by Karen White
Lucinda clapped her hands together. “What a wonderful idea!” Several other ladies nearby said the same thing; then everybody turned toward Suzanne and quieted.
“Oh. Well . . .” She stared down at her cold cup of coffee and untouched cake, not having found a nearby surface to place either one. “Um, how about ‘Under the same management for two thousand years’?”
She was met by blank stares and a worried look from Lucinda. “Give me a minute. I’m just warming up. Let’s see. . . .” She racked her brain for an idea, finally coming up with “Don’t give up. Moses was a basket case, too.”
This was met by raised eyebrows as well as blank stares, and Lucinda stood as if ready to cause a distraction. Feeling as if she were taking a final exam, Suzanne blurted out, “Prevent truth decay. Brush up on your Bible.”
Holding her breath, Suzanne glanced nervously around the room. When Lula Beasley smiled, there seemed to be a collective release of breath. The preacher’s wife even clapped. “That’s marvelous, dear. I can’t wait to tell Clement—he’ll be so thrilled.” She reached over and patted Suzanne’s leg.
The din in the room rose again as the members of Walton’s Ladies’ Bridge Club began new conversations. Darlene Narpone greeted her warmly and asked her about the scrapbook, capturing Cassie Parker’s attention. With a groan, the pregnant woman hoisted her swollen body off a low sofa and came to stand near Suzanne’s lawn chair.
“It’s going well—just a lot slower than I had anticipated.”
Darlene patted her arm. “I know what you mean. I’ve been known to spend an entire week on a single page trying to get it just right.”
“Yeah, but it’s not only that. I saw how Harriet had documented every single picture—not only who is in each one but also what they were doing and what they were probably thinking. It’s going to take a while to piece all that together, especially since I can’t ask Maddie directly because it’s supposed to be a surprise.”
Suzanne looked up as Lula Beasley made room on the love seat and Cassie sat down with the graceful precision of an elephant. She turned back to Darlene. “I recently realized that the last three years are missing completely. It’ll take some time to gather what I need.”
Cassie spoke up. “You should ask me. I’ve taken thousands of pictures of the kids since—well, in the last three years. I can show them to you, and you can pick which ones you want and I’ll have copies made.”
Suzanne’s eyes met Cassie’s again, and she felt the familiar panic, but this time it was sharper, more intense. As if now there was more at stake. “I guess you would. I didn’t even think of it.”
Cassie’s eyes remained cool and assessing. “Why don’t you call me and we can get together? I could also help you label the pictures. I was born and raised here in Walton, and I guarantee I know everybody in them.”
Suzanne saw the challenge in Cassie’s eyes, but she refused to look away. “Thanks. I will.” Even as she said it, she knew she would have to. She would dread it, but she couldn’t run away now. Looking over at the pregnant woman with the rounded stomach and intelligent eyes, Suzanne knew she’d have to be very, very careful.
A cell phone rang, and Cassie reached into her purse for her phone. Glancing down at the number, she said, “Excuse me. It’s the New York office, and I’ve got to take this.” She leveled her gaze at Suzanne. “Call me tomorrow morning.”
Suzanne nodded. “Sure. Thanks.” It felt as if her stomach had just been hollowed out, and she put her untouched plate and cup on the floor by the side of the chair.
After all the ladies had left, taking paper plates filled with leftovers and covered in pastel hues of plastic wrap, Suzanne stood with Lucinda in the kitchen, packing up Lucinda’s bags. She had left the tablecloth and vase of flowers for Suzanne, saying she didn’t want to haul it all back home. But something told Suzanne it had more to do with the starkness of her kitchen, as if making it more like a home would compel Suzanne to make it permanent.
Lucinda opened the kitchen door. “I hope Sam doesn’t mind, but I moved my car to the backyard to make it easier for me to cart this stuff out of here.”
Suzanne peered past her shoulder at the enormous pink convertible parked in the grass between the back door and the Jacuzzi, flattened grass marking where the tires had been. “I, um, I’ll let him know.”
Digging behind the boxwoods that bordered the back of the house, Lucinda grabbed a handful of something colorful, then gave it to Suzanne. “You might want to hang these properly so they don’t mildew.”
Suzanne looked down at the cold, damp material in her hand and recognized Joe’s bathing suit with her bikini top somehow threaded through one of the leg holes. She felt the color rise to her cheeks, remembering their return to the Jacuzzi sometime during the night. “Oh. Thanks.”
Lucinda looked at her with innocent eyes and a warm smile. “You were marvelous this morning—I don’t think there’ll be any problem with everyone agreeing on letting you into the club.” She leaned over and kissed Suzanne’s cheek, leaving a haze of Saucy perfume. “I’ll let you know just as soon as I hear anything.”
“What will I have to do if they accept?”
Lucinda juggled the bags in her hand. “Oh well, you’ll have to host the next meeting. And learn how to play bridge.”
“How long is that going to take? I don’t have that much time. Really, Lucinda, this has been fun, but it’s all kind of pointless, don’t you think?”
With narrowed eyes, Lucinda said, “There’s a reason for everything. Just like you and me being on that same bus when it stopped in Walton. We don’t always know why right away, but we seem to figure it out eventually.” She smiled. “Just be patient.”
A drop of rain fell on Suzanne’s head, and she and Lucinda looked up to see darkening clouds tumbling across the sky.
“I’d best get to the shop. It looks like we’re about to have a downpour.”
They said good-bye; then Suzanne watched as Lucinda teetered on her heels crossing the grass to her car. Remembering the damp bundle in her hand, she ducked inside the back door before the deluge came, striking the tin roof of the back porch with loud knocks. As Suzanne slowly walked upstairs, she wondered if the rain was trying to jolt her with a dose of reality, reminding her who she really was. And why she could never stay in Walton, Georgia, no matter how much it began to seem she wanted to.
CHAPTER 17
Joe paused at the front gate of the Ladue house, watching Suzanne stare at four flats of mixed-colored pansies. She wore one of those filmy skirts she seemed to favor along with those awful flip-flops. He’d have to ask Lucinda to take her shopping again.
She also wore a Walton High letter jacket, and with a frown he realized it belonged to Robbie. He’d last seen Maddie wearing it, and Joe was much happier seeing it on Suzanne.
Suzanne looked up as he pushed open the gate, and she froze.
He stopped just inside the front yard. “Hey.”
She gave a little wave. “Hi.”
He didn’t move. “What are you doing?”
“I’m planting panties.” She smirked. “Trying to anyway.”
He walked forward then, and her eyes turned wary. “Need some help?”
Looking down at the flower bed, where an uneven and shallow trench had been dug, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. How hard can it be, right?”
“You do know you have to take the plastic pots off the plants before you put them in the dirt, right?”
Her eyes widened as she glanced up at two enormous cement planters on the top porch steps brimming over with pansies. “Oh. They didn’t mention that at the nursery.”
Joe removed his jacket and threw it over a bush, setting a small box that he’d been carrying next to it. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
They bent at the same time to grab a flower flat, their hands touching. She jerked away as if he had hurt her. Joe stood, placed his hands on either side of her face, and kissed her. Hard.
“To get it over with. You’re acting as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. I’m figuring it has to do with me and what happened between us last night, so I thought if I kissed you and got that out of the way we could get on to planting.”
She looked flustered. “I wasn’t thinking about last night.”
“You weren’t?”
“Okay. I was. But I was also thinking about . . .”
“What?”
“How maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.”
He watched the light in her eyes change, moving the translucent gray into shadow. He took a step toward her. “I know. Just one night, right?” He paused, trying to put his thoughts into words. “But what happens if we are given second chances? I’ve started to believe in them myself.”
She looked down at the ground. “Trust me. They don’t exist.” She pierced him with a deep gray gaze, her eyes like a stormy sky. “I’ve learned the hard way, and I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice.”
He crossed his arms, blocking out thoughts of her in his arms the night before. And remembering his old life that only existed in his dreams. Still, when he looked at her, he couldn’t help feeling a small glimmer of hope. That and anger at whatever had happened in her life to make her never believe in second chances.
“You think so?” He moved toward her again, taking her in his arms, and bent to kiss her, pausing before their lips met and taking a perverse satisfaction in the way she seemed to melt at his touch and tilt her head back with expectation.
Satisfied that she was now as frazzled as he was, he set her aside and went to work. Bending down, he began loosening the tender roots from the small plastic pots, setting the plants along the edge of the trench. “Why don’t you come over here and let me show you how to do this? Then we’ll dig up the pots you’ve already planted.”
She came and squatted next to him, and it took all his willpower not to touch her. He showed her how to remove the plants from the green pots and to loosen the fledgling roots before burying them in the ground. He watched her slender fingers move through the dark soil, focused and capable, just as he imagined she was with everything she did.
They moved silently down the row, occasionally bumping each other or touching fingers when one of them reached for the single trowel. But they remained separate, their time together like binding air, frail and fleeting.
When the flats had been emptied, they both stood, brushing dirt from their fingers. Her face was pink from the exertion and the cold, and he wanted to kiss her again. Quickly he turned around to retrieve his jacket and spotted the small box.
“I brought you something.” He picked up the rectangular box and handed it to her. “It’s a wind chime. I missed hearing one last night and thought you’d like it.” He didn’t add that he had anticipated listening to the fall breezes ring its tune as she lay in his arms.
She took the box gently from his hands. “Thank you.”
Joe pointed to a corner of the porch. “That would be a great spot for it. It’s right under your bedroom window.”
“Thanks. I’ll hang it today.”
“Do you need help?”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.”
He was sure she could, but he couldn’t leave it at that. “You’ve never held a hammer before, have you?” He climbed the stairs of the porch. “I’ll go get one from Sam’s toolbox and hang it for you.” As he reached for the door, he bumped into the rocking chair and knocked Little Women onto the floor. As he bent to pick it up, something fell out of it, floating gently to the floor. It was a dried and flattened gardenia bloom, its ancient petals long since withered and yellowed.
“What is it?” Suzanne came up the porch steps to stand with him.
“It’s a pressed gardenia. It looks like it’s been in here for a pretty long time.”
She reached for it and he placed it in her outstretched palm. She bent close to it, her nose almost touching the fragile flower. “I can almost smell its scent.” A winsome smile crossed her face, and she looked as if she wanted to tell him something, but she remained silent.
“Tell me,” he said quietly.
She looked past him, toward the old mimosa tree, and said, “My mother loved gardenias—everything about them: their leaves, their blooms, their scent. At Christmas, we’d go without a tree so she could buy a gardenia plant. But they always died. As much as she loved them, she’d forget to water them. She’d keep the shriveled plant on the windowsill for months, like she was trying to make it up to them by not throwing them away.”
Her hand folded tightly around the dead bloom. When she opened her hand, the breeze stole the wreckage from her palm, scattering the petals across the porch and the yard, letting them fall at will. The pain he saw reflected in her eyes seemed to tighten the skin over the fragile bones of her face, and his heart in his chest.
She turned to him, a bright smile plastered on her face. “Let’s go and hang the wind chime.”
He lifted his hand to touch her, to smooth the faint lines between her brows, but she moved away, opening the door and leading the way into the house.
Long after Joe had left, Suzanne stayed in the front yard, soaking up the morning rays of sunshine and listening to the music of her wind chime. She turned and watched as her long shadow spilled over the bright bed of purple and red pansies that she and Joe had planted, feeling an odd tug of pride.
She moved toward the porch, her shadow following her, and it occurred to her that planting the flowers had been the most permanent thing she had ever done. Throughout her childhood and young adult life, the fleeting cast of her shadow had been the only thing she would allow to tether her to a place. But now she had the bright flowers, flowers that she and Joe had planted, which would remain when she left, to remind others that she had been there. The thought both saddened her and gave her hope.
Wiping the dirt off her hands, she went inside, waiting for the familiar bang of the screen door shutting behind her.
After showering, she gathered up the storage box of Maddie’s pictures and made her way to Cassie’s house. She passed the Methodist church and checked the sign to see if Reverend Beasley had changed it.
PREVENT TRUTH DECAY. BRUSH UP ON YOUR BIBLE. Smiling to herself, she continued walking.
As she walked down the long drive to the Parkers’ home, her footsteps slowed. The towering oaks, the well-tended lawn, the imposing but beautiful house did nothing to ease Suzanne’s nerves. She knew that discussing pictures was not the only reason Cassie had insisted she come. She kept going over the worst-case scenario in her mind, something she’d always done in the past to make the worst that could happen seem not so bad. But for once, the trick didn’t work. If the worst happened, it would shatter her.
She paused on the bottom front step, looking up at the grand columns that stretched up from the porch to the roof. Despite the impressive facade, the rockers, porch swing, and discarded shoes scattered over the floor mat gave it a welcoming feel. It was the same sensation she got every time she sat on the swing on the Ladues’ front porch. As if she was home.
She knocked tentatively on the front door, then, after arguing with herself, knocked again, louder.
To her surprise, Sam opened the door and greeted her with a wide smile. “Hey, Suzanne. We were in the kitchen having lunch. Takes a while to make it up here.” He opened the door farther to allow her in.
She tried not to gape at her surroundings as she was led to the kitchen at the back of the house. The furniture was mostly antique, and beautiful oil portraits hung on the walls, but the same feeling permeated the silk-wrapped walls, the deep upholstered pieces, the velvet draperies: the feeling of welcome and of being home.
Cassie was clearing the table when they walked in. She wore the long chain with the nine gold hearts and tiny gold key. She greeted Suzanne with restraint, then turned t
o her husband. “Do you want any more to eat? I could pack some of the corn bread up for you to take back to the clinic.”
Sam puffed out his chest and patted his flat stomach. “No, thanks. I’m full as a tick.” He kissed his wife, touching her cheek and then her swollen abdomen before leaving, and the look that passed between them made Suzanne want to blush.
Cassie gestured for Suzanne to follow and led the way into an adjoining family room, an apparently new addition to the home. A playpen stuffed with toys and baby paraphernalia filled it, most of the items still sporting bows of pale green and yellow.
“Forgive the mess. I’ve had two baby showers in the past month, and I haven’t had a chance to put everything away.”
Suzanne offered a tentative smile. “It doesn’t bother me. Actually, you should probably throw it all around the room to get the real feel of a baby in the house. Joe’s kids seem to like it that way.”
She had meant it as a light comment, but Cassie just looked at her strangely. Without saying anything, Cassie moved a stack of magazines and newspapers, along with a box for a breast pump, off the low coffee table.
Suzanne placed her box on the cleared table, then sat down. She folded her hands in her lap, wondering why she felt as if she were being interviewed for a job. “I just brought the pictures I need help identifying, and I also brought the album, in case you wanted to look at it.”
Cassie looked at the blue album, her eyes hesitant. “Great. I keep meaning to stop by and take a look, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
Suzanne handed the album to Cassie and watched as she opened the front cover.
On the inside front cover were the words “Congratulations to my daughter, Madison. With all my love, Mama.” The words were written in light blue ink, the handwriting gently sloped and tilting, dancing their way with loops and swirls across the top of the page.
Cassie touched the writing with her fingertips, her voice quiet when she spoke. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be.”