Never to Suffer

Since the lacquer would take a full week to dry, each day stretched longer than forever. Days and days with no bike meant relying on Wynn for rides—an inconvenience I hadn’t considered and, according to Wynn, exactly what he was there for.

He liked to listen to the radio, loud and with the windows down. But he didn’t just listen. He knew every country song ever created by heart and belted them all in a shrill wail the whole way to wherever we went. The singing only stopped when he paused to spit out the window, and he didn’t care a bit how red I turned. Even though he was like a long-distance uncle to me, I’d never spent this much time with him. And sometimes, particularly when in his truck, I missed the distance.

When Wynn dropped me off at the Fabric Barn, I could still hear his howling. If Rayburn had been there, he might have joined in.

After two days, Rayburn finally came home from the vet. Wynn and I baked him a jar full of healthy dog treats. When I gave them to Holly, her eyes filled, she took my hand, and said, “Hiring you might have been the single smartest thing I’ve done in a long while.” And then she kissed me on both cheeks.

For a minute, those kisses of Holly’s shocked me stiff. I could count on one hand the people I allowed close to me. The longer we stayed in Hope Springs, the closer I got to needing another hand. And as much as I wanted to find our perfect place, I still wasn’t positive this was it. Nan sure wasn’t convinced. Getting too familiar meant getting hurt when we left. And we always left.

Arletta always said, “More often than not, the gift doesn’t matter as much as the act of giving.” I’d never stuck around long enough to see what Arletta meant until I gave Abby that paper fish. Which might mean I’d have to revise my firmly followed Relocation Rule Number 12: Give good gifts rather than goodbyes. It seemed like a lot of the rules Nan and I’d been living by could use a closer look, and I found myself hoping long and hard that a goodbye wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

As I worked moving bolts of fabric from the back, I uncovered a dozen old sewing machines hidden by a stack of boxes. I walked up front with an armload of cotton prints.

“What’s with all the machines in the back?” I asked.

“I used to teach classes before this place got so cluttered. Attendance dipped lower as I got messier. Just never started it up again.” She stroked Rayburn and whispered into his flappy ear. “But who knows? Now that I’ve got some help…” Holly gave him another treat and lost her train of thought while scratching his head.

The sewing machines gave me an idea. “Holly, would you mind if I use one of those? Wynn’s been helping out so much, especially with the cooking, I thought I might make him an apron.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.” She didn’t take her eyes off Rayburn.

Once, I saw Arletta Paisley make a chef’s apron on a show geared toward summer picnics and grilling. I’d just opened up Arletta Paisley’s website on Holly’s clunky old computer when I heard, “Oh, no you don’t.” Holly reached around me to close the window. “Let’s make it together. I’ll teach you how to modify a pattern.”

As much as I trusted her, I suspected the offer had more to do with her dislike of Arletta than helping me. “Arletta cares about Hope Springs, Holly. She changed her whole show to help small towns.”

“Jubilee, I appreciate your loyalty to her, but I bet every town she’s stopping in is about to have or already has a SmartMart. It’s a way for her to get rich and SmartMart to get richer, without having to look bad doing it.” She motioned to the aisles. “I know it’s a mess, but here in this store, I help folks create using what they’ve learned from real people. I taught what I learned from my mother and grandmother, not from a TV show or the computer.”

“Well, some people don’t have that.” My voice was louder than I’d intended. I cleared my throat. “I mean, some people don’t have family members with any crafting skills. So they have to teach themselves.”

Holly sighed. “You’re right, sweet girl. Of course, you’re right about that.” She studied the aisles again. “Times have changed, and you’ve half convinced me there’s room for both ways.”

The first time I’d gone to SmartMart, I’d been shopping for supplies for my very first Arletta Paisley project—embroidered handkerchiefs. The quote from that episode floated back to me now—“Hard times make the good times special”—a quote she’d hand-stitched on one cloth. I liked the idea that a little pain made life more interesting; I especially liked that Arletta felt the same way.

I crossed my arms. “Haven’t you ever shopped at a SmartMart?”

“Before I noticed how many businesses were closing, I did. I’ll only go now if I can’t get what I need here in Hope Springs. Funny how many times it turns out I didn’t really need it after all.”

Holly riffled through the shelf of patterns, leaving me alone to think. Maybe she was saying that a true crafter made do, and part of the joy of crafting was creating without step-by-step directions and a kit. I’d have asked her more but was thrown off when she held up a pattern for a bib apron with a ruffled hem. “Here, with a few alterations, this’ll do. We’ll put a big pocket on the chest, adjust the waist, and leave the ruffle off.”

I raised my eyebrows doubtfully.

“Come on, I’ll help,” she said. “Besides, patterns are a little like life. We take what we’ve got and make it suit our needs. We run the show.”

Holly could alter, cut a pattern, and sew like she was doing nothing harder than threading a needle. I picked out a fabric that looked like a black-and-white Holstein cow and a red bandanna print for the pocket and straps. With Holly’s help, I finished the apron in about an hour.

I could hardly wait to give Wynn his gift. I wrapped it up in green tissue paper, tied a bright blue grosgrain ribbon in a bow around it, and slid it into a Fabric Barn bag. Had I ever given Wynn some sort of appreciation over the years? Not even a scrap. An apron was the least I could do.

After work, Wynn howled along with Carrie Underwood, and I sat in his truck with the baggie on my lap, unable to work up the nerve to give it to him. When we walked in, Nan was at our small kitchen table with Miss Esther, deep in conversation.

“After that, I did what I had to do to get by. Raised all three kids without a dime from their father,” Miss Esther said.

Nan nodded. “Some heartaches never quite heal, do they?” she said quietly. This was not a quote or a Relocation Rule or anything else I’d ever heard her say before. Then she did something even more surprising. She patted Miss Esther’s hand.

“Well, I better get going.” Miss Esther stood. “See you this evening? I’ll send my friend over around five and pick you up at seven.”

“See you then,” Nan said.

Miss Esther nodded to Wynn, and I swear, she winked at him. Then she said, “Good to see you again, missy.” But I suspected she didn’t mean that one bit.

She left on foot, moving at a sloth’s pace toward the pond.

“What’s going on? And did she walk here?” I asked. “Is that safe?”

“She stopped by to drop off more stuff and corner me into going out with her tonight. According to her, she walks a mile three days a week. And despite my saying no three times, she’s sending her hairdresser over here.”

“She’s something else,” I said.

“Oh, she’s all right. Turns out we have a lot in common. How’s Holly Paine doing?” Nan asked.

“Good. She sure knows how to sew. Can I help with anything?” I turned to Wynn, who was already in the kitchen setting up to fry pork chops.

“Nope, just want to make sure Nan eats something before her big evening out,” he said.

“Someone’s coming to fix your hair before dinner?” I asked, returning to our conversation.

“Yes, but I think I’ll be able to do it myself soon. Today, I was able to get all the way dressed. And this thing”—she lifted her Aircast—“I’m starting to get used to it. ‘Never to suffer would have been never to have been blessed.’ Edgar Allan Poe.”

“I could decorate it for you. Glue some sequins or rhinestones along the edge.” I was already picturing Nan’s brace gussied up, though she wasn’t one for sequins—maybe silver studs.

“Sure.” She leaned over to tuck a curl behind my ear. “This is a switch, huh? You taking care of me.”

I shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Seems like you’ve even had time to make a friend.” I nodded toward the road where Miss Esther was still in sight.

Nan waved her good hand. “Oh, we’re just going to a ladies’ night bingo game at the Veterans’ Center. I think Miss Esther’s real reason for the visit was to check out Wynn.”

Wynn yelled from the kitchen, “I was in the shower, and she stayed forever! I came out wrinkled as a prune. If I hadn’t had to pick you up, I’d still be in there. Speaking of, I think there are actual prunes in that casserole she dropped off.”

Nan laughed. “After thinking about her walking all the way here carrying that heavy casserole dish, I felt obligated to go tonight,” she said.

I stayed in my room during Nan’s home-visit beauty appointment. But when I came out for dinner, Nan looked like herself again, unmussed and dressed to impress in black leggings and a long red shirt with lipstick to match.

Wynn talked nonstop during supper. He talked about the weather, a stray dog he’d seen, the pond, the size of a mosquito he’d swatted, and new boots he wanted but couldn’t afford. Since he’d moved in, he’d been to the grocery store, cleaned, cooked every meal, and even planted some sunflowers in front of the house.

“I got the go-ahead from Dr. Burgess. I’m going to start on this kitchen tomorrow,” he added. “I’ll have to take all the hardware off, sand down the cabinets, and prime everything before we can even think about a first coat of paint. I could use some help. What do you say, Jubi—I mean, Jubilee?”

I nodded without making any outright commitments. Nan shot me a look.

While Wynn put away the dishes, singing again, Nan leaned over with effort and whispered, “He doesn’t have to be here, you know. And he really is a help.”

Wynn’s voice floated out to us. “You know, Nan, I was talking to Jubilee about buying some grass seed for the yard. You’re losing your topsoil because there’s nothing rooted down.” He stopped crashing dishes to look at us. “It’s good to have roots. Gives the soil something to hold on to, and it’s nice to watch something you’ve planted grow.”

We both knew he wasn’t only talking about our yard—he was talking about our relocation habits too.

Nan straightened herself in the chair and avoided my told-you-so look when a knock sounded at the front door. I opened it to Miss Esther coated in as much hairspray, jewelry, and makeup as Miss Universe. She squinted her eyes and frowned at me, clearly disappointed in her greeter.

“Where’s the friend of the family?” she whispered.

“Wynn! Miss Esther’s asking for you!” I yelled then gave Miss Esther a big smile. “Come on in.”

She squinted her eyes even smaller and shuffled in.

“Well, Nan Johnson, you look better than when I last saw you.” She gave a nod of approval and scanned the house. “I meant to say earlier, before you shot out of here, that the new touches look nice. I suppose this is your doing?” she said to Wynn.

“I only keep an eye on things and cook. Jubilee does most of the heavy lifting and every bit of the decorating. Really, in a week or so, I don’t think they’ll need me at all,” he said. Now that he’d brought it up, I realized while I didn’t love the idea of him living in my craft room, I didn’t love the idea of him leaving either.

“Wynn, you can’t stay in the house all day. I’ll be by tomorrow around noon and you can help me make my rounds,” Miss Esther said. “We’ll go by the First Baptist Church and help with the food drive, and then we can stop in on a quilting circle at the nursing home. Oh, they’ll get a kick out of you.” She motioned to Wynn, whose eyes widened with fear. “And I have some cuttings from my garden I can help you plant.”

“I’ll definitely take those cuttings,” Wynn said. “We were just talking about getting something rooted and growing in the front yard.” Nan shot him a look. “But we’ve made plans to repaint the kitchen. So I’ll be busy here for the next few days.”

“Yeah, too bad,” I said and earned my own look from Nan.

“I can’t figure why you’d want to paint the cabinets, but whatever butters your biscuit.” Miss Esther pointed at Nan. “Let’s get a move on before someone steals my regular seat. Fridays fill up faster than an Easter basket.”

She honked twice before they pulled out of the driveway and sped away in a shower of gravel. Wynn and I watched from the window, and Nan looked at us wide-eyed as she struggled to buckle her seat belt.

“You think she’ll be okay with that lady?” I asked.

“I sure hope so,” he said. “She seems pretty alert for her age.”

“Yeah, alert, like a stirred-up rattlesnake,” I said.

“One with a lot to rattle,” Wynn added, and we both laughed.

“Well, I better take care of the rest of those dishes.” He turned to leave.

“I’ll help, but wait a second. I made something for you.” I ran to get the gift from my room. Wynn took it, sat down at the table, and held it for a bit, smiling down at the wrapping. He grabbed the ribbon, ready to pull, but then stopped and looked at me.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll open this if you open the last letter your momma sent.”

I crossed my arms. “How do you know I don’t read them?”

“I know because, if you read them, you might not be so angry, might even forgive her a little bit. I know she dragged you through a bad time, but she’s not a bad person. And she loves you. I know you and Nan are quick to part with places, but people ought to be harder to let go of. Don’t you think?”

All the warm feelings I’d been fostering all afternoon shriveled up and froze solid. I pointed at the package. “It’s an apron,” I said. Then I stood and walked out of the room.

Nan once told me that my mom’s heart had been broken by my daddy’s death. So broken that she couldn’t put it back together on her own, and that she’d moved into a place to get help. That was three years ago, the same time Momma’s first letter arrived. Along with it came a package of papers from her attorney for Nan to sign, making Nan my official guardian.

Just like that, Momma had given me up. I wasn’t the one who let go.

More than thirty envelopes in various shades of pink sat stacked in an old shoebox. Whatever those letters said, it wasn’t enough.