Like Dandelion Dust Page 2

  “Hey.” Molly felt her defenses come to life. “Give them time. They just moved here a week ago.”

  “I know.” Jack frowned. “But can’t they talk about something besides God? ‘God’s will this’ and ‘God’s will that’?”

  “Jack . . . come on.” Molly bristled. Beth was her best friend. The two were eighteen months apart, inseparable as kids: Beth, the younger but somehow more responsible sister, and Molly, the flighty one, always in need of Beth’s ability to keep her grounded. For the past three years Molly had worked on Beth, trying to get her and Bill and their four kids to move to West Palm Beach. “Be fair.” She was careful with her tone. “Give them a chance.”

  The lines around Jack’s eyes relaxed. “I’m just saying . . .” He raised his brow at her. “They’re uptight, Molly. If that’s what church does to you”—he released her hand and brushed at the air—“count me out.”

  “The move’s been hard on them.”

  “I guess.”

  “Hey, Daddy, know what?” Joey tapped both their shoulders and bounced in his booster seat. “The Great White is as long as four daddies. That’s what the picture shows.”

  The sparkle instantly returned to Jack’s expression. “Four daddies! Wow . . . how many little boys would that be?”

  “Probly a million-jillion.”

  They turned in to the restaurant parking lot. “Here we are!” Jack took the first space available. “Pineapple pizza coming up.”

  “Jack . . .” Molly wasn’t finished. She winced a little. “I forgot to mention—” She already knew the answer, but her sister made her promise to ask. “Beth and Bill want us to come to church with them Sunday. They’re trying out the one down the street from the school.”

  Jack leaned over and kissed her cheek. He kept his face a few inches from hers. “When Bill says yes to one of my poker parties, I’ll say yes to church.”

  “Okay.” She hid her disappointment. “So that’s a no?”

  “That’s a no.” He patted the side of her face. The teasing left his eyes for a moment. “Unless you want me to. If it matters to you, I’ll go.”

  Molly loved that about Jack. He had his opinions, but he was willing to do things her way, always ready to compromise. “No.” She gave him a quick kiss. “We’re going out on the boat this Sunday. That’ll put us closer to God than a church service ever could.”

  Joey was already out of the car and up on the sidewalk, waiting for them. Jack opened his car door and chuckled. “Well said, my dear. Well said.”

  Not until they were inside the restaurant ordering their pizza did a strange ribbon of fear wrap itself around Molly’s throat. Their attitude toward church was okay, wasn’t it? They’d never been church people, even though Beth talked to her about it often.

  “You need to take Joey,” Beth would say. “All children need to be in church.”

  Molly looked at Joey now, golden-haired, his eyes adoringly on Jack as they considered the options at the pop machine. What they had was fine, wasn’t it? They believed in God, in a distant sort of way. What harm was there in finding Him at a lake instead of in a pew? Besides, they already had everything they needed.

  Jack’s recent promotion had placed him in a dream job as vice president of sales for Reylco, one of the top three pharmaceutical companies in the world. He was making a healthy six-figure salary, overseeing top international accounts, and traveling half as often as before. They lived on a corner lot in Ashley Heights, one of West Palm Beach’s finer upscale neighborhoods. The three of them took trips to Disneyworld and Sanibel Island and the Bahamas, and they fished at Lake Okeechobee once a month.

  Every now and then they spent a Saturday afternoon serving lunch at a homeless mission in Miami, and then they’d take in a play in the city’s art district. On weekdays, after dinner, they walked to Fuller Park with Joey and Gus, their friendly lab. There Jack and Molly stole kisses and laughter, watching sunsets while Gus ran circles around the playground and Joey raced to the top of the slide over and over and over again.

  They kept an Air Nautique ski boat at Westmont Pier, and on most Sundays they drove to the white sandy seashore and cruised to the bay, where water was smooth and deep blue and warm. They’d take turns skiing, and Joey would sit in the back, watching, pumping his fists in the air when one of them cleared the wake. This spring, for the first time, they’d bought a pair of training skis for Joey. More sunshine and laughter, day after day, year after year.

  These thoughts chased away Molly’s strange fear, and she found a window table where she could wait for her men. The uneasy feeling lifted. Why worry? The golden hue, the shining light, the pixie dust—all of it must be real. They were happy and healthy and they had everything they’d ever wanted. Most of all, they had Joey.

  What more could God possibly give them?

  Chapter Two

  Wendy Porter stared out the windshield and tried to slow her breathing. A cigarette. That’s what she needed—a strong, no-filter cigarette. She reached over and rummaged through her purse, past the Wal-Mart receipts and old tubes of lipstick and the pink cracked mirror. Beneath her wallet and the smashed breakfast bar she’d kept there for the past month. Through the crumbs and loose change that had gathered at the bottom. Where were they? She took her eyes off the road and gave a quick look into the purse. She still had a few Camels, right? The good kind?

  Then she remembered, and she put her hand back on the wheel.

  The smoke would cling to her pretty pink blouse and black dress slacks. It would linger in her freshly washed hair and ruin her minty breath. Five years had passed since her husband, Rip, had been a free man. She didn’t want to put him in a bad mood.

  The news she had to tell him would take care of that.

  Wendy tapped one slim fingernail on the steering wheel. So maybe it didn’t matter if she had a cigarette. She tapped some more. No, better not.

  “Dirty habit,” Rip used to tell her before his arrest. Sometimes he’d snatch a cigarette from her lips and break it in half. “I hate when you smoke. It isn’t sexy.”

  Not that Rip had ever been the picture of sex appeal. Last time they were together, he’d slugged her in the jaw while the two of them yelled at each other in the Kroger parking lot. The reason he was angry? She’d forgotten to clip the fifty-cent coupon for ground round. A police officer a dozen yards away saw everything and hauled Rip in for battery. With a list of priors, Rip was lucky to get six to eight in the Ohio State Penitentiary, out in just five for good behavior.

  Wendy turned onto the interstate and pressed her high-heeled shoe hard against the gas pedal. It was four o’clock—almost rush hour. She had to make time while she could. A quick check in her rear view mirror and she switched to the fast lane. With any luck she’d reach the prison in half an hour. She and Rip had a lot to talk about. The last thing she wanted was to get things off to a bad start by being late.

  She cracked her window and a burst of fresh air filled the car. Her mama had told her to leave Rip years ago. Way before the Kroger incident. And truth was, there’d been other guys in the past five years. A girl couldn’t sit home year after year waiting for her man to get out of jail. Even a man she was crazy about. She hadn’t been sure he’d even want to see her when he was released. Not until last week. The phone call came as she walked through the back door after church.

  “Baby . . .” His voice was more gravelly than before. “It’s me.”

  The call made her breath catch in her throat. She set down her Bible and the church bulletin and pressed the receiver hard against her ear. “Rip?”

  “Yeah, baby.” There was a tenderness in his voice, the tenderness that had attracted her so long ago. “Did you miss me?”

  “It’s . . . been a long time, Rip.”

  He rarely called, hated having a long-distance relationship. At Wendy’s last visit, fourteen months earlier, he’d told her not to come again until he was released. Seeing her made the time pass too slowly, he said. So how
was she supposed to take that? She was not for a minute expecting a call from Rip.

  Of course, she’d drop everything if he was interested again. She’d given her heart to Rip a long time ago. He would own it until the day she died. She gathered herself. “You mean . . . you wanna see me?”

  “See you? I’m crazy about you, baby. And get this . . . I’m out in a week. The thing I want more than anything in life is to walk out these doors and see you there. Waiting for me.” He hesitated, and she could hear the voices of other prisoners in the background. “Be there, baby . . . please?”

  “Oh, Rip.” When she could breathe normally, she grabbed a piece of junk mail and a pen. “When are you getting out?”

  He gave her the details, and then he exhaled, slow and tired. “I’m sorry, Wendy.” His tone was broken. Maybe that’s why his voice sounded strange at first. He sniffed hard. “What I did . . . it was wrong. You don’t have to worry. It ain’t gonna happen again.”

  Wendy felt a bubble of anxiety rise within her. He’d been sorry before, right? Why would this be different? Every time Rip Porter walked back into her life, breathing apologies and lies, he left her with a broken heart and a few broken bones. Her mama said she’d be crazy if she took him back again, but that was just it. She was crazy. Crazy for Rip, in a way that didn’t make sense. She loved him, that’s all she knew. No matter his history, no matter the times when she was the target of what felt like a lifetime of rage, she loved him. There would never be anyone for her but Rip.

  “I missed you, baby.” His voice grew huskier as he breathed across the line. “I hope you kept my side of the bed open.”

  Fear poured into Wendy’s veins. What if Rip found out about the other men? There hadn’t been many, really. Four or five, maybe, and not for the past six months. That’s why she was back at church. Trying to make a new go of things. Still, Rip hated other men. Hated when they looked at her, and hated it more when she looked back. If anyone from the pool hall ever told him about the other men, he’d . . . well . . . Wendy was sure whatever happened would make the incident at the Kroger look like horseplay.

  But before she could think it all through, trying to imagine what life would be like with Rip back at home, she gave him the answer he wanted. “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, baby.” His relief was tangible over the phone line. “I’ll be counting the days.”

  Wendy settled back against the driver’s seat and stared at the road ahead.

  Since that phone call, her emotions had been all over the map. Excitement and the thrill of imagining herself in his arms gave way to a very real, very consuming fear. She hadn’t told him about the boy. Now that he was getting out, she had no choice. He’d find out one way or another, and the longer she waited, the angrier he’d be. Rip couldn’t really blame her for not telling him sooner. The two of them barely saw each other over the past five years, and as for her little boy—she tried not to think about him. Only on his birthday in September and a few other times each month when her heart raced ahead of her.

  She reached over and rifled through her purse again. A piece of gum, that’s what she needed. When she knew Rip was coming home, she’d hidden her smokes in a box in the garage. But now she was going crazy without them. Her fingers brushed against a sticky ballpoint pen and a wad of tissue paper, and then finally what she was looking for. A broken stick of peppermint Eclipse. She brushed off a layer of lint and popped the gum between her lips.

  She hadn’t planned to ever tell Rip about the boy. It wasn’t any of his business. She’d had the baby at the beginning of his prison sentence, after all—a sentence that kept Rip in the slammer for five years. There were reasons why she gave the boy up, why she found a nice family and turned him over. But part of it was a matter of being practical. She had to work two jobs to pay the bills, right? How would she do all that and raise a baby by herself?

  She found out about the baby the week after Rip was locked up. Rotten luck, nothing but rotten luck. She didn’t visit Rip after her fifth month of pregnancy, not until she had her shape back and the baby was safe in his new home. Rip never suspected a thing. But the baby was his, that much she was sure about. The other men didn’t come into the picture until the second year of his term.

  The traffic grew heavier. She switched lanes again. The truth was, she’d almost done it, almost kept the boy. She didn’t sign the paperwork until after she had him and held him and—

  She blinked and the memory stopped short. There was no going back, no such thing as what might’ve been. What she did that day, she did for her baby, her son. He deserved more than round-the-clock day care and a father in prison for domestic violence. She picked the family, after all. They were perfect for her baby, willing to give him the life he could never have had with her and Rip.

  But more than that, her decision was ultimately based on one simple fact. She couldn’t tolerate seeing her little boy hurt. And if Rip got out and fell into one of his rages . . . Wendy shuddered and took tighter hold of the wheel. A man with a temper like Rip’s had a heap of changing to do before he could be any kind of father. It didn’t matter now. She’d signed both their names on the adoption papers and never looked back.

  Almost never.

  Tears stung her eyes and she cursed herself for being weak. The boy was better off, no question. What she’d done by giving him up made her the best mother in the world. Period. She drew a quick breath and dabbed her fingers along her upper cheeks. “Enough.”

  Her focus had to be on Rip now, and whether the two of them had anything left after five years of being apart. Had he gotten help for his temper, or maybe found Jesus? Or had the guys he ran with made him meaner? This was his second time in prison. Last time he came back showering apologies and sweet nothings, and he was hitting her again by the end of the week. Still, she loved him. Loved him and pined for him and wanted him back in the worst way.

  So maybe this time would be different. Wendy worked her gum, demanding what was left of the peppermint. Rip had sounded nice enough on the phone. Maybe he really had changed, and this time things would be better between them. He’d come home and give up the anger and shouting and hitting, and turn into the kind gentleman she had always known was buried somewhere inside him. It would happen one day, she knew it. Deep inside he had a heart of gold, Rip Porter. She would give him another chance, same as always, and maybe this time love would win out over all the anger.

  She eased her car back into the fast lane and picked up speed again. Yes, maybe everything would work out. Then when Rip’s temper was under control and he had a steady job, they could have another child, maybe two or three. A light rain began to pepper the windshield, and traffic slowed. Great. Rip hated when she was late.

  She flipped on the radio, gave each station three seconds to prove itself, and flipped it off again. Silence was better anyway. How was she going to bring up the subject, the idea that, hey, by the way, there was a baby and now he’s living with another family? Before they could move ahead, she had to give him the truth about the boy. No way around it; she had to.

  Brent and Bubba down at the pool hall both knew about her pregnancy. Brent lived a few blocks over. He and Bubba were on their way out one afternoon when she was at the curb getting the mail. She was days from delivering, and big as a house.

  Brent stopped and rolled down his window. He gestured at her belly. “That Rip’s kid in there?”

  Wendy glared at the man and gave no thought to her answer. “Of course it’s Rip’s.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Brent cussed and chuckled all at the same time. “Poor kid. Future’s already written with Rip as a daddy. Him sittin’ in the pen and all.”

  In the seat next to him, Bubba slapped his knee and laughed out loud. “Got that right!”

  Wendy waved them off, angry. “Ah, go off and get drunk,” she shouted. “And mind your own business!”

  Months could go by without seeing the rusty backside of Brent’s beat-up Ford. Wendy didn’t
see Brent or Bubba again for almost a year. But just yesterday she was mowing the yard—getting things in order for Rip—when Brent drove up and once more rolled down his window. “Heard Rip was gettin’ out.” He stretched his head through the window, shouting to be heard over the roar of the mower.

  “Yeah.” Wendy killed the engine. Sweat dripped down the side of her face, and she dragged her hand across her forehead. “Good news travels fast.”

  Brent craned his neck, peering into her side yard. “What happened to the kid?”

  Wendy was glad she was holding onto the lawn mower. Otherwise she would’ve fainted dead away, right there on the freshly cut grass. She had no family, no friends other than the people she’d met at church here and there. The baby was her deal, her decision. Not until that moment did it ever occur to her that just maybe the news might get back to Rip.

  Brent was waiting for an answer.

  “He, uh . . . we gave him up . . . to a family in Florida.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, as if giving the baby up for adoption was common knowledge. “Rip and I didn’t want a baby while he was in prison. You know?”

  “Hmmm.” Brent hesitated. “Doesn’t sound like my main man, Rip Porter. Guy always wanted a son.” He shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my business.” After a minute of small talk, he flashed her a grin that showed his silver tooth. “Tell Rip I got first game when he chalks up his cue stick.”

  “Yeah.” Wendy rolled her eyes and gave the mower cord a jerk. “Sure thing.”

  The man drove away in a cloud of exhaust fumes, but the conversation stuck. Now, twenty-four hours later, she had a knot in her stomach, thinking about the task that lay ahead. She had to tell Rip the truth. Tonight. When she picked him up. If she told him right up front, he wouldn’t have to hear the news from anyone else. That had to be better, right?

  The Ohio State Penitentiary was outside the city limits. Over the last few miles she picked up the time she’d lost. She wheeled the car into the parking lot and hurried herself toward the visitor area. The heel of her right shoe got stuck in a warm patch of asphalt. “Come on,” she whispered. Her heart beat so hard she wondered if it would break through her chest and race her to the front door. Once she was inside, her steps clicked out a nervous rhythm. She checked in, found a chair across the room from the prison door, and waited.