“Perks, I guess.” Adam, still clad in that itchy brown UPS polyester, rested an arm on my shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried. Did the prosecutor call you back?”
“This evening. And…no. Jed Tucker’s not in jail.”
“He’s not?” Adam whipped his head around.
“Nope. He managed to post bond.” I sipped my tea, its crisp taste reminding me of Japan. “With a house, specifically. That’s all he could use since he skipped trial last time. So he’s free until the next trial, although—amazingly—the prosecutor thinks he’s clean.”
Adam tipped his head back in frustration and groaned. “Shiloh. This is terrible! What if that guy comes here and tries to…” He broke off, rubbing a hand roughly across his face. “He’s not left-handed, is he? Like whoever’s been leaving those spray-painted notes about Amanda?”
“The prosecutor didn’t know. He said he’d write up a complaint for the guy’s file if we can get any bit of evidence that it’s him. But nobody has any.”
“Exactly. Which is why I hate this whole mess.” Adam’s voice sounded loud and testy in the quiet of my yard.
“Well, just to play devil’s advocate, what if Odysseus is a joke and we’re getting all worked up about nothing?”
Adam stayed silent a while, shuffling his shoes on the porch. “I’ve thought about that, too. Like some kid’s pulling a prank. But we can’t take any chances.” Adam rested his forehead in his hand. “Dad said he’s seen a car come by our house a couple of times, really slow, like he was looking for somebody.”
“You’re kidding.” I sucked in my breath. “Did he get the plate number or a description of the driver?”
“No. It’s always late at night, so he can’t see much. A dull-colored car though—gray or dark green or something. A sedan. But it’s easy to get turned around on our road, so it’s hard to tell if it’s a random driver or somebody who’s actually watching us. Or watching me, specifically.”
I put my glass down, my stomach coiling into a tight ball. “That doesn’t sound like a joke, does it?”
“Hard to tell. But first, hear me out on one thing.” Adam turned my face toward him in the darkness. “If things get bad, forget the wedding. We’ll go to the justice of the peace and say our vows and leave town. We can’t risk our lives because of some madman, if he really does exist.”
I hugged my knees, feeling a sudden shift of cool breeze against my bare calves, raising gooseflesh. “It won’t come to that, Adam. We’ll figure out who it is.”
“Well, promise me anyway.”
“I promise.” I nudged him. “Besides, I don’t have much pulled together anyway. I don’t even have a wedding dress. And if I let Ashley in on this…” I let my sentence die.
Adam stayed silent a while then shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Can I say something? I know Ashley’s annoying, and I’m still mad at her for making you feel guilty over your mom’s death.” He stroked his fingers through my ponytail. “But I’d like to meet her anyway. You’re family, no matter how distant. And you don’t have much family, Shiloh.”
“Thankfully.”
“I know, but…” Adam twirled the ends of my hair around his finger. “You’re a Christian now. You’re starting over. Maybe you could give her another chance?”
“So Ashley can take over my wedding and boss me around? Say rude things about you and my friends and make a laughingstock out of me?” I blew out my breath. “You don’t know her. She’s a pain.”
“Well, so are we from time to time.”
“Right. From time to time. We don’t live that way permanently.” I made a face. “Or at least you don’t. I can’t say that much about myself.”
Adam smoothed my bangs back from my forehead and laughed. “We all have our moments. But those kids you teach at Sunday school think you’re pretty wonderful.”
“They drive me nuts, too. I’m thinking of sterilizing myself.”
“Please don’t.” Adam smiled, kissing my cheek lightly. “But that’s the thing. You don’t like it, but you do it anyway. You’ve got courage. You left your old life for God, and you’re staying in Staunton to be with me.”
I didn’t say anything, staring off into the deep blue-black shadows of the summer evening.
“You’re hard on your family, too, Shiloh. Why don’t you just breathe a little? Relax? Let them be who they are. Everybody has crazy family members.”
“Why, Adam?” I turned to face him. “Why is my family so important to you?”
He shrugged. “I want to be part of your life. Part of your family, however it is. Part of you.” He laced his fingers tightly between mine, making me catch my breath. “When we join, we join for better or worse. My family’s no bunch of saints either. But that’s how we learn and change.”
I thought suddenly of Mom and her unopened letters. All those returned envelopes cinched sadly together with dark blue ribbon.
“Some of those changes come too late though.” I spoke my thoughts out loud, softly, staring at a twinkle of fireflies over the shadowy grass and trying to remember the last words I’d ever spoken to my mother. When I closed my eyes, stinging green spots still hovered.
Adam rested his head against mine, and for a second I felt his breath match mine as we sat there together in silence.
“Can I ask you something?” I turned my face slightly, my smooth cheek brushing his stubbly jaw. “Why don’t you ever…?” I wanted to say “kiss me,” but for some reason the words sounded gauche, pushy. I let out an annoyed breath.
Adam shifted uncomfortably then tugged his cap off and scratched a hand through his sandy hair. “I think I might know what you’re talking about,” he finally said, not looking at me. “Is it—?”
The stink of cigarette smoke sifted abruptly through the clean scents of pine and summer grass, and I let my face fall into my hands. No way we’d get to talk now.
“Stella?” I peeked over the deck railing, ashamed at my irritation. Stella was a good friend. Christie raised her head and started to get to her feet, tail thumping against the wooden boards. Which desperately needed another coat of stain.
Yet another thing screaming for my attention. Well, maybe I’d just leave the deck with faded stain and let Adam’s Uncle Bryce deal with it.
I saw the orange glow of Stella’s cigarette first and then her shadowy figure shaking the peony bushes that bloomed along the back side of her house. Everything backed by her giant satellite dish.
“Hiya.” She waved in our direction, letting the bushes fall back into place. Her hair-sprayed puff of hair cast a spider-like shadow. “Looks like somethin’s eatin’ my peonies again. Aphids, ya reckon?”
A toe ring glinted over her flip-flops, catching yellow porch light. Topped by the faded hem of her billowy, orange-and-pink-flowered housedress.
Adam got up from the steps, Christie trotting after him, and walked through the short space of grass between Stella’s house and mine. He knelt by Stella’s bushes, checking the leaves and then the base around the roots. I observed the two of them, curious, as Stella puffed in silence.
“Leaf blotch. See the purple spots?” Adam pointed to a clump of leaves illuminated by my porch light. “It’s a fungal infection. Probably from all the rain we’ve been having.” He tore the leaves off, making the bush shiver. “You’ve got to get rid of all these infected leaves so it doesn’t spread. What fungicide are you using?”
“Me? I just throw some fertilizer on ’em ev’ry now and then. That’s all Mama ever did, an’ hers grew as big as dinner plates.” Stella gestured with her hands, breathing out a mouthful of smoke.
But hey. At least Stella hadn’t stooped to “planting” plastic flowers in her flower bed like the neighbors up the street.
“You should probably increase the potassium levels of your soil, too, but you definitely need a fungicide right away,” said Adam, interrupting my thoughts of tacky Snow-White-and-the-Seven-Dwarves lawn ornaments and pink flamingos. “Preferab
ly something organic. There’s a mixture of water, baking soda, vegetable oil, and castile soap I can whip together for you. Works as good as the commercial stuff but doesn’t kill beneficial insects.” Adam checked the lower leaves again then stood up. “I’ll bring it next time I come, if you want.”
I watched Adam as he talked to Stella, checking her petunia bed for something else. Wishing I could protect and heal and shelter like Adam did. Instead, the little crab apple bonsai tree he’d made me last Christmas had started to wilt, shedding leaves all over the windowsill.
I’d even managed to squeeze the life out of that, too.
“Y’outta see this green-tea panna cotta I’ve been making,” Stella puffed, turning to me. “It’s kinda like a puddin’, but better.”
“Green tea?” I looked up, mouth watering at the thought of bitter matcha powder. “Really?”
“No joke. I got to researchin’ Asian stuff when I did that sushi cake for yer s’prise birthday party and figgered I might branch out a little. Try somethin’ exotic.” She tapped her cigarette. “An’ doggone if people don’t eat it up! Jer asked for a double order this week.”
“That’ll go great with the recipes we’re recommending him.”
“Exactly what I thought. In fact…” Stella turned from her plants at the sound of a car, shielding her eyes from distant streetlights to see the road. “Hold on a sec. That can’t be…naw. Forgit it.”
A sedan rumbled slowly past our houses, casting a shadow on my newly mown lawn. Headlights out. A glimmer of gray flashed from the roof as it eased through a puddle of streetlight.
“That can’t be who?” My pulse quickened. I scrambled up from the porch and through the grass, stopping at Adam’s side.
“Aw, nobody.” She slapped her thigh like something occurred to her. “Shucks, I know that car. That’s ol’ Mac Turner. He’s probably jest checkin’ on Wilma to make sure she ain’t cheatin’ on him again. She done two times already, you know, with that Smith fella. But she keeps singin’ her innocence.” Stella shook her head and took another puff on her Marlboro. “They’s both in the phil-a-telic club with Jer, ya know.”
I grinned to myself, hearing Stella say “philatelic.” She might overdose on hairspray, but the woman wasn’t dumb. Probably a lot of people were smarter than I gave them credit for.
“I didn’t know Jerry collects stamps.” I waved smoke away from my face and grimaced. “But who did you think was driving that car just now?”
Stella squinted in the direction of the road. “Nobody important. That ol’ Townshend kid.”
I drew back, bumping into Adam. “Who? Jim Bob?”
And this time both Adam and Stella wheeled around to look at me in astonishment.
“How do you know about Jim Bob?” Stella leaned closer, hand on her hefty hip. The cigarette between her fingers continued to send up a swirl of smoke.
“I don’t know much. Just what somebody told me at the office.” I shrugged lightly, not wanting to worry Adam. “Why would you think Jim Bob was driving that car?”
Stella coughed, a frown crinkling her lined forehead. “Well, it’s real funny. He’s been gone a long time now, years and years. But I could swear I saw him the other day, pickin’ up some meds from the pharmacy for his pappy. And his mama used to have a car kinda like that. Won it from some prize giveaway.”
“You actually saw Jim Bob here recently?” I choked out the words, my fingers growing cold on Adam’s arm. “In Staunton?”
“Well, yeah. Him an’ his folks lived up on that mountain over past Goshen, before he moved off to West Virginia or wherever. He checks on his pa ev’ry now and then, ya know. Seems like the ol’ fella’s havin’ some spells lately.”
“Oh.” I jutted my head back in surprise. “Well, he can’t be too bad of a guy if he’s taking care of his dad, I guess.”
“I reckon not.” Stella lifted her cigarette to her lips, turning again toward the street. “But he’s real funny. Don’t talk much to nobody. Heard he made it big-time in some business. Loads a money. Guess he thinks he’s too good for the likes of us.” She snorted, making her housedress shudder. “Ya’d think with all that money, though, he’d buy himself some hair.”
“Sorry?” I scrunched my brow.
“You know. Like from Hair Club for Men or somethin’. Guy’s had a receding hairline since high school. Big bald patch on the back. Don’t they make hair weaves or somethin’ nowadays?” She puffed. “I saw some kinda toupee on the shoppin’ channel the other day that’d suit him jest fine.”
Stella coughed again, and I jerked my head in her direction. “Stella. You really need to stop smoking.”
Up to now I’d minced around the subject Japanese-like, putting out humble little self-abasing suggestions, but Stella didn’t sound so good. Blame it on the buzzing streetlight along the road, but her complexion struck me as kind of green. Waxy.
I thought Adam would nudge me, but he nodded. “You do, Stella,” he said without hesitation. “That cigarette smoke is killing you. I can fix your peonies, but I sure can’t fix your lungs.”
We stood there in an awkward silence, which Stella only broke by coughing again and pounding on her chest. “Ya got me.” She grinned sheepishly, giving a deep wheeze. “I tried to quit before, ya know, but it always come back to bite me in the rear. Reckon it’s too late for this old dog to change her ways.”
“You’re not a dog. And it’s not too late.” I let go of Adam and put my arm through hers. “I’ll help you. Whatever it takes. Do this for me—for us—if you won’t do it for yourself. Please.”
Stella sized us both up. “What’s next? Ya’ll gonna try an’ git me religion, too?”
“You never know.” I bobbed my eyebrows. “I’d start with the smoking before you give us any more ideas.”
Stella shook her head and chuckled then put out her cigarette and ground it in the grass with her flip-flop.
“There’s one other thing about Jim Bob,” said Stella as we watched Adam’s truck back out of the driveway. The long day had run its course, and my eyes felt sticky from sleepiness. My forehead burned where Adam had kissed me, his lips warm against my skin.
“What about Jim Bob?” I said over my shoulder.
“I don’t know how he managed to make so much dough with that bum hand of his. Broke it jumpin’ off a barn roof or some such nonsense. He weren’t real smart, ya know. But he was good with precision stuff. Little bolts and lug nuts and whatnot. He used to work over at the mechanic’s shop. The one over on Greenville Avenue.”
Stella reached over her shoulder to scratch her back. “But he wasn’t much good with those li’l parts after the accident. Lost all the feeling in his right hand an’ broke the bones in six places. Never will be the same.”
She grunted and stretched. “Anyhow. I’ll see ya ’round. Need my beauty sleep.”
I hadn’t moved a muscle. Still stood there, staring at Stella as she waved and headed into the house, fidgeting with her now-cold lighter.
Bald. Cast on his hand.
And I turned and raced to the door, stumbling into Mom’s room and jerking open the trunk.
Snatching out her sheaf of unopened letters.
Chapter 14
There are some things I must tell you, even if you don’t want to speak to me,” Mom had written. I’d tried to read this letter before, the night I’d dug through her trunk for her transmission warranty, but choked up. Now I searched the lines again with my finger, perched on the edge of her bed.
I’m sure I’m overreacting, as I know I do. But I don’t want anything to affect you or your life because I didn’t tell you.
Affect me? What from Mom’s life could have possibly affected me back then?
I glanced at the date—just three months before Mom’s death. I’d been in Tokyo at that time, interviewing the Japanese prime minister and writing award-winning articles on the Nagasaki bombing. Schmoozing with the bigwigs of journalism and studying journalistic ethics online for
my master’s.
As far as I knew, Mom was simply on one of her desperate kicks to turn her life around and start over with me when she sent this slew of correspondence.
But as I read again, brows creasing, something dark began to lurk in the corner of my mind.
You’ll think I’m crazy, Shiloh, but hear me out. Have you ever, in all your wanderings, been to Staunton, Virginia?
The words hit me with surprising force, as if someone had thrown my glass of cold mugicha tea in my face.
What could Mom possibly have been talking about? When she died, I didn’t even know what state she lived in.
I jerked the letter closer, the crackle of paper echoing in the stillness of the bedroom.
I get the eerie feeling that someone in town knows you.
“Knows me?” I shouted, making Christie look up from her makeshift bed on the braided rug, head against my leg.
A bald guy with a sprained or broken right hand. Have you ever met him?
I threw my head back in surprise, nearly sliding off the bed.
Okay. Maybe “bald” is too strong a word. But he’s got really thin hair. He keeps it cut short, and you can see his scalp in a patch in the back. I don’t know his name.
Maybe you know him from college? Or one of your newspaper jobs in New York?
I keep telling myself that’s the answer—and surely there’s a simple explanation. But something inside me doesn’t sit right. I can’t explain why, but that’s the truth. He’s called twice asking to talk to you, and he knows you’re my daughter.
And he seems to expect that you’ll arrive here soon.
Every last ounce of energy slipped from my joints, and I had to reach up and shut my jaw with my hand.
A year and a half ago, and somebody had asked for me? Here? In redneck western Virginia?
Anyway, please call me. If this guy is indeed a friend of yours, I’d like to know it, and I’d be glad to put him in touch with you. But if not, then we really need to settle this right now because his manner is a little disturbing.
'Til Grits Do Us Part Page 14
