“I’d give my right arm foryounot to be hurt. But you are and I still don’t know why. That’s your secret to tell or keep. Everything you’re feeling for Imani, I felt. Pieces of my heart went with you every time you walked out the door.” How did her kooky old man see through her? “But, Gemma, I wanted your dreams for you every bit as much as you.” The knife cut through the apple again.
“I don’t know how you and Mama did it. I was twice as fiery as Imani. Stubborn and strong-willed.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Because you raise your kids the best you can and let them fly. Imani has lots of good upbringing. Just so happens she’s landed with you to get her the rest of her journey. You got two more years before college. Make them count. Just remember, you’re not her savior. Not her redeemer.”
“I know. Who said different?”
“That job belongs to Someone else.”
“Again, I know.”
“The One who died on that there cross—”
“Yes, Daddy, I’ve been to church.”
“He’s got a plan for her, for you too, far as that goes.”
“Goodness, is it Sunday morning?” Gemma stood to move about and test her hip. “When did you become a preacher?”
“I have my moments.” Daddy’s cheek bulged with another slice of his apple.
“I love that you watch out for us.” Gemma kissed her father’s balding head and retrieved her Prada bag from one of the tables. “I should go, see to the herd.”
“Come on back,” Daddy said. “We’ll be here ’til after the big show. I hear old Ted Taylor got some fancy new explosives. One of them even bursts into the American flag.”
Maybe. Gemma made the rounds, saying goodbye to Mama and the group of friends clustered with her. She’d known most of them her whole life. They were the second parents, the honorary aunts and uncles. Hank and Betty. Al and Betty. Bill and Nancy. Ron and Deedee. Curt and Linda.
Her parents were hardworking, blue-collar folks who barely had two nickels to rub together but were rich in relationships.
Gemma had inherited Daddy’s tendency to dream big. Like him, she’d failed. For most of her life, he lost his and Mama’s paychecks, their savings over and over to get-rich-quick schemes.
“I can feel it, Gemstone. This is the one, and when I hit it big, I’m going to buy you a fancy sports car.”
As she made her way to her parked car, Buck and his band were taking the stage for the first time, singing her home to his hit tune “When I Met You.”
When I met you/everything changed/I’ll never be the same/Don’t say goodbye
She was still humming the haunting melody when she pulled into the driveway. The dogs raced toward her, barking, clamoring around her legs as she stepped out.
Marcus, Barksy, Hal, Tweedy, and Blue led her to the kitchen and scampered straight for their bowls, looking at her with abandoned affection.
She scooped out kibbles for the collie, three pit bulls, and one aging bull dog. While they filled the house with the sound of crunching, she changed her sneakers for muck boots, thinking ahead to her chores.
Things went quickly when Imani helped, but tonight she’d go it alone, take her time, maybe have a contemplative moment with the goats. Miss Frances always seemed to enjoy a good heart-to-heart. As long as Gemma scratched around the old doe’s hollow horns.
Reaching the kitchen door again, Gemma paused at her reflection in the cracked mirror tacked on the doorpost. It’d been left behind by the previous owners—whom she never met—and she had yet to take it down.
Leaning for a closer look—her hair knotted on her head and her T-shirt stained with grass—she wondered what he thought. You know, the prince.
Eyes drooping with bags and sadness she couldn’t shake. Her lips were pale. Was that another line on her forehead? Taking a step back, Gemma rose up on her tiptoes to examine her breasts and waist. When she lived in L.A. and Vegas, she worked out six days a week, never touched junk food.
First week back home she went to Angelo’s with the folks for a pepperoni pizza. First bite? Thought she’d died and gone to heaven.Where have you been, my love?
Worse than her so-called healthy Hollywood lifestyle was the one she fell into in Vegas. She’d been reduced to skin and bones. But since then, she’d put on a few pounds.
Still looking through the cracks in the mirror, Gemma pinched the skin on her side. How had she felt to the prince? Flabby? Heavy? Though he managed to carry her over the finish line without huffing and puffing.
He was no ninety-pound weakling though. Six-three, if he was an inch, and muscular. Like he worked at it.
