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She sighed. “I’ve committed a terrible sin, Reverend Jackson. And I just can’t seem to figure out how to make it right, or if I even can.
“You?” he frowned. “Tongues have been wagging around town. About you and this McIntyre fellow. Bobby Joe. Does this have to do with him?”
She nodded. “Has to do with him, and me, and John...and maybe Selene. It’s a guilty secret I’ve been keeping for more than two decades. I need you to tell me what to do.”
He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “We’re not Catholics. You don’t have to confess your sins to me.”
“I know that. And if there was a way to figure this out without telling you, believe me, I’d rather. But I need guidance right now.”
“Guidance.” Reverend Jackson lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “I’ve learned more from you, Vidalia Brand, than you probably ever have or ever will from me. How to be a better parent to my daughter tops the list. So I’m
gonna give you a suggestion. And then if you feel you still need my guidance, I’m here to listen. All right?”
“All right.”
“Whatever this is, whatever sin you committed, and whatever action you need to take to make it right, I want you to imagine one of your girls coming to you and pouring out everything that you were about to pour out to me. Every detail. Pretend it all happened to Maya or Edie or Kara. And then I want you to think about what you would tell them to do about it. How you would tell them to make it right.”
She frowned at him. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing. They’re the age you were when all this happened, aren’t they?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“And you’ve raised them with the same moral code you believe in, haven’t you?”
“Well of course I have but–”
“Write it all down, in the form of a letter to your younger self, or do it all inside your head, and talk to that younger Vidalia as if she were one of your own daughters. And then, Vidalia, no matter how hard, you take your own advice.”
She sat there blinking slowly, and realizing that she knew exactly what she would tell one of her daughters about something like this. Tell the truth. Apologize profusely, beg forgiveness, offer atonement if necessary but first, buck up and tell the truth.
She drew a deep breath, got up from her seat and nodded. “You’re one hell of a preacher, Reverend Jackson. I ever tell you that?”
“A time or two.” He got up as well, reached out and took her hand, holding it between both of his own. “You remember one thing, Vidalia. God would never judge you as harshly as you are judging yourself right now. And there is nothing He wouldn’t forgive.”
She knew that. She knew all of that. Why had she been half-expecting divine retribution to come crashing down on her instead of loving forgiveness? She knew better, didn’t she?
She just had to come clean. And not just to Bobby Joe. But to her daughters. Oh Lord, why couldn’t doing the right thing ever be easy?
* * *
By noon, Bobby’s sons had all arrived, and he’d given them the grand tour of the Long Branch, and pitched his invitation to help him with the grand opening, and then stick around for the holidays.
Joey was eager right off the bat, always up for a good time. Rob was less than enthusiastic, until Jason chimed in with an unrestrained yes and a meaningful look at the other two.
Hell, if they didn’t already suspect something was up, they would now, Bobby Joe thought. But he wasn’t going to let that put a damper on his day. He had every intention of enjoying his time with Vidalia this afternoon. So he left his sons with a list of jobs that needed doing around the place. Now that the crews of workers had packed up and gone home, there was no one to do it but him, and he tired a lot easier than he used to. Which was one of the symptoms that was supposed to warn him when things were...winding down. But he wasn’t going to think about that right then.
He met Vidalia at the Christmas Tree farm five miles from Big Falls and drank in the sight of her in her snug jeans and suede jacket. She didn’t wear a hat. It was chilly today, and he thought she should have but didn’t say so. He’d brought along a hand saw, and the two of them hiked out into acres of pine trees with a map showing the layout of the place. Balsam firs this way, blue spruce that way, and so on.
“I’m dying for the perfect Douglas Fir,” she said. “Eleven feet tall. You?”
The Douglas Fir section was a long ways back. He hoped he’d have the wherewithal to drag the tree back to the road for her. “I’m opting for a blue spruce,” he said, choosing the kind of tree closest to the road. “But we’ll get yours first.”
“Deal.”
She smiled, and he just basked in her for a second. The sun was beaming down on her hair, the chilly breeze lifting it and playing with its curls, and her eyes were like a chocolate bar in the sun. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and it made her even more beautiful to him.
“What?” she asked after a moment.
