Like Dandelion Dust (3 page)

“I missed you, baby.” His voice grew huskier as he breathed across the line. “I hope you kept my side of the bed open.”

Fear poured into Wendy’s veins. What if Rip found out about the other men? There hadn’t been many, really. Four or five, maybe, and not for the past six months. That’s why she was back at church. Trying to make a new go of things. Still, Rip hated other men. Hated when they looked at her, and hated it more when she looked back. If anyone from the pool hall ever told him about the other men, he’d . . . well . . . Wendy was sure whatever happened would make the incident at the Kroger look like horseplay.

But before she could think it all through, trying to imagine what life would be like with Rip back at home, she gave him the answer he wanted. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay, baby.” His relief was tangible over the phone line. “I’ll be counting the days.”

Wendy settled back against the driver’s seat and stared at the road ahead.

Since that phone call, her emotions had been all over the map. Excitement and the thrill of imagining herself in his arms gave way to a very real, very consuming fear. She hadn’t told him about the boy. Now that he was getting out, she had no choice. He’d find out one way or another, and the longer she waited, the angrier he’d be. Rip couldn’t really blame her for not telling him sooner. The two of them barely saw each other over the past five years, and as for her little boy—she tried not to think about him. Only on his birthday in September and a few other times each month when her heart raced ahead of her.

She reached over and rifled through her purse again. A piece of gum, that’s what she needed. When she knew Rip was coming home, she’d hidden her smokes in a box in the garage. But now she was going crazy without them. Her fingers brushed against a sticky ballpoint pen and a wad of tissue paper, and then finally what she was looking for. A broken stick of peppermint Eclipse. She brushed off a layer of lint and popped the gum between her lips.

She hadn’t planned to ever tell Rip about the boy. It wasn’t any of his business. She’d had the baby at the beginning of his prison sentence, after all—a sentence that kept Rip in the slammer for five years. There were reasons why she gave the boy up, why she found a nice family and turned him over. But part of it was a matter of being practical. She had to work two jobs to pay the bills, right? How would she do all that and raise a baby by herself?

She found out about the baby the week after Rip was locked up. Rotten luck, nothing but rotten luck. She didn’t visit Rip after her fifth month of pregnancy, not until she had her shape back and the baby was safe in his new home. Rip never suspected a thing. But the baby was his, that much she was sure about. The other men didn’t come into the picture until the second year of his term.

The traffic grew heavier. She switched lanes again. The truth was, she’d almost done it, almost kept the boy. She didn’t sign the paperwork until after she had him and held him and—

She blinked and the memory stopped short. There was no going back, no such thing as what might’ve been. What she did that day, she did for her baby, her son. He deserved more than round-the-clock day care and a father in prison for domestic violence. She picked the family, after all. They were perfect for her baby, willing to give him the life he could never have had with her and Rip.

But more than that, her decision was ultimately based on one simple fact. She couldn’t tolerate seeing her little boy hurt. And if Rip got out and fell into one of his rages . . . Wendy shuddered and took tighter hold of the wheel. A man with a temper like Rip’s had a heap of changing to do before he could be any kind of father. It didn’t matter now. She’d signed both their names on the adoption papers and never looked back.

Almost never.

Tears stung her eyes and she cursed herself for being weak. The boy was better off, no question. What she’d done by giving him up made her the best mother in the world. Period. She drew a quick breath and dabbed her fingers along her upper cheeks. “Enough.”

Her focus had to be on Rip now, and whether the two of them had anything left after five years of being apart. Had he gotten help for his temper, or maybe found Jesus? Or had the guys he ran with made him meaner? This was his second time in prison. Last time he came back showering apologies and sweet nothings, and he was hitting her again by the end of the week. Still, she loved him. Loved him and pined for him and wanted him back in the worst way.

So maybe this time would be different. Wendy worked her gum, demanding what was left of the peppermint. Rip had sounded nice enough on the phone. Maybe he really had changed, and this time things would be better between them. He’d come home and give up the anger and shouting and hitting, and turn into the kind gentleman she had always known was buried somewhere inside him. It would happen one day, she knew it. Deep inside he had a heart of gold, Rip Porter. She would give him another chance, same as always, and maybe this time love would win out over all the anger.

She eased her car back into the fast lane and picked up speed again. Yes, maybe everything would work out. Then when Rip’s temper was under control and he had a steady job, they could have another child, maybe two or three. A light rain began to pepper the windshield, and traffic slowed. Great. Rip hated when she was late.

She flipped on the radio, gave each station three seconds to prove itself, and flipped it off again. Silence was better anyway. How was she going to bring up the subject, the idea that, hey, by the way, there was a baby and now he’s living with another family? Before they could move ahead, she had to give him the truth about the boy. No way around it; she had to.

Brent and Bubba down at the pool hall both knew about her pregnancy. Brent lived a few blocks over. He and Bubba were on their way out one afternoon when she was at the curb getting the mail. She was days from delivering, and big as a house.

Brent stopped and rolled down his window. He gestured at her belly. “That Rip’s kid in there?”

Wendy glared at the man and gave no thought to her answer. “Of course it’s Rip’s.”

“Well, I’ll be . . .” Brent cussed and chuckled all at the same time. “Poor kid. Future’s already written with Rip as a daddy. Him sittin’ in the pen and all.”

In the seat next to him, Bubba slapped his knee and laughed out loud. “Got that right!”

Wendy waved them off, angry. “Ah, go off and get drunk,” she shouted. “And mind your own business!”

Months could go by without seeing the rusty backside of Brent’s beat-up Ford. Wendy didn’t see Brent or Bubba again for almost a year. But just yesterday she was mowing the yard—getting things in order for Rip—when Brent drove up and once more rolled down his window. “Heard Rip was gettin’ out.” He stretched his head through the window, shouting to be heard over the roar of the mower.

“Yeah.” Wendy killed the engine. Sweat dripped down the side of her face, and she dragged her hand across her forehead. “Good news travels fast.”

Brent craned his neck, peering into her side yard. “What happened to the kid?”

Wendy was glad she was holding onto the lawn mower. Otherwise she would’ve fainted dead away, right there on the freshly cut grass. She had no family, no friends other than the people she’d met at church here and there. The baby was her deal, her decision. Not until that moment did it ever occur to her that just maybe the news might get back to Rip.

Brent was waiting for an answer.

“He, uh . . . we gave him up . . . to a family in Florida.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, as if giving the baby up for adoption was common knowledge. “Rip and I didn’t want a baby while he was in prison. You know?”

“Hmmm.” Brent hesitated. “Doesn’t sound like my main man, Rip Porter. Guy always wanted a son.” He shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my business.” After a minute of small talk, he flashed her a grin that showed his silver tooth. “Tell Rip I got first game when he chalks up his cue stick.”

“Yeah.” Wendy rolled her eyes and gave the mower cord a jerk. “Sure thing.”

The man drove away in a cloud of exhaust fumes, but the conversation stuck. Now, twenty-four hours later, she had a knot in her stomach, thinking about the task that lay ahead. She had to tell Rip the truth. Tonight. When she picked him up. If she told him right up front, he wouldn’t have to hear the news from anyone else. That had to be better, right?

The Ohio State Penitentiary was outside the city limits. Over the last few miles she picked up the time she’d lost. She wheeled the car into the parking lot and hurried herself toward the visitor area. The heel of her right shoe got stuck in a warm patch of asphalt. “Come on,” she whispered. Her heart beat so hard she wondered if it would break through her chest and race her to the front door. Once she was inside, her steps clicked out a nervous rhythm. She checked in, found a chair across the room from the prison door, and waited.

At two minutes after five, Rip walked through the door holding a brown paper bag. It took him a few seconds to find her, but when he did, he lit up like a bar sign at sundown. “Wendy!”

Here we go.
She stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress slacks. Her knees felt weak at the sight of him.
What have I gotten myself into?
She found her smile. “Rip!” She mouthed his name. With a roomful of tired-looking visitors watching, this wasn’t the place for dramatic reunions. But she didn’t care. She had missed him more than she knew.

Rip looked at the guard who had accompanied him to the waiting room. The guard nodded. Rip was free; he could do as he pleased. Without another moment’s hesitation, Rip took long strides toward Wendy. His grin took up his whole face. He wore a tight white T-shirt and jeans, his blond hair trimmed neatly to his head. He had filled out, probably from hours spent in the prison weight room.

She held her arms out toward him, and her heart fluttered as he came near. Something was different about Rip—his eyes, maybe. Whatever it was, Wendy felt herself drawn to him, taken by him. “You look great.”

“Hey.” He took gentle hold of her shoulders, drank her in like a man too long in the desert. Then he planted a long kiss smack on her lips. When he pulled back, he searched her eyes. “That’s my line.” His eyes drifted down the length of her and back up again. “You look like a million bucks, baby.” He kissed her again. “I mean it.”

Wendy could feel the eyes on them. She cleared her throat and took a step to the side. She could hardly wait to be alone with him. “Let’s go, okay?”

Rip looked around the room at the dozen people watching them. “That’s right!” he shouted, his tone full of laughter. “Eat your heart out. I’m going home!”

Wendy hung her head, her cheeks hot. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t changed. Rip was always loud this way, the center of attention. He thought he was funny, and when his behavior made people pull away or caused someone to ask him to be quiet, Rip would flip them the bird or snarl at them. “No one tells me what to do,” he’d say. Then he’d go on being loud and obnoxious as ever.

Sometimes Wendy didn’t mind when Rip acted up. He was just having fun, right? But once in a while Rip’s public behavior had caused a private fight between the two of them, the kind that led to blows. That’s why she wasn’t saying anything tonight. Rip could stand on the roof of the car and sing the national anthem off key and she’d go along with it. Anything so she wouldn’t make him mad. Not with the news she still had to tell him.

Rip raised his paper bag to the roomful of visitors, put his arm around Wendy’s shoulders, and led her outside. The moment they were free of the building, he handed her the bag, took a few running steps, stopped, and raised both fists in the air. He let out the loudest whooping victory cry she’d ever heard. “I’m free!” A few more hoots, then he hurried to her and took her hands in his. The bag fell to the ground. “I’m a changed man, Wendy Porter. All my life’s been leading up to this one single minute.”

His excitement was contagious. She felt herself getting lost in his eyes. “Really?” She uttered a soft laugh and eased closer to him. Okay, maybe she was wrong. Something about him was different, definitely different. She was suddenly breathless, and she chided herself for worrying about his behavior. This was Rip Porter, the man she’d fallen for in high school. She was as in love with him now as she’d been the first time she saw him. “What happened to you in there, Rip?”

He spun her in a small circle before stopping and searching her face. “I got help, that’s what.” He caught his breath, and his smile faded. “I’m sorry, Wendy. It was all my fault.”

Her heart was beating hard again. Was he serious? Wasn’t this what she’d always wanted? Her hunky Rip, kind and gentlemanly? A ripple of nervous laughter slipped from her throat. “Really, you mean that?”

“Yes!” He raised one fist in the air and hooted so loud the sound filled the parking lot. “I love you, Wendy.” He took her hand and began running toward the rows of cars. “Let’s go home and celebrate.”

The celebration started in the car and lasted long into the night. At two in the morning, still smiling, Rip finally fell asleep. Wendy hadn’t dared ruin his joy and exhilaration in the hours after his release, but come morning she would have to tell him about the boy. Then she’d know whether Rip Porter had truly changed. Or whether the rage would find him again.

The way it had every other time.

Chapter Three

T
he barbecue was Beth’s idea.

Most of their boxes were unpacked, and though they’d been in town only three weeks, Beth knew where to find the can opener, and the ceramic serving platter with the watermelon slices painted around the edge, and the dehydrated onions. That and some hamburger meat and buns, and they were ready for company.

Not that Molly and Jack and Joey were company.

Beth took a handful of ground beef and pressed it between her palms.
God . . . let tonight work out. . . . Let it be the beginning. . . .
After all, this sort of thing—coming together for a Sunday evening barbecue—was what she and her older sister had dreamed about since they’d left home for college: the idea that one day they’d have families, and live a block from each other, and share meals on the weekend while they raised a passel of kids.