Page 9 of The Party Line

I started the engine and drove out of the circular driveway. I parked in the gravel driveway behind her ten-year-old pickup truck, grabbed the food from the back, and hurried inside the small house. I had only seen my mother cry a handful of times in my life—when she left me inthe kindergarten room the first day, when I graduated from high school, and the day we buried Aunt Gracie came to mind. But she was sitting at the kitchen table with tears streaming down her face that afternoon.

I set the food on the counter and rushed over to wrap her up in my arms. “What’s happened, Mama?”

“Thirty years ofhappeningall hit me at once this morning,” she said between sobs.

Evidently, she had been crying for hours, because an empty box of tissues was still in the middle of the table and the floor was covered with fluffy white wads.

I pulled one from a full box and gently wiped her tears away from her cheeks. “Talk to me and explain what has hit you. You are the strongest woman I know, and I can’t stand to see you cry like this.”

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and blew her nose. “Enough of this. I need to heat up the dinner you’ve brought me. Aunt Gracie always said that food heals a broken heart.”

“It might not heal it, but it’ll sure put a Band-Aid on it, and we both know the healing power of a Band-Aid and a kiss on the forehead.” There was no way I could slap a Disney princess Band-Aid on her heart, but I could give her a kiss on the forehead, and I did. “Now, you sit right there while I warm up your food. Beer or sweet tea?”

“Tea for me.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry that you are seeing me like this.”

“Hey, I remember lots of times in the past when you helped me through a crying jag. And you also know that I never let anyone cry alone.” I let the dammed-up tears stream down my cheeks. “What brought all this on, anyway?”

“Madge is selling the café. She called me today and offered it to me. I could use the money Gracie left me to put a down payment on it and borrow the rest from the bank, but ...” She paused, took a deep breath, and finally went on. “I got to thinking back over all my past mistakes and how the consequences of them got me to this point in my life. I’m looking fifty right in the eye, and I’m still a waitress and cook at thesame place where I went to work at sixteen. The same place where I met your father, and you know where that led. I’m not sure I’m capable of running a café. Madge is selling out because keeping help has become a major problem. I’d be inheriting that problem, plus having to learn about keeping books and all that.”

I put her food on a plate and stuck it in the microwave. “You never talked about my father except to tell me that he took off when he learned you were pregnant, and—”

“I found him on the internet this week,” she blurted out. “They say that bad news comes in threes, and I believe it. Aunt Gracie died suddenly. My job is in jeopardy. Your biological father died after a long bout with lung cancer six months ago. He was only fifty-one years old.”

My mind went into overdrive so fast that I didn’t hear the microwave ding. Did I have half siblings? Did I look like them? What was my father’s name?

“I know you have questions,” she finally said with a long sigh. “His name was Billy Grady. I was attracted to the bad boys, and he was the poster boy for that type.”

“Do I have siblings?” I whispered.

“None were listed.”

“Do I look like him?”

Mama shook her head. “Nope. You look like my grandmother. She was a tall redhead. Billy wasn’t much taller than me and had dark hair and brown eyes. Anything else?”

“Not tonight,” I answered, feeling a bit deflated. In my mind he had been a hero of some kind. A fireman who’d died rescuing a child from a burning building, a policeman who’d been killed by a fleeing bank robber, or even a movie star—and sometimes, in my dreams, he was George Strait.

“Good, because other than a few personal memories, that’s all I know. His obituary was really sparse,” Mama said.

“Let’s talk about that café,” I said when I finally got my mind to hop off the roller coaster and think about something else. “Do you wantto own it? You don’t have to go to the bank for a loan. You and I can buy the place for you with my inheritance, or you can retire and grow even more beautiful roses like the ones in the front yard.”

Mama shook her head. “That money is yours, not mine.”

I put her food on the table and sat down beside her. “No, Mama, it is not just mine. You sacrificed for me all those years and would have borrowed money for my college if Aunt Gracie hadn’t insisted on paying. So if you want that café, we will buy it. If you want to retire, I’ll put you on the estate payroll. Think about it a few days.”

Mama raised an eyebrow. “She left me money, too, you know.”

“I know, and neither of us ever need to work another day in our lives.” I patted her on the shoulder. “I happen to like my job, and I’d go bananas if I didn’t work. But after more than thirty years of waiting on people, I really thinkyoushould retire. Maybe you could do some traveling or upgrade your truck.”

“Sweet Lord!” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s too much to think about today—but thank you, Lila, for giving me the gift of a choice.”

I covered her free hand with mine. “I love you, Mama, and I appreciate everything you’ve ever done for me.”

Chapter Three

Strawberry season had always been an exciting time of year for me. The berries ripened the first couple of weeks in March in our part of the state. Folks would come from miles around to pick their berries, and Aunt Gracie would let me sit behind the table with her and Mr. Thurman while she helped him with the sales. Everett would be setting up the canopy and tables nearly every morning once the berries began to really redden.

Before I started to school, we didn’t see many people other than Jasper, the folks at church on Sundays, and, until they all passed away, maybe weekly visits from Gracie’s poker friends. So strawberry season was the time when lots of folks came out to Ditto to gather what Gracie called the very best strawberries in Atascosa County. When folks asked Everett how he grew such juicy berries, he would tease and say that it was an old family secret. That morning, when I took my break and carried my glass of sweet tea out to the back porch, the idea of that secret hit me.

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