadowman? He told Eddie he was my husband. He might be right. I haven’t been to court to make sure, but I suppose it’s time I take care of this, isn’t it?”
The room filled with silence, then finally, Doc spoke. “Ms. Goodhope, you do what you need to do. You’re safe here with us, you hear? You have nothing to worry about while you’re living in this park.” He took a step toward the table, pinning the youngest man there with a steely stare. “Isn’t that right, Donny-boy?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Grow up, and maybe I will.” Doc’s smile never wavered, but his words made it clear that he didn’t think this was a joking matter. “You’re on Coach House turf now, and you’re going to behave like a gentleman around the ladies.” Then he nodded in Willow’s direction. “We all are. And I’ll start. Thank you for taking care of Myra. And for helping to set a few other things straight around here. I’m not a big one for change, but when it’s good, I can’t argue with it.”
“Thank you, Doc.” Willow replied. �
�I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.”
“Here, here!” Myra raised her glass of apple juice in the girl’s direction. She really wanted a glass of Sangria, but her doctor had warned her about mixing her pain pills with alcohol. Maybe this was a good time to learn to cut back a little on her consumption.
Chapter 7
By the time the card games were over and the house was empty again, save for Jack and Willow, Myra was exhausted. “But I’m so antsy,” she declared. “I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin!”
“I wonder if it’s your pain medicine,” Willow suggested.
Myra shook her head. She knew what it was, and it wasn’t an allergy to any medication. She needed a drink. Not badly. Not to the point where she’d go crazy if she didn’t get one. But just enough that she knew settling down would be nearly impossible without a half a glass of wine or two. Taking a deep breath, she admitted it to them. “It’s withdrawals, I’m sure of it. My body is craving a drink something awful. But I’m not allowed any alcohol because of my pain medication.” She tried to keep it nonchalant, but her voice caught a little, and she had to swallow hard before continuing in a half-whisper. “I think I drink too much.”
“Then this is the perfect opportunity to get that under control.” Willow was beside her in a moment, dropping down to sit on the very edge of the sofa. She took Myra’s hand and stroked the back of it with her long, pale fingers. “You know what I believe? I believe that God, in His infinite wisdom and understanding, has a way of taking even the ugly things in life and using them for His good, for our good. Maybe all of this is His way of reminding you of what’s important.” She reached over and smoothed a strand of hair away from Myra’s face, then shot a quick sideways glance at Jack, who hovered close by. “What can we do to help?”
Myra shook her head, tears starting to form. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just feel awful. And guilty. And so embarrassed. If I hadn’t been drinking last night, I wouldn’t be lying here like a silly old lady with the shakes, my foot all busted up.”
“Hush. Stop.” Jack came around the coffee table and perched on the arm of the couch, resting his large, knobby hand on the top of her head. She instantly felt covered, cared for.
“Willow?” Her voice was quiet, her request something she hadn’t really considered until she opened her mouth to ask. “Would you—I mean, I’d love it if you’d…if you’d bring your guitar over and sing a few songs for me. It would be like David playing and singing for King Saul to soothe his spirit.” Where did that Sunday school memory come from?
“I’d love to!” Willow’s face lit up at the suggestion. “And if that will help soothe your spirit, even better. Although,” she shrugged, smiling wistfully. “I don’t know how soothing it will be without the background vocals of the stream. That thing is like music to my soul.”
Several minutes later, Willow settled back in the forest-green armchair, her guitar, obviously old by the worn finish around the strings, propped on her lap in that funny way, the neck standing almost upright. Willow explained when she saw Myra’s curious look.
“This was my daddy’s guitar and when he first started teaching me to play it, I was too little to comfortably reach the frets and strum at the same time. So he had me hold it upright like this. I can play it the other way, but I prefer it like this. He regrets letting me cheat every time I play for him.”
Jack sat comfortably in a chair pulled up close to Myra, nursing a cup of coffee. He’d brought a cup to Willow, too, but Myra declined. “The caffeine might make me feel worse,” she sighed.
Willow gently strummed the strings as she adjusted the tuning pegs, her head dipped low over the guitar. Then she began to play, soft chords at first, followed by flowing arpeggios, her fingers moving fluidly even as she kept rhythm by tapping the hollow instrument with her pinky finger. It was an old hymn, one Myra recognized, about a fountain of blessings, and it flooded her with comfort.
Come, thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.
The song continued for a few more verses, Willow’s playing like Celtic stringed instruments and Irish drums, her lilting voice adding to the effects. When she eased into the song she’d been playing the night before, Myra sighed, and turned to find Jack watching her, the emotion in his eyes unfiltered.
This time, she didn’t turn away, but held his gaze, letting her own filters fall away as Willow’s song continued to wash over her.
In the lingering silence I still hear your whispered sigh.
But your hand in mine tells me you’re leaving
You must not know how much I need you
That every moment you stay keeps me breathing.
So far away, you’re drifting, so far from me,
I can’t reach you anymore, anywhere.
But my heart won’t set you free.
Why couldn’t she and Jack find happiness together? Why did she insist on holding him at bay, on denying the fact that she breathed easier—that she breathed at all—because he was in her life? Wasn’t forty-five years of mourning enough?
In the echoes of twilight, I still hear your whispered sigh
Your words like storm clouds sweeping in
You must not know how much I love you
That every beat of my heart calls out your name.
Come closer, my beloved, be near to me.
Just hold on to me, I’m here.
My heart won’t set you free.
She held out her hand, her fingers reaching for him, the beat of her heart calling out his name. “Jack,” she whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear her over the beautiful music.
But somehow he did. His calloused palm brushed against hers like promises on a summer day.
Come closer, my beloved, be near to me.
Your love has set me free.
JULY MADNESS
Chapter 1
“Who asked you to be her watchdog?” Donny drawled, leaning away from the table on the back two legs of his chair. He watched Eddie’s eyes narrow. He was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t help the knee-jerk reaction to get his older brother riled up. Donny knew he was Ma’s favorite boy, but he also knew that Eddie was the better man. Most of the time, he didn’t care, and when he did, it wasn’t a feeling that a couple of beers couldn’t wash away. But when Eddie started telling him how to behave around a woman—a guy who had no woman, who drove them off from boredom, who’d tried and failed to steal Donny’s woman—he couldn’t let it rest. And for some reason, Eddie wasn’t just blowing him off the way he usually did.
“It’s not about being a watchdog. It’s about respect.” Eddie turned to look out the front window of the trailer, his attention caught, and Donny followed his gaze. There she was, heading their way, all that hair piled on top of her head like Elvis’ woman. “She’s married anyway.” Eddie’s voice lowered, almost as if he thought she might hear them talking about her, and Donny laughed.
“I know. I heard. But I haven’t seen any husband around. For all I know, you cooked up this Shadowman so you could play the hero.” Donny held up his empty glass toward his mother who stood behind him at her kitchen sink, washing the dishes from their late lunch. “Hey, Ma. Remember how Eddie used to make up bad guys so he could run around with his underwear outside his pants?” He snorted. “Can you get me a refill since you’re standing there?”
Eddie kicked the front of Donny’s chair, nearly sending him over backward. “Say ‘please’ or get up and do it yourself. She’s not your servant.”
Donny lurched up, slamming his empty glass on the table, eight years old again. “You’re such a jack—”
“Language!” Edith’s shrill voice cut in on his outburst. “Please, Donny. You know I don’t like that kind of talk. And Eddie, why do you have to pick on him? Why can’t you be nice to your little brother?”
“Mom. He’s forty years old, no job
, and homeless. What’s there not to pick on?” Eddie, too, had risen, and the brothers squared off across the oval dining table. Edith eyed them both, then threw her hands in the air, a small glop of soap bubbles flying off her fingertips to land on Donny’s forearm. He stared down at it for a moment, watching as the bubbles began to burst, then brushed them away.
He knew he couldn’t take Eddie. He’d tried many times before. And he knew it would just make Mom angry, possibly enough that she’d kick him out again, so he had to be careful, at least until he could convince Sheena to take him back.
What was the girl’s name? Liz? Lita? Lily? He couldn’t even recall her face anymore, let alone her name. But Sheena didn’t care that he couldn’t remember anything about the other girls. It didn’t matter to her that he didn’t care one bit about them. She didn’t care that he only loved her; that the others meant nothing to him, that they were just there when she wasn’t. It was always Sheena in his heart, always her on his mind, always her he wanted.
The day Sheena stopped going to the bars with him was the day trouble started up again. When she went with him, she watched out for him. She made sure he got home before he did anything stupid. She made sure the women who were on the prowl for drunken fools like him didn’t get their claws into him. But without Sheena there to protect him, he was in and out of trouble all the time.
Clean and sober, she demanded. She wanted him clean and sober before she’d take him back. By her standards or his? As far as he was concerned, beer didn’t count, and clean meant he’d tested negative for all the important things at his last physical. Sheena seemed to have a different set of criteria, and Donny couldn’t help wondering if she’d shared that list with Eddie.
In the past, when Donny came to stay with Mom, Eddie just steered clear. He didn’t get involved in Donny’s relationships, he didn’t try to give him any flack about being here, and he didn’t watch him like a hawk, keeping him busy doing odd jobs around the property all day, either. But that was before Sheena had played Eddie to get back at Donny.
Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection Page 18
