Chapter 22 - The Future She Left Behind

The morning of July Fourth dawned bright and early.

Jackson hadn’t gotten a peaceful night’s sleep since Katelyn had returned to town. He shouldn’t have encouraged her to stick around—heck, she wasn’t even trying and she was wiggling her way back into his heart.

The sun peeked over the horizon, lighting the sky with a warm glow. He crossed the street and hiked the half block to the town park, which was the size of three side-by-side house lots. Only a handful of trees, older than the town, stood sentry over the grounds. Ladies from the church had planted a wildflower garden and put a bench from Gifford’s Resale in the middle of it. The flowers always looked thirsty and hungover from too much sun.

Vern’s and Gary’s vehicles sat parked on the street, their truck beds loaded down with tent poles and canvas. Thanks to the Little Springs Ladies’ Society for suggesting permanent postholes be placed into the ground, there was no need to dig into the rocky, drought-stricken soil, and pitching the tents would take less than an hour.

“’Morning, Jackson.” Gary lowered the tailgate on the truck. “Heard we might hit ninety today.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” Jackson liked Gary. The fifty-year-old bachelor didn’t care for lengthy conversations, the weather being his favorite topic. They dropped the canvas onto the ground near the postholes, then went back to help Vern gather the poles.

A half hour later they’d tied down the canvas flaps and were admiring their handiwork when Reverend Billy Ray Sanders and his wife, June, drove up in the church van with the folding tables.

“Looks like we’re right on time.” The reverend walked to the rear of the van and opened the back doors. His wife remained in the front seat, talking on her cell phone. June offered a quick wave and a fleeting smile but otherwise ignored the men.

The couple was in their mid-thirties and had arrived a week after Elaine’s death to conduct her funeral. The husband-and-wife team had then remained in town and assumed Vern’s duties while he mourned his wife’s passing.

“We missed you in the coffee room after services last week, Vern,” Sanders said.

“I had things to do.”

Vern had admitted to Jackson that he avoided the social hour after the Sunday service because it was still too difficult for him to spend long periods inside the church without thinking of his wife. Not only had Elaine played piano for the choir, but she’d also taught Sunday school and a Bible study class.

“Hopefully you’ll join us for coffee next time,” Sanders said.

“Maybe,” Vern muttered.

The reverend had agreed to take over the church for a few months, but half a year had gone by and Vern didn’t appear any closer to resuming his preaching duties.

“Help me with this table.” Jackson walked off, Vern following. When they were out of earshot of Sanders and Gifford, Jackson said, “The reverend and his wife are ready to move on and help another congregation, but they can’t until you agree to take back the pulpit.”

“I’m thinking about retiring.”

“You tell everyone that, but you don’t mean it.”

“Sure, I do.”

“You’d miss lording it over folks,” Jackson said.

“How would you know that? You’ve only sat in the pews a few times through the years and those were for funerals.”

“Others have told me how good you are at saving souls on Sunday.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all.”

“If I go back to preaching, will you attend services?”

“The Boss and I hold our weekly powwows beneath the cars in the garage.”

“The Boss doesn’t drive a car.”

Jackson studied the old man.

“What are you gawking at?” Vern asked.

“There’s something different about you.” His sponsor’s brown eyes shone brighter these days and Jackson attributed Vern’s renewed energy to dating Shirley Pratt.

“I’m the same as I always was,” Vern said.

No sense riling him by suggesting he might be ready to move on after the loss of his wife, but Jackson was confident that the old man was strong enough to stand before his flock and preach the word of God. Vern hadn’t had a drink since the night he’d fallen off the wagon. Jackson admitted he might have jumped the gun when he’d asked Abby to return to Little Springs to take care of her father, but he’d been worried he’d lose his sponsor and his best friend. He hadn’t considered how it would impact Abby, who’d put her life on hold to take care of her father.

“You’ve been doing an awful lot with Shirley.” Twice Vern had canceled plans with Jackson so that he could show the older woman around the area—whatever that meant. The area consisted of a few miles in each direction. How much was there to see?

“What’s my spending time with Shirley got to do with anything?”

“Nothing. I figured you’d want to show off to her.”

“Show off what?”

“Your fire-and-brimstone speeches.”

“Did Abby say something to you about me and Shirley?”

Jeez, he hadn’t meant to open a can of worms.

Vern slapped his hand against his chest. “No one will ever replace Elaine in my heart.”

“Abby wants you to be happy and I haven’t seen you this content in a long time. I think it’s because of Shirley.”

Vern grimaced. “Shirley and Elaine would never have been friends.”

“Probably not.”

“Shirley’s an opinionated snob who thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, me included.”

Jackson grinned. “She keeps you on your toes.”

Vern’s mouth wrestled with a smile and lost. “I like that she’s unpredictable. I never know what’s gonna come out of her mouth.”

Jackson glanced across the park where Gifford and Sanders were putting the tables beneath the tent for the chili cook-off. “What does Abby think of Shirley?”

“She doesn’t like her. But that might be because Shirley suggested Abby needed to find a husband before she became an old maid.” Vern frowned. “Why are you grilling me with all these questions?”

“I’m not.”

“I haven’t pestered you about Katelyn.”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“What did you hear?” Jackson asked.

“You two were seen kissing down by the tracks.”

Had someone installed cameras near his and Katelyn’s secret spot? “It was one little peck.”

Vern stuck his foot out. “Pull the other one.”

Jackson wished he hadn’t confided his deepest fears to his sponsor, but Vern knew exactly how devastated he’d been when Katelyn had broken up with him.

“Katelyn’s part of your past. Nothing good will come out of going back there, even for old times’ sake.” Vern clasped Jackson’s shoulder. “You’re a different man now that you’ve stopped drinking.”

“Katelyn’s not the same person she was all those years ago, either.” He shrugged off his mentor’s touch. “We’re taking things slow.”

Vern pointed a gnarled finger. “You and slow don’t mix.”

“What do you say we call a truce and quit badgering each other about women?”

“Gary’s got this under control,” Vern said. “I’d better get home. Shirley’s coming over to help make my four-alarm chili.”

Vern’s chili recipe was more like one-alarm, but nobody had the heart to tell him. “I’m heading into Odessa,” Jackson said.

“You sure you don’t want to come to the celebration this afternoon?”

“I’ll be back in time for the fireworks.”

* * *

Jackson slid behind the wheel of his pickup and set the bakery box on the seat next to him—a peach pie he’d purchased from Mama’s Kitchen yesterday. He passed Doris’s house, then took the back road to the highway. As he drove across the tracks, Katelyn’s image popped into his head. She was even more beautiful at forty than she’d been in high school.

With Vern’s encouragement and a whole lot of AA meetings under his belt, Jackson had been able to place Katelyn on his shelf of life experiences and move on. But he hadn’t expected to have to move on from her twice in one lifetime.

When he approached the outskirts of Odessa, he took a frontage road and traveled a half mile before pulling into the driveway of a yellow Victorian with black shutters. He drove to the end of the lot, where a small, nondescript guesthouse sat. Joan Kimble stepped onto the back porch of the Victorian after Jackson got out of his pickup.

“Hi, Joan.”

“I see you brought another peach pie.”

“Wouldn’t show up without one.”

“Enjoy your visit.”

“Happy Fourth of July.” Jackson knocked on the front door, then turned the knob and walked in.

“I was hoping you’d bring a pie,” Nicole Parker said.

“Hi, Mom.” He set the bakery box on the kitchen counter, then gave her a kiss on the cheek before he settled on the couch. Even though he saw her twice a month, she looked as if she aged a year between each visit. “How are you?”

“Fair to middling.” She swung her wheelchair around and pushed herself closer to the coffee table. “Joan took me to a doctor’s appointment last week and my blood pressure was a little high. Dr. Hamilton changed my prescription.”

He never knew what to say when his mother discussed her health. A year ago a car accident had left her paralyzed from the waist down. The crash had killed her second husband—the man she’d married after she’d divorced Jackson’s father.

He’d been caught off guard nine months ago when he’d gotten a call from a rehabilitation center in San Diego, informing him that his mother was ready to be released. After the shock had worn off, he’d made the trip to California, thinking all he had to do was find her an apartment and then return to Texas. He hadn’t expected to see his mother in a wheelchair.

Since her husband was dead and she had no other kids or family except him, Jackson had brought her back to Texas and moved her into Joan’s guesthouse—close enough to Little Springs for him to check on her but far enough away that she wasn’t part of his day-to-day life. Three times a week a visiting nurse came in to help her shower, do laundry and clean the house. His mother paid Joan to do the grocery shopping and chauffeur her to doctor appointments.

Over the past several months as they’d become reacquainted, it was clear his mother remembered the past differently. She hadn’t kept in touch with him through the years, but she claimed she’d written numerous letters, insisting Jackson’s father must have tossed them into the trash. Jackson didn’t believe her, because he’d brought the mail in every day. He figured she told the lie because it made living with the guilt of abandoning her child easier.

At times he questioned his motive for reconnecting with his mother. Vern believed Jackson had forgiven her, but it was more complicated than that. His visits had served as a reminder to avoid personal relationships. His father’s drinking had destroyed their family and made his mother turn her back on her only child. Nothing good came from being married to a drunk.

Jackson hadn’t had a sip of booze in years, but he still had a lot of living to do, and without a crystal ball to see the future, he had no way of knowing if he’d be sober next week, let alone five years from now. Every day he woke up fighting on two fronts: remaining sober and wanting to remain sober.

“How’s that neighbor of yours who works at the church?” his mother asked.

“Vern?”

“I don’t know why I have trouble remembering his name.”

“He has a new lady friend.”

“That’s nice.” She stared out the front window.

Jackson hadn’t mentioned Katelyn. He didn’t see the point when he had no idea what was going to happen between them. He hadn’t spoken to or run into Katelyn since he’d interrupted her sketching at their private spot. He’d acted like a jerk when he’d stalked off, after she’d called him out on his antisocial behavior. He’d given up booze, returned to his hometown to run a business—didn’t that prove he’d moved on from the past?

But what if Katelyn was right and he was still holding himself back?

“Are you going over to the lake to watch the fireworks?” his mother asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He shook his head.

“Joan offered to drive me into Odessa to watch them go off at the park, but I don’t want to get eaten by mosquitoes.” She smiled. “How’s work?”

“Business is steady.”

“If you need a loan, I can give you one.” His mother’s deceased husband had managed a car dealership and had invested his savings in the stock market. The money, along with a life insurance policy, had left Jackson’s mother well-off, but he’d have to be in dire straits before he took her cash.

He searched for something to talk about and when his gaze landed on the stack of books sitting next to the TV, he asked, “What are you reading?”

She rolled her chair across the room and picked up the book on top of the pile. “The Life and Times of Lily Mills. It’s about an orphaned girl living in New York City during the late eighteen hundreds.”

That topic exhausted, he asked, “Is there anything you need me to repair while I’m here?”

“There’s a loose shelf in the kitchen cabinet.”

“I’ll take a look.” He searched each cupboard until he found the wobbly shelf, then fetched a screwdriver from the toolbox in his truck.

After tightening the shelf, he checked the others. When he went back into the living room, he found his mother asleep. Without making too much noise, he cut her a piece of pie, placed a fork on the plate, then covered it with plastic wrap and set it on the coffee table before slipping out the door.