'Til Grits Do Us Part (19 page)

“There's always something,” I grumbled. “I told you it'd be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Well, she called tonight, and I made the mistake of telling her about the dresses we found Kyoko and Becky. A gorgeous cherry red, which will look great on both of them. They're amazing.”

Becky gave a silly bow, twirling her finger from her nose.

“Now Ashley wants to be a bridesmaid. She says she can get those same dresses from the factory outlet in Chicago at half the price. Because they are kind of pricey.” I smoothed my bangs to the side. “But I don't trust her. She'll forget or buy something in hot pink and then tell me it's close enough to red. Or maybe she'll just buy something she wants and forget everything we agreed on.”

I put my free hand up. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Adam didn't answer, scraping the gravel with his tennis shoe. “I don't know, Shiloh. I guess you'll have to make that decision.”

For some reason his response made me feel like whining. “What if I don't want to? I'd rather leave it up to you all and go to sleep.”

Becky's head came up. “Did you jest say ‘y'all'?”

“What? No way. I said ‘you all.' Two words.” I nudged Adam, indignant. “Back me up here. You heard me!”

He hesitated. “Well, it really depends on the pause between the two words. I'm not sure yours was long enough.”

“What?” I whirled around to see him suppressing a smile.

Becky high-fived him triumphantly. “See, Yankee? You're more Southern than ya thought!”

“You're both wacko. I've never said ‘y'all' in my life.”

“Right.” Becky made a smirky face. “Anyway, about Ashley—it ain't gonna be easy either way. If ya say no, she'll be mad. If ya say yes, she's gonna interfere. Life's full a choices, and sometimes there ain't no good answer. Pray.”

“What if you talked to your dad?” Adam squeezed my hand. “He knows Ashley better than you do.”

“Dad? Please.” I snorted. “He didn't even reply to my e-mail about getting engaged.”

“No, and he didn't say much either when I e-mailed him asking his permission to marry you. I figure ‘I don't care, whatever she wants'means a yes.” Adam smiled. “At least that's the way I'm choosing to read it.”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “That sounds like Dad. No opinion. Nothing to say. Well, good because he's not entitled to much of one anyway, after deserting Mom and me all those years ago.”

Just like I did when I left for Japan, not even bothering to tell her good-bye
.

“Well.” Adam ran his fingers through my hair. “We asked, anyway. That's the most important thing. And to be honest, Shiloh, I don't really care what our wedding is like as long as we both make it.”

“Amen,” Becky muttered. “In one doggone piece.”

She pushed me toward my car. “Now go on, y'all. Take her home! She's worn out, and I gotta get back to my li'l gal inside. Macy's teethin' now and in some kinda mood. Poor thing.”

I'd just pulled out my keys when Becky suddenly grabbed my arm. “Wait jest a cotton-pickin' minute! I got an idea!”

“An idea for what? How to catch this Odysseus guy?”

“No—for your weddin'!”

OH. NO. I could just picture it: The church decorated in Confederate flags, and Tim carrying our rings on an old toilet lid instead of a pillow. Cheetos and Tang at the reception. A bouquet of dandelions ripped out of Stella's yard. Adam and I would walk out to an old Willy Nelson tune, past beat-up radios tuned to the latest NASCAR race.

“What's…your idea?”

“Asian!” Becky whacked me. “Why didn't you think a that, woman? It'd be real cute. And if ya did them red dresses right, they'd fit the theme, too.”

“Well, yeah, I guess that could work.” I scratched my head.

“ 'Course it could work! It's you all the way.” Becky crossed her arms and sized me up, grinning. “Asian with a li'l Southern twist.”

“Oh, I'm not Southern,” I warned. “Don't get any ideas.”

“Don't matter. Ya done said ‘y'all.' And once ya git that far, the deal's done. You won't get us outta your blood!”

Adam followed me home and played with Christie on the porch while I changed into shorts and sandals, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, and poured chilled
mugicha
barley tea into two glasses over ice.

Then I let the screen door squeak closed behind me as I settled next to Adam on the back steps of Mom's wooden deck. Or Adam's uncle's wooden deck, that is, by the end of July.

Night had fallen dark and still. Christie, surprisingly quiet, stretched out next to us, her fuzzy snout pressed into Adam's lap as he scratched behind her ears.

“What did you do to Christie, Shiloh?” Adam wrinkled his forehead at me. “She's not running around in circles and tearing up the neighbors' yards like she usually does.”

“Easy. A hamster ball.” I patted her furry side. “Kyoko sent it to me. It's got a remote with a timer, and I set it to go off at random intervals all day long. Drove her bats, in a good way.”

“Well.” Adam jutted his head back in surprise. “That ought to keep her busy for a while, huh? Maybe you can get some rest now.”

“Don't get your hopes up. She chewed it in half already and ripped out the toy hamster.” Stars glittered overhead in sparkling profusion, and a fragrant breath of dewy coolness swelled up from the moist grass, bringing with it faraway smells: verdant locust trees teeming with cicadas, wild mint, and the water-swirled hollows of nearby Dry Branch River.

When the wind changed a bit, I detected a hint of poultry stench from local farms, too. Ugh. I pinched my nose closed.

“Thanks for following me home,” I said, my shoulder brushing Adam's as I leaned back against the deck railing. Keeping a (small) space in between us for propriety's sake. Heaven knows Stella would have a field day if she waltzed over and found us making out. Not that Adam, heaven forbid, would dream of such a thing. “It's nice to see you a little more often. Even if it does have to be on account of trouble.”

“Perks, I guess.” Adam, still clad in that itchy brown UPS polyester, rested an arm on my shoulder. “But that doesn't mean I'm not worried. Did the prosecutor call you back?”

“This evening. And…no. Jed Tucker's not in jail.”

“He's not?” Adam whipped his head around.

“Nope. He managed to post bond.” I sipped my tea, its crisp taste reminding me of Japan. “With a house, specifically. That's all he could use since he skipped trial last time. So he's free until the next trial, although—amazingly—the prosecutor thinks he's clean.”

Adam tipped his head back in frustration and groaned. “Shiloh. This is terrible! What if that guy comes here and tries to…” He broke off, rubbing a hand roughly across his face. “He's not left-handed, is he? Like whoever's been leaving those spray-painted notes about Amanda?”

“The prosecutor didn't know. He said he'd write up a complaint for the guy's file if we can get any bit of evidence that it's him. But nobody has any.”

“Exactly. Which is why I hate this whole mess.” Adam's voice sounded loud and testy in the quiet of my yard.

“Well, just to play devil's advocate, what if Odysseus is a joke and we're getting all worked up about nothing?”

Adam stayed silent a while, shuffling his shoes on the porch. “I've thought about that, too. Like some kid's pulling a prank. But we can't take any chances.” Adam rested his forehead in his hand. “Dad said he's seen a car come by our house a couple of times, really slow, like he was looking for somebody.”

“You're kidding.” I sucked in my breath. “Did he get the plate number or a description of the driver?”

“No. It's always late at night, so he can't see much. A dull-colored car though—gray or dark green or something. A sedan. But it's easy to get turned around on our road, so it's hard to tell if it's a random driver or somebody who's actually watching us. Or watching me, specifically.”

I put my glass down, my stomach coiling into a tight ball. “That doesn't sound like a joke, does it?”

“Hard to tell. But first, hear me out on one thing.” Adam turned my face toward him in the darkness. “If things get bad, forget the wedding. We'll go to the justice of the peace and say our vows and leave town. We can't risk our lives because of some madman, if he really does exist.”

I hugged my knees, feeling a sudden shift of cool breeze against my bare calves, raising gooseflesh. “It won't come to that, Adam. We'll figure out who it is.”

“Well, promise me anyway.”

“I promise.” I nudged him. “Besides, I don't have much pulled together anyway. I don't even have a wedding dress. And if I let Ashley in on this…” I let my sentence die.

Adam stayed silent a while then shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Can I say something? I know Ashley's annoying, and I'm still mad at her for making you feel guilty over your mom's death.” He stroked his fingers through my ponytail. “But I'd like to meet her anyway. You're family, no matter how distant. And you don't have much family, Shiloh.”

“Thankfully.”

“I know, but…” Adam twirled the ends of my hair around his finger. “You're a Christian now. You're starting over. Maybe you could give her another chance?”

“So Ashley can take over my wedding and boss me around? Say rude things about you and my friends and make a laughingstock out of me?” I blew out my breath. “You don't know her. She's a pain.”

“Well, so are we from time to time.”

“Right. From time to time. We don't live that way permanently.” I made a face. “Or at least you don't. I can't say that much about myself.”

Adam smoothed my bangs back from my forehead and laughed. “We all have our moments. But those kids you teach at Sunday school think you're pretty wonderful.”

“They drive me nuts, too. I'm thinking of sterilizing myself.”

“Please don't.” Adam smiled, kissing my cheek lightly. “But that's the thing. You don't like it, but you do it anyway. You've got courage. You left your old life for God, and you're staying in Staunton to be with me.”

I didn't say anything, staring off into the deep blue-black shadows of the summer evening.

“You're hard on your family, too, Shiloh. Why don't you just breathe a little? Relax? Let them be who they are. Everybody has crazy family members.”

“Why, Adam?” I turned to face him. “Why is my family so important to you?”

He shrugged. “I want to be part of your life. Part of your family, however it is. Part of you.” He laced his fingers tightly between mine, making me catch my breath. “When we join, we join for better or worse. My family's no bunch of saints either. But that's how we learn and change.”

I thought suddenly of Mom and her unopened letters. All those returned envelopes cinched sadly together with dark blue ribbon.

“Some of those changes come too late though.” I spoke my thoughts out loud, softly, staring at a twinkle of fireflies over the shadowy grass and trying to remember the last words I'd ever spoken to my mother. When I closed my eyes, stinging green spots still hovered.

Adam rested his head against mine, and for a second I felt his breath match mine as we sat there together in silence.

“Can I ask you something?” I turned my face slightly, my smooth cheek brushing his stubbly jaw. “Why don't you ever…?” I wanted to say “kiss me,” but for some reason the words sounded gauche, pushy. I let out an annoyed breath.

Adam shifted uncomfortably then tugged his cap off and scratched a hand through his sandy hair. “I think I might know what you're talking about,” he finally said, not looking at me. “Is it—?”

The stink of cigarette smoke sifted abruptly through the clean scents of pine and summer grass, and I let my face fall into my hands. No way we'd get to talk now.

“Stella?” I peeked over the deck railing, ashamed at my irritation. Stella was a good friend. Christie raised her head and started to get to her feet, tail thumping against the wooden boards. Which desperately needed another coat of stain.

Yet another thing screaming for my attention. Well, maybe I'd just leave the deck with faded stain and let Adam's Uncle Bryce deal with it.

I saw the orange glow of Stella's cigarette first and then her shadowy figure shaking the peony bushes that bloomed along the back side of her house. Everything backed by her giant satellite dish.

“Hiya.” She waved in our direction, letting the bushes fall back into place. Her hair-sprayed puff of hair cast a spider-like shadow. “Looks like somethin's eatin' my peonies again. Aphids, ya reckon?”

A toe ring glinted over her flip-flops, catching yellow porch light. Topped by the faded hem of her billowy, orange-and-pink-flowered housedress.