thirty-six

I dreamed that I was cooking a meal at the Spencer-Jackson House. The dining table was covered with platters of ham and chicken and steamy bowls of green beans and corn and gravy. On the walnut sideboard, a red velvet cake sat on a glass pedestal, four layers of cream cheese icing, the peaks and swirls hiding a scarlet center.

As I laid out blue-sprigged china plates, I breathed in the tang of cole slaw and baked beans. I smelled peaches, too. Turnovers, cobblers, deep-dish pies.

The smells of home.

Nature might hate vacuums, but I knew how to fill them. Home wasn’t a place. Home was inside me. And I finally knew how to find it.

I heard a clinking noise, as if people were tapping champagne glasses and making toasts. Or maybe my lie tally had reset to zero. Each precise click seemed to say, Teeny Templeton, lies are not black and white, they’re pure gray. You don’t need to keep a tally.

The sound got louder. I opened my eyes. I was in a dark room. Rain ticked against a window. A nurse with gray hair moved next to the bed, adjusting knobs on a machine. She turned her head. “Do you want something for pain, sugar?” she asked.

“I want Coop.”

“I’m here, sweetheart,” a deep voice said.

I turned toward the voice I’d loved my whole life. Coop stepped out of the shadows and took my hand. He felt warm and alive, and he smelled faintly of pine needles. I had so much to tell him, but I couldn’t shape the words. I felt like a voiceless three-year-old.

The nurse set the call button beside my elbow and left the room.

With his free hand, Coop lifted a glass and fit the straw between my lips. Water splashed over my parched tongue. I drank and drank, until my thoughts ran clear. His gaze moved up to my hair then down to the bandage on my leg.

“You look like hell, Templeton.”

I spit out the straw. “Is Sir all right?”

“He’s fine. He and Red are at the farm.”

“What about Son?”

“The docs removed his spleen. They gave him some medicine to stop the bleeding.” He glanced up at the transfusion bag, type B positive. “Don’t you want to know how you’re doing?”

“I’m breathing.”

“You got eight stitches. It wasn’t a deep cut. But the Coumadin stopped your blood from clotting.”

I squeezed his fingers. “Where were you? I called your office. They said you’d be gone the whole week.”

“I had a bleeding ulcer. Ended up at Charleston Medical Center.”

I tried to sit up, but the pain dragged me down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He turned away. I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. “Just tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

“Red and I talked about it. We were scared you’d drive to Charleston.”

“I would have.”

“I didn’t want you on the road. I was afraid you’d end up like Kendall.” A tear ran down the side of Coop’s nose. “But I had another reason. A bad reason.”

“What?”

“I thought you needed time to sort your feelings about Son.”

“They’re sorted, O’Malley.” I licked my lips. They felt rough and parched. “Where’s Dot?”

“Jail. She’s claiming the whole Philpot family was involved in the chop shop.”

“No. She set them up. She told me.” I let out a harsh breath. “Is that hearsay? Fruit of the poisoned nurse?”

“She can’t hurt you now, sweetheart. She can’t hurt anyone.”

I told him about Emerson’s hedgehog, the money, the key, the margaritas, the tarantula, and the Cayman Island bank account.

He slipped his arms around me. I pressed my face against the curve of his neck. His pulse ticked against my cheek. We stayed like that a long time, just holding each other. Finally I lifted my face. “Where’s Son’s Jaguar? In the junkyard?”

“I suppose so.” Coop leaned back, his brow wrinkled. “Why?”

“Because I want to find that tarantula. It saved two lives and broke up a chop shop. I don’t want to lose it.”

“You lost something else.” Coop pulled Minnie’s diamond out of his shirt pocket. “When the police arrested Dot, she was wearing this.”

“She stole it.”

“It’s yours, sweetheart. I want you to keep it. Even if I’m not the one you want spend your life with.”

“You are the one, Coop.” I put my hand on his cheek. “You always were the one.”

Behind him, lightning brightened the window. He put the ring on my thumb. Then he climbed into the bed and pressed his nose against my cheek. Something wet trickled onto my neck.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, what?” he asked in a wavery voice.

“I’ll marry you.”

His face moved directly over mine. “I’ll make you so happy. I’ll break laws for you. But I’ll never lie again.”

“And no sins of omission.” I pushed my fist against his jaw.

“Nothing but the whole truth,” he said, and drew an X over his heart. “So help me God.”

Whatever the nurse had put into my IV was making me chatty, and a little bossy. “Another thing, don’t call me baby. Call me sweetheart. That’s your especial name for me.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said in a Bogart-esque voice.

“Much better, O’Malley.”

He kissed my hand. “You’re a rare woman, Teeny Templeton. You showed unconditional love to Emerson. You were willing to change your life to raise her.”

“I still want to.” Everything went blurry as if I were under water. “She’s not yours, Coop. She’s not Lester’s. Her father is someone named A.M. If that’s his name. I read it in Barb’s diary. But I know one thing for sure: Lester doesn’t want her. And I do. I want to raise that little girl.”

“I’ll help you. We’ll raise her together.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “First thing in the morning, I’ll talk to Lester.”

I drew his hand to my lips. “Tell him I love Emerson Philpot. And I want to be her mother.”

*   *   *

The next morning, the nurse wheeled me out of the hospital. The sunlight felt good against my shoulders. Coop’s red truck waited by the curb. He got out and rushed over. He wore cutoff jeans, and a blue shirt that brought out the color in his eyes. I got up from the wheelchair and he slid his arms around my waist.

“Lean on me, sweetheart.”

The nurse’s mouth puckered as if she’d sucked a persimmon. “This is against the rules,” she said.

“Sue me,” Coop said.

I leaned into him the way a peach tree leans in the wind. We might have missed his birthday dinner, but it wasn’t too late for a cake. He liked chocolate better than red velvet, so I would bake the Templeton sheet cake, which called for bittersweet chocolate.

Coop put his hand under my elbow. “I talked to Lester.”

My stomach muscles tensed. “And?”

“He’s letting Emerson decide who she wants to live with.”

A wide streak of joy ran through me. The truck’s side window rolled down and Sir’s head appeared, bobbing like volleyball. Emerson pushed in beside him, her mouth wide open.

“I told you I’d be back,” she said.

I waved at her with both hands. A truck door closes, a window opens.

Coop and the nurse helped me into the front seat. The stitches in my leg pulled taut, but I ignored the pain. It just felt good to be alive. Sir scooted close to me, licking my hands. Emerson pressed her face against my neck. A tear ran down my chin and dribbled onto her hair.

“We’ve brought you a present,” Coop said. He reached toward the floorboard and lifted a square box, no bigger than a toaster, wrapped in shiny blue paper.

Emerson pressed her ear against it. “It’s not ticking,” she said. “No need to call the bomb squad.”

“Is it edible?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Coop said.

I pulled off a wedge of paper and saw a clear plastic box. Gourmet sea salt? A Tupperware container? I peeled off the rest of the gift wrap and blinked down at a Plexiglas cage. Inside, a tarantula sat motionless on aquarium gravel.

I grinned. “Where’d you find him?”

“Emerson and I went to the junkyard.” Coop bent closer to the box. “I didn’t think we’d be successful. I know how to call a dog. But a spider?”

“So we whistled,” Emerson said. She pursed her lips and blew a few notes.

The tarantula moved its front leg up and down like a Maestro conducting an orchestra.

I pulled Sir and Emerson against me, then I slipped my other arm around Coop. I hugged them as hard as I could. I even tried to hug the tarantula’s cage.

We were together. And it was time to go home.