The Sweet Spot (26 page)

Travis put his hands in his back pockets and looked at his feet. “The team is meeting
at Mr. Gatti’s for pizza. Um. I thought I should go…”

Jimmy grinned. “Of course you should. You go on, and don’t let any of them razz you
about that hat.”

Travis looked up with a smug grin. “Are you kidding? I’m legendary. They all want
to know where they can get one.” He shot JB a saucy grin, turned, and walked away.

“Excuse me a second.” JB trotted after Travis.

Char watched him touch Travis’s shoulder and slip him some money. The familiar hollow
pain in her chest squeezed her heart, making it hard to breathe.

He should be doing that with Benje.

Travis looked up at Jimmy, relief in his eyes, his mouth forming the words
Thank you.
How could she begrudge a boy who so obviously needed a father figure, because her
son no longer did?

I love you, Benje.

JB jogged back and stood before her. He didn’t have to say anything; his frank assessing
gaze settled on her as he awaited her choice.

She rooted in her purse for her keys. “Daddy and I have to get home.” Her fumbling
fingers dropped the keys in the dirt.

Taking his time, Jimmy bent, picked them up, and handed them to her. “You sure? I’m
talking the Golden Corral. And I’m buying.”

Char closed her purse, lifted the strap over her shoulder, and touched her dad’s back
to urge him toward the
car. “We have to get home and get Daddy’s pills.” She ignored the longing in her chest,
urging her to say yes. “But thanks, Jimmy.”

She walked away, imagining the alarming normality she’d feel sitting down with Jimmy
in a booth at the Golden Corral.

T
he parking lot of the Holy Shepherd Church was packed with cars but empty of people.
Char stepped from the car and glanced around, relishing the smell of fall in the air.
Not yet a nip, but the easing of the heavy heat at dawn was a welcome precursor to
it.

Sparkly shivers raced through her body as the soaring organ notes of “A Mighty Fortress
Is Our God” drifted to her on the light breeze. She brushed a nonexistent speck from
her sky-blue linen suit. By dropping her Dad at Junior’s and arriving after the service
had begun, she’d avoided having to speak with anyone, but she hadn’t thought through
her strategy past this point. She’d have to march into the packed church. She imagined
every head swiveling, every eye trained on her, the prodigal daughter. The shivers
settled into her stomach and started a party.

Get a grip. That’s fear talking, not reality.
She glared at the innocent sky. “Okay, God, I’m here. You happy?”

Before she could change her mind, she tossed her purse strap over her shoulder, chirped
the auto lock, and stalked to the church she’d attended her entire life. Resolve ebbed
a bit with every step up to the imposing wooden doors.

Hand on the iron handle, she hesitated again, her brain seesawing between opposing
impressions. The organ music charged the air, so physically real that the metal beneath
her fingers vibrated with it, bringing a familiar peace.

The calm melted like snow before a blowtorch blast of her seething fury. The same
God who offered solace now was the one who had taken her son. Char looked up to the
cold stone soaring overhead, pulling her gaze to the spires reaching toward heaven.
“I’m here, God, but you are
not
forgiven.”

Jerking the heavy door open, rage fueled her steps into the nave. She stalked to the
only empty seat in the last pew and sat. Ignoring the congregants, she stared ahead
at the apse. The choir stood at the ready, hymnals open in their hands. As the last
organ note trailed off, the congregation rose to its feet.

Char didn’t care a holy fig for etiquette at this point but knew she’d draw attention
if she ignored it, so she stood. The organ began again, and voices rose. “Praise God,
from whom all blessings flow.” Out of habit, Char mouthed the words. From the off-key
trembling voice of the octogenarian next to her, to the clear harmony of the choir,
the music rose to the vaulted ceiling far above her head. There, the mishmash of voices
wove like threads on a loom, settling over the crowd as more than the sum of its parts—complete,
multifaceted, beautiful. It touched a
forgotten chord in her chest, and the resonance spread a balm of peace.

Hymn over, the congregation sat. She’d missed this. Char settled in, examining that
surprising nugget as the announcements were read. She didn’t miss God; but she did
miss the soothing rituals and being a part of the congregational fabric of the church.

Reverend Mike walked to the pulpit to begin his sermon. Char tuned it out, having
no interest in the word of an Indian-giver God. Instead, she thought about the book
on her nightstand, with the quotes about grief. Many of them referred to forgiveness.
She knew from her reading that this was a cliff she was going to have to scale. Someday.

Char glanced to the stained glass window closest to her. The sun lit the abstract
pattern of reds, blues, greens, and yellows, turning the common glass to kaleidoscope
crystal.

How do you forgive the unforgivable?

An hour later, a babble rose as parishioners gathered their belongings to leave. Char
clamped her jaw tight. It had to happen sometime. She might as well get it over with.
She stood to face a phalanx of well-meaning friends and neighbors.

Salina was first, waiting at the end of the pew, blocking the escape route. She didn’t
offer platitudes. She didn’t say anything, just folded Char in a soft embrace. When
Char would have stepped back, Salina held on, lightly rubbing her back for a moment,
whispering “Love you, Charla Rae.” Char stepped back, studying her old friend’s face.
Nothing there but acceptance. And a tear.

Char’s chest loosened a little. “Thanks, Sal. Love you too. I’ll call you sometime.”
She turned to the next well-wisher.

Finally, thankfully, she was free to go.
One more chore
and this will be behind me.
Her heels tapped an echo as she walked to the door where Rev. Mike stood, greeting
his flock.

He smiled broadly, taking her outstretched hand in both of his. “Charla Rae. I’m so
glad you could join us this morning. We’ve missed you.”

“Thank you, Rev. I actually came to apologize. With everything going on, I haven’t
thanked you for referring Rosa to us. She’s Daddy’s angel, and I don’t know how I
would have survived without her these past months.”

The Reverend cocked his head. “Rosa?”

Char felt her face heat. “I know, it’s been so long, you’ve probably forgotten. She’s
the nurse with County Outreach.”

He shook his head, his face blank.

“You ran into her at Saint Luke’s. You gave her my name?”

“I’m sorry, Charla, but I don’t understand. Community Outreach doesn’t offer home
nursing services. I know, because I looked into it when Salina needed help with her
grandmother. Could you have been mistaken?”

Char frowned. “I know she said…” She shook her head. “Sorry.”

He smiled down at her, still holding her hands. “If it brought you here, I’ll not
question God’s methods. I’m done with my sermon, so I won’t lecture you. I only have
one thing to tell you, then I’ll let you go.”

She squirmed under his warm scrutiny.

“God is waiting, Charla Rae. As long as it takes.”

She jerked her fingers from his. “Yes, well.” The stone wall’s towering presence felt
heavy on her back as she turned. “Good-bye, Rev.”

She’d lingered so long with the greeting gauntlet that
her car was one of the few left in the lot. Clearly, Rosa hadn’t told her the truth.
Char rummaged in her Sunday purse for her keys. Then who’d hired her?
Hired.
She reached her car and opened the door. She dropped into the seat as her knees let
go.

Oh my God, who is paying her?
Was the entire town talking about poor Charla Denny? Had they put out a donation
can at the check stand down at the 7-Eleven? Shame burned a hot path to the inside
of her skin. She was hardly aware of pulling the door closed.

No way.
In a town this small, you couldn’t even pull off a surprise birthday party. So that
left only…

“Jimmy.” Her voice sounded loud in the closed space. Reality crashed in, shattering
the fragile pride she’d garnered by herding her runaway life the past months. She
slammed the key into the ignition. Oh, this was classic Jimmy Denny. Jump in and take
over, assuming he had the answer. “Well, Mr. High-and-Mighty is
not
the savior of the Enwright clan.”

Nose inches from the steering wheel, Char raced to the exit, then waited for a break
in the Sunday parade of cars heading downtown. Her brain clicked off the little clues
from the past months. The time she’d walked in on Rosa’s conversation—she must have
been reporting to her
employer
. Rosa and Jimmy’s sliding looks when she’d introduced them.

She shot into a slim break in the traffic, ignoring the horn-bleat of the offended
driver next in line. She and Daddy didn’t need help.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as they hit the edge of town. “Are they giving away free
beer at the Piggly Wiggly? Come on, people!”

You might want to look where that road goes before you turn down it, Charla Rae.

Char rolled her eyes.
Mom, from the crappy decisions I’ve seen God make the past year, can’t you stay busy,
giving
him
advice?

“I’ll just turn over the outside duties to Jimmy, and I’ll take care of Daddy. Let
him deal with the backaches, the cow snot, and the calamities.” She stopped at the
red light at the center of town and watched as a clearly exasperated mother crossed
in front of the car. The toddler she dragged by one hand was having a meltdown; Char
could hear his hair-raising wail from inside the closed car. Catching the woman’s
eye, she threw her a sympathetic smile.
I remember those days.
Benje was everywhere; there never seemed to be a spare minute in the day. The young
mother hauled her boy into her arms as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

Her gut went hollow.
Those days are gone.

Char cast her mind over the past months: helping Tricks calve, getting to know Pork
Chop, the everyday chores that were now such a part of her life. She loved spending
her days in the saddle, watching the subtle changes in the land with the change in
season.

She pictured herself sitting at the kitchen table, listening to the ticking clock,
as Daddy snoozed the afternoon away in the great room. She watched herself get up,
walk to the sink, and reach for the amber-colored prescription bottle on the sill.

Beeep!
Char jumped. The light had changed. Hitting the gas, she continued down West Main,
hands shaky from just the memory of the iron-band tightening need.

Wait.
Why
did Jimmy do it?

Her mind flashed the picture of Jimmy, feet under her table, tucking away chili. Heat
rose in her, remembering his smoking look as he sang to her from across the arena.
“He did this to try to get me back!”

But Rosa had called the first time, way before any of that.

So why did he do it?

The traffic thinned as she reached the edges of downtown.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Right now.” She hit the gas.

C
har slammed the car door. Jimmy’s truck stood parked in the shade of the house, but
he was nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the gnat of worry at the cost of a cleaning bill
for her sky-blue suit, she walked to the barn.

Blinded by the transition from sunlight to shadow, she almost tripped over Jimmy.
He sat sprawled on a hay bale inside the barn door, old towel in his hand, cleaning
tack. Tack that looked suspiciously like hers. She stopped short.

He looked up, his face lit with a happy smile. “Hey, Little Bit. How was church?”

Fighting the magnetic tug of that little-boy grin, she tightened her fists. “Don’t
you ‘Little Bit’ me, James Benton. What do you mean, going behind my back to pay a
nurse to take care of Daddy?” She lifted a finger when his lips parted. “And don’t
you try to tell me you didn’t.”

He sat back, face sober. “It’s my job to take care of my family.”

“Jimmy, you are not family anymore.” She lifted her hand, pointing to her empty ring
finger. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re divorced.”

He bent his head to the bridle in his lap, rubbing saddle soap into the cheek strap.

She ignored the prick of guilt at her waspish tone. She didn’t like that she couldn’t
read his face. “Jimmy.”

He looked up. “Okay, Little Bit, have it your way. Ben didn’t divorce me, so he and
I are still family. I sent the nurse to help
him
.”

She stomped a foot. “Oh, you are the most maddening man.”

“Why, Charla?” He frowned. “Because I saw something that needed doing, and I did it?
Does that make me a bad guy?”

She looked down at his open face and sinless smile. She knew Jimmy Denny. Knew when
he was wheedling to get his way. She also knew when he was being honest.

He’d been working at the feedlot—hard, nasty work—for money that went to make
her
life easier. Her stomach twisted in what felt a lot like guilt. What kind of woman
had she become in the past year that she would be furious with someone who was trying
to help her daddy?

Even if it was JB Denny.

She swallowed a chunk of pride. “Okay, I may have overreacted a bit. But from this
day on,
I’m
paying Rosa. I’ve got the money from my grandma’s china.” She lifted her chin.