A Wish and a Prayer Read online

  He pondered that for a moment. Was Crenshaw his real last name? Why had he been contacted by her and not his biological mom? Was she dead? And what about his dad? Did this Crenshaw lady know who he was, where he was?

  There were a gazillion questions yelling in his head, but he had no answers.

  The OG walked out and handed him a big white bag with his lunch inside. “You want to talk, I’m here,” he said, sounding sincere.

  “I know. Thanks.”

  And as Preston rode off, he was thankful. All the kids in town knew they could talk to the OG about anything. Mal always gave good advice or offered words that made them feel better, but in this case none of that solved Preston’s problems. The only way out was to read the e-mail, so he had to man up.

  Chapter 2

  Inside the Dog and Cow, the place was packed as usual. The six red leather booths along the far wall were full, as were the six booths on the back wall and the six that lined the windows that looked out onto Main Street. There were a few empty chairs at the ten small tables in the center of the room, but they wouldn’t be unoccupied for long.

  When the Dog wasn’t serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner, seven days a week, it was holding town meetings, wedding receptions, and birthday parties. Henry Adams was a small town, population maybe sixty, and if you sat in the diner long enough, you had the chance to see just about everybody around.

  Jack James, the town’s lone schoolteacher, was sipping coffee in a booth by the window. He and his teenage son Eli had been residents for a year now, and in that time the Dog had helped him learn who was who—like the owner, Malachi July, former veterinarian, Vietnam vet, and recovering alcoholic. The drinking part of his life accounted for the diner’s head-scratching name.

  Mal was standing next to a booth on the far side of the room, flirting no doubt with his lady love, Bernadine Brown, town owner, miracle worker, and all-around force of nature whose hand and bank account spun Henry Adams’s world. She’d purchased the town off eBay three years ago, and because of her TLC it had gone from having one foot in the grave to standing tall and strutting around with its chest poked out.

  Seated in the booth with her were school superintendent Marie Jefferson and Marie’s BFF, Genevieve Curry. Last fall, Genevieve had broken her hand decking her ex-husband Riley in an altercation that served as the talk of the town for months, but she’d healed up well. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Riley, the town’s former mayor. She’d broken his nose, and folks swore he hadn’t looked the same since.

  Jack had yet to be formerly introduced to Curry, but he knew the man wasn’t well liked. According to the gossip, Riley was currently holed up on the town’s outskirts in an expensive double-wide trailer he’d shared with his girlfriend, Texas millionairess Eustasia Pennymaker, until he’d gotten on her nerves so much that she’d packed up her bucks and her beloved sow, Chocolate, and two-stepped it back to her ranch outside Laredo. Word was, Riley was preparing for the big court battle involving his six-hundred-pound hog Cletus, who three years ago had sat on a man and killed him. The county wanted the hog put down, but Riley swore Cletus acted in self-defense. Apparently he loved the hog more than he had his wife Genevieve, which was one of the reasons she’d socked him.

  Another reason Jack liked hanging out at the Dog was the fancy red jukebox that played all oldies, all the time. Currently, Diana Ross and the Supremes were cooing “Come See About Me,” and heads and shoulders all over the room were keeping time.

  But the number-one reason Jack came to the Dog whenever he had a free moment was to watch the diner’s manager, Rochelle Dancer, work the room. The locals called her Rocky, but he didn’t think a woman with her beauty should have a name evoking Sylvester Stallone or any other pugilist, so he preferred to call her Rochelle.

  When the Supremes finished singing, the jukebox played the opening strains of “Sun Goddess” by Ramsey Lewis, a selection Jack thought quite apropos. Ms. Dancer was indeed a goddess, even if she did act like a pissed-off one most of the time. He was pretty sure he was in love with her. Why her? He didn’t know. She rarely spoke to him, refused to go out with him, and did her best to let him know that the planet would be a better place if he weren’t on it. However, the moment he laid eyes on her a year ago, his heart had opened up for the first time since the death of his wife Eva, and the light that poured in was blinding. Something had happened with Rochelle, too, and that seemed to piss her off all the more.

  In many ways, he was having fun watching her deny what they both knew, but getting her to own up to it was going to be about as easy as summiting Mount Everest without oxygen.

  She was still working the room, along with her crack staff of college students dressed all in black. She topped off coffee cups and checked on every customer at every table except his, probably hoping if she ignored him long enough, he’d get up and leave, but it was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and there was nowhere he needed to be. If he wanted to sit in the booth and drink coffee until she closed the place at midnight, he could.

  The Dog was all about good food and service, though, and he knew her devotion to duty wouldn’t let her ignore him for long. Sure enough, she made her way over to his booth.

  “Why are you still here?” she whispered crossly. His empty plates had been taken away thirty minutes ago.

  “I like the coffee.” He raised his half-empty cup for more.

  “Your bladder should be tar by now.” She poured from the carafe in her hand.

  She was five foot six, and so gorgeous he’d seen men walk into the Dog’s walls after getting their first look at her. Luckily for him, he’d been sitting down on the day they met.

  “So when are you going to go out with me?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “Because you keep saying no and won’t give me a reason. Is it my race?”

  “You being White has nothing to do with it.”

  “Then what does?”

  She sighed aloud and looked away for a beat. When she finally looked him in the eyes again, she said, “I’m scared, Jack. Just scared, okay?”

  “Of what?” That she’d actually addressed him by his given name made the sunny morning even more so.

  “Of things going well between us for a while, and then you wind up wearing my underwear.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” She walked away.

  Her underwear?

  While Jack sat there, trying to make sense out of that, Mal walked up.

  “Why’re you looking so confused?”

  “Rochelle said she won’t go out with me because I might wind up wearing her underwear?”

  Jack swore Mal almost smiled.

  “Any idea what that means?” Jack asked.

  “You’ll have to ask her. Not my place.”

  “There’s actually a story tied to whatever this underwear thing is about?”

  “You’ll have to talk to Rock.”

  Jack could see her delivering a tray loaded up with full plates over to a bunch of construction workers crowded into a booth up front.

  Mal’s voice brought his attention back around. “A lot of pain went into making that thick hide of hers, Jack. Just keep that in mind.”

  “I will.”

  “Patience isn’t one of her strong suits.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “We’re all rooting for you, even though we still think you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell.”

  “Good to know.”

  They spent a minute more talking about the next meeting of Dads Inc., the local father’s support group, before Mal moved on to chat with Bing Shepard and his crew from the Black Farmers Association at a booth in the back. Bing was a World War II vet, and his war experiences were going to be a part of the upcoming week’s history lesson for Jack’s students.

  Jack went back to sipping coffee and wishing he knew the details of the underwear story. This sense of not knowing the whole picture was nothing new. For such
a small town, the secrets were legion, and it seemed everyone had them—even his students. Mal and 99 percent of the locals had grown up in Henry Adams, but Jack had grown up in Boston, and had been living and teaching in L.A. when he was hired to be the teacher. After losing his wife, Eva, to cancer, he’d had to raise their teenage son, Eli, alone. The idea of teaching in a small town had been appealing; he’d imagined a slower pace and the kind of environment where Eli could shed his grief-fueled anger. Nothing could have prepared either of them for Henry Adams, though. If someone had told Jack he’d find heaven in a small historic Black township on the flat plains of Kansas, he’d’ve asked them to take a drug test. Because of the elders like Tamar July, and others like town owner Bernadine Brown, Jack’s last nine months had been the sweetest, wildest ride he’d ever taken. If it was left up to him, he’d spend the rest of his life within the town’s loving confines—which might be just long enough to convince the Dog’s resident goddess to go out with him.

  A grim Rocky barreled through the door that led into the kitchen. Assistant chef Siz looked up from the potatoes he was peeling.

  “Jack still out there?”

  She could swear he was smiling, and that earned him a glare, but he knew her well enough now that her Medusa stare no longer turned him into stone.

  He glanced back. “Why don’t you just go out with the guy?”

  Another glare.

  “Okay. Shutting up and going back to my potatoes.”

  “Thank you. If anybody needs me, I’ll be in the office.”

  In the office, Rocky sat down in the chair in front of her desk and powered on her laptop. She had vendor orders to review and pay. She was determined not to think about Jack James, but his good-looking face kept shimmering in her mind’s eye. Cursing softly, she ran her hands over her eyes. What are you doing, Rock? Truthfully, she didn’t know.

  No matter how hard she pushed him away, he wouldn’t move. Instead, he lingered in her brain like an old-school outlaw propped against a post waiting for high noon, and she was so tired of staring him down it was keeping her awake at night. She bounced her forehead on the edge of the keyboard. Everybody in town kept saying, “Just go out with him,” but they didn’t understand how scared she was of having her heart run over.

  None of the romantic relationships she’d had in her adult life had ever worked out. When she and Bob Lee became man and wife, the first few months were okay—until the day she walked in on him modeling her underwear in front of their bedroom mirror, and that was that.

  Now Jack. Although she refused to admit it, parts of her liked him a lot, and wanted to know if he was as nice as he seemed, but in her world nice always morphed into scary. Better to keep her feelings under lock and key—that way they didn’t end up roadkill.

  Riley Curry had to make three trips out to his old white truck to bring in all the books and DVDs he’d borrowed from the library. Once he had everything transported, he made himself comfortable on the living room sofa. Putting on the reading glasses he’d picked up at the dollar store in Franklin, he spent the next thirty minutes leafing through the enormous law books he’d borrowed before sadly coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t make heads or tails out of the words on the pages. Even worse, none of the books offered any strategies pertinent to defending a hog in a court of law, let alone in a life-or-death case.

  Finding Cletus good legal representation hadn’t become an issue until Eustasia ran out last fall, taking her checkbook with her, but now, with Social Security as Riley’s only income, hiring a fancy lawyer was out. He’d hoped the library books would be able to teach him how to save Cletus from a dose of lethal injection, courtesy of the county vet, but it didn’t look that way.

  He closed the books. He didn’t know what he’d do if the county prevailed. Clay Dobbs had sold Cletus to Riley five years ago as a piglet, and they’d been as inseparable as father and son ever since. According to what Eustasia had found on the Internet before running out on him, hogs could live as long as fifteen years, some sites even said twenty-five. Cletus wouldn’t live to be six if Riley didn’t come up with a way to free him. He was the only family Riley had, and had proven to be a hundred times more loyal than Eustasia and that damned ex-wife of his, Genevieve. Thinking about Genny made his nose and eye socket throb. The doc said the bones were healed up from her sucker punch, but Riley wasn’t so sure.

  Putting Genevieve out of his mind, he refocused on Cletus and the plight they both faced. Since the law books hadn’t helped, he decided to go with his second plan of attack and learn the ways of lawyering from one of the best. Walking over to the TV, he put in the first DVD and settled down to watch two years of back-to-back episodes of Perry Mason.

  Chapter 3

  Over at the Marie Jefferson Academy, Crystal let herself into the building with her key and took a moment to relock the door. Even though Henry Adams was out in the middle of nowhere and there wasn’t any crime, no sense in tempting fate. She’d already been kidnapped once in her life, and she didn’t want to go through that again.

  Although it was Saturday afternoon, she’d come to school to work on a project. One of the biggest and most prestigious art museums in L.A. was holding a nationwide search for high school art students, called Young American Artists. It was kind of a strange name for a competition, but no more than American Idol, and besides, the name wasn’t her concern. The top two winners would be given their own five-day show. Scholarship money was also one of the prizes, but she’d already decided that if she won, she’d turn it down. She wouldn’t feel right accepting the scholarship, not with Ms. Bernadine as her new mom. As far as Crystal could tell, the only person with more money was probably God.

  The school’s interior was quiet enough for Crystal to hear her own footsteps. Making her way, she stopped for a moment at the big wall-mounted aquarium to check on the fish. The multicolored guppies and cichlids looked good, as did the small gauges that measured the temperature and water quality. When the school opened last year, Mr. James had invited a lady from an aquarium company to visit and teach Crys and the other kids the ins and outs of proper maintenance. Mr. James then paired everybody up, and each week a different team was assigned aquarium duty. Amari and Preston were the first pair in the rotation, and all the fish died because neither of them had checked the temperature gauge. The two knuckleheads had looked so contrite that Mr. James apparently hadn’t had the heart to yell at them, but Crystal had, and no one forgot after that.

  With her fish check done, Crystal proceeded down the hall to the art room. She loved to draw and paint. Growing up in foster care, she hadn’t had the opportunity to pursue her passion, but after Ms. Bernadine came into her life, the sky became the limit. She had all the supplies an artist could imagine, and she really wanted to win the competition so she could show Ms. Bernadine that all the money and time she’d invested had been well spent; not that Ms. Bernadine cared about the cash, she just wanted Crystal to be happy, and Crystal was the happiest teenager on earth, as long as she didn’t count the two new girls who’d enrolled in Ms. Marie’s academy last winter. Their names were Megan Tripp and Samantha Dickens. They were from Franklin, the next town over, and were as snooty as they were clueless. They were forever staring down their noses at Crystal like she was supposed to be impressed that Samantha’s father owned two McDonald’s and Megan’s father was an optometrist. They didn’t treat the other Henry Adams kids any better, except for Eli. Him they swarmed around like ants on a dropped ice cream cone, but he never paid them any attention, so Crystal let him live. The jury was still out on them, though.

  Putting them out of her mind, Crystal took the draping off her nearly finished triptych and evaluated it critically. She called the three canvases Life. The first one represented her childhood. It was an abstract filled with darkness and wild colors and splashes of red to represent how bleak and dangerous life had been for her in those days. The second represented the present. It was a watercolor portraying one of the beautiful
fountains she’d seen in Barcelona last year. She painted it in the Impressionist style of Monet, to relay how dreamy and shimmery her new world had become. The third canvas was blank. She wanted it to represent her future, one she hoped would be filled with art, success, and travel. The medium would be oil, but she was still trying to get what she had in her head onto the canvas, which is why she’d come to the school on a Saturday afternoon. It was nice and quiet, and she could think and pace and talk to herself without a bunch of people staring. She could have worked on the project at home in the room that she’d turned into a small studio, but she didn’t want Ms. Bernadine to see the completed work until all three parts were done.

  Her phone buzzed. She read the text message. “@ door. Let me n.” She sighed. It was Eli. So much for working alone.

  She let him in.

  “When do you think I’ll get my own key?”

  “Never, because you keep asking for one.”

  “I’m a responsible person.”

  Crystal relocked the door and had nothing to say about him being Mr. Responsible. “I thought you were going to hang out in Franklin.”

  “Changed my mind. Thought you might want company.” He checked her face. “No?”

  Eli had to be the finest White boy she’d ever been around—dark hair, dark eyes, tall—but he’d come to town acting like a brat, and she’d wanted to smack him upside his head every time she saw him. When the adults in Henry Adams let him know they didn’t tolerate bratty kids, he’d cleaned up his act and turned into an okay person. Lately, she got the impression that he wanted to hit on her, but wasn’t sure how. That was okay—she was way more interested in Diego July. She’d met him last Thanksgiving when the Oklahoma Julys came to town for Trent and Lily’s wedding. He’d even tried to kiss her. Although Diego was only a few years older, he made Eli seem like a baby in comparison.