Trouble's Brewing (18 page)

“I’ve already tried to do that. But it’s swallowed me whole. I don’t think I can take any more.”

“But why not? You’re stronger than that.”

I studied my dad in the yellowed light of the cab. Shadows deepened over his brow, and his blue eyes crinkled with worry. I dared to look into his eyes as I spoke in a hushed whisper. “I think you know.”

His eyebrows arched. “Know what?”

“Maybe I didn’t kill Bailey Ann, but you know that I killed my own baby. You were there. You drove me to the clinic. You waited for me in the waiting room. And now I just can’t seem to separate one baby’s death from the other.”

Dad put his arm around me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Oh, Donna. You were my little girl, and it was just too early for you and Wade to start a family. What were you, all of eighteen? You had plans, goals. I couldn’t let your pregnancy take that away from you. And truthfully, after your mama left in such a scandal, I couldn’t bear the thought of going through another one. I didn’t want to see you start a family that way.”

My breath caught on a sob. “But did you ever stop to think of the consequences?”

He pulled back and leaned his head back into the seat. “No. I’m afraid I didn’t. As far as I knew, your baby was, what, just ten weeks along? It was only a clump of cells at that stage.”

“I’ve tried to believe that. Lord knows. But in my heart, I knew the truth. I killed my baby, and now I’m paying for it with the death of Bailey Ann. At least, it was her death that made me realize what I’d done.”

Dad sat quietly, but when he finally spoke, I turned to see him wiping tears from his eyes. “Donna, I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

I nodded. “We both were.”

We sat together for a long time, quietly breathing as pain engulfed us. Finally Dad gave me a hug. “You stay on duty. I’ll call you in the morning, unless you’d like me to relieve you now,” he said.

“No, you go on home. I’ll be okay.”

How I managed to outlast my shift, I’ll never know. I was glad it was a slow night. Too cold for any pranksters to be out, and as it Serving Trouble was Sunday, the weekend tourists had left for Denver. That gave me plenty of time to think in that frigid parking lot. I was glad I had the hot soup and coffee to keep me from turning into an icicle.

Later, when I got home, I collapsed into bed, drifting into a rare, dreamless sleep. I pulled about five hours of sleep and took a hot shower as my coffee brewed. Later, I sat drinking my joe as I looked out the kitchen window. The morning was beautiful. A cloud was lifting from the mountain behind my house, leaving ice crystals glistening on the pine trees. The phone rang. It was Clay.

“Donna, how are you?”

“Not so good. And yourself?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t, Clay. I’m not worth it.”

There was a pause on the end of the line. “What are you saying?”

“Don’t get attached to me, Clay. I don’t have anything to give anyone. Even someone who has been a friend to me, like you.”

“Donna, I don’t believe that, and I’m not giving up. Why don’t you meet me down at the café?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Then let me drop by.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Then with nothing more to say, I bid Clay goodbye, and I went back to the window. The cloud had completely evaporated, leaving a bright blue sky to contrast against the white landscape. The beauty helped my soul relax, if only a little. That’s when it hit me. To my amazement I realized that Clay Whitefield, my enemy, was a real friend. Maybe my only one, unless you counted Vonnie and a few of the Potluckers.

I pulled into the church parking lot at 12:30, hoping to catch Wade before he went into the church. I was hoping to find out why we had to talk to the pastor together.

When he pulled his blue pickup into the lot at a quarter till, I got out and met him. He looked sheepish, though as handsome as ever. He was wearing khaki pants and a nice black cable-knit sweater with a white pointed collar. Gone was his ever-present Rockies baseball Donna cap, and it looked as if he’d actually trimmed his golden locks and bothered to shave. This was a side to Wade I didn’t know. Though, it was an improvement.

“What’s all this about?” I asked him.

Wade looked around uneasily. “I’d rather not talk about it out here.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to the pastor if I don’t know what I’m facing.”

Wade squinted his blue eyes. “Are you okay, Donna? Your face is swollen. Have you been crying?”

I shrugged. “Just tell me why I’m here or I’m leaving.”

“It’s about closure, Donna. You and me. We both need it.”

“Wade, our relationship is long over.”

“Is it? In one afternoon, fourteen years ago, I lost my family.”

I stared at him. “We were never a family.”

“You carried my baby. You’d agreed to be my wife.”

I heard a car pull into the parking lot, but I didn’t bother to look up.

“And?”

“And I lost you both. One trip down the mountain, to 16th and Vine in Denver, and it was over.”

I heard a car door slam, but I stared at the ground. “You told the pastor?” I looked up at him. “Wade, I go to church here.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Embarrass me? You had no right. By telling Pastor Moore, you’ve taken the only thing I had left in my miserable life.”

Wade reached for my hand. I looked up and once again saw his pain. “What did I take from you?” he asked.

“My pride.” I pulled my hand away, and with tears blurring my vision, I ran back to the Bronco.

“Donna!” I heard a familiar voice call.

I turned my head to see Vonnie standing by my truck. I swung open the cab door and leaped inside. Between sobs, I managed to stammer, “I can’t talk, Vonnie, I’ve got to run.”

Wade walked up and stood next to this dear woman I’d always thought of as my mom. I looked back at them in the rearview mirror as I peeled out of the driveway. Was Wade going to tell her too? But then, she already knew, didn’t she?

My Bronco fishtailed on the road, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know where I was going—I thought maybe I should consider driving off the nearest cliff. Besides, what difference would it make if I lived or died? Though in most ways, it seemed I was already dead. I died the same night God ripped Bailey Ann from my arms.

29

Friendship with Attitude Takes a Holiday

Clay wasn’t sure what Donna had been thinking when he’d wrapped her in his arms, but he was keenly aware of his own thoughts and feelings. He suspected—though he couldn’t be sure—that Donna had noticed his weight loss too. The very thought of it made him want to add another mile to his exercise routine.

But there was something else he’d noted. Maybe it was his sharp reporter’s skills kicking in, or maybe it was something else, like his love and devotion to the little nut.

He was worried, truly concerned, and that was a new emotion for him. Not that he hadn’t ever had a troubled thought for another human being; he’d been very anxious about his mother’s well-being after his father died and still sent money from his paycheck to both her and his beloved grandmother so they could enjoy a few of life’s “little pleasures.” But his relationship with Donna had always been one of ribbing and teasing. Jest. Friendship with attitude.

When she’d fallen into his arms, he’d felt a sense of protection toward her. Something bold and warriorlike. It came to him, then, that Donna Vesey was a woman holding on to more than one secret. The floodgates of tears had been about more than just a baby drowning.

What more, he could only imagine.

30

A little Tart

My life had turned upside down.

The man of my dreams—the man I wanted to marry and live happily with for the rest of my life—was, once again, in love with another woman. My Potluck Club was going to blazes in a basket. Another meeting like this past one, and we might as well close up shop. If it hadn’t been for Lizzie staying and praying with me, I think I would have just curled into a small ball in the middle of my bed, pulled the covers over my head, and never come back out.

But, of course, I had to come out. I had to go to church the following day, which only added another complication to my life. Lisa Leann’s meddling led to Pastor Kevin pairing us together to direct the Christmas Tea. Well, if that little gal from Texas thought she was going to run the Tea …

I sat in the family room of my parents’ old home, the house I’ve occupied my whole life long, watching a morning talk show and doodling on a pad of paper. It wasn’t anything I was interested in. As a matter of fact, it was pretty loud and obnoxious. Right now, I just needed a bit of a distraction. Something—anything—to keep my mind off of Vernon, my Potluck Club, and Lisa Leann running (or ruining) the Christmas Tea.

The Christmas Tea made me think about Jan, and I made a note on the paper that we should somehow honor her at this year’s event. How, I wasn’t quite sure. I made another note: call Vonnie, Lizzie, and Goldie. Get opinions on honoring Jan.

I glanced up at the television, peering over the rim of my reading glasses. The host of the show, Jason Sanders, was speaking into his microphone, staring into the camera. “We’re talking to women today who were dumped by their lifelong mates, and we’re offering them hope and help for the future.”

The camera swung over to a woman with thick blond hair and full cheeks. Her makeup was clearly locked in the eighties, as was her choice in fashion and accessories. I chuckled a bit, amazed that I would even be aware of such. Maybe knowing Lisa Leann for the past few months hadn’t been such a bad experience after all. What that woman knows about makeup and fashion could fill a glossy three-hundred-page magazine. “I don’t like to use the word
dumped
,” the woman was saying. “It’s demeaning. It says I wasn’t worthy of this man. Well, the fact of the matter is, Jason, he wasn’t worthy of me.”

The audience erupted in applause. “Preach it, sister,” I said.

“Jason, may I say something?” a voice rang out over the ovation. The camera now rested on a slender woman with short, groomed hair and caramel skin. She wore a blue suit, and even my untrained eye could see it was expensive.

The name “Dr. Toni Mason” was printed at the bottom of the screen.

“Yes, Dr. Mason,” the host confirmed her request.

“Women of today who have been left after years of love and loyalty must reach deep within themselves and see their inner worth. That’s why the audience clapped for what Naomi just said. It’s important that women see their own worth because they are valuable not only as human beings but as human beings capable of being loved and being able to give love.”

I made a face. What in the world did that woman just say, and why did it take a degree in psychology to say it? Shoot, I could have evangeline said that and probably done it even better. What did she know, anyway, about loving someone since she was twelve years old only to have to give him away not once but three times to a woman like Doreen Roberts?

As if on cue, the cordless phone perched on the nearby end table rang. I pulled off my reading glasses and reached for it. “Hello,” I said.

“Don’t hang up.”

I sighed. “Vernon. Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep calling me … hounding me? Don’t you think I see you driving by my house at all hours of the day and night? You know what I’m going to have to do, don’t you? I’m going to have to get that caller ID service for my phone. Or move. That’s what I’m going to have to do. I’m going to be forced to move, and it’ll be all your fault.”

Vernon remained quiet during my tirade. “Are you done?” he asked. “Because if you’ll just talk to me, listen to me, I’ll be glad to let you carry on from now until noon, so you just rant and rave all you want, Evie-girl.”

“Don’t call me that. I told you before, do not call me that.”

“Come on, Evangeline,” he practically whined. “Can’t you just listen to what I have to say?”

“No.”

“Why not? Give me one good reason why not.”

“Because I am a human being who deserves to love and be loved.” I nodded my chin in appreciation for what I’d just learned from Talk TV.

“What? What the tarnation does that mean?”

I pursed my lips. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand simple psychology.”

I listened to what sounded like traffic on the other end of the line. “Where are you, Vernon Vesey?”

“I’m sitting outside in your driveway. I want to come in … to talk to you.”

I looked down at myself. I hadn’t taken my shower, hadn’t gotten out of my old pajamas and the ratty robe I wore when I wanted and needed comfort. My mouth held the lingering stench of morning A little Tart breath and strong coffee, and my hair hadn’t seen a comb or brush since earlier the day before. “I don’t hardly think so,” I said, rising from my chair and darting through the house toward the front windows whose blinds were, blessedly, closed.

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to get up on the front porch and bang on the door? Do you want me to stand out in the middle of the yard and sing love songs? Evangeline, you’ve got to listen to me on this.”

I pried open two slats of the front window blinds and peered out. There he was, sitting in one of the county Broncos, looking so handsome in his uniform I could have eaten him with a spoon.

“I see you, Evangeline.”

I jumped back. “Well, so what if you did?” Inwardly, I chided myself for having admired him, even for an instant. “And, for your information, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, Vernon Vesey. Now I’ll thank you kindly to leave my property, or I’ll … I’ll …”

“What? Call the law? It’s sitting here, right here, in your driveway.”

I crossed the room and sat in a chair. “Vernon, say your piece from the car. I’m listening.”

“I want to come in.”

“Not now,” I answered. “I’m not exactly presentable for company.”

“Look, Evie. I’m tired—real tired; I had a long night last night, and I’ve still got something important to handle today. Something very important. And, after that, I promise you, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Deal? I’ll come pick you up at 7:00, we’ll have dinner, and we’ll talk. I know we can get this thing rectified if you’ll just listen.”

I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t that I had any plans—in fact, it was one of the first nights I didn’t have plans to go out with Bob since our first date at Apple’s. I wanted so badly to hear what Vernon had to say—to believe what he had to say—because I loved him so strongly. But, the problem was, I wasn’t evangeline sure if I could believe him, no matter what he had to say, no matter how he tried to defend his actions from a couple of weeks ago.

And, darn it all, Bob Burnett was actually starting to grow on me. “If you can’t marry the one you love,” Mama used to say, “at least marry the one who loves you.” From all indications, Bob Burnett was in love with me. He’d pampered me with dinners and flowers delivered from florists for no apparent reason except to say that he was thinking of me. He’d even surprised me during one date with a bottle of perfume. A real expensive one too. If I said yes to Vernon’s request, would I betray what I was building with Bob?

“Evie?”

“What? Oh. Sorry. I was thinking.”

I heard him chuckle. “Well, that’s better than a downright no.”

“I’ll meet you at Higher Grounds at 5:00. Not Apple’s at 7:00.”

“But—”

“No, Vernon. I’ll hear what you have to say, but on my own terms. Besides, I already have dinner plans.” That was sort of a lie. My plans were to eat the last of Goldie’s asparagus casserole she’d brought with her on Saturday.

I listened for a moment to the rhythm of his breathing before he answered. “Have it your way. I’ll see you at 5:00.”

I pushed the “end call” button on my phone, then took it back into the family room to replace it in its cradle. A quick glance at the television showed the studio audience of the talk show to be in an all-out war, each individual screaming and yelling at the others who were vying for the chance to share their opinion.

I picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. The television hummed to silence. As I laid the remote back on the coffee table, I pondered the similarities of the talk show’s audience to the war within my own heart.

As the day dragged on, I found myself a little more excited about meeting Vernon at the café than I’d anticipated. I spent extra time in my bath, primping over my hair and dabbing a little extra eye A little Tart cream onto the fine lines that my niece, Leigh, had said gave me character.

What does a twentysomething know about crow’s feet and character?
I wondered, leaning over the vanity and studying my face. My shoulders drooped. I’d read an article recently about some Botox alternative. I made a quick decision to look into it further.

A glance into my closet revealed that I had nothing new to wear—at least nothing new to Vernon. He’d seen me in all my new clothes, and I wanted to impress him. This afternoon would mean either the new start of our relationship or the absolute end of it. One way or the other, I needed a new outfit. He’d be pleased at what he was getting back or he’d kick himself all the way home at what he was losing.

I slipped into an old pair of navy blue slacks and an outdated sweater, pulled on a pair of thick socks, and then pulled on my snow boots. I studied the face of my watch as I hooked it around my wrist.

If I didn’t dawdle, I could drive up to Main Street Fashions, pick out something perfect for the meeting, be home in time for a little extra attention to myself, and make it to the café before 5:00. Minutes later I was rolling my car down snow-plowed streets, turning onto a side street parking space, and darting into the small boutique.

“Evangeline,” Lindy Follett greeted me from behind the counter, where displays of cashmere scarves were draped through brass towel rings. “What brings you in here on such a cold afternoon?”

I lingered over the scarves as I pulled my gloves from my hands, then lightly touched a chartreuse one trimmed with little beads tied into the fringes. “Pretty,” I said, then looked up. “I’m just looking for a little something new. Nothing important.”

Lindy lifted her multicolored reading glasses from the bridge of her nose and pushed them on top of her head, where they nestled in her curly, shoulder-length gray hair. “If you like that scarf, I have a sweater and pantsuit that goes with it very nicely.” She walked from around the counter and led me to the clothes rack. Removing the set from the bar, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I like that. Not too fancy, not too informal.”

“It’s sharp,” she said, extending it to me with a wink. “And a little more up-to-date than what you’ve got on. Why don’t you try it on and see?”

I took the clothes and started toward the curtained-off dressing room. As I was stepping into the slacks I heard Lindy call from the other side, “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Evangeline?”

“Not at all,” I answered, pulling the slacks over my hips and zipping them at the side.

“I’ve seen you sitting with Bob Burnett the past two Sundays at Grace. Are you two dating?”

I looked at myself in the mirror before me, half dressed in my bra and a sharp pair of lined gray wool slacks. My face turned crimson in spite of the fact I was basically alone. It felt as though my private life were exposed for the world to see. “I guess you could say that,” I said.

“I was just surprised to see the two of you sitting together,” she continued as I slipped the sweater from its hanger and pulled it over my head. “I thought you and the sheriff were dating and—”

I jerked the curtain back and stepped out. “What do you think?” I asked her, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, Evangeline. Well, honey, that’s the color for you; that much is for sure. If you’re trying to impress the new man in your life, this ought to do it.”

What I was trying to do was impress the old man in my life. Not that Lindy Follett needed to know that, of course. “I’ll take it,” I said, turning to look at myself in the outside mirror. I had to admit, I did look sharp.

Lindy held the scarf in her hand and draped it over my shoulder. “You can wear it like this, or—”

“I’ll take the scarf too,” I said. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll bring these to the counter.” I looked down at my watch. “I have somewhere I have to be in a couple of hours, so …”

Lindy nodded. “I see. Okay.”

I paid for my purchases—even adding a new pair of earrings to the ensemble—and headed back home. As soon as I turned on the car, my “low fuel” indicator light came on. I checked my watch again. If I hurried, I could drive down to the Pump ’N Go just outside A little Tart the city limits where the gas was a few cents cheaper than in town and still make it home with plenty of time to spare.

I’m not real big on going to the Pump ’N Go except that the gas is less expensive. The problem I have is that it’s in a less desirable part of town, an area where the tavern is and a few of Bob’s whitetrash trailer rentals. It’s not that I think I’m better than anybody else, I’m just not comfortable outside of my element. But to save a few dollars—and with the price of gasoline these days—I was willing to risk my reputation.

I pulled up to one of the gas pump islands, popped the lever for my gas cap, and began the process of pumping gasoline into my car, careful not to get any on my hands. I looked around, checking things out, wanting to stay alert lest any of the lowlifes around here should try to abduct me or steal my car. That’s when I noticed the sheriff ’s Bronco parked at the side of the tavern. I strained to see the license plate but couldn’t. If it read Summit 2, it was Donna. But if it read Summit 1, it was Vernon.