Mammoth Secrets (9 page)

Eden's jaw hung open. “If you don't come and aren't the one to tell her—” her voice shook. “Oh, wait. I get it. You're leaving this on me again, aren't you?”

“No. It's Saturday night, and I'm having a friend over.” Lilah clattered the knife into the sink. “I'm a grown woman, Edie. I don't have to do anything.”

“But...Papaw...”

“Will be fine. Just give him another pill.” Lilah hated the bitter tone, but in truth, this morose Saturday ritual since she'd come back was more than she could stomach. She picked up the loaf of fresh French bread, sliced it open and slathered garlic butter on two slices. “I'm not going. Like I said, I made plans.” She read Eden's thoughts just by looking at her: What am I gonna tell Nana?

Lilah tossed the tray into the waiting oven, cranking heat to broil. They'd sit across the table in the same seats they'd parked their rears in as children. He'd go over the same conversation that they'd had when she was five, ten, fifteen years old.

“Well, isn't that the limit.” Eden's voice rose in a gale of fury. “You made plans. Just like always, Lilah gets to lay down the law. Make her way. Get on out of town and on with her life. Have a date while she's still married. That's just perfect.”

“That's not my fault and you—”

“Not another word.” Eden's nostrils flared with distaste. “Ten, fifteen, twenty.” Eden finished counting out loud, temper controlled—in that, at least, they were identical. “There.” Eden challenged, her brows high. “I'm taking a bath. You go wherever your plans are taking you, or up to Nana's by the time I get out. But, I refuse to leave you in this house where they can see you and I have to listen to her complain about it. D'ya hear?” Her sister stormed down the hall. The raised floor rattled under her wake. Eden went to their shared bathroom. The door slammed, and even the panes in the windows shook. The plumbing rattled and the pipes clattered, the shower started.

Lilah mulled over their argument. She should have known better than to try to change things. Things didn't work that way here, and it was time Jake knew about it before he got himself in more trouble than he bargained for.

Beaten, she dialed the church number from memory, but Jake didn't pick up. A frown to the clock showed he still had half an hour to arrive for dinner. She smelled something burning and rushed to open the oven door. Lilah slid the tray out and shut off the broiler. She wrapped the crispy, semi-blackened bread in foil, set it on the counter, and went across the street to the pastor's cottage.

The May night embraced the oak trees in blue-gray twilight. The cooling breeze sent a shiver over her bare shoulders and she adjusted her peasant top. She knocked, then waited. Impossible not to peek through those back porch windows framed by cheery lamps glowing inside.

The radio played a this-century tune. Shouldn't he be listening to Christian music or ministry tapes? What kind of a pastor listened to songs about not being born to follow?

She knocked a little louder and heard steps to the back door.

“I thought you invited me to your place?” He buckled the belt on his just-pressed chinos, a confused loop between his brows. She browsed his attire, inhaling the scent of soap. He stood barefoot, a towel draped over his neck as he scrubbed at his damp hair with a corner.

“Yeah.” Lilah fought a battle to look away and lost. “About that...”

The phone rang.

“Can you wait just a sec? I'm still technically on the clock.” He turned and darted a glance to where she leaned against to his doorframe. “Hey, Mrs. Dale.”

Lilah's stomach dropped.

No! She tried to get his attention, batting at the air.

“Dinner plans?” He shot a quizzical gaze at Lilah's frantic waving off. “Uh, no. No plans. Sure. I'd love to join you all. See you in a half hour, then.”

“Thanks.” Lilah exhaled. “That's why I came over, to tell you. I sort of owe Eden. We do this family get-together thing every Saturday.”

Jake joined her on the stoop. “Why didn't you say so?” His face softened with understanding. “It's not like we were going on a date or anything. Friends. Remember?”

“I thought I'd mix it up a bit. Do something different, you know?” She shifted, backpedaling across the patio. “It didn't go over so well with Eden. Probably would have gone over like a card game at the Baptist church...”

His gaze went stormy before his eyes closed. Opened again, he seemed to have regained lost composure. “Go on up.” He drew her to stand. “I'll see you up there in a half hour. All things considered, let's not mention our fishing trip today, OK?”

“You want me to lie?” Lilah's jaw hung. “Some pastor you're turning out to be. Isn't misleading by omission still lying?”

“This isn't misleading. Just something she doesn't need to know. We're friends and I don't want it misconstrued.” His hands covered her shoulders. “Let's just not talk about it. Not after—”

“Not after today, you mean. After Nana specifically told you just how much trouble I am?” Lilah flopped her palms up, heading across the street. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Lilah!” His preacher voice stopped her. Resonant, commanding.

Perhaps he'd apologize. Say there was more to her than just another divorcee looking for love. She turned back to face him. “Hmm?”

“Please, try...” He waited a long beat, swallowed, and sighed. “Try and call me Pastor Gibb? Just in front of her?”

The comment cut deep. Now it was her turn to count to ten. Fifteen. Twenty. She gritted her teeth together until enamel ground. “See you at dinner. Pastor.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.” He stepped forward, tried to take her arm, but she jerked out of reach. His voice gentled. “Lilah, you've got some heavy stuff going on, and so do I.”

“Don't tell me your sob stories, and I won't tell you mine.” She stood toe to toe with the half-dressed pastor, fought to calm the hurricane brewing in her gut.

He dragged the threadbare towel off and tossed it over one of the resin porch chairs, landing it instead on a broad-leafed fern.

“You need to make up your mind about me, Pastor Gibb.” Lilah met his gaze.

“I know.” He stepped a bit closer. Longish hair drifted around his neck in a shaggy mane, desperately in need of a trim. She wondered if it was true that with reddish hair came a fiery temper. How long had he mourned his wife?

She'd never be able to ask. “I'd better go.” Her neck heated. “Sorry my past is so disappointing to you.”

He blew a long breath. “I've been in town less than a month, and I've managed to alienate the elders, the deacons, your grandmother, and now you. And you haven't even heard me preach yet.”

“Not alienated.” She resisted a tiny smirk. “I'm only slightly annoyed.”

“Give me your hand.” He offered her his broad palm outstretched, and waited.

His touch thrilled in a wave of ripples from core to spirit, like pebbles tossed into the Cherokee Spring. “I don't—”

“Shh.” The warmth of his touch flooded her skin as he pressed an achingly sweet kiss to her knuckles, staring up at her through those charcoal lashes. Her hand still to his mouth, he spoke low, throaty. “I'd like to start over, if you don't mind.”

Lilah's heart did a flip and twist before splashing back into the depths of her exasperation. “This doesn't change anything. I'm still not divorced yet.” She tugged her hand away.

He let her go, remorse tinged his hooded gaze. “I know.”

She left him standing, half-dressed for their friendly dinner that wouldn't happen, and the full knowledge that if left unchecked, her emotions for the preacher would spiral to a depth she dare not go.

 

~*~

 

“C'mon in Pastor Jake, it's open!”

At Eden's invitation, Jake entered the barn-style house and stepped into another world.

Rough-hewn plank floors ran the length of the Dale's riverfront home. Along the back wall, floor to ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view of the river. Beyond the long slope of hill and past the subtle bend of the river toward the spring, spotlights flooded the scene into a High Def picture of the lower falls, the river rushing past the opposite bank.

“Excellent view. Looks like a painting.” He handed Eden his light jacket and a fistful of tight-budded roses wrapped in a soaked paper towel.

“Smell that perfume!” Eden buried her nose in the opening buds, delighting at their scent. “Go on in. I'll just go put these in some water. Uh, they're Nana's favorite.”

“There's a few early buds behind the chapel.” He admired the view, curtains wide, windows open, amplifying the crickets' evening song. Beyond the river's bend, a train's mournful cry pierced the night, announcing its presence with a growing roar and pinpoint of light. Across the river, it journeyed around in a flurry of wheels, gears, and engine. Then, all was silent again but for the growing night sounds. Jake realized he wasn't alone in the room.

“Darn that Percy!” Earl Dale grumbled. “He knows better than to blow that horn. It'll wake the twins.”

“Easy, Paw. Here's your medicine.” Naomi Dale hurried in, watched him swallow, and then took his glass. Satisfied, Naomi strode toward Jake, looking sharp in linen pants and a teal jacket. “Welcome, Pastor Gibb.” She wrapped both hands around his. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. You know Eden, and Lilah—of course.”

He smiled at Eden and glanced at Lilah. “Hello.”

She picked up a magazine, but didn't look up at his greeting. Instead, she crossed her legs, revealing purple painted toenails and suntanned ankles.

He turned to her grandfather, seated in a well-worn green velvet chair, glasses perched on his nose. “Lovely view, Mr. Dale.”

“Thought so when we built it,” Earl said, and turned to view Eden setting the table. “Can you believe my daughter, Rebecca, is this year's homecoming queen?”

“No, I—uh—”

“He means my mother.” Lilah closed the magazine, tossed it to the table. “Mama was beautiful, wasn't she, Papaw?”

“Eden looks more like her than you do.” Earl turned back to Jake, thumbing a disappointed wave to his granddaughter. “California.”

“Right.” Lilah stood, and slipped her arm through Jake's. “Papaw calls me California. It's how he tells the two of us apart.”

Jake eyed the built-in library shelves behind the living room chairs. He ambled over. There were a few well-worn paperback novels and nonfiction books he recognized, but the shelves mostly displayed pictures. One in particular drew him and he stepped closer, the picture of Mammoth's homecoming queen displayed for all to see. The young woman in a pale blue prom-style dress wore a sash over her shoulder and held an armful of white roses. Her face—the spitting image of Eden and Lilah. She looked off into the distance, a wistful and wanting look to match the slight smile on her glossy lips, as if she knew something the world didn't.

“That's her.” Lilah came up behind him. “Rebecca Rose Dale.” Her gaze stayed glued to the photograph even after he set it down again.

“A beauty.” Earl Dale searched his pockets, came up with an empty pipe. “Smart. Sassy. Too big for her britches, Naomi. She needs to be at the Revival, not at that danged carnival. And you can tell her I said so. I mean it.”

“I'll tell her, Paw.” Naomi stepped to Earl's side, relieved him of the pipe and replaced it with a handkerchief. “Let's get you some dinner and off to bed.”

He turned a confused glance to the white cloth and then his wife. With a distracted nod, he followed her to the table.

“He needs dinner right after the pills.” Naomi spoke in a low tone. “You young'uns go on out to the patio—he's agitated tonight. I'll get him to bed early.” She shooed them out the sliding glass door.

The screened-in porch held a trio of enormous ferns, a white porch swing and a table with four matching harvest gold chairs. Jake walked to the swing, sat, and accepted the lemonade Eden offered.

“Sorry about that.” She sighed and settled in one of the yellow swivel chairs. “Papaw's getting worse.”

Lilah smoothed her skirt and sat alongside him, but close enough to clasp her sister's hand.

“How long's he been this way?” Jake pushed back on the swing, feet firmly on the floor as he took mental notes.

“Five years, give or take.” Eden exhaled.

“Has he been diagnosed?”
With dementia
he almost spoke the words, but stopped at the look on Eden's face.

“It started out slow.” Eden's soft drawl gathered strength as she shared. “You know, brushing his teeth ten times a day. Forgetting where he parked the car. Or left his fishing gear. Then, lately…”

Lilah finished. “Lately it's more like he's flip-flopping through time. Thinks Mama's still alive one minute, we're babies the next. Then he's back, for real, but only in flashes.”

“I hate it.” Eden's shoulders shuddered. “He was the neatest man ever. A story for every occasion. Our rock. Now—”

“He's just there,” Lilah shrugged. “And Nana's mad at everyone. Or maybe it's just me.”

“Your mom.” Jake looked from one sister to the other. Seeing them so close together—aside from shape of face and smile—he wondered how anyone ever confused them one for the other. “How old was she when she died?”

Eden and Lilah shot a silent laser beam of communication to each other.

Lilah turned back to the river in silence.

“Eighteen,” Eden answered, pouring lemonade. “You know the curve in the road, on the way up from Hardy? With all those big, yellow arrows? The night we were born...there was a rainstorm...”

He nodded, recalling the bumps in the road that nearly rattled his poor truck to death.