Come Rain or Come Shine (21 page)

‘How's the pup?' he asked Willie.

‘Drinkin' water like crazy. Dooley set a bowlful on th' porch, an' when I looked a few minutes ago, it was empty. So I filled it an' she went after it again.'

Out of the blue, some inner voice, some awful premonition. Surely not . . .

‘I could not watch th' door every minute,' said Lily.

‘I understand,' he said, setting to work.

‘In an' out, open an' shut, till you could lose your religion. I cannot believe anybody would bring a puppy home with all that's goin' on around here. Can you believe it?'

‘Sort of,' he said, wiping the floor with paper towels. Slick.

‘Who would think a puppy could stand up like a man and drag it off the table?'

‘I'll need a mop,' he said.

‘I'll get Arbutus to do it. Lord knows, we need walkie-talkies. You shouldn't be down on your knees like that, you're clergy.'

He laughed a little. But only a little.

The truck bed was filling up.

As hoped, the deviled egg was making a show for itself—three separate versions.

Green bean casserole—two dishes, same version: classic.

Fried chicken, none appearing to have come from KFC.

Coleslaw. Field peas. Baked ziti.

Twelve pounds of NC barbecue with a jug of sauce.

Four round cakes of cornbread to go with the barbecue, good thinking.

Five casseroles, covered, contents thereby defying identification.

Honey Hershell's green limas and a supersize bowl of . . .

‘Corn cut off th' cob, short-cooked with butter and a little sugar,' she told Willie. ‘I don't feel like this should go in the bed of a truck. Mink will carry it to th' barn but you can take th' limas, they're in Tupperware and won't spill, an' please make sure I get my containers back.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' said Willie.

At four-fifteen, the Hope House van pulled onto the north strip and dropped off four pans of biscuits shielded from the elements by Saran Wrap. ‘Miss Louella's wedding present to Dr. Dooley and his bride,' said the driver, as proud as if he'd done the baking himself. ‘If y'all could get th' pans back to us . . .'

Baked beans, warm from the oven. The inevitable potato salad, two containers full.

The even more inevitable store-bought rotisserie chicken in its plastic bag, but not to worry, as the Flower Girls would make it look good on the platter.

A salad fashioned with homegrown Boston lettuce and baby arugula in a wooden bowl.

‘Don't let this get wilted,' said Judy the postmistress.

‘No, ma'am,' said Willie.

‘And don't let anybody else take this bowl home. My grandmother worked her bread dough in that bowl. My name, phone number, and PO box are on the bottom.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' said Willie.

‘It only leaves th' house for weddings and funerals,' she said, hammering her point.

Various jars of homemade pickles, two sent by Lew Boyd, who had won awards in this genre. Two quart mason jars of peaches, golden in their syrupy nectar.

A gigantic meatloaf, sliced, covered in foil, and attended by a Post-it note to whoever was running the kitchen:
Positively has to be heated at 350° for twenty minutes to bring out the flavor!

A box of Oreos with a twelve-pack of Snickers in a Food Lion bag.

Lily handed off an oatmeal cookie as Harley blew into the kitchen. ‘Don't eat it all in one place,' she said. ‘Where you goin' at a trot?'

‘To meet Miss Pringle on th' North Strip. She'll need somebody to walk 'er to th' tent. That's a pretty good haul.'

‘Call and ask her to drive to the front of the house, then take her car and park it.'

‘A good idea if I ever heard it. Lord help, I can't half think.' Harley looked dazed. ‘Wait a minute. She's already on th' road and don't carry a cell phone.'

‘Meet her on the North Strip like you planned, jump in, an' drive her to th' house, then
park th' car
.' For crap's sake. Plus he was wearin' enough cologne to knock you down.

She shook her head in disbelief. Things around here would probably be pretty much like this till she was old and gray.

Beth came into the room with two glasses of iced tea. ‘Father Tim's cousin and his wife are here, their luggage is not. Your
dad is shooting everything, even the signage. And the puppy ate part of a ham and is in her crate sleeping it off.'

‘No! Father Tim worked so hard . . .'

‘She got away from Dooley and Jack Tyler, but all is well, not to worry. It's glorious out there, beyond beautiful. Seventy-two degrees, a cloudless sky. Awesome! And your dad gave me sheet music for a song he loves and . . .'

Beth was glowing, ecstatic.

‘And?'

‘And there's a really huge surprise for you and Dooley—for everybody, really.'

She didn't know about another surprise. A litter of kittens had been dropped off in their driveway this morning; people did this to country vets.

‘Four legs or two?'

‘Um. Eight.'

‘
Eight
?'

‘Eight. End of clue.'

‘Give me one more?'

‘Can't do it. Okay. We've got to get your hair thing done. That dress is a knockout.'

‘I love, love my dress,' said Lace. ‘It just slithers on.'

‘You are breathtaking in that scrap of silk. Perfect! Now sit down.'

‘Are you scared?' said Lace.

‘Duh. Of course I'm scared. I'm used to singing with scads of people in a university choir. I've never done solos, much
less after an hour's rehearsal with a group called the Ham Biscuits.'

‘You'll be awesome. You were wonderful in rehearsal, you could make a CD.'

Beth brushed Lace's long hair. ‘Are you scared?'

‘More sort of buzzing, like I'm plugged into something.'

‘You are plugged into something. Love! You look fabulous, you're a stick, I'm so jealous.'

‘We're practically the same size.'

‘In certain places,' said Beth. ‘So I'm just weaving your hair in kind of a loose braid. You have a gob of hair! Then we'll put it in an updo and work in your hairpiece and flowers.'

‘Dooley's mom made my hairpiece from the lining of her wedding suit.'

‘It will be perfect with the stephanotis. Turquoise and cream. My fave!'

‘So my dress was Olivia's slip—something borrowed. In this box is my wonderful necklace—something blue. My shoes are something new. And you're my something old.'

‘Gee, thanks,' said Beth.

A knock on the door.

‘Who is it?' said Beth.

‘Me, Jack Tyler!'

Beth started for the door, but she got up herself, and ran to open it, and there he was, this small person with the hazel eyes and long lashes, and a bashed-in toy. Jack Tyler looked scrubbed.

‘Which side?' said Jack Tyler. ‘Lily said ask you.'

‘Which side what?'

‘To part my hair.'

She was startled. How could she not know the answer to such a simple question? There would be hundreds, really thousands, of questions. If she was going to be a mom, she would have to think fast.

Maybe for the first time since he came, she was awake to the astonishing reality of Jack Tyler. This was no longer the bereft child staring into the pond or the image of the little guy they held fast in their hearts for two years and prayed for every day. This was now and this was real.

‘Sit here in front of the mirror.'

She picked up her comb and breathed out.

‘Look at you. So handsome! Your hair is already wet from the shower, so let's just start combing and see where your part is.'

Jack Tyler stared at the reflection that was sort-of-kind-of himself, wearing the new T-shirt that said
Dog's Best Friend
. What if he needed to go back to being the other boy again and couldn't?

‘There! It parts on the left side.' She was oddly thrilled by this specific information. Beth applauded.

Jack Tyler looked at the face of the mom in the mirror and thought he'd never seen anyone so pretty, not even on TV. Then he stared for a long time at the other person he had started being.

‘Man!' he said in a whisper.

He'd rarely seen Pauline in high spirits or looking what he would call happy. Like many believers, she was convinced she didn't deserve happiness, though he'd tried to persuade her otherwise. Today, however, he saw a spark. A spark can ignite.

‘Somethin' good just happened, Father, can I tell you?'

‘Come and sit.' He patted the place beside him on the glider, where he was taking a breather before going up to dress.

‘Can I start at th' top?'

‘The very best place to start!'

‘I know I've thanked you before, Father, and I want to thank you again for raisin' Dooley and giving him everything I never could. You don't have to say anything, I just wanted to make sure I got that in before tellin' you that back in January, Buck an' I started watchin' pool competitions on TV. Plus we decided to read everything we could find on th' game Sammy loves. Seems like th' more we crammed in, th' more it all leaked out.'

‘I'm with you there!' he said.

‘But it made me remember something I'd completely forgot. Years ago, when I started drinkin' so bad, I shot a few games of pool down in Holding. I remember that it felt really natural; I even won a few games. It meant a lot to me to win something.'

She smiled, glad for a long-missing piece that fit somewhere in the puzzle.

‘Anyway, when Buck and me study th' game, we pray that one day I'll be able to watch Sammy play in person.'

‘Good. Yes.'

The sudden radiance of her smile . . .

‘God just gave me a special time with Sammy. In th' library. I got to watch him play. An' we talked about famous people who loved pool. Like President George Washington. The father of our country.'

Bread and wine, bread and wine.