After the Rain

by Karen White

  Suzanne cleared her throat. “I could leave the album with you, if you’d prefer to look at it in private.”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” Cassie said as she looked up briefly before focusing again on the album. “Joe said you were waiting to finish the album before you left town.” She turned to the first page. “I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

  Suzanne sat back, her skin heating. Despite the cool reception, Suzanne liked Cassie Parker. If only things could have been different.

  “I remember this picture.” As if forgetting who she was talking to, Cassie opened the album farther to show Suzanne. “It was the first year Harriet was Kudzu Queen. Aunt Lu did our hair in matching Princess Leia braids.” She smiled, passing her hand over the smooth plastic page protector. “Harriet looked beautiful. I just looked like somebody had stuck two breakfast Danishes onto each side of my head.”

  Suzanne leaned forward, trying not to laugh. “Nah, they’re more like biscuits, I think.”

  Cassie laughed and Suzanne pressed closer, studying the picture as she had done before. “You can tell you’re related. Except for the coloring, I’d think you were twins.”

  “Really? No one’s ever said that before.” She studied Suzanne closely. “Maybe because you never saw us together. We were as different as night and day.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe because I’ve only ever seen the pictures I’m not influenced by your different personalities.”

  “How would you know that? You don’t really know me.”

  “No, but I know Maddie. The whole town thinks she’s your clone. That’s usually followed with a ‘God help us.’”

  Cassie’s cheek creased as she smiled and bent again to study the album. “Maddie’s going to love this. And I appreciate you doing it. Darlene approached me several times about taking up where Harriet finished, but I couldn’t. It was . . . it was too hard for me.” She closed the album and patted the cover. “I think it’s best that an outsider do it. Somebody who’s not emotionally involved.”

  Suzanne looked away, the need to explain too strong to keep her quiet. “That’s not exactly true, you know. I have a special fondness for Maddie. She’s . . . special.”

  “Just Maddie?”

  “For all of them. They’ve been through so much, but they’re sticking together. I’ve never known kids to be so loved by a parent.”

  “I was talking about Joe.”

  Suzanne glanced down at her hands, the nails short and clean. “I’m doing the album for Maddie. She’s hurting a lot more than I think anybody realizes.”

  Cassie sat back. “I’m her aunt. I think I know her better than most people.”

  Suzanne met her gaze. “I’m not trying to compete with you. But because she’s related to you, she might not be as forthcoming as she would be to a total stranger.” The last word left a bitter taste in her mouth. It would seem that even after three months in this town, she was still considered an outsider.

  Suzanne stood and walked across the room to the fireplace where there were framed pictures of Cassie in a wedding dress, as well as more pictures of Harriet and her children. “Joe mentioned that he told you about the night Maddie got drunk. What I didn’t tell him, but that I think you should know, is that Maddie told me that she thinks she’s going to die young—like her grandmother and mother. It scares her. Enough to act out, I think. She needs to be reassured—often. This has probably been eating at her since her mother died.”

  Cassie stared at her, her mouth slightly agape. “She never told me that. Never even gave an indication that that’s how she felt.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest and turning to face Cassie, she said, “It’s probably because she thinks you’re in the same boat and doesn’t want to upset you.”

  She could see the stunned expression on Cassie’s face turn to anger. “But why would she tell you?”

  Suzanne folded her arms over her chest again, trying hard not to take offense. She’d never before been confided in, and it had hit her as being strange, too. Nice, but strange. “Well, like I said, probably because she considers me safe. I won’t be around long enough to point fingers and tell her, ‘I told you so.’”

  Cassie stared at her for a long moment. Then, stiffly, she said, “Thank you. For telling me. I really had no idea.”

  Suzanne came and sat down next to her again. “You’re welcome. I just wanted to make sure somebody else would know after I’m gone.”

  Cassie continued to study her closely. Uncomfortable, Suzanne reached and opened the storage box. “Here’s where I need the help. I don’t have a clue as to who all these people are. I recognized Sam with the glasses and Joe with the cowlick, but most of the old shots are completely unidentifiable.”

  Cassie picked up a small snapshot and laughed. “This was after I came home. We were at the Kudzu Festival Parade, and Maddie had decorated Lucy Spafford’s float with condoms.”

  “Is decorating with condoms a recurrent theme in Walton?”

  With a broad smile, Cassie said, “Yeah, it’s pretty popular down here. Can’t exactly remember how it started, but Maddie’s taking over the reins rather nicely.”

  She passed the picture to Suzanne and picked up another one and smiled. “This is going to be a lot more fun than I thought. Hope you didn’t have someplace to go.”

  Suzanne shrugged. “I’ve got nothing planned for the rest of the day.”

  “Great.” Cassie struggled to a stand. “Let me go get us some sweet tea and we’ll get started.”

  The two women spent the next three hours poring over the pictures, labeling and documenting the ones that Harriet and Suzanne had chosen to be included in Maddie’s album. As they worked, Cassie became more animated, sharing old stories of her growing-up years in Walton. She surprised Suzanne by even sharing her estrangement from her family and her years spent in New York.

  They sat with their heads bent together, giggling over candid photos and gossiping about the people who filled the peripheries of the photographs. To Suzanne, it was like watching a movie. She became one of the characters—a sister, a friend, a loved one—a thread in the weave of the story. But when the movie ended and the credits played, she was by herself again, a bystander behind the camera, watching other people’s lives.

  By the time Suzanne started packing up and getting ready to leave, they had consumed almost a gallon of iced tea and an entire package of Oreo cookies. Cassie looked down at the empty wrapper and frowned. “Don’t tell Sam. He’ll kill me.”

  “I promise. At least you have a reason to be eating the extra calories.”

  “Well, maybe not that many.” She eyed Suzanne. “You can certainly afford a few more calories. Don’t they have food in Chicago?”

  “They do. I just never had much interest in it.” She stopped suddenly, glancing up at Cassie. “How did you know I lived in Chicago?”

  Cassie’s eyes were sharp. “I didn’t. Until now. Chicago was the last business trip I took. I figured I must have seen you there.”

  Suzanne busied herself with sorting and packing away the pictures in the correct order. “Yeah, well, I’ve lived in Chicago off and on since I was little. There’s a good chance you’ve seen me there. Or someplace else. I’ve lived in Florida and Minnesota and just about every place in between in the last five years. It could have been anywhere.”

  Cassie didn’t respond but bent over to help Suzanne pick up. When they were done, Cassie walked her to the door. As she held it open, she said, “By the way, in case Aunt Lu hasn’t already called you, the members of the Ladies’ Bridge Club voted to add you as a member.”

  “They did?” Suzanne wondered at the odd tingle at the back of her head, as if she had just won an award.

  “Yep. Only one dissenting member.”

  Suzanne thought back on the Methodist church’s sign. “Was it Lula Beasley? She seemed to like my quotation suggestions, though.”

  “No, actually. It was me.”

  The two women stood face
-to-face in the threshold of the old house, sizing each other up. “Why?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I like you. I like you a lot. And I like how you are with Maddie. I’ve been distracted with this pregnancy, and she’s really needed you.” She rested her hands on her abdomen, and Suzanne watched as a small roiling motion appeared beneath the drapes of her maternity dress. “But you’re not what Joe needs. And because of that, I don’t want you to hang around Walton one minute longer than you have to. Joe’s been hurt a great deal. I couldn’t stand to see him hurt again.”

  “How do you know what he needs? He’s so good at pretending he doesn’t need anything.”

  “Well, from what I can see, that’s the only thing you two have in common. But you’re not . . .” She stopped herself, a horrified expression eclipsing her face.

  Suzanne stilled. “I know. I’m not Harriet.” She pushed back at the pain in her heart. “I would never want to hurt him.” She looked away, staring out at the lawn, the blades of grass gradually surrendering their green coats for brown. “And Joe and I have an . . . understanding. We won’t let it go too far.”

  Cassie gave an unladylike snort. “Right. Gosh, that sounds familiar.”

  “I could never stay here. I’m not meant to live forever in the same place.”

  “I’ve definitely heard that one before, too.” She spread her arms wide, indicating the beautiful old house and the wide lawn with the giant magnolia in the front. “This town and the people who live here have a way of sneaking up on your heart when you least expect it.” She leveled Suzanne with a hard stare. “Just don’t let it happen to you.”

  Suzanne moved onto the porch and pulled back her shoulders. “Good-bye, Cassie. Thanks for all your help.”

  Cassie smiled. “Good-bye, Suzanne.” She then closed the door.

  Suzanne stared at the door for a long moment. “If it’s not already too late,” she said out loud to the stately columns and the boxwoods that bordered the front walkway. She got halfway down the walk when a prickling feeling on the back of her neck made her turn around. She saw nobody, but she felt as if she should send a huge wave, as if saying good-bye to a friend. Her gaze scanned the wide front porch, but she saw no one—just a soft rocking of the porch swing.

  “Good-bye, Harriet,” she said softly, feeling odd for saying it out loud but knowing she had to anyway.

  Adjusting her load in her arms, she turned around and walked quickly the rest of the way home.

  Joe pulled a stray weed from Harriet’s grave, noticing again how empty his left hand was without the wedding band he had worn for so long. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had taken it off, only that he had. He mourned it but also felt like a snake shedding its skin when he looked at the plain paleness of his empty finger. It made him think of new beginnings.

  He shivered in the coolness of the evening as he stood. He hadn’t been back to the cemetery since his last visit with Suzanne, and it surprised him. He usually came once a week to check on the upkeep of the grave. And to talk.

  He cleared his throat. “Maddie’s thinking about going to art school in San Francisco. It’s going to kill me a little bit to think of her so far away.” He smelled the rich earth and the distant scent of burning leaves and moved his feet on the hard-packed dirt. “You’d be so proud of her. She’s beautiful, and smart, and talented. Suzanne thinks she’s got a great future as a photographer. We all agree that she gets it from you.”

  Smiling, he looked around at the neighboring graves, lined up in stark white and listening patiently to him while he spoke to ghosts. “Sarah Frances is tackling puberty, but we’re managing. Joey’s doing well with football, and Knoxie shows a lot of promise with piano. She’s still unhappy about her red hair and wants to change it blond like yours. I think Suzanne has held her off for a few years, though. She’s a redhead, too.”

  He caught himself thinking of Suzanne again and quickly reined in his thoughts. “Amanda and Harry are such good kids, Har. I can’t believe they’re mine. I guess God knew that I couldn’t take more like the first four or it would have killed me.” He gave a crooked grin. “I have to think you have a hand in it. Thank you.”

  He felt the old familiar sting behind his eyes, and he looked up into the murky sky, watching as the moon crept out behind strips of early-evening clouds. “I slept with another woman, Har. With Suzanne. I didn’t think I ever would, but it felt right. And I had the funniest feeling when I left her house that night that you somehow approved. It was the oddest thing.”

  Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he ducked his chin into his chest to ward off the fall chill. It was then that he noticed the small object lying atop Harriet’s gravestone. He reached over and picked it up to examine it more closely. In his palm lay a shiny copper penny, Abe Lincoln’s head etched deep and clear in the fading light.

  He folded his fingers over it and stuck it in his pocket. Kissing his fingertips, he laid them on the stone. “Good night, Harriet. I love you.”

  Turning, he picked his way down the walkway to the entranceway of the cemetery, feeling the fall wind push at his back, steering him from one place to another, as if he had no say whatsoever in where he was heading.

  CHAPTER 18

  Suzanne watched as the long pink car slid to a stop in front of her house, looking like the stretch version of a powder puff. Cassie was stuffed behind the wheel and Sarah Frances behind her. As Cassie approached, the girl offered a tentative smile from the backseat.

  “Where’s Lucinda?”

  The question had been addressed to Cassie, but Sarah Frances offered, “She was puking her guts out all night. It’s probably that stomach bug that’s going around. My friend Brittany said that it makes your stomach turn to soup and squirt out both ends.”

  Cassie cast her a sidelong glance. “Lucinda’s not feeling well and said we should go without her. She let me take her car because I fit in it better.”

  Suzanne stepped down the porch steps toward the car. “Shouldn’t somebody stay here to keep an eye on her?”

  “Actually, Sam took her to the clinic with him so he could make sure she wasn’t getting dehydrated. She’ll be fine.”

  Suzanne opened the door and scooted over the wide leather seat. “Um, is it all right for you to drive?”

  Cassie avoided her eyes. “I prefer to be behind the wheel. It’s probably a control issue left over from my years in New York.” She turned to Suzanne. “It’s a warm day, especially for November. How would you feel about putting the top down?”

  Suzanne couldn’t suppress her wide grin. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  Cassie pushed a release button, then wedged herself out of the car. Sarah Frances leaped from the backseat and helped her fold down the enormous top and secure it behind the backseat. When they had settled back into the car, they both pulled out matching rhinestone cat’s-eye sunglasses. Cassie smiled. “Aunt Lu gave these to us. She said you already had a pair.”

  After fumbling in her backpack, Suzanne pulled out her glasses and slid them on. They all looked at each other and burst out laughing. Cassie put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. “This is going to be fun, y’all.”

  They headed out through town, waving and smiling at people, and Suzanne felt like a beauty queen in a parade, minus the tiara. This was girl fun, a real Thelma and Louise adventure, and something that in the past she would have scoffed at. But if somebody had tried to take away her glasses and make her leave the pink car, she would have fought tooth and nail.

  As they pulled into the parking lot at the high school to wait until the school buses were loaded with the senior class field trip to the High Museum, they passed Joe and the football team, out for their morning run. Joe motioned for the team to go ahead as he approached the car and rested his forearms on Suzanne’s door, a grin on his face. “Nobody pinch me. I don’t want to wake up from this dream.”

  “Daddy!” Sarah Frances’s groan couldn’t mask her wide smile.


  Cassie adjusted her belly behind the wheel. “We’re going to go pick up men. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind at all. Just have Sarah Frances back by bedtime.”

  He straightened, and Suzanne took advantage of the dark sunglasses to stare at him, her thoughts wandering into dangerous territory. She looked up, realizing that Joe and Cassie were staring at her as if waiting for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  Cassie put something in her lap. “I asked if you’d had a chance to read one of the brochures Maddie brought home. It tells a little bit about the photographer and some of the best-known photographs. Just in case you weren’t already familiar with her.”

  “No. Not yet,” she said, staring down at the brochures. Suzanne picked them up, her fingers suddenly cold. The title of the first one read Gertrude Hardt: Behind the Camera. Her gaze dropped to the paragraph below. This exhibit showcases a world of scientific and academic inquiry far removed from the heroic and transcendent portraitures; a world of astonishing experiments, extraordinary apparatus, and surprising photographic inquiry.

  And then her gaze fell to the photograph featured at the bottom of the brochure. It was of a barefoot child wearing a winter jacket, the child’s face pinched with cold. The dirty face stared out under filthy hair, but the small hand held a bright white daisy. The intensity of the white was what drew the eye, showing that through all the filth and poverty that imbued this child, the story of the photograph was in the hope and brightness of the one fragile daisy.

  Suzanne knew the photograph well. It had once hung on the wall of her tiny apartment and was the one thing she had owned that she cherished. It had reminded her of her own buried hopes, and she thought that was why Anthony had given it to her. Too late, she realized he owned it solely for its monetary value. And he despised it simply because it reminded him too much of where he’d been. Flipping open the brochure, she spotted the rest of the pictures—with one glaring omission— from her collection, the same collection she had sold as quickly as she had changed her hair color and her address. She could only imagine how angry Anthony must have been when he found out what she’d done. And she knew without a doubt that Anthony wouldn’t be very far behind this exhibit of Gertrude Hardt’s famous photographs.