A Teeny Bit of Trouble (8 page)

“We need to talk,” he said.

“About what?” I drew back, expecting to hear more bad news.

“Marry me,” he said.

I stopped breathing. How many times had I fantasized about this? A ring dropped into a champagne glass, a band playing our song, a man on bended knee. He’d said the right words at the worst possible time. Barb was dead, and her daughter was upstairs in Aunt Bluette’s room.

He pulled a black velvet box from his pocket and raised the lid, revealing the biggest diamond I’d ever seen. It was round, bracketed by two pearls.

I glanced up. Something didn’t feel right about this. “You just happened to have an engagement ring in your pocket?”

“It was in my suitcase. I fetched it when you checked on Emerson.”

I stared back down at the diamond. “When did you buy it?”

“I didn’t. See, it’s my grandmother’s ring. An O’Malley heirloom. I’d wanted to give it to you yesterday during lunch. But everything went crazy.”

“It still is.”

“We can’t wait until our lives settle down. Because they might not. When we find a quiet moment, we’ve got to take it.”

My lips cracked into an “oh shit” smile. I wanted those moments, too. But I was scared that marriage would ruin all the good things we had. I was even more scared of myself, of all of the pits and holes and quirks that I kept hidden inside me.

Before I could protest, he slid the ring onto my finger. The diamond swung around, heavy as an ice cube, and knocked against my pinkie.

“Maybe you can wear it on a chain until you have it resized,” he said.

A chain? My throat narrowed. I was totally going to ruin this moment. But I had to speak my mind. “I need to think about this,” I said in a croaky voice.

“Take all the time you want. No matter what you decide, I want you to have this ring.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s an heirloom.”

“I want you to have it. I’ll never love another woman the way I love you.”

A question had been sitting in the back of my head since last night. “Why?”

“Do you really have to ask?” A smile broke over his mouth. “I love how you hum to yourself when you ice a cake. I love how your hand feels in mine. I love your kind ways, and that little gap between your front teeth. I’m a flawed man, but I love you, Teeny. And I always will.”

His hands skimmed my cheekbones. A shiver ran down my neck. My heart pounded against my chest wall. This ring was more than jewelry or an heirloom; it was an emotional U-turn for him. My Coop was moving deeper and deeper into gray areas.

I wanted to say,
Yes, I’ll marry you
, but I couldn’t shape the words. My hesitancy wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about love. It was about me. Marriage wasn’t like a chicken casserole, a recipe you made every Friday night until you, or your partner, got sick of it. Then you cooked something more exotic, like Shrimp Belvedere. Unlike food, a marriage ought to last forever. That’s a lot to ask for nowadays, but I still wanted it.

My mama would have said,
Quit thinking about recipes. Shut up and kiss him
.

So that’s exactly what I did.

six

Early the next morning, clouds gathered over the orchard, and the air held a metallic bite. I didn’t want to lose Coop’s ring, so I put it on a gold chain that I found in my old jewelry box.

When I stepped into the foyer, he lifted my hand. He didn’t ask about the ring, but I could tell he was worried.

“It’s right here.” I reached inside my collar and lifted the chain. The diamond swung down like a wrecking ball. I’d just tucked it back into my collar when Red came down the staircase, smoothing his wiry hair.

“Sheesh, I just lied to the kid. She thinks we’re going to McDonald’s for breakfast.”

I stepped closer. “Maybe we should tell her the truth.”

Coop caught my arm. “Lester said she’d run away.”

“What the hell.” Red pulled out his keys. “It’s a lose-lose situation for everybody.”

Ten minutes later, the four of us got into the van. I scooted across the backseat and leaned against Coop. Emerson climbed in next to Red. She looked spiffy in a red polka-dotted sun suit.

“After we eat breakfast, let’s buy a satellite dish,” she said. “I’m missing
Shark Week
.”

“We’ll see, kid. A muscle twitched in Red’s cheek. He turned onto Oglethorpe Square, where the Monday morning traffic moved sluggishly around a horse-drawn buggy.

Emerson smoothed her pigtails. “Hammerheads eat squid.”

“They also eat other sharks,” Red said.

He drove over the metal bridge. Straight ahead, the pharmacy stood out against the leaden sky, the windows glowing with an eerie green light. The wind stirred the poisonous oleanders that lined the sidewalk in front of the store, and white petals skated down the pavement.

A Georgia Genetics van was parked near the corner. Red pulled in beside it.

“Why are we stopping here?” Emerson sat up straight. “You said we were having breakfast.”

“We will.” Red squeezed the steering wheel. “Afterward.”

“After what?” She spun around, glaring at me and Coop. “What’s going on?”

“Your daddy asked us to bring you here,” Coop said.

“Again?” She pounded her fist against the roof of the van. “You tricked me!”

“I’m the one who lied, kid,” Red said.

She whipped her head around. “You poo-poo head.”

I squeezed Coop’s hand, a “quick, do something” gesture.

He sat up straight. “Lester arranged a special test, one that will show if I’m your real dad. A technician will swab the inside of your cheek. Mine too. Don’t be afraid. It’ll feel just like a lollypop.”

The fierce gleam in her eyes told me that Emerson Philpot wasn’t scared of Q-tips or strange men. She was petrified of not being loved.

“I know lots and lots about DNA,” she said. “I better not be Mr. Philpot’s child. I can’t stand him. He takes me for granite.”

Red’s lips twitched. “Granite’s a stone, kid.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a baby goat. And I’m
not
letting anyone take my spit.”

Red lifted her out of the front seat, ignoring her pitiful screeches. He carried her into the store. Two men in lab coats waited beside the old-fashioned soda fountain. One guy was bald and sunburned, and his hands hung down like boiled lobsters. The other man had flat, flounder-like feet.

Emerson immediately hushed when Lester strutted down the aisle. He looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. His khakis had knife-sharp pleats. His narrow face was dominated by a tall forehead that put mine to shame. His bulging hazel eyes zeroed in on Emerson.

She curtsied, her fists extended. Then two index fingers jutted up.

“Stop making those gestures,” Lester said.

She tucked her hands behind her back. “Where’s Mrs. Philpot?”

“We’ll discuss that later, sugar.”

“When can I go back to Chatham Academy?”

“Soon.” Lester tugged one of his butterfly-shaped ears. “Real soon.”

My stomach cramped. We’d waited too long to tell her about Barb. When Emerson found out we’d withheld the news, she’d feel even more betrayed.
You can’t lie to a child,
Aunt Bluette used to say.

Emerson darted to a counter, grabbed an umbrella, and swung it dangerously close to a Preparation H display. “I want an Egg McMuffin and a latte.”

“You’re too young for lattes.” Lester pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his glistening forehead. “But I’ll buy you a McMuffin if you let these nice men swab your mouth.”

“No.” She pushed the tip of the umbrella into the display, and three Preparation H boxes toppled to the floor.

“Sugar, the swab test isn’t painful,” Lester said, but he winced dramatically, causing Emerson to recoil. What was wrong with him? And why wasn’t Coop taking up for her? He just stood there, looking off to the side. We had the opposite problem of King Solomon and the two mothers. If anyone offered to split Emerson down the middle, neither Coop nor Lester would object.

Oh, come on, Teeny. Offer to adopt her.

Coop lifted his finger. “Excuse me, but is this a court-ordered test?”

“Mr. O’Malley, I’m not any happier to see you than you are to see me. I’m quite aware that you’re an attorney. But a court order isn’t mandatory. If the results are in your favor, I won’t fight you for custody. Nor will I seek financial compensation for the last ten years and nine months.”

I blinked. Didn’t he know Emerson was listening? My throat burned as I choked down a slew of angry words. Not too long ago, I’d promised Jesus I’d try to be a better person, but I wanted to tie Lester to a chair and feed him Cuckoopint Cobbler, made from noxious berries that caused diarrhea and projectile vomiting.

Emerson’s jaw moved convulsively, as if she were chewing ice. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. Just for that, you’re not getting my spit.”

Lester’s cheeks turned pink. “Don’t make me sedate you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” She swung the umbrella, and more boxes tumbled to the floor.

The flounder man shuffled forward. “It’s not an invasive test. We’ll just collect a buccal sample—that’s the inside of your cheek. We’ll just swab it and it’ll be over in a second.”

Emerson dropped the umbrella. “Can I try it on you?”

“Why, certainly.” The technician smiled, showing crooked teeth, each one lapped against the other like slate shingles.

Emerson walked over to him and plucked the swab from his hand. “Bend over, Mister. I’m just gonna cram this doohickey up your craw. It’ll be over in a second.”

“Stop acting like a monkey,” Lester said. “Apologize to the nice man.”

“No. He looks just like Hannibal Lecture.” Emerson put her hands over her eyes.

“You pronounced it wrong,” Lester said grimly. “Now get over here and open your Grand Canyon mouth.”

Emerson slammed her head against Coop’s stomach. “Daddy, help me. The lambs are screaming! Make them stop!”

Red snorted. One side of Coop’s mouth slanted up, like he was holding back a grin. He patted Emerson’s shoulder.

“Stop laughing,” Lester said. “You’re just encouraging her.”

Didn’t he see how scared she was? I crouched beside her. She lifted her face from Coop’s shirt and winked.

“I saw that,” Lester cried. “She’s just like her mother, a drama queen.”

Emerson moved away from Coop and scowled at Lester. “You’re a drag queen!”

God, I loved this girl.

“Stop the theatrics.” Lester turned to the technicians and snapped his fingers. “Let’s get this over with. Fix another swab.”

The techs prepared another kit. Lester sat on the edge of a stool and parted his lips. I imagined Barb’s tongue inside his mendacious mouth and I felt sick.

“Next,” the technician called.

Emerson sucked in her cheeks. Before the adults could react, she pushed over the Preparation H display and shot out the door. A blast of clammy air swept up the aisle and stirred the sale banners that hung from the ceiling.

Lester drummed his fingers on the counter. “I
knew
this would happen.”

“Shouldn’t we go after her?” Coop moved toward the door. Lester vaulted off the stool and stepped in his path.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Lester said. “You might as well go after a typhoon. You’ll never find her. When things don’t go Emerson’s way, she runs off. She’ll be fine, trust me.”

He walked to the ruined Preparation H display. “Look at this mess.”

My chest felt too tight. I didn’t doubt Emerson’s ability to hide. I was worried about the slippery roads. What if she darted in front of a car? Or ran into someone she knew? I knew how gossip worked in this town. By now, the news about Barb would have made the rounds. Someone might offer their condolences to Emerson. I couldn’t let her hear about Barb that way.

“A ten-year-old girl is missing!” I cried.

“No, she’s hiding. Big difference.” Lester faced the back of his store. “Kendall? I need you to fix the hemorrhoid display.”

Do something, Jesus
.
Please give Lester a rectal fistula
.

He turned back to the technicians. “How much longer can you boys wait?”

The lobster guy frowned at his clipboard. “Fifteen minutes,” he said in a “be here or else” voice.

“I’ll find Emerson,” Coop said. “Red, give me your keys.”

Red handed him a key chain. Coop kissed my cheek and ran out the door. Lester sighed and lifted a box. “He’s not a hero. He’s just stupid.”

I couldn’t hold back another second. “You’re more concerned about a hemorrhoid display than your missing daughter.”

“Go ahead, cut me down. But I’m a decent person. I’m not having a ménage à trois at a peach farm. Like
some
people.”

In the rear of the pharmacy, a door opened, showing a glimpse of a stock room, the shelves overflowing with Halloween merchandise. Plastic pumpkins, costumes, and fake tombstones. A petite girl with spiked black hair stepped through the door. She had pale, freckled skin, the kind that burned and never tanned. Pinned to her shirt was a plastic name tag:
KENDALL MCCORMACK, CASHIER
. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been Emerson’s age. I’d been her babysitter. Now Kendall had D-cup breasts and a frog tattoo on her right arm.

“Reach me that box,” Lester said, snapping his fingers at her.

“Why, I’d be happy to.” She stepped in front of him and leaned over, giving him a full view of her black thong.

“I ain’t sticking around for this sideshow,” Red whispered in my ear. “Let’s me and you take a quick look around the building. The kid can’t have gotten far.”

But Kendall had overheard us. She straightened up, then she plucked a vinyl poncho from the shelf and handed it to me. “I’d hate for you to get wet, Teeny.”

“Don’t I get one, too?” Red asked.

She ignored him and leaned over, giving Lester another X-rated view. Red marched out of the store. I pulled on the rain gear and ran after him.

“Good luck,” Lester called in a snotty voice. “You’ll need it.”

Red and I passed a shoe store. The rain blew sideways, flattening the azaleas and banana trees. Traffic had pulled off to the side of Pennsylvania Avenue. We rushed between the cars, our shoes filling with water. We crossed over to Rowan Street and gazed toward the bridge, where muddy water churned around the steel pilings.