Free The Sweet By and By by Sara Evans Page A

large scoops of vanilla. No, six ought to do it. Jade scooped another ball of Breyer’s from the carton and dropped it . . .
    On the floor. Nice.
    She grabbed the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and swiped the cold blob into the sink. Turning on the hot water, she melted it down the drain and once again scooped vanilla from the carton. This time into the blender.
    Next, a cup of milk. Maybe a dash more. Finally, chocolate syrup. Jade squeezed the Hershey’s bottle over the concoction until syrup ran down the sides of the blender jar.
    Slapping on the lid, Jade mashed the Liquefy button. The KitchenAid motor grunted as the blades struggled through the wad of ice cream. Maybe six scoops was a bit much.
    At one a.m. she’d accepted that she couldn’t sleep. The events of the evening ran through her head like high-pitched munchkins from Oz. The dinner party, meeting Rice, the money, June’s reaction, Max’s sudden silence. And her bout with panic.
    She’d gotten out of bed to draw a hot bath when she was hit with an overwhelming craving for a chocolate shake. When she was a girl, her daddy sometimes drove her to the Dairy Queen, just the two of them, until . . .
    Jade straightened her pajama pants, tugging the hem over her heels, and pushed the Stir button.
    If Froggers had been open, she’d have hooked Roscoe to his leash and jogged over to Laurel Park—PJs and all—and ordered an extra-large double chocolate shake with whipped cream. But they closed at nine in the fall.
    Her own mixture would have to do, and so far, the blender contents swirled together nicely. Jade’s tongue buzzed with anticipation. She cut the motor and tiptoed for the old-fashioned soda fountain glasses she kept in the cupboard.
    Grabbing a long spoon and a handful of treats for Roscoe, Jade wandered into the living room, dropping to her 1930s beige channel back sofa.
    The first drink of her shake tasted creamy and sweet. Just the right amount of chocolate and ice cream. Roscoe sat patiently at her feet. Jade tossed him a meaty bone, setting her heel on the low cherry coffee table.
    But the soul-drink didn’t cool her hurt or settle her thoughts. She debated calling Max, yet what if that didn’t go well? What if he didn’t confess the reassurance she longed for from him? His grumpiness had to be the back pain, and maybe a response to whatever meddling thing June said to him in the kitchen. Of course, making a scene out of the gift money didn’t help. She’d explain tomorrow. To Max. Apologize to June.
    Jade glanced at her cell phone, wanting company. She could call Daphne or Margot. Wake them up. Margot, the dentist, would be asleep at this hour, but she’d hop out of bed and drive up to the Hollow with more chocolate just to talk it all out.
    Daphne, the psychiatrist, also asleep, would chat with Jade incoherently, rattling off solutions. Probably tell her, “Stop eating chocolate, go to bed, and be at my office by ten a.m.”
    Jade tossed Roscoe another dog bone, deciding not to call her college friends. She didn’t have the energy to explain. So at the wee hour of one-fifteen, the only sound in the loft’s still atmosphere was the crunch of Roscoe’s munching.
    Jade romanced her milkshake for a few minutes, then reached for Granny’s Bible. Closing her eyes, she cradled it against her chest.
    What was the prayer Granny always prayed? Grant to her . . . wisdom and revelation . . . something, something of You. Roots and love. She knew the words were from Scripture, but she couldn’t remember where.
    And Paps. He prayed for Jade to have praying hands. Oh Paps, you died before teaching me.
    The Book was comforting and solid in her arms. She liked holding it. A longing for home, for Paps and Granny, colored her emotions. Jade snatched her cell phone from the end table and hit the number four on her keypad.
    â€œWhat are you doing awake?” The voice on