Come Rain or Come Shine (20 page)

‘I do, we love him. But he's really unpolished for a Yankee girl with a family who owns railroads and works at Goldman Sachs.'

‘That was my great-great-grandfather who owned railroads; we're all poor as church mice now. And trust me, it's no big deal that I'm at Goldman.'

‘But it was always your dream to work there.'

‘Maybe it isn't my dream anymore.'

‘Tell me.'

Beth shrugged, turned off the blow-dryer, walked to the window. ‘It doesn't matter.'

‘Of course it matters.'

‘Wow. My mom and Father Brad.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Standing by the fence together. She's giving him such a smile. I haven't seen her really smile in a long time. Who is Father Brad, anyway? Is he okay?'

‘He was our premarital counselor and one of the big reasons Sammy made a turnaround. Sammy did Father Brad's
annual boot camp for teens—hiking, mountain climbing, snow camping, praying—it was super intense. It took three boot camps for Sammy.'

Beth was pressing her nose against the glass to get a better look. ‘I mean, he's sort of a hunk for a priest. Is he a nice person? He had better be a nice person.'

Lace laughed. ‘They're just standing by the fence together, right? And yes, he's a completely wonderful person.'

They were ducking out to the clinic together, hand in hand like kids running away from home. And there was Danny Hershell and his kid brother tying cans to the rear bumper of Dooley's truck, which now displayed a hand-lettered sign:
Just Married
.

‘Hey, dude,' said Dooley, ‘we appreciate it, but we're not goin' anywhere.'

Danny Hershell was pretty devastated.

‘But keep doin' what you're doin', okay? And thanks. We'll drive it around tomorrow and honk th' horn at your place.'

The music and walk-through, sans dogs, had gone smoothly, with a lot of laughter. Jack Tyler was fine with everything and she was relieved. Relieved too that she could still be in her old jeans and a farm shirt for this stolen time with Dooley.

He unlocked the rear door. ‘After today, you're going to be stuck with me,' he said.

‘I've waited years to be stuck with you.'

They stepped inside; he held her tight against his heart, his flesh and bones.

‘I want to sleep with you forever,' she said.

‘I want to sleep with you forever back. I love you. I need you, I thank God for you.'

She leaned into the sinew of his frame, where she always learned something new, and they held each other.

They went along the hall then to the recovery room, where patients slept or stared out of their crates longing for home.

‘Look!' she said, dismayed. ‘It's Homer.'

Homer lay on a blanket, an IV needle in his left ear. He opened one eye and gazed at her.

‘You didn't tell me.'

‘I didn't want to tell you. We removed the spleen with a sizable mass and sent the biop to State. Could be lymphoma. And his kidney values are through the roof. We'll watch him a couple of days before he goes home.'

‘Oh,' she said, tears coming. She loved Homer for reasons she didn't completely understand. ‘How many mLs?'

‘Eighty-six. And don't worry, Hal and Amanda will take good care of him.' Hal was subbing tomorrow and Tuesday, and Amanda would be watchful.

It would always be like this with Dooley's work.
‘Tomorrow,' she said to Homer; she would come back tomorrow and hold him.

Across the aisle, a pup whined, urgent, thumping its tail.

Whose pup is this?' she said.

‘Don't know yet.'

‘A Golden puppy! What's the matter with him?'

‘Her. Nothing. She's in perfect health.' He waited, gaining confidence. ‘Amanda just gave her a good run.'

Lace squatted down, offered the back of her hand to the cold nose. ‘I love her, she's adorable. Is someone boarding her?'

‘That would be me.' Predicting doom, he took a deep breath. ‘She's your wedding present.'

She looked up at him, and there was the light in her eyes and her great smile and the laughter—all the confirmation he needed to see—and she opened the crate and the pup barreled out and she got a good licking on her face, the whole deal, and she was happy, she was happy.

At that moment, he came into possession of a new and simple truth: if Lace was happy and Jack Tyler was happy, he was happy.

Lace sat on the floor; the pup rolled onto her back and offered her belly for a scratch.

‘I love her!' said Lace. ‘Jack Tyler will love her. You shouldn't have,' she said, making a joke.

‘True,' he said.

She stood and gave him a hug. ‘Thanks. She's beautiful. Now yours.'

Harley and Willie had hung it this morning on the big wall behind the reception desk. It would be the first time she had seen it hanging, but she wouldn't look yet; she would look when Dooley looked.

‘Close your eyes.' She led him into the reception area. ‘I'm closing mine, too.'

The pup sprawled on the cool tile of the floor, teething a treat.

With all her might, she hoped it was everything it needed to be—for Dooley and for all the people who would see it over the years—and for herself, too; she needed it to exceed her hard critique.

‘Okay, we can look now.' Her heart beat in her temples. ‘Your wedding present.'

Yes, yes,
yes
.

She heard the small exhale, the intake of his breath. He put his arm around her, shook his head with wonder. ‘Man,' he said. ‘Man.' It was all he could say.

On a canvas measuring three feet wide by two feet high, Dr. Kavanagh's farm truck zoomed by the viewer, hauling in the long bed five old dogs, including Barnabas. The doc himself was driving, you could tell by the splotch of cadmium red for his hair.

Kavanagh Animal Wellness Clinic,
read the lettering on the passenger door. The very best Constable clouds she could possibly paint unfurled in a Carolina blue sky above the red truck. It was a beautiful day.

The Hershells had arrived early to give a hand where needed and would go home and come again for the ceremony.

‘Mink and Honey Hershell, meet my brother, Henry Winchester, from Mississippi.'

As he reckoned, this was a lot to take in at a moment's notice. Henry was tall; he was short. Henry was handsome; he was plain. Henry was a Winchester; he was a Kavanagh. Henry was black; he was white—albeit with a farmer's tan.

Mink Hershell was speechless. But Honey was not.

‘Lord help,' she said, ‘y'all came all th' way from Mississippi? What kind of drivin' time is that?'

‘Train time, Mrs. Hershell. I came up from Birmingham on th' Crescent. I'm very pleased to meet you.'

‘Oh, my mother took th' Crescent from Philadelphia to New Orleans in 1979, th' only time she ever went out of state. She saved her ticket stub for ages. New Orleans was where my granddaddy died, he was a hundred and two. We're glad to have you, Mr. Winchester. I brought th' lima beans, I used a little side meat to season.'

‘That's the way we like our limas back home,' said Henry.

‘Which is your favorite? Green or white?'

‘I like either one,' said Henry. ‘But we usually eat them green for the higher manganese content.' Henry smiled. ‘Good for the bones.'

‘Well, great, I brought green. I'll remember that next time you come.'

‘Henry,' said Mink, ‘glad to have you. We sure think a lot of your brother here. He can grow grass like nobody's business.'

‘What the guineas don't scratch up,' he said, grateful. He would remember Honey Hershell for this.

The luggage of his cousin Walter and Walter's wife Katherine had been sent to Colorado.

‘Exactly what happened when we came for your wedding,' said Katherine, who was furious. ‘I hate to be furious at a wedding, but what is the
matter
with those people? I
ask
you!'

He didn't know. He really didn't.

‘I never have anything to
wear
down here, only lipstick and eye drops to my
name
.'

‘What you're wearing is perfect,' said Cynthia.

‘Jeans and a cotton sweater!' said Katherine. ‘Nobody wears jeans to a southern wedding.'

‘They do to this southern wedding. Trust me. And aren't those your good pearls you're wearing?'

‘Yes, and thank God, or they'd be circling on a carousel in Denver.'

‘Good pearls are all you ever need at a southern wedding,' said his wife. Such wisdom did not stick with Katherine Kavanagh of New Jersey.

‘I am a recovering alcoholic for thirty years,' said
Katherine. ‘But how can I ever
fully
recover if I can't ever, even
once
, dress decently for a southern wedding?'

Walter drew him aside. ‘Leave her alone a bit,' he said, ‘she'll get over it. But I must say, what
is
the matter with those people?'

Nap time. She closed the door to the library and rocked him, slumped limp and solid against her heart, loving the bone and muscle of his body, his faint odor of grass and cookies and Golden Retriever.

Rocking, rocking, holding this wonderful sleeping boy, healing herself.