Kids are Chancey

by Kay Dew Shostak

  The girl takes a moment staring at Laney, then grins. It feels genuine, and not cold at all, unlike everything else here. “Hi there,” she strides over toward me to also shake my hand. “I’m Zoe. Should be in seventh grade, but we’re homeschooled, so I’m really ahead of a regular seventh grader.”

  “Well, hi, welcome. I’m Carolina, and I live up at the B&B on the hill. We don’t want to keep y’all. Just dropping off some muffins.”

  Kimmy still stands beside the door, and she speaks up. “Thanks so much. We’re still getting settled.” And she pulls the door open wider. “It was nice to meet you.”

  Zoe turns her back on her mother and rolls her eyes at me and Laney, then darts over to K.J. and Katherine. “C’mon kids, let’s go finish up your rooms. Dad wants them done when he gets home.” As she turns them and prods them down the hall, Laney and I walk back to the door. At the door Laney stops and asks the young mom, “Zoe? What happened to the ‘K’ names?”

  Kimmy, small as she is, corrals us outside and then as she slowly closes the door, she shrugs. “Zoe is Kyle’s. Not mine.” The door shuts, and Laney and I are left in the hot, morning sun, blinking.

  We turn down the driveway, and at the road turn to walk back to my house. We’re both thinking for a moment, then I say, “Don’t you hate when you try to get your questions answered, and you end up with more than you started?”

  Laney lifts the hem of her long pregnancy top, then bends over to wipe her sweaty face on its tail. “Nope,” she says as she drops her shirt and stands up. “I love it. Folks don’t want to just come right out and tell you who they are, then they are asking for me to try and figure it out. And in this case, I know just where to start, or should I say, with whom to start?”

  “Laney, you kill me how you say stuff like that like it’s normal. Maybe these folks are just more private than you are used to.”

  “Really? Privacy to me is just another word for ‘I’ve got something to hide.’”

  “So, let me guess. Zoe is now your new best friend.”

  “Carolina, don’t be silly. I can’t have a twelve year old for a best friend.”

  At the crossing, as we leave the shade-covered road and walk up to my house, the bugs get louder. It’s even hotter without the shade, and our talking fades. Laney stops beside her car and pulls her keys out of her pocket. “I am going to need a mother’s helper with the baby, you know. That Zoe looks to have lots of experience with kids.”

  “And besides, if she’s on your payroll, she has to tell you what you want to know, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Laney, I’m joking.”

  She laughs and presses the key ring to make her doors unlock. “Well, I’m not. You should know better than anyone, Chancey is an open book. You want to live here, there are certain costs.” She slams her door, and I can’t see her through the dark-tinted SUV window.

  Well, at least Zoe will be getting paid to spill her guts. That’s better than most folks who move to small towns get.

  Wait. Earl’s truck. It was here when I left, but it’s gone now. Afraid to hope, I climb the porch steps, open the screen door, then pause before turning the handle on the wooden front door. When I push it open, I’m met with cold air. Not just cold air from a mountain night, no, genuinely artificial cold air. Thank the Lord!

  Jackson comes out of the kitchen. “Hey there—air is fixed.”

  “I know. Now why couldn’t he just do this at the beginning of the week? Was Earl still grumpy this morning?”

  Jackson sits on the chair beside the window, where his coffee cup is. “Yeah, don’t think I’ve ever handed a check that big to a more unhappy guy. He kept saying, ‘It’s what you wanted, but I think I coulda fixed the old one. It’s a shame, but it’s what you wanted.’”

  I laugh and stretch out my arms above my head. “This feels glorious. Any more coffee?” I ask as I turn around and see the light still on and the pot half full. Walking towards the pot, I talk louder. “Met our new neighbors.”

  “Oh, yeah. What’d you think?”

  Back in the living room with a full cup of dark, almost bitter, old coffee, I sit on the end of the couch near Jackson. “Kinda odd. Real stand-offish. Like that’ll work in Chancey. All of them have K names. Husband is Kyle, son is K.J., figure Kyle Junior, daughter is, um. Shoot. Let’s see, baby is Kevin and the wife is Kim. No, Kimmy. Then there’s this older daughter, not the one I can’t remember, but she’s junior high age, and her name is Zoe. The mom told us point blank she belongs to her husband and not her. Zoe seemed at least a little warm, and Laney has already decided to hire her to help her out with the baby.”

  “So what brought them to Chancey? What’s the husband do?”

  “Didn’t come up. But they homeschool, did find that out. Although, only Zoe looked old enough to be in school. Oh, and Laney did some checking around, and it looks like the county bought the land where the funeral home was. Not sure what the building is that’s going up, though. Although, I’m sure she’ll find out something quick.”

  Jackson stands up and heads to the kitchen with his empty cup. “I’m going on over to the baseball field. They’re having a work day there to get ready for the Fourth of July tournament. Told Griffin I’d be there as soon as I squared Earl away and we had cold air flowing. What are you up to today?”

  “This place. I put off cleaning because it was too hot. And with the windows being open so much, the dust is an inch thick.”

  “Griffin says Susan has some kind of family picnic thing set up at the Lake Park tonight. Everybody brings their own food and drinks. I’m good with that, if you are,” he says as he comes back to the living room from the kitchen.

  “Sounds good to me. I saw a flyer about it, but forgot. Wonder what folks here did before the Lake Park?”

  Jackson stops beside the front door. “That’s right. We didn’t even live here this time last year. We were still in Marietta. That’s weird,” he says as he shakes his head at me. “I should be home in a couple hours. I want to move that woodpile away from the house today.” He steps out, pulling the door behind him. But just before it closes, he comes back in. “Forgot something.”

  I had just stood up, and he comes to me, grabbing my upper arms in his hands. “Used to make fun of how your mom and dad never part without a kiss. Your dad always makes a big show of it, and I thought it was kind of dramatic and silly. But. . .” He kisses me. “Who am I to make fun of something that so obviously works?” He kisses me again, just a little peck this time. Then pulls away. At the door he looks back at me and grins. “See you later.”

  He’s right. I’ve been in the car, ready to go somewhere with my mom, and she’s gotten out of the car when she realized she hadn’t kissed my dad goodbye. I cringe remembering how agitated I would get at her. And usually by time she got back to the front door, Daddy was standing there, hands on his hips, exclaiming that he “didn’t get a kiss!” Oh, how that all embarrassed me. How country, how silly, how over-the-top.

  As I head up the stairs to change into an old T-shirt and shorts to clean, a smile starts in my chest and pushes out all over my face. Guess me and Jackson are going to be all country and silly and over-the-top.

  It’s about time.

  Chapter 11

  “We’re getting a dollar store. Did you hear?” Laney and Susan’s mother says as I help her carry stuff from her car to the picnic at the Lake Park.

  “Here? In Chancey?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Set to open July Fourth weekend.” Mrs. Troutman’s accent is softer than a lot of the old accents around here. Not softer as in not as thick, but softer in that it’s slower and there’s an extra beat on most words. It’s an old Atlanta accent more than a Georgia mountain accent, and it’s so lovely. Listening to her talk makes my blood slow down. I smell peaches, and my skin relaxes.

  “Oh, so it’s not the new building where the funeral home was, I guess. No way that could be open in a week.”

  “No, that’s
some county building. I was so much better informed when Griffin didn’t work so many hours. Now getting a hold of him takes an act of congress. It’s going in that empty place beside the China Palace. Down from the grocery store. Well, looks like Susan’s got a right good crowd here.”

  We stop in the pavilion on the lake side. Tables are covered with baskets and bags and boxes, and people are everywhere. The sunshine is as thick as the humidity, and there’s not a breeze to be had. Laney waves at us from a picnic table to our right, so we head that way.

  “It’s entirely too hot for me to be out here,” she says as we walk up to her. “Now that you’re here, I can get in the water instead of having to save the table.” She stands up and then pulls off her cover-up. “Look at my maternity bathing suit. Isn’t it cute? Let me say once again, it’s so much better being pregnant when you have money.”

  “Well, in my day, not having money was not the reason we didn’t buy such things as maternity bathing suits. It was more about having some decorum.” Mrs. Troutman busies herself pulling things out of the bags and baskets we carried from her car.

  Laney rolls her eyes and pulls her messy bun of hair through a visor. “C’mon, Carolina, let’s get in the water.”

  “Oh, Laney, I didn’t wear a swim suit. There’s too many people here.”

  Mrs. Troutman, looks at me, and with a raised eyebrow, says, “Thank you.”

  “Mother.”

  “I’m just agreeing with Carolina. There are just some places a woman doesn’t show everything she’s got. Especially when she’s carrying a child.”

  “But I do like that bathing suit,” I say. When I was pregnant, the tent style was in fashion. Well, not exactly in fashion, but you know what I mean. Now, women wear clothes, and bathing suits, that accentuate the fact they are pregnant. Or, as Mrs. Troutman would say, “Show everything they’ve got.”

  Laney holds her hands out and twirls around. The body of the swimsuit is dark blue and the bodice is the same blue, but with little white stars on it. The wide halter tie is bright red, which matches the ribbon on her straw visor. She slides on her big sunglasses and strikes a pose. Big or small, Laney owns it.

  I can’t help but laugh and even admire her. And out of the corner of my eye, I see her mother smile, too.

  Laney then turns and struts down to the water. Her mother’s smile turns into a little laugh. “Lord knows how I got a girl like that. She never did have a shy bone in her body.”

  “But that’s what makes her Laney. Did you always call her Laney? Or is it a nickname?”

  “I named her Elaine after my best friend in elementary school. However, Scott and Susan called her Laney from the very beginning. By time you get to the third child, you just don’t worry about the name so much.”

  “Hmmm, someone just said something like that to me recently. Don’t remember who.”

  “Thank you, darlin’, for your help. Glad I didn’t have to make two trips.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I forgot my sunglasses in the van and saw you in the parking lot. Oh, and thanks again for inviting us to the gender reveal party last night. Your house is so cute.”

  “It’s old, but it’s comfortable. Now that I’m alone, it’s all I need.”

  “Well, enjoy the day,” I say with a wave, walking towards our table which is closer to the water. I pull and lift at my knit shirt to try and get some air. But there is no air. The sun lays on the green water like a blanket. There aren’t pretty sparkles or flashes of light in the water sprays from kids going off the high dive. Everything is flat and heavy. My shirt is sleeveless and my shorts made of light cotton, but the air is so thick it feels like I’m wearing a tight sweatshirt and heavy jeans.

  Slumping down at our table, I look around. Women not swimming are all that’s left on the shore. The water is full of men and kids and a few young moms who look good in their swimsuits. And there’s Laney, arms draped over a neon green noodle.

  I have to ask myself—what looks sillier? Her big old pregnant self in the water, or me sitting here sweating beside the lake?

  “Hey, Carolina.”

  “Hey, Anna. How are you, sweetie?”

  “Hot and tired.” She sits beside me. “Wish I could go swimming.”

  “Well, honey, why can’t you?”

  She looks at me like I just asked her why she can’t pick up this picnic table and throw it in the lake. “Look at me. I’m huge.”

  “You are not. You’re barely showing. Look at Laney, she’s expecting in a few weeks.”

  “I know. Look at her.”

  “I am. She looks really happy. And cool.”

  “Puh-leeze,” Anna huffs and stands. “If she wants to swim looking like that she should do it in her own pool. Not out in public. I’m going home. It’s too hot out here. Tell Will to find a ride home.”

  I don’t say bye, I don’t turn to watch her leave. She is Missus. Except she might be meaner than Missus. Yet…

  Yet, there’s this little voice inside my head reminding me that she said exactly what I had been thinking about Laney. It sounded so much better in my head than out loud.

  With a sigh, I turn around on the bench and begin opening the bags I’d carried our picnic in. First kid, or husband, of mine that shows up gets to go out to the car and carry the cooler in. I would’ve brought it when I went back to get my sunglasses, but I saw Mrs. Troutman trying to lug everything she’d brought. Jackson had come earlier and brought the floats and football and chairs, which are set up around our tables.

  Will comes up not long after I’ve unpacked. “Hey, where did Anna go? Where are the towels?” he asks.

  He’s dripping wet and his long boardshorts hang low on his hips. Well, where his hips should go. He’s built like his dad, tall and thin. So is Savannah. Bryan is more like me. Shorter, with a little more, um, cuteness. Yeah, that sounds right. Cuteness.

  Anna’s attitude rubs off on me. “Maybe I didn’t bring you a towel? You aren’t really my responsibility anymore. And your wife went home.” I pull a towel off the stack on the other side of me. “Here.”

  “Thanks. I’m starving.”

  “Maybe I didn’t bring you a sandwich.”

  He grins and then comes up behind me before I can say he’s too wet to hug me. While secretly smiling, I’m sprinkled from above. I look up to see him standing over me shaking his wet hair out on me. “Stop it, you goofball. Go get the cooler out of the van if you want to eat. Lunchmeat is all in there.”

  “Sure, van locked?” he asks, but I’m already pulling the keys out of my shorts pocket.

  “Yes. I’m parked way on the right-hand side. Third row I think.”

  He pushes the red button on my key fob. “No problem, I’ll just keep pressing this until I get close enough for it to kick in,” he says as he begins to jog off.

  “Or you could just look where I told you to,” I yell.

  Have to admit, the water he dripped on me feels pretty good. Maybe I should look into getting a new swimsuit. Okay, I should look into getting a swimsuit. I mean, I probably have one somewhere, but I can’t recall it at this moment.

  Will apparently began the exodus from the water to the picnic tables. Kids go scurrying by; close on their heels are the dads. The teenagers are still out on the platform dock they’ve claimed. The ones with the high dive and the slide are usually covered in younger kids. The one in the middle doesn’t have any fancy equipment, but it has the teenage girls laying out, so that’s the one the teenage boys favor.

  With my back to the lake, I don’t see Savannah make her way to the table. She stands to the side and has her arms crossed around her bare waist. “Do you have enough for Alex to eat with us?”

  “Of course. I have plenty of lunchmeat and an entire loaf of bread. Where is he?”

  She looks over her shoulder and tosses her head. “Over there.”

  I see him at the center of a group of young people walking up the hill toward the pavilion. “I don’t think the concess
ion stand is open tonight.”

  “I told them. Most of them want to leave. Alex wants to stay.” She looks undecided for a moment, then turns to jog after the group. When she catches up to them, she eases up behind Alex and lays her hand on his upper arm. He turns, and they talk for a moment. Then he smiles at her, turning all that charm he got from his uncle on, puts his arm across her shoulder, and they start back this way.

  Will arrives at the table with the cooler, just as they do. Jackson and Bryan stop throwing the football and come to eat, too.

  “Thanks for including me,” Alex says. “A picnic sounds like a great idea.”

  In all the laughing and talking of getting the ham and turkey passed around, debating mayonnaise versus mustard, then spearing pickles and opening chip bags, I miss that Will isn’t saying anything. He’s devouring his sandwich, swallowing mouthfuls with big gulps of bottled iced tea. I wait for a break in the action, and since he’s sitting beside me, I say under my breath, “You okay?”

  He nods and puts a chip in his mouth. “Anna isn’t feeling good.”

  “And she wants you to come home.”

  He looks at me for a moment before he nods. “Yeah.”

  I don’t even try to hide the snark in my voice. “You can’t help her feel better. She just hates the idea of you here with your family having fun.” Okay, I’m going to blame that on the heat.

  Jackson looks up, the heat in my voice catching his attention. “What’s going on?”

  Will stands up. “Nothing. Thanks for supper, Mom. You know buffalo turkey is my favorite.”

  Bryan tilts his head up. “But you said we’d dive off the high dive together.”

  “Next time,” Will says as he digs his T-shirt out from the pile of towels and clothes. “Sorry,” he adds, with a grimace at his brother.