Out the door, she found Belinda again talking to Wadley Johnson. Emma paused long enough to shake his hand, too, and to decline the offer of lunch, clearly to Belinda’s disappointment. Then Emma was leading the way to the elevators. As they rode down, she thought of heading to the airport to go home, until Belinda, with a little bit of emphasis, reminded her that they did not leave until evening and, until then, were scheduled to shop.
Belinda also informed her that the man’s name was Wadley R. Johnson, and his family was the Johnsons of apparent fortune and fame made in tobacco. He was also Sylvia Kinney’s significant other.
“You found all that out in that short a time?”
“Sugar, people just talk to me. I can’t help it.”
When Wadley went into Sylvia’s office, she was looking out the window. She told him to go away, but he heard something strange in her voice. Being braver than he had ever felt—maybe after talking to Belinda Blaine, he vaguely thought—he asked, “What is it, Syl?”
She turned as if to yell at him, but then her face crumpled, and she threw herself onto him. “Oh, Wadley. Gracie’s all I have. I can’t lose her. What am I going to do?”
His reaction of astonishment was followed quickly by something near delight. At last this self-contained woman needed him. He held her, and stroked her hair and murmured to her, as he had long desired to do. Wadley was a man who cried, who had never expected himself to stay strong, and he always felt that his knowledge of emotion was something he could give to Sylvia, if she would ever let him.
He got her tissues, he sat her down, he told Miss Lenore they were not to be disturbed, and he told Sylvia to tell him all about it. She was so broken that she did.
Emma laid her head back against the airplane seat. “Well, for better or worse, I’m glad I made this trip.” The experience had given her something that she could not quite define.
“Do you think you changed her mind?” Belinda asked. She laid her head back on the seat, too.
“I don’t know. She didn’t seem like it. But have you ever had a strong feeling that you needed to do and say something? I just felt like I should come, and I’m glad I followed that feeling. I feel satisfied now.”
“I often have that feeling,” Belinda agreed, deciding not to mention that very often it got her into trouble. She kept an eye on the stewardess so as not to miss her opportunity to order wine.
Emma felt nervousness creeping up on her. Her mind had begun to whisper all manner of recriminations about how she had butted into her son’s affairs, and how there was definitely something not right when one felt the need to keep it secret. Her high emotion, which had carried her along, had begun bobbing, like a balloon when it began to lose helium.
That was the difficulty when caught up in high emotion. One rose up high, where there seemed no obstacles, but what went up had to come down, and then one could see many things that had not appeared before.
Beside her, Belinda had gotten her glass of wine and was sipping it happily. “I think we should take a trip like this at least once a year. Next time to New York, and I’ll pay.”
They arrived home in Valentine just before one in the morning.
Emma sat up in the car, taking in the streetlights, the old Blaine’s Drugstore sign on one side of Main Street and the brand new one shining forth from the Main Street Café’s window on the other, a woman in curlers and nightgown watering her bushes, a man walking his dog and two joggers taking advantage of the cooler night temperatures.
When Belinda turned into Emma’s driveway, Emma saw that the lights were on inside the house. Even before Belinda came to a stop, Emma was gathering her shopping bags. Then, my goodness, there was John Cole coming over to the car.
He said, “You’re home.”
Of course he would say something like that, and she was actually glad to hear the silly statement.
He veered away to the trunk Belinda had opened, calling a welcome to Belinda, then getting Emma’s suitcases—two now—and carrying them back to the house.
Emma waved Belinda away, then took up her shopping bags and walked toward the back door that John Cole held open. She heard the chirping of cicadas and nightbirds, ran her gaze over the dark shadows of the construction in the yard, the darker trees, the majesty of stars above, the yellow cat who sat near the back door.
Inside, the precious familiar scents and sights engulfed her. She stopped in the kitchen, while John Cole carried her cases on to the bedroom. She dropped her two bulging shopping bags to the floor and looked around, as one does, very glad to be home in this one place, in her life.
John Cole reappeared. She went to him and put her arms around his neck. “I am so glad to be home.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re home, too,” he said in a manner that touched her deeply.
They kissed then, long and passionately. When they broke apart, they looked into each other’s eyes. Then Emma, suddenly overwhelmed, dropped her forehead on his chest, while he rubbed her back. Slowly he turned her, and, with his arm supporting her, they walked down the hall to the bedroom, leaving the lights burning behind them.
She began undressing, and he went to get her robe from the closet. As she got ready for bed, she gave him a brief overview of her encounter of Sylvia Kinney. She told him that Sylvia Kinney was a beautiful woman, and cordial, but that she gave no indication that she would change her mind and approve of the marriage. “She’s a diplomat. She speaks but doesn’t really say anything.”
John Cole turned out the lights, and they crawled into bed. Curling into his shoulder, Emma said, “It doesn’t matter that she didn’t say anything. I was the one who had something to say. I extended a hand. That’s what I wanted to do.”
And then, with a great gratitude at being back where she belonged, she fell asleep.
This time it was John Cole who lay there staring up at the patterns in the ceiling, quite bewildered by the woman lying against him and by his own feelings of relief that she was once more with him and that she apparently had the family matters all straightened out and was happy again. He was finally accepting that he, a mere man, was never going to understand her, and certainly, he could not control her. He could give up that effort.
Emma, he thought, in a profound moment, was the nucleus of his entire universe. When she was happy, he and Johnny and everyone around her were happy. But most assuredly, when she began to shake, so went the ripples all around.
This provocative thought was something of a revelation. It came to him that a very smart thing for his own self-preservation might be to do what he could to keep Emma happy.
The following morning, Emma awoke to the startling fact that not only had she slept until well after nine o’clock, but John Cole was still in bed beside her.
She sat up abruptly to see him looking at her.
“What are you still doin’ in bed?” Then, anxious, “Do you feel all right?”
“I think so.” He scratched his head. “Do you?” He amazed her by snaking a hand around her waist and up onto her breast, and giving her the most amorous look that she had seen in quite some time.
After a moment of feeling shy, she responded by melting into his arms and throwing a leg over his in rising enthusiasm. Things proceeded in this improved and delightful manner until Johnny’s voice rang out through the house.
“Mama? Are you back here?”
Instantly, Emma jerked away, and literally vaulted over John Cole and out of the bed, racing into the bathroom, where, through the door, she heard, “Hi, Dad. I saw your truck. What are you doin’ here?”
To which John Cole replied, “I happen to live here.”
Johnny, as they discovered once they joined him in the kitchen, had come to tell them that Sylvia Kinney was flying down the following day. It took him a few minutes to get to this news. He clearly was distracted by the surprise at finding the parental unit, as he called them, having just gotten out of bed at such a late hour, most especially his father. Apparently realizing wh
at he might have interrupted, he apologized with shy embarrassment, and, as if perplexed, he said, “But, Dad, you’re never here at this time in the mornin’.”
“I’ve been here for weeks, workin’ on the pool,” John Cole responded. He seemed to want to make a point of his presence by not leaving the kitchen to get dressed but remaining in his pajama pants and waiting impatiently for coffee from the maker.
Quite eager to enjoy both of her men for breakfast, a phrase that caused her to smile, Emma got them set down at the table. While she popped frozen sausages and cinnamon rolls into the microwave oven, and poured cups of coffee, Johnny gave them the news of Gracie’s mother’s upcoming visit.
“Oh?” Emma met John Cole’s eyes and pulled tight the belt of her robe.
“Yeah. She’s flyin’ down in her boyfriend’s private jet. He’s some big rich guy, I guess. Gracie says he’s a pretty good guy. Anyway, Gracie and her mom had a pretty good talk last night, and her mom said she would fly out tomorrow.”
“Well, that is good news.”
Holding her mug in both hands, Emma gazed with all attentiveness at her son, as he related that it appeared Gracie’s mother was willing to give her approval of the marriage. He was excited to say this. He looked like a boy all filled with hope.
“Mom, would you mind havin’ them out for Sunday dinner?” he asked with eagerness.
“Of course, sweetheart,” was her instant reply, and she got a tablet straight away in order to plan the menu.
She was about to ask John Cole if he would want to barbeque steaks when she looked around and saw him walking out of the room. Without a word.
A few hours later, Emma was just hanging up the kitchen phone when John Cole came in the back door. She told him, “One of Stella’s Merry Males is comin’ in half an hour. I said for him to use the front door, so don’t get all excited when you see a strange man in the house. Where’s my list?”
She was moving at great speed, keeping just one step ahead of the worrisome thought of coming face-to-face again with Sylvia Kinney. It was true about subterfuge—it grew all by itself. There had been a time for total disclosure, but that had passed when she did not tell Johnny about visiting Sylvia, and apparently Sylvia had not told Gracie. Perhaps the woman was waiting to make a scene in front of everyone.
Emma was vibrating at so high a pitch with all of these thoughts that she was only vaguely aware that John Cole had not gone to the refrigerator, as she had expected, but lingered near the end of the counter.
He said, “There’s somethin’ I forgot to tell you.”
Hands in her purse, she paused.
“Pop and Charlie J. and Joella are comin’ tonight.”
She stared at him. “They are?”
They were, John Cole confirmed. “They’re staying through till Monday. Pop wants to meet Gracie, and Lloyd’s not travelin’ with the rodeo this summer, so they felt they could leave the store in his hands. They called last night, before you got home.”
“Didn’t you tell them about the bridal-shower barbeque? We’re havin’ it for everyone to meet Gracie.” She thought maybe she could catch them before they left and could explain.
“It’s my dad, Emma. He wants to come now.”
“Oh, of course.” She knew Pop Berry, and she regretted her tone. They were family, she thought, seeing John Cole regarding her helplessly. She picked up her pen to jot notes on her list. “I’d better make it ham for Sunday for your daddy and Charlie J…. and some beans, too.”
She started to mention hoping Joella was still on the wagon, but held her tongue. John Cole looked a little forlorn. She smiled and gave him a hug. “It will be real nice,” she said, and he looked a little better.
Two hours later, when she returned from shopping, her father-in-law’s Suburban was in the driveway. Pop and Charlie J., in their starched white shirts and straw cowboy hats, were standing in the yard with John Cole, telling him everything the builder was doing wrong with the pool. Joella sat in the shade, fanning herself with a magazine and drinking a Coke. When Emma went over to give her sister-in-law a hug and smelled her breath, she knew it was a beer in an insulator sleeve with a Coca-Cola emblem.
When John Cole asked what was for supper, Emma said they were all going to the Main Street Café, and she called her mother and Johnny and told them to join them. It was not a request. They came, and Johnny charmed his Grandpop and Uncle Charlie J., who both adored him, and Emma’s mother chatted happily away with Joella, who fanned herself with a menu and nodded a lot. Emma and John Cole sat close together, holding hands and wondering at themselves for coming from these, their very own people.
Emma, standing in the dark yard amid the pool construction, looked back at the house, where lights glowed. Through the wide window into the family room, she saw Pop and Charlie J. firmly planted and staring at the television, which she could faintly hear. Through the screen porch and glass door into the kitchen, she saw Joella, glass in hand, come dancing past with an imaginary partner, no doubt to music from the radio on the counter.
A light came on in their bedroom, behind the layers of sheers. Likely that was John Cole.
Emma looked around for a tree to hug, but those of good size were farther out in the pitch-black yard. She did not want to chance stepping on a snake. She looked upward at the beautiful moon and stars. It was wonderful where they lived, with no lights to crowd out the stars.
If only one could have such a view of one’s life, she thought.
Just then something touched her ankle. She jumped and let out a gasp.
It was the yellow cat.
“Oh, you.” She bent to pet it.
There came a sound from the house—the sliding door of their bedroom opened. “Emma?”
“Over here.”
She watched his shadowy figure come agilely around the dirt and construction. “What are you doin’ out here?” he asked.
“Oh…I came out here to hug the old elm, but now it’s gone.”
“Ah.”
“I wish I would have thought of that before the pool.”
He said nothing. What was there to be said?
Then he commented on the bright stars, and how Valentine threw off a lot more light than when they had moved there, and did she remember what it used to look like? She agreed with it all.
Finally she said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do when Sylvia Kinney shows up. I hope it goes okay.”
“It probably will.”
“I guess I’ve made a mess of things by goin’ up to see her and not sayin’ anything about it. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything for Johnny.”
John Cole’s arm came around her. “You haven’t ruined anything. It doesn’t look like she’s said anything, either.”
“She might wait until she gets here to tell Gracie in person.”
“If she does, you’ll handle it. At least you got her out here. You can look at it like that. It’s goin’ to be okay.”
He squeezed her close, and she laid her head on his shoulder. They stood there for some minutes, until mosquitoes drove them inside. Mosquitoes always bit John Cole. He was a magnet for them. As long as he was there, mosquitoes would not bite Emma.
19
The Out-of-Towners
Sylvia gazed out the window of Wadley’s private jet. It banked for a turn, and for an instant the sunlight reflected off the wing. She squinted, even behind her dark glasses. She felt as if her entire body was one big squint.
“Phil says that’s Valentine down there. He’s making a curve, so we can see it,” said Wadley, who slipped down beside her.
Far below, the earth looked like a patchwork quilt, as if someone had drawn and colored it in shades of green and brown.
“There…where that blue water tower is sticking up.” Wadley pointed.
Sylvia peered hard, not really knowing what she was looking for. The town was a cluster of trees and buildings. One main street, it appeared. Vehicles, like little toys, were moving on the r
oads. Everything looked perfectly tidy and clean. From a distance things always looked so perfect. One could not see the grime and potholes and crumbling.
Thinking of seeing Gracie, she felt frightened and sat back from the window so fast that she bumped Wadley. He took her hand and told her it was all going to be fine.
“You’re going to tell her, and you’ll see that it all turns out just fine.”
She said, “You sound like a broken record. I wish I had never told you.”
He gave her an encouraging look and squeezed her hand, and she felt worse because of how she’d spoken to him. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, but what came out was, “When she finds out that I have not told her all these years, she will never forgive me.”
“Yes, she will. She’s your daughter. She doesn’t have a choice. Have you had a choice with your parents? Children have to put up with parents who keep coming around. It’s the law.”
She sighed. After a minute, with eyes closed she said, “Wadley.”
“Yes?”
“I cannot imagine how you put up with me…but I thank you for…everything.”
He kissed her.
Some fifteen minutes later, they had landed and were taxiing toward a private hangar. Sylvia peered again through the window and thought everything seemed so f lat, and empty.
The plane stopped, the steward lowered the door, and the stairs were put in place. Sylvia stepped outside and said, “Good God.” It was like stepping into a convection oven with glaring thousand-watt bulbs. Even behind her sunglasses, she squinted again as she went down the stairs. Upon reaching the ground, she looked up to see Gracie hurrying toward her.
“Mother!”
“Gracie?” She had not expected this. Johnny was beside her daughter. Why did he have to be here? She touched her cheek to that of her daughter and blinked back surprising tears.
“I know Wadley has a car waiting, but we came to welcome you,” said Gracie.
Oh, she looked beautiful.
Chin Up, Honey Page 17
