Like Sweet Potato Pie (12 page)

It took me all the way to The Green Tree to collect myself. Beulah’s words. The Bible open in my lap as Pastor Davis urged us to call out to Jesus. Adam’s hand on my shoulder as we stood in the hallway, purse strap twisting in my hands.

I wedged my Honda between two badly parked cars and let the engine die. Sat there in the silence, golden leaves fluttering down onto my windshield like feathers. I let my head sink down to the steering wheel. I needed quiet. Needed rest. Needed …

“Aw no, Kyoko! Not there!” I rolled down my window and gestured. Honked my horn. But she didn’t hear. Didn’t look up.

So much for quiet. I sighed and grabbed my purse, praying for God to calm my fraying nerves as I slammed the car door behind me.

Kyoko had parked her red Mitsubishi in front of a fire hydrant on the wrong side of a historic one-way street. She leaned lazily against it, tapping on her cell phone. Chunky black boots and black pants. Blue-and-black punk-rock T-shirt depicting Van Gogh’s
The Scream.

“Kyoko!” I broke into a trot. “You can’t park there!”

“Huh?” She looked up, sleek hair pulled back in a twist, maroon-stained points poking up wildly. “Oh hi, Ro! Hold on. I’m trying to find that cop’s number.”

“Why? What cop?”

“What’s his name? Shawn? Shack?”

“Shane?”

“Yeah, Shane. That’s it.” She tapped some more. “Think he’ll come out here and try to ticket me? I wanna see if he’s as good-looking as Stella says.”

Of all the …!
I halted, purse sliding off my shoulder. “When did you talk to Stella?”

“This morning. While you disappeared on your mysterious excursion.” Kyoko waved her hand. “But don’t worry. I’m not horning in on Shane. It’s for you.”

I sputtered, speechless.

She raised an eyebrow. “And don’t you look all frilly today! Where’ve you been, Ro-chan, all dressed up? A baby shower or something?” She appraised my heels and lacy sweater with a slight nod. “Well, that cop’s eyes’ll bug right out of his head, anyway. So how do you spell his last name?”

Before I could even come up with a snotty retort, cowboy boots clicked on the distant sidewalk. Coming toward us. Echoing against the faded brickwork of bygone buildings, which stretched their ancient arms into a moody sky.

“That must be your posse.” Kyoko attempted, somewhat, to wipe the smirk off her face. “Do they do Civil War reenactments here? That guy’d fit right in as one of the Rebs if you put a uniform on him.” She smacked her forehead. “Oh, wait! Tim does that, doesn’t he? In … where again? Winchester? Where viewers occasionally get mugged, and-or—”

“Cut it out!” I rolled my eyes and grabbed her arm as she chuckled at her own joke. “Come meet them. And be nice!”

Becky waved wildly, and Kyoko gave a lazy wave in reply, leaving her car guarding the fire hydrant.

“Well, well! Ya come all the way from Japan?” Tim grabbed Kyoko’s hand and pumped it hard.

“Presumably.” Kyoko squeamishly withdrew her glittery lime-green nails (repainted, apparently, from last night’s deep-blue shade) and shouldered her purse. “And you must be Tim? I’ve … um … heard about you.”

Her oh-so-innocent grin unsettled me, as did the sly way in which she said it.

“Tim Donaldson.” He grinned, hugging Becky. “And this here’s my cute li’l Becky. Ain’t she a peach?”

“Well, she’s certainly rather fruitlike. Yes.” Kyoko tried to shake Becky’s hand, but Becky threw her arms around Kyoko.

“Welcome to Staunton, Kyoko!” Becky bubbled, beaming. “Faye can’t stay but she’s comin’ by to say hi, an’ Adam and Todd’s waitin’ on us, and everybody’s so pleased ta meet ya! Yer gonna jest love it here!”

“I bet I will.” Kyoko showed her teeth.

When we arrived at The Green Tree, Adam politely shook hands with Kyoko and held the door for us as we filed inside, Dawn seating us near the window. Before I could change the subject to something—anything—not involving (1) deer hunting (2) the Civil War, or (3) weapons, Todd whipped out a shockingly detailed drawing of an army tank and plopped it in front of Kyoko.

“I drew this on the way over here,” he said, bending across the table and pointing. “Didn’t know ya was comin’ or I’d’a brought my colored pencils, but I don’t have none in the truck. Sorry. Hope ya still like it.”

“You did this?” Kyoko’s eyebrow ring jerked upward. “What … um … exactly is it?”

“It’s a World War II tank. An M3 Lee. You know, like General Lee from the Confederacy. It’s kinda shaky though, ‘cause Adam’s truck needs better shocks.”

Kyoko choked back a laugh. “So it’s for me?”

“Yeah. There’s your name on the wheel well. See? I don’t know your last name, so I just made one up. Hope Suzuki’s okay. It’s Japanese, right?”

I coughed on my ice water, but Todd didn’t hear. “Anyway, I figured ya come a long way an’ might be tired, so I’ll show ya my other drawings some other time. Miss Shiloh’s seen ‘em. I got some new ones for her, too.”

“Miss Shiloh?” I saw Kyoko’s eyebrow flick with mirth. At least I hoped it was mirth. Kyoko’s wide arsenal of dark emotions never failed to intimidate.

“Yeah. Since she’s an adult and all. But you don’t have to call me Mr. Todd. You can just call me Todd.” He shrugged. “Unless you wanna say Mr., ‘cause I don’t mind.”

Kyoko stared down at the drawing and then at Adam, who put his palms up and shrugged. Then at me. And shut her mouth abruptly.

Oh boy. Kyoko didn’t care for kids much, or long lungfuls of chatter about army tanks. Especially coming from superpacifist Japan.

“Thirsty?” I interrupted, waving for Blake as he came by with the water pitcher. Half wishing Tim and Becky would use sign language or something so their Southern drawls didn’t prickle Kyoko’s sophisticated ears.

“So, whatcha gonna order?” Tim plopped a menu in front of Kyoko before I could intervene. “It’s on the house, a course. Adam’s house.” Tim snickered and high-fived Becky. “Jest kiddin’, y’all. After Adam gets that fancy subdivision, though, then I reckon I won’t be jokin’.”

“What subdivision?” I looked up from my menu. In fact, why was I reading the menu anyway? I knew everything on there by heart.

“It’s not a big deal.” Adam shrugged. “I probably won’t get it. I put in a bid, but those jobs usually go to the big companies.”

“Not a big deal?” Tim swung around in his chair to face Adam. “Every house on that lot’s worth half a million bucks, Carter! And whoever does their cotton-pickin’ shrubs is gonna be swimmin’ in it.” He pointed. “If ya get that deal, yer takin’ us all out for somethin’ fancier than The Green Tree. Got it?”

“Sushi?” Adam rested the side of his head on his hand and hid a smile, flipping a menu page.

“Naw. Somethin’ I can eat.” Tim grinned and turned to Kyoko. “As for this place, well, they don’t got no grits or nothin’. Kinda weird fancy stuff, I reckon, but I find somethin’ ev’ry now an’ then that don’t crawl off my plate!”

He leaned closer to Kyoko and dropped his voice as if revealing a secret. “Speakin’ a weird stuff, you really eat raw fish like Shah-loh here? I snagged a catfish the other day, but if ya saw the inside a that’n, ya’d never eat raw fish again. I guarantee it.” He whipped out his cell phone. “Hold on. I got some pitchers in here somewhere! You ever eat spaghetti? It’s kinda like that, but—”

“So, Todd,” Kyoko interrupted loudly. “Do you draw anything else? I mean, anything that’s not catfish?” She sent a look in Tim’s direction.

“Why, ya don’t like ‘em?” asked Todd in surprise. “They’re real good eatin’. But then again, they are bottom dwellers. So go figure.”

I saw Adam’s face redden with laughter behind his menu, shoulders shaking. Todd calmly produced a piece of paper from his sketch pad on the seat. “I dunno. I can draw a deer real good, an’ lots a other tanks. An’ Dale Earnhardt’s race car from NASCAR. My dog’s named after him, but he died. I mean, Dale died. Not my dog. Wanna see?”

Part of the reason lunch went so smoothly is because Kyoko fell asleep halfway through it, right after Faye stopped by to say hi—slumping against the back of the booth, eyes sagging closed. I didn’t blame her. A twenty-four-hour flight and half the night spent yakking would turn anybody to toast.

In fact, given my overloaded morning and wrinkled tissues post-Beulah, I could use a nap myself. But duty called. I glanced at my watch and waved for the check, grateful Kyoko couldn’t hear Becky’s whispers about her eyebrow ring or Tim’s, “What’s that psycho-lookin’ thing on her shirt?”

“She’s got jet lag,” I explained, glancing down at Kyoko before digging out my wallet to pay. Adam ignored me, taking both Kyoko’s and my check. “And knowing Kyoko, she probably hasn’t slept in days anyway. She doesn’t know the meaning of bedtime before three a.m.”

“Poor thing.” Becky shook her head, swallowing the last of her ice water and reaching over to pat Kyoko’s lifeless head. “She’s real sweet. Kinda funny, but I like her.”

Kyoko stirred long enough to blearily watch Blake take our empty plates, walk to her car, and then fall asleep right there, seat belt halfway in its clip. Head nodding forward into the steering wheel.

“That’s it.” I took the keys from her. “I’m driving you home before I head back to work. Get out.”

To my surprise, Kyoko obeyed, barely opening her eyes. She stretched out in my passenger’s seat and yawned then dozed again as I moved her car and parallel parked in a legal spot. Then I took the long way home, meandering through the country.

We drove through tiny Churchville, with its quaint fire station and jacked-up trucks, sans stoplight, and Kyoko’s eyes finally blinked open. She yawned and rubbed her face, slapping her cheeks.

“What happened, Ro? Did you guys drug my salad or something?” She scrubbed a hand across her black eyeliner.

“Jet lag.” I turned my head. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m waking up.” She grimaced at a wide horse pasture with a dumpy-looking donkey swishing its tail, gnawing on the dilapidated fence. A bumper-less car parked haphazardly in front with duct tape on the door handle. “Where in the … Are we in Staunton, Ro? GPS didn’t bring me this way.”

“Churchville. Mom’s house is near here. They have a carnival in that field in the summer.” I pointed as the pasture morphed into a tangle of seedy-looking shops. “With a Ferris wheel and games and stuff. Stella sat up in the dunking booth one year and yelled insults at people.”

Kyoko gaped out the window and then back at me. “For heaven’s sake! You’re in the Twilight Zone! What are you doing here?”

“Paying off my bills,” I replied meekly. “Selling Mom’s house as soon as I can.”

“Ro.” She turned to face me, face sobering. “You really aren’t planning to … like … live here, are you? I mean—”

“Never.” I stopped at the intersection.

“As in, never-never? Or—”

“Never.” I raised my voice. “Got it?”

“Just checking.” Kyoko grinned. “It’s my job, you know.”

I made a face and smiled back, turning into the grocery store/gas station parking lot with the ancient Tastee Freez, conveniently located right next to the county landfill. “Want a sundae?”

“Ice cream?” She perked up. “Actually, yeah. Maybe it’ll help me wake up. I’ll get some tea or something, too.”

“You? Iced tea?”

“No, green. What, are you nuts?” Kyoko groaned and smacked her forehead. “I’m outta luck in these parts, huh? How about Red Bull?”