“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to lean on Anna Rose.” Jorja crossed the room and stood to the side to let Ora Mae go first. “Maybe I could learn to get along with Taryn, but even that’s doubtful.”
Ora Mae made a clucking sound like an old hen gathering in her chickens. “Well, darlin’, if they haven’t changed their ways, then that’s understandable, but don’t go judging them too harshly. A lot of things that got blamed on Taryn weren’t her fault, and Anna Rose just liked to have a good time. If any of you ever need to talk through the week, though, I’m glad to listen.”
“Yes, ma’am, and thank you,” Jorja said with a long sigh. “I’m trying to be tolerant, but it’s tough some days.” She tried to think of something positive to say, and it finally came to her. “At least I’ve got VBS in the evenings for the next few days, and my church at home is televising their services on Sunday, so I’ll feel at home then—but I’m never moving back to Shamrock. There’s too many dark memories here.”
Ora Mae patted her on the shoulder. “I know, honey.” She stopped at the door leading into the sanctuary and lowered her voice. “Not all of us are blind and deaf to what happens or happened, but please know you are always welcome to come join me on Sunday mornings for services. I’ll be glad to save you a seat beside me and Amos on the front pew, or you can slip in and sit beside Forrest at the back.”
Jorja opened it for Ora Mae. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ll think about it. What does Forrest do these days? I haven’t seen him since we graduated.”
Ora Mae stopped walking and turned to face Jorja. “Amos hired him to help with the watermelons and cotton out on his farm in the summertime when Forrest was just a kid and then put him on full-timewhen he finished school. The foster system tossed him out when he was eighteen, just before y’all finished school, so Amos took him in.”
“I didn’t even know he was a foster kid,” Jorja said. “But I’m glad he’s doing well.”
“He’s shy and backward, socially, but that feller knows watermelons and cotton as well as Amos these days,” Ora Mae said and then leaned toward Jorja and whispered, “I heard that Taryn has a baby, and it could belong to Clinton.”
“Clinton is babysitting for one of his vet friends, and Taryn loves babies. None of us have children of our own,” Jorja said. “But keep that under your hat. Clinton is tired of all this contest thing going on with women trying to drag him to the altar.”
Ora Mae drew her brows down and pursed her mouth. “Those women are silly for chasing after a man like they’re doing. Clinton is a good man for doing what he can for his friend. Do you think Taryn might be interested in helping with the nursery on Sunday morning?”
Jorja tried to hold back a giggle, but she failed. “How many young mothers here in Shamrock would leave their children in a room with her?”
Ora Mae nodded. “You’ve got a point there. She left behind a bad reputation.”
“Yes, she did,” Jorja agreed. “But, like you said, at least half of what she got blamed for shouldn’t be laid to her credit. She sure wasn’t as bad as people thought.”
Ora Mae patted her on the shoulder. “You are so right. I see the preacher headed up to the pulpit to welcome everyone. We’d better get on in there.”
Jorja had expected to float on what she called herJesus highall evening, and maybe even until the next day, when she returned to help Ora Mae again, but it didn’t happen. The kids weren’t interested in the Bible lesson about how Joseph went through hard times but finally lived in a castle. One of them even asked if there was a video game about it. After sugary snacks of cookies and juice packs, they were all hyper,and then there was an argument over one of them saying that another girl had stolen her idea of how to paint her castle, which had almost ended in fisticuffs. Their bickering reminded Jorja of her cousins—and herself—when they worked together in the shop.
At the end of the event, Jorja couldn’t wait to leave the church and sit in her car for a few minutes. If her students ever acted like those little hooligans, she would quit teaching tomorrow and join her folks in their missionary work. She turned on the engine so she could have air-conditioning and laid her head back. She tried to find the joy and peace that she’d had when she first got a whiff of the clean sanctuary—but it wasn’t there.
She started back to the trailer, but when she reached the final turn, she felt herself ease off the gas pedal and slow to a stop. She didn’t want to talk to either of her cousins, and she would have to speak to them on her way back to her bedroom. She took her foot off the brake and drove to the park where she’d played as a child.
Jorja parked and got out of the car, went straight to the swings, and sat down in one of them. A warm breeze blew her blonde hair back from her face as she set the swing in motion with her foot and pretended that she was a little girl again. No worries except to figure out which bow she would wear in her hair the next day or whether she wanted a rainbow snow cone or a grape one when her mama took her home from the park that evening.
Then the memories that haunted her dreams on a regular basis and made her doubt that Jesus loved her washed over her. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” she whispered. “I repented and I’ve been celibate since that night. Jesus promised to love those who are sorry.”
She hopped up off the swing and headed toward her car, trying to leave the past behind. All she had ever wanted was to have a good Christian marriage and a place to raise a family—maybe with a white picket fence and rosebushes. But in trying to find the excitement that her cousins knew, she’d turned down a path that would forever keep her from realizing—or even deserving—any of her dreams.
The sun had fully dropped behind the horizon by the time she made it back to the trailer. The lights were still on, which meant she had to walk past her cousins. She assured herself that she could do it and sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t have the nightmares and wake up in a cold sweat again. Evidently, coming to Shamrock had triggered the dreams again—just when she’d thought she had finally put the horror of that time behind her.
She stopped on the porch and petted Goldie while she listened intently to see if Anna Rose and Taryn were talking, but she heard nothing. She left the cat behind and eased the door open to find Clinton sound asleep in the recliner. Taryn was sitting on the sofa with Zoe in her arms. She put a finger over her lips. Jorja nodded and tiptoed to her bedroom. Some prayers got answered after all.
Anna Rose sang along with the radio that Friday evening as she drove across the Texas border into Oklahoma and stopped at the first bar she came to. She flipped the visor down and, using the tiny mirror, checked her makeup and fluffed up her dark brown hair. Then she opened the truck door, set her cowboy boots on the ground, and headed across the parking lot. The jukebox was turned up loud enough that she could hear Luke Bryan singing “One Margarita,” and she sang along with him when the lyrics said that everyone there wasn’t from there, but they were there doing their thing.
“That’s me,” she said as she twirled around with a fake partner. “I’m not from here anymore, but I’m here at this bar, doing my thing.”
She wasn’t aware of anyone around her until someone slipped his hand into hers and proceeded to do some fancy footwork in a swing dance. When the song ended, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“Thank you for the dance, gorgeous,” he said. “My name is Hank. Is yours Angel? Where are you hiding your wings and halo?”
“I’m Anna Rose,” she said with a giggle. “And, honey, that’s the lamest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve danced the first one with you,” Hank said. “Will you save me the last one?”
Anna Rose took a step back. Her eyes traveled from his scuffed-up cowboy boots all the way up to his creased jeans, his silver belt buckle with a bull rider on it, and his Western-cut shirt. She reached his chin with its cute little dimple and went on up to lock with his bright blue eyes. “Depends on who else dances with me,” she flirted. “The night is still young, Mr.Hank—if that’s even your real name.”
“Just Hank, darlin’.” He tipped his hat and grinned. “Mr.Hank is my grandpa. I’ll see you inside. If you get bored, come find me.”
