Chapter 5

Our long-lost cousin arrived just before lunch, in the passenger’s seat of a pickup driven by a college-aged guy who looked vaguely familiar to me. He smiled and shook Kate’s hand in greeting, then Ben’s, then mine, saying, “Hi, Karen. Bet you don’t remember me.” I caught myself staring at his arm, which was red and mottled with old scar tissue, probably from a burn.

I glanced up, embarrassed for staring and for not remembering him. He smiled pleasantly as Kate completed the introductions.

“This is Caleb Baker.”

“Brother Baker’s grandson?” It didn’t seem possible. In my mind, he was still a chubby, freckle-faced kid singing in the choir at Grandma’s church in Hindsville. “My gosh . . . I . . . well . . . you’re supposed to be about twelve years old.” I remembered that he had been in a serious car accident the year that Grandma died. No doubt that was the cause of the scars. The way Grandma had told it, he was lucky to be alive.

Caleb chuckled. “Been a few years, huh? Great to see you again, Karen.”

“You too.” I shook his hand, purposely not looking at the scars, which seemed to bother me more than they bothered him. I glanced around his shoulder at the petite blonde who had to be Jenilee Lane, our cousin. She was pretty in a natural way that didn’t require makeup, like one of the waiflike models in the fashion magazines who could be anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. Her features were soft, slightly childlike. There was an innate vulnerability in her brown eyes as her gaze darted nervously around. She didn’t come forward to greet us, but stood there seeming uncertain.

Caleb sidestepped, slipping his arm behind Jenilee and bringing her closer. “This is Jenilee. Jenilee, Karen. Karen, Jenilee.” He smiled encouragement at Jenilee, and I could tell they’d talked about this meeting on the way over. “You already know Kate and Ben, I guess, from when they came to Poetry after the tornado last summer.”

Our new cousin extended a hand shyly and fluttered a glance my way. “Good to meet you, Karen.” There was a careful pronunciation to her words—one that said she was trying to hide an Ozark accent. She seemed as uncomfortable with all of this long-lost relatives business as I was. I felt sorry for her.

“Nice to meet you, Jenilee.” I smiled, trying to look warm and accepting, though those were Kate’s usual strong points, not mine. I was known for coming on as slightly overbearing, a trait I inherited from my grandmother. “Did you have a good trip over from Poetry?”

She glanced at Kate, seeming confused, then answered, “Oh, I don’t live in Poetry anymore. I started college last fall in St. Louis. Premed.”

“That’s great.” My father would have loved her. Finally, a future doctor in the family. “You know, I think Kate did tell me something about that. . . .” I realized from Kate’s expression that she had told me all of these details via e-mail, and I hadn’t paid attention. “I remember now. Kate said you had a scholarship. That’s great. Congratulations.”

“It’s really more of a work-study.” Jenilee seemed embarrassed that our conversation had focused on her.

“Well, it’s great, anyway,” I said lamely, wishing Kate or Ben would say something. I became acutely aware that I had absolutely nothing in common with this twentyish cousin from a tiny Missouri town, except for some forgotten family history. What in the world would we find to talk about?

Jenilee seemed to be thinking the same thing. She glanced over her shoulder like she wanted to jump in the truck and drive away at high speed. “I’ve got the box of letters in the car.” She glanced at Kate. “You want me to bring them on in now?”

Kate slipped an arm around Jenilee’s shoulders like they were old friends. She was determined to make this get-together a success. “We can do that later. You two come on in and have lunch. I know you must be starved after driving all the way from St. Louis. You can tell us all about school and the work-study program. Did you ever get moved into an apartment there?”

Kate started toward the door with Jenilee, and Caleb in tow, and Ben and me trailing behind. As we walked, Kate kept up the barrage of questions and Jenilee answered. Yes, Jenilee was enjoying her first year in college. No, she hadn’t found the right apartment yet—she was staying with some girls Caleb knew until she could get into a dorm. Yes, it was a little hard to adjust to life in the big city—she never thought she’d find herself living so far from Poetry. She missed her brothers, who were living in Springfield. Yes, her brothers were doing fine—Nate had finished physical therapy on his leg, which was shattered last summer when the tornado flipped his truck. He was playing baseball this spring at his new high school. Jenilee hoped that would be good for him, as he still had some lasting emotional effects from the things (I could tell there was something dark hidden behind that word) that had happened during the tornado.

Caleb jumped in and quickly changed the subject, saying, “Hey, did you know Jenilee’s going to make the national news?”

Jenilee huffed an irritated breath and tried to slap him, but he ducked playfully out of the way. “Caleb, will you stop telling everyone about that! It isn’t a big deal.”

Caleb shoulder butted her off the porch step. I could tell they were more than just casually dating. When they looked at each other, their eyes sparkled with the glow of young lovers. I had a sudden pang of remembering when James and I used to be like that.

“It is too a big deal,” Caleb insisted. “It’s cool.”

Jenilee pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose like she’d just caught a whiff of something awful. “It is like, two minutes, and I sound like one of the Beverly Hillbillies.” She glanced at Kate as they crossed the porch. Kate was obviously interested, so Jenilee served up the condensed version. “They were doing a follow-up for Nightbeat about the tornadoes in Missouri last summer. They wanted me to talk about what we did in the Poetry armory right after the tornado, where we gathered up all the lost photos and things and hung them so people could get them back. The reporter wanted to know what ever happened to all the stuff—whether the photos got back to the folks they belonged to, that kind of thing. They met me at the Poetry armory, and I walked around and looked at the empty walls and they filmed that. Then they asked some questions about the Poetry tornado and what the town was like afterward. It was all kind of strange, and when they played the tape back for me, I sounded like a hick. I hope they throw it away instead of putting it on the news.”

Kate’s eyes widened enthusiastically. “When’s it going to be on? We’ll have to make sure to watch.”

I gave Kate a be quiet look as we filed into the kitchen, but she didn’t catch it. She didn’t have any idea she was making Jenilee feel even more self-conscious. “The raw footage always looks bad,” I interjected, hoping to reassure her. “Once they’ve edited it and put together the segment, it’s not as bad as you think it’s going to be.” I sounded like I knew what I was talking about, which was pretty impressive, considering that I’d only been on camera a few times—once when my group had designed a homeland security network for Portland, Oregon; once or twice in PR videos for Lansing; and once when we’d done the first big round of layoffs. I pictured myself standing in front of the Lansing building with other management members, boldly defending the future financial solidity of our company to a pack of voracious reporters. God, what a sickening thought . . .

“Really?” Jenilee said, and my mind snapped back to the present.

“Oh, definitely.” I assured her. “Besides, you have to remember that it’s natural to hate hearing yourself on tape, but no one else sees it that way. To everyone else, you just sound like you normally do.” I launched into a story about my first news appearance—the one about the homeland security communications system. I’d flown home right after filming the interview, certain I’d looked like an idiot, and hoping no one would see me on the news. Of course, everyone I knew saw it. The company president thought it was so good, he played a tape of it the next day for the whole company over the LAN system. “Anyway,” I finished, “I was pretty sure I was going to die right there, but, you know, everyone else said it was great. It’s never as bad as you think.”

Jenilee seemed relieved, and regarded me with a new measure of interest. We’d made a connection—the connection of two people, both obsessed over what everyone else thought. She smiled and said, “I hope you’re right,” with a cute little accent that made ri-ight into a two-syllable word. She did sound a little like Elly May Clampett. But in a good way. Jenilee was adorable. Anyone who saw her on the national news or anywhere else would like her.

“Karen, you want to grab the tea out of the refrigerator and pour the glasses?” Kate interrupted, before the conversation could get going again. I realized I was standing there talking while Kate was busy getting lunch on the table, and she was slightly miffed. My instant reaction was to give her a huffy answer, but the truth was I should have been helping. “Sure,” I said, reaching into the refrigerator for the tea pitcher while Ben took down the glasses and started filling them with ice. “Sorry about that. I got caught up in the conversation. What else do you need me to do?”

Kate blinked, surprised. It wasn’t like us to make nice, even to impress company. “Take out the potato salad and the pickle tray and pull off the plastic wrap.” She went back to putting ham slices on a platter, complete with little pineapple rings and maraschino cherries—red ones and green ones—an arrangement surely worthy of Martha Stewart.

Jenilee beat me to the refrigerator. “I’ll get it.” She seemed glad to have a job to do. I could tell she was used to taking care of everybody, and having Kate fawn over lunch was making her uncomfortable. The artfully prepared food and the precise table setting with the folded cloth napkins beside the plates gave lunch the feeling of an event. At an event, there are always expectations.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Kate,” I commented, trying to make the moment more relaxed. Kate quirked a brow, so I added, “Everything looks wonderful.”

“Sure does,” Ben said as he set the glasses on the table. He looked less relaxed than usual. Apparently, even he was feeling the pressure.

“Thanks.” Kate fluttered back and forth to the table, putting out little butter spreaders and Grandma’s old-fashioned salt wells with tiny silver spoons.

Jenilee gave the salt wells a perplexed look, commenting that the food was too pretty to eat, and Kate shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, and then we fell into silence, unable to think of anything else to say, now that we’d covered the basics. It looked like lunch might be as stiff and formal as Kate’s perfectly prepared platters of food.

The hallway door burst open and Joshua bolted through, dragging a toy car tied to a string. Skidding around the curve, the car wrapped around Jenilee’s leg, and sent her stumbling sideways just as she took a platter from the refrigerator. Spinning to one side like an off-balance ballerina, she twisted to keep from stepping on Joshua, lost the pickle platter, then caught it just as she collided with the swinging door and fell into the hallway.

The door slapped closed behind her, and we stood staring, shocked for an instant before Joshua dropped the string, straightened his arms at his sides, and let out a wail that probably cleared the woods of wild game for miles.

Kate came to life first, rushing across the kitchen, scooping up Joshua and pushing open the hallway door with a mortified look. The rest of us hurried to the doorway and stood there gaping at Jenilee, who sat against the stairway wall like a hastily discarded rag doll, the toy car still wrapped around her feet.

Dell rushed from the living room, confused, then put her hands over her mouth as she realized what had happened.

For an instant, no one seemed to know how to react, except for Joshua, who was crying and babbling, certain he was in bad trouble.

Jenilee held up the platter, grinning sheepishly. “I saved the pickles.”

Instantly, Joshua stopped wailing. “P-pick-wels?” He sniffed, and squirmed down from Kate’s arms. “I like pick-wels.”

All of us started to laugh. What else was there to do? Our first meal together as a family wasn’t going to be perfect, as Kate had planned, but it was going to be memorable.

Ben stepped forward and helped Jenilee to her feet as Joshua advanced on the pickle platter, saying, “I want a pick-wel.”

Smiling, Jenilee handed him one, then stepped back. “Oh, my gosh, you look so much like my brother Nate.” She blinked and looked again, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, then she turned to us. “If I had one of Nate’s baby pictures, you wouldn’t believe how much they look alike.”

“Really?” Kate seemed politely skeptical. “We’ve always thought Joshua took after Ben’s family.”

Jenilee shook her head. “He looks just like Nate. I mean, they could be twins. I’ll have to bring one of Nate’s baby pictures sometime. You’ll be shocked.”

We stood dumbfounded, not quite sure how to react to our first case of family resemblance. Something inside me turned a corner. I felt a sense of connection that went beyond words.

“Well, I guess we should go eat.” Kate’s tone indicated she was glad the excitement was over. On her way through the door, she picked up Joshua’s car on a string and said to him, “This is an outside game, Josh. You know that.” Then she glanced at Dell, whose dark eyes were slightly downcast. “Honey, please don’t help him tie strings on these anymore. The other day he ran past Rose and knocked her off her feet.” Dell looked like she was about to cry, and Kate immediately backpedaled. “It’s all right, Dell. It was just an accident.”

Jenilee quickly chimed in, “It was no big deal, really. It’s O.K. I shouldn’t have been standing in front of the door.”

That seemed to reassure Dell. She and Jenilee stood looking at each other like a couple of shy toddlers, and since I was in the middle, I quickly made the introductions. “Jenilee, this is Kate’s neighbor, Dell. Dell, this is our cousin Jenilee.”

Dell glanced at me, seeming surprised to be included in the formalities and unsure of how to react. “Hey,” she muttered finally, looking at the floor.

Jenilee smiled at Dell and said, “Hi, Dell.” Then she leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t worry about the toys. My little brother used to do that, too. My mama didn’t like it much, either. Moms are funny that way.”

Dell fluttered a glance upward, and to my surprise, she smiled back. A kindred look passed between the two of them as we headed into the kitchen.

Lunch went by without any major disasters or pickle-platter incidents. We filled the time with the basic introductory chitchat of getting to know one another. I felt a little sorry for Dell. None of the family business meant much to her. She had the bored look of a kid trapped at a grown-up dinner, but it was pretty obvious that she didn’t have anyplace better to go, so she stayed.

When baby Rose woke up halfway through lunch and started babbling over the baby monitor, Dell jumped out of her chair, saying, “I can get her.” She waited a moment to see if Kate would say it was all right.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Kate said. “If she has a messy diaper or anything, just call me and I’ll come take care of it.”

“I can do it,” Dell rushed out.

Kate seemed uncertain. “She’s pretty wiggly on the changing table these days.”

“I’ll use the seat belt thingy.”

“All right.”

“Wo-hoo!” Dell headed for the door, with all of us looking after her, confused.

Ben shook his head. “I wish I got that excited over a messy diaper.”

“I wish you did, too.” Kate lowered a brow at him playfully, and Ben curled his lip in reply.

“Smart aleck,” he said.

Dell’s voice came softly over the baby monitor. “Hi, Rosie. Did you have a good nap? Did you see Grandma? I bet she sang you that song, didn’t she? Shew, I smell a stinky. Com ’ere—now, hold still. I gotta put on this seat belt thingy. There we go.” Then the ripping of diaper tabs, and Dell groaned. Clearly, she wasn’t so thrilled about the diaper changing anymore. “Oh, yuck. Gross.”

Kate started to get up, then willed herself to leave the situation alone. “She’s always trying to earn her way.” Her frustration was evident, coupled with a hint of sadness. “It’s like she thinks if she doesn’t do things for us, we’re not going to want her to come over anymore. I don’t know how to get across to her that people should love you because of who you are, not because of what you can do for them.”

“Sometimes that’s a hard thing to understand,” Jenilee said quietly, her gaze meeting Caleb’s. “Especially if you’re used to being around the other kind of people. It’s pretty hard to believe that someone could love you just because of who you are.” Caleb smiled tenderly, an obvious conversation of hidden meanings going on between them. Jenilee understood where Dell was coming from because she’d been there.

The phone rang and Ben jumped up to answer it. The room had grown uncomfortably silent, so that everyone looked toward the ringing phone with a sense of relief.

Ben answered, then turned to me, saying, “Hi, James. Sure. She’s right here. Yeah, I know. She’s AWOL, huh? I’ll let you talk to her, and she can explain.”

My heart went into my throat as I walked to the phone. I’d been so caught up in Kate’s preparations and Jenilee’s visit that I hadn’t thought about Boston in hours. Having James as close as the phone line brought back a crushing sense of reality.

Taking the phone from Ben, I turned a shoulder to the table as the lunchtime conversation resumed. There was nowhere to go for privacy. I stood bound by the curly black plastic wire that brought James’s voice through the receiver.

“Karen? Karen, are you there?”

I took a deep breath, trying to sound calm, casual. I didn’t want him to ask a bunch of questions. Not now, in front of everyone. “Hi, hon.” My voice shook. I wondered if everyone could hear it. Clearing my throat, I went on with something I hoped would sound more normal. “Where are you?”

“Dallas. Karen, what’s going on? Why are you in Missouri?”

“It’s a long story.” Something heavy and leaden pushed the breath out of my lungs. “We can talk when you get here.” The words were barely a whisper—a thin, desperate ribbon of sound winding through the phone line to pull him closer.

The line was silent. I sat listening to the low hum in the old receiver. “What’s wrong?” he asked finally.

“James, please, we can talk when you get here,” I repeated, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead. I heard the conversation at the table continuing, but it seemed far away. I wondered if Kate was listening, watching me and guessing the truth. James was probably imagining all kinds of things. I swallowed hard, trying to do some damage control. “Kate has a big weekend planned. She has a long-lost cousin of ours here, and we’re going to read through some of Grandma’s old letters. It seemed like a good time for a visit, you know?”

Surprisingly, James accepted that explanation. “All right. I’m flying my last two legs, Dallas to Denver, and ending up in Kansas City, so that should put me there sometime late tonight.” The concern left his voice, and he actually sounded cheerful. “Tomorrow I can take you down the road and show you how our little chunk of land is looking. I’ve been doing some work out there when I’m in town. It’s really shaping up.” He went on talking for a minute about eventually building a vacation cabin on the land. I realized that he was so willing to accept my excuse for being here because he didn’t want anything to be wrong. He wanted everything to be easy and normal and convenient, just like always.

What was he going to say when I told him things weren’t going to be normal anymore, at least not for a while? Depending on what Dr. Conner found, maybe not anywhere close to normal.

“That sounds good, hon,” I heard myself reply in steady, measured words, like a high school actor poorly performing lines.

James didn’t even notice. “Yeah, sounds like fun,” he agreed. “A little R and R.”

“Sure,” I said, wounded because he didn’t ask again, dig deeper, question one more time, as if he wasn’t interested in anything below the surface.

“All right. Well, I’ll see you when you get here,” I said, the forced enthusiasm so strong, I knew he’d catch it and ask again what was going on. But he didn’t, so finally I finished with, “I’m staying out in the little house, so if you get here after everyone’s asleep, just come in there.” I thought about not having to sleep alone tonight, and the image was comforting. I wanted to curl up and cry like a baby. I hadn’t done that in years—since the miscarriage, when they told me I’d lost the baby and they thought I had cancer. Later that night, we received the news that my mother had been in a car wreck on the way to the airport. One minute she was on her way to Boston to comfort me. The next minute, she was dead. After that, everything went numb.

I wondered if James was even aware that, in a way, we’d been drifting for longer than just the past two years, and there was more to it than my obsession with saving Lansing. We kept ourselves busy and distracted for a reason. Standing in my sister’s kitchen, I realized that we’d been numbing the pain for years now—with jobs, with vacations, with possessions. Ever since the miscarriage, we’d maintained a hum of activity that kept us from having to talk about the questions that accidental pregnancy and the loss of it brought into our lives.

But now, here at the farm, everything was silent. I could hear it all—the pain I felt at the loss of that baby, the grief he didn’t seem to share or recognize, his focus on the cancer, his fear that I might die like his mother, his unwillingness to talk about the baby, or whether we wanted children in the future.

As I hung up the phone, I felt all the unanswered questions returning like the dull roar of a jet far off in the distance.

What would the sound be like when it finally touched down?