The House on Persimmon Road

by Jackie Weger

  She fingered the gray silk longingly, which only served to increase her impatience.

  Law! She had been awaiting this event for more decades than she could rightly recall. She supposed she could manage a few more hours.

  — • —

  “We can’t just go and leave Pip home alone,” Justine protested to Tucker. “The others should be along any minute now.”

  “Aw, Mom, I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course, you can, sport,” agreed Tucker. “I made reservations, Justine. If we’re not there…”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Sure I do. Stop coddling the boy. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, let him use it.”

  “I won’t get into any trouble, Mom. Really. What could I do? I don’t mind staying by myself. I want to. I’m just gonna read my camera books and watch TV.”

  Faced with the combined force of their argument, and the fact they were right, Justine allowed herself to be persuaded. But all the way into Mobile, she kept watching oncoming cars in the hope of spotting her own station wagon on its way home.

  — • —

  The restaurant had all of the romantic ambiance that Tucker wished for. They were seated at a table overlooking Mobile bay. The moon shone unimpeded in a cloudless night sky, and the path it made on the water seemed to come right up and join the candle-lit tables.

  Champagne was not Tucker’s drink of choice. But tonight he ordered it and sipped it because he wanted everything to be special for Justine. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She wore a very simple beige shift and had pinned her golden hair loosely atop her head so that the elegant length of her neck seemed extraordinary. He felt drunk with a profound sense of loving and possession. But her lovely brow was furrowed, and he knew he’d have to deal with that before he could broach the subject hard on his mind.

  “Stop worrying,” he said. “You’ve done a good job with Pip. It shows. He won’t disappoint you. Now, relax. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

  Warmth filled Justine’s gaze. “You do, don’t you? You genuinely want me to have a good time.”

  “It may sound trite, but if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  She put her hand on his. “You’re a rare man, Tucker. You make me feel as if I can do anything, be anything. I was a basket case when I arrived here. We all were. Pip was hostility incarnate. Judy Ann seldom let me out of her sight.

  “You’ve helped to change all that. You exude confidence, and it flows into those around you, even Mother and Agnes. You’re right. I should trust Pip. I should also trust myself more. I’m sure everything is fine.”

  “You make me sound like a wonder man or something,” he returned, pleased and yet slightly embarrassed.

  “Don’t you want me to speak from the heart?”

  He leaned toward her. “I want you always to speak from the heart.” His own heart beat wildly. He could ask her now.

  The waitress brought their food, breaking the illusion of privacy.

  After dinner, then, Tucker told himself.

  “We’ve done nothing but talk about me all evening,” Justine said, laying her silverware aside. “Tell me more about your cookbook. You promised.”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Right now, I’d just as soon trash the thing.”

  “Oh, no! You can’t! I won’t let you.”

  “I don’t have a publisher, Justine. I think the book is just a diversion to keep me from feeling guilty about Dad. I did a side job a couple of weeks ago for a man who owns a small press in Mobile. He said there are fifty-five hundred cookbooks in Books in Print. That’s a hell of a lot of competition. I’d need a gimmick if I hope to publish. I don’t have a gimmick.”

  “But if you did?”

  “He said he’d look at it.”

  “Then we’ll have to find you a gimmick.”

  “We’ll see. In the meantime let’s just keep this to ourselves.”

  “Meantime? As in tomorrow, when all of your friends are over?”

  He grinned. “Something like that.” The champagne had made a fine start for the evening and the food had been superb.

  Now, he thought, when coffee and after-dinner drinks had been set before them. He patted his coat pocket. The box wasn’t there. He searched all of his pockets. Hell!

  “Don’t tell me,” Justine laughed. “You forgot your wallet.”

  “Something else,” he said morosely and signaled the waitress for the check. “Let’s go home. I’m kind of worried about Pip and the old folks myself.”

  “What?”

  “You talked me into it.”

  There were certain glaring flaws in that statement, and Justine saw each of them. “Tucker, what’s wrong?”

  “Not a damned thing.”

  “In that case…” she searched for the right words, puzzled, but unwilling to push and spoil a lovely evening. After a pause she continued, saying, “Dinner was wonderful. Let’s go.” And those were the last words spoken between them until he pulled up in front of her house.

  “Whose car is that?” she wondered aloud, looking at the late model Ford parked behind her own station wagon. He helped her step down from the cab of the truck. “Well, they seem to have made it home. Are you coming in?”

  “Just for a few minutes. Big day tomorrow, you know.”

  “You are going to tell me what your crazy behavior is all about, aren’t you?”

  He took her elbow, almost propelling her up the steps. “Eventually.”

  The entire house was alight. The soft rise and fall of conversation wafted from the great room.

  “Is that you, dear?” Pauline moved into Justine’s line of sight.

  “Mother? Is everything all right? Everybody?”

  “Do come meet Evelyn. She’s staying the night. She brought me home.”

  Justine’s heart lurched. “What happened? Where’s Judy Ann…and Agnes? Why—”

  “And, my dad?” said Tucker.

  “In Agnes’s room—which is just as well. See?” Pauline exclaimed, turning to her friend. “Didn’t I tell you they make a handsome couple?”

  “Nice to meet you,” Justine said, smiling at Evelyn Ellison. “But something’s afoot here. I can smell it.”

  “I do want to have a word with you, Justine. In private.”

  Tucker sank down on the sofa to wait for an answer. The door opened across the hall and Agnes peeped out. Wheeler urged her out and across the hall. Judy Ann and Pip, wearing pajamas, trailed behind.

  “Hello, Son.”

  Tucker nodded. “Dad.”

  Agnes and Wheeler stood frozen in place, looking like guilty statues.

  Justine noted their stance. “You wrecked the car.”

  “No, we didn’t.” Agnes poked Wheeler. “You tell them.”

  “No, you do it.”

  Tucker came to full alert. “Tell us what?”

  “Could I get a word in, please,” said Pauline. “Justine—”

  “In a minute, Mother.”

  “I’ll tell,” said Judy Ann, grinning.

  “I better just go along home, now,” said Wheeler. Agnes hooked his arm with her cane. “You’ll stay right where you are. We agreed.”

  Worried, Tucker sprang to his feet. “What’s going on here?”

  Agnes cleared her throat. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Justine glanced at Tucker. His expression was black. “Perhaps we’d all better sit down and talk,” she suggested.

  To Agnes and Wheeler, sitting seemed a good idea. They skirted Tucker, who’d ignored the suggestion, and seated themselves on the sofa farthest from him.

  In an effort to regain center stage, Pauline issued an elegant sniff. She was ignored.

  Wheeler clapped his hands. “Well, son. I’m outta the clutches of old Iron Bottom for good.”

  “You’re what?”

  Justine put her hand on Tucker’s arm.

  “Don’t yell.”

  “How?” Tucke
r growled.

  “We…we saw the judge…a hearing…”

  “You didn’t.” Justine flashed Agnes a reproachful glance. “Did you?”

  “Agnes got custody of me,” said Wheeler.

  “I did not. I just signed an affidavit swearing that I’d be looking after him. That’s all that was necessary.”

  The cords on Tucker’s neck stood out. “You went behind my back.”

  “An’ I told the judge that my grampa already died and I wanted Wheeler for a grampa, now,” announced Judy Ann.

  Tucker registered betrayal. “You, too?”

  Gently, Justine rose and guided Tucker to a corner of the sofa. He sat down heavily. She sat on the sofa arm near him.

  “There’s more,” Agnes said timidly. “We’ve registered for college.”

  Justine stared at the elderly couple. “You’re kidding!”

  “You think we’re brainless nobodies, but we’re not. Senior citizens go for free, so we signed up for fall classes. Me and Wheeler. He’s going to audit, but I’m going for credit.”

  “You had no right—” Tucker began.

  “Yes, they do,” Justine said. “They have the right to make their own decisions, the same as you or me. They’re adults.”

  Tucker was shaking his head.

  “It’s all about control, and trust,” Justine added in dulcet tones, giving him back his own words.

  Tucker didn’t move for a full minute. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right.” He reached across the coffee table and shook his father’s hand. “Okay. You outsmarted me.”

  “Didn’t. It’s just that the purple parrot…” he gestured toward Agnes, “…and I see eye to eye on things.”

  “I’m glad that’s settled,” inserted Pauline. “Now, Justine, if I could just have a word with you.”

  “Later, Mother, why don’t you see Evelyn settled in your room? Off to bed, kids. It’s way past your bedtime.”

  “Aw, Mom… I wanna wait to see if Grandma is gonna marry Wheeler.”

  “No,” said Agnes, face flaring pink.

  “Might,” said Wheeler.

  “We’ve had enough excitement for one night,” Justine declared in a voice that brooked no protests. “Everybody to your own room, now.” The children went, albeit reluctantly.

  Pauline exchanged a look with Evelyn, and shrugged. “I do believe we’re all tired. Come along, Evelyn. Justine, I’ll share your room tonight?”

  “That’s fine.”

  Wheeler looked at Tucker. “I reckon I’ll see you at home.” Agnes walked Wheeler to the back door before disappearing into her own room.

  When they were alone, Justine turned out lights until just a lamp near the sofa cast a soft glow over Tucker.

  She kicked off her heels, sat beside him, and pulled his arm around her. “I suppose after all that, you have indigestion. Did you suspect what they were up to? Is that why we left the restaurant in such a hurry?”

  He laughed and the deep sound of his laughter carried with it yet a measure of stunned acceptance. “I had no idea. The old goat…”

  “Agnes helped.”

  “Or hindered, depending how you look at it.”

  “I’m glad they like each other. Aren’t you?” She didn’t dare say another word. But she was thinking how it would make things easier all around in the event…that she and Tucker…

  Justine sighed beneath her breath.

  “I’d better go along home, too,” he said. “Big cooking day tomorrow, we’ll need an early start.”

  She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. “Always the practical one, aren’t you?”

  “I’m crazy about you, Justine, but it just isn’t my day. Can we call it a night?”

  “Of course.” Her tone was stiff with disappointment.

  This wasn’t the way Tucker had planned for evening to end. Served him right, he thought ruefully, for forgetting the rings on his dresser. His smile was crooked beneath his mustache. He wasn’t going to let the evening end this badly. “On the other hand,” he suggested softly, “We can try a little modest necking on the sofa.”

  “Your behavior is strange tonight, you know. I can’t keep up.”

  Tucker pulled her onto his lap and nuzzled her earlobe. “Just answer the question.”

  A lovely shiver raced up her spine and she relaxed into his embrace. “A little modest necking? Why yes, I believe we could.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I really must talk to you, dear.”

  “Taste this potato salad first, Mother.”

  Pauline took a step back. “Am I being punished for something?”

  “Don’t be that way. It has to be perfect. It’s my debut in front of Tucker’s friends.”

  “All right. But only one teensy spoonful.” Pauline scooped up a minuscule portion. “It’s…better than last time. The potatoes are soft.”

  “Too salty?”

  “No. It needs a smidgen more,” Pauline said, standing at Justine’s elbow while the salt was added. “You know, dear, having Fourth of July with Tucker is so unexpected.”

  Justine picked up on her mother’s clue. “Are you backing out? You can’t do that. He wants to introduce you to his friends. Anyway, I need your moral support.”

  Pauline frowned. “It’s just that with Evelyn here… She’s a widow like me. Her only son lives in Atlanta—”

  “Mother, she’ll be as welcome at Tucker’s as you are. I don’t see the problem. Look, I’m running a little behind, could you check on Judy Ann for me? And tell her to put on a pair of clean shorts.”

  “But—” Pauline said despairingly.

  Justine leaned over and kissed Pauline on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Mother, I’m sure Evelyn will have a wonderful time. Now, please. Be a dear and get Judy Ann ready. Agnes and Pip have gone ahead already, and I still have to do my hair.”

  “It’s going to be a madhouse. All those people. The cars have already started arriving.”

  “We’ll have fun.” Justine finished wrapping the salad bowl in plastic wrap.

  Pip slammed into the kitchen. “Mom, Tucker says you better get down there, now!”

  “I’m coming. Take this salad when you go back.” Pauline threw up her hands in surrender. “I’d better see to Judy Ann while Evelyn is dressing.”

  — • —

  Lottie was trying not to feed her hopes, but when the house finally emptied she took it as a good omen.

  There was one problem she had not been able to solve entirely and that was her sense of Time. The framework of minutes and hours still defeated her. She had no idea how long it would take or how fast electricity flowed. Thinking back, it had seemed only an instant and a single jolt that had given her unextended self some substance. And at that, she considered, the jolt had been diluted, passing first as it had through Jim Kessler.

  She had listened to Tucker explain electricity to Justine, but he spoke of it in numbers, one-ten and two-twenty. The dryer had electricity called two-twenty, which sounded more powerful to her, but she could hardly expect to extend herself in the open on the back porch.

  She needed privacy without interruption. So she decided to use the bathroom, for it was the only room in the house with all the proper elements. It had curtains on all the windows, a door that locked, and the essential electrical outlet. But as she was coming out of the pantry carrying her clothes, she spied a young mother with a baby heading across the back porch toward the bathroom door. And soon after, there seemed to be a steady run on the facilities by the impatient crowd partying down at the barn.

  Next Pip came racing back into the house to get his camera; Justine ducked in for a jar of mayonnaise; Judy Ann, with a new playmate in tow, came for her kitten.

  The only room that seemed off limits to all for the day was Justine’s office. Those doors all stayed closed.

  Heart palpitating and breathing as if she’d been running up a hill, Lottie moved first her clothes and, when the way was clear, her bones.r />
  Footsteps on the side porch startled her.

  She looked up to see a little boy with his nose pressed against a pane of the uncurtained French doors.

  — • —

  By four o’clock that afternoon Tucker’s yard overflowed with guests and good cheer. There were more than twenty-five children and about the same number of adults, as some had arrived with entire families in tow, from grandmothers to babies only months old. Justine was having a hard time keeping track of who belonged to whom and finally gave it up.

  A good half dozen or so of the boys were Pip’s age, and he seemed to take delight in leading them into all kinds of mischief, from chasing chickens to climbing trees and skipping stones at the river. But it warmed her heart watching both her children enjoy the company of others their own age again. She made a mental note to get the names and phone numbers of the children’s parents from Tucker.

  “Those hens are never going to lay another egg,” said the young woman who was helping Justine turn ground beef into hamburger patties at one of the makeshift tables.

  Justine smiled. “Probably not. I’m sorry, but I’ve met so many people today I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Janie. That’s my husband up to bat now,” she added, pointing to the field where the men had a softball game going. Wheeler had mowed only the shape of the ball diamond. Center field and outfield were in knee-high in beggar tick weeds and purple-blooming maypops, but the players didn’t seem to mind.

  Wheeler had been tagged as umpire and Agnes, who knew not the first thing about softball, was scorekeeper. It was making for a lot of noisy catcalling from the sidelines as she contradicted every one of Wheeler’s calls. Janie’s husband hit a pop fly. Tucker caught it in left field, which signaled the end of the inning, The teams broke ranks for refreshments.

  “Mama!”

  “And that’s our boy, Jimmie,” Janie said, as a six-year-old raced up to them.

  “Mama!” he said, breathless. “I just seen a skel’ton.” Janie gave a small embarrassed laugh. “Jimmie’s long on right-brain hemisphere—he’s got an imagination that won’t quit.”

  He tugged on her arm. “I’m not ’maging, Mama. It was moving and then it sat in a chair, and then it started dressing itself! I seen it!”