“Janice,” I groan. “I was building the stables, and she set them out for a treat.” The more I think about the description, the more I realize it does sound like that.
“Let’s back up to Beverly making you cookies.” A heavy pause follows the statement. “What are you doing?” It’s a question my sister has asked almost every time we’ve spoken lately.
“She was being nice.” I brush off the kindness with nonchalance, but a smile creeps across my face.
“You know she filed for divorce, right?”
“How do you know?”
“She came to our offices. Ram is representing her.”
“Shit. You didn’t mention me, did you?” Guilt immediately knocks at my chest. I should just tell Beverly who I am and how I know her.
“Jedd, I love you, but so help me if you play with that woman’s emotions.” Another heavy pause follows her threat.
“Why do you care? Don’t you hate her for what she did to you?” I nearly snarl as I repeat my sister’s words from twenty-seven years ago when her fiancé admitted he knocked up some girl he hardly knew, trying to tell my sister the other woman didn’t mean anything to him. “It just happened,” he’d argued.
“I don’t hate her, and she didn’t do anything to me. It was all Howard.” Janice’s voice drops, an edge of sadness and sympathy in her accusation. “Besides, I got my revenge on him.”
I’m not certain what she means, but I’m relieved she doesn’t blame Beverly. If I had to make assumptions, I’d surmise an innocent girl of seventeen fell for the attention of a twenty-three-year-old man visiting the diner where she worked, and he worked his way into her pants a little too fast.
“Well, you have nothing to worry about. I’m not playing Beverly in any manner. I’m her tenant. I’m using her land. It’s all legit and legal.” The words taste bitter on my tongue especially when I mix in my thoughts of Howard. Shit.
“No side deals?” Janice drawls.
“No side deals.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Does Beverly think I’m playing her? I’ve worked hard to assure her the land is all I want, and then suddenly, I’m all eager to get in her pants. Does she think the two are connected? I swipe my hat back onto my head, like knocking some sense into myself.
“How’s her divorce going?”
“You know I can’t discuss a client with you.”
“You know you did once before. You also know I don’t want Howard showing back up. Why does there need to be a public notice?”
“This is the legal process. I understand it might feel like she’s divorced in the eyes of the community, but in a court of law, she’s still married, and she no longer wants to be bound to him.”
“And you didn’t mention me, right?”
“Jedd, not everything is about you,” she sasses me like the older sister she is.
“I know that. I just…” The words fade. If she finds out…If she connects the dots. She’ll never want me.
“You just what?” Another weighty pause. “Jedd Hudson Flemming, did you sleep with that poor woman?”
“I did not,” I can honestly answer, but I can’t say I don’t want to. Because I do. I so do. “And Jesus, you sounded like Momma there for a minute.” Janice sighs, and the exhale falls on my shoulders. “I miss her, ya know.”
“I know,” my sister agrees.
“I’m going back over to the house,” I tell her.
“Be careful, Jedd. I don’t think Boone is stable.”
“I will.” I’m not afraid of Boone, though. I’m afraid of Beverly finding out who Boone is before I find him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
[Beverly]
It’s been a few nights since Jedd moved into the house, and he’s gone over to Vernon’s for whatever reason. I try not to pry into his personal business, but he’s rather forthcoming with his plans for the future and what he’s doing with the horses. He still hasn’t turned the back pasture like he promised Hannah and me, but the soil can’t be turned until spring when the planting will be done as well. His enthusiasm for all projects is infectious—The Jedd Juncture—and sometimes I get wrapped up in the possibility of a future with him.
Then I remember Howard and note how Jedd keeps his distance. Since the near miss the other night, Jedd hasn’t tried to touch me. That night something in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to stop at just a kiss, and something in mine must have told him I wasn’t ready. Then he sent me to my room like a rejected child.
On this night, neither Jedd nor Hannah are home, and I’m taking a chance that the stranger-savior I’ve been feeding will approach my back steps even with me sitting out here. It’s a calm night despite the chill of November. Stars fill the sky, and a rare moment of appreciation settles over me. The silent night. The dark calm. The crickets and cicadas and anything else chirping after dark are hibernating by now, and I sit with a blanket over my shoulders, waiting on my nightly visitor.
He visits every evening, evident by the cooled dinner I leave for him in a plastic container and find the next morning empty of every crumb. I wish I could give him a hot meal as the nights dip cooler, but it doesn’t seem possible. I’ve watched for him, but he doesn’t appear any earlier than ten o’clock. It’s almost as if he waits until I’m asleep before he approaches. Tonight, I’m trying to fool him. The lights are off in the house except for the soft glow over the stove, which I always leave on for Hannah. No television reflections this evening. With making meals for Jedd, plus daily visits out to the stable, I’ve cut back on the number of times I watch Nailed or Rehab Dad. I’d say I miss my old friends, but they aren’t really friends, and life has become a tad more entertaining than the reality programs.
“Hello,” I call out when I hear a rustling on the other side of the garage. “It’s safe to come closer.” Is it, though? Is it crazy that I’m feeding a stranger every night? Hannah hasn’t noticed the missing servings, but Jedd seems suspicious.
Why is there always a plastic container on the steps in the morning?
I leave scraps for the stray cats, I lied, holding my breath waiting on Jedd to remark about lids and how a cat can’t use its paws to open the cap, but he didn’t comment.
“My name’s Beverly,” I say into the dark, not knowing for certain if he’s out there or if it’s just another creature of the night. Please don’t let it be a bear.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed the dinners. I appreciate the gifts.” Whoever he is, he’s brought me little signs of gratitude each morning. First the sunflowers. Then a container full of acorns. One time it was a package of gum, reminding me of Boo Radley from To Kill a Mockingbird. All gifts are complete with the letter B printed on a scrap of cardboard along with a drawing, mostly a buzzing honeybee or a larger bumblebee. The images have given me an idea.
“I make soap,” I say, feeling foolish speaking into the quiet night, but hoping he’s near and listening. “And I need a label for them. I can’t draw a straight line to save my life, so I was wondering if I could use your design, seeing as you sign my gifts with the letter B, and it’s the appropriate letter for my name. Plus, I like the bees you draw. It sort of represents me. Jedd says I remind him of the pollinator because I sting with my tongue.” I chuckle at the comments. First off, how wrong does stinging with my tongue sound? I haven’t done any stinging in that manner other than the kisses with Jedd. Second, I don’t think I’ve stung in a figurative manner half as much as I did a month or so ago, working hard at keeping my calm and strangely finding it isn’t taking as much work as it used to. The bee reference still fits me, though. Bees work hard. They persist and persevere. By the grace of God, I’ve done the same thing, working even harder during the past months than I have in years. Third, I’m speaking out to this bear-man as if he knows Jedd, and finally, the fact I’m speaking to this invisible stranger at all is just ridiculous.