Dining with Joy (37 page)

Mama reached for her book and started turning pages.

“
The
Baxter McMullens? The one who owns half the lowcountry?”

“Is there another?”

“Holy shamoly, Mama. How'd you meet him?” Baxter McMullens was the great grandson of Irish immigrants with a compulsion for hard work and a keen ability to make money.

“The shop.” Mama lowered her book to her lap, her countenance changing with the glow of a girlish blush. “He'd heard of me. Can you believe that, Joy? So he called about his vintage Jag. We got to talking on the phone, hit it off, so when he came in, it was like seeing an old friend. Today he asked me to dinner.”

“Like dinner-dinner. Or
dinn-
er.”

“The kind with linen tablecloths and candlelight.” Mama ducked behind a shy smile. “He's handsome, makes me feel young, and I like him.”

“Mama, fifty-six is young. It's prime time, baby.” Joy flopped onto her back again and drummed her belly with her hands. “Look at the Ballard women now. Growing up, going on dates, making banana bread.”

“Speaking of growing up . . . Joy, give that Luke a chance. He's a fine man, Joy. Don't think you'll do better.”

“He can cook. We know that much.” And kiss. Mm, he was a fine kisser. Not that she had many to compare him to, but the way he made her feel was proof enough.

“Listen, I know you.” Mama popped Joy's arm with her book. “You get all stubborn and cling to an idea until you've wrung the life out of it. Or it's wrung the life out of you. But don't make him wait long, Joy. If you love him, go to Portland.”

“It's cold in Portland.”

“It won't be if you marry Luke.” Mama pinched back her smile as she returned to the pages of her book.

“Mama!” Heat crept from Joy's cheeks all the way to her toes. “Luke and I are talking . . . he understands the girls need me. You need—”

“Nothing. I don't need you that much, Joy. We love you and you're good company, but don't you dare hide behind me and the girls.”

“I'm not hiding. If I cling to things until I can't cling anymore, then I'm more likely to do whatever is in front of me. I'm not doing that this time. I like Luke a lot, but I don't know if I love him enough to hightail it up to Portland.” Joy crawled off the bed. “I have a rare opportunity to wait on God. I literally have nothing. It's good, Mama. It feels really good.”

“I'm happy for you then,” Mama said. “And are you happy for me? Going out with Baxter?”

“More than happy.” Joy angled down and kissed her mama's flushed cheeks. “Daddy wasn't always easy, was he?”

“Oh no, but he was a good man and I loved him.” Mama's grip tightened around Joy's hand. “He really loved you, Joy. I never doubted his devotion to me or you kids.”

“I think I'm finally figuring that out, learning to speak his language. Food.”

“In which he was quite fluent. And don't worry about Saw and Mindy, Joy. It's going to be fine.”

“As long as they stay in Vegas, all will be well.”

Thirty-four

Joy, Lyric, and Annie-Rae stared out over the backyard, through the screen porch.

“I think she's gone crazy.” Lyric leaned on her crutches, scanning the landscape.

“Poor Granny.” Annie-Rae pressed her face to the screen.

The entire backyard was gone, tilled up, with its red dirt bottom facing heavenward. Having gone down to Savannah for the afternoon with the girls, shopping, easing Lyric's weekend restlessness, Joy came home to this.

“Maybe Granny didn't do this.” It was the only logical explanation. Mama didn't do it. Joy tugged her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture for Luke.

Pray. Backyard. Red dirt. Yard war escalates. We may be refugees soon
.

In the past few days, texting became the rhythm of their relationship. Luke answered when he had a break in the kitchen. Two days ago a conversation lasted all day. Then yesterday he'd sent her a picture of his newest dish, something-or-other with fish. She pictured back her dinner. A bowl of Cocoa Pebbles.

Fish and cereal, a match made in heaven
.

Joy dialed Mama, but when she didn't answer, she left a message.

“Just to warn you, someone stole our backyard. Could be Miss Dolly retaliating.”

“Miss Dolly.” Annie gasped. “Could she be this mean?”

“Granny planted wax flowers in her yard, Annie-Rae.” Lyric hobbled toward the sliding glass. “I'm going inside. My leg is starting to hurt.”

“I'll help you, Lyric.” Annie-Rae lent Lyric her small, steady shoulder.

As she held the door, Joy noticed a mason jar on the table with dark, wriggly
things
in it. Lifting the jar, she peered inside. Oh . . . she dropped the jar to the table. It was full of mean-looking worms slithering together.

A motor whined from the side of the house. Joy cocked her head to listen. The sound came closer. When Joy stepped off the porch, Mama, freewheeling a backhoe, grinding the gears, halting and starting, nearly ran her over.

“What are you doing?” Joy's flip-flops sank into the moist soil as she scurried after the yellow and black machine. “Did you do this to our beautiful yard?”

When Mama inched to a stop, Joy glared at her, leaning with one hand against the machine. “Explain, please, or I'm calling the authorities. Was this you or Dolly?”

Mama lifted her goggles. Joy rolled her eyes. “Armyworms. Eating up the whole yard. Can't have it. Next spring, the garden club is having a contest for the most beautiful lawn.” Mama leaned toward Joy, whispering. “And I'm going to win. Putting in golf course grass.”

“So you backhoed the yard? What happened to the wonder of pesticides?” Realizing she stood in the armyworm-infested dirt, Joy lifted her right foot, then her left.

“Oh, I'm spraying and fertilizing, putting in a sprinkler system. Then I'm carpeting the whole yard with zoysia.” Mama hopped off the backhoe and swept her hands across the plane of the yard. “You'll be able to putt a golf ball on our grass.”

“I'm in a Bill Murray movie.” The clap of a car door echoed over the house. Joy quizzed Mama with a glance. “Your date's not tonight, is it?”

“Noooo.” Mama tugged off her gloves and started around the side of the house. “Tomorrow night. Saturday.”

At the end of her sentence, the breeze carried high-pitched, excited voices. Squeals.
Mama. Daddy
. Joy hurried with Mama to the front yard, slowing, her heart sinking when she glimpsed the girls return their parents' embrace. So they finally came. Sawyer and Mindy.

Mama hurried forward, arms wide. “Well, look at you two. All the way from Las Vegas.”

Luke sat in the parking lot with his collar flipped up around his neck, the engine of his Spit Fire idling, chilly air seeping through the weak spots in his convertible top.

He glanced at the name and number on the card in his gloved hand.
Emily Carmen, Andover College. Culinary Arts
.

Luke pressed the clutch and shifted into drive, tossing the card onto the seat. Whatever made him think he could teach? Like he had time to teach. Even if he was qualified. He was a high school dropout. Dyslexic. His own system of reading and understanding didn't translate into everyday life.

How could he inspire young men and women to achieve when he was a quitter? He'd only offered to help Joy learn to cook because she needed him. Or rather, he needed her.

His phone pinged as he eased the car to a stop.

R u in the building?

Not yet
.

Don't make me come up there
.

Then I'm never going in
.

Luuuukkeee, go in!!

All right already
.

Y r u being such a chicken?

Asked the banana bread queen?

Whatever. Hey, Sawyer and Mindy showed up
.

Wow, that's good right?

I guess. U should see the buy-off gifts
.

I bet. Wanna talk?

No! Go in. Become a great chef teacher person
.

LOL. I'll put that down on the official application
.

Luke shifted into reverse, fired into a parking spot, and cut the engine. Walking backward toward the building, he snapped his picture and forwarded it to Joy.

I'm going in
.

Yay! Bout time. Praying 4 u
.

She'd waited long enough. With the girls tucked in bed and the evening rolling toward midnight, Joy paced the back porch, listening to Mama's easy chatter.

The entire evening, with Upper Crust Pizza and ice cream, was all so casual, as if Sawyer and Mindy were long-lost cousins home from an exotic world tour.

Actually, they looked the same. Sawyer still wore his hair short and tight. His jeans were the kind he'd worn every year since high school.

Mindy had lost a few pounds, but otherwise she looked the same. The ends of her dark hair brushed her jawline, and her oceangreen eyes, nestled deep under perfect eyebrows, observed the world from her smooth, fresh face.

“Rosie, you should see our house.” Mindy reached for Sawyer's hand. “It's fabulous. Four bedrooms, three baths, pool, game room, fenced yard. A mother-in-law suite. The girls are going to love it.”

“Love it? Mindy, how do you know?” Joy whirled around to confront her brother and sister-in-law. She'd had enough of playing nice. “I can't believe what I'm hearing. You've been absent for over a year. And silent. Until you called Lyric the other night, Sawyer, when was the last time you called your daughters? You didn't even call Lyric on her birthday. How do you know what they're going to love?”

Mindy's countenance darkened as she glanced at Sawyer.

“Joy,” he started, “we've both been working eighty hours a week, saving money for the house, getting out of debt, figuring out our relationship. With the time difference, it was almost impossible to call.”

“You could e-mail. Send a letter.”

“Our computer died. And I suppose we could've sent letters, but we just never got around to it. Same reason we didn't get out to buy a new computer.”

“Time differences? Dead computer? Too lazy to write letters? What's next, the dog wet on your bedclothes and the washing machine broke down? These excuses are
inexcusable
. What kind of parents—”

“Bad parents.” Mindy was on her feet. “Is that what you want to hear, Joy? Yes, we've been neglectful, bad parents, but we're here now, and we're taking our girls.”

“This isn't a contest, Mindy. They aren't prizes to be taken home only when it's convenient. You think buying them all those gifts will make up for your absence? Who's going to take care of them when you're working all the time?” Joy stopped in front of Sawyer. “I left you messages about what was going on with Lyric and Parker Eaton and what did you do? Nothing. She needed you, Saw.”

“We can do a mighty better job of taking care of our girls than you, Joy.” Mindy's tone carried like a sack of stones. “We left Lyric in your hands, and she was almost killed.”

Joy filled her sling. “It was an accident. If you two had been on the job, she wouldn't have been around a truckload of boys, hungering for attention. Who knows what would've happened to her on the beach? How can I expect you'll watch out for her in Vegas?”

“Listen to me, Miss High and Mighty, we are—”

“Mindy.” Sawyer pressed his hand on her leg. She sank slowly to the rocker. “Joy, I got a new position, working days. I'll be home with the girls at night. Mindy will be around in the mornings. We left the girls with you and Mama because we knew they'd be safe and cared for. Yeah, we didn't do a bang-up job of keeping in touch, but we talked about them every day. We worked like crazy so we could have them with us.”

Joy stared toward the creek, wrestling against the true sincerity in her brother's voice. It made it hard to be mad. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow or day after. We need to get back before our vacation ends so we can register the girls for school.”

“You can't take them in the middle of the term. At least wait until Christmas. Or better yet, the summer.”

“Joy, it's time. We've been apart long enough. It's still early in the school year. They'll be fine.”

“Please don't take them.” Joy waved for Mama to chime in. “We're a family. We have a routine.”
What will I do without them?

“We appreciate what you and Rosie have done, but we're their parents, Joy.” Mindy linked her arm through Sawyer's. “When Lyric got hurt, we realized we couldn't wait any longer. Even if Saw doesn't get the promotion, we've decided to bring the girls to Vegas.”

Then what could Joy say? Nothing. Mindy was right and it pained her. Joy slid the sliding glass door open and stepped into the quiet, stale house. Mama came in behind her.

“You're mad because they're right,” she said.

“I'm mad because they don't deserve those girls, Mama.” Joy shoved an askew kitchen chair under the table and started to gather the used pizza plates.

“I'm going to miss them like my own limbs.” Mama held Joy's chin with her fingers. “But it's time and you know it. Time for Lyric and Annie-Rae to be with their parents. Time for me to move on. And oh, my darling Joy, time for you.”

“Look at them, three kids and Annie-Rae.” Joy leaned against the porch post, watching Sawyer and Mindy attempt to stuff Lyric into the back of their SUV.

Mindy coached Sawyer to “be careful” after he banged Lyric's cast against the side of the vehicle. Lyric simply beamed, the pleasure of being with her parents numbing her pain. Annie-Rae the Wise tenderly lifted Lyric's foot to keep it from crashing against the bumper.

“Let's just see what good things God has for us, Joy.” Mama rested her head against Joy's shoulder. “And them.”