A Table By the Window (43 page)

During the short drive home, Carley asked, “Couldn't you have been a little nicer?”

Brooke, staring out the window, replied, “All your talk about there being more important things than having a boyfriend, and here you are, wanting Chief Dale to like you so much that you believe every word that comes out of his mouth.”

“Brooke!”

The girl turned to her. “I
know
he did something to Tracy!”

“You know no such thing! You just can't accept that she didn't care enough to call you, so you found someone else to blame.”

“That's not true!” Brooke shot back, sniffed, and said thickly, “I'll pack my stuff and call Mildred.”

Carley steered left on Third Street. “Is that what you want?”

Another sniff, then, “‘Course not. But…”

“People don't just drop out of each other's lives because they disagree. But I don't have the energy to argue with you about Dale any more. Understand?”

There was silence, then Brooke said in a small voice, “All right.”

****

Dale stopped by the house in uniform Wednesday evening, a half hour after Carley and Brooke returned from work.

“Just want to make sure you're both all right,” he said after Carley let him in.

“That's very thoughtful of you,” Carley said.

“I'm fine,” Brooke said with the animation of a robot. She clicked the remote control, sending
Columbo
to black screen. Aiming her face in Dale's direction, she stretched her lips into a grimace-like smile and said, “Thank you. I'm kinda tired—think I'll go to bed now.”

You wouldn't turn off
Columbo
even if you hadn't slept all week!
Carley thought, eyes following Brooke toward the hall. She turned to Dale. “I'm sorry.”

He smiled, nodded toward the porch. “May we sit outside for a minute?”

“Sure.” This time she had no qualms about sharing the swing with him. The chains creaked softly, and crickets sang their pleasure at the fifty-nine-degree October air.

“This is my favorite time of year,” he said absently.

“We'll have to start closing our windows at night soon,” Carley said, and turned to him. “Look, I'm sorry about Brooke.”

“It's all right, Carley. But for what it's worth, please tell her when she's in a more receptive mood, how impressed I am with her for giving Brad Travis the brush-off. You're a good influence on her.”

“Thank you for saying that,” she said, and thought if only Brooke could see this side of Dale, she would not be imagining homicidal looks in his eyes.

There was a way to stop this obsession—a plan she had treated with scorn when Brooke suggested it only a couple of weeks ago.

“You know, now that you mention mood,” she said offhandedly. “That gives me an idea. That might be part of her problem—the whole Brad thing—and I know she's anxious about the GED. Remember how I said you should put a boat on your pond?”

He nodded. “It was a good idea. And I just might do that, when we can afford to hire a couple more deputies, and I can slow down the pace a bit.”

“Well, for now, would you mind if Brooke and I borrowed her dad's canoe and paddled around? A change in routine would be good for both of us.”

“You mean, without me?”

“Just a girlfriend outing.” She smiled. “No boys allowed.”

Dimples creased his cheeks. “All right, be that way. I'll get the gate key over to you before…” He paused thoughtfully. “You should bring a gun along for snakes. A shotgun would be best, and Kimball probably has—”

“Shotgun?” Carley cut in.

“If you're not comfortable with that, I can lend you a Beretta revolver I have at the house.”

The idea of snakes
and
being in charge of a gun made Carley queasy. “Won't they be hibernating in another month or so?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then, we'll wait.” Not that she even remotely planned to follow through with this outing, for paddling around while a girl dragged a chain ranked high on her list of things
never
to do. She had the answer she wanted. That was enough.

“Thank you, Dale.”

“Sure, Carley. And now I'd better make my rounds.”

As they got to their feet and started ambling toward the steps. Carley asked, “How many nights will you be on duty?”

“Three more. Then I'll go on days again.”

“I wouldn't think the chief of police would have to work the night shift.”

He shrugged. “I just couldn't see making Garland and Marti carry that whole load. I'm optimistic that we'll be hiring another deputy next fiscal year. Successful new businesses like yours bring in more tax money, so we'll see.”

“Then I'll try to have a better attitude when I send in my next quarterly payment,” she quipped. “It must be difficult, rearranging your body clock.”

“It's not too bad. I keep a little window air-conditioning unit in my bedroom and have two layers of dark curtains, so it's like a tomb.” He stretched his arms, covered a yawn, and grinned self-consciously. “Of course, no system is perfect.”

****

“Okay, you can stop hiding,” Carley said, knocking on Brooke's closed door.

The girl opened it. She had dressed for bed, in her long T-shirt and fuzzy slippers, though she had not yet removed her makeup. “I wasn't hiding.”

Carley folded her arms. “Oh, so you really are going to bed. I guess you'll catch up with
Columbo
tomorrow.”

The girl gave her a sheepish smile. “Well, tomorrow I might not have time.”

“Imagine that,” Carley said, stepping aside.

Brooke settled on the sofa, picked up the remote from the coffee table, and propped her feet in the same spot. “Aren't you gonna finish watching it with me?”

“Sure,” Carley said, sitting on the sofa and kicking off her shoes. “But first, some news.”

“Um-hmm?”

“I asked Dale about our taking your dad's boat out for a ride. He said fine, that he would give me the gate key.”

Brooke sat up, stared at her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Monday okay?”

Now it was Carley who stared. “You still want to go?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Sorry. No way.”

“But,
Carley
…”

Carley shook her head. “That's
not
gonna happen, Brooke.”

The animation left the girl's face. “Then why did you—?”

“To prove to you he has nothing to hide. Doesn't that tell you something…that he gave permission without so much as the blink of an eye?”

Brooke sank back into the cushions, clicked on the remote. Naturally, Lieutenant Columbo exposed the senatorial candidate who was manufacturing death threats against himself. When the tape was finished, the girl switched the remote again.

“I couldn't stand the idea of Tracy runnin' off and leaving me like that,” she murmured, staring at the blank screen. “I wanted to believe she loved me as much as I loved her. But you know…”

She swallowed audibly, tears filling her eyes.

“She wasn't always nice. She called me ‘fatso' whenever she was in a grumpy mood. She threw a box of macaroni and cheese at me one time. And she never helped with the dishes or the laundry….”

“I understand, sweetie.” Carley moved closer to put an arm around her shoulders. “You were grateful for every scrap of affection. For just being noticed, period.”

“So, I need to put her out of my mind.”

Thank you, Father,
Carley prayed. “Life's too short to be torturing yourself over what might have been. Besides, you're going to be super busy, starting tomorrow.”

“
If
I passed,” the girl said with a worried little smile.

“We can take that
if
out of the equation. You said it was easy.”

“Well…yeah…” Brooke's smile grew more genuine, more confident. “Okay, I passed.”

“That's the spirit.”

“I hope.”

Carley laughed, cuffing her lightly on the arm. “Okay, whatever works for you.”

****

A Mrs. Tucker from the Mississippi Adult Education Project put an end to the suspense at 9:10 Friday morning. Over the telephone she informed Brooke, “You may begin your first online course at any time.”

“So, the second step is completed,” Carley said, smiling as the girl hopped around the living room hugging a sofa pillow.

Brooke paused. “You mean the
first
step.”

“Studying for the test was the first step. Passing it, the second. Beginning the courses is the third. And
you
need to finish getting dressed.”

“Okay,” Brooke said, but halfway to her room she turned around and went back to the telephone. “The
third
step is calling Mr. Rory and thanking him for taking me there.”

Carley smiled again. Knowing Brooke, the girl had thanked him to distraction on the day of the test. But better an overdose of gratitude than too little.

“Did you pass?” was the first question on the lips of each arriving member of the staff. It turned out to be an all-round good-news day: Morning showers fed South Mississippi's thirsty soil almost an inch and a half of water. Danyell had a letter from her husband. While pulling up carpeting, Paula's husband had found a cameo pin her grandmother had given her, wedged between carpeting and floorboards. Lisa was going to have a baby.

Mona Bryant actually wished Carley a good day when she paid for a takeout meal.

Odd though, Carley thought, that she did not ask what Dennis Wingate had discovered about Rick. Perhaps the marriage was so bad that she didn't care if she found out—child support or not.

Aunt Helen telephoned that evening upon her return from Canton. “Rory said Brooke called this morning about passing her test. He also told me about the Travis boy. Are you both all right?”

“We're fine. He's going to join his dad in Arkansas, and hopefully get some direction. How was Canton?”

“Lots of fun. But I think we dealers spent as much at each other's booths as the customers did. I found Sherry a salt-glazed pitcher for her collection and you something for the café.”

“How sweet. What is it?”

“Sorry, you'll have to see it for yourself. I'll bring it to the shop tomorrow, and you can come by before you open.”

****

Saturday morning, Pam Lipscomb was dusting a display of vintage toys when Carley entered Auld Lang Syne.

“How's your daughter?” Carley asked.

A smile briefly transformed the solemn face. “Coming home from Iraq next month!”

The gift was a cross-stitch in an ebony frame, expertly stitched on faded light brown linen with a sentiment from an English essayist of the late eighteenth century.

Thank God for tea!

What would the world do

without tea?

How did it exist?

I am glad I was not

born before tea.

Sydney Smith

“Judging by the frame, it was probably stitched in the thirties,” Aunt Helen said. “I thought you might want to put it somewhere in the kitchen.”

“Are you kidding?” Carley said as they embraced. “This goes in the dining room. Mr. Smith would have felt right at home in Tallulah.”

“If he could learn to drink it iced,” Pam said behind the counter.

“Car-ley,” came faintly over the roar in Carley's ears Sunday morning. Or was she hearing things?

She switched off the blow-dryer. A second later, Brooke appeared in her doorway.

“Miss Helen wants to know if you want to meet us at the Grist Mill after church. What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed for church.”

“You're kidding.”

Carley ignored the stunned look. “Tell Aunt Helen they don't need to come by. I'll drive us.”

She smiled at the sound of barefoot thumps, then overheard, “You'll never believe this!”

The decision had cost her very little sleep. It was time to return to the fold, to stop holding the majority of good Christians responsible for the failings of their errant brothers and sisters.

James Kelly's sermon, from the book of Nehemiah, was appropriate for the occasion. When the children of Israel returned to a destroyed Jerusalem after exile in Babylonia for half a century, their first order of business was to rebuild the temple.

The temple needed rebuilding in her own life.

But then, perhaps any sermon would have fit? Perhaps God's word fed each seeker exactly what was needed that day? Another reason to search the Scriptures. The soft worn leather of her grandmother's Bible felt comfortable in her hands.

In the Old Grist Mill, hostess Robbie Gibson gathered menus and asked the foursome, “Will the Kemps be joining you?”

“They will,” Uncle Rory replied.

Later, after Blake, Sherry, and Patrick were seated, the waitress asked Carley, before she could specify which side she wanted with her baked trout, “You want double mashed potatoes with no gravy, right, honey?”

“I love small-town living,” Carley said, exchanging waves with Kay Chapman and her husband.

“If we just had a Wal-Mart,” Sherry sighed.

“Home Depot,” said Uncle Rory.

“A movie theater,” Patrick said.

“A mall,” Brooke added.

Aunt Helen shook her head. “If we had all those things, we wouldn't be small-town.”

“We had a theater once.” Blake's straw swirled the ice in his tea. “Where the post office sits. When I was eight, Angela and I walked there on opening day to see
To Kill a Mockingbird
. Dad gave us fifty cents for a box of popcorn and two Cokes, and we watched it three times in a row.”