The Secret to Hummingbird Cake (3 page)

I often wondered why I got stuck there in the first place. Maybe it was because I had married Jack when I was seventeen. Maybe I felt permanently trapped there, holding my breath waiting for my life to begin again. And perhaps the years in between were just really long seconds, and one day I would exhale again and turn thirty.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Jack Whitfield III was ten years my senior. His family owned and operated Whitfield Farms, a hugely successful soybean farm and cattle ranch. He was extremely handsome, and his seemingly cool and detached attitude made him all the more attractive. He was considered the catch of the town for years, but no one could seem to make him commit or tie him down for long.

Maybe the reason I succeeded with Jack was because I wasn't trying. At least not in the beginning. But the truth was, Jack had intrigued me long before we ever really talked. The boys my own age bored me. I loved them all as friends, but romantically, they offered me nothing even remotely interesting. I wanted a man, not a boy.

Enter Jack.

And to add fuel to the fire, I was a bit rebellious in my teenage years. Okay, I was a lot rebellious in my teenage years. I just liked to test my limits no matter what I was doing. With grades, ignoring curfews, ignoring expectations. I felt . . .
different. That's about as well as I can explain it. Like the rules didn't really apply to me. Not in an “I am better than you” kind of way, more like in a “that rule is stupid” kind of way.

I had a hard time relating to people who just accepted all their restrictions without question. I had always been able to talk my way out of any situation I found myself in. That itself made me feel out of step with the world around me. While everyone else seemed to struggle to find their voice, words flew out of my mouth at the speed of light. That wasn't always a good thing, but it was pretty much always an effective thing. I never understood what was so difficult about just saying whatever was on your mind. But sometimes folks looked at me like I was an alien, even though I thought it made me determined. I wanted results, and I wanted them immediately. Regardless, I'm not sure my parents found the outspoken trait quite as endearing as Jack Whitfield III had found it. He told me once it was what had made me irresistible to him.

It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway: Mama and Daddy were less than pleased when I announced I was dating a man ten years my senior, especially one whose womanizing reputation preceded him. They were always cordial when he came to the house to see me or to pick me up. But they didn't like it, not one little bit.

They reminded me often of the age difference between us and the problems that went along with that. They said I liked the idea of a relationship with Jack much more than I liked Jack. Then one night, after yet another round with Daddy, he told me Jack Whitfield III “had a way with women.”

That made me laugh, and I said, “I certainly hope so.”

My father was furious with that answer, and an argument ensued. Daddy ended the argument by saying he forbade me to see Jack again. He might as well have told me not to breathe. I failed to mention the argument to Jack. Looking back, I am sure he would've done the honorable thing and backed off. But I wasn't about to let somebody else tell me how to live my life. Not even my parents. As much as I loved them, this was
my
life.

For the next couple of weeks, I got pretty slick about hiding my relationship with Jack from them. On the Friday exactly two weeks after I had gotten the I-forbid-you-to-see-him speech from my daddy, Jack and I picked up Ella Rae and Laine, drove to Texas, found a Justice of the Peace, and got married. I had managed to con Jack into believing that my parents, while they weren't happy about it, had consented to the elopement. He questioned me, of course, but I told him they understood what we were doing, but didn't want to be a part of it. I even produced the proper legal document showing my father's signature allowing me to do so.

It was forged, of course, but Jack didn't know that. I know that sounds just awful, but I loved this man, and I knew my parents would too if they just gave him a chance. If I came back married, they'd have no choice but to accept him. And then, I reasoned, we could all live happily ever after.

Jack had wanted to talk to my father face-to-face, but I had convinced him it was unnecessary and unwelcome. “Let's just go,” I said. “Don't make it any harder than it has to be. He'll just try to talk us out of it. Don't you want to marry me?”

“Not like this, Carrigan.”

It had taken quite a performance, one that surely warranted an Academy Award. But in the end, I won.

Ella Rae had been on board immediately. It took a little coaxing for Laine. At first she had absolutely refused to be a part of it. She had been mortified at the prospect of deceiving Jack and my parents. But then again, Laine felt bad if she gave the dog the cheap biscuits.

Finally she realized if she were the only one of us left in town that weekend, she'd cave in to the questions immediately. So, rather than face the firing squad alone, she reluctantly climbed on board. I'm pretty sure she prayed all the way to Texas. For years afterward, she had apologized to Jack for being part of the deception, but he always smiled and told her the same thing: “Laine, my wife could sell ice to the Eskimos. Let it go.”

After a three-minute wedding and a honeymoon the next day at a huge Texas water park, Ella Rae and I felt grown-up and superior and extremely adventurous. We were all quite pleased with ourselves. Except for Laine, who bit her fingernails and wrung her hands for three days.

I have to admit, her paranoia was right on the money. When we got home, there was a big ole small-town mess waiting on all of us. My parents were infuriated and threatened to have Jack arrested because for another week, I was still seventeen. Jack was livid with me for lying to him, and his parents were mortified over all of it. Laine's mother threatened to break off Laine's arm and beat her with it, and Ella
Rae's mother glared at her for thirty straight minutes before she ever said a word.

It was most unpleasant. Every adult in the kitchen of my parents' house was sure I was pregnant, no matter how many times I denied it. Lots of tears. Lots of yelling. Followed by lots of silence. Then more yelling. I can clearly remember my father's clenched jaw being inches away from Jack's face demanding him to explain why he'd agreed to my scheme. But Jack stayed calm and never offered an excuse other than, “I love her, sir. I love her.”

That memory still makes me smile.

At the end of a very long night, futility set in. To this day, I feel bad as I recall the resignation on my father's face. He was only trying to do what he thought was best for me. But he could never tell me no. So in the end they relented, although they did insist that we have a small and proper wedding the next weekend in our church.

Jack was pretty unhappy with me for a few days. In fact, he was flat-out furious. I wasn't entirely sure he'd show up at church the next Friday night, but he did. And he looked so good standing at the end of the aisle waiting for me, I almost ran to him.

We settled into our new home on my eighteenth birthday, and life was beautiful. We were young and happy and in control of our lives. Our house was the hangout in town for all our friends, and they were there nearly twenty-four hours a day. Jack adored me, couldn't get enough of me, and catered to my every whim.

He said I made him laugh . . . in the beginning . . .

“Let's
go
, Carrigan!” Ella Rae shouted. “We play in thirty minutes!”

I snapped out of my dream trance and threw on a pair of cutoffs. “I'm ready.”

“Get your bat and glove.”

“Already in the car,” I said. “I anticipated my condition this morning, so I loaded all my stuff last night.”

She beamed at me as if I'd won the Nobel Prize for Good Thinking. “Good call!”

I chuckled. Ella Rae woke up in a new world every morning.

The ball park was a three-minute drive from my house. Ella Rae and I usually jogged there and back every morning while Laine rode circles around us on her bike. A ritual we had practiced for years, rain or shine, hot or cold. We had also played softball at this park since we were five years old. Laine had kept the scorebook since she was old enough to figure it out. She wasn't
athletically inclined
, as she liked to put it. Ella Rae and I called it “lazy.”

Laine didn't care what we called her. She wasn't about to give up her comfortable chair, the huge purple-and-gold tailgating tent she sat under, the soft quilt under her feet, or her cutesy flip-flops for cleats, dirt, and sweat on the field. She liked everything to be neat, clean, and shiny. In fact, if we rode in her car after games, she made us sit on towels and take off our shoes. Which explains why her car was spotless and my truck was, well, a hot mess.

As soon as we arrived, I dragged my chair under Laine's tent and hid from the sun.

“And how do you feel this morning?” Laine asked.

I closed my eyes behind my dark sunglasses. “I know you're going to enjoy this,” I said. “Go ahead, jab me.”

“Oh, I'm not going to jab you,” she said. “You slept a total of eight hours and I slept a total of four. I'm too exhausted to jab you.”

Ahhh . . . classic Laine. She could have been a travel agent for guilt trips. “I owe you one,” I said.

“You owe me about a hundred and twenty, but who's counting?” Finally she broke into a real smile. “It's fine,” she said, then lowered her voice. “When did Jack get home?”

“Who knows?”

“It isn't what you think, Carrigan. I'm sure it isn't.”

“So you've stated.” I put my glove over my face. There was no way I was getting into an argument with Laine this morning. I barely had enough stamina to sit upright in this chair. If she wanted to spar, she was going to have to do it by herself. And what was that stench coming from the canteen? Cotton candy? Pure, hot, sticky sugar? Wine historically gave me liquid courage at night and horrendous nausea the next day. I fought the urge to gag and took a sip of my bottled water.

“Hey, Miss Landry!” I heard a small child say.

“Hey, King!” Laine answered.

Oh crap, a Thompson offspring. Would they never stop reproducing? You couldn't go anywhere in Bon Dieu Falls
without tripping over a Thompson. And who names their child “King” anyway? He was stirring greasy nachos with his grubby little fingers. I had to look away.

“Whatcha doin'?” He flung half his cheese mixture onto the quilt.

My gag reflex went from zero to sixty in a second. Those grimy fingers and that greasy cheese coupled with the cotton candy smell from the canteen was about to make me projectile vomit.

“I'm just keeping score,” Laine said. “What are you doing?”

“I'm just watching my daddy play ball,” he said. He grinned at her as he swiped at the cheese on his chin.

“Okay, Prince, Deuce, Ace,” I said, “whatever your name is, shoo! Run away!” I scooted back in my chair.

“ 'Bye!” he shouted as he ran off.

“Carrigan!” Laine said. “That was so rude! He is a child!”

“Yes,” I said. “A Thompson child. Trust me, he's seen and heard worse.”

“Hey, y'all!” A saccharine drawl greeted us. I looked up to see bleached hair so bright it nearly blinded me.

Bethany Wilkes. If this didn't finish me off, nothing would.

Her hair was too blonde, her lips were too red, her fingernails were too long, and her boobs were too fake. “Missiles,” as my girls and I referred to them. How did you even get your boobies to point like that? Were there special bras for that? Was that actually Victoria's secret?

Besides that, I had never once seen her with a pair of shoes on that I liked. I glanced at her feet. Today was no exception. Were those feathers? I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses.

Bethany Wilkes wanted Jack so badly she could taste it, and everybody in Bon Dieu Falls knew it, including me.

Especially me.

I wasn't entirely sure she hadn't already had him. The curiosity was killing me. But for now, all I had was speculation, no proof. If I accused her, it would make me seem weak and insecure. If I accused him, it would make it seem like I cared. So I watched and waited all the time for my “gotcha” moment. Until then, I had to force myself to be cordial. I kicked at the nacho cheese on the quilt and smiled broadly at Bethany.

“Hi, Bethany.” I used my friendliest voice. “How's it going?”

“It's just going great!” She smiled, revealing her huge and snow-white teeth. “How are you ladies?”

“It's all good.” I smiled and looked away. I didn't want to encourage any sort of communication other than niceties.

I could see Laine wiggling in her seat and trying not to laugh, which was her reaction to anything uncomfortable. And I was glad Ella Rae was already in the dugout, because she would have glared and done that snarly thing with her lip, which was
her
reaction to anything uncomfortable.

“How's your new job?” Laine asked. I could've kicked her. Perfect, now we're having a conversation.

“Oh, it's the best job,” she said. “I just don't know how they survived until I got there. Between us, those books were a mess!”

What? She worked part-time at a small bakery in the next town. They couldn't possibly sell more than ten cupcakes a day. How bad could the books be? Was somebody missing a quarter? But on the other hand, I sincerely hoped she would eat her way through the summer. She was much thinner than I was, and I only weighed a hundred and twenty pounds.

Did this chick eat at all? Probably all the time. Another reason to be annoyed at her. I wanted to drag her out to the parking lot and beat the crap out of her, but she'd probably even bleed cute.