Along Came a Cowboy (17 page)

“Why don't you do the trash, Lark?” I suggest. “That way you can look at everything one last time before it goes.”

“Are you going to tell the baby it's adopted?” Jenn says suddenly, keeping her eyes fixed on the glossy magazine in her hands.

Uh oh. The room goes still, and I think, for a second, I can hear the air being sucked out. My friends freeze.

Lark gives me a slow, one-eyebrow-up look, silently asking for the right answer.

Don't look at me. I don't have a clue what she should say. I shrug, hopefully imperceptibly.

Lark takes a breath, and I appreciate the calm in her voice. “Rather than have a big sit-down talk where we tell him, we hope to make it a fact he always knows. Like the existence of God.”

“Will you tell him about his birth mother?”

Lark's face turns red, but Jenn is too busy nonchalantly flipping through the pages to notice, I think.

“Craig and I are going to leave that up to Sheila. If she wants us to tell him, we'll definitely leave that option open for the right time.”

“Oh.” Jenn closes her magazine and drops it in the recycle bag Allie is holding. She looks at Lark, unaware that she just took out my heart and gave it a squeeze. “What do you want me to do?”

“Why don't you clean out this bookshelf? We're moving it to the garage.”

Jenn nods and walks over to the shelf.

Some days I think Jenn has forgotten her great quest for truth. Then something like this happens to remind me that I'm living with a time bomb. My knees tremble as I sink down beside Victoria on the floor.

She gives me a sympathetic look and pushes a bin of shoes toward me.

I look down at the mishmash of sneakers, heels, and sandals. “How do I know what to keep?” I mentally congratulate myself on my steady voice.

Lark glances at me. “If it looks tired or out of style, get rid of it.”

Allie snorts. “I need to be careful not to wander into that bin. I'd be thrown out for sure.”

I toss a sandal with a broken strap. “Prewedding exhaustion?”

She nods. “But I guess that's better than prewedding jitters.”

“No second thoughts?” Lark speaks up from where she's sorting through a stack of clothes.

“Not unless you count wondering why we didn't make the date sooner.”

“In a week, you'll be Mrs. Daniel Montgomery,” Victoria says. “Are the kids upset that they're going to have a different last name than you?”

“Actually. . .” Allie lowers her voice. “Daniel's going to adopt them.”

I look up in surprise. “Really? Did you tell Jon's parents?”
Allie's in-laws, always difficult, haven't gotten any easier since their son's death several years ago.

She nods. “They took it hard at first, but the girls explained that it's what they want and assured them that they will never forget Jon.”

“Miranda
wants
to be adopted?” Jenn is incredulous.

No one speaks for a few seconds. I can see that Allie is afraid she'll say the wrong thing.

“Being adopted is a good thing,” I finally say. “It means you're chosen.”

Jenn lets my words sit for a moment, and I can't read her face. Then, “I'm gonna go see if Miranda's here yet.” Jenn drops the book she's holding and walks out.

“That went well,” I say. Even I can hear the sarcasm tingeing my voice.

“Sorry,” Allie says. “I shouldn't have brought it up around her.”

I throw a worn-out pair of sneakers into the trash bag. “We can't watch everything we say. She's obviously thinking about it today, regardless of what we say. . .or don't say.”

“When are you going to tell her?” Lark asks, but a loud noise in the hallway saves me from answering.

Craig and Adam come in carrying a bed frame. “Where do you want this?” His voice screams that maybe he's not as thrilled as Lark about their upcoming houseguest. I stare at the easygoing plumber. Even when he first broached the topic of adoption and Lark came to stay with me for a while, he didn't act like this.

“Just lean it against the wall in the hall. Hopefully by the time you get everything carried in, we'll be ready for you to set it up.” Lark's voice is breezy and light, in full ignore-my-husband's-bad-mood mode.

This is going to be a fun day.

They set it down, and Craig disappears. Lark gives a loud sigh and follows him.

Allie's brother, Adam, is younger than everyone, even me, but for the most part, he fits into our group. He loves to tease Victoria. Especially about her family's wealth. And she gives it back as good as she gets.

He walks over to where she's still packaging up old greeting cards and letters. “Getting some experience in case your stock goes belly up and you have to take a mail room job?”

Vic tosses her hair over her shoulder. “No. If that ever happens, I'll sit on the couch and play video games with you.”

Considering Adam's company did go belly up, and he did end up playing a lot of video games afterward, Victoria isn't pulling any punches. I look over at Allie and mouth, “Ouch.”

She shrugs and whispers, “Like Lark's granny always said, ‘Don't dish it out if you can't take it.' ”

Suddenly I remember my conversation with Jack at Coffee Central after the committee meeting. That little tidbit of wisdom is exactly why I have no business encouraging him to share secrets from his past with me. From now on, I need to keep things strictly on a professional level.

If the concert didn't teach me that, then common sense should have.

I'm paying attention. . .now.

By noon we have the room almost completely organized, and the guys put up the bed while we make some sandwiches. We've only been back to work a little while when Katie and Dylan come running in with Miranda and Jenn following slowly behind them.

“Some lady's here.” Katie's voice sounds worried.

“I think her car is about to fall apart,” Dylan adds quietly.

“It's going
bump
,
bump
,
bump
all the way up the driveway,” Miranda says, and Jenn nods.

Lark's face freezes in panic. “Sheila's early. I've got to get the bed made, at least.” She throws the clean sheets onto the bed, and we each grab a corner. Within seconds the bed is made.

I step back and take in the cozy little bedroom. Hard to believe it's the same place we threw junk out of this morning.

The doorbell rings, and Lark puts her hand to her stomach.

“Buck up, girl,” Allie says. “You know she's more nervous than you are.”

“Want us to slip out the back door?” I ask, partly out of fear that Jenn will have more pointed questions, and this time in front of Sheila. Neither Lark nor I am ready for that.

Lark glances at Craig's stony face. “I'd really rather y'all stay. Please.”

“You two let her in, and we'll rustle up some snacks,” Adam says. As we file through the doorway, he locks his arm in Victoria's. “Come on, Vicky, let's see what you can do in a kitchen that doesn't come complete with a cook.”

She jerks her arm away. “Like I have a cook.”

He raises an eyebrow and grins. “Surely you borrow Mommy and Daddy's chef from time to time.”

“Unlike
some
people I know, I live my own life. . .with a whole separate address from my parents,” she says.

Adam clutches his heart and staggers backward.

Allie laughs and reaches out to catch her brother. “Cease-fire, please. We're supposed to be helping smooth things out.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Brides. They're such Pollyannas.”

Vic snickers, and the rest of us, including Allie, join in the laughter. It dies to a trickle when Craig and Lark usher a
heavyset woman into the kitchen.

She nervously twists the bottom of her black Chez Pierre waitress uniform top then stops herself. But within seconds, her finger is twirling her lank, shoulder-length blond hair. I cast a surreptitious glance at her stomach. She's heavy all over, so it's hard to tell how pregnant she looks. She offers a tentative smile, and my heart goes out to her. I remember what it felt like to be pregnant and unable to keep the baby. And I was in my sister's home and knew I was loved.

“Everybody, this is Sheila Mason. Sheila, these are our friends. They've been helping us get your room ready.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I'm sorry to be so much trouble.”

“Don't be silly,” Lark says. “I invited you. You're no trouble!”

Craig's knuckles are white on Sheila's suitcase handle. I'm hoping she doesn't notice.

Victoria offers Sheila a tray of crackers and cheese, but the woman shakes her head and touches her stomach. “I'm really not feeling well. That's why I'm early. They gave me the rest of the day off.”

“Let me show you your room.” Lark takes her arm and guides her down the hall. Craig follows stiffly.

“It was nice meeting you,” Allie calls after her.

The rest of us chorus our agreement.

“Y'all, too.” Sheila's voice drifts back to us.

The room is thick with an uncomfortable silence, and finally I clear my throat. “Y'all, Jenn and I are going to go. Tell Lark and Craig we said bye.”

Victoria, Allie, and Adam all speak at once, as if we'd been playing the quiet game and I'd lost. Now everyone could make their own excuses and leave.

When we're in the car on the way home, Jenn glances over
at me. “Wonder if that's what my mom is like.”

What—? Before I can stop it, exasperation shoots through me. “Your mom is a wonderful Christian and a successful speechwriter who lives with your incredible dad in a beautiful house in Georgia where they spend a large portion of their time making sure your needs and wants are met.”

She looks surprised, and I don't blame her. I'm pretty surprised myself. And not a little ashamed. What am I thinking, striking out at her with my adjective-laden tirade? This whole mess is my fault in a dozen different ways. My fault for falling into Brett's arms. Not that I can wish that never happened when we wouldn't have Jenn if I hadn't. My fault for being too big a coward to let Tammy tell her the truth.

“I guess you're right.” Jenn's soft voice startles me from my self-recriminations.

“I didn't mean to be so blunt.”

She continues as if I didn't say a word. “I've been upset with the wrong person. My biological mom is the one who didn't want me. She's the reason I don't know who I really am. She's the one I should be mad at, the one I should blame.”

We ride in silence the rest of the way, because what can I say to that? Just dig a hole and toss me in.

S
o you made up with the Grands?”

I juggle my broccoli casserole and gallon of tea and ring the doorbell. The sun is high in the sky and a mockingbird calls from the high grasses around the house. “Yes, we made up, in a manner of speaking.”

“What did y'all fight about anyway?”

And I thought her questions were tough when she first got here.

“We didn't really fight.” I nudge my hair back from my face with my forearm.

“Here, I can take that.” She smiles at me as she takes the glass dish from my hand and slides her plate of brownies on top of it. Yesterday on the way home from Lark's, I told Jenn we were eating lunch here today. She spent the evening in the kitchen singing and making brownies. Whatever mood bit her on the way over to Lark's, Jenn shook it by the time we returned home.

Thankfully, it hasn't returned. Yet.

The door swings open. “Jennifer, Rachel! Come in. Come in.” My dad has his reading glasses in one hand and his Sunday
paper in the other. I'm always amazed at how little he changes, with the exception of a few more lines and graying hair.

“Hi, Dad.”

He pats my arm.

“Hi, Granddaddy.”

I take the casserole back, and Jennifer gives him a hug with her free arm.