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  "Don’t try to be clever, Miss Cooper. You haven’t the gift."

  I smiled at my quick-witted adversary. Nurse Bridger and I’d begun our battle of wits the day I arrived. It was the only bright spot in my sixteen months of incarceration in this pristine purgatory. Early on, I’d noticed her discreet yet undeniable interest in Frank. She often lectured me on how fortunate I was to have such a devoted stepfather, yet failed to pity me for having a mother who never visited.

  I couldn’t resist one last jab. "Are you upset because I’m going home with Frank or because you’re not?"

  Nurse Bridger locked her arms across her chest. "You may be leaving us today, Miss Cooper, but I wouldn’t be so flippant about it." She walked out into the hall before turning to face me. "Chances are, you’ll be back."

  "Never," I yelled and slammed the door. I willed my hands to stop shaking so I could finish my letter to Claudia.

  Dear Claudia,

  You’ll be glad to hear I’m finally leaving this snake pit called Havenwood. I turned eighteen today and am now considered an adult. They can’t keep me locked up anymore. I know you wouldn’t approve, but I’m going home to Sugardale, even though Momma still lives there. Frank tried to talk me into going somewhere else. He’s fearful of what seeing Momma will do to me. He’s trying to protect me, but I must keep my pledge to care for Papa’s home and garden. Momma always said Papa’s death was mainly my fault. She could be right.

  You must promise never to divulge the horrible things that have happened here. Nobody would believe it. They’d say I was crazy and the Pickers-in-white would lock me away again. Only you and I will ever know the truth. Can you live with that? I’ve managed to live with Donald’s secret all these years, so I’ll just add these to the pile. I must admit the load is getting heavy.

  Frank is waiting. Goodbye for now.

  Your best friend,

  Becky Leigh Cooper

  P.S. Is it possible to become the thing you hate?

  CHAPTER 15

  The squeak of the back door signaled Frank’s return from work. He came into the dining room where I was setting the table for his evening meal.

  "Is Helen gone?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  He sighed. "Thank God."

  My feelings echoed his. Momma had left that morning to attend a weeklong Bible retreat in Memphis with ladies from the church. In truth, I think she wanted time away from us too. I’d been home from Havenwood for over a year and had yet to speak one word to the woman who, as far as I was concerned, had killed my baby. I did her laundry, cooked her meals, and cleaned up after her in silence. When she attempted to talk to me, I ignored her. I spent most of my time upstairs in my room, working in Papa’s garden, or with Frank.

  He wasn’t much better company for Helen. Any conversation he had with her was polite, but short. Before he moved back in, Frank added a backyard staircase to the verandah making it possible for him and me to reach the second floor without going through the house. He moved his study up to Grandpa Eli’s old bedroom and turned his downstairs office unto a bedroom for Momma. Frank informed her that the upstairs was off limits to her. The only real connection she had with him was their evening meal, which I served to them in the dining room. I ate alone in the kitchen.

  It made Momma angry that I’d talk to Frank, but not to her. Once, when I refused to answer a question, she raised her hand to slap me. But I gave her a look that said if she struck me, it would be the last thing she ever did. She never raised her hand to me again.

  It’s strange how time switches things around. Now Momma was the one who needed to be on guard. She’d convinced the doctors I was crazy and should be locked away. If I killed her now, I’d have the perfect defense—insanity. She realized this and thus, kept her distance.

  I’d thought of using Momma’s fear of me as a tool to make her my Pick. Let her see how it felt to be constantly bullied and berated. Given time, I could become a champion Picker too. After all, I’d sat at the feet of the master for over nineteen years. But to be a Picker or a Pick, a person must care about something—something that could be lost. I’d already lost everything important to me. Johnny, my baby, any hope for the future. Momma called me the zombie. For once, she spoke the truth. The only thing that got me out of bed each morning and kept me sane was my pledge to care for Papa’s home and garden. That, and taking care of Frank.

  After showering, Frank came into the kitchen, carrying his bowl and silverware. "Mind if I join you, Becky?"

  "I don’t mind." I put a placemat down opposite mine and he pulled out the chair and sat. "It was too hot to turn on the oven today. Hope you don’t mind po-boy sandwiches and leftover soup."

  Frank smiled. "Anything is fine with me."

  Momma would’ve complained. She expected an entrée, two vegetables, bread, and dessert for supper. Anything less was an incomplete meal. But Frank was easy to please.

  It would’ve been easy for Momma to have kept Frank’s affection and thus, kept him in her bed. She’d predicted I’d come between them and her prediction came true. But even now, she couldn’t see she’d been the one who put me there. Her need for control and her campaign to annihilate me ended up destroying the last fragments of her marriage to Frank.

  We were three people alone, living in the same house, pretending to the world we were a family. Our life together was a sham, designed to keep the neighbors and our customers happy.

  I stayed to care for Papa’s house and garden. Frank stayed to look after me. Momma stayed because she’d rather live a lie than have her friends know the truth about her dead marriage.

  "Watch out, Frank, this soup is hot." I filled his bowl.

  He bent over the steaming mixture of potatoes and ham. "It smells delicious."

  The heat from the soup caused the scent of his aftershave to waft upwards. The aroma of spice and musk filled my senses. Frank always smelled so good to me. I halved his sandwich, placed it and his favorite banana peppers on a plate, and poured two large glasses of ice tea. I added a slice of lemon to my drink and a slice of lime to his. Frank preferred limes.

  He lifted the top of the po-boy roll to find slices of roast beef, sugar-cured ham,and smoked turkey topped with lettuce, tomato, and sweet purple onion. A honey-mustard dressing—Granny Cooper’s secret recipe—coated the insides of the bun. He took a bite. "Delicious." He pushed a stray piece of lettuce back into his mouth.

  I smiled. The only pleasures in my life came from working in the garden and finding ways to help Frank. He’d saved my life in more ways than one. Because of that and his never failing kindness to me, I desired to please him.

  "Is that all you’re going to eat?" he asked.

  I’d allotted a small bowl of soup and half a sandwich for myself. "I’m not hungry."

  Frank put down his sandwich and reached for my hand. "I wish you’d eat more."

  "I made a lemonade pie for dessert. I’ll have a piece later."

  He nodded. Between bites, Frank told me about a combination hardware–nursery store for sale in Kirbyville. "It’s a nice store, bigger than our store here. Lots of growth potential." He took a sip of tea. "The owner wants to retire and will help with the financing. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day, Becky."

  "How would you run two stores in two different towns?"

  He wiped his mouth. "I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve got some ideas I’d like to discuss with you later."

  "Okay."

  After supper, Frank dried the dishes. I almost wished Momma could’ve been there to see it. She didn’t believe in a man helping in the kitchen. According to her, that was woman’s work. Of course, she was seldom the woman doing the work.

  After the dishes were done, Frank asked me to wait in the living room while he retrieved some books from his truck. When he returned, he placed the books on the coffee table. "We’ll get to these in a bit."

  He sat down on a footstool beside my chair, wiped his palms on his jeans, and then rubb
ed the back of his neck. His nervousness amused me. He seemed more like a man trying to find the courage to propose marriage, than he did a man wanting to discuss a business venture. There was a boyish charm to his obvious discomfort.

  Frank had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen, and the sapphire-colored shirt he wore made his eyes seem even bluer. Black hair accented by a gentle wave and deeply tanned skin combined to complete a most attractive package.

  He licked his lips, undid the top button of his shirt, and wiped his hands again. "Is it hot in here, Becky?"

  "Very."

  I turned on the ceiling fan while Frank opened the door so we could catch the evening breeze. We resettled ourselves and I waited for him to muster his courage.

  He took hold of my hands. "Listen to everything I’ve got to say before you speak."

  I nodded.

  "I want to buy the store in Kirbyville."

  "Okay, Frank, but how—"

  "Please let me finish. I want to sell the Sugardale store and buy the one in Kirbyville."

  I’d never thought about selling Papa’s store. I pulled my hands from his.

  "I’ve given this a lot of thought," he said. "There’s a two bedroom apartment above the Kirbyville store. I want us to move there."

  "What about Momma?"

  "Helen can live here." Frank picked up the books he’d brought in. "These catalogs are from the Kirbyville Community College. You could go to school there."

  Papa and I had talked about my going to college. "You’ll be the first Cooper to be a college graduate," he’d promised. But that promise, along with his promise to take me to Paris, died when he was killed in a car accident in August of ’63.

  It had been a scorcher of a day. I’d begged Papa to go get Johnny and me some ice cream. Papa wanted to wait until we’d finished the weeding, but I’d pleaded until he finally gave in. A truck ran a stop sign and plowed into his car. Johnny and I heard the screeching of tires and the sound of metal on metal. We ran down the street to the accident. Papa was leaning against the steering wheel, the horn blaring, his face covered in a mixture of blood and Neapolitan ice cream. Johnny said I fainted. Momma said Papa’s death was my fault because I’d pestered him into going for ice cream. I never ate another bite of ice cream.

  At the hospital, I spoke with my father before he died. He made me promise to take care of his house and garden and reminded me that I was the last Cooper. A Cooper never breaks her word to another Cooper. That promise helped me survive Havenwood, but it tied me to Sugardale tighter than chains ever could.

  Frank shoved the books into my lap.

  "I can’t go to college. I never finished high school."

  He picked up a thick yellow book. "This book tells how to study for a GED test. If you pass the GED test this summer, they’ll give you a high school diploma. Then you could start college in the fall."

  "But what if I can’t pass the test?"

  Frank put his hand on my arm. "You’ll pass, Becky. You’re smart, and I’ll help you study for it."

  "Do you really think I’m smart?"

  "You’re the smartest, most hard-working woman I’ve ever known."

  Woman. Frank had referred to me as a woman. I leaned forward and hugged him. "Thank you," I whispered.

  He held me for a full minute before pulling back. "Then you’ll go? You’ll move with me to Kirbyville?"

  "Momma couldn’t take care of the house and garden. She doesn’t know how."

  "I don’t care what Helen does. She can take care of herself or find some other sucker and get married again."

  "You plan to divorce Momma?" The thought of Papa’s home left in my mother’s hands or those of a stranger disturbed me greatly.

  "Yes. Our marriage has been dead for years."

  "I know, but . . ."

  "But nothing, Becky. It’s time to bury the dead and move on with our lives."

  I stood and walked into the hallway, hoping to catch a breeze. Frank didn’t know what he was asking of me. Maybe I was the one confused. "If we lived together, what would I do?"

  His eyes lit up. "You could do lots of things. Go to college, help at the store, learn to drive my truck."

  The thought of Frank teaching me to drive his truck struck me funny. I laughed.

  He grabbed me with both hands. "You laughed. You haven’t laughed in years."

  Frank was right. For the first time in over two years, I’d felt something deep enough to laugh about it. We hugged until it became embarrassing. As we untangled ourselves, I asked the question lingering in the back of my mind. "Frank, would we be...lovers?"

  He staggered backwards, almost tripping over the footstool. "Why would you ask that?"

  Fire rose in my cheeks, but I pushed on. "You’re a man in his prime, and I know you’re lonely. Momma says when a man takes care of a woman, he has a right to expect something in return."

  Frank rubbed the back of his neck. "I want you to be happy, that’s all. You don’t owe me anything more."

  His declaration calmed my fears, but produced something akin to disappointment at the same time. "I’m not pretty enough for you?" Did those words come out of my mouth?

  "You’re beautiful, Becky. A man would be a fool not to want you." He brushed the back of his hand across my cheek

  Blue eyes locked with green and held. For a moment, I thought Frank was going to kiss me. For a moment, I wanted him too.

  He went into the kitchen and came back with two large glasses of ice water. He handed me one and drank the other in one continuous gulp. "We’ve never had that kind of relationship. I’m years older than you and I’m your stepfather to boot."

  A brazen courage surged through me. "We’ve never looked upon each other as father and daughter, have we?"

  He sat down on the coffee table. "No. I wanted to be a father to you, but I couldn’t see you in that way."

  "That’s okay," I said, hating the quiver in my voice. "I never expected you to love me."

  Frank’s head jerked back. "I didn’t say I didn’t love you. I just couldn’t see you as a daughter because you have old eyes."

  "Old eyes?"

  He motioned for me to sit down in front of him. "After April died of cancer, Donald and I were alone. It didn’t seem like we were a family anymore and I missed that."

  "I felt the same after Papa died."

  Frank nodded. "I missed the sound of a woman’s voice, the smell of perfume, the softness of a female’s touch." He scooted closer to me. "When I married Helen, I hoped the four of us could become a family."

  I looked at the floor. I’d done little to help make Frank’s dream come true. My disdain for Donald had quickly blossomed into hate. But I had good reason to despise his son.

  "When I saw you for the first time, Becky, I thought you were such a pretty little thing. I knew you’d have no trouble wrapping me around your fingers." Frank ran his palm across the back of my hand. "But when I looked into your green eyes, I didn’t see a little girl. I saw eyes that looked so sad and full of pain that they looked like they belonged to someone who had lived a hard eighty years. That’s why I could never think of you as a daughter. I couldn’t get past your old eyes."

  "I . . . I understand."

  "Becky, I care about your happiness more than anything."

  "And I care about you too. You’re my only friend." I squeezed his hand. "Where does this leave us?"

  "In Kirbyville, I hope."

  I walked out into the hall again. Crickets chirped their evening serenade. I felt Frank’s eyes boring into my back. "I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you."

  He grabbed me, spun me around. "You have to go. I can’t leave you with Helen."

  "I promised to look after things here. I can’t leave the care of Papa’s garden to Momma. She’d destroy it just to torment me."

  "You father would’ve never asked you to stay if he’d known what terrible things she would do to you." Frank pulled me into his arms. "He’d want you to leave this place and go wi
th me. I know he would."

  I wanted to believe Frank. But just as he couldn’t get past my old eyes, I couldn’t find a way out of my pledge to Papa. "I don’t want to lose you, Frank, but I won’t leave my home." I pulled away, returned to the living room, sat down in Papa’s recliner.

  Frank stood in the doorway, his eyes filled with desperation. "If the only way to get you away from Helen is to sell this damn house, then that’s what I’ll do."

  I jumped up. "You can’t sell this house."

  "Yes, I can. You begged me to blackmail Helen into signing both the store and house over to me. Remember? I did what you asked. Legally, I own this house."

  "This is my house, mine and Papa’s." I wrapped my arms around my waist, started to rock. "Why would you do this to me?"

  "For your own good, Ladybug."

  "I won’t let you sell Papa’s house." I lunged at Frank, but he was too quick.

  He grabbed my hands, twirled me around, and locked his arms around my chest.

  "Calm down, Becky."

  I leaned back against his shoulder. "Please don’t do this."

  "Everything will be fine." Frank turned me around to face him. "I sprung this on you too fast. You need time to think. Promise me you’ll consider everything I’ve said."

  "Okay." I did need time. Time to think of a way to get him to change his mind.

  He held me for a couple of minutes before letting me go. "The geraniums need repotting. When I get back from the greenhouse, we’ll have some pie." He kissed my forehead. "I can’t go on living like we have been. It’s too hard. Too lonely." He turned and headed outside.

  I hated the loneliness as much as Frank did. Nevertheless, I knew I’d have to find a way to stop him from selling Papa’s house.

  CHAPTER 16

  Frank had been in the greenhouse for three hours, long enough for me to devise a game plan. I reviewed the metamorphic changes taking place in me. There was only one way to get him to change his mind, only one way to keep Papa’s home. I had to become a Picker and make Frank my Pick. For once in my life, I had to take control.