Shaking the Sugar Tree (28 page)

This made me inexplicably furious.

When I finished with my customer, I picked up the phone and hit the “page” button:

“Jackson Ledbetter, your party is waiting for you at the express lane,” I said in the most bored voice I could manage. “Jackson Ledbetter, your party….”

He glanced in my direction.

I raised my eyebrows.

After he paid his bill, he walked slowly in my direction. He was dressed in scrubs. The sight of him stirred up many feelings inside of me. Lust, of course, and desire, and longing, but also anger and hurt and confusion. I wanted to talk to him, but didn’t want to talk to him. I wanted to just look at him. I wanted him to somehow understand how I felt just by looking back at me. I wanted to be mad at him, but I also wanted our problem to be fixed.

He came up to the counter, offering a hesitant smile.

There were no customers waiting for me, just him.

“You have to let someone else check you out?” I asked in a whisper, feeling hurt and jealous.

“You won’t return my calls.”

“So that means I can’t check you out?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to.”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “I don’t even want to talk to you.”

“Then why did you page me?”

“I’m so mad I want to take this phone and bash your pretty teeth in.”

“That’s a little extreme.”

“That’s because I love you,” I said softly.

He looked uncomfortable.

“You scared me,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You really, really, really scared me.”

“I’m really, really, really sorry.”

We regarded each other for long moments.

“God, you make me so mad I could just kick your goddamn Yankee ass all the way back to fucking Boston,” I said.

“I know,” he said miserably. “I’m sorry. Let me try again. Please, Wiley, it’s killing me.”

“I can’t go through that again, being involved with an addict. If I’m not enough for you, then this isn’t going to work. I don’t want my little boy to fall in love with you and you just turn around and break his heart. We’re not going to share you with a bunch of drugs.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m getting clean. See how my hands are shaking? I’ve been attending meetings. I’m going to do this, Wiley, but it would be so much easier if you helped me.”

I glanced around to make sure Mr. Owen wasn’t stalking me, hiding behind the candy racks and listening.

“I know you have to work,” he whispered, remembering where we were. “Can I come over tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just to talk.”

I said nothing.

“Please?”

“All right,” I said at last. “But you’d better wear a bullet proof vest because if I don’t shoot you, Noah might.”

He smiled.

N
OAH
FROWNED
when the lights flashed as the doorbell rang that evening during supper.

He hurried to the door to let Jackson in.

What do you want?
Noah demanded angrily.

I want to talk to your dad,
Jackson said
.

You hurt my dad’s feelings.

I’m sorry.

My dad really likes you.

I know.

You were so mean!

I know. I’m sorry.

Noah turned to look at me, face full of disapproval.

Be nice,
I signed.

He led Jackson to the table, took his place without offering one to Jackson.

“Hey,” Jackson said, looking down at me.

“Is that all I get?” I asked. “‘Hey?’
I don’t get a kiss? What the hell is this?”

He bent to kiss me.

Noah made an unhappy face.

“Is that better?” Jackson asked.

“It will do, I guess,” I said, handing him a plate and nodding at the empty chair.

He sat, helped himself to pasta and meatballs.

“Real food,” he enthused.

Why didn’t you come to see me?
Noah asked him.

I had to work,
he offered uncertainly.

I thought you were my friend.

I’m sorry,
Jackson repeated
.

You’re a big doofus!

Don’t talk like that
, I warned him.

He is,
Noah insisted.

“What did he say I am?” Jackson asked.

“He said you’re a big doofus,” I replied.

“Getting it from both barrels,” Jackson said.

“You deserve it,” I pointed out.

My mom died,
Noah said to him.

What?
he asked, incredulous.

And you hurt my dad,
Noah added.
You’re a bad man and I hate you!

Stop it,
I signed to Noah.

He is!

It’s not your business.

It is too!

We had an argument, but we made up. It’s okay now. Be nice.

He pursed his lips together, offering Jackson a dirty look.

“What happened to his mother?”

I explained.

“Oh my God,” Jackson said. “I’m so sorry. No wonder he’s so mad at me.”

“He’s a little protective.”

“Wonder where he gets that from?”

“I wouldn’t know. Told you to wear a bullet proof vest, didn’t I?”

He smiled.

I’m sorry about your mother
, he signed to Noah.

She’s a big doofus too,
he replied angrily.
You’re probably going to be just like her.

Jack didn’t respond to this, merely looked at me with confusion.

“He’s a little unhappy at the moment,” I pointed out. “He’ll be all right.”

Jackson bit nervously at his lip.

Then he signed to Noah:

I missed you.

You did not.

I did too. Want to play X. after supper?

Noah glared at him, trying to remain angry.

I can’t get past the monster on level three,
Noah eventually admitted.

Oh, that’s easy,
Jackson said.

Will you show me?

Of course.

Suddenly they were old buddies again.

Later, after Noah went to bed, we went to my room, undressed, and fell into each other’s arms. I was gratified to note that he was just as hungry for me as I was for him. More so, it seemed. Our lovemaking was urgent, intense.

Afterward, we lay side by side looking up at the ceiling.

“I fucked up,” Jackson whispered in the dark. “I came down here to get clean. To get away from Boston, from my friends, from people like Mack, who got me involved in all of that. I wanted to start over. I have to, or I won’t have a career left. I’ve got to do it for myself. But I got down here and it was difficult. Everyone is so weird. So religious. I started feeling lonely and I… fucked up. I thought I could control it. Then I met you. I actually eased up a bit after that, but I couldn’t get rid of my stash.”

I reached down, took hold of his hand.

“Please tell me we can work this out,” he said, turning to look at me and put a hand on my chest. He rubbed the skin over my right breast. “Tell me what I have to do to make this right with you, Wiley.”

“You got rid of your stash?”

“Of course.”

“Did anyone find out?”

“Not that I know of.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” I admitted. “I have to learn how to trust you. I don’t really have a choice.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I love you.”

“You do?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I thought we were still courting.”

“We are. We’ve just moved on to courting level two, that’s all. That’s when you’ve got real skin in the game. A lot of skin.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss my chest.

“I love you, Wiley Cantrell. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You wouldn’t even take my flowers and chocolates. You were such a bitch.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it. All you have to do is let me make up for it.”

His hand slid down my belly.

“Someone missed me,” he whispered.

N
OAH
AND
I sat at the kitchen table the following afternoon with a bunch of construction paper, scissors, and glue, making invitations to his party. His birthday was less than a week away. It was an annual tradition so invites weren’t strictly necessary, but he liked making them.

Not that we were any good at it. Noah cut out pictures from magazines and newspapers and pasted them onto the construction paper. I wrote down the party information with a Sharpie. Noah signed them. The invite for his grandparents wound up with a picture of the new mayor on it, which Noah had chosen for reasons I could not fathom. Mrs. Humphries’ invitation had a picture of a horse. Father Ginderbach’s had a cutout of Garfield.

“Maybe It Was Memphis” by Pam Tillis drifted through the kitchen courtesy of KUDZU.

The phone rang.

“I’m returning your phone call,” Jackson said. “What are y’all doing?”

“I love it when you talk Southern.”

“I’m working on it.”

“We’re getting ready for Noah’s birthday party. How do you feel about dressing up as a superhero?”

“Me?”

Noah was busy cutting out a giraffe from the newspaper, not paying attention, so I said, “Someone wrote a letter to Iron Man, wanting to know if they could be friends. Actually, I think he wanted Iron Man to find his mother. If I rented a costume, would you consider wearing it and showing up at the party? If he asks about his mother, you might tell him she went to heaven to talk to Jesus or something like that.”

“Under normal circumstances, no, I would not consider doing something like that. But I’ll do it for Noah. And you’ll owe me big time.”

“I’ll be sure to stock up on lube.”

“I get off in a little bit,” he said, hinting.

“You know where I live.”

Who was that?
Noah asked, raising his eyebrows after I hung up the phone.

J.

Is he coming to my party?

Yes.

He grinned broadly.

Is he going to be my dad too?

Maybe someday.

Do I have to make an invitation for Memaw?
he asked.

No,
she’s the host of the party. You don’t have to invite the host.

What are you going to get me for my birthday?

You’ll see.

Daddy!

I’m not telling you.

Please?

You’ll have to wait.

Please?

Sorry.

Please?

I’m going to get you a potato.

You are not!

Yes I am. You know we don’t have any money.

We never have any money!

If you’re good, I’ll buy you two potatoes.

You’re a potato,
he said, sticking his tongue out at me.

T
HE
PHONE
rang that evening as I made spaghetti and meatballs while Jackson and Noah played Xbox in the living room.

It was Mrs. Warren.

“Hello, Wiley,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for coming to the funeral and bringing my grandson.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Even so. It was kind of you. And I think we’ve turned a corner with Mr. Warren. He’s been asking me what we should get for Noah’s birthday present, so I thought I’d call you and ask.”

“Are you coming to the party?”

She hesitated.

“I’m afraid we’d be… well, it might be uncomfortable. I can’t imagine we’re well-liked in your household.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Please come. That’s the only gift he needs. He loved your daughter very much, Mrs. Warren. Don’t ask me why. But he did. She’s gone now, but he still has a grandmother and a grandfather he’s never had a chance to know. He would be so happy if you came.”

“Why?” she asked, surprised.

“Because he’s a little boy,” I said. “They don’t really need much of a reason to love you. You’re his grandparents. That’s all he knows. Please tell me you’ll come.”

“I’ll talk to Mr. Warren,” she said, hedging her bets.

“Okay.”

“But what should we get him? I want it to be something he would really like, not just some nonsense from Toys R Us.”

“He’s a big Iron Man fan,” I said. “He loves graphic novels too, but we can’t afford them. He might like one of those. They have a lot of pictures, not much reading. It’s enough for him to follow along.”

“He was reading one that day in the library.”

“I think he’s read all of those a hundred times over.”

“Anything else?”

“Just something small is fine, Mrs. Warren. He’s really big on the new Superman, now that I think about it. I was looking at some Superman stuff in Walmart the other day. I’m going to get him a Superman costume, I think. You know, the cape and stuff. They had action figures he would like. The movie just came out, so it’s not on DVD yet, but Santa will probably pick that up for Christmas.”

“Okay.”

“So will you come?”

“I’ll come,” she said. “And I’ll try to get Mr. Warren to come too, but don’t hold your breath. It takes time with him.”

“I understand. It starts at three in the afternoon.”

“I’ll see you there,” she said.

I called Noah and Jackson and we sat down to supper. Things were going well until Juan appeared at the door.

Noah saw the light flashing, went to the door, and opened it wide.

“Oh, hell,” I exclaimed.

Jackson raised his eyebrows.

I got up, greeted Juan in sign language, and turned to introduce him to Jackson.

This is my friend J-a-c-k,
I said to him.

To Jackson, I said, “This is Juan.”

Hello,
Jackson signed.