For Your Love

by Beverly Jenkins

  Devon said sadly, “I wish Davis was coming for Christmas.”

  “So do I,” Lily replied.

  Her son was in South Africa helping the government install software for a big data project. He’d be back in the States after New Year’s.

  “He’s promised to try and Skype with us Christmas day.”

  “Not the same.”

  “I know, baby, but it’s the best we can do.”

  Devon had a special bond with Davis, first formed when he became Lily’s foster child. He got a real kick out of having a big brother, and the two loved each other very much. Trent liked him too, and looked forward to seeing him when he returned.

  After lunch they finished the last of their shopping and returned home.

  The first order of business was getting the boxed tree out of the garage and setting it up in the living room. It was seven feet tall and had hundreds of lights that glowed clear or in bright colors, depending on the settings on its small green remote. They’d bought the tree the year before via Lily’s favorite television shopping channel, and Trent had to admit it was an awesome purchase. Ornaments came next, and the boys had a great time hanging their favorites. While at the mall, they’d been encouraged to pick out one or two new ones—­yet another of Lily’s family traditions. Devon found a guitar and a baby Jesus in a manger. Amari’s choices were, of course, cars—­a Ferrari, a classic T-­Bird, and a replica of racer Danica Patrick’s green GoDaddy.com car, which he’d be wrapping and presenting to Zoey.

  Last year, after decorating the tree, Trent, the designated cook that week, had taken the easy way out after the long day and made pancakes for dinner. At the time, Amari said he thought the meal should be a tradition, so this year Lily whipped up pancakes again. Amari volunteered to man the skillet of bacon, and Trent and Devon handled the eggs.

  They ate, laughed, talked about skating on the ice rink scheduled to open during the school break, and how they were all looking forward to the arrival of their newfound grandmother, grandfather, and Aunt Val.

  “I never had a grampa,” Devon said somberly. “I hope he’s nice.”

  Amari assured him, “He will be. He’s married to Gramma Rita. He’s going to be awesome, right, Mom and Dad?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Later, up in his room, Amari lay on the bed, thinking about Kyra. They’d been texting each other about stuff. He’d found out she liked old-­school jazz like John Coltrane and Miles Davis, and wanted to be an architect if she changed her mind about being a thoracic surgeon. When he texted back and told her he was thinking about being a NASCAR driver, she replied that maybe she should stick to the thoracic surgeon plan, because he’d probably need one. He looked up from his phone to see Devon standing in the doorway. “You busy?” Devon asked.

  “Nope. Come on in. What’s up?”

  He took a seat on the bed. “How do I get girls?”

  “What?”

  “How do I get girls? I saw the way Kyra was looking at you. How do you do that?”

  Amari studied him. “I wasn’t doing anything, Devon. She just came and sat down.”

  “Yeah, but she could’ve sat anywhere. Instead she sat with you.”

  “Who knows? I’m no expert on girls. ”

  “Do you think I’m cute?”

  “What?”

  “Do you think I’m cute? Like the ways girls think guys are cute.”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Ask Zoey or Crystal.”

  Devon gave him a level look.

  “Well, maybe not Crystal—­but Devon, I don’t know. You need to go back to your room. You’re starting to sound crazy. And lay off the liquor, okay?”

  Devon grinned, and Amari grinned back, glad he’d gotten the joke. “Get out of my room,” he said.

  When Devon was gone, Amari shook his head. He was sorta liking this new and improved Devon. His little brother was growing up. He just wasn’t sure into what.

  A short while later, dressed in their pajamas and robes, they gathered in the dimly lit living room for Devon’s reading of the Christmas story. The logs in the fireplace blazed, and the crackling of the wood played gently against the silence. The tree was on and twinkling, and the drapes were open to let in the light of the falling snow. Bible in hand, Devon sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Upon receiving a nod from his mom, he began reading aloud: “And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed . . .”

  After the boys went up to bed, Trent stood behind Lily, his arms around her, as they looked out at the snow. Soft jazz played through the speakers. “It’s really coming down,” she said.

  There was a winter storm warning up until tomorrow morning. The howling wind could be distinctly heard even through the glass as it whipped the snow so ferociously, they could see nothing but white. “Probably no church in the morning.”

  “No. Lots of digging out, though.”

  There was silence for a few moments, and then Lily said quietly, “Devon read well.”

  “Yes, he did. We had a good day.”

  She nodded. “Our sons are going to be okay.” She turned. “I have awesome sons because they have an awesome dad.”

  “Their mama’s not bad, either.”

  They shared a kiss, and he held her tight against him. He was so thankful for her, for so many things and on so many levels, that he ached from the sweetness. “You ready for bed?”

  “No, I want to stay up and watch the snow.”

  “Then dance with me.”

  She smiled, and they danced slowly in the darkness while the world filled up with snow.

  The storm quit at about five in the morning, but not before dumping nine and a half inches on the area. Not a record by any means, but throw in the blustery winds and it was more than enough to shut everything down. Looking out their window, Bobby and Kiki were amazed at the sight. What amazed them more was Rocky. She had a plow attached to the front of her truck and was slowly clearing the drive that led out to the main road. “Do you think I should go out and help her?” Bobby asked.

  “Girlfriend looks like she’s handling her business pretty well, but you might want to give Tamar a call.”

  So he did. They spoke for a moment and after the call ended, he said, “She said she’s good. Rocky already did her drive.”

  Still watching Rocky, Kiki said, “I can’t believe ­people actually go out in that. In Dallas, the city would be shut down for weeks.”

  A text came through on his phone. He read it, and his eyes widened.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s from Trent. Said he’ll be here in half an hour to pick me up, and to dress warmly.”

  “For what?”

  He shrugged. “Shoveling, maybe.”

  “Then you need to get moving. You should probably put on those long-­john things.”

  “I’m not wearing those.”

  “Okay, Mr. Tough Guy. When Tamar brought them over, she said everyone here wears them.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She said to the twins sitting in their high chairs, “Your hardheaded daddy’s going to be a Popsicle when he gets back.”

  Bobby laughed and went to get dressed.

  When Trent arrived, he spent a few minutes with his plow-­equipped truck helping Rocky first. When he finally came in, he handed Bobby a shovel. “For your steps. Where’s your hat?”

  “I’m good.”

  “It’s seventeen degrees, and the windchill is five below. You can get frostbite quicker than you can blink. First to go are ears, fingers, and toes. So unless you want the twins growing up with a daddy who looks like Vincent van Gogh, get your hat.”

  Kiki came out from the back with the knit hat, heavy gloves, a scarf, and the long johns Tamar had been kind enough to provide. �
��Here,” she said.

  Bobby eyed her and then checked out the way Trent was dressed. He took everything and went into the bedroom.

  When he returned, Trent looked him up and down. “Now we can go.”

  “This is my first snowstorm,” Kiki said. “Anything I need to do?”

  Trent shook his head. “Nope. Just enjoy being inside.”

  “I can do that.”

  Bobby glared.

  “Don’t hate, baby. Have fun.”

  Trent chuckled, handed Bobby the shovel, and Bobby followed him out. As soon as he stepped outside, the frigid air took his breath away. “Oh god!” he yelled. “It’s cold!”

  “Yep. Let’s get your steps cleared.” Trent waded to his truck and pulled a shovel from the bed.

  Bobby stared like he’d grown three heads. “I’m not about to be out here. I’m going back inside.” He could see his breath, and it felt like his nose hair was freezing.

  Trent said, “You sound like my kids their first winter. Stop whining. Shovel.”

  So he did. He didn’t like it, though. At all.

  “Put your back into it. Not trying to be out here all day. Here, like this.”

  Trent showed him how to maximize the amount of snow the shovel would handle. “Every time it snows, clear your steps and the path to your car.”

  Once that was done, they moved to Bobby’s car. “Get in and start it up.”

  Trent used his arm to scrape down the thick coat of snow covering the door. “We need to get you a scraper. I’ll get mine.”

  Bobby couldn’t believe this was happening. He got in, and it was like being in a cave. The snow made it impossible to see out. The engine turned over like clockwork, and he was thankful for that. He hit the button for the window to bring it down, but nothing happened. Trying again, he heard a knock on the partially cleared window. He opened the door, allowing a ton of snow to fall in, covering his thighs below his coat. “The windows won’t go down.”

  “Frozen. Wipers too, probably. Just let the engine run. Come on out.”

  Kiki had been right about him turning into a Popsicle. The wind was blowing, and he was freezing and kicking himself for believing it was okay to be out in this with no socks in his Timbs. Trent gave him a quick lesson in unearthing his car, using an old broom he brought back from his truck and a long-­handled scraper. The snow was piled high, so it took a while, but they finally cleared enough away that the car was recognizable again. The defroster was barely making a dent in the thick crust on the front and rear windshields, though. Bobby swore the car looked as miserable as he himself felt.

  Once that was done, he joined Trent in his truck, and they drove off.

  It was late afternoon by the time Trent dropped Bobby back at the trailer again, so frozen and sore he could barely make it up the steps.

  Kiki took one look at him and said, “Oh, my poor baby.”

  “We’re moving back to Dallas just as soon as I can feel my feet and hands.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I never want to see snow again.” He didn’t care that it was mid-­December and that, according to Trent, it might still be snowing come early April. Being out there had been brutal.

  “I’ll start you a warm bath.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. Every muscle he owned hurt from all the shoveling, and he couldn’t stop shivering. He was glad Trent made him wear the extra gear. If he ever thawed out, he planned to go shopping for more. They’d used the truck to clear the parking lots of the Power Plant, the school, the church, and the rec center, but the walks and steps had to be shoveled and salted by hand. Even with the help of Mal, the colonel, and the rest of the men, it had been a long, exhausting, freezing work detail.

  Bobby finally managed to remove his wet clothes and eased into the warmth of the water in the tub. “Oh god, this feels good.”

  Standing beside him, Kiki gave him a smile. “You soak, I’ll finish dinner.”

  “I think I’m too whipped to eat.”

  “I doubt that, but get yourself warm. I’ll check on you in a bit.” Leaning in, she gave him a kiss.

  After his soak, he ate the roasted chicken, potatoes, and greens she put on his plate. When he finished, he kissed his kids, fell across the bed, and slept like a dead man.

  CHAPTER

  14

  On Monday morning Bernadine rode with Mal to the county courthouse for the sentencing phase of Odessa Stillwell’s trial. Bernadine doubted she would ever forget the sight last spring of the ­people running in terror from the explosions and flames from the fire Odessa had set. That she had been in reality targeting Bernadine because of her opposition to a pipeline that a big oil company wanted to run across local land haunted her, as did the knowledge that two innocent ­people lost their lives. The jury in the case had found Odessa guilty of second-­degree murder. “What do you think she’ll get?”

  “Life, probably,” Mal said without looking away from the traffic.

  The state of Kansas had the death penalty but hadn’t exercised that option since 1995. The ongoing debate over the repeal of the measure was being played out in the legislature and editorial sections of the big newspapers. Bernadine didn’t support the death penalty, but she did think Odessa should be remanded to prison for the rest of her life.

  When Bernadine and Mal entered the quiet courtroom, Odessa and her lawyer were seated up front. Directly behind them sat her son, Al. On the far side of the room were the Sanderson twins, Megan and Marie. It was their parents, Mike and Peggy, who’d died in the fire. They’d come to Henry Adams to see the Friday-­night movie in celebration of their thirtieth wedding anniversary, not knowing it would be their last.

  Bernadine walked over and greeted the twins with hugs and kind words. She hoped the sentencing would give the girls some measure of closure, even though nothing would bring Mike and Peggy back. Beside them sat their grandfather Joel, Mike’s dad. She shared a hug with him also. No parent should have to bury their child.

  As she and Mal took seats, Mal leaned over and said softly, “Freda just came in.”

  Freda was Odessa Stillwell’s granddaughter. Her discovery of Odessa’s gasoline-­doused clothing in the family barn had given the prosecutor the evidence they needed to bring charges. She was also the recipient of the $250,000 reward Bernadine had posted for information leading to the then-­unknown arsonist’s arrest and conviction. According to the report from her financial ­people, the check had been sent and cashed. Freda was also friends with the Sanderson family, and she shared hugs with them before taking her seat.

  “All rise.”

  Judge Amy Davis appeared and took her seat on the bench. “Please be seated.”

  From her dealings with the judge in the past, Bernadine knew her to be tough but fair. She also had a sense of humor, but there was no amusement in this case, and her face and manner projected that. She took a moment to flip through the documents before her and then invited the twins up to read their statements. In voices that shook with emotion, they spoke about the loss of their parents, their devastated lives, and how hard it was for them to get up each morning knowing neither of their parents were there. Bernadine found their words heartbreaking. Odessa for her part seemed to stare off unseeingly, and it was impossible to tell whether the words had any effect. Her son Al appeared moved, however. He kept dashing away his tears. Bernadine remembered the day he’d confronted her at the Dog, and how badly he’d scared her, but he’d played no part in the fire. That he too would be losing his parent underlined the painful ripples set in motion by that night’s senseless actions.

  In the end, Odessa Stillwell was sentenced to life in prison with no hope of parole, due to what Judge Davis called “reckless disregard for human life.” It was justice, but Bernadine knew it was small consolation to Joel Sanderson and the twins. Nothing would bring Mike and Peggy back, but at
least everyone had the satisfaction of knowing Odessa Stillwell would be taking each and every breath until she drew her last behind bars.

  On the drive back, neither Bernadine nor Mal had much to say at first. She looked out at the snow-­covered landscape and hoped Joel and the twins would find joy again someday. Finally, in an effort to beat back the dark cloud of feelings hovering over her, she asked, “What do you want for Christmas?”

  “For us to get back to where we need to be.”

  She raised her eyes to his.

  “You’re right, the whole thing with Rita Lynn—­stupid. Can’t change the past, ­people’s actions, thoughts, none of the above. I’ve missed you. And I’m sorry if I made you doubt how I feel about you.”

  And she’d missed him as well. His phone calls every morning and at night before bed, having lunch with him, and their dinner dates. She was in love with him, and she knew deep down inside that he loved her as well—­even when she doubted it. “Anything else you want?”

  “Besides your forgiveness?”

  She nodded.

  “A weekend with just you and me.”

  They’d taken a few day trips together, but nothing overnight. She’d been using having to set a good example for Crystal as an excuse, but that’s all it was, an excuse to hide her insecurities behind.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “Anyplace where I can wear shorts.”

  “Key West? I know a nice place where we can walk the beach. Watch the sunset. Relax.”

  “Sounds great. Especially the relaxing part. You need that.”

  And she did.

  “And, baby?” he said quietly.

  She glanced over.

  “I just want us to get away. Nothing more. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you.”

  “You’ve never pressured me. Well, maybe when we first met, but you still had a lot of snake oil in your blood back then.”

  His eyes mirrored his amusement. “True.”

  “No, I want to go. I think we’re ready.”