her besties—or so she claimed—and because allowances were always made for Marieka. But Nev was the good girl. Besides, she loved singing old gospel hymns as much as she loved wearing heels, and she had the voice for it.
But she was on vacation. She was a stranger in a not-too-strange town. She’d figured she had a pass for tomorrow’s services.
Her subconscious apparently had other ideas, because it even knew which of the many churches she would attend: the AME Zion church, a small structure surrounded by tall pines and oaks, blindingly white with tall windows that opened for a cooling breeze and a small but faithful congregation. She wasn’t sure how she knew that last part. She didn’t want to think about it too much.
“That’s good,” YaYa said. “You might meet someone there who has information for you. You know, the Lord didn’t lead you to that town to just leave you hanging without answers.”
“The Lord, the internet and you.”
“And once you’ve put the dreams to rest, you’ll thank us.”
Nev wasn’t as convinced about that.
“Say a prayer for your sister while you’re in church tomorrow. She just left on a date with her new boyfriend. Ooh, mama, that man was hot. Maybe he’ll be the one to settle her down and get me some great-grandbabies. Though I expect I’ll have a houseful of them from her before you even say ‘I do.’”
She didn’t mean to put Nev down. Nev understood that. Heavens, it wasn’t as if she’d had even one-tenth the dates Marieka had. But she hadn’t been a nun living in a convent, either. She’d even been in love a time or two. It hadn’t worked out, but...
Ruefully she admitted that, with her current prospects, Marieka was more likely to fall in love, get married and have babies before Nev met the right guy. And Marieka wasn’t even looking.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” YaYa said, “and let you know what monstrosity Rachelle wears to church. Love you, little girl.”
“Love you, YaYa.”
Nev laid the phone on the night table and curled onto her side, mindless channel surfing forgotten. It wasn’t fair that some women had men lined up around the block and couldn’t care less while others wanted nothing more than love, marriage and a family of their own and were lucky to get two dates a year. It wasn’t as if she was asking for a man who was hot enough to impress her grandma. Just a nice guy who shared her values and her goals. He didn’t have to be tall and muscular or supersuccessful or model-handsome. An ordinary guy for an ordinary woman who would share an ordinary life.
An image of Ty Gadney came to mind, and she gave a little sigh involuntarily. See, Lord? She wasn’t expecting someone like him. She was sure she didn’t even register as a dateable woman from his perspective, especially given the less than stunning impression she must have made on him when they’d met, lost in her own world, barely able to answer questions coherently.
Not that she would object if the man chosen for her was handsome...tall...sexy...with gleaming dark eyes...
* * *
Neveah’s nightmare, take thirty-four.
It starts the same as usual: walking along the sidewalk, following the running trail, reaching the tree. But there, things change. The tree remains the same, crooked wooden fingers dipping into the river, branches rising into the sky, swaying in the breeze. Way off to the northwest, darkness encroaches, a storm, winds pushing the clouds so fast that they bump into each other, turning purplish blue in their anger, but overhead the sun is bright, the sky vivid blue, the clouds puffy and white.
I watch the gentle movement of the branches, and an inexplicable urge to kick off my shoes and climb up the massive trunk strikes me. It’s ridiculous enough to make me laugh. I’m not a tomboy. I’ve never climbed a tree. I don’t even go barefoot, ever. My bright orange sundress would snag, and the tender soles of my feet throb at even the thought of digging into the bark for purchase.
The wind picks up, and someone ahead along the winding path calls. I look just in time to catch a glimpse of a slender leg, a long black curl, disappearing into the tall grass. A child, and her giggle is all that remains by the time I reach the spot. Raindrops begin to fall. I don’t worry about getting wet. I don’t scamper for cover. Instead I follow the trail, led on by the laughter of the young girl and the calls, fainter now, picked up by the wind and blown away before I can make out the words.
“Wait!” I shout, walking as fast as the uneven ground and my high-heeled sandals allow, but the girl doesn’t listen, or perhaps she doesn’t hear. Perhaps the wind carries my voice away, too. Yet her laughs come back to me clearly, though they, too, should be dispersed on the growing gale.
Seeing only occasional glimpses—a sneakered foot, a hot-pink blouse, more of those glorious long curls—I break into a run. My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m gasping for air when I see lights ahead. When did it get so dark? I look, and the blazing sun, the fat clouds, the vivid sky are all lost in the roiling anger of the rushing storm. The air is electric, robbing the very breath from my lungs, and I struggle, but for each step I take forward, the wind pushes me back another. I can no longer hear the calls or the laughter. I can’t hear anything but the thunderous beat of my heart and the fierce power of the storm descending.
Rain drenches me, unloosing the curls in my own hair, soaking my clothes, making my feet slip within the delicate straps of my shoes. I fall, struggle back up, fall again, but my gaze remains fixed on the lights up ahead. House lights, I realize: a yellow glow above a door, cooler incandescent glows from all the windows. Home.
The place is home, and I need to get there, but something’s stopping me. Rain, thunder that vibrates the very ground, lightning so brilliant I have to close my eyes. It strikes a nearby tree, the dead wood flaming before the rain extinguishes it, and the trunk splits in two, half of it landing mere feet in front of me. There’s no path around, I can’t climb over it, and I’m too big to wiggle through the narrow space beneath it.
I turn to go back, fear heavy in my chest. I take a few steps, and the rain stops. The wind stops. The sun reappears in the bright blue sky with the fat white clouds. The air is warm and muggy, and ahead of me, so close I could reach out my fingers and touch it, is the other tree, half in the water, half in the air. Its limbs are still and dry. I’m still and dry.
There’s no storm. No gale-force wind. No deluge. No lights. No house. No little girl. No one calling. Just the dead tree and me.
* * *
Church had been a part of Ty’s life ever since he’d come to Copper Lake to live with Granddad. Back in the beginning, he’d been okay with the going-to-church part. He’d just had trouble with the church-clothes part: black or gray pants, white button-down shirt and tie, no matter how hot and miserable the weather was. Despite the fact that his father had run off before Ty was old enough to remember him or that his mother had died long before her time and he’d been uprooted from his home in Macon, he was thankful. He just didn’t see that it made much difference to God whether he was thankful in church clothes or shorts and a T-shirt.
It was all about respect, Granddad said, and there’d been no arguing with Obadiah Gadney. Still wasn’t. Eighty years of getting what he wanted meant he expected to continue getting what he wanted. What he’d wanted was for his grandson to be a God-loving, God-fearing, responsible and honorable young man.
As he straightened his tie and then left his house for Granddad’s down the street, Ty
