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  Janni agrees.

  “It will be all right. You’ll see,” I say to Mom and Dad, giving them a hug. Janni and I head out the front door, and I pray that I’m right.

  “Now, let ’s see, Mom wanted some pajamas, right?” I rummage through the top drawer of her oak dresser, expecting a couple of cotton housedresses.

  “Right.”

  A gasp lodges in my throat.

  Janni turns to me with a start. “What’s wrong?”

  With disbelief I lift a slinky black negligee from Mom’s drawer. “Never in a million years would I have pictured Mom as the Victoria’s Secret type.” The silky unmentionable dangles from a tiny strap that’s hooked on my index finger.

  “Eeew.” Janni scrunches her face.

  “It boggles the mind, doesn’t it?” I shake my head. “Don’t think about it any longer. It could warp us.”

  Janni obediently shakes her head. We don’t say another word. It’s like we’re carrying around this deep, dark secret that we don’t want any-one to know. And truly, we are. It just wouldn’t do for church members to think of Mother in that light. It’s not healthy. For anyone.

  “Listen, I talked to Greg Boyle at church.” Janni lifts one of the suitcases we brought with us onto their bed and starts filling it with Dad’s clothes and shaving things.

  “The psychologist?”

  “Yeah. He says with the trauma of her move, Mom could have retreated into her books and made them her new reality. Maybe that’s what’s bothering her. She might be reading about a love affair where ‘the other woman’ is trying to bump off the heroine.”

  “Could be.”

  “Maybe we need to hide her books.” Janni heads for the closet.

  “Getting Mom away from her books? Okay, that should be easy. Right up there with ripping a bear cub from her mama.”

  Janni chuckles, then disappears into the closet.

  “Here’s their old cake topper.” She reappears, holding the plastic piece with the reverence an actress would give a Golden Globe.

  “Oh, perfect!” She brings it over to me. “The traditional wedding couple,” I say, inspecting it. “Retro clothes.” The wire arch over the couple is covered with garlands of fabric flowers and leaves and an off-white satin bow. Two wedding bells complete the decoration. I set it aside to take with us when we leave. “You know, I’m surprised we haven’t seen any of Mom’s books here,” I say, filling Mom’s suitcase with the things from her list.

  “Probably brought them all to my house. You don’t suppose she’s reading smutty romances, do you?” Janni says with pure horror in her voice.

  I laugh. “Mom? Smutty romances? Never in a million years.”

  Janni walks over and lifts the black negligee, dangling it from her finger and setting my stomach to full tilt.

  “That does it. I’m looking for books.”

  Janni nods and joins me in the search.

  Turning to the bed stand, I pull open the drawers and rummage through the contents. “Thinking back to all the times I was livid at her for messing around in my room when I was a teenager makes me feel a tad guilty about this.”

  “You can remedy that by thinking about those times when she had no problem whatsoever reading through your journal.”

  I whip around to face Janni. “She read my journal?” My breath hovers somewhere between my lungs and my esophagus.

  She looks at me. “You didn’t know?”

  “No.” At this bit of news, every smidgen of guilt vanishes.

  “Every day she went into your room to read your entries. I spied on her. She never knew that I knew. That’s why I never kept a journal.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ruthlessly, I rip through the sheets and check for a book.

  “Thought you knew.” Janni flips up the bedspread, gets on the floor, and looks underneath the bed.

  “No wonder she thinks I’m a failure. We write things at that age that we don’t mean.” I check behind lamps and in hidden nooks.

  “What? She doesn’t think you’re a failure. Why would you say that?” Janni pushes herself back up and brushes the dust from her hands. “I’m sure it’s not true. You’re too hard on yourself. You’re not to blame for what happened between you and Eddie.”

  Pulling a light suitcase from under the bed, I unzip it. “Things are never one-sided, Janni. There are always two sides to every story.” Nothing in the luggage, so I zip it back and return it to its place under the bed.

  “You can’t blame yourself for the miscarriage. Those things happen.”

  “Because I was exercising.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You have always been fit. Your body was used to it.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Who’s to say you wouldn’t have lost the baby anyway?”

  Once I finish rummaging through the books in the bookcase, I look at her. “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. You need to let it go. It happened, but it wasn’t your fault. It’s life. Losing a child is no reason to leave your wife and have an affair.” With her hands on her hips, Janni surveys the area. “She must have her books with her.”

  “I guess. You know how much he wanted children.”

  “Nothing makes it right. He needs to own up to it. Stop blaming yourself.”

  We edge our way out of their condo, and just as we pass the hall closet, I take a last-minute look inside. “Bingo,” I say, pulling a book from the top shelf.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a suspense book. I’ve read this author before, and she could make anybody paranoid. Edge-of-the-seat stuff.”

  “I thought Mom said she was reading romances.”

  “There usually is a thread of romance in these books, so she was telling the truth—in a vague sort of way.” I laugh. Flipping through the pages, Janni and I read sentences here and there and shake our heads in wonder.

  “Do you think this is what’s causing her paranoia?”

  “Anything’s possible with Mom,” I say. “But in her defense, I have to say some of what Dad’s been doing does seem a tad suspicious.”

  Janni gasps. “You don’t think for a minute that Dad—”

  “No, of course not. There has to be some explanation. We just have to find out what it is. In the meantime, keep Mom away from these books.” Noting that it’s a library book, I tuck it under my arm to return to the library. “Oh, I just thought of something. I’d better get their checkbook in case they need it while at your house.” Stepping back into the bedroom, I walk over to the antique cherry desk that has been in our family for years—compliments of our great-great-grandmother on Dad’s side—and reach into the drawer where he’s kept his checkbook for as long as I can remember. Sure enough, there it is.

  Behind the checkbook is a key with a tag. Pulling it out, I examine it. The tag has the word Harley on it.

  “Janni, come look at this,” I call out.

  She returns to the bedroom, walks over, and lifts the key from my hand. “Hmm. Wonder what that’s about?”

  “Do you think Dad owns a Harley without Mom knowing?”

  Janni’s eyes grow wide. “It’s hard to imagine. I’ve never seen him ride one.”

  “Well, did you see Mom as a Victoria’s Secret model?”

  Janni winces. “Good point.” She hands me back the key. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “We’re going to need some serious counseling.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  The phone rings, causing us to jump. “Probably Dad,” I say, answer-ing it. “Hello?”

  “Viney?”

  “No, this is her daughter, Char.”

  “Oh, uh, this is Gertie. Just needed to talk to your dad a minute.”

  “He’s not here right now, Gertie,” I say, loud enough for Janni to turn around and look at me in surprise. I explain about the fire and that they’ll be staying at Janni’s h
ouse. “Could I give him a message?”

  “No, no, nothing urgent. Just needed to talk to him. Thank you, honey. I’ll see him at church.” Click.

  “There are far too many secrets floating around here,” Janni pulls her keys from her purse.

  “Well, I aim to find out what’s going on.” Clutching my purse, the suitcases, and the key to the Harley, we leave the condo, locking up behind us.

  twenty-two

  “It ’s hard to believe that building is gone,” I say, looking at the charred shell of the building to the right of our parents’ place.

  “I know. It’s scary. I’m so thankful no one was hurt.”

  The smell of smoke and scorched wood lingers in the air, reminding me of the burned sap.

  “Yeah, I’m glad too.” I walk over to the charred remains and a somber mood moves in. What if someone had been hurt? What if they left unfinished business behind? Regrets. Life is so full of uncertainties that it makes my head hurt to think about it.

  “You coming?” Janni’s standing by the trunk of her navy SUV, the suitcases beside her.

  “Yeah.” Stepping back over to her, I help her put the luggage in the trunk.

  No sooner do we have the suitcases loaded in Janni’s car than Mom and Dad’s neighbor, Mr. Green, hobbles over to us. Bless his heart. He and his wife go to church with Mom and Dad. We’ll probably be here for another hour now.

  “Well, hello, girls,” he says with a tired smile. I don’t know about Janni, but I haven’t been called a girl by anyone but Dad since elementary school. Feels pretty good.

  “How are you, Mr. Green?” Janni says, patting his arm.

  Despite the cold weather, the short, bald man with a paunchy middle pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes sweat from his brow. They must keep the heat up in their house too. “We’ve been working hard to get our place back in order.”

  He proceeds to give us the lowdown on what he thinks happened, how the Dentons most likely caused the fire, what with the way they leave their lights on all the time. In fact, he decides they’re probably the reason for the high cost of electricity these days.

  “Oh, that reminds me. We’re leaving for a few days while they work on our condo, and I think you’d better move the Harley.”

  Janni and I exchange a glance.

  “Oh, maybe you don’t know about it. Gertie asked if I would keep the cycle for your dad. Said it was a surprise of some sort, I don’t know.”

  Shock rips through my veins as my gaze locks on Janni. First Victoria’s Secret, now this?

  He takes one look at us and scratches his head. “Or maybe your hus-band could take it over to Gertie’s house if you don’t want it at your place.”

  Do I even know my family anymore? Maybe there’s something to Mom’s suspicions after all.

  “Uh, sure, we can take it,” Janni pipes up.

  We talk a little longer about the price of gas, Mrs. Green’s arthritis, and Mr. Green’s knee replacement, then he gets us the two helmets and the Harley.

  Pulling the key from my pocket, I stick it into the ignition. I turn to Janni. “Houston, we have a fit.”

  She laughs. We say our good-byes to Mr. Green, then another neigh-bor helps us walk the Harley over to our car.

  “What do you think the surprise is?” Janni asks, running her hand across the seat.

  “Who knows? They have an anniversary coming up. Maybe he’s going to pull up and take her to the party on a Harley.”

  She shrugs. “You know, I’ve driven one of these a few times.”

  “That’s nice,” I say, having no idea where she’s going with this, so I simply nod. Then it hits me. My gaze collides with hers, and I see excitement staring back at me.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say.

  “Why not take it for a quick ride? Just for fun. We can come back and get the car. I need to do something fun, Char,” she says as though I owe it to her.

  “For one thing, we have on thin jackets and no gloves.”

  “My hot flashes will get me through. Your grit will help you.”

  Okay, that strokes my ego for a millisecond, then I move on to argument number two. “How long has it been since you’ve driven one? Or even ridden on one? You could hurt yourself. Worse, you could hurt me.”

  “One of my college friends owned one, and we used to ride together,” she says.

  “You haven’t ridden one since college?” My voice is bordering on a shriek. “And you expect me to get on board?”

  “Aw, they say it’s like riding a bicycle. It will come back to me.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Come on, it will be fun.”

  It doesn’t escape me that she didn’t answer my question.

  “You’ve been on one before, right?” she asks.

  “Sure. Many times. With an experienced, up-to-date driver. I don’t have a death wish.”

  “Where is my adventurous sister?”

  “She died, and I intend to keep this one alive.” She’s right. She is going through some kind of mood thing—or a midlife crisis. Why, I haven’t seen her this excited since her homemade jam won first place at the county fair. I’m putting my life in her hands, for what, a little mood shift? Where is the wisdom in that?

  “Please?” While I hesitate a little longer, she digs deep to the root of my sisterly devotion. “You love me, don’t you?”

  “Not that much,” I say, causing her to blink and stumble backwards. “Okay, I’m kidding. But still.” I stare at the Harley and then back to her. Upon seeing the eager look on her face, my heart melts. “I know I will regret this,” I say.

  She claps her hands and quickly straps on her helmet before I can change my mind. Reluctantly, I put mine on. I wouldn’t mind full body armor right about now, but I guess this will have to do. Just call me David. But even he had a sling. I have, well, a helmet.

  My heart zips to my throat as we climb on the motorcycle. Janni starts the engine, kicks back the stand, and we lurch forward, as does my stomach.

  Let me just say here that though I’ve ridden a motorcycle before, I’ve never experienced anything quite like this. As we ride slowly through the quiet streets of a neighborhood inhabited mostly by retired people, we jerk as though we’re riding a bronco. The idea of going out into real traffic scares the pajeebers out of me. My ankle is starting to hurt again.

  Janni calls out something about haste, her waist, or toothpaste, but I can’t hear her. “What about toothpaste?” I shoot back.

  “My waist. It hurts.”

  Looking down at my white-knuckled fingers that are clutching five inches of skin on either side of her jacket—has she never seen that Special K commercial?—I see her point. Most likely, I’ve stopped the blood flow. With any luck, her skin will fall off. She should thank me.

  We come to the stop sign at the entrance of the subdivision. “Here we go,” Janni shouts with wild abandon, her words evaporating into thin air as she burns rubber behind us. “Yeeeeeeeehaw.” She peels into traffic like she belongs to Hells Angels. The roar of the cycle—or is that Janni’s voice?—causes trees to quiver when we pass, which is a little frightening, to say the least.

  The wind whips against my chin—thankfully, the only exposed part of my face. The ends of my woolen scarf stream behind me like a ban-ner. A long scream pierces the air.

  Mine.

  This is a Janni I have never seen before. A wild, carefree, motorcycle mama. Before I can blink, we turn down a country road, and Janni leans into her bike like Evel Knievel. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Fear bumps race up my arms. My hands grip her waist so hard, she’ll be down to a size 2 before the trip’s over.

  “Hang on, Char!” Janni shouts.

  Yeah, like she needed to tell me that.

  If she leans any deeper into the machine, her head won’t show over the handlebars. The engine roars and gains momentum as she shifts gears. I don’t know how fast we’re going, but the speed of light comes to
mind.

  Words escape me—one of the few times in my life. With the roar of the wind and the speed at which we’re flying down the road, abject terror is snuffing out any possible thought that might enter my brain anyway.

  In an instant my life flashes before my eyes—and I do mean flashes. In fact, everything is flashing before my eyes right about now.

  “Janni, we need to go home,” I yell.

  “What?”

  “We need to go home.”

  “Why? This is fun.” She squeals. At least I think it’s her. I hope it wasn’t the brakes.

  “Janni, I want to go home.” There is definite grit in my voice, and I’m okay with that.

  “Spoilsport,” she calls back. “All right.”

  By the time we get back to the condo to pick up the car, my body is frozen to the motorcycle. As in, I need a crane to pry me off.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be such a wimp.” Janni yanks me off. If I had the strength, I’d bop her one. Instead, I remind myself to be sweet. I’m beginning to think June Cleaver is the only woman alive who has that one down.

  “What has gotten into you?” I say when my jaws thaw out.

  “That was so exhilarating! It’s been forever since I’ve ridden one.”

  Excitement colors her cheeks red, while my cheeks probably have all the color of muslin.

  “Sorry if I got carried away. You drive the car home, and I’ll take the motorcycle.”

  “Don’t you have to have a special license to drive these things?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you?”

  “Um, no.”

  “I’m seeing Officer Toby Millington in our future.”

  “I’m taking it straight home. No big deal.”

  “What are you going to do once we get it to your house?”

  “I’ll hide it in the barn. Mom never goes out there.”

  “Okay.”

  As I hobble—and I do mean hobble—to Janni’s car, I remember how the Israelites would build monuments to the Lord for special events. If I had the strength, I would stop right now and build a monument in thanks for my feet touching the ground.

  But something about this whole Harley thing unsettles me. I have a feeling there’s much more going on with my sister than meets the eye.