by Susan Lewis
She clung to his legs so tightly and hysterically as he made to get into the car that he swept her up in his arms and whispered a secret in her ear.
Lula liked secrets, even though she wasn’t all that good at keeping them.
She managed to hold on to this one for a week before finally confiding to Justine that Uncle Rob had promised to come back at Christmas with Auntie Maggie and her cousin Francine, whose birthday was on Christmas Eve. Francine was going to be twenty.
A year older than Abby …
Don’t go there. Don’t even think it.
She hoped to God Rob meant to keep to his word, because Lula was already marking off the days on a calendar. He’d said in a recent email that he would, so she mustn’t doubt him.
Lula was unhappy this morning because she’d insisted on calling Uncle Rob and Daddy before leaving the house and had got bumped to voicemail both times.
“What do you want to talk to them about?” Justine asked as they were about to get into the car to drive to day care,
“I want to tell them that we had another mummy deer in the garden with two babies,” Lula answered miserably. “And there were rabbits, and we heard an owl last night.”
Relief released a few tight bands in Justine’s heart. At least she hadn’t wanted to beg them to come and get her, or to make Mummy take her home.
Where was home for Lula now?
Surely it had to be here.
“Of course you do,” she smiled, helping her climb into the car, “and they’ll want to hear all about it when they ring back.”
Since Lula had nothing to say to that, Justine got into the driver’s seat and started toward the lake. A fine mist was swirling gently over its sunlit surface, masking the distant opposite banks where the Academies would already be in full swing, and shrouding the small jetty where she, Rob, and Lula had often picnicked on summer evenings while watching the sun go down.
Aware of a car closing in behind her, she waved to Tamsin, one of her neighbors, and turned left toward town. Tamsin hooted and waved back as she headed off right—she was making drapes for the owners of a newly built house farther along South Shore Drive close to the Venetian Village.
There were so many treasures around these shores, architectural, historical, natural, even mystical…
“Mummy?”
“Yes?”
“Can we sing a song?”
As the words echoed from the past, causing a harsh burn in her heart, Justine smiled and said, “Of course. Which one would you like?”
Lula pouted her lips and wrinkled her nose as she thought—an expression that was all her own. “I know,” she declared, and she promptly began in a sweet, tuneful little voice that drew up so many memories that Justine found it hard to breathe.
Abby had loved to sing.
“Jesus loves the little children, All the children of the world, Red and yellow …Mummy, you’re not singing.”
Obediently Justine joined in and kept going even when Lula missed the words, not focusing on their familiarity or meaning, but making herself register everything they were passing instead: the town cemetery with its gray headstones and clusters of flowers honoring the dead; cornfields with towering stalks almost ready for harvest; the Garden Court and Culver Bible Church; Wabash, Tampa, and Davis Streets, where some of Lula’s friends lived; until eventually they reached the Evil Czech Brewery, where they turned onto South Main and Lula suddenly shouted the last line, “Jesus came to save the children of the world.”
“Well done,” Justine praised, hardly knowing how she was getting the words past the dryness in her throat.
Jesus came to save the children of the world.
Bitterness would never help her to heal; she had to quash it, deny it, damn it, and be rid of it.
What would Matt say if he knew Lula was going to Christian day care?
Considering where they were, he must have guessed it would happen.
They’d never been religious, had never gone to services apart from attending various weddings or christenings, bat/bar mitzvahs, or other such milestones in a friend’s or child’s journey through life.
Maybe not having a God was where they’d gone wrong.
“Mummy! Mummy! Look!” Lula suddenly cried, jumping up in her seat as they slowed to cross Madison Street, where the sunflowers soaring grandly outside the B & B were starting to fade. “What’s that in Café Max?”
Pulling up outside Civvies, the clothing store, so they could get a good look across the street to the café, Justine started to smile. Two banjo-playing skeletons with flashing eyes, mechanical jaws, and swiveling heads were, presumably, chanting hillbilly songs in the front window. Halloween might be six weeks away, but most of the businesses in town were decorating already.
“They’re silly,” Lula laughed delightedly. “I wonder if they have names.”
“You can ask Hazel when you get to nursery,” Justine told her. “We should go now or we’ll be late.”
“We mustn’t be late,” Lula murmured as Justine waved to Naomi, the owner of Diva, another clothing store, this one a couple of doors along from the café, and one of Justine’s favorite places to buy unusual jewelry, housewares, and gifts.
All told, there couldn’t have been more than a dozen shops in the heart of downtown; most were on Main Street between Madison and Jefferson, with the Corndance Café, Café Max, Fisher & Company, and Diva among those on the west side, and a closed-down hardware store, Civvies, Gail’s, which was a kind of New Age emporium, and the Culver Museum and Gift Shop among those on the east side. Farther along, running north of Jefferson, were the bank, library, and gas station, while tucked in behind the main drag were the CVS drugstore, Hammer’s auto repair shop, a post office, a florist, the police station, the VFW hall, and a dry cleaner.
Running in each direction for several blocks from this heart of Culver were row upon row of uniformly laid-out residential streets, with an almost Stepford-like quality to their perfection. Every house was detached, and while some had white picket fences marking their borders, others had glassed-in porches, making them useable year round, and a few could boast grand-looking gazebos or integral garages. What every single one of them had, no matter the condition or size of the house, was an exquisitely kept lawn that flowed seamlessly into their neighbor’s lawn, creating the illusion of a vast and lovingly shared garden that went on for block after block, with very little sign of neglect to break the lull of precision.
Suddenly finding herself outside St. Mary of the Lake Catholic church, Justine realized she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere—not an easy thing to do in such a small town and on a journey she’d made several times by now. It didn’t matter; with everything following a grid system, she’d soon end up where she needed to be. Driving on along Lewis, where grinning pumpkins and corn husks were already in evidence on some porches and pathways, she finally reached the Methodist church, where small children were skipping or dawdling into the day care ministry.
After signing Lula in and storing her jacket and lunchbox in her cubbie, Justine went down to her daughter’s height for a kiss. “Are you going to be all right?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Lula whispered back. “Are you?”
Smiling, Justine nodded. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Lula cried. “Can I go and see if Hazel and Rochelle are here?”
“Of course. Off you go.”
Apparently suddenly thinking of something, Lula stopped and turned back.
“What is it?” Justine prompted.
Keeping her voice low, Lula said, “Rochelle’s brother is called Ben.”
As the name seared the wounds inside her, Justine said hoarsely, “Is that so?”
Lula nodded. “Like our Ben, but he’s just a baby.”
Justine swallowed. She could find no words, but as Lula went to break away she quickly held on to her. “Did you tell Rochelle you have a brother called Ben?”
Lula’s eyes grew wide as s
he shook her head. “No, I never said anything,” she promised, a hand on her heart.
Hugging her close so she wouldn’t see the tears, Justine said, “That’s my girl. You run along now. I’ll be back for you at three.”
Half an hour later, after detouring to the liquor store at the top end of town, Justine let herself into Café Max, feeling profoundly thankful that she had somewhere to go and someone to meet, even though Sallie Jo had texted a few minutes ago to say she was running late. New listing on Academy Road, owner hard of hearing so taking longer than expected.
The café, with its deliciously welcoming smells of breakfasts cooking and friendly hum of chatter, was divided into two halves, side by side, with the entry half consisting of the reception desk, Sallie Jo’s real estate racks, a large stone fireplace, and, for the next few weeks at least, the Halloween banjo players, while the other half was home to cozy banquettes and tables, a magnificent quartersawn oak bar that Sallie Jo had had shipped all the way from Florida, and, hidden from view, the kitchens.
Marly, one of the regular servers, greeted her warmly and showed her through to the bar’s window table, where another server was already waiting to pour her a coffee.
“Let me guess,” Marly said with a twinkle, opening up her notepad, “a Lean Machine breakfast with extra fruit on the side.”
Justine smiled. “I’ll pass on the extra fruit this morning,” she replied. “Just the oatmeal pancake, blueberries, and banana.”
“Coming up,” Marly assured her, and with a playful little twirl she started toward the kitchens before being waylaid by more new arrivals, a couple of long-bearded men in overalls and wide-brimmed straw hats. Mennonite builders, Justine had been told a while ago, who apparently enjoyed more freedoms, such as breakfasting in a café, than their Amish compatriots.
Left alone, Justine flicked idly through the menu, feeling tempted, as she often was, by the savory omelettes and quesadillas. However, she was only too aware of how easy it would be to gain weight given the size of the portions. Not that Café Max overdid it especially, and she had to admit she’d seen very few obese people in Culver; she just didn’t want to get into a habit she might not be able to break.
As she set aside the menu she took out her phone to see if there were any more messages from Sallie Jo.
Nothing so far.
Since Rob had gone she’d started to worry about how dependent she was becoming on Sallie Jo. She’d even mentioned it a few evenings ago while she and her friend were drinking wine around the fire pit in Sallie Jo’s garden, over on Lakeview, while the girls played hospital in Hazel’s bedroom.
“It’s only natural to lean on someone when you’re new to a place,” Sallie Jo had reminded her, “and I promise I’m not having a problem with it. I enjoy your company, all the girls do, and I guess I’m just someone who likes to be helpful.”
“You’re definitely that,” Justine assured her wryly, while wondering how anyone could enjoy her company when she was such a withdrawn version of who she used to be. And it wasn’t as if Sallie Jo didn’t have plenty of friends, because she certainly did, most of them female—other business owners from around town, teachers at the high school and Academies, divorced or widowed women who lived beside or near the lake. She really didn’t have any shortage of company, nor was she ever anything other than generous when it came to including Justine.
Refilling their glasses, Sallie Jo had gone on to say, “I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up, but I kinda feel the need to apologize for what Hazel said to Lula about her daddy, back when Rob was here.”
Justine’s heart twisted.
“I know you probably think she was repeating something I said,” Sallie Jo pressed on, “but you have my word that she didn’t get it from me.”
“I didn’t think so…”
“I spoke to her after and she tells me she heard a couple of women talking in the Culver Coffee Company when she was there with a friend and her mother.”
Knowing it wasn’t only heat from the fire that was burning her face, Justine said, “I understand that people are curious, but I can assure you Lula does have a father who loves her very much and who misses her even more than she misses him.”
Putting down her glass, Sallie Jo said, “I can see this is painful for you, so why don’t we change the subject? I just wanted you to know that I have not been speculating about you with others.”
“I don’t blame them, they’re human.”
“Of course, and like most of the rest of the world, they want custody of the ins and outs of everyone’s story. They’re particularly intrigued to know why anyone would choose Culver to start a new life. It’s like they’re hoping you might know something they don’t, or maybe they think your choice somehow validates their own reasons for being here—you tell me what goes on in their heads. I just want you to be sure that I don’t believe everyone else’s business has to be mine, or that mine should belong to anyone apart from those I choose to share it with. We all have things we’d rather keep private, and it’s our right to do that. But just in case, you might like to know that I’m a very good listener, and anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m totally discreet.”
Though Justine didn’t doubt it for a moment, and though she would have loved, in those moments, to try purging herself of at least some of the terrible guilt and grief in her heart, she knew she never would. It would change everything between them; Sallie Jo simply wouldn’t be able to see her as the same person again, and she didn’t have the courage to jeopardize their friendship. It meant too much to her. As it was to escape her past that she’d come to Culver, admitting to it would be almost the same as bringing it with her.
It would get easier over time, she kept telling herself. As she made more inroads into building a new life for her and Lula, the past would be left behind, while Culver, and everything they were already coming to love about it, would become the focus of the future. She mustn’t forget that only eight weeks had passed since her arrival, which really wasn’t any time at all. And actually, she already accepted, on an intellectual level at least, that this was home now. In fact, even on a deeper, more spiritual level, she had to admit that there were moments, usually when she was at the lake, that she came close to feeling at peace, an accomplishment she hadn’t achieved anywhere in England since leaving Chippingly.
So perhaps she really did belong here with her fellow Americans and the ghost of a grandmother she barely remembered. A grandmother whose name had stirred up some sort of memory for the mechanic at Hammer’s, and for the woman who’d come calling from the Catholic church. And now she’d had her own strange encounter, just last evening, with Billy Jakes, whose trailer and barns were at the far side of the woods behind their house. Sallie Jo and others had already warned her that Billy wasn’t quite right in the head. Not that she had anything to fear from him, they’d assured her; it was simply that his claim of ownership to a dozen or more of the corn and soybean fields surrounding the town had him at constant odds with many of his neighbors, particularly the farmers.
“Your name Cantrell?” he’d shouted from his truck last night, startling Justine as she came out onto the porch to water the plants. He was at the gap in the hedge, staring fiercely in her direction. She wondered, with a stir of unease, how long he’d been there. Though he wasn’t an old man, exactly, probably fifty or so, the grayness of his lank, greasy hair and ragged beard made him seem vaguely decrepit and creepy.
“Yes, it is,” she’d called back, wondering if she should go over to him.
“Related to May Cantrell?”
“She was my grandmother. Did you know her?”
“No,” he replied shortly. Putting his foot on the gas, he’d promptly disappeared.
Recalling the encounter now, she made a mental note to share it with Sallie Jo when she arrived. Not that she expected Sallie Jo to have any idea what Billy Jakes might be keeping to himself; it was simply that the eccentricity of his behavior would probably a
muse her the way it had Justine—after he’d gone.
Picking up her coffee, she sighed quietly to herself and gazed around the café’s wood-paneled walls, where every imaginable piece of Culver memorabilia was hanging. There was everything from class photos dating as far back as the fifties to vintage football jerseys from the high school and Academies, trophies from Culver’s many sporting victories dating back to the twenties, and even a horseshoe from Barack Obama’s presidential inauguration hanging over the fireplace. It almost did a better job than the local museum of evoking the town’s past, a fact Sallie Jo was extremely proud of, since her time elsewhere in the country hadn’t in any way altered the fact that she was a Culver girl at heart.
On way. Be there in 10, Sallie Jo texted.
Since there was no such thing as heavy traffic in Culver unless getting caught behind a harvester on the country roads counted, Justine decided to use the time going through some of Sallie Jo’s property listings. She’d have to buy somewhere sooner or later, so it wouldn’t hurt to find out what sort of home she could afford.
As she brought the latest Homes & Life Styles magazine back to the table, she spotted David Clifton, the local newspaper editor, outside chatting with Toby Henshaw, the craggy-faced, football-crazy chief of the Culver Police Department.
Sallie Jo’s little fan club, she’d tease if Sallie Jo were there, since it was widely known that Toby with all his gruff manliness, and old-fashioned views on a woman’s place, had a soft spot for the glamorous café owner.
Were she in Sallie Jo’s shoes Justine knew that she too would be more attracted to David, not only because he was single—widowed, in fact—and without kids, but because with his messy dark hair, sleepy gray eyes and winning smile he was very like Matt. Which was the reason, she quickly reminded herself, that catching sight of him unexpectedly had caused her heart to flip.
