Heart of Gold (12 page)

“Yeah. If I could just get him to talk about it, maybe we could figure it out, but he won't.”

“How about a sit-down with Paula?” Bernadine asked.

“I suggested that and he said no so fast you'd've thought I'd asked him to run naked down Main Street. Frustrating.”

Gary Clark arrived on the heels of that. “Morning, ladies.”

They all greeted him in turn.

Bernadine gathered up her things and asked Roni, “You want to come along? You're welcome, you know.”

“Thanks, but no. I'll stay and finish up my coffee.”

Lily appeared worried. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I am. I'll see you all later.”

After their departure, Roni sat in the booth alone. She sipped and thought about Zoey's championing of her cause, which made her smile. Again she wondered how Reggie had taken it. Realizing she might never know, she finished her coffee and stood. Leaving the money for her bill beneath her empty cup, she slipped out.

On her way back to the house she swung by her recording studio. From the simple exterior, it was impossible to tell its purpose. It was one story, had a hexagonal shape, and its kelly green bricks were her tribute to Zoey. She used her key to let herself in and turned on the lights. They were dimmed like she preferred, and for a moment she simply stood there, taking in the booth where she laid down her tracks and the huge electronic board where Jason sat and worked his audio magic. The studio wasn't blinged out with lights and chrome like some of the places she'd recorded in, but it had the best acoustics and equipment her money could buy. Just the sight of the place made her want to put down her purse, step into the booth, and sing. Would Reggie ever understand that what went on in this building was as vital to her life as their love for each other? The pain of their discord rose again, but she beat it down and came to a decision. If Reggie didn't want her, fine—her music did. Locking the door behind her, she walked to her car, took out her phone, and hit the speed dial for Jason. Whether Reggie approved or not, her gift was calling, and she planned to answer.

Over at the school, Zoey was doing her best not to stare too much at the new kid. He'd joined their classroom that morning, and his name was Wyatt Dahl. She didn't know how old he was, but from the work he was assigned, she assumed him to be no more than a year older. He was about Devon's size, which meant he was skinny, and he had black hair like hers and green eyes like her mom Bonnie. According to Mr. James, Wyatt and his family recently moved to Franklin from Chicago. She had no idea why somebody would leave a big city like that to live in Kansas, but she supposed it had to do with his parents. When he looked over and saw her watching him, she quickly dropped her eyes to her book, but she took peeks at him for the rest of the morning.

At lunch, he came outside and stood for a moment, as if not sure what he was supposed to do, so Devon went over and brought him back to the table. Everyone introduced themselves. When it became her turn, she said, “I'm Zoey Raymond Garland.”

Devon groaned. “God. Why do you always say ‘Zoey Raymond Garland'?” he asked in a mincing voice. “Why don't you just say ‘Zoey Garland'?”

“And why don't you just shut up?” she shot back. Amari and the older kids watched with amusement.

Ignoring the mini argument, Wyatt sat. “Hi, Zoey Raymond Garland.”

She grinned. “Hi.”

Leah led the gentle interrogation of Wyatt, and when she was done, they'd all learned he was an only child living with his grandmother. He had no dad, and his mom had been killed last year in Afghanistan.

“She was in the army,” he explained. “She stepped on an IED.”

The others seemed to know what that was, but Zoey didn't. She planned to Google it when she got home.

“Sorry for your loss,” Leah said quietly, and everyone else offered condolences as well.

“I miss her a lot,” he added.

Amari said, “Zoey lost her mom, too.”

Devon added in a disapproving voice, “But she died of a drug overdose.”

Preston snapped, “What are you, the
National Enquirer
? Damn, Devon. What does that have to do with anything? Shut up for a minute, would you?”

Wyatt looked over at Zoey, but she concentrated on eating and wanting Devon struck by lightning. She wondered if Wyatt now thought she was bad. She wasn't sure why it mattered, but it did.

Amari spoke up. “Zoey's a nice person.”

There seemed to be general agreement on that. Yes, Tiffany rolled her eyes, but the support made Zoey feel good and not care that Devon appeared mad about the verbal smack-down meted out by Brain.

When the time came to go back inside, Zoey walked her trash to the container. Wyatt got there a step later. He tossed his trash in and said, “Nice to meet you, Zoey Raymond Garland.”

She gave him a nod. “Nice to meet you, too.” As they returned to the classroom and took their seats, her heart was beating really fast. Cute boys were usually on TV or in magazines, but for the very first time she knew one in real life.

C H A P T E R

9

A
fter touring the store, Bernadine returned to the Power Plant. On tap was a review of the architectural drawings for the rebuilding of the old Henry Adams hotel site. Because neither she nor the town elders knew what they wanted the site to become, she'd had her architects sketch out a few possibilities.

Opening the e-mail and its attachments, she saw that the first one was for a hotel. It was small—in keeping with the size of the town; no one expected Henry Adams to be hosting conventions. It was only two stories, but its edgy design would go well with the other new buildings in town. The next drawing was of a one-story strip mall holding six shops. The architect had added plantings and a fountain to give the building some character, but she wasn't sure her town needed such a thing. The shops were labeled “Beauty Shop,” which brought to mind Crystal's friend; “Hardware,” which would give Mayor Wiggins fits because he owned the hardware/feed store in Franklin; “Bakery,” of which there were none within fifty miles; “Bookstore,” which every community needed, in her opinion; and, for the last two, “Bikes,” which garnered a shrug, and the smile-invoking “Bernadine's Bangles,” a jewelry store. Granted, the businesses were named just for the rendering, but she kind of liked the idea of the bookstore, beauty shop, and bakery; hardware too, maybe. If the places were to be profitable, they'd have to be patronized by more than the handful of local residents, though.

That being the case, she turned her mind to something she'd been trying not to deal with—more residents. For Henry Adams to survive, growth was essential. Without new arrivals to sink familial roots and raise their children, the town would once again be on a fast track to death. Thanks to her wise investments there was still plenty of money available to fund whatever might be needed, but after her demise there'd eventually come a time when the town would have to go its way alone, and the only way that would happen was if it had enough of a tax base to keep the dream alive. She'd provided a school, a solid infrastructure of roads, homes, and lighting, a recreation center, and a church. It was a great beginning, but the town needed more people.

Her computer held the names and addresses of at least fifteen families who wanted to move in, yet she'd placed the requests on the back burner because she wasn't sure how it might affect the town's ideal. Henry Adams was a family. For all intents and purposes, everyone got along—Riley Curry being the exception, but he and that hog of his were in Hollywood and out of the town's hair for the time being. Her concern was that opening up residency might kill that spirit. There was also the issue of how to go about picking new residents. Should there be a lottery, or should she just throw open the gates to anyone who could afford to move in? Granted, not everyone was going to want to live in a historic Black town, but it was her wish that everyone who did, no matter their race, would respect its traditions and want to participate in things like the August First celebrations, not look down their noses at the idea.

She rose from her chair and walked over to the windows that looked out onto Main Street. The once-crater-filled dirt road was now paved, and there were sidewalks and streetlights where there hadn't been when she first arrived. To the north, open fields of autumn-kissed grasses stood between town and the land owned by the Julys and the Jeffersons. That open acreage belonged to her, and she'd become so accustomed to its pastoral beauty that it was hard to envision it taken over by shops, homes, and the like. Preserving as much open land as possible was paramount, but whether she embraced the idea or not, more residents would have to be brought in. They were needed to ensure the future.

With her decision made, she went back to the drawings. She needed to prep a presentation concerning all this for next Monday's town meeting, so she opened a new file on her laptop and began.

An hour later she had a detailed outline that met with her approval. She'd be relying on her core group of residents to aid her in refining the plan, pointing out the things she might have overlooked, and giving her the valuable feedback she'd come to expect.

Her watch and grumbling stomach let her know it was way past lunchtime. She supposed she should swing by the house to see if Diane wanted to join her at the Dog, so she grabbed her purse and keys. She also wanted to alert her sister to the possibility of employment with Reggie. It might not go well, but Bernadine didn't care. The woman needed a job. Those thoughts led her back to the sadness she'd sensed in Roni that morning. Bernadine cared for both the Garlands, but it wasn't her place to choose sides. Nothing kept her from hoping their issues were ironed out, though, for the sake of their marriage, for Roni's music, and, most importantly, for Zoey.

“Lord, that man is fine!” Diane gushed, watching Mal interact with a couple seated on the far side of the diner.

Bernadine did her best to ignore the remark and concentrated on eating her salad.

“You know, if I wanted to have him for myself, I could.”

Bernadine met her sister's superior stare and responded nonchalantly, “Really?”

“Yes.”

She gave Diane an eye roll. “Yeah, right.”

“I could, you know.”

“What are you, twelve?” Bernadine asked, mildly irritated. “This isn't junior high. You need to start living in the real world for a change.”

“You're the one not living in the real world. If I wanted him, there's nothing you could do to stop me.”

Time to draw another line in the sand. “How about I call him over, so you can run that by him and see what he says?”

Panic flashed on Diane's face, but was quickly replaced by composure. “I've no problem with that.”

“You sure?” For all the bravado, her sister now looked real uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

Bernadine waved him over.

“What can I do for you, doll?”

“Di wants to run something by you.”

He waited.

When Diane seemed more interested in the french fries on her plate than stepping up, Bernadine asked encouragingly, “Well?”

The silence lengthened. Mal glanced between them. “Is this a test to see if I can read minds, because I have stuff I need to be doing.”

Still nothing from her sister, so Bernadine said to him, “Go on, babe. I'll call you later.”

A confused Mal shook his head and departed.

Diane stared unseeingly out the window flanking the booth.

Having too much class to gloat, Bernadine went back to her salad.

On the drive home, Bernadine told Diane about Reggie's job opening. “He'll be back on Saturday, so unless you're leaving town before then—”

“Why did you do that?” Diane asked.

“Do what?”

“Call Mal over?”

“Because you asked me to. Why would you even challenge me on something so stupid?” In a singsong voice she mimicked, “ ‘I can take your boyfriend.' Who does that? We're grown women now. You don't get to hurt me and laugh about it anymore. Sorry.”

“Well, I can certainly do better than the owner of a countrified diner in the middle of nowhere.”

“Then why are you here? This is the reality. You're an over-fifty divorced woman with no means of support. End of story. I've been willing to help you, but apparently you still think you're in your Queen Bee days.”

“I was a Queen Bee.”

“And now—you're not. Grow up, Di. I'm not Mama. My job is not to hand you rose-colored glasses to see through.”

“You're just jealous because I was her favorite.”

“True, I wanted her love more than anything in this world, but where was her favorite when she was dying? Every day she asked, ‘Is Di coming today?' And every day I lied to her and said, ‘Yes, Mama. Di's coming.' ”

“You know I never liked being around sickness.”

“She was our mother, you silly witch! How dare you deny her the only thing she wanted before God took her home! You couldn't take a day away from doing nothing to visit?”

“I was busy.”

“Right.” Bernadine pulled up to the curb in front of the house. “Go on inside. I need to get back to work.”

Looking wounded, Diane exited the truck and stomped up the steps to the door.

Bernadine had steam pouring from her ears as she drove away. She wanted to grab her sister by the throat and shake her until she got a clue. Hot tears filled her eyes. After the ravages of diabetes left their mother, Ernestine, blind, crippled, and unable to care for herself, Bernadine had taken her into her California home. She'd footed the medical bills and paid for the aides who came each day to assist Bernadine with bathing and feeding. Throughout it all, Di had been the one she'd asked for. As a grown woman, she knew she should put the issue behind her and move on, but she'd wanted the recognition and love of her mother so badly that the resonating pain continued to hold her in its thrall. Diane's visit was ripping the scabs off old wounds that had always been in the back of her mind but lay hidden beneath the accomplishments and duties of daily life.