The Day Will Come (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

The phone rang during my late supper with Lucy and Tess, and I jumped up to snag it before the loud jangling could wake Nick. When I’d returned from the corn field I’d found him sound asleep on the sofa in the front room, Tess’ cat Smoky curled up at his feet. Lucy said Nick had gone in for a nap, and now, three and a half hours later, he was still out cold. Lucy had looked many questions at me during milking, but I ignored them, not anywhere near ready to talk about Nick’s revelations.

“Stella?” a voice said on the phone.

“Hey, Jermaine. What is it?”

“You talked to Jordan?”

I pulled my chair over toward the phone with my foot and slumped onto it. “Earlier this afternoon. Why?”

“He’s barricaded himself in his house. Won’t talk to any of us. Not even Ma.”

“Have the police been to see him?”

“Don’t know. When he wouldn’t let me in I left. I’m sorry for the guy, but I’ve about had enough.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I don’t know what to tell you, man, except maybe leave him alone for tonight.”

He hesitated. “You don’t think he’ll…”

“Hurt himself?” I considered it. “No. I don’t. But I’ll call him to check in. See if he’ll talk with me.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Want me to call you back?”

“Only if there’s something I need to know. I’ll assume he’s okay unless I hear from you.”

Great.

I hung up and dialed Jordan’s number. I got the answering machine and started talking.

“Jordan. Stella here. Pick up, would you? Jermaine just called, worried about you. I won’t make you talk to him. Just please come on or I’m going to have to go out again tonight to come to your place and check up on you, and you really don’t want me to do that. Or I could call your mom—”

“I’m here. Stop talking. Please.” Jordan’s voice sounded tired and defeated.

“I’ll stop if you tell me you’re going to be okay tonight. Or at least that you’ll be all right till morning.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Good. Now, is there anything I can do for you right now?”

He cleared his throat. “No.”

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“All right. But you can call me if you need to. You hear?”

“Yeah. I hear.”

“Good night, Jordan.”

“Stella?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up and left the kitchen, avoiding Lucy’s eyes, and walked into the front room, where Nick lay on the sofa, his face relaxed and pale in sleep. I studied his features in the light that leaked in from the living room. His looks hadn’t changed, but a vulnerability had seeped into him. Or perhaps in my perception of him.

An afghan crocheted by my mother twenty years before lay folded on the back of the couch, made with a combination of brown, green, and yellow, with orange highlights. I picked it up and sat on the rocking chair across from Nick, holding the afghan on my lap. Poking my fingers through the holes in the pattern, I dug into the soft yarn. Memories from long ago days assaulted me—lying on the couch, Mom feeding me toast and chicken noodle soup, my throat sore from strep or some other virus. Cuddled with my mom under the blanket, watching
E.T.
, handing her tissues while she cried at the sad parts. The comfort of being taken care of, of being loved, of security.

I leaned my head against the high back of the rocking chair and watched Nick sleep. His breathing was quiet—so quiet I had to really concentrate to hear him.

MS?

My God, could nothing be easy? Ever?

I thought of what Nick had implied out in the corn field. Wondering if I wanted to call it quits. Had I proved so unreadable that he assumed the worst of me? That I could turn off my love at will?

I fought down a rush of anger. At him. At myself. At the disease.

But just as quickly a wave of sadness came over me, and I doubled over in the chair, burying my face in the afghan. The possibilities the illness presented were too many to consider thoughtfully: I’d spend years nursing Nick when I’d thought we’d be equal companions; Nick would leave me, unable to believe I could still love him; I’d have to move to Virginia, following Nick to where he’d be most comfortable.

Or that Nick—the love of my life—would die, leaving me alone. Again.

Eventually the tide of emotion passed, and I raised my head to look at Nick, sleeping so soundly, his right arm dangling over the sofa’s edge, his fingers brushing the floor.

I lifted the afghan off my lap and unfurled it, gently laying it over him, pulling it up to his chin and tucking it around his feet. And wondered how many more times I’d do it in the years to come.

***

I woke up early and stretched out a hand to turn off my alarm. I wondered how Nick had slept, and if he’d managed to stay comfortable on the couch. I pulled on some clothes and tiptoed downstairs.

A peek into the front room showed me that Nick hadn’t moved, and I left him to sleep. I watched the news while I ate my Wheaties, but there was nothing new about Genna or Bobby Baronne.

Queenie joined me for milking, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Nick. I couldn’t even tell the cows.

By the time I was done in the barn Nick was awake, sipping some hot tea Lucy had brewed after getting Tess on the bus. I could feel his eyes on me as I stood in the doorway, and I raised mine to meet his.

“Long sleep,” I said.

He looked down at his mug. “Yeah.”

Lucy eyed me from across the room.

“Got another cup of that?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “It’s peppermint.”

She poured me a cup and I drank it without sweetener, enjoying the tartness of the brew.

“You staying for lunch?” Lucy asked Nick. “I’m making creamed eggs to put over fresh bread.”

He smiled. “Sounds good, but I need to head home.”

I clenched my jaw and stared into my tea.

“Want anything to eat now?” she asked him.

“No. Thank you. I’m not really hungry.”

The tension in the room was unmistakable, and Lucy soon left.

I pushed my mug away. “You all right to drive?”

“Yeah. My vision’s cleared up just fine.”

“You’re not too tired?”

He gave a soft laugh. “After that sleep? I better not be.”

My head throbbed, and I closed my eyes, taking a breath. “So what now?”

“I head home. Have some more tests. See some more doctors.”

“What kind?”

“Ophthalmologist. Neurologist. Internal medicine.”

I shook my head. “And what will they do?”

“Tell me how advanced it is. How to hold it off. Start me on medication.”

Were we really having this conversation?

He stood and pushed his chair in, then stepped behind me. Putting his hands on my shoulders he rubbed them, working the knots in my neck with his thumbs. I couldn’t relax like usual with his massage and shrugged him off, scooting out of my chair.

“I’ll call you when I know more,” he said.

“That’s what you said last time.”

He sucked in a breath. “I know. I’m sorry.” He stepped toward the kitchen door. “See me out?”

I followed him to his truck, where I allowed him to take me in his arms, Queenie brushing around our legs. I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment before stepping back, his hands sliding to my elbows.

I looked him in the eye. “Drive carefully.”

He dropped his hands, his expression pained. “I always do.” He didn’t move. “You’ll think about what I said? Out in the field?”

About ending our relationship? Leaving him in times of trouble? Being a flighty, fair weather lover? “I’ll think about it.”

There was nothing left to say.

He got in his truck and drove away as I stood at the end of the walk, my arms crossed against my stomach. It wasn’t until I couldn’t see his truck anymore that I realized there
was
something else to say, but I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten to tell him I loved him.

“Everything okay?” Lucy stood on the house steps, her face full of concern.

My throat tightened, any words I might have said caught before reaching my mouth. I ended up shaking my head, looking at the sky, and walking out to the tractor barn, where my truck was parked. Not wanting to go back in the house, I grabbed the extra set of keys I kept in my toolbox and got into the truck. Lucy was still standing on the steps when I drove past.

I soon found myself parked at Ma Granger’s house, not quite sure how I’d gotten there. I got out and went up the walk, not surprised at all when the door opened before I even reached it.

“You have news about my boy?” Ma asked.

Assuming she meant Jordan, I said, “I talked to him last night.”

“And?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. He’s miserable. But he’ll be okay.”

Eventually.

“Well, come on in. I want to talk to you.”

I supposed I wanted to talk to her, too. Why else would I be there?

The answer hit me when I walked in the door and saw her quilt rack set up in the parlor.

“Ma?”

She turned from where she was clearing a pile of fabric from the seat of an easy chair. “Yes?”

“Think you could make me something to wear for Lucy’s wedding?”

She looked at me. “For this Saturday.”

“Well. Yes.”

She looked at me some more.

“Please?” I said.

Big sigh. “All right. Stay there.”

She went into another room and came back with a measuring tape, a pencil, and a pad of paper.

“Stand still,” she said.

While she measured more parts of my body than seemed necessary, she quizzed me.

“So, what do you know about this Genna girl Jordan’s so broken up about?”

I shrugged.

“Hold still,” Ma said.

“I don’t really know much about her,” I said. “I only met her Friday night, and that was real brief.”

“What was she to Jordan?”

“Ma, I don’t really—”

“Did Jordan tell you they were engaged?”

Right. She knew about that. “Just unofficially. And he didn’t tell me until Sunday night. The first I heard of that was from Jermaine. Ouch!”

“Sorry.” But she wasn’t. I could tell.

She let the tape go from around my upper arm and swatted my legs apart so she could measure my thigh.

“Ma, if you’re making a dress, why do you need—”

“Did I ask for your input?” she said.

She scribbled on her tablet, then pushed my hips so I’d slide my feet back together. While she was measuring my hip width she said, “So now Jordan’s got himself shut in his house. Won’t talk to me, his brothers, his sisters-in-law… Seems the only person he’ll answer the phone for is you.”

“That’s only cause I threatened him, Ma.”

“Well, so did I. Didn’t work for me.”

She was quiet for a moment while she scratched more numbers onto her tablet. “Arms up,” she said.

I lifted them while she measured my chest. Not a number I really needed to know.

“So how’s that good-looking boyfriend of yours?” she asked as she squeezed my boobs with the tape.

“Fine,” I said. Reflex.

She let the tape drop and stood in front of me, squinting up into my face. “That didn’t sound right.”

“Oh, well.”

She raised her eyebrows, surprised at my rudeness. I was, too.

“Sorry, Ma. He just left this morning and I’m feeling a bit touchy.”

Her expression softened. “He’s a nice boy.”

“Yes, he is.” I swallowed, wishing she would stop talking about him.

She shook her head, hands on her hips. “You and Jordan. My goodness. You’d think I was asking you to betray the Lord himself the way you two keep these things so close to your chests.”

“You know me, Ma.”

“Yes, I do. And that’s why I want you to be Jordan’s special keeper.”

“What?”

“You’ve already started. Checking up on him and all. Our family has tried and he’s not having any of it. So I want you to act like the sister you’ve become. When you leave this house I want you to go make sure my boy’s okay.”

I looked at her, determination sparking in her eyes. How could I say no?

“I’ll go,” I said. “But this dress…Please, no bows or lace or—”

“Remember?” she said. “I know you. You just said so. You’ll have to trust me.”

I looked down at her and felt an overwhelming surge of affection. “I do trust you, Ma. More than anyone I know.”

She looked at me a little longer, like she knew there were things I wasn’t telling her. But I wasn’t ready to share about Nick.

“Okay, then.”

She measured a few more parts of me and stepped back. “I talked to the police yesterday.” She held up a hand. “But not till I spoke to that lawyer of yours. The one you told Jordan to call.”

“He helped you out?”

She nodded. “The police really think Jordan…did something to her. Don’t they?”

I looked at the floor, then at a pair of ceramic praying hands that sat on top of a bookshelf. “Yes, Ma. I think they do. But they’re wrong.” I turned toward the kitchen, where I’d find a phone to call Jordan’s house and see if he was there.

“Stella?” Ma said.

I turned to her.

“Jordan really loved this girl, didn’t he?” Her face sagged with the weight of the cops’ suspicions.

“Yes, Ma,” I said. “He loved her. He never would’ve hurt her.”

I believed it from the bottom of my heart.

I hoped my heart was right.

Chapter Thirteen

Jordan’s cell phone was turned off, as usual, and he either wasn’t answering his home phone or he was gone. Granger’s Welding was on the way to his place, so I stopped in, just in case he’d shown up for work.

“Haven’t seen him,” Jermaine said, then looked at me accusingly. “You said you’d call if he wasn’t all right.”

“I know. And when I talked with him last night he was. But I spoke to your mom this morning…”

Jethro, Zach’s dad and the oldest brother of the Granger clan, nodded. “We know what that means. You’ve been put on the case.”

“That’s right. So I’m trying to find him. Thought I’d check here first.”

“Before his house?” Jermaine sounded surprised. “I thought he was holed up there.”

“I tried calling, but he didn’t answer.”

“And where’d you call
from?
”

Oh. “Does he have Caller ID?” I asked.

They both nodded.

No wonder he wasn’t answering. His mother’s phone number had shown up on his screen.

“I guess I’ll check there, then.”

They went back to work and I headed up the road.

But Jordan wasn’t home. I knocked, rang the doorbell, looked in the windows, and made such a spectacle of myself I was afraid the neighbors would call the police. No response from inside, and I couldn’t see any lights or movement.

I gave up and drove home, where I could maybe get some inspiration on where to check next.

Lucy was in the garden, setting up the sprinkler amongst the seedlings. She saw me and waved. An idea struck me, and I walked over.

“You have a contact number for the Tom Copper Band?”

“Sure.” She pushed some errant bangs out of her eyes. “Inside.”

“Can I get it?”

She dusted her hands off on her pants. “It’s in the midst of all my wedding stuff. Better let me find it.”

“That would be best.” Lucy’s “wedding stuff” comprised about two boxes’ worth of scribbled notes, sample invitations, business cards, fabric swaths,
Bride
magazines, and much more crap than I ever wanted to know about. I meant it when I’d said I’d elope.

We walked toward the house. “Can I ask why you need the information?” Lucy asked.

“Jordan’s missing. I thought maybe the band has seen him.”

“Can’t hurt to check.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Everything okay with you and Nick?”

We’d reached the house, so I opened the door and walked in. Lucy, realizing I wasn’t answering, went to find what I needed.

She soon came back with a phone number scribbled on a piece of paper. “I’ve actually not called the number, since Jordan did all of the arranging. I’m not sure exactly who it’ll reach.”

I looked at it. An unfamiliar exchange. Not Philadelphia.

“I’ll try it. Thanks.”

She looked at me a moment longer, then went back outside. I walked to the kitchen and picked up the phone. Someone answered on the third ring saying, “Tom Copper Band.”

“Stella Crown here,” I said. “May I ask who I’m talking to?”

“Stella? We met the other day. This is Tonya Copper.”

So not a PR firm. And the unfamiliar exchange must’ve been for New Hope. “Sure. Hi. Hey, I’m looking for Jordan. Any chance you’ve seen him?”

“No, he hasn’t been around.”

“Could you do me a favor and call the other guys, see if they’ve been in touch with him? Or give me their numbers so I can call?”

“I can call them.” She stopped, but from the tone of the silence it didn’t seem like she was done.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing. I’ll get back to you if you tell me where to call.”

I rattled off my number and hung up. Ma had been explicit in her instructions to baby-sit her third-born, but I was at a loss to know where else to look for Jordan. I headed outside to do some of the farm work I’d been neglecting. The parlor was a mess from having the herd as winter residents, so I set to work with some spring cleaning. I was deep into it when the phone rang. Tossing my pitchfork aside, I jogged to the office and snatched up the receiver before the call rolled over to voice mail.

“Stella? Tonya Copper.”

I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. “You find him?”

“No. He’ll probably be at rehearsal tonight, but I’m assuming you want to talk with him before that.”

“If I can.”

“Well…” She hesitated, and I remembered our earlier conversation, when she seemed to be holding something back. I hoped she’d let it out this time.

“I could be wrong,” she finally said, “but I have a pretty good idea where you might find him.”

“Great,” I said. “Tell me.”

She did.

***

Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park is the largest urban park in the U.S., encompassing over nine thousand acres of land. The area where I parked was springtime beautiful; a long, grassy swath along the Schuylkill River with flowering trees and sunny skies. Runners were taking advantage of the weather along with cyclists, roller bladers, dog walkers, fishermen, and adults pushing strollers. Besides the exercising foot traffic, Fairmount Park is home to the Philadelphia Zoo, as well as Boathouse Row, a central rowing spot, and from where I parked my truck I could catch glimpses of the Art Institute.

I could also see the backed-up mess on the Schuylkill Expressway. Thank God Tonya had given me good directions for coming down on Kelly Drive.

Jordan sat where Tonya had expected, and a stab of sadness shot through me when I recognized his hunched shoulders. I weaved through the joggers and made my way down the gentle slope to him, where he tossed bread to a cluster of apparently starving geese.

I sat next to him on the bench, and he glanced over at me, surprise lighting his eyes. He turned back to the adoring flock surrounding him and resumed tearing off chunks of stale whole wheat slices. I let out a big breath and straightened my legs, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Closing my eyes and resting my hands on the bench, I waited to see just how long Jordan would stonewall me.

It was a long wait.

“What are you doing here?” he finally said.

I opened my eyes to see he’d used up the entire loaf of bread, and his feathered friends were waddling off to find more fertile grounds.

“You gonna tell me to scram, like you did your family?” I asked.

He gazed out at the river, his elbows resting on his knees. “Nah. You wouldn’t listen, anyway.”

I smiled. Ma wasn’t the only Granger who knew me.

“Ma send you?” he asked.

“Ordered me to find you. Make sure you were okay.”

He scrunched the bread bag up and hid it in his hand, checking to make sure none of it was visible. Then he opened his fingers and the bag expanded, crinkling and shining in the sun.

“So am I okay?”

I looked at him. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t say anything else, and I watched the scullers glide by—singles and multiple rowers. I’d never done organized sports, and wondered how it would feel to be part of such a smooth and flowing team.

“How’d you find me?” he asked, after a while.

“Tonya Copper. I called her to see if anyone in the band had talked to you, and she figured you were probably here. Said you and Genna came here a few times.”

He looked at the ground between his feet, reached down to pick up a pebble, and tossed it into the water. “I don’t know how she knew that.”

“Genna told her.”

Jordan’s head jerked up. “Really?”

“Apparently Genna was feeling…conflicted.”

He let out a short laugh. “Conflicted.”

“She needed someone to talk to. The times the two of you came here were special to her. And confusing.”

His mouth twitched, and he looked away from me, toward two moms with strollers.

“The band seems like a pretty close-knit group,” I said, when it was obvious he wasn’t going to offer anything else.

He nodded. “They are. The three original guys who are left, anyway. After all, they’ve been together, what? Fifteen years, maybe. Since high school.”

“Really?”

“Yup. All Philly kids. Public school. Somehow they recognized each other as musicians and got together. Been together ever since.”

“What about Parker?”

“He was with them from the beginning, too. But of course he left the band last year.”

I sat forward, leaning on my hands. “What’s the deal with the switch of drummers? From your perspective?”

He shrugged. “Parker was ready to try something new. He was tired of being a drummer. The only way to get ahead in the music business is to be the one writing the songs, and drummers don’t usually get that chance.”

“How come?”

“Don’t know. Just the way it is. And with the Tom Copper Band…”

“What?”

“Everyone knows Tom’s the songwriter.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, the others have written a couple here and there, but the big hits, the ones everyone knows, those are Tom’s.”

I stared out at the water while a goose landed in the river, splashing as it hit. The band—
Tom
—hadn’t mentioned the songwriting bit the other day when I’d been asking them about Parker’s change of career.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“You mean about Parker leaving?”

“Yeah.”

He got up, walked to a trash can to dump his bread bag, and came back, standing with his back to me, looking at the river. “There was tension in the band about some accident they’d had. I don’t know a whole lot about it, but I think it played into Parker quitting.”

“Why?”

He squatted down, found a flat rock, and skipped it out on the water. “Parker was the driver, I guess. Fell asleep at the wheel one night on tour. Miraculously everyone was okay except Tom, who got thrown through the windshield and ended up with a damaged leg. Actually had a ballpoint pen jammed into his thigh.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. He was on crutches the next several months and ended up addicted to painkillers. Had to go through rehab to get clean before they could resume touring at a regular clip.”

“Wow. I can see why there would be some issues.”

He spun another rock across the water. “They’re pretty much over it now. Parker comes by once in a while, and everybody seems to be okay with it.”

I remembered the atmosphere backstage before the concert, with the good-natured ribbing. At least I’d assumed it was good-natured.

“How about the others?” I asked. “LeRoy and Donny? They get along with Tom okay?”

“Everyone does. He’s a great guy.”

“No clashes?”

He jostled a couple of rocks in his hands. “Not that I’ve seen. LeRoy’s a devout Christian and church-goer, which makes for some interesting conversation and schedule-juggling, but they’re all sensitive to it. It’s rare to have someone religious in a rock band, but it works.”

“And Donny?”

“Donny just sort of goes with the flow. Real laid back.”

But I’d seen fire in his eyes on Monday at Tom’s place when Ricky was putting on his show of grief. And his expression when he’d reached to comfort Tonya, only to be beaten out by Tom. Her husband.

“What’s the history with Donny and Tonya?”

Jordan shrugged. “Didn’t know there was any.” His face held no sign that he was lying. “Why?”

“Just curious. What about with Ricky? Donny get along with him?”

He glanced at me, his face closing. “They all tolerate Ricky.”

I shook my head. “But why? They could get another drummer. They’re the
Tom Copper Band.
”

Jordan lobbed a few last rocks into the river and looked at his watch. “I should probably get to rehearsal. You feel good enough about my well-being you can give Ma a report?”

I stood up. “How ’bout I give you a lift to practice?”

He sighed, resignation flooding his face. “You won’t just leave me alone?”

I smiled.

“I was afraid of that,” he said.