Waking Up Joy Page 17

  This could be me.

  I glanced around and noticed for the first time her three cats curled in little balls on furniture around the house.

  This is me.

  Not that being single is bad, but now that Doc had woken up my nerve endings, Lucky the cat wouldn’t do.

  Nanette waved her hand in the air, thank goodness pulling me out of my musings of me as an old lady with only a cat for company.

  “I think she would love our new friendship,” Nanette said. “Momma would especially be grateful for how helpful you’ve been to Joy.”

  I nodded. “I couldn’t have made it without you, Clara. You were the only one who believed I would wake up.”

  Carey leaned forward and looked in my direction. “Nice way to rub it in, Sis.”

  I shrugged. I was happy Carey was trying to get on board with those who thought I was doing okay, but the fact was that she hadn’t yet. Until she did, she would just have to take a dig from me every now and then, bless her heart.

  Clara stopped beside a hutch and pulled an envelope out of a drawer.

  “Carey.”

  Again, Carey, and not me.

  I guess I half expected that Clara was going to spring something on us that had to do with my own secrets, that maybe Momma had told her about the charm or Clara had found out some other way. But as had been happening a lot lately, I found out during our little visit that it wasn’t about me at all.

  Carey had snapped to attention, her curiosity evident. Clara held the letter out to Carey.

  “This is something I stumbled upon when I was babysitting for your mother one night. It was a long time ago. You were all so young and your Daddy had taken your Momma for a little overnight visit to Missouri. I was looking for something to read while you girls and River slept, and this fell out of a book.” She shook her head. “Your Momma and I were good friends back in those days, so I was surprised she hadn’t told me when she was pregnant. I guess some secrets are just too hard to admit.” She gave me that look again that made me wriggle on the sofa.

  Me and my guilty conscience, is what this is.

  Carey took the letter gingerly and held it in front of her. Nanette and I leaned in to see what it said.

  “To Reverend Michael Wilson,” she read. “So, it’s a letter Momma wrote to the Reverend. What could be so secret about that?”

  “They’re best friends,” Nanette said. “Or were, I mean, after Daddy died, before she died.” She looked sad.

  “I didn’t know the Reverend’s name was Michael,” I said.

  “He’s always lived in Spavinaw Junction.” Nanette wore a confused expression. “Why would Momma write him a letter when she could have just gone to the church and told him?”

  Clara didn’t say anything as Nanette and I looked at her and then at each other, clearly not comprehending the gravity of the situation at all.

  “Okay,” Nanette said. “What is it? Is Daddy an outlaw or something? That wouldn’t really be a surprise to any Talley.”

  Clara chuckled. We all laughed too, glad for the release of tension. Carey unfolded the yellowed letter, cleared her throat, and read aloud. The letter was apparently written when River was only an infant.

  “Dear Michael: I don’t know if I will ever be brave enough to give you this letter, but maybe someday I will have the courage to tell both you and Leroy the truth about us.”

  Us? As in Reverend Wilson and Momma?

  I almost choked on my cookie. I placed it on the plate.

  “There is no way Momma cheated on Daddy,” Nanette exclaimed. “Momma and Daddy loved each other so much.” She gave Clara the kind of dirty look she usually reserved for the Sheriff when he came around to check on Bobby.

  “Nanette,” I said, feeling protective of my favorite nurse.

  “She’s lying,” Nanette exclaimed and it seemed to me like she had switched places with Carey: Nanette the complicated sister and Carey the reasonable one. Me? I wanted to protest, trust me, but after all that had happened between Jimmy and I, and then my scandalous relationship with Doc, I knew there was sometimes more to people than it first seemed.

  “I think what Nanette means is that Momma and Daddy seemed so in love, it doesn’t make sense.” I placed what I meant to be a calming hand on Nanette’s knee, but she surprised me by brushing it away.

  “They did love each other.” Nanette reminded me of a little girl trying to convince me Santa was real. She loved her husband, even though he had cheated on her that one time with a woman who served drinks at The Drunk Raccoon, and I know I don’t have to explain what that place is all about. Certainly, sadly, Nanette knew.

  “They did love each other,” I agreed, sensitive to the fact she was sensitive about cheating, but then again. “But sometimes people lose their way, Nanette.”

  Believe me, I know.

  How many times had I pined over a certain married man myself? Sure, I never pursued him, but how was I better than Nanette’s husband? I admit it. I thought about it. Boy had I thought about it.

  Carey lifted her head. “Maybe they were in love. That’s why they stayed together.”

  “Then what does this letter mean?” Nanette asked.

  “If you will let me finish reading it,” declared Carey. “We will find out.”

  She stopped reading it out loud after that, so we sat quietly, fidgeting in our seats. I could hardly believe it, or that Carey sounded so calm, but the people I love kept surprising me all the time. After hearing that Momma had an affair with the preacher, we might have all thought nothing could be more surprising, until Carey slapped the letter and gasped.

  “What does it say?” asked Nanette, but Carey had pressed her hands over her mouth. The letter floated to the floor and I snatched it up.

  I read it aloud, my voice quiet in the small room.

  *

  “You probably already know what Leroy will figure out soon enough. Every time you look at Carey, you must see your eyes, your hair, and your smile. It must be obvious to you by now that she is your daughter.”

  A gasp erupted from Nanette, but to her credit, she didn’t say anything. I looked at Carey who had always been so tiny compared to the rest of us, so blonde-headed, so, let’s face it, so danged particular about every single thing, while the rest of us just liked to hang loose about stuff.

  “You okay?” I asked Carey.

  Clara, my favorite nurse, and now Carey’s judging by the grateful look she gave her, had walked over and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “I was a little bit younger than your Momma and scared, girls, so I confessed to your Momma that I found the letter. She asked me to swear I would never tell anyone about it, but that I would deliver it straight to Reverend Wilson.”

  Realization flooded Carey’s face. “You didn’t deliver it, did you?”

  “No,” she said. “I couldn’t be the one to break up your family.”

  “So he doesn’t know,” she whispered, a vulnerable look in her eyes. Nanette reached over and placed a hand on Carey’s shoulder.

  “Does Momma know you didn’t deliver it?” I asked Clara.

  Clara looked sad. “I don’t think so. I never told her one way or another, though. And she never asked.”

  “Surely they talked about it,” Nanette said. “Reverend Wilson took Momma for a walk almost every day.”

  “They did spend a lot of time together,” I agreed.

  A lot of time. Like people in love would do.

  “I always knew something was different about me,” Carey said. “I mean, look how different I look than you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, wanting to make her feel better. “I have red hair! How can that be? Maybe I’m not Daddy’s either.”

  Clara shook her head. “Don’t worry, Joy. You are.”

  “Of course you are,” Nanette said. “You still have Daddy’s eyes. And you get your red hair from the European blood in our family.”

  “But I,” Carey said, “don’t look anyt
hing like Daddy. “In fact, he’s kind of old, but haven’t you ever noticed that younger picture of the reverend hanging beside Jesus in the lobby at church?”

  “I have,” I admitted. Same hair. Same eyes. Definitely kin to Carey.

  We all leaned closer to her, rubbing her knee, holding her hand, offering a tissue for the inevitable flood of tears, but they didn’t come. Not one. Instead, she took the letter from me and waved it happily in the air.

  “So this explains it,” she said. Her eyes were bright as the quartz rocks the boys used to find in the woods and sell to the science teacher at school for a nickel.

  “Carey, it’s okay to be upset,” said Nanette.

  “We understand,” I was quick to agree. “This doesn’t make you any less our sister or any less Daddy’s daughter. He still raised you while he was alive.”

  “But he helped raise you, Joy, even after he died,” she said. “Even you saw him, Nanette.”

  “Oh, Carey.” I suddenly felt a little bit embarrassed about all the times I’d seen Daddy when I was growing up. She smiled at each of us as if we were all a little slow on the uptake. And I guess we were.

  “Don’t you understand?” she asked. “This explains everything. It explains why I look different, why I don’t get all the jokes you all find so funny, why I don’t believe in ghosts, or care about the Talley charms, and—and maybe—”

  Now, I knew where she was going.

  “And maybe,” I finished for her. “It explains why Daddy never showed up for you.” I should’ve been happy for Carey, but as I sat there listening to her blather on like an idiot, I felt sad. The longer I thought about it, the sad turned to mad.

  So, that’s why she has always been mean to me.

  Recognition finally donned on Nanette who simply said, “Daddy. You think he never visited you because—”

  “Because I’m not his daughter,” said Carey. “Everyone else saw him at least once after he died, but never me.”

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood, which was never a good thing when you were a Talley mad at another Talley. Recognizing the challenge, she stood too. One of the cats meowed and ran off. The other two eyed us, ready to make a quick getaway if need be.

  “What?!” Carey demanded.

  I just shook my head, thinking of the mountain of anger that Carey had built up inside of her, how she let it erupt at the worse times, and how it was always aimed at one person. Me.

  “You know, to be named Joy, you sure are a Joy sucker sometimes. You always have to make everything about you.” Her eyes flared, and I felt my cheeks blotch red because part of the statement was probably right, but it didn’t change what I had just become crystal clear to me.

  “Tell me, Joy. Can’t you just be happy for me once in your life?”

  “So this is why you’ve been so mean to me all these years?”

  “I’ve been mean to you? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, come on, Carey. You’re always out to put me in my place. Let’s just face it. You’re jealous.”

  “Of what, you being in love with a married man for all your adult life? Or for having an affair with a younger man?”

  I gasped. “It’s not an affair if we’re both single.”

  “And you’re lusting after the mayor? He’s the music leader at church, Joy! You are no better than an adulteress!” She spat it out like the self-righteous snob she had become.

  “That is low,” I said calmly. “And it’s not like he’s a priest or something.”

  “Girls!” Clara tried to get between us, but Nanette stepped to her side.

  “There’s no use, Clara. When our family gets like this, best to stay clear.”

  “Low?” Carey asked, her hands planted on her hips. I planted mine the same. “Low is being the town spinster. At least I have a husband.”

  If she wanted low, I’d give her low. Looking back to that moment, I can’t believe I did it. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her pony tail. And let’s face it, grabbing a girl’s hair is like a man kicking another man in the you-know-whats. It’s what you do when the other person doesn’t want to fight fair, so with her ponytail in my fist I headed for the front porch. Carey had no choice but to follow.

  I tell you what, it felt good to exact a little revenge on Carey, but once outside I let go. A cramp in my side reminded me I was on the losing side of forty and what had seemed like a good idea at the time, made me feel like an overgrown bully. Carey on the other hand was just getting revved up.

  Why’d I wear a pony tail today?

  I guess when you’ve been kicked and shoved too much in life the way Carey had been, you get sick of it, and boy was I ever sorry. It’s as if all the anger and jealousy she’d stored up for me had been released by the revelation that Reverend Wilson was her father. She had me like that hunched over and screaming for mercy when I heard a car door slam and the sharp southern preacher voice of who else, but Reverend Wilson.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?”

  “It’s nothing to do with heaven,” I assured him when Carey let go of me. The two of us adjusted our pony tails and stood side by side, much like we did when we were little girls caught running up and down the halls of the church. And that’s when I noticed Jimmy standing at the preacher’s side.

  Holy cow.

  He nodded, the slightest curve of his mouth turning up. My face flushed with heat, and I closed my eyes to hide my shame. I must have looked as crazy as Carey had made me out to be. When I finally had the guts to squint one eye at Jimmy, he was standing between Carey and me. He didn’t get a word in edgewise before Carey lit in.

  “Jimmy Cornsilk. Don’t even try to interfere. Joy is not in distress, I am.” She glared, not even looking at the reverend. Right behind her, Reverend was reading the letter that Nurse Clara handed him, only about forty years too late.

  “I’m not interfering,” Jimmy assured. “Just making sure you and Joy are okay.” My heart turned into butterfly wings again. What was it about Jimmy saying my name that got me all excited, even though I had a boyfriend?

  Acknowledgment.

  Maybe that was it. Before, Jimmy never acknowledged me out loud. Our only interactions were necessary ones, glances, and electricity, which I probably had imagined many times in the past, but judging from the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me now, I wasn’t imagining anything now. The question was whether or not the electricity was good or bad. All it takes is recalling Daddy’s stories about being hit by lightning to know electricity doesn’t always light things up for the better.

  Jimmy touched my arm, sending a jolt up to the nape of my neck that settled in my chest, upsetting the butterflies again. Emboldened, I spat words at Carey.

  “If you’re in such distress,” I said. “Maybe you should be the one to talk to a shrink.”

  Carey sulked, looked away for a moment, and then bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Joy. I was out of line.”

  Dang it. Why does she always have to make it so I have to forgive her?

  “Don’t worry, Jimmy.” She looked at me. “I’m not sending her off to the crazy house. That’s just a rumor someone started.”

  That was a rumor?

  “That’s good,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Because she isn’t crazy.” His eyes landed on mine. Locked.

  I might be going out with Doc, but it hadn’t erased the sparks that lit me up when I was near Jimmy, or even when I was far from Jimmy, but definitely not when he was standing twelve inches in front of me. I had a difficult time not wanting to reach out and lay my palm on his hard chest, turn my face up to his to finish that kiss in the church balcony that’d been all too brief.

  Oh, heavens. I’ve got to stop reading those romance novels.

  I tore my gaze away from Jimmy’s to see Reverend Wilson staring at Carey, the letter floating down to his feet, no longer needed now that the truth for him and Carey was out. It was really something to see. Seeing his face transform fr
om fear to relief to love gave me hope, too.

  What if it would be that easy to tell my family the truth about Jimmy? I wondered if Jimmy was thinking the same thing as he looked at me in a way that I can only describe as tender. I wanted to throw myself into his arms, apologize for being angry, for being mad at his wife, for casting those longing looks at him during church when he was a married man, and most of all for never saying anything to him about my feelings in the past five years when he was all alone. Because who says that a woman has to wait for the man to speak first? For heaven’s sake, I’m tired of waiting on my life to change.

  I’m going to say something. Right now.

  “Joy.” I looked to Jimmy, thinking he might break this spell first, but it wasn’t his voice.

  Oh, no.

  I turned slowly to face the road. Doc sat in his truck in front of Clara’s house, windows down.

  “Are you okay?” Kyle called to me from through truck window.

  I attempted a smile. Was I? And more importantly, was Doc? Or had he seen the intense gaze between Jimmy and I, sensed the electricity all the way out to his truck. Lord knows, it was strong enough to zap anyone who had half a mind to look in our direction. Jimmy who had been looking at me expectantly, shifted an annoyed gaze toward Doc’s truck. The way he rested his arms across his big chest seemed like a challenge to me, but I might have imagined it. It didn’t seem like Jimmy felt guilty about anything.

  Jimmy, for a moment the spitting image of my teenage boyfriend, looked at me with what I can only imagine was some kind of invitation in his eyes. My heart reached for his, but with a sharp breath I pulled it back.

  I’m not a bad person.

  Tearing my gaze from Jimmy, I walked quickly to Doc’s truck, trying to look nonchalant.

  “Hi,” I chirped, sounding guilty and fake all at the same time.

  “You need a ride back to the house or something?” Doc smiled, and I couldn’t get a good sense if he was worried or not. Maybe I was lucky and he hadn’t seen anything at all between the mayor and me.

  “Sure. Let me tie a few things up. I’ll be right back.”

  I hurried past Momma’s dear friend Clara who’d walked down the sidewalk to say hi to Doc, conscious of his eyes on my back. Thank goodness everyone else had walked into the house. I could have kicked myself for not remembering Doc was coming to town today.