“Bless your heart, of course it was. You took a tumble down those stairs but good. I told you, you needed to go see Doc Bramblett. I don’t know why you’re so stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn. I’m busy. I have a pre-teen son, remember? He keeps me busy.”
“I spent a lot of time around twelve-year-old boys, and I can tell you they one hundred percent did not want to be hanging with their momma’s, so I’m not sure what he’s got you doing that’s keeping you so busy, but if that’s your excuse, fine.”
I shifted my eyes toward a basket of muffins on the counter, partially to avoid continuing the conversation, but also because I hadn’t eaten breakfast at home or at the café, and I was starving.
Since my parents deaths and my divorce, I’ve probably latched onto Austin more than I should. Our lives flipped upside down in a hot minute, twisted into a tight knot, and then bounced like a basketball in March Madness when my ex-husband decided to up and leave while we’d been at an overnight lacrosse tournament. Austin wasn’t much of a communicator in general, but since the three hits to our hearts, he’d become a kid of few words, preferring to play lacrosse or video games when he had the chance. I’d done my best to give him every opportunity to express his feelings if he wanted, but so far, he hadn’t. My daddy always said time heals all wounds, we just have to remember we can’t rush time. I took that to heart when it came to Austin’s grief. He’d lost a lot, and I wouldn’t pressure him to be something he wasn’t ready to be.
Like say, a kid with feelings. Then again, I didn’t know one mother back in Birmingham that had a twelve-year-old son with emotions. It just wasn’t their thing. I’d been working hard to adjust to the new little alien that had taken over my kid long before tragedy made him even more distant.
Arriving home to half of our houseful of furniture emptied, every single belonging of my husband, Scott’s gone, and a note on the kitchen counter that read, I’ve met someone else resting on an envelope of divorce papers wasn’t just hard on me, it tore Austin’s heart to pieces. He may have not been able to express that, but it was apparent when, each time his father attempted to see him, he said no. I’d talked to experts and friends, and each suggested I give him my support and allow him to make his own decisions. Scott didn’t like it, but I let karma do its thing because it wasn’t my job to try and fix what he broke. I just wished karma hadn’t picked my son as its chosen path.
What man leaves his child at such a crucial time of his life?
In hindsight, my turning around and moving back home probably wasn’t the brightest move where Austin was concerned, but he seemed to be adjusting well. No longer faced with nearly daily drop-ins by Scott took a load of stress and pressure off of him, and I’d seen him smile more in the past month than the several prior. I considered that a significant success.
“Miss Chantilly?”
I pivoted from the counter. “Yes?”
Olivia walked toward me and tilted her head as she smiled up at me. “Ma’am, you didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“I’m sorry. I was off in divorce land again.”
She huffed and rubbed my arm. “Oh honey, I just cannot imagine how that must have been. I am so grateful my parents have a good relationship. I don’t know what it would be like to have to deal with divorce. Austin must be a wreck from it. And poor you. To lose the love of your life like that, it’s just terrible.” She shook her head. “Just terrible.”
“Austin’s a trooper. He’s enjoying school, has made a lot of friends, and he’s really enjoying being on the fall lacrosse team, so that’s good.”
“I’m glad. Now we just have to get you back on the team, too, the dating team.” She grabbed a medium sized glass container of ice tea from the back deck, tossed a quarter bag of crushed ice into it, and shook it. The ice hit the bottle sides so hard my head throbbed. “There’s nothing like a glass of fresh sun-kissed sweet tea.”
“Didn’t you just put a thing of sweet tea in the ‘fridge?”
“Well, yes, but that’s for the patrons of the museum. It’s good, but this is my family’s secret tea recipe. It has to be outside for at least five full days of sunshine. By the way, I’m not sharing this with anyone but you.” She poured herself a glass of the good stuff, and then set the container on the floor next to the counter. “Now, what can we do to get you back on that team I was talking about?”
“I’m not ready for that yet, and I’m not sure if I ever will be.” I’d burned that bridge long ago.
“Maybe you aren’t ready yet, but one day you will be, and we’ll get you online or something and find you a good man.”
“Let’s table this conversation until I am ready, what do you think?”
“Miss Chantilly, as my daddy says, one day it’ll be time to poop or get off the pot.”
“I have a feeling your daddy doesn’t say poop.”
“Well heavens no, but a lady doesn’t use foul language.”
“Then I must not know that many ladies.” I winked at her, and I snatched a chocolate, chocolate chip muffin from the basket on the counter and scooted on up to my office.
I sat at my desk and massaged the bump on the back of my head. It had hurt, tripping down the last few stairs of the Historical Society, but I couldn’t bring myself to see Doc Bramblett. The last time I had was at my father’s funeral. He’d offered his apologies, saying over and over how much he’d wished he could have helped Daddy, but the cancer was widespread and advanced so quickly that by the time my father went to him, it was too late to offer anything much more than comfort.
Yes, I saw the irony in that, but my situation was different. I’d fallen and hit my head. Daddy had cancer, and Parkinson’s to boot, and that was entirely different than a knock on the noggin.
I wasn’t upset with Doc. I knew he was right, that he couldn’t help Daddy, and I didn’t hold anything against the man, but even just thinking about that baby blue exam room in the doctor’s home office brought back the horrible memories of the day Daddy and I got the news. We’d already lost Momma, and hearing I’d lose Daddy, too was unbearable. I’d stayed strong there for Daddy, but the office held memories I just didn’t want to relive.
I distracted myself from the pain by printing out a copy of the new verbiage for Hamilton House’s historical marker. The markers weren’t iron plaques like in some towns, just script printed on fancy paper encased in a box near the main entrance, and sometimes inside depending on the location. They were easy to change out that way, and since I’d already changed seven in town, I was grateful.
First Holbrook Tyson, the town mayor would need to approve it, and then city officials would vote on it. I would mail a copy eventually, but I preferring dropping off an actual printed copy. It gave the mayor a feeling of what the finished product would look like, and usually worked in my favor. I’d planned to do that on the way back from the BBQ competition meeting.
I spent the rest of the forty minutes before we had to leave reviewing the contestant bios. It didn’t surprise me that I didn’t know many of the contestants, and I appreciated being able to read about them.
Olivia knocked on my open office door. “Come on in sweetie,” I said. I looked up, but she wasn’t there. “Olivia?” Her feet pounded on the hardwood stairs, so I walked over to my office door and peeked out into the hallway. Olivia wasn’t in sight. “You could have come in, you weren’t disturbing me.” I didn’t have to holler because my voice echoed through the grand entry.
She popped out from one of the rooms on the left side at the bottom of the stairs and cocked her eyebrow. “excuse me, Miss Chantilly? Did you say something to me?”
“I said you could have come in, you didn’t even need to knock.”
She tipped her head sideways. “I’m not sure what you’re sayin’.”
I swung my head from side to side, glancing around me in case it was someone else, someone that had come in without a sound. “You were just up here a second ago, weren’t you?”
She shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’ve been straightening up the new exhibit like you asked me to before the weekend.” She pressed her lips together. “Would you like me to go ahead and make that appointment with Doc Bramblett for you?”
“I’m fine, but thank you. I had my head buried in the bios, so I must have imagined it.” I could have sworn she knocked on my door. Funny, the night before, I could have also sworn Austin was clanging pots and pans in the kitchen, but he was in the den with his headphones on playing some video games. It was the weirdest thing, but he promised he hadn’t just been in the kitchen, and I believed him.
Both rooms were on opposite ends of the house. I’d called to him from my bedroom, but he ignored me, so I stomped through the house like an angry mother only to find him in the den with his earbuds glued to the insides of his ears. He argued that he hadn’t been in the kitchen since we’d cleaned up after dinner. Since it was the only night he didn’t have fall league lacrosse practice and the only opportunity he had to play video games, I believed him.
I’d checked the kitchen thinking perhaps one of the pots had fallen from the pot rack, but they were all still hanging there, so I figured I’d imagined it.
Again.
“Miss Chantilly?”
“What? No, no. I’m fine, really.”
“Sweetie pie, I just asked you that question twice, and you didn’t hear a word.”
I furrowed my brow. “You did not.”
She nodded. “I sure did.”
“Well, I heard you once, so that’s something.” I breathed out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment, that’s all. If my head doesn’t get any better soon, I’ll make my appointment. You’re an employee of the historical society, not my personal assistant.”
“I know, but I’m happy to help.”
“And I appreciate that.”
I gathered my things, and we walked over to Hamilton House for the meeting. It was only a few blocks up the main road on the opposite end of downtown Castleberry, which wasn’t much longer than a horse’s tail and the hominess of the small town was exactly what I’d run home to when my divorce was finalized. That and the fact that my parents had left me their house, and Austin and I needed a place to live.
Olivia introduced me to the few contestants that had shown up for the meeting and were a small part of the planning committee. Their part was small because we didn’t want to give anyone ammunition to say we’d favored a competitor because they’d helped plan the event. Mostly they were just there to make sure we had everything the contestants needed for a fair competition. Since it was my first year running the thing, I needed the help. When the original committee head left the position two months ago, I gladly took it. The busier, the better, I’d thought. Instead I’d ended up overwhelmed and exhausted.
“You already know Bobby Joe Pruitt, obviously,” she said.
I smiled. “Of course. We graduated from high school together.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, how did I not know that?” She grabbed hold of Bobby Joe’s arm and squeezed. “You do know Miss Chantilly here is single again, don’t you?”
I looked away, not because I was embarrassed, but because I didn’t want either of them to see the horror in my eyes. If ever I did plan to date, it wouldn’t be Bobby Joe Pruitt. His reputation had always been sketchy, and he wasn’t the kindest man in town. I knew Castleberry was small, and the pickings were slim, but if I did decide to date again, I could just as easily head over to Alpharetta or something south of us where the options were better. I saw none of that happening though, and I kept my thoughts to myself.
Bobby’s ears turned red, which wasn’t hard to notice. He wasn’t trying to hide them, and even if he tried, he couldn’t. His bald head showed the world his red ears and bumpy skull. “I did have a crush on you back in the day.”
Olivia’s smile stretched from one side of her face almost to the other side of the restaurant. “Oh, isn’t that just the sweetest thing? I can get you two a reservation up at the Honky Tonk Bar and Grill if you’d like.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Best catfish in town.”
I’d never liked catfish, so I just smiled and said thank you, but my schedule was full at that moment. If she tried to play Cupid again, I’d have to have a talk with her about it.
Bobby laughed. “That would be mighty nice, but I’m seeing me someone now, and I think it’s going to be serious right quick.”
Olivia gasped. “Excuse me, Mr. Bobby Joe Pruitt, you’re seeing someone? Who is the lucky girl?”
“We ain’t telling nobody just yet. She’s fixin’ to end a bad relationship, and we don’t want no trouble before she does.”
“Oh, well, bless her heart. I hope she can do that right quick.” Olivia smiled at me. “We’ll just find Miss Chantilly here someone else when the time is right.”
The time was not right, and the someone was most definitely not Bobby Joe Pruitt. I kind of felt a little sorry for the person he dated. Bobby smelled like he hadn’t showered in days. “That’s wonderful, Bobby. I hope it works out for you.”
Rashid Patel shook my hand. “Nice to meet you. My family recipe will win this year’s competition. My secret ingredient is from my great grandmother in India. You will like it very much.”
“I’m sure I will,” I said.
Bobby Joe grunted. His sweet disposition flipped upside down. “Good barbecue don’t need no secret from across the world, and Castleberry sure don’t need you taking over the old Barton Family Restaurant space neither. That barbecue ain’t gonna sell like you think.”
“My food is much liked in this community, and my current restaurant location cannot accommodate the many people that want to eat my special recipe barbecue. I do not understand why you must continue to offer upsetting complications to my business,” Rashid said. His English wasn’t entirely choppy, but I could tell he struggled to choose his words.
Delphina walked over and swatted Bobby on the back of the head. “Bobby Joe Pruitt, put a sock in it.” Del could treat Bobby that way. She and his mother had been close friends until Eugena Pruitt died four years ago, and Del was the only family, blood related or not, he had left.
Bobby rubbed the back of his head. “Dagnumit Del, you don’t gotta hit me like that.”
“If you’d behave, I wouldn’t have to. Besides, you know I promised your momma I’d keep you from acting like a fool, don’t make me break that promise, you hear?”
Poor Bobby Joe Pruitt. He wasn’t the most popular guy in town. In fact, most people couldn’t stand him, but they forgave him his transgressions because he made the best BBQ around.
Maybelle Parker, Bobby’s main cook, waddled into the main dining area from the kitchen. Maybelle liked to sample the food, a lot, hence the waddle. Her chipper personality fit her short, stout stature, and everyone loved her. I’d never once seen Maybelle in a bad mood. “Bobby, got a sec? There’s a little problem with the ovens.”
Bobby dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. “I hired a bunch of idiots. ’Cuse me.” He stepped through the kitchen door, but not before telling us to take a seat in the private dining area on our right. “I’ll be done right quick.”
We walked into the room, our entrance surprising a younger couple standing near one of the tables. The woman glanced down at something on the table and hurried to stuff it into her bag. I’d recalled seeing them around town, but I hadn’t met them personally, though I was pretty sure they owned the food truck often parked at the lacrosse fields.
Olivia introduced us. “Miss Chantilly, this is Jesse and Julia Lye. They moved to Castleberry about four years ago.” She smiled at the couple. “You probably know their food truck, Lye BBQ? It’s at all the town events and is usually parked over by the sports park on weekends.” She smiled at the couple. “Miss Chantilly is the director of the historical society. She just moved back to town because her husband left her.” She leaned toward them and whispered, “But she doesn’t like to talk m
uch about that.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I just smiled and took the hit. Olivia meant well. Sometimes she just lacked tact. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I just had a barbecue sandwich from your food truck last weekend. It was incredible.”
Jesse stood, his ample belly jiggling as he shook my hand. His smile was hearty and genuine, and his burly, teddy bear look hollered true Southerner. I instantly liked him. It was hard to describe because it wasn’t about appearance as much as facial features and actions. Julia, on the other hand, wasn’t from the south. Her Northeastern appearance gave that away. Birmingham was a hot spot for transients from Pennsylvania and New Jersey, and Julia reminded me of my friends from there. She pulled her long, dyed blacker than black hair back in a tight ponytail at the top of her head, and the color of her thick black eyeliner framing her eyes matched it perfectly. When she shook my hand, her long, bright green nail tips dug into my palm.
Jesse’s, “Hey, nice to meetcha,” exuded a powerful Southern drawl.
Julia’s, “Hi,” meant she hadn’t lived in the south long.
I sat in a seat facing the main dining room, and I kept my eyes glued to the doorway. The private room initially served as the parlor and was the perfect spot for formal parties and meetings, but I had a thing about small rooms, so facing the door always gave me comfort. Though my positioning was good for my claustrophobic tendencies, it also gave me a perfect view of the area where Agnes Hamilton hanged herself years before.
As a kid that area gave me goosebumps, but my older self knew it was just an old town tale.
The restaurant hostess, a teenager from the local high school, offered us all sweet tea or Coke. I asked for a coffee instead, as did Rashid and Del.
My eyes followed her as she walked out of the entrance, and I thought about poor Agnes. For years people have claimed to see her spirit in her old house, most often in the very foyer where, wearing her beautifully beaded wedding gown, she took her life.
Agnes never got the chance to wear the dress in her actual wedding because her fiancé ran off and left her for another woman days before. I cringed at the small similarity in our lives.
Get Up and Ghost Page 2