Part 35 (1/2)
”What do you mean?”
278.
”Well, sometimes love seems easy. Like . . . it's easy to love rain .
. . and hawks. And it's easy to love wild plums . . . and the moon. But with people, seems like love's a hard thing to know. It gets all mixed up. I mean, you can love one person in one way and another person in another way. But how do you know you love the right one in every way?”
”I'm not sure, but I think you'll know. I think if it's the right person, it'll be better than rain and hawks and wild plums. Even better than the moon. I think it'll be better than all that put together.”
”Novalee, do you . . . I mean, are you . . .”
”What?”
”Are you in love with someone?”
Novalee was so still that for a moment Benny thought she hadn't heard him. But then she moved . . . tilted her face to catch a slender shaft of sunlight . . . s.h.i.+fted her gaze to something the boy couldn't yet see.
”I think I am, Benny,” she said. ”I think I am.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine.
N OVALEE WAS IN THE KITCHEN sorting negatives when the phone rang, but before she lifted the receiver, the caller hung up. She was almost disappointed. Talking on the phone would have been a lot more fun than trying to deal with the mess in her kitchen. OVALEE WAS IN THE KITCHEN sorting negatives when the phone rang, but before she lifted the receiver, the caller hung up. She was almost disappointed. Talking on the phone would have been a lot more fun than trying to deal with the mess in her kitchen.
In the two months following Carolyn Biddle's wedding, Novalee had shot a family reunion, two birthday parties and a dance recital.
Now she was struggling to conquer the mountains of negatives and prints on the verge of avalanching all around her.
If she got to shoot the Chamber of Commerce banquet and the Miss Sequoyah Pageant, then she'd probably have to build on another room. And if she didn't reorganize the clutter in Moses' darkroom, she wouldn't blame him if he canceled her members.h.i.+p.
She was just beginning to make some headway when she uncovered a picture of Forney, a shot she had taken one evening in 280 her backyard. She had caught him with his dark eyes turned to her and a familiar softness around his mouth, the way he looked just before he smiled.
She ran her finger over the photograph, touching his throat, the ridge of his jaw, his lips. Then, as she lifted the image of Forney's face closer to her own, the phone rang again and she jumped like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.
”h.e.l.lo?”
No one answered, but the caller was still on the line. Novalee could hear the quick catch of breath.
”Who is this?” she asked.
”Brummett.”
”Who?”
”Can you come over here?”
”Brownie?” Novalee was trying to connect the sound of the boy's voice with the child who had called her ”n.o.bbalee” since he was four, but this voice didn't belong to a child.
”Can you help us?” he asked.
”What's wrong? What happened?”
”We need you.”
”Are you at home?”
”Yes.”
”Where's Lexie?”
Novalee knew the boy moved the phone away from his mouth.
She could hear him talking, but she couldn't make out the words.
Then, from somewhere more distant, she heard a girl crying.
”Is Lexie there?”
When he didn't answer, Novalee pressed the phone tighter against her ear, straining to hear every sound. She thought she heard him say, ”hold still,” but she knew he wasn't talking to her.
281.
”Brownie?”
She heard a door close, then far from the phone he said, ”Pauline,”
but it sounded like a question.
”Brownie!” She cupped her hand around her lips, trying to amplify her voice. ”Brownie!”
A moment later she heard shuffling sounds, then his breath, thin and uneven, against the mouthpiece.
”Let me talk to your mother.” Novalee tried to sound calm.
”She can't.”
”Why? Why not?”
”Because . . . because . . .” Something gave way then-a splinter of sound, sharp and pointed, ripped through his voice.
Novalee said, ”Okay. I'm coming.” She heard the phone slide across fabric, a stiff crackling like static.
”Did you hear me?” she yelled.
She knew the receiver had hit the floor; she heard it bounce against the tile.