by Linda Joyce
Chapter 6
Craig scanned the crowd. More than a dozen people had gathered for the very private graveside memorial. Their support provided an anchor in his life. Appreciation radiated through him, reaching into the black Kansas dirt and nurturing the connection to his family roots. Each person took turns sharing a lighthearted memory of his parents. To his surprise, Amelia hadn’t cried, though when she lifted the sunglasses from her face, her expression of sad resignation ripped his heart like an axe slamming into a tree. She used to smile freely, radiate with a joy contagious to all around her. When would a full smile replace her weak one?
When it was Lucas’s turn to speak, he looked around at the people gathered in the circle. “They were second parents to me. Treated me like a son. Mrs. Britton sent me packages when I was in Afghanistan. Their passing has left empty spaces in my life. However, they would expect all of us to soldier on with chins up and shoulders back.”
Everyone nodded.
“Mrs. Britton taught me to dance,” Megan said. “You know, the tango and the box-step.” She demonstrated the dance steps, swaying her hips. “Through her, I found confidence to be myself.”
“She brought her New Orleans joie de vivre to the plains,” Helen said. “It took us a while to understand the southern in her. She was sweet like bread pudding and spicy like gumbo. Craig and Amelia”—Helen pointed across the circle at them—“your mother loved your father so much she moved up here to live her life. Your parents were role models for our community.”
“Thank you, Helen, for your kind words.” Craig replied. He understood better what his mother had given up to love and marry his father. She devoted her life to all of them, but she always remained a bit of a fish out of water in Kansas…same for him. As much as he loved his childhood memories, his sister, and his friends, St. Louis was more exciting than Harvest, Kansas had ever been. Farming would be last on the list of jobs he ever wanted. His father never understood that about him, but his mother had.
After all the guests had spoken, his sister took a half step forward into the circle. “Thank you for coming today. It means a lot to me to keep the memory of my parents alive. For as long as I’m able to stay on the farm”—Amelia glanced over her shoulder at him—“I will host a Twelfth Night celebration every year. Mother had her quirky ways, but I wouldn’t trade her for another. Dad understood me best, though I’m not sure why. He always encouraged my painting. I hope to make my parents proud and put Harvest on the map someday. Thank you again for sharing this circle with Craig and me today.”
Murmurs of agreement drifted around the ring as Amelia stepped back.
Craig walked into the middle of the circle and stood between the headstones of his parents. “I’m grateful you came,” he told the group. “It’s nice to see familiar faces. I appreciate your support, be it from respect for our parents or support of us. Thanks for looking after my sister—even if she’s stubborn like a mule’s backside.” Everyone but Amelia chuckled in response. “You know how much my father loved barbecue. His trophies remain on the shelves in the sunroom. Mother refused to display them on the mantle. So, let’s go celebrate life. As Dad always said, ‘The secret to good barbecue is sauce—it covers up all mistakes.’ We’re serving ’cue—pig and cow—and we’ll wash it down with brew.”
A little while later at the house, a convoy of vehicles parked on the lawn and along the lane leading from the dirt road to the driveway. Craig tapped the beer keg on the back deck with Lucas’s help while Megan and Amelia placed bowls of potato salad and baked beans on the table.
“Amelia!” Craig hollered. “I’m ready for the burgers.” Craig adjusted his father’s black pitmaster apron with Boss of the Sauce in large red print on the front. His father had won it as a trophy at the American Royal BBQ five years earlier. Craig’s mouth watered from the aromas drifting from the smoker. Beef and pork ribs. Long and slow.
The late afternoon breezes blew in a few lofty clouds. The sun played peek-a-boo, and streaks of light shone like spotlights on the surrounding sunflower fields. The back deck and yard buzzed with chatter, everyone sharing humorous stories and loving memories. His parents would be pleased by the fondness their friends and neighbors had shown. Craig’s heart swelled with pride.
Amelia stepped onto the wide back deck and started to hand him a platter at the same time as Zoë rounded the corner of the house with a man in tow Craig didn’t recognize. Amelia’s hand moved. Craig grabbed for the platter, catching it before it hit the deck. “Hey! Watch it.” But Amelia appeared to be in a transfixed state, showing no signs of hearing him. Her gaze remained locked on the newcomer. And Zoë.
“Welcome, Karl.”
The softness in Amelia’s voice and the too bright smile reinforced the knot in his gut. Amelia had a genuine interest in this man? This guy had to be the newbie in town. Had Zoë invited him? Who crashed a cookout like this? His parents, had they been there, would’ve insisted the newcomer be welcomed.
“I hope you don’t mind, I asked Karl to meet us here,” Zoë said. She led Karl by the hand onto the deck. “I thought this would be a good way for him to get acquainted with some folks he hasn’t met.”
“And some he’ll never meet,” Craig grumbled. To the untrained ear, Zoë words were innocent enough, but he was certain she had purposefully arranged the encounter. Maybe it was her way for him to give Karl the once-over. Since his sister seemed bent on dating the guy, and since their surprise party next Saturday depended on Karl’s discretion, he should be thankful for Zoë’s fast thinking. But something about it pecked in his gut the way a woodpecker hammered away at tree. However, the best defense was a good offense, so he’d be polite, but with both ears and eyes on the guy.
“Karl, welcome. I’d shake your hand, but…” Craig lifted up the platter in one hand and the spatula in the other.
Karl grinned as Zoë and Amelia flanked him.
“Hey, Karl,” Lucas said, coming through the back door from the house with a platter of cooked ribs. He set it on the table. “I didn’t know you were coming. Grab a rib.” Lucas cupped Amelia’s elbow. “Amelia, we need a bottle opener in here, and if you want me to carve the ham, I need the carving knife.”
Amelia appeared flustered, but when Lucas guided her into the house, she went.
“Karl, this is Craig, Lia’s brother.” Zoë made introductions.
Craig caught a quick flash of worry in the man’s eyes. He leaned in for a private word. “So Zoë has recruited you for our plan?”
Karl nodded. “I won’t let you down.”
“Good to hear. Grab a drink from the cooler over there or the keg. Make yourself at home.” He hoped to put Karl at ease, making it easier to study the guy.
“Should we offer to help Lia?” Karl asked.
“She’ll be back in a few minutes,” Zoë said reassuringly as she reached for Karl’s hand, guiding him down the deck. They crossed the yard with Gentleman Jack running, and then scurrying back, as if to urge them to hurry along. Zoë headed in the direction of the creek.
She was taking the guy there? She giggled at something Karl said and gave him a little flirty shove. A knot formed in Craig’s gut, twisting like water wrung from a towel.
Friendship and family loyalty played tug-of-war. Did Amelia have a true interest in this guy? How hurt would she be when she discovered Zoë’s interest? He’d read all of Zoë’s signs. Big eyes, coy grins, a slight tilt of her head, and that friendly shove. He was well aware of them. She’d been his first serious crush back in high school, but no one knew. He hadn’t even shared that information with Lucas. It would’ve been too weird, him dating his sister’s best friend. That would be as ridiculous as Lucas dating Amelia.
Craig set the platter on a table. One by one, he tossed hamburger patties onto a grill and turned the country-style ribs on the second one. Sizzling from the heat, the barbecue with its tangy aroma made him miss his dad. He could never replace their father in Amelia’s life, but he’d be the best bi
g brother she would ever need, which meant doing everything in his power to make sure she never got hurt. A parent’s duty, his father had reminded him when he was young and interested in calf roping, included finding the gift in a child and nurturing it. His dad had supported his efforts in rodeoing, but Craig soon learned it wasn’t his forte. However, Amelia’s gift was painting, and he hoped he’d made his father proud doing all he could to help further his sister’s career.
Later that evening as the cookout came to a close and guests departed one by one, Craig finished wiping off the grills. The silence of the fields surrounded him. He tossed a dirty cloth into a bucket. Looking through the screen door, he peered inside the house. His line of sight to the kitchen was blocked by the couch and the corner. Where had his sister disappeared to?
“Hey, Amelia. Bring a couple of bottles and let’s sit out here.”
No sound came from within the house. Gentleman Jack wandered from the yard where he’d been scouting for rabbits and lay down at Craig’s feet. He petted the dog and called out, “Amelia?”
Still no answer.
Craig opened the door and waited for Jack to enter before following him in. “Jack, where’s Amelia? I haven’t seen her for at least an hour.”
Jack looked up at him as if to say, “You really don’t know where she is?” The dog bolted toward the kitchen. He sat at the door to Amelia’s studio and pawed like a person might knock, but Amelia never answered. Strains of Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings hummed in the air. Craig opened the door. Jack made a beeline for his bed, curled up, sighed, and closed his eyes.
Craig stood transfixed. He gazed at the tabletop. A purposefully arranged setting of an antique lace doily topped with a collection of different sizes and colors of bottles, including a tall blue one of German Riesling he remembered purchasing, matched the image on the large canvas before his sister. Amelia’s detailed still life rivaled any of the masters. Pride swelled in his chest. If he could sing, he’d launch into a Halleluiah everyone in the county could hear. Caterwauling is what his grandmother had called his singing when he was young. Instead, he could do the he-man thing and beat his chest, but that would embarrass his sister.
After accusing him of lacking culture and substance beyond the business world, Amelia had taught him about art. He hoped by providing a studio for her in town, one day her work would hang in several galleries and collectors would seek her out.
She educated him about her favorites, and he particularly loved Jan Frans Van Dael’s Still Life with Roses and Paul Cezanne’s Still Life with Cherries and Peaches. Amelia’s still-life work radiated with intensity and vibrant colors of those artists. She had said the old way of making and mixing colors was a lost art, but oils were the only thing she’d ever use to paint a still life. Her name graced only a handful in all her years as a painter. These type of paintings popped realistically on the canvas only when sadness overpowered her, which meant something troubled her deeply now.
And whatever troubled her, worried him.
When the music ended, Craig started to call out, but the music started from the beginning again, obviously on continuous play. Amelia, lost in an art world, sat on a rolling stool with a paintbrush in hand and swayed to the achingly, haunting music. She daubed paint from the palette resting on an old, wooden TV stand with wheels, which allowed her to roll around while she painted, or to roll it out of the way, so Jack wouldn’t hit it and knock it over whenever he bolted for the door.
His sister never appreciated interruptions when she worked, however he needed to speak with her. Had she taken a deep melancholy plunge over seeing Karl and Zoë? When the two of them returned from the creek, Zoë and Amelia acted in their usual way, teasing and telling stories about their pigtail days. If Amelia had been bothered by Karl’s presence, or her friend’s interest in the man, she never let on.
Rather than startle his sister by calling out, Craig walked to the opposite side of the room and stood next to the table holding the sculptures. He waved. Amelia blinked several times. She paused with a paintbrush in midair as though returning from a faraway world.
“Have you been there long?” Amelia asked.
Craig shook his head. “I know you don’t like to be bothered when you’re painting, but I need to talk. Since I’m only home for the weekend, and I’d rather not have this conversation over the phone, will you take a break soon?”
“No.” Her mouth formed a thin line. Her nostrils flared.
“You have to go to bed at some point. After all, you twisted my arm about going to church tomorrow morning.”
“Yes.”
Craig reached over and paused the CD player.
“No. Yes. Are we having a conversation? Or answering questions for a gameshow somewhere in your head?”
“No, I don’t want to talk to you. Yes, I’m going to bed soon.”
“Amelia, what did I do this time?”
His sister rose from the stool and kicked it aside. “I think I’m done for the night after all.” The stool bumped the couch, changed trajectory, and came to rest beside Craig’s legs. If she were shooting pool, it would’ve been a good trick shot.
“Here, Jack,” she called. From his bed, the dog lifted his head, looked at each of them, before resting his head, ignoring them both.
“No. Yes,” Craig said.
“What?” Amelia snapped.
“No, you’re not going to ignore me. Yes, we’re going to talk.”
“Fine! Let’s talk.” Amelia stormed out of the room. “I won’t let you invade my space and leave a negative imprint there.”
He found her in the dining room pulling the top off a bottle of Basil Hayden. Their father’s favorite George Jones song, The King Is Gone and So Are You, popped into his head. It was a song they shared as an inside joke, but given her anger, he didn’t dare laugh. Before their parents died, just mentioning the song would have had Amelia in stitches. She loved to sing along with George Jones to entertain their father.
Amelia poured whiskey into a crystal glass, about three-fingers full. She handed it to him. Pulling another glass from the china cabinet, she splashed a small amount of liquid into that glass. When she tipped the bottom up, that surprised him.
“Whoa.”
“Ahhh,” she said, pouring another three-fingers width of liquid into the glass. “Let’s talk.” Before he could get a word out, she stomped across the living room and out to the back deck. He followed her, but just before he reached the open door, Jack scampered past him, clipping him at the knees. He grabbed for the door to keep from falling. Whiskey sloshed onto the deck. “No, Jack. That’s not for you,” he told the dog when Jack came to inspect the spilled liquid.
“Here,” he shoved his glass at Amelia, who sat in a chaise lounge. Walking to the far end of the deck, he grabbed the bucket with dirty soapy water and poured it over the whiskey spot.
“And don’t drink that either,” he told the dog. In response, Jack jumped on the chaise and stretched out beside Amelia, resting his head in her lap.
“Please don’t yell at Jack. It isn’t his fault you’re clumsy.”
Craig pulled up a chair, straddled it, and faced his sister. Darkness mostly shrouded her face. He raked his fingers through his hair and let go of an exasperated sigh. “I’ll take my drink, now,” he said. She handed it over.
Leaning over with his elbows resting on his thighs, he cradled the glass. “Amelia—”
“How. Dare. You.” Her voice came out low and deadly calm.
“There are several things I want to talk about, but you’re going to have to clue me in. None of what I want to discuss could produce that level of intensity.”
“I swear if you don’t admit the truth, I’m going to start picking corn and chucking it at you until you’re bloody. There’ll be nowhere you can hide—until you put your butt back in that sports car you bought and leave. And you of all people know how dear my corn crop is to me.”
“What?” he demanded. Trying to talk wi
th her when her emotions whirled like a top was worse than a sailor trying to find dry land in the fog without a lighthouse to illuminate the way. He took a gulp of whiskey, ruining the pleasure of a fine sipping bourbon.
“You! You’re blackmailing Lucas!”
Craig drew back.
“Are you crazy? I know today has been difficult, which is why I wanted to check in with you, but to accuse me of…of doing that, to Lucas of all people! I going to call 9-1-1 and tell them a crazy person has carried off my sister.” He peered closely at her. “Or are you some sort of clone?”
She leaned forward and swatted at him. He dropped the crystal glass. One of their mother’s favorites. Amelia rose from the chaise so fast, she dumped Jack on the deck. He yelped, but scrambled, scratching the wood with his nails, and scampered away.
“Did it break?” she asked, her voice warbling as she searched the deck in the dark on her hands and knees.
He shook his head. “No.” He scooped up the crystal glass. “All in one piece.” Setting the glass on the deck beside the foot of his chair, he asked, “But are you?”
“I know you and Lucas have concocted some plot concerning me,” she snapped, standing against the deck railing.
“There’s no plot.” Had she figured out about Karl and the surprise birthday party? Could Karl be worthless with a secret?
“It was clear today with Lucas. The minute Karl walked up, Lucas said he needed me to find a carving knife. He knows darn good and well where that knife is kept. And it all makes sense”—she pointed her finger at his nose—“you’re the reason why a man only asks me out for one or two dates. Lucas would never stoop so low to interfere in my love life without prompting from you.”
“Is Lucas trying to pin something on me?” Craig asked.
“Of course not, he’s too loyal for that. He’d fall on his sword for you.”
“Interesting,” Craig muttered. Did Lucas’s feelings for Amelia run deeper than he let on? His interest in Amelia couldn’t have turned…romantic? He groaned.
“Aha!” Amelia snapped her fingers.
