Chapter 33.

I drove Hazel Marie's car home from the auditorium so she could ride with Mr. Pickens. Following them, I noted that their seat belts kept them separate, after they'd spent an inordinate amount of time close together before buckling up. I didn't begrudge them, although seeing those two heads as one had made my pitiful heart ache.

When the rehearsal was over, and Hazel Marie met us out front, she expressed her joy first at seeing Mr. Pickens waiting for her. Then she launched into a discourse on Ashley Knowles's deficiencies.

"That girl is so self-conscious, you wouldn't believe. She had that hair swinging down in her face, and she looked like she was just cringing all the way down the runway. I don't know what we're going to do with her."

Mr. Pickens smiled down at her, then smoothed her hair with his hand. "I can tell you what you're going to do with me."

It crossed my mind as I drove home that I'd let Hazel Marie down by making not one comment on the rehearsal. Somebody, even Miss Wiggins, would eventually ask for any constructive criticism I might have, since it was in that capacity that I'd attended. And what was I going to say? That between fighting off Thurlow Jones and pouring my heart out to Mr. Pickens, I hadn't had a minute to study a pageant rehearsal?

As I say, it crossed my mind, but that's all it did. It wouldn't be hard to make up something to tell Hazel Marie. In her excitement at seeing Mr. Pickens, she'd chattered away about all that had gone wrong. I would just repeat that to her, if she even remembered to ask what I thought.

Mr. Pickens parked his car at the curb, while I pulled into the driveway. We met in the front yard and went into the house together, both Hazel Marie and I hurrying to check our answering machines. My heart jumped in my breast when I saw the blinking light.

I carefully punched the PLAY button, fearful of erasing whatever was on the tape. Sam's voice soothed my shattered nerves. "Julia? Sorry we've been out of touch, but you won't believe what we've been doing. We met with Sonny's manager early yesterday, and first thing I knew, Sonny himself came in. We compared notes on what we've done to find Kincaid. And, I tell you, Sonny's pretty steamed about the situation. He's got every county in the state looking for that man. I mean, when Sonny Sutton speaks, people listen. Real nice fellow, though." There was a brief silence on the line; then Sam's voice started again. "Anyway, until we hear something, there's not much else we can do, so Sonny took us out on his houseboat yesterday, then to the Grand Ole Opry last night. Lloyd's had a big time and he can't wait to tell you about it. But we're on the way home now. It'll be late when we get there, so we'll go to my house for the rest of the night. But I want to see you in the morning." He paused again, and I thought that was the end of the message. Then he said, "We need to sit down and talk."

The machine clicked off, and I almost did, too. Sit down and talk? About what? His change of heart? I sat on the bed, my breath coming in gasps, while I thought over what I'd not heard in his message. Not one teasing word. Not one sweet one. Nothing warm and embracing in the tone of his voice. And what had he been doing while I was home, worried sick? Out running around with a singing sensation and taking no thought of the morrow.

Hazel Marie came down the stairs, calling, "Miss Julia? Did you hear from them? I didn't."

I blew out my breath and got to my feet. No need to throw cold water on her happiness, I thought, as I went to meet her.

"Yes, they're on their way home."

"Oh, I can't wait," she said, then turned toward the living room where Mr. Pickens waited. "J.D., did you hear that? They're on their way. Surely they'll be here soon."

"No, wait, Hazel Marie," I cautioned. "Sam said they'd be quite late, so they're going to his house. Didn't want to disturb us, I guess."

"Oh, I wouldn't care, would you?" But she didn't wait for an answer. She hurried over to Mr. Pickens, standing much too close to him. "Now that I don't have to worry about Lloyd, we could go out for a while."

Mr. Pickens put his arm around her. "Then that's what we'll do." He looked across the room at me, his black eyebrows raised. "Things're looking up, right?"

Well, no, they weren't, but I nodded, told them to have a good time, and locked the door behind them. I knew where they were going-to his house-and what they were going to do, but I didn't dwell on it.

Lord, for all the times I'd been dismayed by what went on between Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens, I was now overcome with envy. They had something special, even though it wasn't blessed by either church or state. Come to think of it, neither was what Sam and I had. If we still had anything.

Mr. Pickens would go off on his business now and again, but he always came back. And he never changed. As true as any husband could be, even though he wasn't one.

And Sam! The one man I'd thought I could trust, the one I'd been willing, though somewhat reluctantly, to commit myself to, and here he was, wanting to sit down and talk. I knew what he wanted to talk about. I wasn't dense, and I wasn't starry eyed. He'd gone to Tennessee, found out somehow that we weren't legally married, and wanted his freedom back.

And why? Why, because he'd seen Etta Mae Wiggins again in her tight blue jeans, and realized what he'd bypassed for me, who wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of Levi's. Or Liz Claiborne, either.

I checked the back door, turned off the lights, and headed for my room, becoming madder by the minute. I slung my pocketbook off the bed and turned down the covers, building up a head of steam with each movement. I'd torn up my house to accommodate Sam Murdoch. Moved downstairs so we could have privacy. Privacy for what? I ask you. Moved Hazel Marie upstairs, which took two million trips up and down the stairs. Hired Mr. Pruitt and Willie to tear up jack, building closets we no longer needed, and did everything I knew how to do to make him feel at home.

Well, except sleep with him. But that wasn't my fault. It hadn't been my idea to go to a fantasy chapel and have what turned out to be a fantasy wedding. And it hadn't been my idea to spend our fantasy honeymoon at Dollywood, either.

I stopped midway of removing my clothes as I prepared for bed. He wants to talk with me? Well, he'd better be ready to get an earful, too. I wasn't about to show up, full of joy and welcome, only to have him tell me he'd had second thoughts. I'd had a few, myself, if he but knew it. And he was going to know it. I'd beat him to it, that's what I'd do. If he thought he'd take my hand and tell me, with pity in his eyes, that I'd be better off without him, that our make-believe wedding had been a blessing in disguise, that it was all turning out for the best, then he had another think coming.

I lay in bed with the lights off, imagining just how it would go. He'd expect me to be stunned, and he'd feel sorry for me. He'd do all he could to let me down easy. He'd even have a handkerchief ready, in case I started bawling. Oh, I could picture the whole sorry episode, him trying to be kind, since that was his way, and all the while he'd be rejecting me out of hand.

I squirmed around in the bed, turning first one way, then the other, unable to get fixed regardless of what I did. The big rejection scene played over and over in my mind, as I rehearsed what he would say and what I would say in return. Of course, he was a lawyer and could outtalk me any day of the week. So what I would have to do was get my say-so in first. No woman wants to hear that she's unwanted, and I didn't intend to hear it from Sam. If he thought he could break my heart and expose me to the ridicule of the town, I was going to head him off at the pass. I aimed to do a little breaking and exposing, myself. And we'd just see how he liked it.

I didn't think I'd sleep a wink, and I didn't for the longest. But I must have, for I awakened to sunlight shining through the curtains where I'd failed to draw them, and to voices and laughter in the kitchen. Dressing quickly, I hurried in to find Hazel Marie smothering Little Lloyd with hugs and kisses, telling him how she'd missed him and how glad she was to see him. Lillian beamed as she stood by the stove, watching the child as her pancakes almost burned.

Little Lloyd looked fine and healthy, in spite of his questionable diet in the past few days. He was tanned from his time on the rides at Dollywood or on a houseboat somewhere, and full of himself, telling his mother all they'd done, with Sonny this and Sonny that. I reached over and patted his shoulder, wanting to feel him again and reassure myself that he was safe.

He pushed up his glasses, reminding me that we needed to get them adjusted, and turned to me. "Miss Julia, you should've been with us. We did everything, rode the rides and saw a show at Dollywood, and went to the clerk of court's office and looked through records. Real interesting, because you can find out all kinds of things. Then we went to Nashville, and did you know they have a Greek temple there? And a university? Real nice town. I liked it. And Sonny took us on his houseboat and we stayed on the river all day and fished and everything. And he took us to the Grand Ole Opry and I got to meet Lonesome Will-he's their new comedy act-and then we went to some more offices and asked a lot of questions. Sonny and Mr. Sam were looking for somebody-I don't know who-but I think I'm going to be a lawyer when I grow up. I liked looking in those dusty old books."

"Sit down, now," Lillian said, bringing a plate to the table. "You need to eat yo' breakfast. I'll fix Mr. Sam's when he get here."

"Oh, he's not coming," Little Lloyd said, sitting down at his place. My heart dropped like a rock.

Lillian frowned, and Hazel Marie said, "Why not?"

"James wanted to cook for him, so he's eating over there." Little Lloyd busied himself with pouring syrup over his pancakes, unaware of the looks that were aimed my way by Hazel Marie and Lillian. "He said he'll be over later."

Lillian gave me a hard look. "I guess you better get yo'self on over there. No tellin' what that James give him, prob'bly not fit to eat no how."

"No," I said, somewhat stiffly, as I tried to hide my dismay at my husband's reluctance to be welcomed home. "I prefer your cooking, Lillian." Might as well make somebody feel good.

Hazel Marie kept glancing at me as we took our places at the table. She was frowning, hesitant to pursue the subject of my missing husband, but wanting to know what was going on. Finally, she murmured, "Is everything all right, Miss Julia?"

"Certainly," I almost snapped, on edge from trying to hide the hurt I was feeling. "I declare, Little Lloyd, your hair is almost as yellow as your mother's. I hope you didn't get too much sun while you were gone."

In spite of my aching heart, I couldn't help but smile when I looked at him. He still had some resemblance to Wesley Lloyd-wispy hair, thin face, and slight build, but I was beginning to see some of Hazel Marie in him, too, thank the Lord. Mostly in his disposition, for he was as sunny and cheerful as his mother, which changed his features remarkably. Wesley Lloyd had always had a frown on his face, with beady eyes that roved about, looking for something to criticize and disapprove of. He always found it, too.

Little Lloyd smiled. "No'm, I didn't get too much sun. We spent a lot of time in the car, and Mr. Sam's gonna teach me to drive real soon. Then we can take turns when we go on another trip."

"Oh, don't be planning another trip!" Hazel Marie cried. "You just got home. I can't let you go off again for a long time."

"Worry less about another trip, Hazel Marie," I said, "than about Sam letting him drive. You have a few years, Little Lloyd, before you get behind a wheel."

"I know," he said happily, not at all put off by the thought. "But Mr. Sam said he'd take me out in the country and let me practice. I'll need a cushion, though, to be high enough. He said we'd take J.D., too."

"Mr. Pickens," I corrected him.

He nodded. "Yessum. Mr. Pickens."

Well, Lord, I thought as I nibbled at a pancake, Sam is certainly making a lot of plans for the future. Too bad they didn't include me, but then, my plans for the future were unlikely to include him.

And if, as Little Lloyd had said, Sam's immediate plans included coming over later, then my plans just might include not being at home to receive him.

"Hazel Marie," I said. "Don't you have something for me to do today?"

Chapter 34.

Well, yes, she did. Hazel Marie jumped up to get her notes and her calendar. Then she sat back down and picked up her fork. Between trying to eat and figure out what she had lined up for the day, she didn't do either one very well.

"I've got to do something about Melanie and Shandra, because the fire marshal said absolutely no fire in the auditorium." She looked up at me, her eyes big. "They're so upset-Melanie, especially. She had a crying fit, then changed her talent to a lyrical dance, whatever that is. I just hope she'll be ready, because the pageant's almost upon us." She glanced down, consulting her calendar. "The girls need to rehearse onstage again, so they're going to meet with Etta Mae and me today at the auditorium. Lloyd, you can go with me if you want to, and maybe help up in the sound booth." She made a note to herself in the margin of her notebook. "Then, let's see-oh, not all the band members can get off work today, so we'll just have a run-through and meet again tonight for, well, not exactly a dress rehearsal, since they don't all have their costumes ready. But at least they can do their routines to music. Oh, I need to check the CD's that some of them are bringing. Make sure they'll work on the sound system there. And, let me see-what else?" She took another bite of pancake, while I waited for my assignment.

"What about Ashley?" I asked. "Do you think she'll rehearse? I mean, you don't have the scrim up yet, do you?"

"Oh, it's there. They have a couple of them up in the whatever you call it. The ceiling, I guess. We'll try it tonight when it's dark and can get the lights where they need to be. She might freeze up this morning, even with just the girls watching her. They'll laugh at her or snub her even worse than some of them're already doing. Since you've sorta taken her under your wing, why don't you rehearse her in one of the classrooms? Use a closet if you have to. She needs some help with her walk, too."

"I can do that. I do better one-on-one, anyway. I'll take my car, though, so I can come home when we're through."

"Oh, wait," Hazel Marie said. "I know you want to see Sam." She gave me a teasing smile. "I keep forgetting you're still in the honeymoon phase."

"My honeymoon's come and gone, Hazel Marie," I said. "I think I can manage a tutorial rehearsal this morning without having to see him."

Hazel Marie and Lillian exchanged worried glances again, but I refused to be more forthcoming. I was in no mood to bare my soul to anybody but Sam, and, believe me, my soul was the only thing I intended to bare.

Confusion, noise, and laughter reigned again in the auditorium when we got there. All the contestants except Ashley were beside themselves with excitement, for there were not many more days before the big one. Miss Wiggins was making her presence felt, trying to run everything as usual. The woman made my mouth tighten so much that I could barely speak to her.

I took Ashley aside and led her to an empty classroom. I noted again the lack of makeup, the lank hair, and the absence of the gold stud in her nose. One could only hope that the hole would close of its own accord.

"Now, Ashley," I said, once the door was shut and we were alone. "I want you to run through your piece with just me here. I don't know one note from another, so you don't need to worry about what I think. You could sing and play off-key all the way through, and I wouldn't know the difference."

"I'll try," she mumbled, letting that hair hide her face.

"Well, to make it easier, you sit so that you're looking out the window at the ball field, and I'll go over here." I took myself across the room and slid into a student desk.

I'm pleased to report that Ashley did even better under those circumstances than she had in my pantry, because she sang a song I recognized. I extended my congratulations on a particularly beautiful rendition of "Scarborough Fair," and got a shy smile in return. Then without any encouragement and right in my presence, she launched into "Greensleeves," stunning me with the clear beauty of her voice.

"I don't think you need any more practice," I told her. "It sounded fine to me, although I admit I don't have a musical ear. You do need to decide, though, which one you're going to render as your talent." Then, thinking that she needed to be warned, I asked, "You know about the light they're going to aim at your face, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. I hope it works."

"And I hope it doesn't blind you. So don't look right at it. It'll keep you from seeing the audience or anything else. All you have to do is think about the words you're singing. Pretend you're sitting on the side of a mountain somewhere, with no one within a mile of you. I want you to close your mind to everything else, and open it up to what you do best. Which is sing and play that guitar."

She took a long breath and said, "I'll try. I just get so nervous in front of people."

"I understand, but you've done just fine in front of me. Think of it this way: How many of the other contestants can play the guitar?"

"Not any, I don't think."

"That's right, and how many will there be in the audience who can play it?"

"I don't know. Maybe a lot."

"And maybe not. And those who can will recognize your talent, because, honey, you are good." I stopped then, wondering if an admittedly unmusical listener's critique held any water at all. But she smiled at the praise, apparently not considering the source.

Then her smile faded. "I think Heather sings better than I do."

"I wouldn't know. I've not heard her, and besides, you won't be singing the same thing. I tell you, Ashley, when you lift your voice in song it sends cold chills down my back. Heather's going to have to go some to get to me like you do.

"So you keep that in mind," I went on. "You are the best in this town at what you do. And how do you ever expect to get to Nashville, if you let a bunch of untalented people stop you?"

She hid her face. "My grandmother tell you about that?"

"Yes, she did. And if that's what you want to do, then this is a good place to start." Not that I would want to go to Nashville, but I believe in encouraging young people to pursue their dreams. "So you're going to have to get over this stage fright of yours, and remind yourself over and over that you're doing something that few others can do. And nobody in this town, much less in this pageant.

"All right, now," I continued. "Put that instrument down, and let's practice your runway walk and your pivot."

She grimaced, but she put the guitar in its case and stood with her shoulders hunched over, as if preparing herself for an ordeal. Which, for her, it probably was.

I pushed back a row of desks to make room for her to walk. "Let's see what you do. Walk down to the wall, turn, and come back."

She did, but it was a pitiful performance.

"Look now, this is one place where we can't hide you behind a scrim or put you in a pantry. You're going to have to do better than that. Pull your shoulders back and hold your head up high. And walk from your hips down, like Miss Wiggins showed you."

"Yes, but I'm not pretty like the other girls. And all those people will be looking at me."

"They certainly will be, and you're going to give them something to look at." I tapped my mouth with a finger, trying to think of anything that would help. "Ashley, do you know why so many beautiful women use makeup?"

"Because they want to?"

"No. It's because they think they need help. Makeup is a cover. It hides faults, smooths out imperfections, brings out eye color, and puts a glow on the face. And none of it is natural, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that it makes any woman look better, if it's done right."

I paused, trying to decide whether to lay it on the line and risk losing her altogether. I took a deep breath and plunged in.

"There're some people who're just naturally better-looking than others. I should know, because I'm not one of them. When you can't rely on beauty, you have to call on your strengths, which, in your case, is your talent. You mustn't be disheartened by that makeup job Lillian and I did on you, and forget what she said about us opening a beauty school. We'd go broke in a week. Hazel Marie's going to give all you girls some beauty tips and show you how to use product. Whatever that is. When she gets through, you'll walk out there with confidence, because the real you will be behind a layer of cosmetics. And you can pour out the real you in your music when they can't see you."

She'd frowned all the way through my discourse, and hadn't stopped by the time I'd finished. So I kept trying. "I think, if Hazel Marie pulls your hair up and back, and puts some color on your face, you're going to be so pleased that you'll want everybody to see you."

"I don't know . . ."

"Well, I do. Just think of the entire pageant as a rehearsal for the Grand Ole Opry." Or, I thought but certainly did not say, for a job behind a cash register. "Let's go back out and see what the others're doing. And, remember, shoulders back, head high."

That lasted about about five minutes, as long, in fact, as it took us to walk into the auditorium, where her shoulders began sagging again. Hazel Marie was getting the contestants lined up for one more practice on the runway, and she motioned for Ashley to join them.

"I'll be sitting about halfway back," I told her. "And I want you to look at me when you come out. I'm going to remind you of what we just talked about, so keep your eyes on me and imitate what I do. Okay?"