Reinventing Leona (11 page)

“The boy says he’s a country-western singer.” Nola Gay left the door swinging and tromped across the kitchen. She poked her face between Maddie and Parker. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real live country singer in person.” Excitement bubbled in her scratchy voice. “Bet you run into them all the time in Nashville. Whatever would a country singer be doing in Mt. Hope?”

“Looking for love in all the wrong places?” Parker sang as he winked at Maddie.

Admiration peeked around Nola Gay’s cataracts. “Parker leads our singing on Sunday. Doesn’t he have a nice voice?”

“I always thought so, Miss Nola Gay.” Maddie smoothed her hair into place. Should she mention to the old girl that a simple surgery could take care of her cloudy vision? She caught a glimpse of Miss Nola’s pride in Parker. Who was Maddie Harper to dispense unsolicited medical advice, let alone burst such an adoring bubble? “Maybe Mt. Hope’s song leader should go to Nashville.”

Parker snapped the damp towel at Maddie. “I think I better stick to singing on Sundays or in a hot shower.” He gave a quick nod toward the door. “You go on. Nola Gay and I will finish up.”

The old lady jabbed Parker with a sturdy finger. “Speak for yourself. I want to get the heathen’s autograph.”

“Justin’s not famous, Miss Nola.” Maddie shot Parker a look she hoped he interpreted as a plea for help. “And he’s not a heathen.”

Nola Gay plowed on. “Well, he might be someday.”

“Famous? Or a heathen?” Parker proved quick on the uptake.

“Parker Kemp, you tease.” Nola’s dentures clicked in her broadening smile.

He handed the starstruck woman a fresh tea towel and turned her toward the sink. “Come on, now, Miss Nola. You can’t leave me with all this. How about I wash and you dry?”

“Thanks.” Maddie elevated herself on her tiptoes and pecked Parker’s smooth Aqua Velva cheek. “I owe you one.”

“I always collect.” Parker swirled the towel in front of Maddie like a matador cape. “¡
Ándale
! ¡
Ándale
!”

Spanish?
Where had Parker picked up Spanish? Maybe from some of the farmhands he met on the job.

Maddie flashed her perplexing dishwashing partner a weak smile. “No point putting off the inevitable.” She lowered her head and charged past the waving tea towel.

Once in the safety of the quiet hall, she leaned against the wall, taking a moment to catch her breath and regain control over her racing heart. Apparently contacts weren’t the only change Parker Kemp had made these past few years. But why in the world had she done a stupid thing like kiss him?

Panic. Pure and simple. The same thing had happened when they were in grade school, only Parker kissed her. He had insisted she ride double on the back of his new bike. But when he turned a corner too quickly, Maddie’s ankle got caught in the spokes of the back wheel, crashing them instantly. Sprawled out on the ground, with blood spurting out from under the twisted bicycle wheel wrapped around her leg, she must have looked like she was dead. Next thing she knew, he kissed her right on the mouth, and then jumped up and ran screaming for help.

Maddie rubbed her right foot across the quarter-sized scar on her left ankle, feeling as if she was once again snagged in bicycle spokes and unable to move.

Aunt Roxie stuck her head around the corner. “Maddie, are you coming?”

From the tension in Roxie’s voice, Maddie knew a tightrope had been strung across the parsonage living room. And her name was written all over it. If she was going to walk the wire between Momma and Justin, such a feat would require all the spotters she could rustle up. She could count on Cotton to be on one side of the safety net. And from the look of support on Aunt Roxie’s face, she would be on the other. But it wouldn’t hurt to have Parker on standby, which he would probably be happy to do now that she had kissed him. Surely Parker wouldn’t think that because she kissed him she would ever ride double on his bicycle again.

“Madison, you have company.” Irritation colored Momma’s polite summons shouted from the living room.

Aunt Roxie waved her forward. “Get going, baby.”

Maddie fluffed her hair and straightened her sweater, but she could not make her feet move. Given a choice, she’d rather brave the stuffed shirts at Grandmother’s club than face the Grand Dame of Inquisitions and the born-again jurors willing to try and convict the pastor’s daughter on the spot.

Chapter Ten

Bracing for gale force winds, Maddie took a deep breath, then stepped into the living room. The thick air was reminiscent of a deadly spring night Maddie had tried for years to forget. While her family huddled in the hall closet, a tornado dropped from the midnight sky and scattered pieces of Mt. Hope across the map. Except for the lone surviving tree on Main Street, its branches encased in the shredded tin roof of the Cadillac dealership, the carnage took years to clean up. Every Christmas the Storys strung lights on the resilient evergreen, and Howard Davis threatened to sue the city for emotional duress.

Tater Tot’s anxious pacing cut a figure eight between Momma’s rigid legs and Justin’s guitar case. Momma held the alleged boyfriend’s hand, but her clenched nice-to-meet-you smile cut her low-toned small talk into jagged little barbs.

The poor guy has no idea he is standing in the eye of a tightly-wrapped storm.

Roxie nudged Maddie forward with an encouraging shove. “Go ahead, baby. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Wanna bet?” Maddie pressed her hands against her aching stomach. Maybe her appendix would burst, or her spleen would rupture, or her heart would stop and drop her on the spot, sparing her the suffering from Momma’s double-barrel stare aimed right between her eyes.

Momma took Justin by the elbow and brought him forward. She presented the unkempt caller to Maddie as if he were the prime minister of a Communist country. “Madison, seems a young man has come all the way from Nashville to offer his condolences.” Her continued use of Maddie’s proper name was not a good sign.

Maddie averted her eyes from her mother’s searing glare, feeling guilty for the tinge of obvious hurt emanating from those green-rimmed pupils. Leona Harper’s anger was usually short-lived, but Maddie had seen her mother tend certain unforgivable offenses to a very ripened state.

If she had any guts at all, she’d run to the unsuspecting guy with the rugged stubble, smoldering gray eyes, and tight-fitting jeans and push him out of harm’s way. But like the coward she’d always been when it came to Momma, Maddie stood immobile.

The eyes of the Thanksgiving crowd narrowed in silent judgment.

“Howdy, folks.” Justin flashed his welcome-to-the-show grin, and then swaggered across the room, opened his arms, and enveloped her.

Maddie’s mind whirled as he spun her around. A skilled surgeon would have been hard-pressed to snip her from this inoperable mess of her own making. “Justin, put me down.”

“Sure thing, babe.” He set her feet on the floor, then planted a big kiss on her lips right there in front of Mt. Hope’s incurably chaste crowd. The Story sisters riding topless in the Thanksgiving parade could not have attracted a greater number of appalled rubberneckers.

Maddie broke free of Justin’s embrace, then palmed the wrinkles from her rumpled top. Her eyes skated around the room, jumping from judge to judge. From the hostile looks, her boyfriend would never score gold. She waited for the tornado to drop, snatch up the house, and whisk her away to Oz . . . or any place out of earshot of the tongue-lashing her mother was sure to give her when the crowd thinned. Damage control was her only option. She beckoned her most charming smile to make an appearance, encouraged when she felt her lips actually part and expose her teeth despite her fears. “Everybody . . . this is . . . Justin.”

Tater growled.

“So
he
told us.” Momma snagged the dog’s collar. “Hush, Tater.”

The sharp silence that followed sliced through Maddie’s prickly skin and taut muscles, striking raw nerves. A shudder traveled along Maddie’s spine. Her mother would have been a surgical wonder had she learned to wield a scalpel with a fraction of the skill with which she brandished disapproval.

Roxie cleared her throat. “Leona, given the chance, I bet this boy would sing for his supper. A little entertainment is just what this party needs.” She slapped Justin on the back. “You look hungry, son.”

“Starved.”

“I hear aspiring entertainer-types are always hungry,” Etta May whispered to Maxine. They nodded their heads in unison as if they were a couple of loyal cheerleaders rallying the home team.

A lazy smile slid across Justin’s lips, making him look more like a poster boy for Abercrombie underwear than a fit companion for a pastor’s daughter. “I drove straight through. Roads were too bad to stop and eat.”

“We’ve got leftovers out the wazoo.” Roxie stepped between Momma and Justin’s guitar case. “Baby, you take this fine specimen of a man to the kitchen and see what you can scare up for him to eat.” She winked at Maddie. “Cotton and I will keep your momma company while you’re getting him settled.”

In her daring moment of brilliance, Aunt Roxie had never been more loved. “That’s a great idea.” Maddie snatched the guitar case.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what your momma was thinking. Isn’t that right, Leona?” Roxie’s pointed glare dared Momma to disagree.

Momma’s lips hardened into a thin, brittle line. “Absolutely.” Outflanked, but not outmaneuvered, she released Tater Tot. The dog made for the hem of Justin’s boot-cut jeans while Momma adjusted the kink in her bent-out-of-shape neck. “It’s not Thanksgiving until you’ve swallowed a generous portion of
secret
stuffing.”

From the pinched look on Momma’s face, Maddie would have bet money the woman was on the verge of cramming a less-palatable version of dressing down Aunt Roxie’s gullet once the coast was clear. Leona Harper never snatched anyone bald-headed in the presence of witnesses. Far too messy.

Roxie flashed her come-again auto parts smile. “The kitchen’s that way, Justin.”

Maddie’s eyes darted to Momma’s contemptuous scowl. Anger pulsed through Maddie’s veins. Momma had made a judgment about Justin just by looking at him. She knew nothing of his velvety voice, stalwart determination, or star-studded ambition. Maddie tightened her grip on the guitar case handle. If thirty years of middle-class living had been unable to eradicate her mother’s judgmental inheritance, her own future did not bode well.

“Good doggie.” Justin’s leg gyrated back and forth, his eyes beaming an SOS in Maddie’s direction.

“Tater.” Maddie held her flattened hand parallel to the floor in the down command position. The cocker released his hold on the frayed pant leg and dropped to his belly, the corner of his upper lip lifted in a disapproving snarl. “Stay, Tater.” Maddie led Justin from the room, miffed that she felt like the driver of a getaway car with flashing blue lights gaining in her rearview mirror.

“Don’t know who has a worse bite, your dog or your mom,” Justin whispered. Once in the hall, he pinned Maddie to the wall, smiled, then kissed her hard. “I’ve missed you.” Dragging his stubbly chin along the curve of her neck, he rubbed his body up against hers.

“Have you lost your mind? Not here.” Maddie ducked under his arm. “You don’t have a clue how close you came to being crucified in there, do you?” She noted his puzzled face. “Never mind. It’d take too long to explain. Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He grabbed Maddie’s hand and twirled her into his arms. “So this is Mayberry?”

“Knock it off, Justin.”

Maddie freed herself from his clutches. Anyone would be uncomfortable in this delicate situation, she told herself. Fencing her rabid mother for any length of time would require barbed wire. The displeased woman could come charging after them at any minute, and there would be big trouble if she discovered them kissing. Maddie deleted the terrifying images from her mind. She took Justin’s hand, then escaped through the swinging door to the kitchen. Nola Gay dropped her tea towel. Parker looked up from the sink.

“Justin, this is—”

“Don’t tell me. Aunt Bee and Andy.” A cutting chuckle rumbled in Justin’s throat. He sauntered past the stunned Nola Gay, flipped a kitchen chair around, straddled it, then draped his arms across the wobbly ladder-back. He poked his index finger into a bowl of leftover potatoes sitting on the table, lifted his loaded appendage, then sucked it clean. “Needs gravy.”

Parker was the first to break the lull in the conversation. He stuck out a sudsy hand. “Barney Fife at your service.”

Justin smirked, ignoring Parker’s outstretched regards. “Keep a bullet in your pocket too?”

“At all times.” Parker patted his rejected hand over his heart, taking the ribbing with the flawless stride of an expert in the art. “Where are my manners? May I present the lovely Nola Gay Story.”

Justin shrugged.

Has my boyfriend always been this irritating or is my equilibrium out of whack with the trials of the past few days?
Maddie removed a clean plate from the dry stack on the counter and snatched a fork for good measure.

Miss Story stepped forward.

Justin made no move to rise in the presence of a woman. Maddie cringed, but before she could prompt her boyfriend into proper Southern etiquette, the old woman lowered her nose.

Nola Gay peered over the top edge of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Hank Williams was a real country singer. And a gentleman.”

“Justin, Miss Story would like your autograph.” Maddie returned the plate to the stack, fork still in her hand. She jerked open her mother’s junk drawer and frantically dug through the old coupons, rubber bands, and dried-up ink pens. “I know there’s paper in here somewhere.” When her hand struck an object that felt like a notepad, she tugged. “Here, I found something.”

Nola Gay draped the dripping tea towel over the metal hook by the sink. “Keep your paper . . . and your rude country singer, Maddie Harper. I’ve changed my mind.” She stomped out of the room.

“I guess I better help the Storys or they’ll never get that tractor started for the parade.” Parker gave Justin a quick nod. “Good to meet you. Any friend of Maddie’s is a friend of mine.” He focused his dark eyes on Maddie. “Coming to the parade?”