Something Old, Something New (11 page)

Trent said to Reg, “Sorry this didn't go better.”

Reg waved him off and said to Devon, “Obviously Devon believes this is all Zoey's fault. Right, Devon?”

Devon stared ahead stubbornly.

On the walk back to Lily's, Trent looked down at Devon and said, “So now you don't have a best friend. Not real smart, son. Not smart at all.”

Devon told himself he didn't care, but inside, his heart ached.

And the day went downhill from there. First, Trent told on him the moment they got back, and Lily promptly put Devon on the first real punishment he'd ever received in his life. He tried quoting the Bible at her the way he sometimes did to his grandmother in order to shame her into lightening the sentence, but she wasn't his grandma. To prove it, he was denied access to his DVDs, television, and video games until further notice.

“You're going to need your mind clear to think of all the words you'll be putting into the three-page apology letter you're going to write to Zoey,” she told him firmly.

His eyes went wide as dinner plates.

Second, Amari was there when they returned as well, and although he didn't say anything while Lily was laying down the law, Devon could see him shaking his head with disappointment. When she was done, Amari started in on his what-it-meant-to-be-a-July speech, but before he could get going good, Mr. Trent stopped him. “You're not in this, Amari.”

It was the day's only saving grace.

After dinner, the sad-faced Devon helped Amari clear the table, then dejectedly climbed the stairs to his room. Once inside, he closed the door and threw himself across the bed. He would've much rather had a spanking.

On Sunday morning, he and Ms. Lily shared a silent breakfast and then left for the school auditorium. It would be the last Sunday of his preaching career, and he prayed Zoey would show up to play the piano. She didn't. In fact, the only people who did come were Mr. Trent, Amari, and Ms. Bernadine. He was very disappointed. “Where is everybody?” he asked Lily. Since late August, the crowds had been getting smaller and smaller.

She shrugged. “Do you know what a novelty is, sweetheart?”

Devon could see Amari and the others watching him. “No, ma'am.”

After she explained what it meant, he asked, “So they weren't really coming to hear the Word?”

“Doesn't look like it.”

“Can we go back home?” he asked her. “My eye hurts.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

They walked back out to the car, and she drove him home.

Chapter 10

B
ut later that afternoon plenty of people showed up to begin the work on Gary Clark's ancestral home, and Trent was pleased by all the support. Mal and his crew arrived first, along with a few of the local farmers and a large number of the area's construction workers. Next came Bernadine and Crystal, followed by Jack and Eli and Reg and Zoey. Lily parked and walked up with an unhappy-looking Devon, and on their heels came Amari, Preston, and Leah, who rode up on their bikes. Sheila came alone; Trent guessed Barrett was still pouting. When Gary finally arrived with an obviously angry Tiffany Adele, who was decked out in a dress and ballet slippers, Trent was ready to get the ball rolling.

However, before he could thank everyone for coming, Tamar and Ms. Agnes roared up in Olivia, and he had to wait for the dust to settle and for the latecomers to join them, too.

“Okay. Looks like everybody's here. First I want to thank you for coming. For those of you who don't know Gary Clark, that's him over there. He has two daughters. Leah, raise your hand, please.”

She complied and smiled shyly.

“And Tiffany Adele.”

She didn't raise her hand, but stood beside her dad smoldering instead, which of course drew the attention of Tamar, who walked over and stood beside her. All the kids shared a knowing look, and would've felt sorry for Tiffany if she hadn't been acting like such a brat.

Trent turned to Gary. “Do you have anything you want to say?”

He nodded. “I just want to say thanks. I'm real grateful for the support, and I know my girls are, too. You're giving us a home, and there is no greater gift.”

“We're glad to do it,” Trent responded. He opened his mouth to add more, but promptly closed it as he and everyone else watched Tamar march a mutinous-looking Tiffany Adele off to the side.

“Uh-oh,” Amari said loud enough for them all to hear.

Crystal added with a laugh, “You got that right.”

Knowing grins and chuckles greeted that; most of them had been in Tiff's ballet shoes at least once in their lives. It could be a very memorable and sometimes unpleasant place, but they knew Tamar would chew her out with love, so everyone turned their attention back to Trent as he began to divide all the volunteers into the crews that would be led by himself, Mal, Cliff, and Bing. Once each crew was clear as to its duties, the work began.

The balance of the day's efforts was spent emptying out the interior rooms of their old, unusable furniture. They took out old sofas, chairs that had been converted into nests by mice and other small mammals, and mattresses that had also been turned into wildlife homes. Trent grinned, watching Zoey carrying out a warped and rotting dresser drawer almost as big as herself and tossing it into the pile. There'd be a bonfire later for all the old wood. Tiffany Adele had been turned into an assistant to Tamar and Ms. Agnes, and was helping to set out plates and cups on the long table where all the food would be placed. She didn't look happy. Neither did Devon, who kept trying to brush the dirt and dust off his suit pants and shoes while working alongside Mal, who kept chuckling and handing him more gunk-covered shingles to place in the industrial-sized Dumpster.

As the sun began to fade, Trent took a look around at the progress they'd made and the good time everyone seemed to be having—Tiff and Devon notwithstanding—and he decided it had been a productive day. When Tamar announced that the food was ready, it got even better.

Once the volunteers had washed up at the old pump behind the house, they feasted on hot dogs and hamburgers, ears of grilled corn, Ms. Agnes's famous potato salad, and Clay's spicy baked beans. There would be ice cream later during the bonfire, but from the happiness on all the faces, no one seemed to care about being made to wait.

Trent took his piled-high plate over to where Lily was seated in the grass and sat beside her.

“This was fun,” she declared.

He agreed. “We got a lot done. Gives you an appetite, too. I could eat a horse.”

She smiled, and as her eyes strayed toward the road that ran by the Clark home, she went still. “Look who's shown up now that all the work's done.”

The big black town car belonging to Leo Brown came to a stop, and out of its expensive cream-colored leather interior stepped Marie, Genevieve, sporting her signed cast, and then the man himself. His gray suit looked imported and screamed money loud enough to be heard in Denver.

Lily cracked sarcastically, “Doesn't look like he's dressed to haul wood.”

“You're going to make yourself sick hating on that man,” Trent noted amusedly.

Her eyes followed their approach onto the Clark property. “Can't help it.”

Trent eyed Genevieve's hand. “Wonder how Riley's doing?”

“I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when she knocked him out at the Dog. She sure has changed.”

“I'll bet Riley's saying the same thing.” The memory of the way Riley slid beneath the booth and out of view made Trent chuckle. “He melted under that booth like a flattened Wile E. Coyote after one of his run-ins with the Road Runner.”

Grinning, Lily crowed, “Beep beep.”

He laughed and went back to his plate.

D
evon was ready to go home. He was hot and tired, and his suit was a mess, but he knew he would have to sit through the bonfire first. He'd spent the day watching Zoey and being jealous of all the attention she was getting. Every time she walked by, carrying something out to the pile of wood, one of the adults would say, “Good job, Zo!” or “Looking good, Miss Z.”

The Miss Z business had been started by Mr. Mal. He'd put himself on Devon's list, too, for making him get so dirty. Each time Devon bent over to brush the dirt off his pant legs, Mr. Mal would say, “That little bit of dirt won't kill you, boy. Here, come and get this.” And he'd hand Devon something to carry even dirtier than the last thing he'd been given. Once again, Devon wasn't happy with his life or the people in it. He spotted Ms. Lily, sitting on the grass next to Mr. Trent. They looked happy. He wasn't sure how he felt about having Mr. Trent for a dad. He'd never had a man in his life before. The one time he'd asked his grandma about his mother and father, she responded with, “I'll tell you when you get older.” Now that she'd passed on, he'd never know, but sometimes he did wonder who they were and where they might be. He'd hoped they'd come and get him after his grandma's death, but they hadn't. No one came to claim him.

“Hey, buckaroo. Why are you sitting over here all by yourself?”

Devon looked up into the kind eyes of Mr. Malachi. In response to the question, he offered a slow shrug. “Nobody likes me anymore.”

“Heard you were having a hard time. Things any better?”

“Nope.”

“Want to tell me about it? Sometimes having somebody to talk to takes the sting out of stuff, you know.”

Devon thought that over for a moment and then said, “Okay.”

So Devon talked about the fight with Zoey, his spat with Ms. Lily, and how he came to be on punishment. Through it all Mr. Mal listened. He didn't fuss, nor did he judge. Instead he said, “You know, Devon, life sucks sometimes.”

Devon drew back, horrified.

“Sorry,” Mal said with a chagrined grin. “But sometimes only your OG will tell it like it is.”

Devon wasn't sure he really understood that, but he got the drift.

Mal explained further, “No matter how many times we think we got life licked, she throws us a curveball.”

“Like Satchel Paige?”

Mal choked on his root beer. When he recovered, he peered closely. “What do you know about Satchel Paige?”

“Negro League. One of the best pitchers of his day, Black or White.”

Mal's jaw dropped. “Who are you, and what have you done with our Devon?”

And for the first time that day, Devon smiled. “My grandma's daddy played with Mr. Paige and Mr. Gibson, and even Mr. Cool Papa Bell.”

Mal blinked. He looked around as if he wanted to call someone for help but found Devon too fascinating to let out of his sight. “Your great-grandfather played Negro League ball?”

“Yes, sir. My grandma's family album had a bunch of old pictures and articles from the newspapers.”

Mal sat back. “Well, I'll be. So you like baseball?”

“Yes, sir. Me and my grandma were Braves fans because of Mr. Henry Aaron.”

Mal chuckled at the craziness of this interaction. “Why haven't you said anything?”

“Nobody asked.”

That made perfect sense. “Tell you what. This weekend coming up, the playoffs start and your Braves are in the running. How about you and me watch together?”

Devon had no way of knowing that the way his eyes lit up made Mal realize he was going to love Devon just as much as he loved Amari.

Mal asked, “Would you like that?”

“Like a bullfrog loves flies.”

“What?” Mal asked through his laugh. “Where'd you hear that?”

“My grandma used to say it all the time.” He stilled, and the sadness in his eyes broke Mal's heart.

“Miss her a lot, I'll bet?”

Devon wiped at the tears filling his eyes. He didn't want Amari and Preston seeing him cry.

Mal asked softly, “Would you do me a favor?”

Devon nodded.

“I want you to tell me all about her while we watch the game. That okay with you, buckaroo?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mal ruffled his hair.

Devon asked, “Do you call people buckaroo because of Mr. Herb Jeffries's movie
The Bronze Buckaroo
?”

Mal froze and stared. “How did you know that?”

Devon's answering grin made Mal wave him off. “Never mind. Bonfire's getting ready to start. Go get your ice cream before you give me a heart attack.”

Grinning, Devon replied, “Yes, sir.”

As Mal watched him go, he thought about Devon's struggles, and then peered through the growing shadows for Lily and Trent. They were across the yard, watching him. Feeling pretty good about himself, he walked over to join them.

Lily said, “We saw you with Devon. Did he let you talk to him?”

Mal replied nonchalantly, “Devon and I will be watching the baseball playoffs together this weekend.”

“What?” Trent asked.

“Didn't know he liked baseball, did you?”

A perplexed Lily shook her head. “No. He's never said anything about that.”

“According to him, it's because nobody ever asked.”

Silence.

Mal chuckled. “That's how I felt.” He met his son's eyes and boasted, “And this is what I meant about Dads Inc. needing my advanced wisdom. I'm liking this boy like a bullfrog likes flies.”

Lily laughed.

Trent asked, “Dad, don't take this the wrong way, but like a bullfrog likes flies? Have you been drinking?”

“No offense taken, and the answer is no, but before this whole Devon thing is resolved, we may all need a drink.”

That said, he walked off whistling music from
The Bronze Buckaroo
.

“What does he mean?” Lily asked.

“With Dad, who knows?”

Trent was about to add to that but saw some kind of commotion going on by the food table. Bernadine was yelling for Reg, and people began running toward her. Trent and Lily got up and took off at a run, too.

It was Ms. Agnes. She was lying on the ground, and the grim Reg was administering CPR. Due to the lateness of the day, visibility was limited, but quick-thinking truck owners ran to their vehicles, turned on their high beams, and drove up close. In the circle of light Lily saw the horrified Marie standing with Leo. Tamar pushed her way through the crowd. Marie immediately grabbed Tamar's hand in a grip that appeared tight as her heart had to be.

Bernadine closed her phone. “Sheriff said they'll be here in ten minutes at the most.”

Everyone prayed it wouldn't be too late.

Reg managed to get Agnes's rhythm stabilized just as the ambulance roared up. Moments later the techs had her on a gurney and inside. Lights flashing, the ambulance sped off to the big hospital up in Hays, while Marie, Leo, Tamar, and Lily followed in Leo's fast-moving town car.

At the hospital they were ushered into a room set aside for families of loved ones undergoing emergency surgery, and the wait for news was excruciating. Marie appeared to have her emotions under control, but when Lily looked into her eyes, the bleakness mirrored there was soul-deep. It was well known that mother and daughter rarely agreed, but Marie loved Agnes very much—more than Agnes deserved, some might say, but the only thing that mattered to Lily was Marie's pain. The sight of it was breaking Lily's heart.

Marie stood and announced emotionlessly, “I need some air. Come and get me if anything happens.”

Leo asked, “Do you want me to go with you?”

She shook her head and left the room.

Lily met his eyes for a moment and then glanced over at Tamar, who was seated in a chair on the far side of the room. Her eyes were closed, and to a casual observer it appeared that she might be asleep, but upon closer inspection, you saw her lips moving, and if you listened hard you could hear her chanting nearly soundlessly in a tongue only her ancestors knew.

“What's she doing?” Leo asked quietly.

“Praying.”

“In what language?”

“Seminole, I imagine, but I don't know that for sure.”

“Can she hear us?”

Tamar opened her eyes. “Yes, Leo. I can hear you. Shut up, please.”

He didn't say another word.

Forty minutes later the surgeon came in and introduced herself. Her name was Rita Sullivan, and she didn't have good news. “All we can do is make her comfortable. Her heart is just wore out. I'm sorry.”

Marie bit her lip. “Can I see her?”

“Of course. She's awake. We have her on a couple of IVs, but it won't be long.”