He rotated to warm his other side. “You never could forgive people, Lynda.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she snapped. “After what they did to you? Twenty years of it, and you’re willing to forgive them?”
Clyde swallowed hard. “I know you’ve had a hard time, and people treated you bad, but they weren’t the ones who soured your life. You did that by yourself.”
She lifted her eyebrows and blinked at him.
“Aw, Lynda …” He laughed softly as he rose and stepped to the door. “I’ll be seeing you in town.” Then he was gone.
I diverted my gaze from Momma as my problems faded into triviality. Clyde’s story outweighed my dating troubles with Dodd, or my edginess around JohnScott, or even Fawn’s untimely pregnancy.
Momma dragged herself off the couch, replaced the pillow by the door, then plopped on the hardwood next to me.
We gazed into the fire, and I sorted through the information she had dumped on me. Strange. Momma didn’t often tell me about the past, and it occurred to me she felt more secure speaking about someone else’s memories than her own.
A question nagged at my brain, but I feared she would shut down again or, worse, get angry. The more I thought about it, though, the more my curiosity itched.
“Momma?”
“I know what you’re going to ask me,” she said quickly.
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye.
“I ought to tell you it’s none of your business, except of course, it is.” Her face flushed, but then she shook her head as though to settle into her typical bland numbness. “Don’t worry about it, Ruth Ann. You’re better off not knowing the details.”
I clasped my hands together, willing them not to shake. “Tell me what happened.”
But Momma only answered by jabbing the fire, taking out her frustration on the red-hot coals.
Chapter Forty-Two
In town the next week, I viewed each person in a different light and caught myself classifying them as those who might know about Clyde and those who did not. Older people would have known, but not the Cunninghams. Probably not JohnScott. Definitely not Maria. But what about Fawn?
Such a heavy secret caused me to ponder life in general, and surprisingly, I found myself overwhelmed with sympathy. This newfound emotion manifested itself in mercy for Clyde because of the injustice of it all, but occasionally my thoughts landed on Fawn and her predicament. If I dwelt on her for more than a few moments, I felt shame at my attitude over the past two weeks. Perhaps hardship acted as an equalizer.
Fawn’s mother transformed much more dramatically than I did. She showed up in the school office one afternoon, awkwardly pulling a couple of wheeled suitcases behind her. When she asked if I could deliver the clothing to the Picketts’ house, I grudgingly agreed but wondered why she didn’t do it herself. Apparently Mrs. Blaylock had enough heart to give her daughter a wardrobe but not enough gumption to stand up to her husband.
After school, JohnScott loaded the luggage into the back of his truck and asked if I had time to go to the Dairy Queen before my shift at the grocery store. He explained that Fawn planned to meet him there because she needed to get out of the house for a spell. I inwardly cringed, but since I’d discovered the evil surrounding Clyde’s verdict, I had become more charitable toward my family, and I realized how I took my cousin for granted. It was high time I started acting like a grown-up. I called the store manager and asked to come in thirty minutes late.
“So, what’s your take on Fawn now?” I asked as we sat at the sticky Dairy Queen table.
He shrugged. “She’s definitely still a Blaylock, but she’s in a pickle, and I don’t mind helping.”
I smiled at his words. “How is she getting to the Dairy Queen?” I asked. “She has no car.”
He shrugged. “Mom’s Chevy.”
“Fawn Blaylock is driving Aunt Velma’s old tank?”
“I know,” he admitted. “Doesn’t really fit, does it?”
I giggled when I looked out the window and saw Fawn in the Chevy, but honestly she didn’t look as out of place as I had imagined. Maybe because she still wore my aunt’s recycled wind suit, but she also toned down her makeup so she looked more like a real person than a plastic doll. The effect made her more approachable, but at the same time, more vulnerable.
“Why do we eat ice cream when it’s cold outside?” JohnScott mused as the three of us picked at our desserts and tried to act normal.
Fawn set down her caramel sundae and breathed into her folded hands. “At least we had sunshine today.”
I tried to sound normal, but my words still came out in a tumble. “We almost hit fifty degrees yesterday.”
“Oh, of course,” JohnScott said. “It’s perfect weather for ice cream.”
I sensed the conversation stilting. They were keeping things light because of me, but we could only talk about the weather for so long.
Fawn looked apologetic. “I heard you and Dodd are taking a break.”
“Probably longer than a break.”
“You seemed good together.”
I scanned the parking lot. “Things aren’t always what they appear.”
“Tell me about it.” She poked a plastic spoon into her ice cream. “I can’t help but think you and Dodd had a misunderstanding.”
I smiled at the irony of her words, since she represented our biggest disagreement, and Dodd would be thrilled to see me befriending her. I shrugged. “It’s not worth the trouble. I’ll be at Tech soon.” She needn’t know my plans were currently on hold again because of Momma.
“Lubbock is only an hour from here, Ruthie. Dodd could visit on weekends.”
JohnScott wadded his paper napkin. “It’s not about the school. It’s about the church.”
Fawn’s expression fell blank, and the silence that followed was filled with the sizzle of french fries being lowered into hot oil.
I picked a chunk of chocolate off my dipped cone.
“Can I ask you something?” Fawn said softly. “Why did you stop attending church in the first place? Was it just too hard without your dad?”
Chill bumps crept up my back and across my scalp. “You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
JohnScott crunched his cone between his front teeth and answered while he chewed. “Well, sure. Your church practically kicked Ruthie and Aunt Lynda out.”
“Kicked them out?” Fawn looked between the two of us, her gaze landing on me. “So your mother had an—” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
The chill bumps that so recently had formed on my skin flared into angry heat, because labeling conflict as none of her business was cowardly. “Well, Fawn, apparently the rest of the congregation thought so too, because none of them asked Momma about it.”
My subtle remark sailed over her head. She had the same expression on her face as when she worked calculus problems back in high school, and I realized how little she knew about what happened back then. I released a breath, letting air smooth across my lips like a chain-smoker. While bitterness hovered around me in a smoky haze, I wiped my eyes to keep them from burning.
“It’s been different since the Cunninghams moved here.” I thought of Emily Sanders’s peculiar behavior. “But I’m not sure it’s any different for Momma.”
“But they wouldn’t do that unless—”
“Oh, Fawn, think about it. You know everybody in town. Who would Momma have an affair with?”
Her eyebrows slowly rose as the solution to the calculus problem came into focus. “Then why?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out for thirteen years, but Momma won’t talk about it.”
“I never knew.” Fawn gazed at the tabletop, as though not seeing it. “I remember Mother telling me I couldn’t be your friend anymore because
Lynda decided not to go to church. She made it sound like your mom had done something bad.” She lowered her voice and peered at me. “I was seven, Ruthie. I’m sorry.”
My milkshake was melting, and I swirled my straw through it as I brooded on what to say to her. It’s all right. No big deal. Don’t worry about it. Was that what she expected? JohnScott cleared his throat—a simple sound, but the equivalent of anyone else screaming a reprimand. I debated punching him in the ear. Wasn’t it enough that I was here at all?
The electronic mechanism above the door beeped, and Milla and Grady entered the restaurant. An intense fight-or-flight instinct came over me, but I rooted myself to my seat. I could handle this. At least they distracted Fawn from our trip down memory lane.
“How are you feeling, Fawn?” Milla touched my shoulder but otherwise gave me a fair amount of space as she pulled up a chair.
“Good,” Fawn said. “I have another appointment with Dr. Tubbs tomorrow.”
“How’s everything else?” asked Grady.
She lifted a shoulder. “Emily still calls me—even more than usual—but most people are keeping their distance. Maybe they don’t know what to say.”
JohnScott shot his napkin into a trash can several yards away. “Don’t take it personal. You know people in this town are persnickety.”
A million snarky comments came to mind, but I kept my mouth shut.
“I’ve thought the same thing,” Grady said, “but then someone will come forward with a penitent heart, sorry for something they’ve said or done.” His voice softened. “I can’t help but think God’s working here.”
Milla rested her chin on her palm. “The other day, a friend called and asked me to pray for her. When people openly refer to their prayer lives, they’re usually living what they preach.”
Frustration picked at my nerves. God … prayer … such soft, fuzzy explanations. Fawn’s life lay shattered in pieces all around her, and they had the nerve to suggest the church might practice what they preached. I felt like pounding my fists against my skull, or shaking Milla by the shoulders, or simply curling into a ball until all this conflict had passed.
But Momma had already tried that. And it hadn’t worked.
Fawn’s gaze fell to her sundae, where the caramel swam through the melted ice cream like swirling mud.
Milla touched her hand. “I talked to your mother. She’s worried sick and wants to call, but—”
“Dad won’t let her.”
“Yes, well … she also mentioned Tyler.”
Fawn tensed. “And?”
“Your mother called him.”
“Of course. It’s all right for her to call Tyler.”
Milla tilted her head to the side and bit her bottom lip. “He denied the baby is his.”
Fawn’s face paled, but she didn’t comment, didn’t really seem surprised.
JohnScott leaned forward. “Can the doctor do a test or something to prove Tyler is the father?”
Milla nodded, but Fawn shook her head wearily. “I don’t want him in my life anyway. Is that awful of me?”
“You don’t have to figure it out today.” Milla patted her arm. “Those questions can be answered months from now. Like the Scriptures say, each day has enough trouble of its own.”
That’s for sure.
Grady’s attention shifted to the back corner of the dining room, and he lifted his chin in a greeting. “How you doing?”
Clyde, filling the napkin dispenser two tables over, nodded. “Fine. You?”
“Not bad.”
I speculated whether the four people sitting in front of me had any idea about Clyde and the scandal surrounding his imprisonment.
“How do you like your new job?” Milla asked.
Clyde moved to the next table and tore open a package of napkins. “It’s a paycheck.”
“Do you get free food?” Grady motioned for him to join us.
“I do.” He stepped as far as the table next to ours and shoved a stack of napkins into the spring-loaded holder. “Though after cooking all day, it’s not as good as it sounds.”
“Free ice cream would make it worth it.” Grady rubbed his stomach.
“Sure enough. That part’s nice.”
My chest ached out of pity for him. I’d always wished no one knew my business, but Clyde made me wonder if that would be more of a curse.
The door beeped again, and JohnScott pushed his chair back briskly. “Time to go.”
His abruptness startled me, and I frowned at my cousin’s rudeness, but Clyde only shuffled away to work on his napkins. Milla, in contrast, put her arm around Fawn, and Grady thrust out his chin, eyeing the front counter.
I followed his gaze, and my nerves turned to granite. Neil Blaylock gazed at the lighted menu on the wall, calmly placing his order as if he were the only customer in the place.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Your mother dated Neil Blaylock?” Maria’s mouth hung open in surprise.
“Creepy, huh?” We met in the gym for Friday night’s basketball game against Ballinger. Grady had played a few minutes of the game, and JohnScott and Dodd sat on the bench, assisting the head basketball coach.
Maria’s face furrowed. “I can’t picture your mother with Neil. Did you ask her about it?”
“Even better, I asked Aunt Velma.”
“And?”
Dodd glanced casually into the stands, his eyes searching, and I waited until he turned away.
“She said they dated in high school, and it lasted a couple years after they graduated.”
“What happened?”
“Neil broke up with her.” And Momma had been heartbroken for months after, but I left out that part, since I was none too proud of it.
Maria lowered her head, obviously not as concerned with Momma’s past as she was with my present. “Dodd Cunningham has been looking at you for the entire game.”
I had already noticed, but I chose to ignore him along with Maria’s comment. When the final buzzer sounded, I stood. “Want a Coke?”
“Dr Pepper.”
“Let’s go.”
Maria could easily be distracted with food and drink, but of course she was right. As much as I hated to admit it, every time Dodd turned around, my insides leaped like a large-mouth bass at Lake Alan Henry, but then reality splashed into the depths of the cold, dark water, suffocating me.
Because things couldn’t work out between Dodd and me. They just couldn’t.
The soft-drink machine lay in a broad hallway leading to the locker rooms, and fans and players congregated there after games. Maria and I were retrieving our drinks when JohnScott came up behind us. He nudged me with his elbow. “Ruthie, give me a drink.”
“Get your own.”
“I don’t have a dollar.”
“Okay, but just one sip.”
He nodded, then chugged my Dr Pepper like a desert dweller.
“Stop it.” I laughed.
He shook the can and handed it back. “There you go, little cousin. I left you a sip like you said.”
“It’s all spit now.”
JohnScott’s banter soothed my nerves like soft music, and I punched him in the chest. I had missed him.
His gaze swept over my head. “Dodd, want the last of Ruthie’s D.P.?”
I didn’t hear Dodd answer because Maria crooned in my ear, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Stare-at-Ruthie.”
“I’ll take it,” Grady called. “I’m parched.”
JohnScott took the can from me, swept it out of my reach, and handed it to Grady.
“It’s empty, Ruthie,” Grady complained. “Why would you offer me an empty drink? I’m appalled.” He tilted his head back and let the last few drops of liquid fall into his mouth. “Ruthie-the-checker-girl, did I just drink your spit?”
“No, JohnScott’s.” I dragged the words out, enjoying the look on Grady’s face.
He froze for a split second, then threw his arms around my cousin. “We’re blood brothers now, Coach Pickett.”
We wandered into the parking lot, where the frigid air took my breath away. JohnScott looped his arm around my neck, making it easier for me to ignore Dodd. “Need a ride home, little cousin?”
“I rode with Maria.”
“Ms. Fuentes, I’ll take Ruthie home, ’kay?”
“Sure thing, Coach. I’ll see you both on Monday.”
Tension slid from my shoulders, and I breathed deeply for the first time all evening. I had my cousin back.
Gradually, Panther fans drifted to their vehicles until the only cars remaining in the parking lot were JohnScott’s truck and Dodd’s El Camino. When it was only the four of us, it became more difficult to ignore Dodd, and I was ready to leave.
Apparently Grady was too. “Dodd, throw me the keys. I’ll pull the El Camino down here and pick you up.” He lifted his hand and caught the keys as Dodd tossed them. “And give me your cell phone. I’ll text Mom.”
“I need to get home too,” I said. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”
I reached for the passenger door of JohnScott’s truck, surprised to find it locked.
I waited, listening to JohnScott and Dodd discuss the game, until Grady arrived.
“Hey, Coach Pickett,” Grady called, “do you have a copy of the study guide for history? I can’t find mine.”
Dodd tapped the passenger window of the El Camino. “Open up, Grady.”
His brother didn’t notice.
“I think I’ve got it right here in the truck,” JohnScott said. “Hold on a minute.”
Dodd knocked again. “Grady, unlock already.”
I peered into JohnScott’s cab and jiggled the door handle so he would think to let me in. He didn’t even look up. Disbelief paralyzed me as JohnScott shut the driver’s door, started the ignition, and drove away.
Grady followed him, honking as he pulled out of the parking lot, and Dodd and I stared after them as their taillights disappeared down the street.
An apprehensive vibration inched its way from my knees to my stomach to my heart, sending an unwanted blip of anticipation into my bloodstream. I shoved it away. My back was toward Dodd, and I didn’t want to turn around, but it would be childish to walk away. I turned, and his expression told me none of this had been his idea. The warm vibration drained from my heart like the trickle of our kitchen faucet during a freeze.
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