Capture the Wind for Me (32 page)

She flounced off to play in the backyard with Winnie. I felt a certain amount of vindication at her resolve against Alma Sue. All the same, I wondered how long it would take for it to melt away.

The moment Grandma Delham left, Grandma Westerdahl phoned. And did I hear an earful, worse than anything I'd heard all day. Even worse than Daddy that morning. In between her rants, I tried to tell her the newspaper story told mostly lies and that the “sordid picture” that she so decried had been nothing more than a brief hug.

“What is going on in that household?” she demanded. “Oh, I knew this would happen. If only Melissa were there. Bobby just doesn't know how to handle your growin' up. Lettin' you go out with a boy like that! Who sings that loud music and dances. There's nothin' Christian about that, and you shouldn't have a
thing
to do with it!”

“Grandma.” I fought to keep the anger from my voice. “Greg is a Christian. There's nothin' wrong with the songs he sings.”

“They're full of bad words and talk of love and terrible things!” she wailed.

What,
I felt like retorting,
Christians can't fall in love?
“They are
not
full of bad words, Grandma, I don't listen to music like that. I promise you, Greg's committed his life to God.”

“You can't be a Christian and play that kind of music,” she declared, her feet planted in concrete.

I hung up the phone and dragged a hand over my eyes, wondering if this day would ever be over. Then, gathering myself, I headed for the computer, hoping desperately for something from Greg.

An e-mail sat in my inbox. I clicked on it, brimming with apprehension.

Dear Jackie,

I an not believe what happens. Iam so SORRY! People warn us that these things will happen and that being in the public is not fun always. But Iam so sorry to cause you trouble ...

The e-mail was so filled with apology and hurt and worry that it brought tears to my eyes. He knew he wasn't supposed to contact me, Greg added, but how could he not? He
had
to know if I was okay.

I wrote him back, spilling my heart.
Your ring's around my neck,
I told him finally.
That's what got me through the day. Please don't worry about Daddy. He's mad now, but he'll come around as he learns more about what really happened. I'll write you every day. Don't forget Ilove you. And don't forget to get those concert tickets. IWILL see you then.

As soon as I logged off-line, Katherine called.
Good grief,
I groused to myself,
never a dull moment.
“Your phone's been busy, busy, busy,” she said. “I don't imagine it's for good reasons.”

“I was on the computer.”

“Oh.” I heard the understanding in her tone and realized how transparent my actions would be to Daddy. It was a good thing I'd gotten Derek's e-mail address, I thought. Even so, things couldn't go on like this for long. I'd have to bring Daddy around in a hurry.

“Katherine, you have to help me! Nothing's like the newspaper said, and Daddy—”

“I know, Jackie, I know.”

I stopped short. “How do you know?”

“Because I've talked to your daddy. And before that I talked to Celia.”

“Why would you talk to Celia?”

“She called me, desperate to try to straighten things out before she and Greg left town. Greg had told her what really happened. She'd wanted to go straight to your daddy, but Greg had said he'd sounded so mad that she wasn't sure that was a good idea, and she wanted my advice. I kind of . . . paved the way for her to call him.”

I caught my breath. “Did they go see him?”

“Yes. Your daddy agreed to come home for a short while so they could stop by on their way out of town. They didn't want to meet at the bank, with all the eyes watching.”

That was easy to believe. “What happened?”

“Well, from what your daddy said, Greg apologized profusely and told him the whole story. I don't think your dad's as mad at you and Greg about the pictures as he was, but he's still upset about the fact that you parked after you left the restaurant. Greg even admitted you'd done it more than once.”

Great. Why did Greg have to be so honest?

Clarissa stopped playing with Winnie in the backyard to watch me, worriedly assessing my expression as I talked on the phone. I forced a plastic smile, then wandered into the family room. As I sank into a chair, I wondered if Katherine knew what I'd said to Daddy. Despite all that Greg had done to set things right, Daddy would nurse his hurt from my hateful words. Particularly since it was the second time I'd personally attacked him in an argument about Greg.

No wonder Daddy thought Greg was bad for me. We'd never fought like this before.

“So like what does Daddy think now, Katherine?”

She blew out air. “He thinks that it's still for the best that Greg has gone. He just hopes you all can get back to your normal lives now.”

Normal life? I'd never have a normal life again, not without Greg. “Will he let Greg talk to me?” I closed my eyes, afraid of the answer.

“I don't know, Jackie. We'll have to work on him some more.”

I focused on the computer, sitting silent and black-screened on the desk across the room. My link to Greg, so easily broken by the mere pulling of a plug.

“Jackie? I want you to know that I'll help.”

As she had before, numerous times. That I had to admit. Still, I pondered Katherine's apparent complicity. What might she say to Daddy that she wouldn't say to me? Did she tell him my words, as she now told me his?

“Thank you.”

She paused. “Well, I have an idea to start. Actually, though, I can't take credit for it. It was Celia's.”

My, weren't we all complicit. “What's that?”

“Take your next-door neighbor some cookies.”

Fortunately, I'd had plenty of experience in baking from scratch. Within half an hour, a sheet of chocolate chip cookies lay cooling on the counter, with a second sheet in the oven. As soon as those came out, I could leave them cooling and trek across the yard to Mrs. B's with the first batch.

Mrs. B received me with utmost pleasure, as I knew she would, both for the cookies I offered and the juicy details she might extricate oh-so- skillfully from me. After all, to a much-loved Christian woman whose weakness lay in gossip, I was the hottest ticket in town.

“Fight fire with fire,” Katherine had said. “Celia says you need someone spreading your side of the story, and she's right. You need to get folks back on your side so they won't keep talking in your daddy's ear.”

The idea had sounded nothing short of brilliant.

“Oh, chil', you shouldn't have,” Mrs. B gushed as she ushered me inside, arthritic hands waving in the air. “Frank,” she called to her husband, “come see who's here!”

She led me to the couch, clumping across the floor in her solid-heeled shoes. Mr. B joined us, graciously accepting the cookies with a trembling “Bless you, young 'un.” He set them on the coffee table, offering me a seat. Both he and Mrs. B eased themselves with care into their armchairs.

“Well, now,” Mrs. B breathed, “how is your family after that awful mess last Friday?”

I knew she'd take her time getting around to the more recent subject, but she'd get there all right. All I had to do was follow her lead, the innocent teenager talking to her neighbors. Mr. B said little, his aged, watery eyes moving from his wife to me and back as we talked. As much as I liked him, I almost wished he'd leave us alone. Something about the play of muscles around his mouth—in amusement, perhaps?—made me wonder if he couldn't see right through me.

“Well,” Mrs. B said finally, patting the straggling hairs from her white bun, “I just want you to know, dear chil', how upset we are with the
Albertsville Journal.
Filthy rag of a newspaper. You know Jessie called 'em first thing this mornin', said she was cancellin' her advertisement for her sewin' shop. Said they weren't printin' news; that was just straight gossip. She gave 'em pause, I can tell you. That ad's been runnin' straight for four years now.”

I blinked in surprise. So intent on spreading information, I'd never thought to glean some myself. Fleetingly, I wondered at the storehouse of Bradleyville knowledge Miss Jessie's aunt must be.

“You know advertisin's the only way that paper keeps goin',” Mrs. B added as if to ensure I understood the import of her niece's action. “Since it's delivered free and all.”

I nodded, searching for the right words. “I, um . . .” I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I'll have to thank Miss Jessie for that. I'm glad she realized what that paper said isn't true.”

“Well, of course, chil', we know you better than that.” She shook her head with righteous indignation, then eyed me expectantly. Mr. B tapped a gnarled hand against his leg.

“If you'll excuse me for a moment, ladies.” He pulled forward, placed his hands firmly on the chair arms, and wrestled to his feet. Mrs. B waited for his exit, channeling her impatience by reaching for a cookie. Once up, Mr. B gave me a little smile and shuffled off down the hall, presumably to the bathroom.

“Well, now, that's probably better anyway,” Mrs. B remarked. “Little hard to talk with men around sometimes.” She tossed me a grandmotherly now-you-can-relax look, then settled back in her chair. “So. You were sayin' that article wasn't true.”

With mounting vehemence, I related once again everything that had happened, hoping to goodness this would be the last time I had to tell it. Mrs. B hung on every word, spilling
tut-tuts
and
you-don't-says
and
mercies.

“And the main thing is,” I concluded, “Greg is a strong Christian. Do you know that his parents are so strict that his mama's traveled everywhere with him up till now? He's tryin' to live the Christian life while people all around him aren't, including the other guys in his band. I mean, it takes a lot to stand up for Christ like that. It's just not fair for people to think bad of him, Mrs. B. People should know the truth!”

I huffed forward, grabbed a cookie, and bit into it. Not until I chewed my second bite did I think I may have gone too far with the last sentence. I'd practically invited her outright to tell the town, when she hardly needed my invitation.

Then another thought occurred to me, out of the blue. Surely Mrs. B had known all along who Greg was, being so close to both Miss Jessie and the Matthews family. Goodness sake, she'd been Mrs. Matthews' closest friend for years, despite the difference in their ages. Yet apparently she hadn't said a thing to the townsfolk. I stopped chewing, studying Mrs. B with newfound respect. This woman could keep her mouth shut when it really mattered.

On second thought, it was a good thing I'd given her leave to repeat my words.

“Oh, my.” Mrs. B laid bent fingers against her cheek. “What a wonderful boy that Greg is. First comin' to your daddy's help like he did, then standin' up for you. Not to mention the town of Bradleyville. If that boy were here right now, I'd just kiss him.” She raised her shoulders and gave me a sly wink, as if to say I must know how that felt. That was a bit of bait I would not take.

“Yes, he is,” I agreed. “Just think of how long that bruise is goin' to last on his face.”

Mrs. B wagged her head, marveling anew. “What a blessed chil'.”

By the time I got home, swimming in self-satisfaction, I could practically hear the Bradleyville phone lines burning with Mrs. B's “blessed chil'” declarations.

Now came the worst of all. I still had to face Daddy.

chapter 36

S
upper over and the dishes done, Daddy informed me we needed to talk. No kidding. He'd hardly said one sentence to me at the table, his perfunctory response to my welcome-home hug betraying the enduring sting of my words. He sat me down upon the bed in his room, taking Mama's old sitting chair in the corner for himself. His turf, not mine. His choice of location could not be by accident.

“I want you to know I called the
Albertsville Journal
today,” he began, his tone stilted and cold. “Threatened a lawsuit if they didn't retract that girl's statements. I imagine they'll embark on a bit more accurate reporting for their Friday edition.”

He eyed me, jaw set, signaling his embarrassment at having to stoop to such a lowly task. I said nothing.

“I also talked to Celia and to Greg today.”

I widened my eyes, feigning surprise.

“Greg told me what happened, and his story substantiates yours. It was a manly thing for him to do, comin' to see me before he left.”

My head nodded. I slid one hand over the other and pressed, waiting. “You have anything to say to me, Jackie?” His voice implied that if I didn't, I'd better rethink the situation.

“Yes. That I'm so very sorry for everything,” I managed, hardly able to look him in the eye. “You don't know how sorry I am. I wish . . . I wish I could take it all back. Especially what I said this morning.”

He rested an elbow on the chair, placing fingers against his lips. Clearly, my apologies would take some time to sink in. We sat in silence, my gaze on the floor as I felt his eyes on me.

Suddenly, he exhaled in pure frustration. “I don't know how to do this any better than you do,” he declared almost defensively. “No matter what I try, in the end I'm just a dad. I know you need your mama. I know it's awkward, tryin' to work this all out, tryin' to talk to me about boys.”

My chest tightened at the weight in his tone, as if he'd failed me somehow. For the first time I realized that part of his irritation was directed at himself. And I saw no fairness in that. “It's not you, Daddy, it's me. I did things without thinking. It won't happen again.”