Something Old, Something New (17 page)

At the end of the school day, Mr. Trent appeared to take him back out to the fence. Devon decided he'd never steal anything again.

On the drive, Devon asked, “When do I get to do my homework?”

“After your two hours of work. You'll put in two hours before and after school until the fence is done.”

“But that may take a year.”

“The way you paint, you're probably right, but you should have thought about the consequences before you began helping yourself to other folks' money.”

Trent parked and glanced over at his son. “You know you're breaking Ms. Lily's heart, right?”

Devon dropped his eyes.

“And mine, too, son.”

Devon looked up with water-filled eyes.

“You're a better person inside than this, Devon, and you and everyone else knows it. I can't believe you'd steal from the people who love you so much. This has to stop. All the anger you're throwing around can't be making you feel good inside, either. Am I right?”

“No, it isn't.”

“Then come on, help us out so we can help you. What will make this stop?”

Devon looked up out of tear-filled eyes and whispered, “I just want to go home, Dad. That's all.”

An emotional Trent pulled Devon across the seat and held him like a father holds his son. Devon wept as if his heart was breaking, and Trent let him cry.

“Lily and I will see what we can do about a visit,” he said thickly. “I promise.”

When the crisis passed, Trent rifled through the glove box, found the small box of tissues inside, and gave some to Devon.

Devon wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “Please don't tell Amari I was crying.”

“I won't.”

“Do I still have to paint?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said with soft resignation, and got out. Before he walked away, however, he told Trent, “Thank you.”

Trent smiled. “No. Thank you.”

Devon looked confused. “For what?”

“Calling me Dad.”

Devon assessed him silently for a moment more. “You're welcome.”

Kids having to paint the Jeffersons' half-mile fence as a punishment for serious misdeeds was a Henry Adams tradition started by Tamar and Ms. Agnes, who'd been at their wit's end trying to exercise parental control over the teenage Malachi and his running buddies Cliff and Marie. Once they grew up, the tradition was passed down to Trent's generation, but with no children coming up behind them, it passed into legend. However, thanks to Amari and Preston it had been resurrected, and now it was Devon's turn. If the previous results proved true, he'd never want to be sentenced to paint duty ever again.

Devon agreed. Painting was hard, and from the looks of him and his clothes it was difficult to determine whether he was working on the fence or painting himself. He looked up with sorrowful eyes at Mr. Trent sitting on the porch with Ms. Marie and Ms. Genevieve, but knew they weren't going to commute his sentence, so he went back to stroking the whitewash on the picket fence.

He'd just finished his fifth slat when Mr. Reg in his white truck drove up and parked. While Devon watched, Zoey, wearing her signature green everything, opened the door and hopped down to the road. Mr. Reg waved at him and walked off toward the porch, but Zoey came over to where he stood with the dripping paintbrush.

She slowly scanned his paint-stained self, and the first words out of her mouth were “You look a hot mess.”

He wanted to smile but said instead, “Go away.”

To his dismay, she did. Distraught, he watched her walk to the porch where the adults were sitting. His new dad was right; being mad wasn't making him feel good inside. He went back to work.

Up on the porch, Trent saw Zoey approaching the porch. “Hey, Zo. Welcome home.”

“Hi, Mr. Trent. Hi, Ms. Marie and Ms. Genny.”

“And you're talking,” Genevieve gushed. “This is wonderful.”

“With a southern drawl,” Reg pointed out.

Zoey put her hands on her hips and tossed back in a humor-filled voice, “It's 'cause I'm from Florida, Daddy Reg.”

“I know, baby girl. Just teasing. How about you tell Trent and the ladies why you had me drive you out here.”

“I came to help Devon paint.”

Trent glanced over at Reg, who shrugged, so Trent said to Zoey, “That's real nice of you, Zoey, but he has to do it by himself.”

“Amari and Preston didn't paint by themselves.”

Trent studied her. She had a look in her eyes that was reminiscent of every other strong female person in Henry Adams, and he knew he was in trouble.

Reg came to his rescue. “I tried to tell her it was because they were both in hot water at the same time.”

Marie added, “And tradition says you mess up, you paint. Devon stole money, baby girl.”

“No disrespect, but tradition needs to get a clue.”

Trent looked around to see if Crystal was nearby and somehow had her hand up Zoey's back, using Zoey as a ventriloquist's dummy.

“He'a little kid. It's going to take him a year to do that all by himself. And he doesn't know what he's doing. Have you seen his suit? I know he's been doing dumb stuff, but he's my brother, and I'm going to help.”

Trent tried again. “Zoey, it's tradition.”

She crossed her arms and waited.

Genevieve said, “You know, he is probably the youngest one we've had out there. How old were you the first time, Trent?”

He gave her a quelling look. “Twelve.”

“And you were pretty tall even then. Marie, we were thirteen. I remember because we got caught wearing that tawdry red lipstick at school.”

Marie asked, “So you're throwing in with Zoey?”

“Yes. He is a little guy. Maybe we need to have an age limit.”

Trent sighed. He pulled a brush out of the bag at his feet and handed it to Zoey. “You're a good sister, Zoey.”

“Thanks, Mr. Trent.”

Back down by the fence, the paint-covered Devon was still wielding his brush alone when another big pickup pulled up. This one he'd never seen before. It was silver and red and looked brand-new, so he stopped to see who it might belong to. Out stepped Reverend Paula. She was wearing jeans and a matching denim jacket over a black shirt and her pastor's collar. On her feet was a pair of navy blue cowboy boots that had small gold stars stamped into the leather.

Devon decided to ignore her by pretending to be too busy painting to notice her, but she walked over anyway.

“Hey, Devon.”

“Hey,” he replied grudgingly.

“Heard you were out here. Thought you might like some help.”

“It's not allowed.”

“Really?” She looked speculatively over at the adults up on the porch. “Be right back.”

Devon wondered who she thought she was. They weren't going to let her help. No way.

Way!

Not only did Zoey return with paintbrush in hand, so did the reverend. Devon was so surprised he was speechless for a second or two.

Zoey said, “Close your mouth and get to work. We don't want to be out here all day.”

Grinning, he turned to Paula, who echoed, “What she said.”

For the next hour the three of them painted and talked. Zoey did most of it. Her voice was lower toned than Devon had been expecting, and her way with words reminded him a lot of Crystal.

Paula knew that Zoey's sassy southern way of speaking stemmed from her having been raised by an addict mother on the streets of Miami. It did Paula's heart good to have Zoey chattering away beside her, because it reminded her of Old Ab.

Devon's voice broke into her thoughts. “Reverend Paula, why are you helping me?”

She paused in her painting. “I don't know. Your mom told me a little bit about what's been going on, and I just thought you might need a friend.”

“I'm sorry I stole the money.”

“I know you are. Your mom says you miss Mississippi so much you want to go back.”

“I do. I want to talk to Ms. Myrtle, and then go and see my grandma's grave. I didn't get to see her in the hospital after she got sick. Only after she died at the funeral parlor.”

Paula was surprised by that. “Why?”

“Everybody said I was too little to go to the hospital.”

“So you didn't get to say good-bye?”

He whispered, “No, ma'am.”

Paula draped an arm over his paint-stained shoulder and hugged him close.

Zoey looked at her friend and declared sagely, “Then I think we should ask Ms. Bernadine if Ms. Katie can fly you to Mississippi in the jet.”

Paula took in the serious set of Zoey's features and agreed wholeheartedly.

L
ater that evening, the adults in Devon's life had a meeting of the minds. Trent related Devon's emotional admission in the truck, and Paula added what he'd revealed to her about the death of his grandmother, and his being denied an opportunity to say good-bye. After a few more minutes of discussion, it was agreed that Devon, Lily, and Trent would be taken to Mississippi in the jet. Their hopes were that the visit would help the little preacher's broken heart and assist him in moving on with life.

Lily came into Devon's room that evening and found him in bed, reading his Bible. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, Ms. Lily.”

“Time to go to sleep. You have paint duty again in the morning.”

“Mr. Trent told me thank you for calling him Dad.”

“He told me. He liked that a lot.”

Lily came over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “On Saturday we're going to fly down to Mississippi.”

His eyes widened. “For real?”

“For real.”

“And I can talk to Ms. Myrtle?”

“Yes, you can.”

“Do you think she knows where my parents are?”

That he was still focused on trying to leave her and the love she had for him behind made her sad, even though she knew he'd be flying back to Kansas with her and Trent, regardless of the outcome of the trip. “I'm not sure, honey, but we can ask. We'll also go by the cemetery and put some flowers on your grandma's grave.”

“I'd like that.”

She studied him for a few long moments. “I'm still mad about what you did, but I do love you, Devon, and always will.”

“I'm sorry I stole the money.”

“I know you are. How about you give me a hug.”

So he did, and she hugged him back fiercely. Placing a kiss on his forehead, she said, “Good night, Devon.”

“Good night, Ms. Lily.”

Chapter 16

N
ow that Devon seemed to be coming around, and with Zoey home and talking up a storm, the next few days in Henry Adams were fairly drama free, or as drama free as a day in Henry Adams could be.

Lily went to work, and later met Sheila at the Dog for lunch to talk about the wedding plans. She hadn't heard from her son, Davis, since the Jessica incident, but she was okay with that for the moment—the less drama in her life, the better. Trent spent some of his time helping Gary Clark move the remainder of his family's possessions from the large home now in foreclosure in Franklin to the cozy, well-furnished double-wide trailer. Preston's search for his biological parents continued, and after school, Amari and Zoey worked on the old T-Bird, while Devon and Reverend Paula continued to paint the fence. As for Crystal, she was content with life because no one was stealing her hard-earned money.

On Wednesday, Trent and Amari put on their suits and drove to the county courthouse for the finalization of the adoption. Amari was so excited he hadn't been able to eat breakfast. They met up with Mal and Tamar in the lobby and took seats to await their turn before the judge.

The bailiff came for them less than twenty minutes later and led them inside. Judge Amy Davis was seated behind the bench. She looked out at them and said with a smile, “Welcome.”

“Good morning, Judge Davis,” Trent said. Mal and Tamar echoed his greeting.

“And Amari, how are you?” she asked.

“Fine, Your Honor. Yourself?”

“I'm well. Glad to have you back in my courtroom for such a wonderful reason.”

Amari beamed.

“The July family is to be commended for their commitment to this very special young man. Because of your dedication and love, he will make us all proud one day. I wish the country had more families like yours for the ton of foster children needing what you all are giving to him.”

She then set her attention back on Amari. “Do you have anything you want to say before I make my declaration?”

“I do, Your Honor.”

“The floor's yours.”

He turned to his family. “I want to say thanks. If it weren't for you all, I'd still be in the D hustling, stealing cars, not knowing when I'm going to eat or where I'm going to sleep. I never knew family could be so awesome. Like Judge Amy said, I'm going to make you proud one day, and I love you. That's all I have to say.”

Trent thought his heart would burst. He saw pride in Tamar's eyes and satisfaction in Mal's.

Judge Davis nodded approvingly. “Then by the power invested in me by the state of Kansas, I am approving the petition brought before me today by Mr. Trenton July to legally adopt Amari Steele, who from this moment on shall be known as Amari July.”

She brought her gavel down, and Amari jumped for joy. “All right!!”

Trent, Mal, and Tamar thought it was pretty all right, too, and there were hugs all around.

Trent had to sign some papers at the clerk's office, but once that was done, Amari Flash Steele left the courthouse as Amari July.

That night they got together for a special dinner at Tamar's. The menu featured some of Amari's favorite foods, like big fat burgers from the Dog, and fries with tons of ketchup, and Tamar's homemade butter pecan ice cream. Just when he thought the day couldn't get any better, she brought out the old family Bible. It was an heirloom Amari had seen before. While they waited and looked on, she took a seat at the now-cleared dining room table and opened the weathered leather book to the pages in the back. “Come closer, Amari.”

He went over and stood by her side.

“This is the family Bible. Mayor Olivia July purchased it back in 1890, and it holds the sunrise and sunset dates of every July in our line. Time to add you. I want you to write your old name and the day you were born, here.”

Using the pen she handed him, he did that.

“And now, your new name and today's date, right here.”

Trent's pride rose again as he watched his son write, “Amari July, Oct. 6,” and the year.

When he was done, Tamar said with affection in her voice, “Welcome to the family, Amari July.”

He gave her a long tight hug and whispered emotionally, “This is even better than court. Thank you, Tamar. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Later that night, up in Amari's bedroom, he and Trent had their one-on-one. Trent was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Amari was sitting up in his pajamas. “I had an awesome day, Dad.”

“I'm glad.”

“Can't wait to tell Preston.”

Trent studied him for a moment and tried to figure out how best to say what he wanted to convey. “I want you to go easy on the bragging at school tomorrow, Amari.”

“But why? I'm official now.”

“But Preston isn't, and Devon and Crystal aren't, either.”

“Oh, I didn't think about that.” Then he asked, “Why is growing up so complicated sometimes?”

“Wish I knew.”

“Okay,” Amari replied. “I'll keep it down tomorrow. I don't want to hurt their feelings.”

“Good. Anything else we need to talk about before lights out? How're you getting along with Tiffany at school?”

“That is one angry girl. Me and Preston try and stay away from her mostly. Leah's still okay, though.”

Trent stood. “Okay. Just checking.” He looked down at the amazing young man who was now legally his kin. “I'm glad to have you in my life, son.”

“Same here.”

“Get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Dad.”

“Night, Amari.”

As Trent left the room, the room went dark, and he closed the door behind him.

D
ads Inc. met the next morning for breakfast at the Dog. All the members showed up, including Mal and the newest town dad, Gary Clark. The colonel had been keeping a low profile since the emergency meeting he'd called over the weekend, and Trent was curious to hear how he'd been doing.

As the meeting started with Reg gleefully relating how he felt about Zoey's voice, Rocky brought over their orders on a large tray. While she passed the plates around, she eyed Jack. He eyed her. She finished and walked away.

Everyone grinned.

They began eating, and Reg continued his story. “I think Zoey must be making up for lost time, because she starts talking the moment her feet hit the floor in the morning until she goes to bed at night. And it's nonstop. I love it, of course, but she's been wearing me out.”

Trent had to agree. She'd worn him out at the garage earlier in the week. Trent knew it was bad when Amari turned to her and said, “Zoey, you have to stop talking, please. You're making my ears hurt.”

“She's been pretty chatty in class, too,” Jack related. “I hate to squelch it after all she's been through, but I can't let her distract the other kids. Pretty sassy, too. Never disrespectful though, Reg, but she's like Crystal's Mini-Me.”

“If she starts to cross the line, let me know.”

Trent and Lily had discussed Sheila's request that the Dads find something for the colonel to do, but he wasn't sure what it might be. “So, Barrett, what's going on with you?”

He grumbled and played with the eggs on his plate. “The wife's working, as you all probably know, and my household is in chaos. Breakfast isn't on time anymore. Dinner, either. She can never give me a specific time when she's coming home.”

“Sounds like you're not happy,” Mal said.

“I'm not. She's turned into someone I don't know, and she has the nerve to be snippy.”

Jack dropped his head to hide his grin.

Trent, seeing his opening, said over his coffee cup, “Maybe it's time for you to find something to do, so you're not just sitting around waiting for her to come home.”

Barrett eyed him. “Never thought about that.”

“There has to be something you'd like to do.”

He could see Barrett considering the idea. Trent was pleased that the man hadn't dismissed the thought out of hand. He turned to Gary, who'd been eating, and so far silent. “What about you, Gary? Come up with anything for yourself yet?”

“Nope, not yet, but I'm working on it.”

A short, swarthy man no one knew walked over to the table. “Excuse me. Who's Malachi July?”

Mal eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I have some papers for him, and for . . .” He pulled a slip of paper from the breast pocket of his suit coat and read, “Trenton July, Dr. Reginald Garland, Colonel Barrett Payne.”

Barrett said, “That's the four of us.”

The guy dropped a legal-looking envelope down on the table in front of each man in question, and announced, “You've all been served. Have a great day, gentlemen.”

The Dads stared, surprised, first at him as he walked hastily toward the exit, and then down at the envelopes.

Mal opened his first and read it. “I'll be damned. Riley is suing Genevieve for assault. I've been subpoenaed as a witness.”

The others had, too.

Trent put his summons in his shirt pocket. “So much for a quiet day.”

Mal drawled, “You got that right.”

W
hen Trent told Lily about the summons, she glanced up at him from behind her desk and said, “Genevieve should plead temporary insanity. After she tells her story, there isn't a jury in the world that'll convict her. Riley has a lot of damn nerve, considering what he put her through. He ought to be grateful she's letting him live.”

Her hell and brimstone personality always made Trent laugh. “True.”

“When do you have to go to court?”

“First week of November.”

“I'll give her a call and see if she needs legal help.” She shifted gears. “How'd the meeting go this morning? Was the colonel receptive to Sheila's idea?”

“He was, probably because I didn't tell him it was her idea. He says she's getting snippy.”

“Go, Sheila.”

He laughed. “What's on your schedule today?”

“The Boss Lady and I are meeting with Paula to talk about using the auditorium for her services until we get her church built, then finish going over those final blueprints you gave me for the Main Street build, and start lining up suppliers. And then meet with Sheila for like the fiftieth time this week to check off all the RSVPs that have come in for the reception.” She paused to take an exaggerated breath. “And then—”

He threw up a hand to stop her. “Enough. I'm exhausted just listening to you.”

“Have to keep the cradle rocking. Oh, and Paula called and said she and Devon finished the fence.”

“Good thing. Weather Channel's calling for snow flurries by the end of the week. Having to paint while it's snowing is rough.”

She cocked her head. “You've done that?”

“Yep, remember the time Gary's mom sentenced us for spiking the punch during his sixteenth birthday party?”

From the blank confused look on her face, he guessed she didn't. “Must have been before you got here or right after, but anyway, five of us were charged. It snowed overnight, and the following morning it was so cold, the paint wouldn't roll. Wind was blowing. We froze our butts, but his mom and Tamar refused to give us a break. Made us stay out there the entire two hours before school.”

“How long did it take the five of you to finish?”

“Only a couple of days, but thawing out took at least a week.”

“And you all never spiked the punch again.”

“Let's just say we made sure we never got caught again.”

“Gotcha.”

Her smile was one of the many thousands of things Trent loved about her. It made her eyes soften and sparkle, and brought warmth to the hurt places inside that men kept hidden away. “Do you think all this drama will lie low long enough for us to get married?”

She gave him that smile again. “I told you months ago eloping was the way to go. There's no telling what may be going on around here by the time the wedding date rolls around.”

He agreed. “I'm just wanting to get away to wherever Bernadine is sending us on the honeymoon, so it can be just you and me. Uninterrupted. No kids. No drama.”

“I second that.”

In the silence that followed, they fed themselves on what they read in each other's gaze.

Lily said quietly, “You're making a girl want to run away with you, so go to work, Trenton July.”

“No, let's talk about this for a minute. The kids are in school. Both houses are empty.”

Her laughter rang out. “Get thee from my office, devil man.”

“We could get a carry-out, meet up at my house around noon, and who knows, maybe we'll take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“You are so the serpent.”

“That's my name, don't wear it out.” Trent could see the wheels turning in her steel trap of a brain, though, as she mined the possibilities.

She confessed, “That's really a good idea.”

“I'm just saying.”

When mischief beamed from her eyes, he knew she'd come to a decision.

“Noon. Your place. Can't wait.”

“See you in a few.” Trent strolled out.

He'd just settled into his office chair and booted up his computer when Tamar walked in. “Good morning,” he said affectionately. “How are you?”

She took a seat. “Doing good. Stopped by to show you something.”

She reached into the pocket of the old quilted blue coat she usually wore once the weather began edging closer to winter. She'd also traded in the summer caftans for the jeans and sweatshirts that were standard wear at the change of the season. She handed him a piece of paper that had on it a list of terms and math values that appeared to be the results of some sort of medical tests. He stilled and asked warily, “What is this?” He prayed it had nothing to do with the conversation they'd had a few days ago about her health.