Heart of the Country

  Dad nodded, gazing toward the door. “I guess you’re right.”

  “You okay?”

  “Sure,” he said with a smile, except I knew he wasn’t.

  “Maybe the two of you can talk later?”

  “Yes, that’s best,” Dad said.

  “Okay.” I gave him a hug and turned to Essie Mae. “Should we get on with it, then?”

  30

  FAITH

  I STOOD UNDER A TREE, letting the cold breeze blow the tears off my cheeks and hating myself. Loathing myself. Why couldn’t I just sing that stupid song? Why did every little thing cause me to emotionally collapse?

  I knew Essie Mae didn’t mean anything by it. It was practically the community’s theme song. Everyone loved when Momma sang it. Everyone loved when we’d sing it together. For all of them, it held good memories.

  And I wished, for the life of me, that it held only good ones for me, too. But with all those memories came the burden of my reality. And reality was something I was having such a hard time facing.

  “Hey.”

  I looked up, putting my hand on my chest. I thought I was alone.

  “I’d ask if you are okay, but I can see that you aren’t.” Lee’s gym shorts and the basketball under his arm told me where he was headed.

  Tears fell though I willed them not to. “I’m sorry,” I said, facing the wind again. “Just having a . . . moment. We have to stop meeting like this.” I tried a grin that crashed and burned into a grimace.

  He leaned against the tree, crossed his arms. “You know, when I was in New York, I was engaged.”

  “You were? I hadn’t heard.”

  “Her name was Isabel. We had this amazing relationship. Best of friends. She was studying to become a thoracic surgeon. We spent all our time together.”

  “Sounds lovely,” I said with a gentle smile.

  “It was. It was perfect. Or so I thought. But turned out not perfect enough for her. Six weeks before our wedding, she dumped me. Had somebody better lined up.”

  “Oh . . . wow. Sorry, Lee. That’s terrible.”

  “So I ran from here as soon as I got a chance and then ran back when I could. There were many reasons I chose to come home, but not all of them are noble or pure. We’re all runners from something. You know?” He nudged me. “It’s just that some of us prefer marathons.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I think I’m Ironman material.”

  “I was admiring your muscular calves.” He blushed just as I did. “Um . . . that didn’t come out quite like I meant it. Not that you don’t have awesome calves. I was just making a . . . I’m drowning here, aren’t I?”

  I nodded, stifling my laugh. “Yeah. Sinking like concrete.”

  “That’s my MO.”

  “You do it well.”

  “Thanks.” He looked at me for a moment. “So, you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. I just needed some air.”

  The wind blew through the silence between us.

  He cleared his throat. “Look, Faith, I don’t know how to say this. But I know it needs to be said between us. And maybe it will help you in some way. I don’t know how. But maybe it will.”

  I looked into his eyes. They were intense with care. He took a deep breath. “If you ever want to talk about that night, we can talk. Anytime. Anyplace. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” I tried to smile, but no matter what, under no circumstances would I ever talk to him about it.

  I sighed. That was my family talking, as usual. Now I just wanted to run. Again. Into that field. It beckoned me. There was something freeing about the way the wind tangled the hair and stung the eyes.

  I was saved from my indecision by Dad.

  “Faith?” He was walking toward us, his face a mess of concerned lines. “What are you doing? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “Lee.”

  “Mr. Barnett.”

  “Just got a call from Hardy. His truck is in the ditch again. Gotta go help pull him out. I’m going to take Liv’s truck over there. Can you give her a ride back to her house?”

  “Sure.” I noticed her, standing on the church steps, watching. “No problem at all.”

  Dad cut his eyes to Lee, who took the hint. “Um, I should get going. Desperately need a shower and some hamstring ointment. Sucks getting old. Talk to you two later.”

  Dad’s eyes were back on me. “Are you okay?”

  “I am, I promise. It just took me by surprise. I’m sorry to have embarrassed you by running out like that.”

  “Nonsense. Not worried about that at all. Essie Mae feels terrible.”

  “She shouldn’t. It’s nobody’s fault.”

  “Thought we’d go out for barbecue tonight.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “The heart doctor says it’s a no go, but it doesn’t hurt now and again. Everything I read says you shouldn’t deprive yourself.”

  I smiled. “I read depriving yourself can lead to early death.”

  “We must be reading the same articles.” He grinned, then patted me on the arm. “Okeydoke, see you this evening.”

  I walked to Olivia, who was buttoning up her coat. “Giving me a lift home?”

  “Of course.” I smiled tentatively at her, and she smiled back. We got into my car.

  “Fancy,” she said.

  I sighed. “Fancy got us nowhere. In fact, I think it got us to where we are now.”

  I expected her to ask more about that, but instead she said, “Tell me about your life in New York.”

  It surprised me. I glanced at her. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  I laughed. “Everything?”

  “You get to go to fancy parties?”

  I nodded. “All the time. Too many of them. After a while, they lose their luster.”

  “Just indulge me.”

  “Okay. Well, the way it works is that somebody throws a benefit party and people pay money to attend it and arrive in such expensive outfits they could feed an African village. There’s food, but more importantly alcohol. Open-bar benefits are the most popular. There’s music, and if you let it be, it can be fun. I won’t lie. I’ve had my share of fun.”

  “You never really liked parties. Not even in high school.”

  “I know. I still don’t. I have this friend, Maria, and she’s always dragging me to them. But I met Luke at one.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Charming. That’s the first word I’d use. And fearless. Funny. He could always make me laugh.”

  “Where’d y’all live?”

  “Our apartment overlooked Central Park. It was nice. Not too big, but big enough. I loved art, so we had a lot of original oil paintings from new artists. The biggest one I ever bought was bright yellow. Kind of blobbish. Not sure why it appealed to me, but Luke bought it for me anyway.”

  “What made you leave Juilliard?”

  I gazed out at hazy sunshine spread over the cornfields. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to answer that question. Everybody, I guess, assumed it was some big event. The truth was, it was nothing more than self-doubt built upon insecurity, chiseling away at my resolve until one day I couldn’t do it anymore. I decided to change the subject.

  “Have you ever talked to Lee?”

  “Sure. See him every Sunday.”

  “But talked to him.”

  “I don’t know. Not really, I guess. I mean, I don’t make a point of it, if that’s what you mean. He sure seems interested in talking with you, though.”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “Just a sisterly observation.”

  “He was in New York, like me. Same time I was, too.”

  “Heard his fiancée dumped him.”

  “Anyway, just wondering if you ever talked to him. About that night.”

  Olivia stared forward, expressionless. “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know. Just thought that you might.”

  “No.” br />
  “Me either.”

  “No point to it.”

  “You’re right.”

  We drove in silence for a little while.

  “You know, nobody ever asked me.”

  “Asked you what?”

  “If I had that same dream. Same as yours.”

  “What dream is that?” I asked, looking at her.

  “Singing.”

  I felt the tension in the car. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  “I just always wondered why nobody asked me. Why nobody had that same expectation of me. I mean, I know I could’ve never made it. I’m not nearly as good as you and Momma.”

  “Liv—”

  “No, no, it’s true,” she said, holding her hand up at me. “I get it. I mean, yeah, here in Columbus County at the country church, I’m all that and a bag of chips, but I recognize that’s as far as I’m going to shine. I don’t think anybody ever knew that when I was younger, I dreamed of singing at the Grand Ole Opry.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Her smile turned to a grin. “I used to sing by myself out in the barn, when nobody was around, pretending to be up on that big stage, in front of hundreds of people. But you know, I couldn’t even get the guts up to sing in front of anybody, so I bet I would’ve chickened out in front of a real crowd.”

  “You have a lovely voice. You always have.”

  “Guess so. But I didn’t have ‘it.’”

  “It?”

  “Maybe people with ‘it’ don’t know they have it. It’s hard to define.”

  “Liv, you never gave yourself enough credit. You still don’t.”

  She stared out the front of the car. “I’m happy here. You know? I really am. Got Hardy and the girls. Got a nice house and some land. Got Daddy. Church. I’m happy.”

  “I’m glad,” I said, putting my hand out to her arm. “I really am.”

  “I want you to be happy too.”

  I gripped the steering wheel. “I’ll get there.” Just not today.

  A bit of silence passed between us, but it was easy silence, the kind we used to enjoy when we were younger. But then, with a hissy undertone that sliced through the quietness, Olivia said, “I don’t want you to talk to Lee. Let bygones be bygones, Faith. That’s how we do it around here. No reason to go bringin’ up the past.” She glanced at me and nodded that I should agree.

  I nodded back, but I was lying.

  31

  CATHERINE

  “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” I whispered. But before he could answer, the pain crashed over me again and I screamed. God, the anguish. Must You torture me? Must it be this way?

  I felt him wipe a tear. When I opened my eyes, tears were running down his own face. I wanted to wipe them. But I couldn’t move. My eyes drifted to his arms. Muscles bulged from beneath his short-sleeved shirt. Blue veins protruded from his temple. His neck. But the panic that had seized his expression for the last however many minutes wasn’t there. That kind of frightened me. It was the one thing I could count on every time I opened my eyes. Where did it go? What did it mean that it wasn’t there?

  I couldn’t get out what I wanted to ask and wondered why my body wasn’t letting me stay unconscious. Why I wasn’t going into shock. And then I realized the pain had vanished again.

  I was alone with my thoughts, dizzy with panic and regret and hope and despair. It just seemed that I wasn’t going to pull out of this, no matter how much I willed it or wanted it.

  And now I wasn’t sure I did. I loved my girls so much. I loved Cal more than life itself. But it was time I faced my God.

  I saw myself crumpled in a ball at His feet, ashamed that I couldn’t look at Him. I’d made mistakes in my life. Plenty of them. Spread out over a lifetime, maybe they didn’t add up to much, but brought before my eyes, they caused me to hide my face. I couldn’t bear to look at them.

  I felt filthy. Naked. Raw. My mistakes heaped in front of me as evidence, too much to lift or move. There was a stench to them, like rotten garbage.

  I wanted to vomit. I wanted to run. But as quickly as the terror had cloaked me, more images of my life breezed into the darkness. I lifted my chin as they lit up the darkness like fireworks. And in all the sweetness that floated above me, I saw a hand. I couldn’t see it with my eyes, but I could with my heart. I saw Him through it all, like a transparent light glowing behind a thin fabric. He was quiet but not timid. Kind but fierce. His goodness hovered over my entire life, and I did not see a moment when He was not there.

  Even the times when I thought I was totally alone.

  I saw the day I decided to give up my dream of singing. I sat on a golden hill, the grass dead from a long winter. My knees were pulled to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. The sky looked like a torch, with the sun’s dying light glowing from behind a storm cloud. Distantly, I heard the thunder. I remember listening for God’s voice.

  The flashes of lightning, hollow and ghostly inside the clouds, brought me my answer.

  I had an entire community urging me to go, to pursue my dream, to put Columbus County on the map. I had people coming to tell me about all the times that one of my songs changed their lives, in one way or another. I even had a music manager from Nashville tell me he’d sign me as soon as I made it out that way.

  All the voices. All the promises. All the opportunity.

  And then there was my heart.

  32

  FAITH

  CHURCH HAD BEEN A CONSTANT since I was a kid, and there was hardly ever an excuse that got us out of it. Not even the stomach flu, if you hadn’t thrown up in the last six hours. As much as we hated it sometimes, I grew to appreciate it more when I became a teenager. I understood the richness of tradition and how it bonded our family together.

  But if I was honest, I never thought much beyond the Sunday dinner prayers or the candlelit singing of “Silent Night.” I didn’t seem to have the faith that my parents had or for which I was named. Maybe I felt I was in it by proxy.

  When I met Luke, we talked about how we were raised. Both Christian, and that was a relief. But it was never a part of our daily lives. We even eloped, and that was the part I regretted most—that it was more legal and less spiritual.

  It wasn’t that I dismissed God. I said my prayers, but not often and not consistently and most certainly with less enthusiasm than I gave to most everything else I did in my life.

  Not until I was driving to North Carolina, in the quietness of the car, did my soul do more than just glance upward. It stared, hard, into the still, silent vastness where we all hope God dwells.

  When I was little, I asked my dad why God didn’t speak to me. He asked me how I knew whether or not He was speaking. I told him that I couldn’t hear Him. Dad smiled and said that was because I was listening with my ears. Then he put his hand over my heart and said that I had to listen in there.

  “Why? That seems awfully hard to hear inside your own body,” I said.

  He replied, “Just the opposite. It’s quiet in there, so He can speak and be heard. Outside, there’s a bunch of noise.” I remember thinking how smart that was of God, except what I didn’t realize was how much I wanted to listen to all that noise.

  I looked at Dad as we drove to church together now, in his truck. His temples were so gray. Creases sliced into the sides of his face. He was whistling a hymn, but I didn’t recognize which one. He looked happy. But after Mom died, I’d known that Dad was struggling, and I had noticed that I hadn’t seen him pray at all. I asked him why, if he was mad at God.

  It was a bold question because Daddy had always been a private man, and he didn’t speak much about things that concerned the heart. But I remember him looking at me with eyes that had squinted against a thousand suns and saying, “Sometimes there are no words to pray, but that doesn’t mean that God doesn’t know what you’re saying.”

  Driving back from New York, God and I had an entire conversation and I never spoke a word. But more was said and heard in that ca
r ride than maybe in my whole life.

  I missed Luke. So much. I missed the phone calls during the day. The little silly presents he’d bring sometimes when he worked late. I missed the way he always looked like I took his breath away when I wanted to show him a new blouse or dress. I didn’t want to miss him, but I did, so I let that stay in my heart where God could find it, safe and sound.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you something? Personal?”

  Dad’s eye twitched, but that was nothing new. If you weren’t talking about NASCAR, football, hunting, or the almanac, it usually made him uncomfortable. “Sure.”

  “Did you ever forgive Mom? For dying?”

  Dad’s eyes cut sideways. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Because I don’t know if I ever did.”

  “It wasn’t your mother’s fault.”

  “I know. But I was still mad at her.”

  Dad’s shoulders slumped a bit and he softened. “I know what you mean.” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel and we didn’t say much more, except to comment on the nice weather and the farmer selling pumpkins from the back of his truck.

  Dad parked the truck and we got out. Eddie and Sherry Beltram waved at Dad, and I sat for a moment and watched him converse with his two good friends. There was a genuine warmth there. Good-hearted laughing. I wondered if I had that at all in New York. Did I have one true friend there?

  Maria? She liked me, I knew. But I wondered: if I declared I’d never go to a party again, would she give me the time of day?

  I shut the door of the truck and glanced to the far corner of the parking lot, where I saw Lee sitting in his truck, slamming back a cup of coffee. I glanced at Dad, who was still with the Beltrams, so I decided to go catch up with Lee. He was getting out, balancing a Bible and the coffee while tying his necktie.