Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(38)
“It’s probably right where you left it,” Clara replied.
“Right where I left it?”
“Unh-huh.” Clara nodded. “Hope don’t leave. People just forget it’s there.”
Olivia leaned into Clara’s words.
“A while back you went around hoping for this, that, and the other thing. ‘I hope I find happiness,’ you’d say, ‘I hope I find love.’ Then Ethan Allen showed up and you said, ‘I hope I can find this boy a home.’ After that you got to loving him and said, ‘I hope I can keep this boy safe.’”
Olivia smiled at the truth of Clara’s words.
“Hope didn’t leave.” Clara drained the last of her coffee. “You just ran out of excuses for using it.”
“That’s not true,” Olivia argued. “I still hope for certain things.”
“No, you don’t,” Clara said. “You just say you’re hoping for something. Saying, ‘I hope it don’t rain’ ain’t really hoping; it’s wishful thinking.” Clara pushed back from the table. “Think about it. When’s the last time you really and truly used your whole heart to hope for something?”
Olivia sat there for a long minute thinking, and she had to admit Clara was right. All this time she thought she was hoping for different things—a birthday cake, a telephone call, a new dress—but the truth was they were small things, and she’d done little more than sprinkle a bit of hope over them the way you’d sprinkle salt on a potato. When she cored into herself she had to admit the last time she’d used every last drop of hope she could muster up was when she hoped Detective Mahoney would believe she was the one who shot Scooter Cobb.
“You’re right.” She smiled at Clara. “I haven’t been using all my hope.” She reached across the table and clasped her hand over Clara’s. “You’re a life raft.”
“Life raft?” Clara repeated quizzically. “I may have put on a few pounds, but—”
Olivia laughed. “No, you’re my life raft, the thing that keeps me afloat when I start to believe this time I’m going under.”
“Well, good,” Clara said. “Now stay afloat, because little Jubilee Jones is gonna need a whole lot of hoping if we’re to find her aunt.”
“Jones!” Olivia slapped her hand to her head. “Why didn’t I see this before?”
She bolted from the chair and into the family room where Ethan Allen and Jubilee were now watching television. Ignoring the fact that the girl was as fair as a white rose and Canasta as black as a piece of ebony, she asked, “Jubilee, is it possible that you know a woman named Canasta Jones?”
Jubilee looked up and shrugged. “I don’t think I know no Canasta, but I suppose it’s possible.”
Convinced the similarity of names was a sure sign, Olivia’s hope took flight and fluttered its wings in a way that made her heart race. Suddenly she knew they would find Anita, and Jubilee Jones would have her forever home.
But of course Olivia was always prone to over-exaggerated expectations.
Olivia
I know you’re thinking it’s a preposterous idea, Jubilee being connected to Canasta, especially given the difference in age and race, but it’s not as preposterous as you might think. Bloodlines aren’t the only thing tying people together. Look at Ethan Allen and me.
The thinking part of my head understands they can’t possibly be blood relatives, but the feeling part of my heart knows it’s no coincidence. Jubilee and Canasta both being Joneses is exactly the same as finding spare change in my pocket. It’s a sure sign that everything is going to work out just the way God intended. A person shouldn’t rationalize their blessings; you just accept them for what they are and be glad you’ve got them.
For a while I was worried sick we’d never find Jubilee’s aunt and I’d have to turn the poor girl over to the child welfare people. Now I feel totally different. I know for certain we’ll not only find Anita, but that she’ll love Jubilee just as much as I do Ethan Allen.
Paul, unfortunately, I’m not so certain about. I’ve searched my soul trying to decide whether or not I think the boy could do such a thing, but it’s impossible to come up with an answer. One part of me argues that if he’s the boy shot in an attempted robbery, he must be guilty. But once that answer is settled in my brain, my heart reminds me he’s Jubilee’s brother. He’s a boy born of the same parents, a boy who cared enough to try to make a home for his baby sister. I know the decision of guilty or not isn’t mine to make, but if I knew one way or the other maybe I could prepare Jubilee for what lies ahead.
Times like this I look back on Charlie’s death and realize how foolish such thinking is. We can plan ahead until we’re blue in the face, but regardless of what we do events will happen as they will. The truth is we don’t have a bean of say in the matter.
Following A Trail of Breadcrumbs
Monday morning Jack Mahoney checked in at the station house. It was a quiet day with little more than a handful of paperwork that needed to be done. “I’ve got some personal stuff to take care of,” he told Griffin, then took off.