The Real Thing Page 8

  “What is it?” I leaned in to look, but he evaded me, standing quickly and stepping out onto the porch. I followed.

  “Manda! Are you leaving?”

  I sighed, holding in my frustration, and turned to embrace Adri.

  “Are you having fun?” I asked, steering her away from Keith who was talking heatedly into the phone.

  “A blast,” she said. “I love this stuff.” She was decked out in a beautiful pink and white fringe leather outfit with a crown-studded western hat and lipstick to match.

  “So many cute cowboys, right?”

  She blinked innocently, fiddling with her big fat engagement ring.

  “But not for you. You’re getting married!” I took the opportunity to ply her with questions about the date, the decorations, and the location. Apparently, she wasn’t into the rodeo queen decorations for a wedding and wanted an indoor church wedding with everything in black and white. Serious sounding, and kind of boring, but I didn’t tell her so at all. Besides, a girl like Adri didn’t need all that bling. As drop-dead gorgeous as she was, she would be the decoration, as they say. When Adri turned to answer a question from one of the other queens, I took the opportunity to look for my husband.

  I caught sight of Keith through the window. He was still talking on his cell, his boots pacing the yard just outside the patio. He was careful to look under control, but I knew he was wound as tight as the wild horses he rides for fun.

  “Your wedding decorations sound elegant.” Adri was back at my side and I did my best to focus on the conversation with her and all the queens. I tried not to watch Keith, wondering who he might be talking to. Were the kids alright? When I’d just texted with Marta, she’d said they were. Was something wrong with Daddy? My heart clutched at that thought. Maybe it was just business.

  “September first.” Adri repeated. “I want you and Keith to come to my wedding, Manda. I’ll send you an invitation.” Her eyes sparkled and lit up her pretty face and I was genuinely touched that she would invite us, especially after Keith had obviously forgotten to invite her to ours.

  “I’ll put it on my calendar.”

  She squealed her happiness and laced her arm through mine. “Now, the others have a bunch of questions for you.” And by the others she meant the queens. “They all want you to do their nails, but you’ll have to promise me you won’t do theirs better than mine, okay?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  I had to put whatever was agitating Keith at the moment out of my mind. The queens dazzled me with their smiles, their lipstick, crisp sashes, and, yes, I hate to admit it, their sincerely adorable personalities.

  Why do they have to be so nice?

  You know the type. Not only are they beautiful and adorable, but they’re genuinely nice, too. Makes it hard not to like them. I wondered for the tenth time that day, had Keith’s ex-wife been like these girls once, before whatever happened between her and Keith happened?

  “We have to go,” Keith said, taking me gently by the elbow as he nodded to the smiling queens.

  I barely had time to say goodbye to Dante and Trace, praising them for their amazing food – and it was divine – before Keith calmly ushered me down the steps and into his old blue refurbished Chevy truck. I had loved that truck the first time Keith took me for a ride in it, and we’d ended up down by the creek, lying on a quilt spread in the bed of it, staring up at the stars.

  “What’s going on?”

  The engine roared to life and he turned to look at me. I’d never seen him so wounded looking – but angry, too – since I’d known him.

  “Your dad called.”

  “He did?” I dug my cell phone out of my purse, and there were a string of new text messages from Marta. I huffed. “Those queens distracted me.”

  “They have a tendency to do that.” If I wasn’t so worried about that phone call, I might have asked what he meant by that. Instead, I was imagining Peyton running away, or something worse. It had to be awful from the look on Keith’s face.

  “What’s wrong, hon?”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and stared ahead without driving away. His toughness was gone, obliterated. He looked like his horse had just trampled him and he’d come in last place.

  “Is it the kids?”

  “No, no.” He patted my knee. “Well, sort of.”

  “You’re worrying me.”

  “Peyton got a phone call.”

  “And?”

  I was really getting worried now. If this was about a boy, I needed to let Keith know, this was bound to happen sooner or later. Or was somebody hurt? Maybe Peyton’s best friend, Pia?

  “Is Pia hurt?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

  “Keith, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to—”

  “It was Violet. The phone call was from her.”

  An icy chill spread between my shoulder blades.

  Violet.

  “Violet?” The name caused a flutter in my chest that spread to my fingertips.

  I pressed my palms to my forehead. That woman. She was eight or nine years older than me and not originally from Castle Orchard, so I hadn’t really known her, but what I did know of her now, I didn’t like. Plus, I did recall that when I first opened The Southern Pair with my sister, it had been too quaint for Violet, and her best friend, Kim, to shop in. I couldn’t imagine that one item in my store would have leapt out to be owned by either one of them, anyway, unless it was something for bad luck. Like Peyton’s phone. That was an item that brought bad luck. I wished I’d taken it from her weeks ago.

  “Peyton’s—mom, Violet? She called?”

  “Do we know another Violet?”

  As a matter of fact, we knew two others – one from church and one was Peyton’s math teacher – but I knew reminding him wouldn’t have gone over well at that moment. I chose to let his sarcasm slide past me instead of jumping on him for sounding like a downright jerk.

  “Violet called Peyton’s cell? Why?” I knew I should’ve taken that phone from that girl ages ago, but it had obviously held good memories for Peyton, and she’d clung to it the way Stevie clung to the blankie his mother had made for him, even though he couldn’t remember her anymore. When kids cling to stuff like that, it’s best to wait until the connection is lessened before taking them away. Sometimes, you can never take things away, not even to give them a new purpose, like the things in The Southern Pair.

  When Keith’s hand searched out mine, I squeezed back, struggling with why Violet might have called. I guessed her being dead was out of the question, but maybe she was in the hospital on her dying bed, wanting to talk to her daughter for the last time. Maybe cancer.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t wishing Violet dead – even though she might as well have been with having abandoned her kids – but I couldn’t imagine why she would violate the agreement that she herself had drawn up and signed along with hers and Keith’s divorce papers. He got the kids, the house, and all of the important things, while she took her part of the money, gave up her parental rights, and wouldn’t return – ever. Keith only had to promise not to look for her.

  “Is something wrong with her, or what?”

  “I think she’s okay,” he said softy.

  My cheeks flooded with heat and my chest swirled like an angry tornado. How could that woman burst back into Peyton’s and Stephen’s – and Keith’s – lives after the lengths she had gone through to get rid of them in the first place? How dare her.

  “Then why?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know.” He barked, slamming his palms onto the steering wheel, causing me to jump back. Immediately he laid one hand on my knee. “I’m sorry. But don’t you worry. I’m going to find out.”

  It occurred to me that while Keith wouldn’t have wanted her anywhere near Peyton or Stephen, he might want to know where Violet went off to when she left everyone hanging. If I were him, I might’ve wanted closure.

 
“I’m going to call that two-bit lawyer who sent the divorce papers,” he said. “I’m going to call the police if I have to. I won’t let her just swoop back into Stevie’s and Peyton’s lives after what she did to them.”

  And to him.

  I couldn’t believe it. Keith’s ex-wife had called, just like Peyton had always said she would. I wished again I’d taken that phone away from her. There was nothing good that had ever come from holding onto that phone, except keeping Peyton from accepting the truth that her mom was never coming back.

  Sighing, I realized that Peyton might have been right all along.

  “Do you want me to drive?” I offered.

  He straightened abruptly, snapped his seatbelt in place, and threw the truck into drive.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” Fastening my own belt, I watched the road that led toward Castle Orchard.

  “The rodeo isn’t over,” I said. “You still have to ride again tomorrow.”

  “No crap.”

  Tears stung my eyes. Keith did a lot of things that bothered me, like being on the road a lot, refusing to retire from rodeo, and attracting beautiful women – which I knew wasn’t his fault – but one thing he never did was be overly angry with me.

  “My kids need me,” he said, softer. “I’ll come back to Pillar Bluff early in the morning if this turns out to be a hoax or misunderstanding.”

  “A hoax? Do you think someone is pretending to be Violet?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” He stared fixedly on the road, his jaw still working like it did when he was stressed. “I’m just fishing for reasons. Hoping.”

  I nodded, not saying much else on the two-hour ride home, not voicing the dozens of questions I had. I knew I shouldn’t borrow trouble, as Daddy always said, but all the possibilities rolled through my mind like a bad movie.

  Did Violet want the kids back? No judge would let her have them, surely.

  If she wanted her stuff back, it was too late. Except for the stuff I let Peyton put in her bedroom for memory’s sake and all the photos in the hallway. I’d sold the rest online and put the money in Peyton’s savings account. And thank heavens, because I can’t even tell you how sick I was of purple dishes and furniture! A little purple in my clothes? Sure. Lavender accents here and there? Okay. But no more full blown purple in my life. It was all hot pink and turquoise from here on out.

  I looked at my husband, all the cowboy in him whipped out for the moment. His brawny chest even looked a little smaller beneath his leather vest, and I was reminded that I didn’t know what really happened between him and Violet. Nobody did.

  I’d asked for details once and he’d clammed up, telling me it didn’t matter anymore, but from the looks of him slumped behind the wheel, I knew for sure he hadn’t been honest about the impact of his divorce. The truth was written, as they say, all over his face.

  It did matter.

  Chapter Six

  I’m not as up on the Internet as Peyton, but even I know how to Google, so on the drive back to Castle Orchard, instead of talking to Keith who was beyond stressed, I Googled ‘Violet Black’.

  Typing in her name reminded me of some gossip I’d heard at The Southern Pair.

  “Girl,” Trudy had said as she followed me, jabbering through the aisles looking for a special something for her husband. “You’re lucky you won’t have to deal with the ex.”

  “I agree,” I said, having no idea the ex would still manage to wiggle her way into my marriage eventually. “What does your husband like to do?”

  “He used to build things with his dad, but since he passed away, he just sits in front of that TV watching home improvement shows.”

  “Sounds like he’s lost his tools,” I said.

  “He definitely has,” she said. “And his mojo, too. Now, about Keith’s ex. You’re going to be a better momma than her for sure. That Violet sure couldn’t have been a very good mom to leave her kids. Who’d do such a thing?”

  “Well,” called Esther, the slightly wrinkled woman who had been through three slips herself and presently sat with her nails soaking in sudsy solution. “There are times when I wanted to leave my kids – and my husband, too.”

  “Esther!” I exclaimed, peeping at her over the aisle of what else, repurposed wedding items.

  Things the ladies let loose when they’re getting their nails done sometimes just floor me. It’s as if they walk through the shop doors, and when that bell rings, throw all their inhibitions aside. And sometimes, they need to.

  “I’m just telling you the truth,” Esther had said. “When I was young, my kids drove me crazy. Sometimes, I wanted to lock myself away.”

  Trudy and I’d exchanged a glance and I pointed at a repurposed jewelry box with a broken heart painted on top. Trudy smiled sadly at the box and shook her head, then she pointed at a dragonfly. I nodded and picked up the tiny figurine, a symbol of strength and poise that only comes with age, and handed a nice hammer to Trudy for her husband.

  “But you loved your kids, Esther,” Trudy said as she paid for the hammer and for the dragonfly, too.

  “Well, of course, I did,” Esther said. “But that didn’t keep me from hiding in the closet sometimes. I just needed a moment of peace and quiet.”

  Marta began to rub cream into Esther’s wrinkled, and probably tender, hands.

  “You coulda never left your kids, Esther. I know you’re a softy.” Marta picked up a bottle of almost garish red polish, Esther’s favorite.

  Esther huffed. “I could have. Trust me. I just didn’t.”

  But Violet had.

  As I’d wrapped the dragonfly for Trudy to give to Esther, I’d remembered how once, right after Marta and I had pulled one of our twin sister switch tricks on our momma, she’d locked herself in her bedroom. Daddy had slept on the couch until she was ready to come out.

  Two days later she emerged, her hair floating around her head like a halo and said with a smile, “Where are my girls? Come here darlings.”

  Keith was driving too fast, but I didn’t dare say anything. Instead I stared at my phone screen, watching as ‘Violet Black’ filled the search results on my smartphone’s screen. I thought about Esther’s story and Violet’s. Esther might understand what could make a woman want to escape, but there was a big divide between hiding in a closet for a few minutes of peace, or even locking yourself in your room for a few days, compared to disappearing on purpose forever.

  As I scrolled down the screen on my phone, most of the search results were from Violet’s rodeo queen days. The most recent showed the divorce of beloved couple Keith and Violet Black, along with a string of stories about her disappearance. Pictures and pictures of them with shiny belt buckles, hats, and pretty horses populated the screen, a few with the children, but most without them. I knew for a fact that Keith’s parents had spent lots of time watching Peyton and baby Stevie during the rodeos, but surely she would have missed them. Then again, she and Keith were rodeo royalty and were treated like it, according to stories I’d heard. Maybe she enjoyed it a little bit too much. I clicked onto a picture of Keith and Violet riding side by side on their horses in the Pillar Bluff Frontier Days Parade. They really did look like western royalty.

  And, wow, I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Violet Black was a gorgeous woman with rich, flowing brown hair that reminded me of the queens I’d just met that night, flawless olive skin, like Peyton’s, bright brown eyes and, of course, a tiny little body to die for. Sucking in my stomach just a little, I looked out the truck window to get refocused.

  Why am I torturing myself?

  My eyes fell back on my smartphone screen and the other results. A site called When Life Gives You Apples stood out. Wondering what that had to do with Violet, I clicked on the link.

  “Oh. My. Gosh.”

  “What?” Keith.

  “Did you know Peyton has a blog?”

  “Sure,” he said. “When Life Gives You Apples. She called it that be
cause of all the orchards in Castle Orchard, and it’s something we’ve always said, even before we met you. When life gives you apples—”

  “Make applesauce,” I said along with him. “I wonder why she’s never told me about it.”

  He shrugged. “You know Peyton. She likes to keep some things close to the vest.”

  Spoken like a cowboy dad. Scrolling down, I was met by vibrant pictures – good photos even on a smartphone – of Peyton, her best friend Pia, Stevie, Keith, and none of me. My eyes lingered on a recently posted photo that was obviously several years old. Violet’s smiling face beamed out at me. My stomach twisted a little more.

  I ran my finger over the touch screen of my phone and scrolled down the web page in front of me, loving the colors, all red and green, but hating the topic of the recent blog post.

  ‘An Open Letter to My Mom: In Case She’s Reading This.’

  If you didn’t know Violet had abandoned her daughter, looking at the picture of her smiling while holding a toddler Peyton on her hip might lead you to believe the opposite of the truth.

  Dear Mom,

  I cried when you called. You called from a blocked number, so I couldn’t call you back. I waited a long time, but something must have come up. I hope you are looking for me online, like I do you all the time, and that you see this.

  Next was a very cool photo of Daddy’s old red rotary phone, the one our own mother had loved to sit and talk to her friends on, curling the chord around her fingers, laughing and smiling. Her lipstick had always seemed to match the phone. I had to strain my eyes to read the words beneath the photos.

  Did you know I have a stepmother now? There’s a lot I can tell you about her later, but really, she isn’t that bad.

  I leaned back in my seat. Not that bad? To say I was stunned would be a serious understatement, but that’s what I was. Not that bad. It made my chest tighten.

  Not bad.

  I know you’re probably worried about Stevie and me, but we’re okay. Dad takes good care of us.

  Maybe not this week, I thought as I studied an adorable picture of Stevie giggling, forever giggling, on the front steps of the farmhouse. Both Keith and I had been gone too much. After this rodeo, I vowed not to do anything like this again. The kids needed a parent at home, and it obviously would have to be me since Keith had rodeos for the rest of the year. If I did another rodeo, the whole family would have to go.