The Sweet By and By by Sara Evans Page B

tickets.”
    â€œCan you complain a bit more, Willow? I’m not quite sick of you yet.” Beryl had refused her son’s offer. The least she could do at this stage of her life was pay her own way to her daughter’s wedding. “What would we do for wheels once we got to Whisper Hollow? You want to be cooped up in a bed-and-breakfast for three weeks?”
    â€œHave mercy, no.”
    â€œTry to sleep,” Beryl said in a softer tone. “You’re driving in an hour anyway.”
    â€œIt’s too hot to sleep and the seat doesn’t even go all the way back. And look, this side is broken. My face falls against the door. Hello, white trash, your name is Beryl Hill.”
    â€œWillow.” Beryl sighed, holding back the rest of her rebuke. The girl was right; the car was hot and old, with broken, battered seats. Beryl just couldn’t see paying good money for a new car that devalued the moment she drove it off the lot.
    â€œWake me when it’s my turn.” Willow stuffed ear buds into her ears and scanned her iPod for a playlist selection.
    â€œSleep well.” Beryl recognized her daughter’s unique way of saying “I’m sorry.”
    With Tennessee a few hours away and night beginning to fall, Beryl let her thoughts wander, moving between anticipation and indifference. Seeing Jade tomorrow will be the first time since Mother’s funeral.
    Bearing down on the gas with the vibrations of the old car in her chest, Beryl took an I-24 curve and headed south, her thoughts drifting, her mind wandering time’s old corridors.
    Prairie City, August 1998
    Sitting in the kitchen with Mother, Beryl raised her coffee mug to her lips with a glance at the ceiling. Directly above them, Jade packed for college, the radio blasting. In between dragging her suitcase across the floor and the metal clap of dresser drawer-pulls, she answered the incessant phone calls.
    Her excited conversations drifted down through the floorboards and boxed the silence hovering between Beryl and Mother.
    â€œI’d forgotten how you can hear the gnats gnawing in this house,” Beryl said.
    â€œPaps and I never could figure out why they built this place with paper walls. But it was forty years old when we bought it, so who knows what the builder had in mind.”
    â€œDo you want more coffee?” Beryl got up, her empty mug hooked over her finger.
    â€œI’ll never sleep if I have another cup. Beryl, how’s Gig? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
    Gig was gone, but Mother didn’t need to know right now. “Did I tell you I’m back at Midwest Parcel?”
    â€œRolf let you come back again, did he?” Mother twirled her cup, a gold-trimmed Lennox with the holly leaves, against the saucer.
    â€œWhether he liked it or not. Union rules.” The phone rang again. Jade’s footsteps thundered over their heads. The bed squeaked as she landed on the mattress, probably diving for the phone. “Seems all of Prairie City is calling to say good-bye.”
    â€œYou’re upset she’s leaving, Beryl? Mercy knows I didn’t sleep the entire summer you were in San Francisco. Paps would turn on the news so we could see what was going on out there, and . . .”
    â€œIt’s not that she’s leaving, Mother, but how .” Beryl popped open the bread box. A piece of toasted bread sounded good.
    â€œI’ve prayed a lot of prayers for that girl. She’ll be fine.”
    â€œBecause you prayed?” Beryl shoved down the toaster lever. “Who knows, maybe. More likely, she’ll be fine because she’s a smart girl.”
    â€œEven the wise need wisdom.”
    Didn’t Beryl know it. Growing up, she resented her parents’ religious beliefs.
    Do this; don’t do that. She fought them. Quit church at her first opportunity.
    But in the past few years, there’d been nights when Beryl’s only comfort was the