A Wish and a Prayer (5 page)

Mal chuckled.

While the farmers gathered for the meeting with Edison, she went to the buffet table for coffee and a bit more to eat. Lily, Crystal, and the kids had gone home, along with nearly everyone else. Across the room, Sheila was talking with a few people wanting more info on the Idol competition. In spite of her misgivings, Bernadine still thought the idea was great, and the excitement greeting the announcement showed that a bunch of other people did too.

Seeing Tamar and her crew heading for the exit, she gave them a wave and sat to enjoy her food and coffee.

“Ms. Brown.”

She looked up into the unfamiliar face of a man as tall and as wide as a Back East oak. “Um, yes.”

“Name's Albert Stillwell. Just wanted to get a good look at the woman who cost me my livelihood.”

She froze.

“We owned our land for over a hundred years. Now we got nothing—you happy?”

“Oh, course not. It wasn't my intention to—“

“You and that big-city lawyer with your big-city ideas could care less that folks around here could've used that oil money.”

“That's not true.”

He slammed his fist on the tabletop, and both she and the dishes jumped with fright. “Yesterday the county took my hogs for back taxes—you going to pay that? You going to pay my daughter's tuition, or the rest of the bills choking me to death?”

His angry shouting made people look up, and brought Mal to her aid. “Al, you should probably leave.” Mal took his arm.

He pulled away. “Get off me. She needs to know what her meddling's done.”

Mal grabbed him. “You're leaving.”

The resulting tussle knocked over a table. Cups and silverware crashed to the floor. Men hurried over to assist Mal in forcing Stillwell toward the exit.

He raged back at her, “I'll get you, you bitch! See if I don't! See if I don't!”

The horror on Bernadine's face mirrored that of everyone else in the room.

R
iley had skipped the town meeting for a host of reasons: he didn't want to be around his self-righteous ex-wife, Genevieve; Bernadine Brown was still running the town into the ground; but mainly because he was feeling so blue. As he did every morning, he'd ridden out to the county pens to check on Cletus. Mentally Cletus seemed fine, he always came when Riley called, but physically he'd lost weight. When the county first locked him up, Riley made it a point to tell the vet in charge, a lady doc named Marnie Keegan, that Cletus was more accustomed to human food, but she shrugged him off and fed Cletus what she fed the rest of the animals. Riley even volunteered to pay for some of Cletus's favorite snacks—Doritos, Quarter Pounders, and Popsicles—but had been turned down flat. He got the impression that the county people weren't happy that he checked on Cletus every day, but he was the hog's only advocate and wanted to make sure they knew that Cletus wasn't just a run-of-the-mill, everyday hog. He was family.

Eustasia's fancy antique wall clock told him it was time for one of his cable news shows, so he picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The anchor man began reciting the day's top stories. Riley'd always wanted Cletus to be a television star, but the dream fell apart the night Cletus sat on Morton Prell and crushed the old fart to death. The anchorman continued to drone on about nothing Riley wanted to see, so he decided to change the channel, maybe watch Animal Planet, Cletus's favorite. However, as the anchor segued into a story about the animal rights organization Folks United for Animals, aka FUFA, he paused. FUFA had brought suit against a county in Illinois for spaying stray cats, and the court proceedings had been held earlier in the day. According to the reporter, FUFA's lawyers argued that the county's program violated the strays' reproductive and civil rights, and demanded the county stop the procedures immediately. The reporter turned the mic to the FUFA president, a skinny, bespectacled young woman who angrily denounced the judge's decision to summarily dismiss her organization's case after less than thirty minutes of testimony. While she continued to fuss, Riley sensed a plan forming. When her name appeared on the screen, he quickly wrote it down. Heather Quinn. If he could get in touch with her and explain Cletus's story, he might be able to get FUFA to take the case, and maybe even provide a lawyer. The dark cloud that had been looming over him since Cletus's incarceration suddenly gave way to sunshine. Turning off the TV, he picked up the phone and dialed the library. If anybody knew how to find the phone number for FUFA, the lady librarians would.

Chapter 6

I
t was dark by the time the farmers' meeting with Edison ended, so Mal trailed Bernadine home in his truck to make sure she arrived safely. The incident with Al Stillwell was on everyone's mind.

After pulling into her driveway, she got out to thank him, only to have him say first, “Make sure you call Sheriff Dalton.”

“I will.”

The lights from his dashboard illuminated the taut set of his jaw. He was still upset. “He had no business threatening you like that.”

“Because of the lawsuit, he may lose his place. I understand why he's so mad.”

“He was already underwater,” he countered. “Trying to put it on you is bullshit. Especially if it makes you start doubting you did the right thing. Thought we talked about this.”

“We did, but that was talk, Stillwell is reality. And I don't want you going out to his place and confronting him.”

He didn't reply.

“Mal?”

“Trent went instead.”

Bernadine sighed her irritation.

“Just us taking care of our own—don't worry about it. They went to school together. Al's always had a temper, but this was extreme even for him.”

“Is he married?”

“Divorced. Mother lives with him and his daughter, Alfreda. Freda's finishing up her first year at KU.”

“What about his father?”

“Died when Al was a teenager. He's been the man on the place since. Raises hogs and corn.”

Bernadine's lips thinned. She continued to feel bad. “Thanks for seeing me home.”

He said seriously, “Anything happen to you, not sure what I'd do.”

The sincerity in his voice and manner made her heart swell with the love she had for him. “Give me a kiss.”

He obliged and then drew back, saying, “You get some rest. If anything jumps off tonight, call me.”

“I will. Promise.”

“And make sure you lock that garage door after yourself.”

“Check.”

Concern remained in his manner and voice. “Night, baby girl.”

“Night.”

She got into her truck and drove into the garage. Only after the door began to lower behind her did he back out of the drive.

Weary, she cut the engine and sat in the darkness. The confrontation with Stillwell had left her shaken. She'd never had such fury directed her way before, and it was scary. She hated to admit it, but Leo had been right. There was at least one person so angry over the outcome of the lawsuit he'd threatened her. Mal, Trent, and Edison wanted her to call Sheriff Dalton there and then to report the incident, but all she'd wanted was for it to go away, at least for the present. She needed time to think things through. She felt awful. In her mind, she could still hear the pain in Stillwell's voice. Mal had tried to explain earlier that she couldn't make life fair, but that didn't lessen the guilt churning inside.

She wasn't planning on pressing charges; not of fear but out of not wanting to add more weight to the heavy burden Stillwell was already shouldering. He'd had his livestock foreclosed on, no way to pay his child's tuition, and he'd looked upon the oil money as his saving grace. Were she in his shoes, she'd've lashed out at the closest target around too—which in this case happened to be herself. She understood that, and hoped that once Stillwell returned home and had the opportunity to view the situation in a calmer frame of mind, he'd see the rightness of the stance taken against the oil company by a majority of his neighbors. His anger aside, she'd even offer to foot his tax bill and help with tuition if that would allow him and his family to breathe and not lose their land. Exhaling a big sigh, she left the truck and went in the house.

C
rystal was seated at the kitchen table, drawing. Colored pencils and opened books were spread out around her. The smile on the teen's face when she saw Bernadine sent the blues packing. “Hey, Mom.”

Bernadine had officially adopted Crystal during the Christmas holidays, and it was one of the best presents she'd ever received. “Hey, Crys. I thought you'd be chilling. What are you working on?”

“Mississippi River assignment.”

Bernadine set her bag on the table. “Knowledge is power.”

“I guess, but some of this is kind of interesting. Did you know that one time, way back in the day, the Mississippi flowed backward?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Says so right here,” Crystal said, indicating one of the books. “Mr. James thinks we should learn about the river because of all the flooding on the news. He calls it topical teaching. I call it a lot of work. He gave us each an assignment, and mine is to find out how the river has changed in the past hundred years because of the increase in population.”

“Sounds deep. How was your day otherwise?”

“Okay. School was okay, too. Eli asked me out on a date last weekend.”

Bernadine paused. Crystal finally looked up from the drawing she was making of the Mississippi.

“Since this is the first I'm hearing of this, I assume you told him no?”

“I did. Told him we were friends.”

“How'd he take it?”

“Okay, I guess. He said some dumb stuff after I turned him down, but he was the same old Eli this morning at school.”

Bernadine got the impression that she might need to delve just a bit further into this, so she went to the fridge and withdrew a bottle of water before asking nonchalantly, “What kind of dumb stuff?”

“Just some dumb stuff about me wanting to date Diego July.”

Bernadine was swallowing, and then she was choking. “Diego?” she asked after her throat finally cleared. “Why he'd bring up Diego?”

“Eli thinks I like him.”

“Do you?”

Crys shrugged while drawing. “He's kinda cute.”

Bernadine didn't want to make a big deal out of this, but Diego I-steal-cars-and-been-to-jail-a-hundred-times July? Not while she was living. “He is cute. Most of the July guys are.”

“I know. Eli said, Why would I want to date somebody dumber than me? I guess Diego never finished high school.” Crys looked up. “But I don't think that makes a difference. You're way smarter than the OG, and you're good as a couple. Right?”

It took Bernadine a moment to find her voice. “I think it's different when you're adults. We have life experience to keep us balanced.”

“Oh.” Crys appeared to think on that for a moment before going back to her drawing.

Bernadine asked casually, “You haven't heard from Diego since he and the family were here at Thanksgiving, have you?”

“Tried to e-mail him a couple of times just to say hi, but it bounced back. It must be an old one.”

Bernadine regularly monitored Crystal's e-mail and social media accounts. The other parents kept a sharp eye on their kids' online activities as well. Since she hadn't seen anything come in from Diego either, all she could think was, Thank you, Holy Ghost!

“So, how'd the rest of the meeting go?” Crys asked.

“Okay.” She didn't want to tell Crystal about Stillwell because she didn't want her to worry or to think she needed to do something to keep her mom safe. She'd tell her eventually, however. “How are you and the Witches of Franklin getting along? Are they still working your nerves?”

“Only when I pay them any attention. Today they tried to tell me I made up going to Spain with you. I refused to participate in stupid discussions.”

“Good for you. Keep taking the high road.”

“Be easier to just kick their butts, but I'm trying the high road for now.”

Bernadine bent and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Crystal. I'm heading up to my room. How close are you to being finished?”

“Almost done. I'll lock up down here before I come up for bed. You just go relax.”

“Okay.”

Upstairs in her bedroom, Bernadine took off her work clothes, put on sweats, and after stretching out on the bed, tried not to think about Stillwell. Picking up the remote, she clicked on the flat-screen. There were other things on her mind competing for attention too, like deciding what temperature the oil needed to be when she fried squirrel-head Wiggly and the Big Box lawyers, because she doubted she'd seen the last of them. Then there was the arrival of Preston's maternal grandmother, apparently tomorrow, according to the text she'd received from Brain earlier. Bernadine had only talked with Lenore Crenshaw on the phone a couple of times, and frankly hadn't liked the superior tone of the voice on the other end. According to the background check Lily had done on the Crenshaws, they hailed from Massachusetts. Old money. Free Black ancestors fought for the colonies during the war. Lenore Crenshaw was one of the first fully documented African American women admitted into the hallowed ranks of the Daughters of the American Revolution.

She thought back on the short visit she'd had with Preston's birth mom, Margaret Winthrop, and the painful story the NASA scientist had shared. That Lenore had mentally pummeled her daughter into giving Preston up for adoption while being happy about his father's death said volumes about who Lenore Crenshaw was as a person. For Lawrence Mays to have earned a scholarship to MIT, he must've been brilliant, but Lenore had chosen to ignore that in order to berate him for where he'd come from. Had he lived, life might have been different. Preston would have blossomed as the son of incredibly intelligent parents, and sadness wouldn't be still pouring out of his birth mother's soul. To say Bernadine wasn't looking forward to the arrival of Lenore Crenshaw was an understatement, and for some unnamed reason, she had a deep sense of foreboding, as if something bad loomed on the horizon. Hoping it was nothing more than spillover from Stillwell's anger, she picked up her phone and put in the promised call to Sheriff Will Dalton.

R
ocky finished the prep for tomorrow's breakfast and looked around at the now-sparkling kitchen. The floor had been swept and mopped, counters wiped down. The only items still on her to-do list included checking on the state of the dining room and assembling the one hundred napkin and silverware packs common to every eatery. Placing the large tub of clean silverware on a cart, she added a bundled stack of napkins and pushed her way out to the dining room.

And the first thing she saw, of course, was Jack. He was bent over, wiping down one of the tables. His back was to her, so it gave her a moment to view him at her leisure.

His dark hair was touched with gray and worn a bit longer than was deemed trendy, but she'd never paid any attention to such things. As a teen, he'd probably been as gangly and thin as his son, Eli, was now, but age had added weight to his frame, making him no less tall, but fit, like a swimmer. The small gold hoop in his ear added a rakishness to his already good looks, and Rocky knew she could stare at him for the rest of her life. After the farmers' meeting ended, he'd asked if she wanted his help with the cleanup, and because his presence had her so off her game, she'd said yes. A few other people stuck around to lend a hand taking down the buffet table and putting the chairs back in their normal configuration, but they'd gone home a while ago. Now the two of them were the only ones in the building.

Jazz great Sonny Criss was playing on the jukebox. The sweet, velvety sound of his horn against the diner's silence gave the air a hushed, intimate feel. She pushed the cart farther into the dining room. He glanced her way and slowly straightened.

“I have a couple more tables to do, and I'll be done. What's in the tub?”

“Silverware I need to wrap in napkins, but I can do it alone. You don't have to stay any longer.”

“How many do you have to make?”

“One hundred.”

“Wouldn't four hands be faster than two?”

“It's almost ten o'clock,” she said, fighting the parts of herself that wanted him to stay.

“And?”

She sighed around a smile. He was persistent, if nothing else. “Okay. Finish the tables and then come sit over here, and I'll show you how to do this.”

He joined her a few minutes later, and she demonstrated how the wraps were made. His first few attempts were crude, but he improved steadily.

“How's this?” he asked, holding up one of his better attempts for her inspection.

“Perfect.”

Their gazes held—longer than was necessary. Rocky ducked her head and resumed working. They didn't talk much, but words didn't seem necessary. With only the silence and the hushed jazz between them, she took a few peeks at him and found him peeking back. She decided the time had come to make a decision; if she didn't, she was going to lose her mind. “Are you busy Saturday morning?”

He stopped and searched her eyes as if trying to discern the reason for the question. “Um, not that I know of. Why?”

“I'm driving down to Hays to pick up a bike. Thought you'd like to ride along.”

He appeared so shocked she almost smiled.

“Is this like a date?”

“No, Jack. It isn't. Do you want to go or not?” She loved his accent.

“Yeah, sure. What time?”

“Leaving here at six.”

“In the morning?”

She waited.

“Okay. Where should I meet you?”

“I'll pick you up at your place. Just be ready.”

“Sure.”

Now he was the one who looked rattled. For her, that made them even.

He was right, four hands were faster than two, and when they were done, she set their handiwork at the hostess station and prepared to call it a night. “Thanks again, Jack.”

“You're welcome, Rochelle.”

“Do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Cut the Rochelle stuff, okay?”

He dropped his head but came up with a smile. “Got it.”

Rocky knew she should be heading to the exit, but he was so easy on the eyes, she lost herself in his for a moment.