They rolled into the front yard of Jimmy Joe’s mama’s place late in the evening, long past the usual suppertime. He’d thought about whether he should take her home, first, but then he’d figured that might not be fair to her, and that he couldn’t really expect her to make a decision until she’d had a chance to see what she was getting into. And that meant his whole family-at least the part of it he lived with on a regular basis, which was to say, Mama and Granny Calhoun, Jess and Sammi June, and of course, J.J.
His heart did a little double-skip when he thought about Mirabella and his son meeting for the first time. He wasn’t worried so much about J.J. liking Mirabella right off the bat-how could he not?-and even growing to love her like the mama he’d never had.
On the other hand, he had to face the fact that his son had pretty much outgrown the cute-and-adorable stage, and that he could be a real pistol, sometimes. He knew it was asking a lot of a woman with a brand-new baby of her own to take on someone else’s eight-year-old kid, besides.
But whichever way it was going to go, he knew he wouldn’t have to be in suspense for long, because the minute J.J. heard the rumble of his diesel and the hiss of those air brakes, he would be out that front door like a shot, just like he always was.
With one ear tuned to the slamming of the door and the familiar cry, “Hey, Dad!” he turned to Mirabella, who’d come quietly to stand between the seats and was peering through the cab windows at the house, which for some reason was all lit up like Christmas. “We’ll stop here a minute, if that’s okay,” he said, just a little out of breath. “Just want to pick up J.J., have you meet my mama. My place is just down the road.”
She didn’t say anything, but nodded and began to unbuckle the belt that held Amy’s infant carrier securely in place in the passenger seat. He got out and went around to open the door and lift the carrier down for her. Then he offered her his hand to help her down the steps, remembering what a climb it had been for her before, wondering if her independent nature would let her accept. When she gave him a look but took his hand anyway, he thought it was a good sign.
They were standing together beside the truck, sort of straightening themselves out and shaking the road stiffness out of their legs, when he finally heard the door. Not a slam, though, and without the exuberant shout of welcome that usually went with it. He turned and saw that his son had come onto the porch. But instead of running on out to meet him as he always did, he was just standing there with the light from the windows behind him shining in his hair, so he looked like he was wearing a halo.
Jimmy Joe touched Mirabella’s elbow and they started across the yard, last fall’s dead leaves crackling and crunching underfoot. When they reached the front walk, J.J. started slowly down the steps and came toward them, holding himself straight and tall, as if he was walking down the aisle of a church, fixing to light the candles on the altar. Wondering what had gotten into his son, Jimmy Joe set the baby carrier carefully on the ground, cleared his throat and said, “Hey, son, there’s somebody here I’d like you to meet.”
That was when he got his first look at Mirabella, who had stopped dead-still in the middle of the walk. He didn’t know how to describe her expression, except to say she looked…stunned. Then as he watched, her face began to take on a kind of glow, as if she was witnessing a miracle. She glanced up at him, and her eyes-again there was only one way to say it-her eyes were dancing.
“God does have a sense of humor,” she murmured as she moved up beside him, her hand going out toward the boy standing so tall and stiff before her. Thinking she meant to ruffle his hair, Jimmy Joe held his breath, knowing how J.J. hated that sort of thing, but she stopped just short of it and instead said briskly, “Hey, how are you doing? I’m Mirabella.”
Then, while J.J. solemnly shook her hand, his father let his breath out in silent thanksgiving, knowing it was going to be all right. He’d seen that look on Mirabella’s face before, as she watched her baby while she slept.
“You’re a lot prettier in person than you are on TV,” J.J. said, studying her with his head cocked to one side.
“Thanks-I think,” said Mirabella, laughing shakily. She still felt jangled after the shock of seeing her fantasy child in the flesh, right there before her eyes.
In the boneless way of all eight-year-olds, J.J. dropped to his knees beside Amy’s carrier. “Boy,” he said in an awed voice, “she sure is little.”
“Can I hold her?” asked a tall, slender girl with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, who had just joined them.
“This is J.J.’s cousin, Sammi June,” Jimmy Joe said. “Sammi June, say hey to Mirabella.”
“Hey,” said Sammi June dutifully. “Can I hold the baby?”
“Well-” Mirabella looked over at Jimmy Joe and caught his reassuring nod “-sure, you can. As soon as we get inside.”
“I get to hold her first,” J.J. hissed, glowering possessively.
“Uh-uh. I’m the oldest, so I get to hold her-”
“Uh-uh, do not! I saw her first!”
“Sammi June!” yelled a tall, slim, dark-blond woman from the doorway. “You get in here, now, and help Gramma put the food on the table.”
“That’s my sister Jess-Sammi June’s mother,” said Jimmy Joe, then muttered under his breath as he bent to pick up Amy’s carrier, “Sure am glad everybody’s just bein’ their usual selves.”
They went up the steps together, Mirabella thinking, Oh, God, is everybody in this family tall, thin and blond? Then she saw the woman standing behind Jimmy Joe’s sister, waiting for the confusion to clear. A small woman, shorter even than Mirabella, with a neat cap of hair in a rich, naturallooking shade of brown, and a body that was still youthful, though definitely on the voluptuous side.
“Mama,” said Jimmy Joe, sounding slightly breathless, “this is Mirabella.”
“Betty,” his mother said firmly, as she held out her hand.
She doesn’t look anything at all like Jimmy Joe. That was the first thing to sort itself out of the mess in Mirabella’s mind. Then she saw his mother’s eyes-warm, brown eyes, with a golden gleam of fire lurking in their depths. And she thought, with a sense of familiarity that was almost like a homecoming, Yes…
“I’m just so happy to finally meet you,” Betty Starr exclaimed, dragging them all through the doorway and into her house with the sheer force, it seemed to Mirabella, of her personality. “Let me see this little one, now. Oh, she’s sound asleep, isn’t she? Well, that’s good. Just bring her on in, we’ll set her right down beside the table. Y‘all come on, now, food’s on the table. We waited supper for you. Would you like to freshen up? No? Well then… Mama…?” Her voice rose to a melodic bellow. “Supper’s ready, Mama. Company’s here and food’s gettin’ cold.”
In a kind of daze, Mirabella followed her into the large, informal dining room that adjoined a rather old-fashioned kitchen, with appliances that probably dated at least from the sixties. She was reassured by the light pressure of Jimmy Joe’s hand on her back, and in a strange way by the children, fidgeting and hissing at each other as they came along behind. Children, at least, were the same everywhere.
While Jimmy Joe’s mother directed everyone to their places and his sister Jess bustled off to the kitchen to see to lastminute preparations, they were joined by a tiny wraith of a woman, no taller than the two children and bent and gnarled as a tree root with osteoporosis.
“Hey, there, gorgeous,” said Jimmy Joe, bending over to kiss and hug her, handling her as though she were made of blown glass.
The old woman beamed and reached up to pat his cheek, then clutched his arms and peered around him like a child playing hide-and-seek. “Where is she?” she croaked, her old eyes gleaming, and Mirabella knew that, frail though she might be, here was a woman who still held the reins of life firmly in her hands.