After the Rain

by Karen White

  Suzanne nodded, glad to be back in neutral territory. “They were talking with a group of kids by the punch bowl about half an hour ago. They all seemed to be fully dressed.”

  A corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s a relief.” His gaze shifted to her bare feet. “I guess we’ll make a Southern girl out of you before long.”

  “Good luck,” she said, bending to retrieve her shoes.

  He held out his arm. “Would you like to watch the fireworks? I’ve got reserved seating.”

  Hesitantly she placed her hand on his arm, the red high heels dangling from her other hand. “Miss Lena says it’s going to rain.”

  Joe tilted his head back to stare at the clear sky. “That’s funny. She’s usually right about these things. But that sky’s as clear as Reverend Beasley’s conscience.”

  As they both looked on, the sky shattered and sparkled with brilliant golds and greens, the colors raining down on them like a gentle benediction. Joe led her down the steps and across the green, the grass soft and damp under her bare feet.

  She saw couples young and old, holding hands and pointing upward, a new mother holding her infant in a swaddling of pink blanket as the Sedgewick twins, in matching sequined turbans, leaned down to kiss the baby. A group of men stood in a cluster, some smoking cigarettes, some with beer bottles, trying to pretend they weren’t looking at a nearby group of chattering women. She spotted Maddie and Rob, surrounded by a group of laughing teenagers, and smiled when Maddie waved.

  Suzanne looked up at the bright sky and the upturned faces of Joe and the other people, and printed the picture on her heart. She would remember this night—the soft smells of summer air and burned powder, the sounds of singing crickets competing with the pop and whir of rockets. And maybe someday, when she was far away from here, she would pull the memory out, just for a moment, before tucking it back into that dark place of old hopes and disappointments she kept hidden in her heart.

  She closed her eyes, but the insides of her eyelids were imprinted with the searing flash of light, seeing the explosion of color again and again. Joe touched her hand, and she pulled back.

  She felt his retreat in the slant of his body next to hers, felt his inability to understand how all this—his world—was as foreign to her as another country.

  He leaned close to her ear. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, then turned back and sighed, wishing she had her camera to record a moment in her life when she stood still, her feet anchored deeply in soft grass, and stared up at the clear summer sky while allowing herself, just this once, to dream of possibilities.

  CHAPTER 8

  The rain tapped out a tattoo on the tin roof of the back porch of the Ladue house, lending a rhythm to the stirrings and beating of the wooden spoons in the kitchen. Suzanne paused at the threshold, taking in the scene of the women clustered about the table, stove, and sink. Their easy talk, the intimate lilts and drawls of the voices, pulled at her and made her imagine, for a while, what it would be like to be a sister, a daughter, a niece.

  Cassie sat at the table, her feet propped on a chair, frosting and decorating cupcakes with candied sprinkles. The frosting was a neon blue, a custom-made concoction of Lucinda’s in honor of Sarah Frances’s fourteenth birthday. It was to be a surprise, which is why all the preparations were happening in Suzanne’s kitchen—a place Sarah Frances wouldn’t think of looking. Maddie had told Suzanne that Sarah Frances was getting desperate, now truly believing that her own family had forgotten her birthday since nobody had even mentioned it.

  Smiling to herself, Suzanne entered the kitchen and put the grocery bag on the counter next to the refrigerator, the torn picture of Paris hanging askew on the stainless steel front. “I had to go to three different stores. Nobody knew what risotto was.”

  Lucinda turned from the stove, where she was frying Italian sausage for a lasagna—Sarah Frances’s favorite. “I’m sorry—I should have told you where to go.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I don’t know why that child likes all these foreign foods. She goes to an Italian restaurant once, and now that’s all she wants to eat. She won’t even eat my fried chicken anymore.”

  Maddie looked up from the pile of dishes she was washing, dried bright blue icing stuck to her chin. “It’s because she’s peculiar.”

  Cassie stood and moved the tray of cupcakes to the counter near the sink. Licking her thumb, she wiped Maddie’s chin. “I guess it’s my fault. I let her eat Italian when we were in Atlanta, so you can just blame me.” Winking at Maddie, she grabbed a newspaper from the recycling bin on the floor and sat back down at the table, spreading it out in front of her. “Not that a little Italian food ever hurt anybody.”

  Maddie flipped off the water and stacked a mixing bowl in the dish drain. “Personally, I like sushi.”

  Cassie raised her eyebrow and looked at her niece but didn’t say anything.

  Lucinda handed Suzanne a head of garlic. “Sugar, if you wouldn’t mind, could you finely mince all the cloves?”

  Grateful to be useful, she grabbed a knife brought from Lucinda’s well-stocked kitchen and began peeling off the layers of skin before prying out the first heart-shaped clove. The sharp scent of the garlic grabbed her, pulling her into old memories that she tried not to visit too often.

  She had once lived with an Italian family, the Biancas, the first time she’d been taken away from her mother, when she was about seven years old. Her mother had disappeared before, but this was the first time anybody had cared enough to notice. This time it was her second-grade teacher who observed that Suzanne had worn the same dirty dress to school for over a week and had brought a lime and a small bottle of seltzer water for lunch.

  She felt a sting at the back of her eyes, and she concentrated on the chop-chop of her knife, remembering a woman with big hands and a warm smile. The Biancas had five children, all large and dark like their parents, and the kitchen was always full of loud talk and the smell of garlic. They had taken care of her, fed her, and loved her. And then her mother had said she was better, and Suzanne had packed her bag and moved back to the dark apartment on Chicago’s South Side. For a while. If she’d only known then, she would have kept her bag packed and ready.

  Maybe it was her happy memories of her time spent with the Biancas that had attracted her to Anthony deSalvo. Anthony with the dark hair and darker eyes, who owned a string of Italian restaurants and always smelled faintly of basil and roasted garlic. Lifting the knife high, Suzanne sliced a clove in half.

  Maddie pulled off her rubber gloves and went to sit next to Cassie, sliding a section of the newspaper over to her side. Cassie leaned back in her chair and rested her hands on her round stomach, her eyes gazing speculatively at the cupcakes before switching her attention to Suzanne.

  “I still can’t get over how familiar you look. I’ve been racking my brain, but it just won’t come to me. I swear this pregnancy has left me with just half of a functioning brain. Give me a year or two, and I’ll figure it out.”

  Maddie spoke without looking up from the newspaper. “You’d better think quick, then, because Miz Suzanne won’t be here that long. She’s only visiting for a little while.” Her voice was hesitant, as if she was waiting for Suzanne to refute her.

  Cassie snorted, making Suzanne slide her a quick glance. “I’ve heard that one before.”

  Suzanne bent her head to the mincing of garlic, not saying anything.

  Lucinda opened the oven and pulled out the birthday cake and stuck in the lasagna. The heat in the kitchen had made her makeup shiny and drooping, and she wore a tissue stuck in her sleeve to gently pat her forehead and cheeks whenever she started to drip.

  Suzanne scraped the minced garlic into a small bowl and began on the next clove. She listened as the women spoke about neighbors, an upcoming wedding, Cassie’s gardenias and swollen ankles, and Lucinda’s hair color. It was all about nothing in particular, but it was everything, too. The shared memories, familiar faces, and past histo
ries were like a web that held them together in their intimate circle of family. Suzanne remained where she was by the counter, slicing garlic and remaining quiet. She was outside the web—had always been—and the truth pressed down on her like a tender bruise on her heart.

  Maddie turned a page of the newspaper and sat up with excitement. “Hey, y’all, there’s an exhibit at the High Museum in Atlanta; it says here that it’s a retrospective of twentieth-century photography. They’re featuring photographs by the late Gertrude Hardt.” She put the paper down and looked at her aunt. “Oh, Aunt Cassie, we’ve got to go.” She pointed her finger at the black-and-white print. “It’ll be there until the end of November. I will just die if I can’t go.” Turning to Suzanne, she said, “Do you want to go, too? It sounds right up your alley.”

  Suzanne paused the knife over the garlic, her hand shaking slightly, and remembered Anthony’s appeasement gift of the collection of valuable Hardt photographs. Closing her eyes, she saw his dark face and felt the first stab of fear she had felt since coming to Walton. She tried to steady her hand. “I probably have to work. And I don’t have a car.”

  Cassie sent her a shrewd glance. “I’m sure Aunt Lu doesn’t make you work seven days a week.”

  Lucinda placed her hands, covered with oven mitts, on her hips. “I don’t. And we could all fit in my car and have us all a little girls-only road trip.”

  The thought of riding in the pink convertible with these women, driving down the highway, made Suzanne giddy and it embarrassed her. She was old enough to stop wanting what she had missed as a girl growing up. Way too old.

  Suzanne looked at each face—Maddie’s hopeful, Lucinda’s expectant, and Cassie’s suspicious—and knew she had no choice. “Sure. I’ll go. Sounds fun.”

  Maddie shouted, “Yes!” and Lucinda smiled, but Cassie was busy digging in the newspaper again. “That name Gertrude Hardt seems familiar to me. Like she’d been in the paper recently.”

  Suzanne turned back to the garlic, forcing the knife to move.

  Cassie continued. “I thought I read something about some of her photographs missing. I wonder if they’ll have any mention of it at the exhibit.”

  Suzanne swallowed thickly, glad to have her back to Cassie Parker’s discerning eyes. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out where she’d seen Cassie before. It had been about a year ago, when she was doing a photo shoot in Chicago, a national print ad for a local shoe manufacturer. Anthony’s connections had given her the opportunity, and she’d been nervous about working on such a high-profile job. A major New York advertising agency had sent one of their bigwigs to oversee the shoot—Cassandra Madison.

  Suzanne remembered her because she hadn’t been at all what she’d expected. Although she was smart and professional, Cassandra Madison’s accent and mannerisms weren’t New York at all. She’d been patient and soft-spoken, and had thanked them all individually when the shoot was over. But that woman bore little physical resemblance to the vastly pregnant Cassie Parker—as she was apparently known in Walton—sitting at the kitchen table behind her. Suzanne could only hope that Cassie’s pregnancy would continue to make her memory fuzzy.

  A tapping sounded at the front door, followed by the screen door opening, and running feet. Amanda burst into the kitchen and threw her arms around her aunt Cassie. With a loud, smacking kiss, she grinned up at the pregnant woman. “Can I feel the baby move again?”

  With a grin, Cassie moved her hands out of the way. To the women she said, “It doesn’t seem as if my abdomen really belongs to me anymore.”

  Slowly Amanda put her hand on the bulge of Cassie’s stomach and waited. After several moments, her eyes went wide and her mouth formed a perfect O. “It moved!” she squealed. “It’s a girl. I can tell.”

  Cassie narrowed her eyes at the little girl. “How so?”

  A knowing look crossed the child’s face. “Because when she moves she’s all gentle. Not like my daddy and Joey and Harry. Their covers are always on the floor in the morning like they’ve been wrassling in their sleep.”

  Everyone laughed except Suzanne, who had sensed Joe’s presence in the kitchen and taken the opportunity to observe him without notice. His jeans and knit golf shirt were neatly pressed, the immaculate look marred only by a naked Barbie doll stuck in his shirt pocket and a bright pink barrette nestled in the dark brown of his hair. The entire ensemble made an already overwhelmingly attractive man nearly devastating.

  Amanda turned and pointed at Joe with a chubby finger while her other hand tried to hide her giggle. “I forgot to take out a barrette, Daddy!”

  He moved a large hand up to his head and grabbed for the offending object, but it snagged in his hair. Being the closest, Suzanne wiped her hands on her apron and moved to stand next to Joe. Standing on her tiptoes, she unfastened the barrette, noticing the thick texture of his hair while trying to keep her breathing even. She held up the clip like a prize.

  “Thank you,” he said with a smile she hadn’t expected.

  She smiled back, swallowing hard. “I think blue would be a better color choice for you.”

  He laughed. “Tell my hairdresser,” he said, indicating Amanda, who was still giggling.

  Completely unsettled now, Suzanne handed the barrette to the little girl, then retreated to the sink and began to dry the clean dishes.

  Amanda walked over to the refrigerator and stood in front of it. “You hung up my picture.”

  “Of course I did. It’s really pretty.” Suzanne slid the towel around the inside of a mixing bowl, concentrating on flaking away a drop of dried blue icing that Maddie had missed.

  Amanda beamed at Suzanne. “My daddy said not to be upset if you didn’t, because you probably didn’t have someplace to hang your pictures when you were a little girl.” She eyed the bright cupcakes on the counter with interest. “But you know, if God had a refrigerator, your pictures would be on it.”

  Suzanne felt every pair of eyes on her and couldn’t turn around. She concentrated on chasing a piece of lint on a glass measuring cup with the dish towel. When she could speak, she said, “Thanks, Amanda. I’ll try and remember that.”

  Lucinda touched her gently on the shoulder. The concern in the elderly woman’s eyes made Suzanne’s ears burn. Joe must have mentioned her childhood to these people, and it shamed her. She tried to pull away and disappear, but Lucinda held on.

  “I need your help with the garlic bread. If you’ll butter the loaves and sprinkle on the garlic, I’ll wrap them in foil. I figure we can bake them at Joe’s house so they’ll be warm.”

  Suzanne nodded and bent over her task, not risking a glance at the others in the room. She heard the bustle of people moving about, unraveling plastic wrap to stretch over the cupcakes and cake, and chairs being slid across the wooden floor as everyone prepared to leave for the surprise party.

  When she finished her task, she escaped unnoticed to her room and lay in bed, listening as the door was opened and shut several times as people and food were loaded into the two cars. It was only after she heard the engines start and drive away that she ventured downstairs again. All the dishes had been put away and the floor swept, but the voices of the women still lingered like an aroma from a favorite food. Even the rain had stopped, as if conspiring to silence the world around her. Suzanne glanced around the tiny kitchen, amazed at the engulfing emptiness. She had always hoarded her solitude, reveled in her aloneness. Restless, she ran over in her mind all she could or should be doing in the welcome peace and quiet, but her body refused to propel her forward.

  Instead, she sat down at the table, the chair cold on her back, and listened to the loud silence of the kitchen, watching the light slowly fade into early evening.

  “Where’s Suzanne?” The words were out of Joe’s mouth before he considered what the others would think about his concern.

  Lucinda stepped out of Cassie’s car, carrying the large lasagna pan in her gloved hands. “I thought she was with you.”

  Madd
ie tugged on her dad’s elbow. “I can’t believe you left her.”

  Joe looked at his daughter. “I didn’t leave anybody. If she’d wanted to come, she would have joined us.” He avoided Maddie’s eyes.

  “If you give me your keys, I’ll go get her.”

  Ignoring the hopeful note in her voice, Joe shook his head. “No. I’d better do it. It’s going to take some persuasion.” He turned to Cassie. “Sarah Frances won’t be back for another hour, so I’m going to leave you in charge to get everything in place. I’ll be back directly.”

  Cassie frowned. “What if she doesn’t want to come?”

  “I won’t force her. But I feel bad that nobody even asked.”

  Cassie just looked at him without saying anything. He turned around and got back in his truck.

  He knocked twice before Suzanne answered. Her smile was hesitant as she stood in the doorway. “I thought you had a surprise party to go to.”

  “I do. And I thought you’d like to come, too.”

  “I’ve got things I need to do here.”

  “Like what?”

  She turned her head, looking into the house, as if she was trying to find something that needed doing. “Oh, you know. Ironing, laundry. That sort of thing. It stacks up all week when I’m at work. Haven’t quite adopted the turn-your-underwear-inside-out philosophy yet. But I’m working on it.”

  He laughed out loud, the sound encouraging a chorus of cicadas in the nearby mimosa tree. “That’s good to hear.” The silence stretched between them, filled with the insects’ whir. Finally, Joe said, “Come on. It’s free food.”

  She turned her head again, as if listening for the silence of the empty house to call to her to stay. When she faced him again she said softly, “I’ll go get my bag.” Leaving the door open, he watched her run up the stairs, her feet bare, the gauze skirt brushing the backs of her calves.

  He held open the truck door for her and she climbed in, depositing her backpack on her lap and clutching it as he’d seen her do before—as if it held all her worldly possessions.