Pearl of Great Price (12 page)

Anger choked me, and now I didn’t even have a name at which to direct it. “Is there truth to
anything
you told me about my parents?”

Grandpa sighed. “All I know for certain is how much your mama loved you. She brought you here because she knew she was dyin’. She wanted to be sure you’d be taken care of.”

A heaviness settled over me at the thought of what my mother must have suffered. “Dear Lord, a brain tumor. It must have been horrible for her . . . and for you.”

“Nothing the doctors could do but ease her pain. I took care of her as long as I was able, but as the end drew near, she needed more tending to than I could give. Without insurance, we finally found a nursing home in Little Rock that would take her in for what I could pay. She passed on there a few months later. You’d just turned four.”

Once again the memories came flooding back, real as a three-D movie—my first birthday party! I’d even picked out “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” invitations from Wilma Longoria’s card and stationery booth at the Swap & Shop. Grandpa said we could have my party right here in the flea market snack bar, with funnel cakes and root beer floats and paper hats.

Then one day I overheard Grandpa on the phone. “I see . . . I see . . . Thank you, I’ll try to get there in time.” When he dropped me off at the church preschool later, he said he didn’t think the birthday party was such a good idea after all. “Maybe next year, honeybunch. Maybe next year things’ll be better.”

The next day he left Katy Harcourt in charge of the flea market. Said he had some important business up in Little Rock and I was to go home with Sandy’s mom after preschool. He ended up missing my birthday entirely.

I flicked a tear off my cheek. “You hardly spoke three words to me after you came home, just got busy sweeping and dusting and rearranging merchandise till all hours of the night. You couldn’t even tell me my own mama had just died.”

“You were so little, I—” Grandpa stared at his clasped hands. “Can you ever forgive me, Julie Pearl?”

“What do you want me to say, Grandpa? I just found out I’ve been clinging to a lie.” I stood, gripped the mop handle, pressed it against my sternum and hung on for all I was worth. I guess at some point I figured out my parents weren’t married. Why else would my name be Stiles instead of Jones . . . or whatever the creep’s name was? Illegitimacy didn’t carry the stigma it once did—celebrity couples had kids out of wedlock all the time these days. But the fact that my mother wouldn’t even acknowledge the man who’d fathered me? It made me feel dirty, ashamed. More worthless and unwanted than I’d ever felt in my life.

“Don’t, Julie Pearl.” Grandpa rose and set his hands on my shoulders, his bony fingers biting into my arms. “Don’t let this change who you are, the kind and caring person you’ve always been. You’ll always be my ‘pearl of great price.’”

“I don’t want to hear that right now, Grandpa.” I shrugged out of his grip and stormed upstairs to the apartment.
Oh, Julie Pearl, you asked for it, didn’t you?

Then about the time my feet hit the landing, it occurred to me that right before Grandpa told me about my parents, he’d warned me not to get involved with Micah Hobart—because it would lead to nothing but “more trouble.”

Micah. Pearls Along the Lake. Renata Pearl Channing.

I was missing something. Something important.

An invisible fist slammed me in the chest. Did any of this have to do with the
real
reason Mama had chosen Pearl as my middle name? I mean, what were the odds she’d give me that name if she
didn’t
have some ties to the Pearl family or the resort? Maybe she worked there once, fell in love with my father while he was a guest. But he was already married. To Micah’s mother, Mrs. MacDonohoe. Yes, it had to be something like that. And when Grandpa saw the article in the paper about the child’s drowning twenty-five years ago, it reminded him about the time Mama had spent at the resort and he worried I’d find out and—

My head reeled. Obviously I was as good at making stuff up as Grandpa, and it only served to muddy the waters even more.

I hugged myself and stood before the kitchen window. The paved parking lot below shimmered in the noonday heat, but all I could feel was cold—colder even than the chilled, musty-smelling air flowing from the ancient Frigidaire window unit in the living room.

The phone rang three times before I registered hearing it. Even then, it took Brynna nudging the back of my knee with her warm, wet nose.
Hey, you, wake up
, her big black eyes seemed to say.
Life goes on. Get with the program.

“Okay, okay.” I scratched her behind the ear with one hand while reaching for the phone with the other.

“Julie? It’s Micah.”

My stomach twisted. Before I even realized I was going to say it, I blurted out, “Micah, I’m going crazy, and we need to talk. Can you meet me somewhere? Now?”

~~~

There was a campground and picnic area nestled in the rolling Ouachita Mountains about halfway between Hot Springs and Caddo Pines. A stream ran through the park, burbling and splashing over mossy rocks, with tiny fish slipping through the shallows and fighting to hold their own against the current—kind of like I felt right now. I got there ahead of Micah and arranged myself on a flat rock under a spreading maple tree, where I could safely slip off my sandals and let the cool water rush across my bare toes.

The park didn’t have much activity this afternoon. In the distance I could hear the big logging trucks rumbling along the highway. Nearby, squirrels chattered, their toenails
scritch-scritching
on the rough pine bark as they raced each other up one tree and down another. A soft breeze played cello with the pine boughs.

Finally I heard his pickup. Funny, I’d only seen it twice in my life, but I knew the sound of it without even glancing over my shoulder. Like we were connected somehow. Like Micah Hobart was already a part of me.

“Hey,” he said, joining me on my rock. He crouched down in his stiff, new-looking jeans and tried to sit sideways to keep his scuffed black boots out of the water.

I wiggled my left big toe at three silver minnows who’d swum over to check it out. “Thanks for coming.”

“You sounded upset. How can I help?”

I nailed him with a pointed stare. “For starters, you can tell me why my grandpa warned me to stay away from you.”

The bewildered look on his face looked real enough. He gave a half-laugh. “I only just met your grandpa. I have no idea what he’d have against me.”

“I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Pearls Along the Lake.”

He cut his eyes at me. “You mean the old resort? Why would your grandfather think that?”

“I wish I knew!” I stood abruptly, my wet feet almost sliding out from under me on the slippery rock. Micah reached out a hand to steady me while I slid into my sandals.

I stalked toward my Beetle. Stupid to think a perfect stranger could tell me anything about my past. Insanity to think a series of coincidences surrounding a termite-ridden, falling-down lake resort could have some connection to my parents.

“Hang on, Julie.” Micah caught up with me and seized my elbow. “Now I’m as confused as you are. Tell me what’s going on here.”

I let him steer me toward the nearest picnic table, and we sat across from each other on the stained concrete benches. Avoiding blobs of bird poop, I rested my elbows on the table and lowered my head into my hands. For several long moments I sat there, unsure where to begin—unsure if I should be telling him at all.

But I did. I poured it all out. All those years of wondering about my parents, feeling abandoned, suppressing the urgency to search for my father and make him explain why he left us. I even confessed the secret story I used to tell myself to ease the pain—that Mama’s death had left my father so brokenhearted that he’d gone off on a private quest to find solace for his grief, and someday he’d come back for me.

“Julie, Julie, I’m sorry.” Micah pushed aside the mass of kinky hair falling around my face.

I sniffled and tried to pull myself together. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Here you are being so nice, after I went totally ballistic on you the other day at the resort.”

He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Not that I didn’t deserve it.”

“Blame it on my concern for Brynna and the puppies, I suppose. I should know better, though. My grandpa’s always taught me to look for the good in people.”

“Yeah, I almost forgot. You’re such a—let me make sure to quote you correctly—an ‘upstanding, church-going, decent-as-the-day-is-long Christian.’”

Now it was my turn to cringe in embarrassment. “A ‘hysterical female,’ I think you called me. Guess I really was over the top that day. You just . . . made me so mad.”

“I think we’ve established that.” He folded his arms on the table. “I’m still trying to figure out what your grandfather could have against me. Unless . . .” His gaze clouded. “You suspect it has something to do with the resort?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent certain it does. Please, Micah, tell me what you know.”

“Wow.” He breathed out slowly. “That’s a long, complicated story.”

“I’m listening.”

C
HAPTER 14

June, 25 years earlier

Hot Springs, Arkansas

“Come on, Micah, no one will find out you helped me.” Rennie Pearl tugged at his arm, her huge brown eyes shining in the beguiling way that never failed to twist him to her schemes.

Micah dangled his long, sun-browned feet off the edge of the boat dock. A leafy cottonwood shaded the upper half of his body, while the hot midday sun baked his bare legs beneath the hem of his swim trunks. “But where will you go?” he asked. “Somebody’s gonna find out and come after you. You know they will.”

“Once I get into town, I’ll call my aunt to come get us. She knows how crazy my mom’s gotten. She’ll understand.”

“Then why hasn’t she already done something?”

“Because.” Rennie sputtered and stared as if the question were completely ludicrous. “Because she knows my daddy wouldn’t ever let her take me and Jenny away. He can’t see what’s happening.” Desperation filled her eyes. “He won’t face the truth about Mama, how sick she is, what she’s doing to this family.”

Micah’s insides quivered. Since Jenny was born, he’d watched Rennie grow more and more desperate, and this summer it had peaked. All Rennie could talk about was getting away—getting Jenny away. She wanted Micah to take her and Jenny out on his parents’ boat, motor them to the other side of the lake, drop them at one of the busy public marinas, and then pretend to the world he knew nothing of their whereabouts.

Rennie’s plan sounded easy enough. Micah’s parents had left him at the resort for the day while they celebrated their anniversary at a fancy restaurant over in Little Rock. Two summers ago, George had taught Micah to drive the sleek white fishing boat. The keys were on the dresser in the cottage. The fact that he was only twelve and not of legal age to take the boat out alone didn’t seem to faze Rennie.

“Who’s gonna know? Besides,” she added with an a flirty giggle, “you’re so tall, dark, and handsome, you don’t look a day under fifteen.”

That clinched it. He’d given his heart to Rennie the day she befriended him six years ago. If it would make her smile, he’d risk anything. He shot nervous glances up and down the dock. “Okay. But we have to go soon, so I can put the boat up before my parents get back.”

Within twenty minutes Rennie met him under the green awning of the small private marina at the north end of the resort property. Struggling under the weight of an overstuffed backpack and balancing Jenny on one hip, she took Micah’s hand for support as she eased into the rocking boat. He handed her the smallest life jacket on board, but it still swallowed the toddler. He frowned his concern.

“Don’t worry.” Rennie shrugged off the backpack and stowed it under a seat. She slipped her arms into the jacket Micah’s mother usually wore. “You drive slow, and I’ll keep hold of her. We’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Go boat!” Jenny clapped her dimpled hands. The lake breeze lifted the golden wisps off her forehead beneath the gingham sailor cap she wore.

Micah’s shoulders drooped. He’d made a promise and now he had to keep it. He started the engine and headed the small craft toward open water. Traffic was thick and noisy on the lake that afternoon. Jet skis, ski boats, flat-bottomed party boats, fishing boats—watercraft of every description skimmed the surface, the wakes crisscrossing and stirring up whitecaps. Steering clear of the busiest areas, Micah kept a nervous hand on the wheel and a sharp eye out for the lake patrol.

A pair of jet skis roared past, too close for Micah’s comfort, and the boat pitched like a tidal wave had hit them. He sucked in his breath and waited for the rocking to subside before glancing back to make sure Rennie and Jenny were secure. Rennie’s face had paled. She sat with one hand gripping the side of the boat and the other arm locked firmly around Jenny’s waist. The laughing toddler bounced on Rennie’s lap, unmindful of any danger.

Off to the right, Micah recognized the island where the weirdoes camped. Near the tree-shaded shore, he noticed a break in the traffic. “I’ll head over that way,” he called over the rumbling motor. “It looks quieter.”

Rennie nodded mutely.

Micah aimed the prow toward a spit of land at the near end of the island. As he drew closer, he made out the scantily clothed forms of a man and woman sunbathing on the narrow strip of shoreline. Their dog—the same hairy yellow mutt he’d seen in years past—trotted out to chest depth and barked at the boat until the man sat up and yelled at him to stop.

Jenny laughed with delight. “Goggy! Go see big goggy!”

“No, sweet-pie, no doggy,” Rennie told her. “We’ll see Aunt Geneva’s parakeet soon, how about that? You like Buster. He talks to you.”

Rennie’s anxiety echoed in her high-pitched tone. Micah’s own worries poured out through sweaty palms gripping the slick chrome steering wheel. How much trouble would he find himself in if anyone discovered he’d helped with Rennie’s escape plan? Could they send a twelve-year-old to prison for kidnapping?