Sit! Stay! Speak! (7 page)

B
Y THE TIME
A
DDIE MADE IT BACK UP TO THE BAR
, B
OBBY AND
Wanda were sitting at a table, looking over the bar's menu.

“Not a lot to choose from,” Bobby said. “Wanda didn't tell me you all was wantin' to eat until we got here.”

“Do they have potato wedges?” Addie was suddenly starving.

“The best in town.”

“Here's your shot.” Wanda narrowed her eyes at Addie. “Everything okay? You look kinda funny.”

“Well, I did just spill beer all over myself,” Addie replied.

“I'm sorry about you-know-who,” Wanda said. “I didn't know he was going to be here . . . with someone.”

“Of course you didn't know,” Addie agreed. “Besides, it's not like it should matter to me.”

“I've never seen her before,” Wanda continued.

Addie's back was facing Jasper and the mystery woman, and she resisted the urge to turn around and stare at them. “So you don't know who she is?”

Bobby snorted into his beer. “No tellin' where he picked her up the way he throws his money around like there ain't no tomorrow.”

“You don't have any cause to say that. Just because you don't like what he did.” Wanda rolled her eyes.

“What did he do?” Addie was dying to know what Bobby was talking about.

“When he moved back he bought the old Jones farm, which was in foreclosure,” Wanda explained. “Their land borders his parents' land. It made sense.”

“He didn't have no right. He had no right buyin' that place,” Bobby cut in. “That land should have stayed in the family.”

“Maybe the family should have paid their mortgage,” Wanda said. “You know just as well as I do where their money goes.”

Bobby stood up from the table, his big hands balled into fists. “I'm going to get another beer.”

“Ignore him,” Wanda said over the bass of the band. “He doesn't know what he's talking about. He listens to whatever Redd says like it's the gospel.”

“I take it Redd's family doesn't like Jasper too much?”

“Their families don't like each other much. The Floyds have that big, commercial farm. The Joneses had a little, ramshackle place. I think it bothered Jasper's daddy the way the Jones place looked. He used to make comments about it when we was kids.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You just have to know Mr. Floyd,” Wanda replied. “He's not a bad man. But he isn't one to hold on to his thoughts.”

“So Jasper and his dad are a lot alike.”

“The apple don't fall too far from the tree.” Wanda nodded. “But what Bobby failed to mention is that Jasper paid way over
what it was worth. He paid the banknote, and made sure the Jones family got some money in their pockets.”

Addie bit the bottom of her lip. “That man. I just don't know what goes on in his head.”

“Let's get another drink, shall we?” Wanda slid out of the booth. “Maybe then we can start to make some sense of the men around here.”

Addie clinked down an empty shot glass and smiled placidly. She felt warm and happy and . . . had she mentioned warm? It felt like years since the last time she'd felt this way. And truthfully, it had been.

“We've got a real treat for y'all tonight,” the lead singer of the band crowed from the makeshift stage in the back. “We're gonna play two brand-new songs. Come on out onto the floor for a listen!”

There was a cheer from the crowd. People began to take their drinks and move toward the stage. Wanda grabbed Addie by the wrist. “C'mon! You ain't gonna want to miss this!”

“I can see from here just fine,” Addie said. In fact, she could see more than just fine. She could see that woman's hand on Jasper's arm. She could see her whispering something to him as he stood up to walk toward the stage. She didn't want to get any closer.

But Wanda wasn't having it. “Come
on,
” she urged. “Trust me; you don't want to miss this.”

Begrudgingly, Addie followed her into the ocean of people. She followed her all the way to the back of the bar until they were standing next to Jasper.

“Hey,” he yelled over the music. “I wondered where you went.”

“I'm here with Bobby and Wanda.”

“What?”

After several failed attempts to reply, Addie shook her head at him. She turned to Wanda, but she had disappeared into the crowd. The music finally stopped, and Addie felt relieved. She just wanted to go back to their table at the front—far away from Jasper and that woman.

“Come on over here for a minute,” Jasper said. “There's someone I want you to meet.”

“I better go find Wanda.”

Jasper motioned for her to follow.

“I'm tired of following people tonight,” Addie grumbled. “You are all so bossy.”

“Hold that thought.” Jasper waved at a man at another table. “Have a seat. I'll be right back.”

Addie sat down next to the woman and tried to muster a smile. “Hi.”

“Hello,” the woman replied. “You must be Adelaide. Jasper has told me so much about you. I'm Harper.”

Her lips were the kind of red that Addie had seen only on the covers of magazines. “It's nice to meet you,” Addie replied.

“Jasper tells me you just moved to town?”

“A few weeks ago.” Addie wondered what else Jasper had told her. “How do you know Jasper?”

“Oh, Jas and I go way back. I've known him since law school.”

Great. A beautiful lawyer. “So you're a lawyer, too?”

Harper nodded. “I'm Jasper's partner in Memphis.”

The way she said
partner
made Addie's stomach hurt. She looked past Harper to Jasper. He caught her eye and winked. She looked away. “What brings you down to Eunice?”

“Jasper and I had some business to take care of.” Harper took a sip of her drink. “We always come to Jennie's afterward.”

“That's right,” Jasper chimed in, appearing in front of them. “Just crossing some t's and dotting some i's.” He sat down next to Harper.

Harper reached down and placed her hand on Jasper's leg. “Adelaide and I were just getting to know each other. You know how much I enjoy meeting your friends.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” Addie stood up. “I really need to go find Wanda. I hope you two have a great night.” She turned around and hurried as fast as she could to the front of the bar. Her head was swimming.

“What's wrong, Miss Addie?” Bobby asked when she reached the bar. “Your face is all flushed.”

“I just need another drink is all.”

“What can I get ya?” Jennie asked.

“Something strong.”

“You got it.”

“I seen you back there talking to Jasper,” Bobby said. “Did he say somethin' he shouldna?”

Addie tipped back the shot. And then another. The warm feeling returned. “I'm fine.” She smiled at Bobby. “Where did your sister get off to?”

“No tellin'.”

Jasper was headed toward them. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jasper asked Addie.

“What?”

“Do you want to go outside?”

“No.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Jasper was focused on the several overturned shot glasses.

Bobby stepped in between Addie and Jasper. “I don't think she wants to talk to you,
Mr. Floyd.
”

“I don't think I was talking to you, Bobby.”

“I don't think I give a shit.”

Jasper sighed, putting a hand to his temple. “Look, I know Redd's got your nose out of joint . . .”

“Don't even say his name,” Bobby growled, clenching his fists. “You don't even deserve to say his name.”

When Bobby reared his fist back, Addie shot between them as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her. She caught Jasper at the elbow. Although not sure that she could control the octave of her voice, she said as quietly as possible, “Jasper and I are just going to step outside for a minute.”

“Like hell you are,” Bobby snarled, his ruddy cheeks on fire. “He's leavin', but he ain't leavin' with you.”

Addie put her hands up against Bobby's chest. “It's okay, but thank you for looking out for me. You're a good friend.”

“Go on then,” Bobby huffed. He was scowling, but his fists had unclenched. “Don't bring him back in here, Addie. You hear me? Don't you bring him back in here.”

Jasper opened his mouth to reply, but Addie gave him a look and said to Bobby, “You got it. Order us another round, okay?”

Bobby skulked off.

Once Addie was outside, the adrenaline mixed with alcohol was coursing through her veins and she was starting to feel sick.

Finally, Jasper said, “That was pretty stupid. Getting in between two grown men like that. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I didn't see any grown men. I saw two boys having a pissing contest.”

“You don't know anything about it.”

“I know enough.”

“Oh?”

“Just go home,” Addie replied. She felt very tired. “I've had too much to drink to be having this conversation.”

“I can see that.”

“But what else is there to do in this damn town,” Addie continued. “Drink whiskey and listen to shitty bands play.”

“If you hate it so much what are you doing here?”

“I miss Chicago.”

Jasper stepped closer to her. “Then why don't you go back? Go back there to that fiancé of yours.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Addie's hand clasped the door handle. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sick feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. “I can't go back there,” she countered. “I can't go back there and be with him because he's dead.”

“Shit, Addie. I'm sorry.” Jasper raked his hand through his hair. “I didn't know.”

“Of course you didn't know,” Addie snapped. She faced him. “That's why I'm here, okay? My fiancé died almost two years ago. I couldn't live in that city anymore. I couldn't stand the sympathy. I couldn't stand seeing his parents. I couldn't stand seeing his friends. Most of all, I couldn't stand talking about it.”

Jasper stood with his hands jammed down into the pockets of his jeans. He said nothing, but he didn't take his eyes off her the way so many people did when she told them about Jonah. Addie
felt the weight of his stare, and the weight of her words, and the weight of everything she'd had to drink over the last few hours. Holding it all, her knees buckled and she sank down onto the concrete.

“Hey, now. Don't cry.” Jasper knelt down beside her.

“I'm fine,” Addie lied.

Using him for support, Addie steadied herself on her feet. She wanted to stay there and let him comfort her. She wanted to cry. She wanted to beat her fists angrily into his chest while he held her.

Addie pushed herself away from his grip. She smoothed her dress, straightened her shoulders, and said, “I better get back inside. They'll be wondering where I am.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Jasper's face looked worried, but he made no second attempt to touch her.

“I said I'm fine.”

Just then, Harper appeared in the doorway. She clutched her purse, wide-eyed. “What on earth happened in there?”

“Nothing.” Jasper stepped away from Addie. “Just small-town gossip.”

“Honestly, I don't know why you insist on coming here with these roughnecks.”

“I am one of these roughnecks.”

“Hardly,” Harper scoffed. “Well, Adelaide, it was nice to meet you, but I think I'll be calling it a night.”

“It was nice to meet you, too,” Addie replied.

“Are you coming, Jasper?”

Jasper nodded. “I'll be right behind you.”

“You want me just to meet you back at your place?”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Uh, sure. Yeah, sure, that's fine.”

Addie glared after Harper and then focused her attention back on Jasper. “Go on,” she said. “Just go on with
her.
I'm fine.”

“I don't want to leave you like this.”

“I said I'm fine.”

“I know what you said, but you don't look fine.”

“Well, you don't want to keep Harper waiting,” Addie said. “Besides, I don't want Bobby coming out and seeing you here.”

Jasper crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I'm not afraid of Bobby Carter.”

“I know you're not.” Addie rolled her eyes. “Please just go. I don't need you to feel sorry for me.”

“I don't feel sorry for you.”

“I don't need your help, either.”

“Fine.” Jasper's jaw was set in a hard line. He was angry, but Addie could tell by the look in his eyes that he was hurt, too. It made her feel even worse. He strode off into the darkness, and he didn't look back at her. She waited until the taillights of his Bronco disappeared down the street before turning and stepping back inside the bar—where the buzz of fluorescent lights and several shots of whiskey awaited her.

T
HERE HADN
'
T BEEN ANY MEN SINCE
J
ONAH
. T
O BE PERFECTLY
honest, there hadn't been much of anything. What she hadn't told Jasper that night, what she hadn't told anybody, was that she blamed herself for Jonah's death. It happened two months before the wedding. It had been raining all day, and Addie was late meeting him for an appointment with the caterer. Jonah hadn't even wanted to use this caterer because she was an hour outside the city, and he didn't want to do anything that took him outside the city, but Addie insisted. They'd argued about Addie being late. In fact, Addie argued herself all the way into a taxi where she promptly hung up on him. She refused to answer the next five calls from him, and when she got home, he was already gone. He left a note apologizing. He'd gone to see the caterer alone. He hadn't wanted to miss the appointment and risk messing up the menu so close to the wedding. The food had been so important to Addie.

Jonah never saw it coming, never saw the semi cross the center line. They told her he likely didn't feel anything at all; it happened so fast. Maybe if she'd answered her phone, told him to wait just a few more minutes . . .
We can call the caterer and reschedule,
she should have said.
Don't worry about it. I love you.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd ever be able to stop thinking about the words she hadn't said.

But Addie awoke the next morning in the same clothes she had been wearing the night before; she woke up thinking about Jasper and the kiss they'd shared. There was a chemistry between them that she wanted to ignore but just couldn't. The memory of his lips on hers was both infuriating and scintillating. She rolled over to escape her thoughts and heard a muffled yelp from beneath the covers. Felix wormed his way to the pillow beside Addie. She was grateful to have him with her, in spite of all his quirks. In fact, maybe she loved him so much
because
of them.

“Good morning, buddy.”

Felix rolled over on his back and licked Addie's face. Ever since the storm, it was like Felix was a different dog. He no longer backed away at her touch. He no longer hid under the couch when she came home. He no longer growled at every living thing he saw. He was still fearful, especially when it came to men, but he was altogether a much happier dog than he'd been when Addie had first found him clinging to life down by the levee. Felix was beginning to trust her, and it made Addie's heart swell every time he looked at her with his blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Let's get some breakfast.” Addie slid off the bed. “Well, breakfast for you. Coffee for me.” Her entire body felt stiff, and she remembered why she rarely drank.

The two padded their way into the kitchen. Addie busied herself fixing Felix's food as he waited by his bowl eagerly. He whined when she poured his kibble, his tail making a
thump, thump, thump
sound against the tile floor.

While Felix ate, Addie stood beside the coffeepot and stared out her new kitchen window into the backyard. Jasper had ordered a beautiful window, she had to admit. It was much nicer than the one that had been destroyed by the tree. The yard still looked frightful, and the door to the shed still needed to be fixed. She glanced over at the table and chairs. They were coming along nicely. It had been so long since she'd had a project—had a finished product of which she could be proud. She wished Jonah could be here to see it, if only for a second.

Addie shuddered to think about her conversation with Jasper the night before. Much of the night was muddled, but she remembered exactly what she'd said. The thought made her want to crawl back under the covers until Christmas. She hadn't wanted him to know. She hadn't wanted anyone to know. She picked up her phone and dialed her mother's number.

“Addie? Hi!” Her mother's voice came booming from the other end. “How are you, sweetie?”

“I'm okay, Mom,” Addie replied. “I just called to check on you and Jerry.”

“Oh, we're good . . . you know. The usual—working on the house.”

Addie sighed into the phone. “Me too. I'm not getting much accomplished, though.”

“What's wrong?” Concern filled her mother's voice. “You don't sound like yourself.”

“It's nothing. I just miss you guys, that's all.”

“We miss you, too!” her mother replied. “Are you sure you're okay down there all by yourself? In that house all alone?”

“I like alone,” Addie reminded her. “That was the point of coming here. To be alone. Besides, I won't be here forever. A few months, max.”

“I don't have to like it, Adelaide. I just wish you'd talk to someone about things . . . you know.”

Addie rubbed her throbbing head. This was not the direction she had intended for the conversation to go. “I'm tired of talking, Mom.”

“You're talking to me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” her mother replied. “Maybe it's time for you to meet some new people.”

“That's actually why I'm calling.” Addie saw a chance to change the subject. “I got kind of drunk last night . . .”

“Oh, Adelaide.”

“Mom, let me finish,” Addie said. “I got a little drunk last night and acted like an idiot. I think I said some things that I shouldn't have.”

There was silence as her mother thought about it. Finally she said, “Well, you know what your aunt Tilda always did when she stuck her foot in her mouth?”

“Ate her foot? I don't remember Aunt Tilda apologizing to anyone . . . ever.”

“It was rare. But it happened. Except she was a lot like you—she had trouble saying the words. So she baked.”

“You want me to bake?”

“I don't want you to do anything, kiddo,” her mother replied.
“But, at least for your aunt Tilda, baking was a way to relieve stress and apologize all at the same time.”

“I relieve stress with paint thinner and sandpaper,” Addie replied. “But I do have all of Aunt Tilda's cookbooks upstairs in the attic. I guess it can't hurt to try something new.”

Her mother's laugh jingled through the phone. “I would suggest the recipe for fried pie.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Addie threw her phone down on the couch and walked to the kitchen. She just needed to think for a minute. She walked over to the counter and cut off a twelve-inch piece of cheesecloth and soaked it in tung oil. Maybe if she could remove all the dust from the table she'd been sanding, she'd feel better. She strapped on a particle mask and got to work.

Addie was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn't even hear the doorbell ring. It wasn't until Felix began to bark that she looked up. Wanda was standing in the doorway looking horrified.

“What on earth are you wearing on your face?” she exclaimed.

“It's just a mask.” Addie pulled the mask off her face. “It keeps the dust particles from the table out of my lungs.”

“Did you do all this?” Wanda ran her hand along the now smooth table.

“Yup,” Addie replied. “I found it in my aunt's old shed out back. I think it's the same one she had sitting in here when I was a kid.”

“What will it look like when you're done?”

“Similar to how it looks now. I'm just going to stain it,” Addie said. “So what's up?”

“Well, you left your clothes at my house last night.” Wanda handed Addie a plastic bag. “I washed them for ya.”

“Thanks. Come on in.”

“Hey, Felix.” Wanda leaned down and scratched Felix behind his ears. “I could hear you barking all the way from the street.”

“I thought you had to go in to work today.”

“I do. But not for another hour or so.” Wanda jammed her hands down into the pockets of her scrubs. “So, last night was kind of crazy, huh?”

“It's definitely on my top ten.”

“So what happened with you and Jasper?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Addie. Don't think I didn't notice your face all puffy like you'd been cryin' when you came back inside.” Wanda sat down at the kitchen table. “I didn't say anything last night 'cause we were with Bobby. But I'm not blind.”

Addie sat down next to her friend. “I was just trying to get him out of there before your brother changed his mind. He didn't want to leave. We argued about it. That's all.”

Wanda placed both of her hands palms down on the table. She stared down at the prints left on the glass. “Look, the reason I came over here . . . well, I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Addie was surprised. “What do you mean? You didn't do anything.”

“I didn't mean to push you into going out. Gettin' all dressed up. I didn't think about how maybe you came here to get away from people, not see more of 'em . . . you know . . . after . . . what happened in Chicago.”

“So you've heard about that.”

Wanda looked over at Addie, her big green eyes full of tears.
“Your aunt told me the month before she died. I'm so sorry. I just didn't think.”

“It's okay.” Addie reached over to take Wanda's hand.

“Miss Tilda didn't tell me much. She was forgetting an awful lot by then.”

“We were getting married,” Addie said. “It was a car wreck. Jonah, that was his name, was pronounced dead at the scene . . .” Addie trailed off, not sure whether she could keep her voice steady enough to continue. “It was the worst day of my life.”

“I'm so sorry, Addie.” Tears streamed down Wanda's face. “I'm just so sorry.”

“I don't want to talk about it. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of people feeling sorry for me.” Addie hesitated and then added, “Please don't feel sorry for me.”

Wanda wiped at her tears with the paper towel Addie handed her. “I don't. I mean, I won't. I just don't know what to say.”

“I spent the last year being sad. I don't want to be sad anymore. I came here to try out some other kind of emotion.”

“And then mean old Jasper Floyd makes you cry.”

“I actually owe him an apology.”

“Oh, really?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Addie replied. “My mother suggested I make Aunt Tilda's famous fried pies, but I can't even boil water.”

“Well then, it's a good thing you've got me.” Wanda jumped up from the table. “But I don't believe I have a recipe for fried pies—well, not like your aunt could make them.”

“I have her recipe box around here somewhere,” Addie mumbled, following Wanda halfheartedly around the kitchen.

Wanda stopped in her tracks. “You have her recipe box?”

“Yeah.”

“Girl, get that thing out.”

Addie did as she was told. Her aunt Tilda's recipe box didn't look like anything special. In fact, it looked just like everything in her aunt's house—old and covered in dust—when she found it tucked behind a cast-iron skillet in the kitchen cabinet. She'd considered throwing it out, not knowing what it was at first. It took her a minute to realize she'd seen it before, many times, during the summers she'd spent with her aunt. It was the little wooden box she pulled out before she began cooking every meal. Her aunt never looked at any of the recipes she pulled out. She just licked her index finger, leafing through them with surprising speed. Once she found a recipe she liked, she pulled it out and set it on top of the box. She wouldn't look at it again until she filed it away.

Many of the recipes were written on index cards or scraps of paper. Some of them had been ripped out of magazines, but those were few and far between, and most of them had been marked up one side and down the other, proof that Tilda's special touch could be tasted in everything she cooked.

“Here it is,” Addie said at last, pulling a yellowed card out of the box. “I hope it's the right one. It just says ‘fried pies' on it.”

“Tilda Andrews didn't have but one fried pie recipe,” Wanda replied. “What's it say we need?”

“Apples, brown sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon . . .” Addie tore her eyes away from the card and focused on Wanda. “Can't I just buy a pie and pretend I made it?”

“You can't feed a store-bought pie to the likes of Jasper Floyd,” Wanda said. “You want him to think you're cheap and easy and lazy?”

Addie shook her head from side to side, wide-eyed. “A store-bought pie can say all that?”

“It can say that and more.” Wanda stared into Addie's empty cabinets. “You think Jasper's mama feeds him store-bought pie?”

Addie didn't know how to respond to that question. She'd never met Jasper's mom. Did his mom still cook for him? Was that normal? She couldn't remember the last time her mother cooked for anyone, let alone her adult daughter.

Wanda sighed and slammed the cabinet doors shut. “Put that recipe in your pocket, honey, and grab your keys. We've got some shopping to do.”