Like Sweet Potato Pie (5 page)

“Here’s my driver’s license! Read the address for yourself!” I dug in my purse and slapped it in his hand. “Just don’t let the people inside know!”

He scowled and shined his light on my license then at me. Raised a curious eyebrow.

“Officer, please. Yer gonna ruin everything! It’s a serprise for the people inside, and …” Becky squinted. “Shane? Shane Pendergrass?”

He turned his light on her in astonishment. “Becky Donaldson? That you? What on God’s green earth …?” He put the light down and hugged her. The grizzly had dropped from his voice. “I ain’t seen you in years! Since what, junior high?”

“Junior high? That was high school!” She punched his arm. “I was datin’ Tim then, ya goon! An’ when did you become a cop?”

Shane squared his shoulders proudly. No, boastfully. “Awhile back. Lotta work cut out for me with folks like these around.” He nudged me. “So yer in on this shindig, Beckers?”

“Shore I am, an’ don’t call me that! Now put that light out and get outta here before you ruin the whole thing!” she ordered indignantly. “I’m serious! They probably done saw us.”

Shane hastily turned off the flashing squad-car light, but two silhouettes appeared in the screen door.

“Sorry!” Shane called out, shoving me behind him. Becky ducked behind the squad car. “Wrong house, ma’am. Sorry to bother ya! Everything’s fine.” I hunkered down in Shane’s shadow, bemoaning my bad luck.

“Sorry, ma’am!” Shane reached in the squad car and cut the headlights, too, pushing me back with his free arm. “You can go on back inside. I’m leavin’.”

Around the corner of Shane’s hefty back I saw one of the silhouettes disappear. Then the other. The screen door squeaked shut. I sank weakly against the cool side of the car, breath gone out of me.

“Close call.” Shane helped me up. “So yer the resident.” He shined his light on my driver’s license again then squinted at me. “Hey, I remember you! You work at Jer’s restaurant!”

“I’ve seen you there.” I crossed my arms stiffly, remembering his suggestive comments when I refilled his glass.

He gave me the once-over, leaning against his car. Took a toothpick out of his pocket and chewed on it, studying me. “And I’ve definitely seen
you.
What’s yer name again?” He glanced at my driver’s license.

“Quit that!” snapped Becky, snatching his light. “Ya almost ruined ev’rything!”

“You,” said Shane, giving Becky a steely-eyed wink. “I oughtta lock you up. You’ve got some explaining to do, and ya better make it good.”

He gave me a too-friendly glance. “Although maybe I’ll let you off for good behavior if you give me the lowdown on yer friend here.”

Trinity slipped cautiously toward us, shiny flats barely crunching on the gravel driveway, and Shane looked up. “Friends,” he amended. “Plural.”

He grinned at Trinity. “You work at The Green Tree, too, don’t ya?”

“And you’re our best tipper.” Shane shook her hand a little too long, but Trinity laughed when she pulled it away.

“Mercy, I shore stopped at the right house tonight,” Shane muttered under his breath, glancing from Trinity to me. He leaned on the hood of his car, poking that toothpick in his teeth. “So, Beck, ya gonna give me the scoop on ‘em or what?”

“As soon as you get outta Shah-loh’s driveway I’ll think about it,” bossed Becky with a toss of her head. “How about we go next door with them fool lights out, real quiet-like, and I’ll fill ya in?”

Staunton. Exhausted. Me.
I couldn’t reach any other conclusion as I plodded back over to Stella’s yard. Shane was one of Tim’s high school classmates—apparently one of the better-looking ones, which I found hard to believe—and did nothing more than halfheartedly relay my name and address back to headquarters.

“What’d ya say about bills, Shiloh?” He leaned in a little too close, profile glowing in the streetlight. Eyelashes blinking against the dark night sky.

“Me? Bills? I just thought … Forget it.”

“Why, ya need money?” He inclined one elbow on the tree I was leaning against, invading my space like Tim’s weirdo cousin Randy. “How about a night out on the town? I can hook ya up.”

I shoved myself off the tree trunk and stared at him.

Shane laughed and slapped his knee at my annoyance. “Well, here’s my number if you change your mind.” He shoved a scrap of paper with his phone number into my startled fingers, and I took it distastefully, as if he’d slapped me with a speeding ticket.

“Ya oughtta take pride in livin’ in a safe place like this, ma’am.” Shane drew himself up tall and gazed longer than necessary, a whiff of his too-strong cologne wafting through the cool evening chill. “Although it’s always better to have a man around.” He winked at Trinity then turned back to me and crossed his beefy arms.

“I’m safe!” I snapped. “I’ve got a German shepherd, thank you very much.”

“It’s eight weeks old,” Becky giggled, and I tried to kick her. So much for all her “guard dog” talk. “By the way, can ya get some info on Shah-loh for me? She never tells nobody her middle name. Cain’t ya run it through again?”

After Shane got out his flashlight and checked out my driver’s license for the third time, carrying on about the green and gold in my eyes—as if he hadn’t ever seen hazel eyes before—I snatched my license back and told him I was going home.

Shane winked and backed his squad car out of the driveway stealthily, lights off, and gave me a slow wave out the window before cruising on back to his rounds.

Hmph. Good riddance. I turned my back on him.

“Sheewweeee!” Stella fanned herself. “That’s one fine-lookin’ man! Even if I am old enough ta be his mama!”

“You’re not related, are you?” I scowled, feeling cranky. You could never tell with family trees in the South.

“Well … third cousin or somethin’. In-law, I think. Ain’t sure.”

Trinity covered my coughing fit at Stella’s familial announcement with a laugh. “All the waitresses love it when he comes in.”

“All but one.” I dropped his phone number in Stella’s ashtray.

“Consider yourself lucky, Shiloh. He gives good tips.” Trinity pushed my shoulder. “I’m taken though. You?”

“I don’t need Shane’s money.”

“Wale, ya shore need somebody’s!” Becky teased, grabbing my arm. “Now git back over there an’ see how Romeo an’ Juliet are doin’!”

“Wait a second.” Trinity leaned over suddenly as if sick, staring at her watch. “Is this right? Is it almost eight?”

“I think so. Why?” I glanced up at her. “I thought you didn’t work at Cracker Barrel tonight.”

“I don’t, but … oh boy. I’ve gotta go. Sorry.” She breathed frantically, shallow and fast, digging frantically for her purse and keys on Stella’s porch with her hand on her forehead. She practically fell in her haste to scramble down the walkway then threw herself into her car. Her hands shook so much she dropped her purse on the gravel, fumbling with it before slamming the door.

“Trinity?” I knocked on her window, hands circling my eyes as I tried to see inside. “What’s going on?”

I saw her hesitate then lower the window with an expression of unmistakable fear wide in her eyes. “Everything’s fine, Shiloh. I’ve just gotta be back before … It’ll be fine.” Her lips quivered. “I’ll see you.”

She gunned the engine, backing into the street and screeching toward the highway in one fluid motion.

“What’n the world’s that all about?” Becky put her hands on her hips.

“I have no idea.” I stood there watching the street. “But she’s acting differently lately. Sadder. Something … I don’t know. She says everything’s fine.”

“Lands! She’s always smilin’ when we come to The Green Tree.”

“Of course she is. Happy servers are one of Jerry’s rules.”

“Well, ya can’t solve all the world’s problems, my friend,” said Becky, pushing me toward my yard. “Gotta take ‘em one at a time! Startin’ with the folks in your daggum kitchen, if they’re still there!”

I plopped down at the empty kitchen table with a cup of hot green tea, replaying the way Earl had handed Faye a business card and how she’d received it graciously like a bouquet of flowers. How he’d lingered, tongue-tied, by the screen door and finally waved good-bye, nearly missing the porch step and falling into the grass.

And all Faye had said, turning to me in the doorway with Christie in her arms, was this: “So, you gonna keep this little girl, Shiloh?”

I didn’t know what to make of it. Not yet. But my heart inflated with hope. I nuzzled Christie to my chin and felt her heartbeat. She closed her eyelids, yawned, and her little warm paws sagged against me.

Since I had no family except Dad and Ashley, both as distant as the moon (both geographically and emotionally), I’d gotten used to empty apartments and empty houses. But this? I scratched Christie’s silky neck as she groaned and stretched. I might get used to fuzzy companionship if I wasn’t careful.

The kitchen phone trilled, and I scooted back my chair and answered, cupping Christie gently in the crook of my elbow.

“Where’ve you been, Shiloh? I’ve tried to call you like six times.”

I didn’t recognize the voice at first. “Ashley?”

“That’s me.”

I sat back down and nestled Christie on my lap, my initial surprise beginning to fade into tense worry. When Ashley called, she usually had an ulterior motive. No, not usually. Always. I just had to uncover it.

An awkward silence hung between us, and I cleared my throat, fishing for conversation. “I’ve left messages at your house for months, Ashley. I never got any reply, so I assumed you’re … busy?” I rested my head in one hand, scratching Christie’s ears with the other.

“Sorry. Wade must’ve taken those. I never got them.”

“Really! Then how did you get my number?”

For some reason the question seemed to catch Ashley off guard, and she stammered. “Oh, I’ve … you know. I’ve always had it. I used to call here all the time to talk to Mom.”

I closed my eyes at the sliver of unexpected pain. I hadn’t spoken to Mom in years. When she died, I didn’t even know what state she lived in.

Wait. Ashley’d called her … “You mean
my
mom, right? Mom wasn’t your … Never mind.” I decided to shut up and sip my tea. “So when’s the baby due?”

“In December. And he has a name, Shiloh. It’s Carson Clay.”

“Sorry. You never told me.”

“It’ll be expensive—all the hospital bills and baby stuff. It’ll take months to pay off our credit-card bill. Maybe even years. Do you have any idea how much a sonogram costs? The insurance company says …”

This is going to take awhile.
My empty stomach complained, and I pictured the Japanese dried fish in my cabinet, silver and crunchy.

Yep. I know. Dried fish. Japan has a way of warping people for life. You go in standing up and come out all twisted like a bonsai tree. Bowing and avoiding eye contact and giggling at things typical Americans don’t find funny. Covering your mouth when you eat or laugh. Craving weird sea creatures and saying, “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” ad infinitum. I once caught myself apologizing to a houseplant.

“Yes, babies are
expensive
,” Ashley repeated as I munched my fish, their hard silver sides tinkling against Adam’s borrowed mug. Yet another thing of his marooned at my house for months.

“What are you crunching?”

“Dried fish.” Like I said, warped for life.

“Ugh. Disgusting. Don’t Japanese people eat monkey brains and rats?”

“Of course not! Gross!”

“Whatever. Your munching is annoying.”

Oh brother. Here we go.
I rolled my eyes and reached into the bag.

Come to think of it, fish showed up an awful lot in the Bible, as I was learning. Fish completed the little boy’s lunch that Jesus multiplied to feed thousands and became Jesus’ first meal after His resurrection. Fish, in fact, had eluded Jesus’ disciples all night long when Jesus called out to them, “Throw your net on the right side!” And the net nearly broke from the heavy catch.

Maybe sushi really is divine.

“Are you listening to me?” Ashley snapped. “I just said how lucky you are to have all your house bills paid. We’ve got all these expensive repairs … and you have how many bedrooms? Two? Three?” She sighed dramatically. “Ours is so small. Just a teeny, tiny little place for three people.”