Broken Like Glass (4 page)

I spend my day on the deck,
watching the birds, listening to the distant creek, and pushing back at the memory trying to crawl its way out of my skull. When I go to take my shower, dark clouds are rolling in again and I wonder if it’ll rain before Uriah arrives to pick me up. That’s Texas for ya.

The water isn’t set to boiling this time, but it still feels good. I haven’t quite put my finger on why the shower in this cabin feels better than any shower I’ve ever taken. Maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s the smell of the woods, or maybe it’s just me and I haven’t felt clean in such a long time and part of me thinks if I stand under the water long enough I’ll feel squeaky again.

After my shower, I stand by the glass doors in the bedroom. Not a drop of water has fallen, but I can taste the rain in the air. The clouds keep getting darker like they’re being fed from the memories I’m keeping under lock and key. I lean my forehead against the glass and let the coolness seep in.

I walk back into the bathroom. The fog from my shower has dissipated, and I can see myself in the mirror. Looking in the mirror has been a weird thing for me since I was a kid. Other people tell me they see their reflection, but not me.

What I see when I look in the mirror is fractured. When that happened I don’t know, a pull in my stomach tells me I’m reaching for something I can’t quite handle yet so I smile at the person staring back at me and walk away.

Makeup has never been my thing so, I use my time to finger comb my hair. If I brush it, the humidity will make me look like I’ve stuck my finger in a socket. It hangs loosely down my back and over my shoulders. The light brown curls bounce as I continue getting some of the bigger tangles out.

I hear the crunch of tires out front and close my eyes. Uriah. The name is like cotton candy on my tongue. It just melts into my taste buds and the flavor blankets my mouth, lingering and sugary.

When he knocks on the door, he says, “Hey, Lills, it’s me. Are you decent?”

“I’m dressed if that’s what you mean,” I yell through the door and pull it open.

He stands there looking like a cross between G.I. Joe and Ken and my lips spread into a smile without my permission or approval. It’s like my face has a mind of its own. The plaid untucked button up shirt, boot cut jeans, and the way the sun has given him an allover tan makes him complete and utter eye candy.

“Hey, Lills,” he says and smiles.

I find some words, and they all assemble into a squeaky, “Hi.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt and then run my hands down the side of my jeans. I feel like I haven’t dressed good enough.

“You look good, Lilly, you look real good.”

“You don’t look bad yourself. You forget your cowboy hat?”

“No.” Uriah laughs and grabs my hand as he pulls me out the door. I still have my hand on the knob and the movement whiplashes the door shut with a smack. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

The short ride to town lends to superficial talk. “This truck isn’t nearly as pretty in the daylight,” I say.

“Better than walking,” replies Uriah.

I raise my eyebrows and cut him a side look.

“Okay, that applies to most people.” He leans forward as he’s driving and looks up at the clouds. “And, at least it’s dry, for when whatever that is, decides to sing.”

I lean forward too and look up. “Yeah, guess so. Maybe it’s just a threat and we all just need to kneel and pray.”

“I don’t need threats to kneel and pray.”

“How do you know He’s talking to you? Maybe other people are deaf.”

“You deaf?”

“Nah, I got good hearing. I talk to Papa all the time,” I say and continue staring out of the windshield.

“That’s not what you call your dad?”

“No, it’s what I call Jesus.”

“You call Jesus, Papa?”

“Yeah, so.”

Uriah seems to chew on that for a few moments. He looks at me. “Never heard Him called Papa before.”

“Well, now you have.”

“I thought you didn’t go to church.”

“I don’t. I don’t need to go to church to talk to Papa.”

“Have you been talking to Papa? Cause I’d think if you had you wouldn’t be here for the next six months,” Uriah says and stops the truck in front of the church.

He’s thrown a dagger and it’s lodged in my throat. I swallow hard and look away. I’ve got two choices right now, stay in the truck and fight the tears or get out of the truck and pretend I didn’t hear him. I pick door number two and jump out of the truck.

Uriah makes a mad dash out and joins me as I walk to the church. He laces his fingers in mine and I jerk my hand away. I stop and turn him to face me. God help me, as cute as he is, I’m gonna set him straight here and now.

“Listen, we haven’t talked in a long time. If you want to pick up where we left off, then fine, but we left off as friends and nothing more. You hear me, Uriah Pendleton?” My voice has reached an octave I never thought it capable.

The smile that spreads across his face is warm and wonderful and I just yelled at the face that makes me all melty. “Okay, Lills, you set the rules and I’ll live by them until I can’t.”

I narrow my eyes at him, doing my best to look menacing. Well, as menacing as a few hairs over five foot can look. “You’re dang right you will.”

“Oh, is it a lover's quarrel already?” Misty’s voice drips anything but dew.

Before I can say anything, Uriah steps in front of me and partially shields me with his body. “Misty, you go on now. This conversation’s not for you.”

She glides up to him, her stupid face smiling. “Oh, Uriah, you know me. I’m just playing.”

“You’re right, I do know you, and you do little in the way of playing. Now, the doors are that way, see yourself to’em.”

Uriah guards me with his arms and turns as Misty walks past. I hide my face in his back. If only I was small enough to hide completely maybe Misty would just leave me alone once and for all.

He turns to me, takes me by the shoulders and looks my face over. “You okay?”

“Why does Misty hate me? What did I ever do to her?”

“I don’t know, but you don’t mind her. Hear?”

I take a deep breath and lean my forehead against him. He wraps those cannons around me, and I wish I hadn’t set him so straight after all. My iron clad will to keep him a friend is turning into aluminum foil by the time he lets me go.

“Come on, I can smell something good. Can’t you?”

I catch a whiff of something and my stomach says something like: eat a taco and die.

Inside the church kitchen
slash gymnasium slash extra classrooms, tables of food are lined against the wall along with rows of tables and chairs.

I watch several ladies, Uriah and Bo’s mommas included, hustling around in the kitchen, stirring food, sticking assorted ladles, forks, and spoons in the offered dishes. Mrs. Pendleton throws a quick wave at Uriah and returns her attention to the buckets of food that have been brought in.

In the back of my mind, I’m remembering church potlucks are also a crap shoot and just because it looks good doesn’t mean it is good. My eyes land on a pie with my name on it. If I eat nothing else at this thing, that pecan pie is mine. And then I see the ice cream. After my not-so-heavenly fruit bar and taco this morning, this kitchen is like a veritable smorgasbord making my stomach roll and my mouth water.

Pastor Jeffrey comes walking in, smiling, shaking hands and then his eyes land on me. The smile disappears almost too briefly to catch, but I see it. He continues shaking hands and greeting people until he gets to me and Uriah.

“Well, hello, Uriah!” He slaps Uriah on the back and shakes his hand with an exuberance akin to a jumping bean.

Pastor Jeffrey sets his hands on his hips and looks me over. Up, down and down, up. “Hey, there, Lillian.” His words pause, but his lips look like they’ve got other things to say. “How are you?” I catch sight of Bo and he sidles up beside his daddy. He’s giving me hard looks too.

Bo sticks out his hand to Uriah, and they shake. I’m waiting for them to arm wrestle or bump chests or something, but they drop their hands and just smile at each other.

It gives me time to think for a moment. My brain feels like a mustang rearing and ready to flee. I shrink a little and offer up, “I guess I’m okay.” What else am I supposed to say? I can see people casting glances my way, hoping to hear something so hot their lips can’t do anything but spread it.

Bo locks eyes with Uriah. “You guys sit at our table, okay?”

Uriah smiles broad, and slaps him on the shoulder. “We can do that.”

I see the way they’re looking at each other. “Maybe we could get a plate and sit outside,” I blurt out.

“Nah, when I came in, rain was falling sideways,” Bo says.

Inside I feel like a coyote caught in a leg trap. There’s no point in fighting it. I’m sitting at the preacher’s table and there’s not a diddly thing I can do about it.

The place is nearly packed at this point. Pastor Jeffrey whistles like he’s calling for a cab, and the room simmers down. He makes a short speech about Jesus, the last supper, and some kind of fundraiser for VBS going on this summer. How he managed to link those three things together is lost on me.

He points his finger and calls on Mr. Marlin. As he walks past me, his cologne bites my nose and I nearly double over. That memory, hiding in the folds of my lobes, tries to screech to the front. Uriah says something about the color in my face. I can’t hear him, though, my heart hammers so hard all I can hear is thump, thump, thump. Someone opens the door and a blast of wind rips through the room. The smell and memory leaving as fast as it hit.

I stare in the direction of Mr. Marlin and frown, not knowing why. Everyone bows their head, but Uriah. I can feel his stare boring a hole in the side of my cheek. Mr. Marlin waits for everyone to close their eyes and then he steals a glance my way.

Instantly, the hairs on my arms stand up, my head swims, and my breath is caught in my lungs. They feel like they're about to explode by the time I rip my eyes away from his. None of this exchange is lost on Uriah and I know, I just know, our truck ride home will be filled with questions I can’t answer yet.

When Mr. Marlin finishes, he takes his spot in the front of the line and the rest of us bricks get in line. My appetite seems to have gotten lost somewhere between the lawn and the blessing, but I fill my plate with things that seem safe. I’m still eyeing that pie.

Instead of just taking my plate full of food to the table, I make a beeline for the dessert table with Uriah following behind me. I cut a slice big enough to fill whatever the food laying in the plate won’t.

He leans down, his lips inches from my ear, and says, “Is that piece big enough for two?”

I shoot a quick glance at him and cut another slice. He looks at me with laughter in his eyes, and a smile on his lips. I slap the pie on another plate. “There’s your piece.”

Uriah throws his head back and laughs. His shoulders bounce up and down and I can’t help but laugh with him.

We walk to the preacher’s table, Bo’s mama is walking down the other side and sits down at the same time we do. I look back over to the kitchen and Uriah’s mom is washing dishes. She looks like she might almost be done, and I see Mrs. Jeffrey place her purse in the chair next to hers. That’s church lady speak for this chair’s taken.

Mrs. Jeffrey looks between me and Uriah and then to Bo. I may not have been in church the last fifteen years, but I know that look. That look’s what you get when you're going with someone and you shouldn’t be.

“Lillian, I see you found Uriah.”

Uriah speaks up, “Well, actually, I found her. Bumped into her yesterday on the sidewalk.”

She looks at Bo who won’t look at me at all. He’s told her something and that something has me in a world of trouble with his momma. If he comes to my cabin for lunch tomorrow, I’m gonna take a switch to him and make him spill as to why his momma keeps giving me the stink eye.

“I hear you had a talk at the school today, Bo,” Uriah says. This tension isn’t lost on him at all.

Bo finally looks up from his plate. “Yeah, sixth graders.”

“How did that go?”

Bo shrugs. “Okay, I guess.” For a moment, it seems like whatever unspoken sin I’ve committed has been forgotten and Bo’s momma pats him on the arm.

“He’s been talking at the school since he came back from law school. I’m trying to talk him into running for the judge’s seat when Judge Kringle retires.”

My eyebrows shoot up, my mouth hangs open, and I’m left speechless. Judge Kringle is retiring? No way. That man has been a judge since before I was born and I figured he’d just up and die of a heart attack as he was pounding his gavel in court. Just out of the blue, he keels over, gone.

Bo catches my moment of surprise and smiles this sly grin. Like he’s got some more secrets in a box he’s just waiting to let loose.

“You thinking about being a judge? Wow, that’s impressive,” Uriah says.

“I don’t know. It’s just thoughts for now, but I’ve got the education and the experience. Clearly, I can negotiate tough cases,” Bo says and levels his eyes at me.

My pulse jumps because him, his momma, his daddy and Uriah all look at me. Plus a few people on the outskirts of the conversation. Uriah’s momma saves me by sitting down at just that moment.

“Hey ya’ll,” she says and smiles. She reaches over and pats Uriah’s hand. “How’s my boy?”

“I’m fine, momma. You look a little tired, though.”

“Oh, well, ya know.” Her entire demeanor is upbeat and lively. It brings a freshness to the table for which I’m grateful. The smile she gives me is warm and filled with love. “Hi Lillian, it’s good to see you here.”

“Hi, Mrs. Pendleton, how are you?”

“Oh, Jesus smiles on me.” Mrs. Pendleton has said that exact statement every time for as long as I can remember. “How are you?”

I open my mouth to speak when Misty walks up behind her, places her hands on her shoulders, and plants a kiss on her cheek. Judas was sweet too, I think in my head. “Hi, Mrs. Pendleton.” Misty actually sounds genuine.

Mrs. Pendleton twists in the chair to talk to her. Each time Mrs. Pendleton laughs, Misty cuts her eyes to me as if to say, “See, I’m better than you.” She probably is. It’s not like she gutted her daddy at the Thriftway.

The last time Misty cuts her eyes at me I can see her twisty little brain working the hamster overtime. She smiles all sweet, looks at me doe-eyed and then lowers the verbal boom. “How’s your daddy, Lillian?”

Of course, she’d pick the moment I’d taken a drink. The color drains from my face. I choke and stutter. I have no idea how my daddy’s doing. I haven’t seen him, heard from him, spoken to him or nothing since that day. I don’t even know if he’s been released from the hospital yet.

Mrs. Pendleton looks at me. Her eyes are full of nothing but love and forgiveness. She looks back up at Misty, not seeming to understand why she’d be so hateful to me. “George is just fine. He got out this morning, and Mrs. Buckner said he’s on the mend. Now, you run along Misty Morning before your mouth gets you in trouble with Jesus.”

Whoa. New and profound love doesn’t seem to cover how I feel for Mrs. Pendleton right at this moment. I try to smile, but my lips wiggle and I feel like I might cry. She reaches over, pats my hand, and takes a bite of mac and cheese.

“Now, as I was walking up to the table, I heard Bo was thinking of being a judge,” she says. The topic has been changed and I’m in the clear for the rest of the evening.

Pastor Jeffrey stands at the table and starts his preaching. No point in moving spots when he’s got the ears of the whole joint listening. Besides, why risk some not quite making it to the sanctuary.