What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(14)
She stared at her fork. Meatloaf? She loathed meatloaf! She shook it off onto her plate and took a big gulp of milk straight from the carton.
Daddy would know what she should do. She’d talk to him when she got home. But how in the world do you discuss something like that with your father?
However, as usual, Daddy made it easy. As soon as she mentioned Jase’s name, he nodded, took off his glasses, and gave her his full attention. “Jase is a victim and no danger to anyone but himself,” he said in his usual dry, precise tone. “You should behave normally around him and not listen to gossip.”
Which, Laurel decided, meant Jase was innocent, just as she’d thought. However, Mama, whom she always talked with after her evening prayers, was more cautious. “Ms. Shelton has been replaced by a permanent substitute because of health problems,” she said, patting Laurel’s hand. “Perhaps it would be better to avoid Jason from now on, dear.”
In an instant, Jase became a tragic hero, and one whom Laurel would defend to the death.
She would be his friend, his helpmeet, his champion. With her by his side, he would be completely exonerated. Then all the petty gossipers, realizing what a terrible mistake they had made, would come to him on bended knee and beg his forgiveness for their small, dirty minds. And after she and Jase were married in the hazy distant future and had moved in with Mama and Daddy, she would be the envy of all of her friends, especially the Fassbinder twins, because Jase would tell everyone that he wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for her unyielding faith in him.
And, most important of all, her father would be proud of her.
*
The first thing she had to do the next morning was find a way to talk to Jase. She tried the gym—that’s where all the jocks hung out before classes started—but Jase wasn’t there. Saundra said she’d heard he left school at lunchtime the day before, and no one had seen him since. Later in the afternoon, she looked him up in the office files and discovered the school didn’t have a phone number listed for him, but there was an address.
That meant she’d have to track him down at home over the weekend, which meant prevailing upon Sarah, with her brand-new driver’s license and brand-new car.
No problem. As usual, Sarah was game for anything. Besides, Sarah knew Laurel was in love with Jase. Whenever they got tired of singing along with Mariah and Madonna, and after Sarah ran out of things to say about her latest boyfriend, Laurel would talk about Jase. Not that she would be allowed to go on a real date till she was sixteen, and not that there was the slightest chance her mother would ever allow her to go anywhere with Growler Red’s son, but she could dream.
Her courage ebbed as Sarah turned onto Jase’s street.
Talk about hardscrabble. This was the kind of neighborhood she and Mama delivered church charity baskets to at Christmas. It was farther out on the long west arm of the Bosque than she’d realized, and the overcast sky made the scene look like the set of a depressing old black-and-white movie. While Jase’s house wasn’t any worse off than the other two shacks staggered along the dirt road, it wasn’t any better either. Something had gnawed the siding as far up as it could reach, the asphalt shingle roof was a patchwork of tan, brown, and red, and Jase had parked that old rattletrap Chevy pickup of his on what should have been the lawn.
Sarah took a long look around and wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure?”
Laurel’s stomach tightened, but she reminded herself that her cause was noble, like when Joan of Arc led the troops of Charles VII at Orleans.
“I’m sure.”
She opened her door, and her white flats sank immediately into the springtime gumbo. The sticky black loam was great for growing cotton, but hardened like concrete when it dried on your shoes. Mrs. Claypool, the new housekeeper, would kill her.
Sarah stuck her head out the window. “When do you want me to pick you up?”
Laurel gave her what she hoped was a confident smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Jase will give me a ride home.”
“Well, okay. If you say so.”
The Thunderbird sped off and Laurel started across the yard, scraping her muddy shoes against the knee-deep knots of Johnsongrass as she went. A saucy April breeze riffled the hem of her skirt as she walked up the steps to the front porch. She’d decided to dress up, to wear her Easter outfit, a yellow skirt topped by a white blouse that had little yellow flowers embroidered around the neckline—after all, she was engaged in a worthy cause. Besides, Jase had never seen her dressed up before.
She paused at the top of the steps and looked around. A rusty metal chair sat on the right of the door, and on the left, a bone-thin hound sprawled across a sagging old davenport. The dog lifted an eyelid in inquiry, and Laurel remembered that Mama’s older sister had died from rabies.
Better get herself inside quick.
She raised her hand to the doorbell. Ew! There was no way she was going to touch that thing! It was more grime than button! Maybe a gentle knock would do it. She gave the doorframe a light rat-a-tat-tat, stood back politely, rechecked the dog, and waited.
Why wasn’t anyone answering the door? Jase’s truck was parked in the yard, so he must be at home. She’d have to knock louder. Opening the rusty screen and holding it away from her dress, she prepared to pound on the door itself, but it swung open at first touch. After peeking into the morning shadows, she walked inside.