Terry-Joe’s bike passed another vehicle that pulled into the driveway and stopped. Craig Chess parked in the sun, willing to brave the hot interior rather than deal with the sticky residue dripping from the pecan tree. He waved to Bronwyn as he approached. “Good morning. Hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”
Bronwyn managed to keep her voice steady as Craig strode toward her. Terry-Joe was a good-looking boy, but Craig was a man, and the awkward feeling in her belly returned. “Not to tell a man his job, but shouldn’t you be in your pulpit?”
“Already done. The turnout was pretty light. Makes the service go quickly.” He sat on the porch steps at her feet. When he looked up at her, the sunlight edged her in a halo. It was a bit disconcerting. “You look like you feel better.”
“I do. Getting the Eiffel Tower off my leg helped.”
“I bet.” He nodded at the mandolin. “Do you play?”
“I’m learning,” she said truthfully.
“I read somewhere that music’s good therapy for head trauma. And, in my experience, for making life a little better in general.”
“Do you play?”
“I tinker. Piano, organ, some guitar. Never tried a mandolin, though.”
Chloe emerged from the house, barefoot and wearing a comfortable summer dress. Her black hair hung loose. Craig immediately stood. “Mrs. Hyatt,” he said.
“Reverend Chess, what a surprise.” She looked around. “Where’s Terry-Joe? Jack Tenney just called for him.”
“He’s on his way there,” Bronwyn said.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Craig said. “I wanted to check on Bronwyn and see if she needed anything from town.” And, he thought to himself, to see what the devil Don Swayback meant about not finding the road. And to make up for being a coward on Thursday. “I’m going into Johnson City later this week, so if you all need anything picked up there, I’d be glad to.”
Chloe smiled, and for an instant Craig felt a little dizzy. The resemblance between mother and daughter was extraordinary, but the differences were even more pronounced. There was a hard edge to Brownyn, but Chloe was all soft curves and gentle feelings, an earth mother in the truest sense. And, he realized uncomfortably, as sexy in her mature way as Bronwyn was in her youthful one.
Chloe’s smile grew into a grin, as if she’d followed his thoughts. “I’ll pour you kids some iced tea,” she said, and went back inside.
Craig turned to Bronwyn. “So… what sort of music do you listen to?”
She didn’t want to give him the same answer she’d given Terry-Joe; a non-Tufa might not get it. She tapped her temple and said, “Things are still a little scrambled up here. I’ll have to take a rain check on answering that. What about you?”
“Ironically, my favorite musician is John Hiatt.”
“No relation to us, I reckon.”
“Well, it is spelled differently.”
“Not exactly religious, though, is he?”
“You think religious people can only listen to religious music?”
“I thought professionally religious people had to, yeah.”
“Maybe at one time, and maybe some still. But I don’t hold with isolating yourself from the world. I may not watch MTV or play on the computer every night, but I try to leave myself open to new things. If I disagree with something, I like to be able to explain why. To myself, if no one else.”
“So do you agree with the war?” she asked, then mentally slapped herself. Why was she trying to pick a fight?
He didn’t seem offended. “Me? No. The whole ‘thou shalt not kill’ rule is pretty clear.” Suddenly he remembered whom he was talking to. “I hope you don’t take that personally.”
She laughed. “No. I’ve seen plenty of Christian killers, and Muslim killers, and the occasional Jewish killer. As near as I can tell, believing in their various gods just eggs them on.”
“What denomination are you?” he asked as casually as he could.
“My family’s Tufa, Reverend. We believe what we’ve always believed.”
Smiling, he pressed on. “And what’s that?”
“That it’s not polite to discuss religion with company.”
He leaned a little closer. “And how long until I’m not company?”
“I’m afraid you’ll always be company to most of the Tufa, Reverend, even if you married me.”
Instantly she blushed bright red and looked away. Where the hell had that come from?
Craig stood, brushed off his jeans, and said, “Well, I didn’t mean to be rude. It was nice to see you again, Bronwyn.”
Chloe came out with two glasses of tea, and looked puzzled when she saw Craig on his feet. “Not leaving so soon are you, Reverend?”
“I don’t want to tire Bronwyn out. Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Hyatt. I’ll take a rain check, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course. You’re welcome any time.”
Chloe watched Craig get into his car and drive away. “He is a handsome man, isn’t he?”
Bronwyn said nothing, instead staring at a viceroy butterfly as it danced across the yard. She’d seen the flash of hurt in Craig’s eyes, and had let him go without a word. Was the Bronwynator, who’d once propositioned her sexy-bald high school principal, suddenly ashamed she found a man attractive? Had she deliberately driven him off?
Chloe sat down, sipped the tea she’d intended for Craig, and said, “You think you’re up to doing it?”
Bronwyn’s eyes opened wide. “What, with the preacher?”
“No, learning to play again. What did you think I meant?”
“Never mind. And it’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
Chloe looked down. “I reckon not. You have to take it on.”
“Because you’re ready to die.” It came out as an accusation.
Chloe sighed. “No, Bronwyn, I’m not ready to die. I’m not like you, I never sought it out to see what it felt like. And it beats me where you get it from; your daddy’s the most sensible man I ever met, and your brothers are both level-headed, even Aiden. I never thought I was a wild one, but it had to come from somewhere, and you and me, we’re Tufa women, so we’re pretty connected.”
“Don’t feel guilty for me, Mom,” Bronwyn said with no sympathy. “I did what I wanted, every day of my life. The time to turn me from that road was when I was little and still scared of you. It’s too late for both of us now.”
“No, ma’am,” Chloe said seriously. “It’s never too late, not for a Tufa. We got all of time to play in, if we want it. You don’t like who you are, change it.”
“Do you like who you are?”
“I’ve got a good man who loves me, two fine sons, and a war hero for a daughter. I know my songs, I know my stories. Yeah, I like who I am.”
“You never wanted to be more than that? More than some Tufa jukebox?”
“You seem to think that ain’t enough. It is for me. Lots of people never know their purpose, never know their songs or their stories. Rich ain’t just about money.”
“So you’re rich.”
“You may understand that sometime. You might even feel the same way. I sure hope you do, Bronwyn, because it’s the sweetest feeling in the world. I ain’t in no hurry to give it up, but if the night wind wants me, I’ll go with no regrets. When them Iraqis had you, could you have said the same thing?”
Bronwyn started to get angry. “No, Mom, I couldn’t because I was too fucking busy fighting to stay alive. I didn’t just sigh and accept the next song on the playlist, like you’re doing. You want to leave Aiden without a mother? You think that’ll make him rich?”