Unconditional (12 page)

“Where's Joe?”

Macon shrugged. “Last I saw him, he was heading into your house. Want me to go in there and get him?”

I smiled. “Why don't you do that for me?”

He tore off around the corner of the barn.

“Come on, Keisha,” I said. “Wait till you see what I've got planned next.”

Chapter Eleven

I stood next
to Denise, watching the house and waiting for Macon to return with Joe. Around us the children were chanting, “Papa Joe! Papa Joe! Papa Joe!” in an effort to get him to hurry up and join the party.

I kept my eyes on the open French doors, wishing I knew Denise well enough to ask her about Joe. About the apparatus and whether Joe was going to be okay.

Before I could muster up the words to broach the subject, Macon came running out of the doors and onto the porch. Joe walked behind him, slower, but he didn't seem any worse for the wear.

Joe rubbed his hands together and said, “All right, Miss Sam. What's first?”

I tingled with excitement. “How many of you know what a zip line is?”

About a third of the hands went up.

“Well, we have a zip line here. It's fun. It's daring. And I can't help but wonder
who
will be the first to ride it!”

The zip line
ran along the length of the creek snaking through our property. As it turned out, the first to ride was Snuffy, and only by luck of the draw.

I'd placed several opened bales of hay for “landing” at the end of the line. Brick decided it best if he stood in front of the hay to catch the kids, just in case one of them landed harder than expected. Sure enough, as Snuffy came soaring down, he crashed full weight into Brick, knocking Brick into the hay. Snuffy landed on top of him.

After that, it became requisite to the fun that Brick stand in front of the hay, take the blow from each kid, and together fall into the hay. By the time the children, Denise, and I had ridden the zip line three times each, the kids had started to complain of hunger.

Brick and I returned to the house where there waited a few coolers full of food I'd prepared the day before. After lunch, the kids stretched out in the grass and napped. The adults were right there with them, including me.

With Detective Miller looking into Anthony Jones's background—and surely he was—and with the cool morning air turning pleasantly warm, I felt as though I could sleep a good two hours before waking. But the children were good for only about a third of that. They were up in no time, running around, chasing the geese and the ducks that had wandered over from one of our ponds. Pretty soon, the geese and the ducks were chasing them, which left Brick, Joe, Denise, and me in fits of laughter.

We returned to the barn so I could introduce the children to Cricket and Penny. I taught the kids about “tacking up” a horse and then put them both on a lead. One by one Brick helped the kids into the horses' saddles, then Denise and I led them around the corral. When everyone—including Joe—had enjoyed a ride, I showed the children what it took to
un
-
tack a horse. “This part is just as important,” I said, “even though you're usually tired at the end of a ride.”

“Hey, Sam,” Macon said, disrupting what I'm sure he found to be quite boring. “There's a cow over here who I'm thinkin' needs milking.” He giggled.

“Hey, now,” Joe said, placing his hand on Macon's head. “It's impolite to interrupt.”

Macon bent his head. “Sorry.”

“Tell you what, Macon,” I said. “Let's finish up here, and I'll let you milk Miss Maggie Moo.”

Minutes later everyone but Macon leaned against the railing that kept Maggie inside her stall. Macon stood inside with the cow.

“Okay, Macon,” I said. “What you do is, first drag the stool over to Maggie.”

Macon obediently did as instructed.

“Now, what you want to do is—”

Macon held up a hand to stop me. “Naw. I got this. Seen this a million times on TV.”

“Well . . . all right then . . .”

“See, you just grab one of these thingies and
pull
.”

Just as I expected, when Macon grabbed one of Maggie's udders and pulled, milk sprayed him in the face.

“Aww, man!”

The children laughed heartily as Macon wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “But I tell you what—I'll finish milking Maggie later on. If you want, there's a bag of lollipops stashed in that cabinet over there. You can go get them and pass them out to everyone.”

A relieved Macon stood. I inched into the stall, making certain everyone had a clear view of Macon as he opened the cabinet doors.

Whoosh!
Three hens I'd stashed there earlier flew out, landing Macon on his rear end. Unlike Billy, he was not amused. But everyone else was. The laughter was infectious.

Macon turned to glare at me, and I gave him my best “I just got you back so good” look.

“Whoops. Sorry about that,” I said, stepping between his sprawled legs. I reached inside and brought out the bag of lollipops. “Who wants to hand these out?” I asked.

One of the older girls came forward, taking the bag from me, but not before I pulled out a cherry one. I knelt beside Macon, who'd sat halfway up and rested on his elbows. Chicken feathers stuck to his hair. “Here you go, Macon.”

He grimaced, but he took it anyway. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” I said low enough that no one else could hear. “Bringing everyone out to the farm was a wonderful idea. I'm so glad you thought of it.”

I stood before he could counter and returned to where Joe was leaning against Maggie's stall railing. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “Joe? Are you—are you okay?”

He grimaced. Swallowed. “No worries.” He blew pent-up air from his lungs. “What's next?”

I didn't like this, but it was obvious he wasn't going to answer me truthfully. “There's a waterfall alongside one of the ponds. I was thinking we could carry some construction paper down there. Show the kids how to make paper boats?”

“Sounds good.”

“There are also a few paddleboats. How does that sound?”

He avoided looking at me. “Very good.”

“Joe?”

But he stepped away, clapping his hands. “Hey, kids! How'd you like to see a waterfall?”

We loaded the
kids onto a hay-filled trailer hitched to a tractor. I handed the keys to Brick, gave him general directions, and then joined the others on the trailer. When we'd gone as far as we could, Brick stopped the tractor. I leapt down, calling for the children to follow me. We hiked through a field of calf-high grass for ten minutes before the sound of the waterfall reached our ears.

“Listen,” I said. “That sound you hear is a waterfall. Anyone here ever see a waterfall?”

Fifteen heads shook no.

“A waterfall is what happens when water from a river pours over the rocks like a giant shower in a bathtub. And it's just around that bend,” I said, pointing. “Who wants to see?”

“We do! We do!”

“Then
go
,” I said, clapping my hands.

They took off running. Joe, Brick, Denise, and I brought up the rear at a slower pace. None of us said anything. None of us had to. Everything was perfect, just the way it was. And I . . . I couldn't believe how tired I was. Or how happy.

Later, when the paper boats had set sail and all the little hands had dipped into the cascade of water, Joe and I sat shoulder to shoulder on one of the rocky benches nature had carved next to the waterfall. Brick and Macon were standing near the waterfall, cupping water into their hands and splashing each other. Keisha sat quietly on the bank of the pond, drawing in her sketchbook. Out in the water, Denise and Chloe circled around in a paddleboat. I looked casually over to Joe, to find him intently watching the two of them.

I smiled knowingly.

Joe turned, catching me. “What?”

“You don't see it, do you?”

“What? See what?”

I turned my face toward the water, toward Denise and Chloe, then back to Joe.

Sheepishly he ducked his head. I bopped him with my shoulder, and he laughed. “Aww, come on.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on.” But he laughed.

“She's special,” I said.

“I know that's right.”

And then, for the first time in hours, I felt lonely. Missing Billy so much my heart ached. “Don't miss out on special, Joe,” I told him.

His eyes searched mine. As much as I didn't know what was going on with him, what had taken him to the Commons, or why he was sick . . . I realized, Joe didn't know about me, either. About my life. About my life with Billy. And about what I'd lost when he died.

With dark settling
in and around the farm, we ushered the children into the house so they could wash their hands and faces before heading back out to the barn. While Brick and Denise prepared the planned cookout featuring beanie-weenies and a fresh green salad (whether the kids liked it or not), I stayed inside to make pans of hot cornbread.

Joe was the last to come out of the downstairs bath.

“Hey, Joe,” I called from the kitchen.

He turned to look at me but didn't walk over. Maybe he was afraid I'd ask about the medical equipment he'd set up in the downstairs bedroom. Or maybe he was just anxious to help Denise and Brick. To be with his kids. Either way, he stayed put on the far side of the sofa, hands resting easily on his hips.

I said, “I just wanted to tell you that yesterday I hung some Chinese paper lanterns in a section of the barn. All you need to do is plug them in. And there's a big washtub full of drinks near the back of the barn. There's a chest-style freezer with bags of ice. Just add the ice to the bucket.”

“Gotcha.” He nodded once.

“There's some old cable spools out there too. I put a stack of checkered tablecloths on top of one of them. Get Brick to help you set them up. They'll be perfect for the kids to eat off of.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I smiled as the oven dinged, telling me it had preheated and was ready. When I opened the door, I felt the heat hit my face.

“Sam?”

I slid the pans in and closed the door before looking back at Joe.

“I just wanted to say it again.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

I was momentarily at a loss for words. In many ways I should be thanking him. “It's nothing.”

He shook his head. “It's not nothing. It may seem like a little thing to you . . .” His eyes wandered to the yard outside between the house and the barn where the children ran in circles, shouting and singing. “But to them, it's everything.”

“Well then,” I said, “we'll have to do it again.”

He nodded once more before walking out the French doors, leaving me alone with my task and my thoughts. We could have done this, I thought. Billy and me. If we'd known. So many opportunities wasted. Not because we didn't care. Billy would have cared to the nth degree. But more because we hadn't known.

Well, now I
did
know. And purpose had come back to me in a strange new way. Something I'd never counted on, from someone I'd nearly forgotten. Life sure was strange sometimes. And—when we allowed it to be—full of surprises.

While the cornbread baked, I went upstairs to wash my face and brush my teeth and hair. My bed begged me to come lay across it, but I didn't dare. I would certainly fall fast asleep, even with all the noise from outside.

I had left my cell phone on the bedside table. I checked it to see if Detective Miller had called me back, but there were no missed calls. No messages. I pulled a heavier jacket from my closet and tucked the phone inside the pocket.

I went back downstairs and waited at the kitchen table for the cornbread to be done. Its delightful aroma filled the room. As the timer neared zero, I pulled a large platter from a cabinet and a cutting knife from a drawer and got my oven mitts ready. When the timer beeped, I checked the cornbread. It was perfect. Golden yellow and sweet smelling.

I crossed the now-vacant yard to the barn, balancing the two trays, the platter, and a cutting knife in both hands. I could see Denise and Brick taking plates of food to the makeshift tables where most of the children had gathered. But across the way, I could also see Macon, Snuffy, and another young man named Darren standing at Billy's record player. Darren had put on Billy's hard hat, and Macon was drawing the needle toward the last record Billy had played. The one I'd never taken off the turntable. As soon as the music started, the boys covered their ears.

I couldn't make it to them fast enough. “Hey, guys . . .” I tried to keep my voice calm. After all, they had no idea what they were touching. How valuable it was to me. Nor did they know about the remarkable man who'd once stood under the hard hat. “I would rather you wouldn't . . .” I placed the cornbread on a nearby cable spool, one that hadn't been dragged to the center of the room and covered with blue-and-white-checkered plastic. “. . . play over here, okay?” I pulled the hard hat from Darren's head. “I'm sorry.”

I removed the needle from the old record and flipped the switch to
OFF
.

“Miss Sam's right, y'all.”

I returned the hard hat to where I kept it before turning to see Joe standing over the record player. He picked up the album cover laying on the table next to it and ran his hand over it, removing the dust. “This is real special stuff right here.”

“This stuff?” Macon asked. “I ain't never heard music like this, man.”

“It's called country music. Honky-tonk. And you just may find it interesting to know, Mr. Macon, that this girl's music helped save my life once.”

“Say what?”

“Yes, sir. Back when I was in prison.”