Six #2
“Of course. I’d be happy to show you.” Jackie’s attention slid back and forth to keep up with the conversation, though she held herself steady, almost too steady, and Beck could see the effort it cost her to appear relaxed. “The kitchen table’s small, but I can clear enough room inside.”
“Got it covered, young lady.” Joe headed toward the back of his pickup and lowered the tailgate. “Brought you a little something.”
With Beck at one end and Lonnie at the other, they hefted a newly built picnic table toward a nice spot at the side of the house, best protected from the wind.
Beck could see her using it often—meals in the shade, coffee in the morning, making notes for future flights, any excuse to stay outside a little longer.
“A housewarming gift,” Mary Sue said proudly, tall and slender in a yellow cotton dress that gave her room where she needed it.
She held Timmy on one hip, patiently tolerant while he fiddled with her blond braid as if she’d been carrying him there half the day.
Even this far along in her pregnancy, she had an easy, capable way of showing young motherhood agreed with her.
Jackie didn’t move, but her eyes had latched onto the table like a magnet to steel. “Gosh, I never expected anything like this.”
“It was Beck’s idea.” Mom sounded happy about the whole thing. “Didn’t take him and Lonnie long at all to build it. Oh, and I brought you some daylilies.”
Jackie’s stare swung from the table to the pickup where his mother reached in for a box.
“I thinned them from my garden just this morning,” Ruthie continued. “They’ll take hold easy enough once you put them in the ground. I’ll help you before we leave. Won’t take long at all.”
“My goodness, you’re so generous,” Jackie said. “Thank you.”
Her voice shook a little, and Beck saw the extra care she put into speaking, like she was minding each word before she let it out. She stood straight-backed with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, something he hadn’t noticed her do before.
But seeing his mother maneuver the box from the back end of the International, Jackie hurried toward her.
“Let me get that for you, Mrs. Archer. The lilies will look real pretty along the front of the porch, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes.” She stepped back while Jackie took the load. “And I don’t want you calling me Mrs. Archer. Makes me sound more important than I am. You just call me Ruthie like everyone else does.”
She followed Jackie to the house, chattering away about spring gardens.
Mary Sue spread a red-and-white oilcloth over the new picnic table, smoothing it flat with both hands.
By then, his mother was there to supervise laying out lunch while everyone pitched in unloading food from both pickups, and it wasn’t long before there wasn’t much of that red-and-white oilcloth showing anymore.
After they’d said their mealtime prayer of thanks, Jackie held back while his family took places around the table. Beck moved closer to slide an arm around her waist.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said quietly.
Eyeing the heaping bowls and platters filled with fried chicken, potato salad, and baked beans, she blew out a breath. “My lunch with you wouldn’t have been anything like this.”
His mouth softened in amusement. “Wouldn’t have expected it.”
“Does your family always have a feast?” Her scrutiny moved past biscuits, pickles, and sliced tomatoes, and, nearby, a full pan of spice cake.
“We have our big meal during the day. Leftovers for supper.”
“Your mother must have been in the kitchen all morning.”
“Never known her to do anything different.”
Her throat worked, and she stepped away.
Beck’s arm fell back to his side, but his glance stayed on her.
Something wasn’t right. She’d gone too still, too careful, like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will, and it stirred a quiet unease in him, making him want to lay into her trouble with both hands and throw it all away.
“Best get it while the gettin’s good, you two,” Joe said heartily, his plate full and his fork ready to load up. “Hope you like deviled eggs, Miss Jackie. Ruthie’s are the best around.”
His mother beamed. “Be sure to save room for dessert. Now, come along and join us. Would you like coffee or lemonade?”
Conversation flowed easily around them—Dad asked about the new airstrip, Lonnie talked about the rigors of painting the barn, Mary Sue declared she was tired of her plain cream-colored living room walls and was excited to see what Jackie had chosen.
Through it all, Mom kept the conversation going with recipes and neighbors and whatever needed talking about… .
But Jackie stayed reserved, answering politely and with a smile that came and went too quickly. Only when Timmy—wedged between his parents in bib overalls and a checkered shirt, poking at his food and asking after dessert—pointed toward the barn and blurted, “Airplane!” did she perk up.
Her smile turned real then. She leaned toward the little boy and said that if it was all right with his mommy and daddy, she’d let him sit in the plane after lunch. He squealed and clapped his hands, and her expression softened in pleasure.
By the time only a few pieces of spice cake remained, and the coffee had cooled in the cups, lunch ended and the cleanup began.
Jackie, true to her word, took Timmy to the hangar and let him sit in the Cub’s cockpit while she stayed close and tolerated his wiggling with more patience than Beck could’ve managed.
The sight of her there—one hand braced on the wing, the other ready in case the boy pitched himself sideways with excitement—burrowed into him.
By the time his nephew had been coaxed down, kissed by his mother, and loaded into Lonnie’s truck, Jackie had gone quiet again.
She expressed her thanks and gratitude many times over, but Beck caught the strain in her just the same.
Once his parents had everything loaded with nothing left behind, both pickups started up, and his family pulled out of the yard and headed down the lane to their homes.
Only then did he realize Jackie had quietly slipped away.
Beck had seen enough of her distress for one afternoon. He loped toward the house, took the porch steps in a couple of leaps, and flung open the screen door.
Whatever was troubling her, he intended to figure it out.
The living room still carried the faint smell of latex paint, but he barely noticed the new pale-green walls. Or those in the kitchen and hallway. But there was Jackie, in her bedroom, standing at her dresser with a small, polished chest opened in front of her.
“Jackie,” he said, his voice low.
She whirled toward him, one fist clenched.
“Oh, Beck.” Her chin quivered. Her eyes welled. She drew in a breath and let it out again, grappling for the composure she rarely lacked. “I have something to tell you.”