Heart of Gold

  “Really? How long will you be gone?” This was the first time he’d mentioned leaving. Had they grown that far apart?

  “Be back on Saturday. There’re some great lectures on the agenda.”

  “Do you need me to take you to the airport?”

  “No. Trent has a meeting in Hays that day. He said I could ride with him.”

  “Ah.” She paused for a moment to think about how to phrase what she planned to say next, but decided to hell with it. “Jason wants to go back into the studio.”

  His eyes flared.

  “But I told him I’d like to take a break for a month or so.”

  He visibly relaxed. “Good. Zoey will appreciate that.”

  The knowledge that this had nothing to do with their daughter almost made her lash out. Instead she swallowed the urge to set him straight and changed the subject. “So, did you find an assistant for your office?” The college student who worked for him quit to move to Topeka. He’d just begun advertising for her replacement when Roni flew out to the West Coast.

  “Not yet. Hoping to hire somebody soon, though. My practice isn’t that busy, but having someone handling the paperwork is helpful.”

  Roni felt as if they were two strangers conversing. In spite of her having voiced interest in what was going on with him, he’d not reciprocated. How they were going to close the chasm between them and get back to the love they’d once shared was anyone’s guess. There was no guessing about how much this was hurting her, though. None.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  She wanted to ask why he’d pretended to be asleep last night. She knew that to be the case because Reggie snored. In fact, some nights he snored so loudly she had to place her pillow over her head to muffle the sound so she could sleep. There’d been no snoring last night. But instead of asking, she answered his question with a shake of her head. “Nope. I’ll let you get back to your reading.” And she withdrew.

  Upstairs she looked in on Zoey. “Whatcha doing, shortcake?”

  Zoey grinned, but her eyes never left the flat screen on the wall. “Watching Danica Patrick.” The room was loud with the drone of race car engines.

  “Can I join you?”

  “Sure!”

  Roni walked over to the bed, where the thoroughly enthralled Zoey sat cross-legged in the center, and settled her hip on the edge. Cars were zooming like crazy around the track. “Now which car is she in again?”

  “The green one. Number ten. The Godaddy.com car.” She pointed at the screen. “See, there she goes. She driving a Chevy SS, but sometimes she’s in an Impala.”

  Roni had no idea if that was significant, but she was impressed by Zoey’s knowledge.

  Zoey’s eyes were going around and around with the flow of the race. “She’s the only girl to ever come in third at the 500. And the only one to win the pole.”

  “Wow.” Roni’s sports were football and basketball. NASCAR was a whole ’nother world.

  “And she started driving go-karts when she was ten. Same age as me.”

  When Zoey looked her way, Roni chuckled and asked, “And you’re telling me this why—like maybe I don’t already know?”

  “I really want to drive go-karts.”

  “Do you now?”

  “I really, really do.”

  “Is there a go-kart track somewhere near town?”

  “I think so. Amari’s dad takes him all the time.”

  “Okay. Let me talk to your dad and Trent, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Zoey beamed before refocusing on the race.

  Temporarily setting aside her inner fears that Zoey might get hurt driving go-karts, Roni took a moment to glance around at the changes in Zoey’s room decor. Gone were the Disney princess posters and all the Barbie stuff. Instead the walls were now graced with the likes of a smiling Danica Patrick holding her helmet on her hip and members of the WNBA in various basketball poses. Serena Williams, bent at the waist, fist balled up in triumph, held court on the wall by Zoey’s closet. And her prized green-and-black Patrick leather jacket hung on a hook on the wall next to the flat-screen. Everyone knew green was Zoey’s favorite color—it was the color of her late mom’s eyes. Roni glanced over at the framed picture of the smiling Bonnie on Zoey’s nightstand and wondered if it was Patrick’s signature color that had initially drawn her to be a fan, but thinking about that, she decided probably not. This was all Trent and Amari’s doing. The day Trent allowed Zoey to help him and Amari at the garage, her little girl’s life changed. She’d become confident, more self-assured, and car crazy. The shy little girl they’d adopted three years ago and thought mute because she didn’t speak now had so much confidence that Roni’d be willing to bet there wasn’t anything in this world Zoey didn’t think herself capable of doing. Unfortunately, being at the garage had also altered her relationship with her former BFF, Devon. “How’re you and Devon doing?”

  Zoey made a face. “If he’d stop being so fussy all the time. He acts like an old lady.”

  “That’s who he was raised by, honey.”

  “No kidding. He thinks he knows everything. If he tells me one more time that I’m not supposed to like working on cars, I’m going to punch him.”

  She thought back on the fight they’d had last year. “No punching allowed—we’ve already been through that once, remember? And you might want to cut him some slack.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we all change as we get older, and maybe he’s not sure who he wants to be or how to be it.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Zoey,” Roni warned.

  “Sorry, but he is.”

  Now that Zoey was speaking—thanks to the intervention of Reverend Paula—every now and then she let a few curse words slip out. Roni attributed that to her having been raised on the streets of Miami—and to hanging out with Crystal, Amari, and Preston. Roni slipped every now and again too, so she added herself to the list. Reggie, of course, had never let fly a curse word, at least not since she’d known him. He was from a very traditional upper-middle-class family who never cursed. His father was an architect and builder, and his mom had stayed home to raise Reg and his two younger brothers, which could be the reason he was having issues with her career.

  “Why do you look so sad?” Zoey asked, cutting into her musings.

  Roni played it off. “I’m just tired, babe. That’s all.” She knew Zoey didn’t believe her. Her daughter was old enough and astute enough to sense the vibes in the house, but Roni didn’t want her worrying, so she reached over and gave her a hug. “So what else have you been doing?”

  “Tamar took me to visit one of her old friends yesterday. His name’s Cephas Patterson, and he’s real ornery.”

  Roni chuckled at the descriptive wording. “Really?”

  Zoey told her about the visit, the shotgun, and the gold. “I don’t think he was really going to shoot her, and she said the gold is just an old myth.”

  “Gold or not, he sounds pretty scary.”

  “He’s just like Old Man Barker.”

  Roni listened while Zoey explained who Barker was before steering the conversation back to Mr. Patterson. “My mom and I checked on Old Man Barker every day, but Tamar only goes to see Mr. Patterson every now and then. What’ll happen if he gets sick or something, and he’s all by himself?”

  Roni had no answer for the earnest question in her eyes and tone. “I don’t know, but Tamar’s pretty smart. If she thinks he’s okay out there alone, you’ll have to go with that.”

  Zoey appeared to think that over and asked, “Is it okay if I ride my bike to check on him? I can even take him some of my lunch or some fruit and leave it by the fence. I won’t get shot.”

  “No.” She appreciated Zoey wanting to see to the man’s welfare, but not if he was waving around a shotgun. What if it went off accidentally, or worse, he shot her on purpose? No!

  “But, Mom—”

  “No.” She didn’t raise her voice. “Too d
angerous.”

  Pout. “Okay.”

  Roni placed a kiss against her brow. “I’m going to lie down and see if I can’t shake this jet lag.”

  “When you get up, can we go to the Dog for dinner?”

  “Sure can.”

  “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too.”

  After her nap, Roni found Reggie seated outside on the deck. She leaned around the door. “Zoey wants to do the Dog for dinner. What time’s good for you?”

  “Go on without me. Got some charts I need to go over.”

  She kept her disappointment hidden. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want us to bring you something back?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll make a sandwich.”

  “Okay.” She closed the door and pressed her back against it until the sting subsided.

  “Dad’s not coming?” Zoey asked as they got in the truck.

  “No. He has some work to catch up on.”

  “Oh.”

  Feeling Zoey’s disappointment match her own, Roni chose a light tone. “It’ll be girls’ night out. How’s that?”

  “Yay!!”

  So they went to the Dog and had burgers and fries, and after dinner, Zoey received her free dessert—a huge sundae big enough to share. They talked about Roni’s West Coast trip, whether Roni had talked to Amari’s dad about the go-karts yet, and what Zoey might say in her e-mail to Danica about the pajama problem. They had fun, but Roni worried about Reg, and Zoey worried about her mom and dad.

  C H A P T E R

  6

  Monday morning, Zoey joined Amari, Devon, and Preston out in front of her house for the bike ride to school. They all watched with envy as Eli James backed his car out of his driveway. As he slowly drove past them, he rolled down the window and called out as he did every morning, “Hey, Amari! Wanna race?” Grinning, he rolled the window back up, stopped at Crystal’s house to pick her up for the ride to school, and drove away.

  “That is so unfair,” Amari groused.

  Zoey strapped on the Danica Patrick helmet that matched her jacket. “You say that every morning.”

  “That’s because every morning it’s unfair. How come he gets to drive, and we have to ride our bikes?”

  “Because he has a car,” Preston pointed out.

  “Ah. The reason we call you Brain.”

  They pushed off and started up the street. Devon and Zoey rode at the front, while Preston and Amari brought up the rear.

  “I still don’t think it’s fair,” Amari said again.

  “But it isn’t going to change anything,” Preston pointed out, sounding exasperated. “We’re former foster kids. We know life can be unfair sometimes.”

  “When I get my car, I’m not giving him a ride either,” Amari declared, as if that would settle the matter.

  But Preston begged to differ. “He’ll be in college by then. He won’t care.”

  “Thanks for the support, my brother.”

  Devon piped up, “And Dad told you to quit fussing about Eli and his car anyway. He said there’s always going to be somebody getting to do something you can’t.”

  “Who asked you to be in this conversation?”

  “I can talk when I want to. It’s a free country. Right, Zoey?”

  “Name’s Bennett. Not in it.”

  “Now that, America, is a smart girl,” Amari crowed. “Take notes, Devon.”

  “Shut up. You take notes.”

  The two brothers went back and forth for the rest of the ride. Zoey turned to look at Preston. He replied with a shrug of his shoulders as in, What can you do?

  After reaching the school, they parked their bikes in the rack out front, removed their helmets, and went inside. The Marie Jefferson Academy was a big, beautiful brand-new building, but because there were so few students, Mr. Jack James, the only teacher, conducted class for everyone in one room. Zoey had recently discovered the old TV program Little House on the Prairie and thought their classroom a lot like Laura Ingalls’, except Laura’s school didn’t have computers, water fountains, or a fish tank.

  They always started off the day with the Pledge of Allegiance and the singing of the Negro National Anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.” Zoey and Devon alternated accompanying the song on the piano, and it was his turn that week.

  When the last notes had faded away and Devon returned to his seat, everyone took out their math books. Math was always the first lesson. Zoey was much better in the subject than she’d been in the past—she chalked this up to working in the garage, where she had to use socket wrenches of varying sizes, which helped her with her fractions (a five-eighths socket was larger than a half-inch one)—and she often helped Amari do the stocking, so she knew that a gallon of something like paint or oil was larger than a quart. As she began working on the assignment, she realized she’d learned a lot of things from being in Henry Adams. From Amari she learned: Never to steal the OG’s truck. From Devon: Never steal money from anyone—especially not Crystal. And most recently: Never try to trick your parents so you can visit bad places on the Internet, like Eli, Preston, Amari, and Crystal tried to do. Thinking of Crystal made her look over discreetly. If anybody in class had something smart-mouthed to say about her running away from home, they were keeping it to themselves, which made sense; no one in their right mind wanted to earn what Amari called the Wrath of Crystal.

  But to her, Crystal looked more distant than wrathful. Since she’d been back only a few days, no one knew anything about the circumstances that made her come home. Had something bad happened? Did she get homesick? Zoey didn’t know. Putting her questions aside, she refocused on her lesson.

  As always, they ate lunch outside. In another few weeks it was going to be too cold, so Zoey planned to enjoy it as long as the fall weather held. Crystal was seated at the big kids’ table, along with Eli and his girlfriend Samantha Dickens. Megan Tripp, Sam’s supposedly BFF, was with them as well, but no one liked Megan, so Zoey pretended she wasn’t there. Amari, Brain, Leah, and Tiffany had a table of their own, and she and Devon had theirs, but she was tired of eating with him, and this was the day she planned to do something about it.

  So she walked right past her old table, where Devon was getting his sandwich out of his bag, and set her lunch down about a half foot away from Amari. Whatever he and the rest had been talking about suddenly stopped when she took a seat. Refusing to make eye contact, she dug in her bag for her sandwich, cookies, and apple. She and Tiffany hadn’t gotten along since their run-in at the football game last Thanksgiving, when Zoey pointed out Tiff’s lack of dance skills, so of course she had something to say.

  “What are you doing at our table?”

  “Leave her alone,” Amari warned. Zoey kept eating her sandwich and smiled inside. Amari always had her back. Always.

  But Tiff ignored him. “This isn’t a table for little kids.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Preston asked before popping a few grapes into his mouth.

  Tiffany glared but kept her opinion to herself.

  Everyone’s smug smiles faded when Devon walked up. He calmly placed his lunch on the table and sat down across from Zoey, which earned her an impatient look of censure from Amari, which sent her urge to sock Devon sky-high.

  Amari opened his mouth to protest. Devon cut him off. “If she can eat here, I can too.”

  Amari’s mouth snapped shut. Shooting daggers at his little brother, he gathered up his stuff and stalked off. When he got about ten feet away, he plopped down in the grass and ate alone.

  “You know you’re giving your brother the blues,” Preston pointed out.

  “So what,” Devon replied disinterestedly.

  Zoey cut him a look and once again fought off the urge to say something mean.

  Over at the Power Plant, which held the town’s administrative offices, Bernadine settled in for her Monday-afternoon visits. Because there was always something going on in and around H
enry Adams, she’d instituted a specific day for folks to stop by and fill her in on whatever they felt she needed to know. Having a dedicated time cut down on people just dropping by and interrupting her daily workflow.

  First up was Sheila Payne. As VP of social affairs, she was responsible for pulling together the upcoming Friday-evening soiree celebrating the opening of the new grocery store. The ribbon-cutting ceremony would take place bright and early Saturday morning.

  “I have everything in place,” she reported while checking her notes. “Siz and Rocky will handle the catering, Siz’s band will provide the music. I told him to stick to the jazz, no hard rock stuff, and Tamar and her crew will help me bling out the gym.”

  While she continued to lay out the budget, the menu, the guest list, and the rest, Bernadine thought back on the old version of Sheila who’d arrived in town with a spine made of spaghetti and a husband every woman wanted deep-fried in oil. This new version had one of the steeliest spines around and was now a regular contributor to what made Henry Adams such a great place to be. The colonel treated her better as well.

  Sheila finally finished rattling off logistics, and the pleased Bernadine replied, “Sounds like we’re good to go.”

  “Thanks. Now, I’m thinking about having a townwide Thanksgiving.”

  Bernadine had no idea what that really meant. “Okay.”

  “We derive so many blessings from one another around here that I think we should celebrate it. I know I’m thankful for Henry Adams and all it’s done for my life. And I want to open it up to our out-of-town relatives. I know you have a sister, so maybe see what she and her family are doing for the holiday.”

  “I know what she’s doing. She’s bunking at my house for now, unfortunately.”

  Sheila cocked her head. “Problems?”

  “Many. But nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Okay. So you think this might be a good idea?”

  “I do. We’ve never done anything like this on my watch, and you’re right about us having much to be thankful for as a town.”

  Sheila seemed pleased by the verbal support.

  “Need to pick my brain about anything else?”