Come Rain or Come Shine (30 page)

Cynthia sat with Etta on the glider while Julie went up to Heaven to put Ethan to bed. Given the innumerable books she had written and illustrated for children, she should have discovered a better opening line, but so far she had not.

‘How old are you, Etta?'

‘Foah.'

‘You're the same age as Jack Tyler!'

‘I know thith.'

‘Did you see the cows?'

‘Yeth.' Etta stretched her arms wide. ‘Thith big.'

‘And the chickens?'

‘I could take one home in my duffel. I could take out my thingths and put in a chicken. He could thleep with me in my bed.'

‘Do you have a dog?'

‘Woolly. He thleeps in my bed.'

‘Do you think Woolly and your chicken would get along?'

‘If they do not get along, I would thend the chicken back.'

‘I love your curly hair.'

Etta nodded. She had heard this before.

‘And your dress is a dream. Very sweet with the polka dots.'

‘My dreth is new.'

‘Mine is old.'

‘I have two old drethes.'

‘Just two? I have a closetful. Well, Etta, you certainly know how to dance.'

‘I wiggle mythelf all ovah.'

Cynthia laughed. ‘That works!'

Nine o'clock and Tommy and the Biscuits had never sounded better; everybody was having a blast.

They had bedded their exhausted pup in a crate in Jack Tyler's room, taken off the boy's boots and helped him change into pajamas, no bath tonight. They were all wired from the dancing and the laughter and the OMC and the cherry pie. Now to wind down a four-year-old with the full moon as a major night-light.

‘Did you brush your teeth?' she said. ‘Over and over?'

‘Not over an' over.'

‘You need to do it over and over, there are germs in there.' How could she say these things that she had never been told as a child? She just opened her mouth and out came information that she supposed mothers were born to say. She would have to get more books—a lot of books.

‘Does germs have teeth?'

‘They do. I think they do. They can eat up your gums.' Really—how could she ever . . . ?

‘Does cows have teeth?'

‘They do,' said Dooley.

‘Does they bite?'

‘Not often. But they can. You'll get to know the heifers,
and before long, we'll be feeding them grain together. Right out of our hands.'

‘Can cows git in th' house?'

‘Probably not. They sleep in the pasture inside a fence. They wouldn't like being in the house.'

‘Can they climb up stairs?'

‘Definitely not. If they could, our pup would bark and scare 'em right out the window. But they're not going to get in the house. Unless you let them in.'

Jack Tyler laughed his quick, squealing laugh and squeezed Roo to his chest. ‘I'm not lettin' no cows in th' house.'

‘Good,' said Dooley. ‘Glad that's settled.'

‘I don't want to sleep by myself.'

‘Aunt Julie will come and check on you,' said Lace. ‘Cousin Etta and Cousin Ethan are right up the stairs from you. Your dad and I will check on you, and our puppy is here with you and Roo is with you and we won't go downstairs till you fall asleep.'

‘Doesn't get any better than that,' said Dooley. ‘How did you like being in the wedding? You did a great job. Was it fun?'

‘Yeah. I like my pants.'

‘We like your pants, too. How about that ring, dude? What does yours say inside? Remember?'

‘Forever!'

‘Don't take it off, leave it on when you wash your hands,' she said. ‘As you get bigger, we'll have it expanded so it grows with you.'

‘Did you like dancing with Etta?'

‘She talks funny.'

‘We all talk funny,' said Dooley.

Jack Tyler flopped back on the pillow and closed his eyes. They thought he might be settling down. But no. He sat up. ‘I have a great idea!'

‘Shoot,' said Dooley.

‘We could make another wedding tomorrow!'

She loved seeing her husband laugh till his face turned red.

The laughter gave them all a second wind. Jack Tyler held up his unstuffed toy and jiggled it. ‘Roo, Roo, Roo! You carried Roo!'

‘I liked carrying Roo,' she said.

‘Why?'

‘Because you love him, I love him, too.'

‘You can carry him again.'

‘Thanks. Now lie down. And tomorrow we'll talk about giving our puppy a name,'

‘She's already got a name,' said Jack Tyler. ‘Her name is Charley.'

‘Remember the puppy's a female,' said Dooley. ‘How about if we give her a girl's name?'

Jack Tyler examined the buttons on his pajama top.

‘Molly, Maggie, Chloe . . . ?' said Dooley.

‘Just Charley. That's her name.'

‘Is that what you named her?'

Jack Tyler sighed. ‘Her name has always been Charley.'

Dooley looked at Lace, who was looking at the child come into their lives. ‘What do you think?'

‘I think her name is Charley,' she said.

She combed Jack Tyler's tousled hair with her fingers. After the dance with her dad, she had danced with her son, who had held her hands and jumped up and down to the music and wiggled his hips and everybody applauded, in love with the little guy who had appeared to them out of the blue.

‘Down you go,' she said. ‘No more excuses.'

‘Why?'

‘It's time to sleep.'

‘Why?'

‘Because nighttime is when people sleep and get strong for the next day.'

‘And because it's time for us to tell your story,' said Dooley.

‘About th' aunts an' uncles an' cousins?'

‘But only if you lie down.'

Jack Tyler squirmed under the cover and put his head on the pillow.

Her husband. Barefoot, sitting on the bed and leaning against the wall, as if he'd always done this . . .

‘Uncle Sammy, Uncle Pooh, Uncle Kenny, Uncle Doc, Uncle Henry, Uncle Harley . . .'

Dooley recited the names slowly, like small waves lapping the shore.

‘Which is Uncle Doc?'

‘The big man with the big voice wearing the big tennis shoes.'

‘Which is Uncle Henry?'

‘The tall man in a dark suit with a red tie and a soft voice.'

‘Now you,' said Jack Tyler.

‘Aunt Jessie,' said Lace. She would draw out the syllables, lull him to sleep. ‘Aunt Julie, Aunt Marge, Granny O, Granny C, Granny Pauline . . .'

‘That is so many grannies for one person.' His eyelids were heavy.

‘Tomorrow,' Lace said to Dooley. ‘We'll start tomorrow . . .' Teaching Jack Tyler not to say
ain't,
which was a big no-no with Dooley, teaching him to say
please
and
thank you
and all the things that . . .

Jack Tyler yawned. ‘Now you,' he said to the dad.

‘Granpa Tim, Granpa Hoppy . . .'

‘Hoppy is a bunny rabbit.'

‘Granpa Buck.'

‘Plus Cousin Etta,' she said. ‘And Cousin Ethan, Cousin Rebecca Jane . . .'

‘She's not a real cousin,' said Jack Tyler. ‘She's a fake cousin.'

‘So, okay,' said Dooley. ‘There are a couple of other people in your story. Who am I?'

He really, really wanted to say it but he was scared to
say it but the ring said forever. So he opened his eyes. ‘You're my dad.'

‘And who am I?' said Lace.

He felt the laugh bubbling up inside. ‘You're my mom.'

His mom and dad looked at each other and then at him and his dad kissed one side of his face and his mom kissed one side of his face and he laughed and laughed because it tickled.

‘Let's pray now,' said his mom. ‘Hold hands.' Jack Tyler held out his hands. He had learned this in church those times he went with the lady whose husband died and went up to heaven with the organ music.

‘Dear God, we thank you for Jack Tyler and for making us a family forever. Lead, guide, and instruct us and thank you for everything about this amazing day and all the days to come . . .'

The sleeping pup rolled over in her crate at the foot of the bed.

Jack Tyler snored the nearly silent snore of childhood. Lace leaned down and kissed his forehead. She liked his sweaty, sleeping, hopeful smell of a boy come home.

The music started again; two people singing. It sounded like a CD instead of live. But it was Beth and Tommy, singing a song that she and Dooley didn't know.

I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you

Come rain or come shine . . .

They got up from the bed and drew each other close, and in the wash of moonlight, they danced.

Honey Hershell had not danced with her husband since their own wedding, shame on them. This was heaven right here in the piney woods, and right next door to their farm. She would like to dance to this incredible band every week, but without cuttin' all that corn off the cob.

After twenty years—or was it nineteen?—she still loved her big guy. He knew how to get away with stuff nobody else could, like the Lincoln beard he was tryin' to grow and that little gold stud in his right ear and him a
cattleman
! Oh, yes, she knew exactly where Mr. Danny Do-Right got his mischief, it was from th' Hershell side.

He adjusted his collar, squinted into the mirror of the hall room, and took out his pocket comb. If nothing else, he had hair.

The band was taking a break and Mary Ellen was sitting on the porch with Agnes and Clarence and Henry and Tim and Cynthia and the New Jersey Kavanaghs.

He was probably being too forward. Then again, he didn't have forever; nobody had forever. He sat beside her and everyone was talking and he said, very discreetly, he thought, ‘May I ask how long it's been since you took a stroll in the moonlight?'

‘Forever and a day,' she whispered.

‘How are your shoes?'

She looked at him and smiled. ‘Made for strolling.'