Kids are Chancey

by Kay Dew Shostak

  “Hey Carolina. You’re all dressed up today. Going somewhere fancy?” Shannon is arranging a bouquet in the front window. It’s a big spray of gladiolus, and she’s making it even bigger. One look behind her tells me why. The bookstore side is worse than ever. Andy has turned it into a full-blown junk store. Guess Shannon’s hoping to block folks from seeing it from the sidewalk. She and I meet eyes and roll them together.

  Patty is behind the book/junk store counter, on which Andy has laid out his haul from Ruby’s. Muffins and butter and napkins cover the space. What space is not already covered with, with stuff, that is. Open boxes of stuff, old displays draped with stuff, stuff in piles, and stuff stuffed on top of all that stuff.

  “You do look like those women in that old video. Your hair is cool,” Patty says. “Want a muffin?”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m headed out to lunch with Susan.”

  “Thought maybe you were finally coming down here to start working.” Gertie’s voice carries from the back of the huge space where it’s dark.

  “Oh, hey, Gertie. Didn’t see you back there.”

  “So, when are you coming down here to start working again?” The woman lumbering out of the darkness seems larger than ever. She has on purple jogging pants and a pink shirt. Her iron gray hair is cut short, and she huffs out a deep breath as she sits down on the couch. The only empty spot I may add. (See above sentence about stuff. Applies to the couch, too.)

  I reach to run my hand through my hair, but there’s nothing there, so I pat it and explain, “I’m not sure about having time to work here. Susan is busy with her new job, Laney has the baby coming, Missus is, well, busy with something or other, and I kind of need to run Crossings. B&Bs take a lot of work.”

  “Not the way you run yours. I’m staying there, so I see how little you actually do. It’s more like an old-fashioned cat house where folks show up, take care of business, then leave money on the bedside table.”

  “Gertie! It is not. Why would you say that?”

  “I can’t not speak my mind just ‘cause it ain’t pretty. ‘Sides, you promised to help out.”

  “Well, that was when it was a bookstore and not a . . .” Darn. Wouldn’t it feel good to just speak your mind? Especially when it isn’t pretty.

  Gertie waves one arm at me. “Like a junk store? Yep, that’s what my new son-in-law has done to this place. But they’ll be gone on that honeymoon next week, and we’re getting rid of all this stuff. Like I told you.”

  Andy walks toward his mother-in-law, mouth half-full of muffin. “Now wait a minute. This is all good stuff. I just need some time to get it arranged. Placed for customers to see it in its proper light.”

  Gertie struggles up off the low couch. “Son, that’s what you been saying since I came to town over a month ago. I have some ideas, and you’ll like them. You go on your honeymoon and get me a grandbaby started, and when you get back I’ll have things all fixed up. A big ol’ surprise for y’all. Carolina, let’s you and me take a step outside,” she says as she walks toward me.

  “But it’s hot out there,” I whine. However, she tucks her hand around my upper arm and steers me out to the sidewalk.

  Out there she looks me over. “Naw, your place ain’t like a cat house. Think you just being all tarted up made me think of that.”

  Great, now the mountain thinks I look like a prostitute. “What do you want, Gertie?”

  “I want to ask you real nice-like to run the bookstore for me after next week. I’ve got men hired to take all this junk to a new space, and Andy can run his very own junk shop. I been watching, and he can’t help himself. And he’s right, some of this stuff is good stuff. He just don’t know how to put all in place, but I got him a new partner and it’s going to all work out.”

  “Who’s this new partner?”

  Gertie frowns. “Now don’t you no never mind about that. You’ll find out when you need to know. I told you this much so you’d know you wouldn’t have to sell the junk. You can play bookstore like you wanted to in the beginning. And no worries because I’m getting you a surprise helper, too.”

  She leans back, folds her arms across her big, soft chest, and grins. “I’m not real fond of surprises ‘cept when I get to surprise other people. Then I enjoy them right good.” She pulls open the heavy door. “You go on off to your big to-do and we’ll talk later.” Then, sticking her head back out, she adds, “And I’m deducting last few nights from my bill seeing as there ain’t no air up at your place. You need to get that fixed.”

  The door closes and I’m left facing one of those dancers in the Robert Palmer music video in my reflection. Except her hair is beginning to pop up in little sticks, her full, high cheeks have slid down under her chin, she’s gained thirty pounds (maybe more, but it is a reflection so hard to be exact), and her feet are in flat Target sandals that make her ankles look like melting ice cream cones.

  Cool. Let’s go to the country club.

  Chapter 4

  “Wish I was brave enough to wear my hair like that. Makes your eyes look huge,” the woman next to me says. For the second time. She’s wearing a flowing, soft, orange silk shirt over white slacks. She has on jeweled sandals and blonde hair in loose curls. But then, so does most everyone else here.

  Lots of white slacks, jeweled sandals, and blond hair. My black dress sticks out, and my dark, slicked hair, well, it’s different. But no one is acting like it’s a bad different. They seem to like it. And not how Southern women say they like things. You know, it comes off fake or mean, but in all honestly it’s neither, because it actually means nothing. It’s just what we do when we meet someone. Compliment ‘em. Or we do the sarcastic “Love that (hair-do, dress, necklace, etc.),” but we make our eyes real big and add to the side, “Bless her heart, she don’t know better.”

  Even Susan said I look good and added that I was taking over Laney’s role as fashionista, since she’s pregnant and wearing caftans 24/7.

  “So tell us about Crossings. Susan says you and your husband moved here to open a B&B. How exciting to run your own business!” the blonde across from me and next to Susan says. “I always wanted to run my own business, but with Randall’s job being so hectic and the kids having such full schedules, it just never seemed the right time.”

  Susan adds, “And Carolina’s helping get the bookstore downtown running.”

  When several pair of eyes light up, I jump in. “But we’re undergoing a shift. Don’t come until after next week. It’s kind of a mess right now.”

  The woman on Susan’s other side sighs. “Must be nice to have two things to work on. Who knew retirement meant Jim being as busy as he was with his job, and me sitting at home like before. He’s on the golf course practically every day, and now he’s taking on a part-time consulting job with his old company. I thought we were going to travel.”

  My neighbor with the orange silk shirt agrees. “I know! My husband always said he wanted to travel when he retired, we just never talked about what we meant by ‘travel.’ He’s booked a kayak trip in South America. I don’t swim and have never camped. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to come. He told me to go wherever I want, and we’ll go somewhere later in the year together. Then he mentioned backpacking in Cambodia.” She shudders a bit.

  “Guess I’m used to that kind of thing,” the heavyset lady on the other side of me says. “My husband is a big hunter. Hunting season always meant him practically living at his family’s hunting lodge in South Georgia. We’ve lived most our life in Chicago, and I thought moving here would mean he wouldn’t want to go to the lodge so much, or at least wouldn’t need to spend so much time there. Wrong! He’s there more. And here I am stuck in the mountains of Georgia in a much too big house. I’m trying to learn to play golf. Anyone else taking that beginners’ class?”

  Susan nods at me and lifts her empty iced tea glass. “Carolina, let’s get some more tea, and I’ll introduce you around.” After excusing ourselves, we walk toward the wall of windows loo
king over the green lawns leading to the golf course. “See what I mean? I don’t fit in up here.”

  “They all seem nice,” I say. “Honestly, I mean that. They do seem nice. Kind of, well, lonely? At loose ends?”

  Susan nods. “I know, I keep getting that feeling, too. Seems about half the folks up here are just here for the weekends. But a lot, like most of the ladies here on Wednesdays, they’ve moved here lock, stock, and barrel. Did you ever see that movie Stepford Wives?”

  “I read the book. Don’t think I watched the movie, though. Why?”

  “Feels like that here. Not that the men are making robot wives to replace their real ones, but that the men are all just fine with living here, but the women not so much.”

  We turn from looking out the windows and watch the women. There are about twenty sitting at four round tables. Most of them are quite a bit older than me and Susan, but surprisingly many look to be not too far from us, late forties, maybe early fifties. “What about kids? Many folks have kids up here?”

  Susan shrugs. “Some. Darien Academy attracts most of the ones with kids up here. It’s pretty exclusive and hard to get into. Those families are really wrapped up in the school activities. I didn’t realize how much until we moved here.” She lowers her voice, “The school people feel like a cult. A very well-dressed cult.” She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  I’m trying to get used to thinking of Susan living here. She’s right, it doesn’t fit. The ladies seem nice, but it feels kind of hollow. We walk to the long table set up with the iced tea, water, and coffee.

  One of the ladies from our table is there, and she turns and motions at me. “This is Carolina Jessup,” she says to the lady beside her. “She runs that B&B, Crossings, somewhere downtown, right?”

  “Yes, we’re up on the bluff overlooking the river.”

  Susan takes my glass and fills it. “It’s their home, too.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.” The new lady holds her hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Aggie Pierson. I organize these little lunches. So glad you could join us. Are you like Susan, born and bred in Chancey?”

  “No, we’ve not even lived here a year. Moved from Marietta last summer.”

  “Oh, us too! Our son got into Darien and our daughter was going off to Duke for college, so we decided to just up and move. We must get together.”

  She had grasped my hand with both of hers, and as she leans toward me, my mouth opens and words spill out. “Why don’t you all come for one of our wine and cheese afternoons at Crossings?”

  Aggie leans back, but tightens her grasp. “All of us? Wonderful.” Then she drops my hand and turns. “Ladies, ladies,” she announces. “Carolina has invited us to her delightful B&B right down in Chancey for one of their fabulous wine and cheese afternoons.” As the ladies clap, she whirls back to me. “When should we come?”

  “Fridays are when we do the wine and cheese.”

  “Friday is perfect! We’ll be there.” She tucks her arms under mine and turns us both to the room. “Everyone, I’ll get the details and send out an email. Thank you so much, Carolina. And I hope you know you are now an honorary member of our little lunch group here. Please join us any Wednesday.”

  Susan moves into my line of sight on the other side from Aggie, and as she lifts her newly filled glass to her lips, she smiles at me. She slowly shakes her head as her grin grows.

  Wait, did I just invite all these ladies to the B&B?

  “Jackson, I don’t know who to trust. FM swears by Earl, and Laney swears by Terry. And they all talk like I know what they’re saying. I keep saying to just put in a whole new system. That I don’t really want to use parts from a junk yard. No one is listening to me.”

  I pulled over to the side of the road to answer when Jackson called me three times in a row. These roads are too curvy for me to talk on. Our signal that we need to talk right now is to call two times in a row. He didn’t give me time to pull over before he called three times. I ducked into a little patch of gravel in front of a tiny, falling-down house with a huge tea rose bush beside it. The bush looks bigger than the little old house and is absolutely covered with tiny pink roses. Sitting here with the window rolled down, the smell is intoxicating. I’m hoping no one lives here or tries to pull in, since there’s not room for more than one car to turn around.

  “I can’t help it that they are both saying different things are wrong. They are both so sure they know what they are doing. And just as sure that the other one doesn’t.”

  Jackson continues to tell me what everyone has said, but I’m not really listening to him either. I just want air conditioning. The money is sitting in the bank for a new system. Finally I interrupt him. “Okay, I’ve met both men. Earl does drive you crazy with all his stories, but he’s actually in the business. I’m not sure Terry is, I think he’s a mechanic at the dealership. Can’t get a straight answer about that from anyone. So I choose Earl, but you have to tell him. I’ll deal with Terry and Laney and Shaw. Love you and talk to you later. Hopefully the house will be cool by time you get home Friday.”

  I don’t tell him that I’ve invited the lunch ladies from Laurel Cove for wine and cheese. I need to think about that some more. But right now, I want to smell those roses up close. Laying my phone on the passenger seat, I climb out of the van and curve over to the rose bush on my way to knock on the door, although it doesn’t look like anyone lives in the leaning house.

  The air is thick with heat, the buzzing of bees, and the smell of roses. But the rose smell is fresh, not heavy like a perfume. There’s a hedge between the rose bush and the door, and it adds its old, musty smell. Both are deep and green, the tiny leaves and the smell, as I brush my hand along the hedge branches. These two bushes together are like a book. There are stories here, and I close my eyes to hear them more clearly. When I open my eyes, there are two eyes looking at me through the rusty screen door. The woman is scrawny and old, reminds me of a wet chicken in how unprotected she appears. She has on an old house dress, like I’ve not seen in so many years. And an apron over that. They both kind of hang on her and her gray hair is pulled back, but it wisps around her wrinkled face.

  “Ain’t that about the prettiest rose bush you ever seen? My mama planted it there ‘fore I was born.”

  “It is lovely. I just had to get out of my van and see it. And smell it.” I offer my hand, but she’s still behind the rusted screen so I end up just waving a bit. “Hi, I’m Carolina. Kind of new to Chancey. I’ve never even noticed your house here, but then I haven’t been on this road more than a couple times.”

  “I’m LaVada. You want some roses to take home? Let me get my scissors.”

  Before I can say anything she’s gone into the darkness, and I’m left with the bees, sunshine, and roses. Then she pushes the screen door open and bustles out. She moves pretty good, but as she steps onto the gravel and dirt which is uneven, she grasps onto my arm and leads me past the hedge to the backside of the rose bush.

  “They smell up a house real nice. I get a bunch ever other day and put them all around my house until they’re gone. I clip from the backsides so the front don’t have no holes. Used to take them around to the neighbors and such, but not many folks left now. So I’m right pleased to share them with you.”

  At the bush she hands me the scissors. “Take as much as you want. You’ll see it won’t make a dent, and besides, it’s the backside.”

  With two loaded branches cut, I thank her and she laughs. “Why, sweetie, that’s not enough to make it worth bringing the scissors out. Let me have them scissors.”

  I hand them to her, and she proceeds to load me up with an armful.

  “Really, that’s plenty, Miss LaVada. I don’t know where I’ll put them all. Let me help you back to the door.”

  “Well, I am getting tuckered out. This is usually my nap time after I’ve spent some time with the Lord and had my lunch. But today I just knew something fun was going to ha
ppen, and then I look up and there you are!” She laughs, and I can’t help but laugh with her.

  “I’m so glad you think I’m something fun.”

  “Oh, but meeting new folks is the most fun ever. Getting to find out where they’ve been and wonder about where they’re going. You said your name is Carolina. Are you from Carolina?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from Tennessee. My folks just liked the name, I think. I’ve never heard your name, LaVada? It’s pretty.”

  “I don’t know where my parents got the name. Think Mama just thought it sounded pretty. We used to not put so much thought into what folks was called. Besides, once you name a baby, it just kind of settles and becomes everyday, haven’t you thought that? People work so hard to pick the right name, and then just like that, it’s just a name.” She pulls on the screen door. “So might as well pick a pretty one.”

  “Might as well.” I shift the flowers, so I can hold open the door for her. “It was so nice to meet you. And thank you for the roses.”

  From the other side of the screen she smiles, “Anytime. You just come get you some until they are gone. I’d love for you to meet my granddaughter. She lives here with me and is just about the sweetest thing God ever made. She’s at school today, but come sometime of a morning. Then I won’t be needing a nap, and we can visit.” She steps away, back into the cool darkness of her home, and I wave before I turn for my car.

  I lay my bower of pink roses on the passenger seat and maneuver the car back out onto the blacktop. I drive off the mountain with my window rolled down and the radio up loud on a classic rock station. I’m honestly surprised how much I enjoyed my day in Laurel Cove.

  And when I get to the first stop sign and tilt the rearview mirror to look at myself I have to agree with the lady at the luncheon. My eyes do look huge.

  Even better? They look happy.

  Chapter 5

  Good news? I fired Terry.