Waking Up Joy Page 20

  He simply nodded and I tried to imagine when it had happened. What had he loved about her? But thinking about her laughter in the hospital, about her easy way of forgiving me, I think I knew. Had I not been so buried in my own grief and hate, I might have known that Fern had grown up, that she really had found a good life to escape to, and that she wasn’t as unlikable as I thought.

  “She was the best mother and a good wife, Joy.” He said it as an apology, and that made me feel terrible. I told you, I am not always a good person.

  “And I thought she only wanted to flaunt her perfect life at me,” I confessed.

  “Her life wasn’t perfect,” he said. “I admit,” he said. “I wasn’t a good husband at first. I was in love with you for many, many years—”

  I turned away.

  Breathe.

  “I’ve always regretted that I left you, Joy, and especially how I did it.” I felt his gaze entreating me to look at him, but I could only cover my eyes.

  “Jimmy don’t,” I whispered, but I don’t think he heard.

  “I know this comes way too late,” he said, his voice thick. “But I am so sorry.”

  Decades late.

  “I did care what happened to you.” He placed a hand on my back. I hunched forward, trying to fold myself away from the turmoil his words stirred inside my chest.

  Fern’s voice echoed in my head. “And I want you to know I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, Joy.”

  “Joy, do you hear me? I’m so very sorry.” Jimmy.

  I’d once thought those words would make everything perfect.

  Breathe. Just keep breathing.

  My past and present had always been irrevocably intertwined with his, but painfully separate. And now he had apologized. I knew forgiveness was next, but I couldn’t voice it just then. It had been easier to be angry at him.

  “I’m really glad you and Fern found happiness.”

  “Oh, God,” he said. “Me, too.” I searched his eyes to see if he was sincere, or if he was some kind of player, messing with my heart, and his wife’s memory, but the pain there looked real.

  We sat in silence, and I was about to tell him that I needed to get ready for the fundraising party that evening, when some missing pieces moved together in my mind.

  I sat on the window sill, imagining how, in Fern’s mind, I must have been a wild card who could have taken her husband away from her.

  “I’m sorry you’ve lost Fern,” I said. He twirled his wedding band. I decided I wouldn’t tell him about my conversation with Fern in the hospital. At least, not yet.

  “During her last days, she did her best to let go of anger and pain.” He kept twirling that wedding band around his finger until I wanted to tear it off, but how could I be jealous of that anymore?

  “She gave me—gave us—her blessing.” He couldn’t look at me.

  “Blessing for what?”

  “To make amends,” he said.

  I stood, twirled to face the window. How could I let him see my thrill, my shame, my confusion?

  “Did you hear me, Joy?”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders. I wilted.

  “She tried to make me promise that you and I would finally talk about things.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t. It felt wrong. She was my wife. I told her that the past was past, and that I didn’t need to go back there.”

  My heart throbbed. “I guess I can understand that.” And I really could.

  “You know what she said?”

  I nodded that I didn’t.

  “She said, ‘You both will.’” My heart burst. It really did, just like in my coma in the hospital when I really felt my heart stop. He turned me slowly to face him, his fingers tipping my chin up, so he could see into my face. I couldn’t stop the tears that sketched their way down to my chin.

  “I wish that awful day was only a nightmare,” I said. “I wish Fern hadn’t gotten hurt, too. I never thought about anyone else being hurt. Not even you.”

  “It was a nightmare.” His eyes were wells of regret. “And I would give anything to take that day back for you—anything.”

  Anything.

  A sob welled in my chest and like a tidal wave of wretchedness, carried the last of my denial away. Even Fern wanted us to move on. I decided right then and there not to worry about inappropriateness when Jimmy pulled me close to his chest. Who was I anyway, to think I had some kind of reputation to uphold? I was a Talley. Nobody really understood us anyway.

  “Please forgive me,” he said.

  “But you aren’t the one who hurt me.”

  I let his wide arms wrap around me, acknowledging that on this earth, be it acceptable to Carey or the people at church or to Peter and Mary Sue and Thelma, Jimmy’s knowing embrace was the only one that could hold all my hurt at that moment. His arms tightened and the movement made me think of Fern, wrapped in these arms, possibly every night that she lived. Had she really known all that had happened between us, to us, even this pain of mine, and still loved Jimmy?

  “Did you ever tell anybody else? Maybe the pastor? Anyone?”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I would never tell that.” He stroked my hair. “But maybe you should, Joy.”

  We were swaying now, gently, like the branches of the apple tree when the breeze used to blow through its branches, and I rested my head on his chest drinking in Old Spice cologne.

  “Who would I tell, and not go to jail?” Just the thought of exposing all that had happened made my heart race.

  “I was thinking your family, for starters.”

  I pulled back slightly, to see his face. “You’ve surely heard about Carey’s concerns.”

  “She’s a tough nut, but from what Reverend Wilson shared with me after church on Sunday, I think Carey has changed, too.”

  “We all have, haven’t we?” I dared to reach up, touch his chin. In response, he took my hands tenderly in his palms.

  Lordy.

  I didn’t flinch, letting his hands slide softly around my waist, as if no time had passed since our first embrace at the creek. I whispered into his chest.

  “There are some secrets I could never tell anyone.”

  “Maybe you could,” he whispered.

  “No.”

  He held me at arm’s length and I had to look away from the intensity of his dark eyes. The sadness in his face was so genuine that I wanted to cry.

  “If you’re keeping that secret for me, Joy, you can let it go. I’m not afraid of the truth anymore.”

  I tried to imagine telling my family about what had happened to us—to me. And I realized that yes, part of my decision to keep the secret was for him.

  “I’ll stand by you,” he said. “To be honest, it would probably free me, as well.”

  “Or send us to jail—if someone, maybe Carey, decides the right thing is to report a crime.”

  “Then I would go to jail—for both of us.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying?”

  His hand stroked my face. “Yes. I would protect you, Joy. That’s what friends do. I will always be your friend.”

  We stopped swaying and his gaze trapped me. I wanted to stay in that protected space forever, where nothing had happened and we’d never been apart.

  “Joy, no matter how you choose to live your life, or who you choose to live it with, I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making that day up to you.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault.”

  His voice was gruff. “He was my father.” And something about the way he looked reminded me of the coma dream I’d had, of how he’d been when we were young. All of a sudden I pulled back, only allowing myself to clasp his hands.

  “I had visions, dreams of you in the hospital, Jimmy. I dreamed about when we were young, and it was like the bad thing had never happened.”

  Jimmy was very still, not letting me go, drawing long breaths and not interrupting.

  “We were just in love li
ke before.” I looked away. “And you really saw me. And we were together. And still young. I wished it were real. All those coma dreams I had? What do you think they mean?”

  He touched my chin and turned my face until I saw his eyes burning, like mine, with all that we had hidden.

  “I think they mean we can’t hide from the past anymore.” His arms tightened around my waist and the old chemistry that had been smoldering just beneath our skin, ignited.

  While my mind roamed its confusing corridors trying to find my way out of the past and into the present, Jimmy’s hand wove through my hair. His hot breath lingered next to my ear. I knew I could pull away at any moment and there would be no anger between us. It is what a better woman, a saner woman who had a boyfriend about to propose, would have done. But at that moment, with Jimmy’s breath warm against my neck, his lips grazing a trail toward my own, I went a little bit Talley crazy.

  “When you looked at me every Sunday morning,” I whispered, my voice breathy from the shivers shooting from the place where his lips touched the skin on my neck. “I always imagined, just for a second, that you had never stopped loving me—even though you were married.”

  There. I said it.

  His hand slid through my hair and his smooth molasses voice whispered, “God forgive me; I never did.”

  When he slid his hands up my arms, over my shoulders, to cradle my face in his hands, my knees grew weak. One hand slid back around my waist and I was suddenly pressed against him, my body molded to his, just like in my romance novels, only better. His lips hovered close to mine—an invitation I’d longed for in so many dreams, his breath warm, enticing me to test, and then, taste. And so, I did, forgetting for a few minutes all about the fundraiser, or that Doc would be there any time.

  Oh my Lord.

  I didn’t take him up to my bedroom and we didn’t make love on the couch right then, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind. Wouldn’t that make my sister mad at me? So inappropriate for someone like you, she would say.

  I will tell you this: Even compared to the kiss in the church balcony, the intensity of our breaths mingling, lips touching, savoring, and tasting; and our arms and hands just as hungry as our lips, has never been matched in any romance novel I’ve ever read—and I admit I’ve read a lot of them.

  In the future, I hoped for long uncomplicated kisses that spoke of forever, but for that moment, the two of us couldn’t get close enough to capture the past, or to sustain a future absent of each other, an intimacy that would never have seemed illicit had evil not shown up decades ago to meet us at Spavinaw Junction Creek. This delicious kiss was our confession, an apology, a promise of forgiveness, and ultimately a door opening that we would both need to walk through someday soon. That we would walk through it hand in hand was certain, but how we’d come out of it I was afraid to guess at that moment.

  When we reluctantly pulled away, there were things that could have been said about loss and sorrow and the passage of time, but we didn’t need to voice them. We simply parted, knowing that our future was changed. The next time we saw each other, we would be friends again, but I also knew that we could never be just friends. The memory of our past pierced between us, its sharp edges as glaring as the bolt of lightning that had split the apple tree in two leaving its torn trunk irreparable, but its thick twining roots still connected.

  Chapter Twenty-six

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  A kiss can change you. It can turn you on the wrong track in which you break everyone else’s heart to pursue your own wanton desires, it can set you back on the right track depending on how the kiss goes, or it can fling you right back in time. And time has a funny way of slowing down and speeding up at the most precise moments, doesn’t it? I’d spent the better part of my life stuck back on the banks of Spavinaw Junction Creek, and all of a sudden, with one kiss from Jimmy, life decided to place a magnifying glass between me and the past. Through it, I could see every missed opportunity, each misunderstanding, and a complete set of circumstances that I’d misread—a life not yet lived all because of one horrible hour. I would love to give up that hour, but I wished I could turn back the clock and retrieve the thousands more that were lost.

  You just can’t get almost three decades of your life back. Heck, you can’t get three days back. If my crazy coma experience had taught me anything, it was that the past can’t be changed, yet, heaven-willing, I could turn the creek on a new course. I didn’t have to fear the caves under the water anymore. They might always be there yawning their jaws, mocking me, but I didn’t have to swim into them. I never had. I was beginning to see the world in a different set of eyes.

  “Kyle?”

  He smiled, freshly showered, from his place at the kitchen table. He’d been working almost non-stop for two weeks and shown up looking like he’d been working the late shift at The Drunk Raccoon instead of saving people, so I’d sent him straight to the shower. I fixed him something to eat and made a pot of coffee while the shower was going, every domestic action making me feel like the worst girlfriend in the world.

  “I think this will be the best fundraiser we’ve had,” I said. He nodded doggedly, and I realized he was still so tired that he was having a hard time following my excited babbling about the party agenda.

  “It starts in two hours,” I said, not sure he felt the same excitement I did.

  He blew on his coffee before taking a large sip that would have burned my tongue, but I guessed that in his line of work he was used to drinking hot coffee fast. I sat beside him and smoothed a hand through his hair. I wondered if he would forgive me. He looked so tired, yet he’d come to help at the party anyway.

  “I’m so glad you came.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “I love the big heart you have for helping young girls.”

  “And boys, too,” I said.

  “Who knows?” He shrugged. “Maybe someday The Tulip House for Girls will just be the Tulip House. I know that would make you happy.”

  I smiled at how well he already knew me. Only recently, did I understand that it was because I used to be one of those girls who needed help myself. And Jimmy could have used it, too. In certain ways, more than me.

  “It would. And speaking of girls who need help, I have a really big favor to ask of you.”

  “Sure.” He drained a third of his coffee in one gulp. “Anything.”

  My heart clinched. Could I tell him?

  “I need to tell something . . . to someone I can trust.”

  “I’m your man.”

  “And a good one,” I said, offering him a robust hug.

  And I’m telling you, as cheesy as it sounds, if he’d pulled out that big ole ring right then, I might have thrown all plans to divulge the truth aside and married him. But he didn’t deserve me like this. I had no doubt that Kyle would walk the journey with me, but I needed to walk it by myself.

  “This thing you have to tell me, is it bad?”

  “It’s bad,” I said. And just like that, I told him. I thought I might chicken out or that it would be harder, and it was, but I told him anyway. Surprisingly, I didn’t cry very much, just stared at my hands and told the story to him in all its sad detail. When it was over, I looked up. A grey cloud slipped over his magnificent amber eyes.

  “Oh, Joy. Baby.” He drew me into his arms and then, yes, of course I cried, and I remember thinking to myself in that moment that this man could be my best friend. He had helped me through so much. Heck, turned me from town spinster to the woman with a hunky younger boyfriend! And not to diminish the boyfriend thing, but he had saved my life.

  I could live with this man forever.

  But then Momma’s voice crept into the space between Kyle and me, reminding me that even though I’d told Kyle my biggest secret, I hadn’t told him about Jimmy’s kiss.

  “Secrets always want to be told, and they won’t stay hidden, Joy.”

  And then there was Daddy’s ghost, who of course only ever said, “Breathe
, Joy,” and in this case was no help.

  Oh, Momma and Daddy. Since you’re both dead, can you leave me alone?

  I really did want to ignore them and stay right where I was with the hero of all my romantic novels to take care of me, but as I settled into hunky Kyle’s chest I felt something solid in his shirt pocket pressing against my shoulder. It felt about the size of a jewelry box, the size of box that might hold an engagement ring. It pinched into me, uncomfortable, reminding me that I wasn’t Cinderella. Then Kyle kissed my cheek very tenderly, as if he knew I was about to break up with him, and that just made me cry even harder.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

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  “This has been the best fundraiser ever,” said Mary Sue, who wore a great big hat like she thought she was living on a southern plantation. Beside her, Nurse Clara wore pink stretchy pants and an oversized top that was designed for a much younger, and to be honest, thinner, woman, but she looked cheery in it.

  “That sure is true,” said Clara. “Joy has outdone herself. Bess would be proud of her.”

  “We’re all proud of her,” Mary Sue said, and I was glad she didn’t notice me behind the screen door. A compliment from Mary Sue was like receiving a pat on the back from your pretty, popular enemy. I guess even Mary Sue had a good side. I wondered, maybe she had her own secrets and hurts that made her the way she was, just like me. And just like one of my sisters in particular.

  Carey, who was running around trying to get her kids and husband settled, wore a sundress like mine, but in a blue print. Nanette’s, also handmade by Carey, was a lime green floral print and she was running around barefoot, because she said the sandals Carey bought us were too tight. It was a good thing most of the folks had sent an R.S.V.P. because we might not have had enough food to go around.

  People were there from the community, as well as some V.I.P. guests from towns in the surrounding area, all except for Doctor Kyle Christie, whose absence my sisters had not yet addressed. Watching the visitors milling about the property made me realize what a great place we had and I decided right then and there, we’d be having people out more often.