Jilted (6 page)

Clyde wondered if he would always attend worship alone. As he slipped through the double doors of the Trapp church building and stood in the tiny foyer, he could hear Dodd Cunningham teaching a Bible lesson behind a hollow door. Good man, Ruthie's husband. After Fawn and JohnScott had married, Dodd encouraged Clyde to come back to the small congregation, and somehow the young preacher had smoothed things over enough that the congregants tolerated his presence. Mostly.

When the bathroom door opened and Corky Ledbetter clambered through, pulling a small child by the hand, the entry shrank around Clyde.

He bobbed his head. “Ma'am.”

“Morning, Clyde.” She took three quick steps, then slowed. “So … you and Lynda Turner?” She smiled. “Y'all are a good match.”

Clyde's back straightened, but just then a bell rattled, sounding as if it were mounted inside the wall. The thin paneling vibrated, producing a squawking hum that signaled the end of Bible class. The door to Dodd's classroom opened, and congregants began filtering past Clyde, so he shuffled to a corner, feeling huge in the tight space.

Lee Roy Goodnight hobbled toward him, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, and stopped in front of Clyde to shake his hand.

“That grandson of yours is getting big.”

“He is.” Clyde's pride swelled not only because of Lee Roy's mention of Nathan but also because the old man had no qualms about referring to him as Clyde's grandson.

“Walking yet?” he asked.

“Just.”

“Twelve months old. Right on time.” Lee Roy wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger.

“Cyde!” Nathan's baby voice rang from the hallway.

They turned to see Fawn coming toward them with Nathan in her arms and two bags hanging from her shoulder.

Lee Roy chuckled. “You have a good week, son. Keep enjoying that boy.”

“Will do, Lee Roy. You have a good one, too.”

“Cyde!” Nathan kicked his feet against Fawn's hips as though trying to propel himself out of his mother's arms.

She smiled. “He can almost say your name.”

“Mm-hmm.” Clyde didn't trust his voice to speak. He had gone twenty years without seeing a small person, and now there was one screaming his name.

“He's not going to calm down until you hold him,” Fawn said.

Clyde reached for Nathan, resting one palm beneath the boy's rump and the other behind his back.

“You coming to the birthday party this afternoon?” she asked.

“Wouldn't miss it.”

“It'll be hot as blazes at the park, but that seemed like the best option.”

A mental image flashed across his mind—Neil Blaylock and him in the same living room—and he grunted. “I see what you mean.”

Nathan stretched his hand toward a lock of Clyde's hair.

“No,” Fawn said firmly.

“Aw, he ain't hurting nothing. People say I'm hardheaded.” The child yanked a lock of hair back and forth, but Clyde only smiled. “Go back with your momma now.”

“Sit with us today?” Fawn asked.

“Better not, but thanks.”

A spicy scent overpowered the cramped space, and Clyde knew Susan was near even before he saw her. He frowned, running memories through the movie projector in his mind, but he couldn't remember her smelling that strong when they were young.

Her bracelets jangled as she patted Nathan and greeted Fawn, but Clyde kept his eyes trained on a tumbleweed rolling down the front sidewalk.

Two years ago, when Clyde returned to Trapp, Susan had been as cold as a norther blowing in from Colorado, but back then, Neil had been sitting on the pew next to her. Like two stone pillars, the Blaylocks had reigned from the second pew, the faultless church elder and his pious wife. When Neil stopped attending worship, Susan had been forced to thaw, but only slightly.

Now she and Clyde would greet each other real quick-like, just enough to show they were acting like Christians, but not enough for church members to make up crazy stories about them.

Fawn watched as her mother pranced away from them. “Did everything go all right when they picked up Nathan Friday?”

“I guess so.” Clyde didn't bother mentioning Neil's peculiar behavior to Fawn, but she brought it up herself.

“Dad's been stressed lately.”

Clyde wondered what sort of things would stress Neil Blaylock.

“Mother thinks it's a midlife crisis.” She shrugged. “Here comes JohnScott.”

“Hey there, Clyde.” Fawn's husband approached with a cluster of teenagers, hung back to let them pass, then shook Clyde's hand.

“Good game Friday night,” Clyde offered. Every person in town greeted the coach with one of two greetings, depending on stats, but Clyde didn't bother to get creative. “We at home again this week?”

“Yep.” JohnScott grinned. “One more home game, and then we head to Tahoka.”

The four of them went through the double wooden doors together, but Fawn continued down the aisle to sit near her mother while JohnScott settled next to Clyde on the back pew. Clyde knew the coach would sit with him until a moment before the service started.

“Sorry to hear about your dad,” Clyde said softly. “Ansel's one of my favorites.”

“He's everybody's favorite.” JohnScott's eyes drooped.

“You all right?”

“Not really.”

Clyde nodded. “Might take a while yet.”

“You hear about those bones out at the lake?” JohnScott seemed to shake the gloom from his thoughts, and Clyde went along with it.

“I'm not deaf, right?”

“Last I heard, they're definitely human remains, but they don't know who it is.”

Clyde lifted an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Aw …” JohnScott ran the tip of his tongue across his lips. “I'm figuring it to be a lost Boy Scout mauled by a mountain lion, but nobody ever reported him missing because he was such a toot in the first place.”

“You think?”

“What about you?” JohnScott asked. “What's your take on it?”

Clyde rubbed the back of his index finger along the bottom of his chin. “Skydiving expedition gone bad?”

“And … why didn't anyone ever report him missing?”

“They did, but the wind carried him for miles.”

JohnScott opened his mouth in a wide grin. “Maybe it's the same kid. Jumped from an airplane, then got mauled by a mountain lion.”

“It could happen.”

Fawn's husband pulled a dry washcloth from his pocket and dabbed a blob of moist cookie crumbs on Clyde's shoulder. “I see you held Nathan this morning.”

“Sure enough.”

The coach smiled, then joined Fawn and Susan near the front.

Clyde stared at the backs of their heads, wondering, remembering, thinking about the past. Life had turned out to be a strange, unpredictable storm, but he had long since determined to ride it out. Fawn's curly ponytail fell across the back of the pew, and Clyde marveled at her beauty, then studied Susan's puffy, blonde hairdo. He quickly compared her looks to other women in the congregation, but none of them had the same large mass.

For the hundredth time since coming home, he wondered what he had ever seen in her. No, that wasn't quite right. What he had seen in her twenty-two years ago was now gone. She'd been sweet and innocent back then, but now she was hard and brittle, and he cursed himself, realizing he was at least part of the reason she had changed.

He stood with the congregation and hummed along with “I'll Fly Away.” When he was locked up, he had enjoyed booming the hymns, but here in this place, it didn't seem acceptable.

Like a bird from prison bars has flown …

He felt a slap on his back, and Troy and Pamela Sanders scooted past to the pew in front of him, coming in late from whatever Sunday school class Pamela had volunteered to teach.

Troy leaned toward him and whispered loudly, “There's a task force coming in tomorrow to rappel down the rotors. You should come and watch.”

“Aw, now … I don't know, Troy.”

“Sure,” Pamela said, not bothering to whisper. “You can wait on the ground and catch them when they fall to their deaths.” But then her frowning eyebrows lifted into soft arcs. “I heard about you and Lynda, and all I can say is it's about time.”

“Pam,” Troy mumbled, “I'm not sure that's honest news.” He looked at Clyde, and his eyes held a question.

“Probably not,” Clyde admitted.

As the song ended and they sat down, Clyde realized Lynda had been right after all. The Parker sisters had been on a rampage, and it hadn't even been twelve hours.

Dodd mounted the stage, traipsing back and forth behind the podium and pulling Clyde's attention back to where it belonged. The preacher had mellowed in the two years he'd been at the Trapp church. His accent had softened into a drawl, and his homespun Bible training had given way to a broader version of the gospel. Not that Ruthie's husband would ever be a pushover, but he could no longer be called naive.

“God doesn't want us to sit back and wait for Him.” Dodd's eyebrows bounced. “He wants us to run into His arms, to get busy and work, to show others His love.”

Clyde didn't see how his own mundane routine would please or displease God either way. He kept to himself, stayed out of other people's business, and worked hard to pay his bills. He tithed regularly and was kind to others … whenever they got close enough.
What would he change about his life … if he wanted to?

Dodd's mother coughed into a tissue, and Clyde's gaze slid from her to Ruthie, then down the pew to Fawn, JohnScott, and Susan. His insides tightened.

He had made a mess for Susan years ago, and maybe God expected him to clean it up now, but the woman didn't need anything. She had Fawn and Nathan. She had a huge ranch house and a fancy car. She had friends here at the church. She had a million civic responsibilities that kept her busy. And she had Neil.

Dodd wrapped up his sermon with a final challenge. “Get out there and use the gifts God blessed you with.”

Clyde stood for the last song, but this time he didn't even hum. He was too busy pondering Dodd's statement. There was only one thing Clyde could think that he truly wanted to do with his life.

And that was to make Lynda Turner smile.

“Lynda, I'm about to melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the Trapp City Park.” Velma fanned herself with a wrapped Golden book while I poured a bit of water on the nape of my neck.

“You're not the only one.” I leaned back in my camp chair, happy to be at Nathan's first birthday party but silently wishing the Blaylocks weren't there.

Fawn claimed she chose the park because it was Nathan's favorite place, but more than likely, she feared the roof would blow off her double-wide if the families got too close to each other—like paint fumes to a pilot light. Not only did the outdoor venue provide better ventilation for the heated personalities, but it also included convenient escape routes.

Velma and I had come appropriately dressed in shorts, and Ansel, sitting catty-corner in a lawn chair, wore a pair of thin cover­alls. Our grown children had changed out of their church clothes and were buzzing around us. JohnScott and Fawn hung balloons on the playground equipment while Dodd and Ruthie filled Styrofoam cups with ice.

Opposite us, at the park's lone picnic table, hovered Neil and Susan—the Blaylock faction. Susan arrived straight from church services in her ridiculous dress and heels, and even though Neil hadn't attended worship in more than a year, he seemed to have gone out of his way to dress the part—Western slacks, starched shirt, drawstring tie, and, of course, his trademark cowboy hat.

Susan shot a fake smile toward us, but Neil didn't even glance our way. He paced in front of the picnic table, and I recalled Clyde's adjective.
Antsy.

Nathan, joyfully oblivious, toddled around the table, using the bench for balance. When he got to Susan's knees, he paused before continuing his circuit.

“Come to Pops, son.” Neil picked him up under the armpits, and the baby kicked his feet, clearly wanting back down again, but Neil merely walked around the table and handed the child a Cheeto.

“Daddy, he'll get you all orange,” Fawn called. “Proceed with caution.”

“Noted.”

JohnScott stood with one hand resting on the metal slide. “Fawn, should we open gifts first? That way we can hold lunch until everyone gets here.”

She gazed up the street. “I suppose it's time.”

“It'll take Nathan twenty minutes to open each gift anyway,” Dodd said.

Fawn nodded but didn't smile. I figured she wanted to wait for Clyde, but no one dared make the request.

An enormous, ornately wrapped box sat on the edge of the cement slab near the table, and Neil squatted next to it, resting Nathan on his bent knee. “You ready for your surprise, boy?”

Nathan squealed and slapped his palms against the side of the box.

I noticed Clyde walking toward us from down the street, but not until then did I remember his car was broken down. He lifted his chin in greeting to JohnScott and Dodd, then positioned himself away from the commotion. Leaning against the slanted metal pole of the swing set, he glanced around casually, and then his gaze bounced to me.

My lungs felt as though a hundred dragonflies had taken flight during a windstorm, and I bit my bottom lip. Clyde couldn't even get to his grandson's birthday party on time, so there was no good reason for me to be feeling all fluttery inside. It was ridiculous.

He ducked his head as he watched Nathan, and I peered at him a moment longer, wondering if I should offer to trim his hair. His blond ponytail was the exact same color as Fawn's, only shorter. It was surprising more people hadn't figured out she was his daughter long before that news flash made the gossip circuit. In fact, nobody had figured it out. A swell of injustice crowded the dragonflies out of my lungs.

My gaze wandered to Clyde's hands, one shoved in the pocket of his jeans, the other absentmindedly gripping the chain of a swing, and suddenly it seemed like a million years ago that I had felt the urge to hold his hand on the side of the road. Everything had happened too fast yesterday, and I had foolishly let Ansel's prognosis and Velma's despair drive me to Clyde for comfort.
And I let him hug me.

Stupid.

I forced my mind and my eyes back to the party, only to find Susan watching me.

Her mouth twisted into a tight knot, but when she looked back toward Nathan, her smile spread.

The toddler had managed to expose only a corner of the box by ripping the paper piece by piece. He threw the strips over his shoulder, but Fawn was there to intercept them.

“Here we go, son.” Neil slid his hand under the edge of the wrapping and tore off a large chunk, exposing the label for a battery-powered, ride-on car. “Look there, Nathan. Look what Pops got for you.”

“And Mimi.” Susan's plastic smile slipped momentarily. “I'm responsible for that snazzy wrapping job.”

“Let's see what's in here.” Neil's eyes widened along with Nathan's as he tore away the box to reveal a miniature replica of a Range Rover.

Child-sized, yet far too large for a one-year-old.

“Well, would you look at that.” Neil smiled at Nathan, but the boy pointed at a bird.

Susan bounced around the two of them, taking pictures with her phone, but Fawn glanced doubtfully at JohnScott before picking up more pieces of torn paper.

The car had doors like a real automobile, and Neil opened the driver's side to nestle Nathan behind the wheel. “Ready, little guy?”

The toddler leaned forward and backward in the seat as though he could make it roll just with momentum, and Susan cackled.

“Hang on, and Pops will get you going.” Neil flipped a switch, and as the car began to roll, he walked alongside, steering to keep the child safely on the sidewalk.

Susan squawked that Neil should be careful, and Fawn and Ruthie waved and cooed and tried to get Nathan to look at their cameras.

Even though I despised the flamboyance of the gift, I smiled in spite of myself. I didn't know which of them was acting the most juvenile. When I looked at Clyde, he winked at me, but I pretended not to see. That sort of thing would never do. I chided myself for agreeing to hike with him to Picnic Hollow after the party, but at least that would give me plenty of time to let him know how I felt.

Nathan spied Clyde by the swing. “Cyde?” The child held his arms through the open roof, flexing his wrists back and forth.

“Let's try this little hill over there, son.” Neil steered the car away from the playground and toward a raised place in the sidewalk, but Nathan turned around in the seat and stood up.

“Cyde?”

As the distance between the Range Rover and Clyde lengthened, Nathan's face screwed into a ball of emotion, and Fawn shuffled after them, retrieving her child from the plastic prison and laughing softly.

Tension settled over the playground as though we had all been sprayed by a crop duster. Neil's behavior was odd, even for him. Something was definitely up with him, and I decided right then and there that
antsy
was too light a term to describe it.