Come Rain or Come Shine Read online

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’ He laid his stick in the case Father Tim gave him a few years ago, and snapped it shut.

  ‘I saw a video of Mr. Orbach playing a nine ball with Ms. Laurance,’ she said. ‘On TV.’

  He thought the woman was very cool to know about Ewa Laurance and Jerry Orbach.

  Beth emerged from a shower in the minuscule bathroom, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. ‘So tell me about the way he walks,’ said Beth.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tommy. I was worried about doing the wedding song with a harmonica—I mean, really! But he promised it would work and it actually does; it gave me chills with that great sound system he just bought. He’s an amazing musician.’

  ‘So his leg got pretty broken up from the knee down,’ said Lace, ‘when he and Dooley were—maybe twelve? Miss Sadie’s Hope House was under construction. The man running the job is now Dooley’s stepdad. He told Dooley to never go on the job site after hours. It was pretty well known that the job site was taboo. But Dooley wanted to go and asked Tommy to go with him and they were fooling around on a big pile of lumber. Dooley had a chance to jump off the pile before it came apart, but Tommy didn’t.

  ‘It took a long time for his bones to heal. Now he sort of walks like a cowboy, somebody said. Dooley really struggled with this for years, he blamed himself, but Tommy said he was totally up for doing it, that Dooley was not responsible at all. You know Dooley had to take care of his little brothers and sister for days at a time. He had to grow up fast, and when something went wrong, he blamed himself. He still does that.’

  Beth turned the blow-dryer on high, combing her short blond hair with her fingers. ‘He is really, really cute.’

  ‘I know. I’m so lucky.’

  Beth laughed. ‘I was talking about Tommy.’ She sat on the side of the bed. ‘And his voice. I don’t know much about country music, but don’t you think he’s sort of special?’

  ‘I do, we love him. But he’s really unpolished for a Yankee girl with a family who owns railroads and works at Goldman Sachs.’

  ‘That was my great-great-grandfather who owned railroads; we’re all poor as church mice now. And trust me, it’s no big deal that I’m at Goldman.’

  ‘But it was always your dream to work there.’

  ‘Maybe it isn’t my dream anymore.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  Beth shrugged, turned off the blow-dryer, walked to the window. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it matters.’

  ‘Wow. My mom and Father Brad.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Standing by the fence together. She’s giving him such a smile. I haven’t seen her really smile in a long time. Who is Father Brad, anyway? Is he okay?’

  ‘He was our premarital counselor and one of the big reasons Sammy made a turnaround. Sammy did Father Brad’s annual boot camp for teens—hiking, mountain climbing, snow camping, praying—it was super intense. It took three boot camps for Sammy.’

  Beth was pressing her nose against the glass to get a better look. ‘I mean, he’s sort of a hunk for a priest. Is he a nice person? He had better be a nice person.’

  Lace laughed. ‘They’re just standing by the fence together, right? And yes, he’s a completely wonderful person.’

  They were ducking out to the clinic together, hand in hand like kids running away from home. And there was Danny Hershell and his kid brother tying cans to the rear bumper of Dooley’s truck, which now displayed a hand-lettered sign: Just Married.

  ‘Hey, dude,’ said Dooley, ‘we appreciate it, but we’re not goin’ anywhere.’

  Danny Hershell was pretty devastated.

  ‘But keep doin’ what you’re doin’, okay? And thanks. We’ll drive it around tomorrow and honk th’ horn at your place.’

  The music and walk-through, sans dogs, had gone smoothly, with a lot of laughter. Jack Tyler was fine with everything and she was relieved. Relieved too that she could still be in her old jeans and a farm shirt for this stolen time with Dooley.

  He unlocked the rear door. ‘After today, you’re going to be stuck with me,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve waited years to be stuck with you.’

  They stepped inside; he held her tight against his heart, his flesh and bones.

  ‘I want to sleep with you forever,’ she said.

  ‘I want to sleep with you forever back. I love you. I need you, I thank God for you.’

  She leaned into the sinew of his frame, where she always learned something new, and they held each other.

  They went along the hall then to the recovery room, where patients slept or stared out of their crates longing for home.

  ‘Look!’ she said, dismayed. ‘It’s Homer.’

  Homer lay on a blanket, an IV needle in his left ear. He opened one eye and gazed at her.

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you. We removed the spleen with a sizable mass and sent the biop to State. Could be lymphoma. And his kidney values are through the roof. We’ll watch him a couple of days before he goes home.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, tears coming. She loved Homer for reasons she didn’t completely understand. ‘How many mLs?’

  ‘Eighty-six. And don’t worry, Hal and Amanda will take good care of him.’ Hal was subbing tomorrow and Tuesday, and Amanda would be watchful.

  It would always be like this with Dooley’s work. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said to Homer; she would come back tomorrow and hold him.

  Across the aisle, a pup whined, urgent, thumping its tail.

  Whose pup is this?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t know yet.’

  ‘A Golden puppy! What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘Her. Nothing. She’s in perfect health.’ He waited, gaining confidence. ‘Amanda just gave her a good run.’

  Lace squatted down, offered the back of her hand to the cold nose. ‘I love her, she’s adorable. Is someone boarding her?’

  ‘That would be me.’ Predicting doom, he took a deep breath. ‘She’s your wedding present.’

  She looked up at him, and there was the light in her eyes and her great smile and the laughter—all the confirmation he needed to see—and she opened the crate and the pup barreled out and she got a good licking on her face, the whole deal, and she was happy, she was happy.

  At that moment, he came into possession of a new and simple truth: if Lace was happy and Jack Tyler was happy, he was happy.

  Lace sat on the floor; the pup rolled onto her back and offered her belly for a scratch.

  ‘I love her!’ said Lace. ‘Jack Tyler will love her. You shouldn’t have,’ she said, making a joke.

  ‘True,’ he said.

  She stood and gave him a hug. ‘Thanks. She’s beautiful. Now yours.’

  Harley and Willie had hung it this morning on the big wall behind the reception desk. It would be the first time she had seen it hanging, but she wouldn’t look yet; she would look when Dooley looked.

  ‘Close your eyes.’ She led him into the reception area. ‘I’m closing mine, too.’

  The pup sprawled on the cool tile of the floor, teething a treat.

  With all her might, she hoped it was everything it needed to be—for Dooley and for all the people who would see it over the years—and for herself, too; she needed it to exceed her hard critique.

  ‘Okay, we can look now.’ Her heart beat in her temples. ‘Your wedding present.’

  Yes, yes, yes.

  She heard the small exhale, the intake of his breath. He put his arm around her, shook his head with wonder. ‘Man,’ he said. ‘Man.’ It was all he could say.

  On a canvas measuring three feet wide by two feet high, Dr. Kavanagh’s farm truck zoomed by the viewer, hauling in the long bed five old dogs, including Barnabas. The doc himself was driving, you could tell by
the splotch of cadmium red for his hair.

  Kavanagh Animal Wellness Clinic, read the lettering on the passenger door. The very best Constable clouds she could possibly paint unfurled in a Carolina blue sky above the red truck. It was a beautiful day.

  The Hershells had arrived early to give a hand where needed and would go home and come again for the ceremony.

  ‘Mink and Honey Hershell, meet my brother, Henry Winchester, from Mississippi.’

  As he reckoned, this was a lot to take in at a moment’s notice. Henry was tall; he was short. Henry was handsome; he was plain. Henry was a Winchester; he was a Kavanagh. Henry was black; he was white—albeit with a farmer’s tan.

  Mink Hershell was speechless. But Honey was not.

  ‘Lord help,’ she said, ‘y’all came all th’ way from Mississippi? What kind of drivin’ time is that?’

  ‘Train time, Mrs. Hershell. I came up from Birmingham on th’ Crescent. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Oh, my mother took th’ Crescent from Philadelphia to New Orleans in 1979, th’ only time she ever went out of state. She saved her ticket stub for ages. New Orleans was where my granddaddy died, he was a hundred and two. We’re glad to have you, Mr. Winchester. I brought th’ lima beans, I used a little side meat to season.’

  ‘That’s the way we like our limas back home,’ said Henry.

  ‘Which is your favorite? Green or white?’

  ‘I like either one,’ said Henry. ‘But we usually eat them green for the higher manganese content.’ Henry smiled. ‘Good for the bones.’

  ‘Well, great, I brought green. I’ll remember that next time you come.’

  ‘Henry,’ said Mink, ‘glad to have you. We sure think a lot of your brother here. He can grow grass like nobody’s business.’

  ‘What the guineas don’t scratch up,’ he said, grateful. He would remember Honey Hershell for this.

  The luggage of his cousin Walter and Walter’s wife Katherine had been sent to Colorado.

  ‘Exactly what happened when we came for your wedding,’ said Katherine, who was furious. ‘I hate to be furious at a wedding, but what is the matter with those people? I ask you!’

  He didn’t know. He really didn’t.

  ‘I never have anything to wear down here, only lipstick and eye drops to my name.’

  ‘What you’re wearing is perfect,’ said Cynthia.

  ‘Jeans and a cotton sweater!’ said Katherine. ‘Nobody wears jeans to a southern wedding.’

  ‘They do to this southern wedding. Trust me. And aren’t those your good pearls you’re wearing?’

  ‘Yes, and thank God, or they’d be circling on a carousel in Denver.’

  ‘Good pearls are all you ever need at a southern wedding,’ said his wife. Such wisdom did not stick with Katherine Kavanagh of New Jersey.

  ‘I am a recovering alcoholic for thirty years,’ said Katherine. ‘But how can I ever fully recover if I can’t ever, even once, dress decently for a southern wedding?’

  Walter drew him aside. ‘Leave her alone a bit,’ he said, ‘she’ll get over it. But I must say, what is the matter with those people?’

  Nap time. She closed the door to the library and rocked him, slumped limp and solid against her heart, loving the bone and muscle of his body, his faint odor of grass and cookies and Golden Retriever.

  Rocking, rocking, holding this wonderful sleeping boy, healing herself.

  ‘How’s the pup?’ he asked Willie.

  ‘Drinkin’ water like crazy. Dooley set a bowlful on th’ porch, an’ when I looked a few minutes ago, it was empty. So I filled it an’ she went after it again.’

  Out of the blue, some inner voice, some awful premonition. Surely not . . .

  ‘I could not watch th’ door every minute,’ said Lily.

  ‘I understand,’ he said, setting to work.

  ‘In an’ out, open an’ shut, till you could lose your religion. I cannot believe anybody would bring a puppy home with all that’s goin’ on around here. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Sort of,’ he said, wiping the floor with paper towels. Slick.

  ‘Who would think a puppy could stand up like a man and drag it off the table?’

  ‘I’ll need a mop,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll get Arbutus to do it. Lord knows, we need walkie-talkies. You shouldn’t be down on your knees like that, you’re clergy.’

  He laughed a little. But only a little.

  The truck bed was filling up.

  As hoped, the deviled egg was making a show for itself—three separate versions.

  Green bean casserole—two dishes, same version: classic.

  Fried chicken, none appearing to have come from KFC.

  Coleslaw. Field peas. Baked ziti.

  Twelve pounds of NC barbecue with a jug of sauce.

  Four round cakes of cornbread to go with the barbecue, good thinking.

  Five casseroles, covered, contents thereby defying identification.

  Honey Hershell’s green limas and a supersize bowl of . . .

  ‘Corn cut off th’ cob, short-cooked with butter and a little sugar,’ she told Willie. ‘I don’t feel like this should go in the bed of a truck. Mink will carry it to th’ barn but you can take th’ limas, they’re in Tupperware and won’t spill, an’ please make sure I get my containers back.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Willie.

  At four-fifteen, the Hope House van pulled onto the north strip and dropped off four pans of biscuits shielded from the elements by Saran Wrap. ‘Miss Louella’s wedding present to Dr. Dooley and his bride,’ said the driver, as proud as if he’d done the baking himself. ‘If y’all could get th’ pans back to us . . .’

  Baked beans, warm from the oven. The inevitable potato salad, two containers full.

  The even more inevitable store-bought rotisserie chicken in its plastic bag, but not to worry, as the Flower Girls would make it look good on the platter.

  A salad fashioned with homegrown Boston lettuce and baby arugula in a wooden bowl.

  ‘Don’t let this get wilted,’ said Judy the postmistress.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ said Willie.

  ‘And don’t let anybody else take this bowl home. My grandmother worked her bread dough in that bowl. My name, phone number, and PO box are on the bottom.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Willie.

  ‘It only leaves th’ house for weddings and funerals,’ she said, hammering her point.

  Various jars of homemade pickles, two sent by Lew Boyd, who had won awards in this genre. Two quart mason jars of peaches, golden in their syrupy nectar.

  A gigantic meatloaf, sliced, covered in foil, and attended by a Post-it note to whoever was running the kitchen: Positively has to be heated at 350° for twenty minutes to bring out the flavor!

  A box of Oreos with a twelve-pack of Snickers in a Food Lion bag.

  Lily handed off an oatmeal cookie as Harley blew into the kitchen. ‘Don’t eat it all in one place,’ she said. ‘Where you goin’ at a trot?’

  ‘To meet Miss Pringle on th’ North Strip. She’ll need somebody to walk ’er to th’ tent. That’s a pretty good haul.’

  ‘Call and ask her to drive to the front of the house, then take her car and park it.’

  ‘A good idea if I ever heard it. Lord help, I can’t half think.’ Harley looked dazed. ‘Wait a minute. She’s already on th’ road and don’t carry a cell phone.’

  ‘Meet her on the North Strip like you planned, jump in, an’ drive her to th’ house, then park th’ car.’ For crap’s sake. Plus he was wearin’ enough cologne to knock you down.

  She shook her head in disbelief. Things around here would probably be pretty much like this till she was old and gray.

  Beth came into the room with two glasses of iced tea. ‘Father Tim’s cousin and his
wife are here, their luggage is not. Your dad is shooting everything, even the signage. And the puppy ate part of a ham and is in her crate sleeping it off.’

  ‘No! Father Tim worked so hard . . .’

  ‘She got away from Dooley and Jack Tyler, but all is well, not to worry. It’s glorious out there, beyond beautiful. Seventy-two degrees, a cloudless sky. Awesome! And your dad gave me sheet music for a song he loves and . . .’

  Beth was glowing, ecstatic.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And there’s a really huge surprise for you and Dooley—for everybody, really.’

  She didn’t know about another surprise. A litter of kittens had been dropped off in their driveway this morning; people did this to country vets.

  ‘Four legs or two?’

  ‘Um. Eight.’

  ‘Eight?’

  ‘Eight. End of clue.’

  ‘Give me one more?’

  ‘Can’t do it. Okay. We’ve got to get your hair thing done. That dress is a knockout.’

  ‘I love, love my dress,’ said Lace. ‘It just slithers on.’

  ‘You are breathtaking in that scrap of silk. Perfect! Now sit down.’

  ‘Are you scared?’ said Lace.

  ‘Duh. Of course I’m scared. I’m used to singing with scads of people in a university choir. I’ve never done solos, much less after an hour’s rehearsal with a group called the Ham Biscuits.’

  ‘You’ll be awesome. You were wonderful in rehearsal, you could make a CD.’

  Beth brushed Lace’s long hair. ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘More sort of buzzing, like I’m plugged into something.’

  ‘You are plugged into something. Love! You look fabulous, you’re a stick, I’m so jealous.’

  ‘We’re practically the same size.’

  ‘In certain places,’ said Beth. ‘So I’m just weaving your hair in kind of a loose braid. You have a gob of hair! Then we’ll put it in an updo and work in your hairpiece and flowers.’

  ‘Dooley’s mom made my hairpiece from the lining of her wedding suit.’

  ‘It will be perfect with the stephanotis. Turquoise and cream. My fave!’