“You forget what kind of stuff?”
“Oh, eating. I had some tea and crackers last night, but this morning I forgot to eat anything. Just had my cup of tea, and I had the real stuff, not that decaf tea.” She whispers the part about the tea. “Don’t tell anyone, but I hide the real stuff.”
At a knock on the wall outside the curtain, she says, “Come in,” and a white-coated doctor pushes the curtain to the side and steps in.
“Like we thought, Mrs. Webster.” It’s an older doctor, and I’m surprised to see him in the ER. I usually think of young doctors manning the emergency room. He’s portly and has lots of curly gray hair. His head is big, which fits his big nose, on which a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses sits. When he takes LaVada’s hand in his, it looks like Cinderella’s tiny slipper resting on the prince’s soft, overstuffed pillow.
She looks up at him and flushes, “Oh, Dr. Barsetti. You’re so good to come check on me.”
“Of course. When they call and say my favorite patient is heading this way, I jump right up, cancel all the appointments, and get here as fast as I can.”
She points at me. “And look, this is my friend, Carolina. Isn’t she pretty?”
He turns to shake my hand and grins at me. “Very pretty, indeed.” He turns back toward the bed. “Where’s Rose?”
“Here’s Rose!” says a voice just outside the curtain. A tall, thin young woman steps into the cubicle and then around to the bed. “Nana. Did you do it again? I left you out bread for toast, and there are boiled eggs in the refrigerator. You can’t forget to eat.”
“Your blood sugar bottomed out again,” the doctor says.
“Why do they have to bring me all the way to the hospital? I feel fine once they give me that stuff in the bag. I hate to bother everyone.”
Rose leans over the bed and hugs her grandmother. “They know what they’re doing. And if you hate to bother everyone, you’re going to just have to remember to eat. But I’m so glad you’re fine.” Rose turns to the doctor. “She is fine, right? Can I take her home?”
He nods. “Yes, in just a bit. Everything looks good. Now, I have to get back across the street to my other patients.” He reaches in and grabs LaVada’s hand. “Eat! The roses will wait.” He then gives a shoulder hug to the young woman, Rose. As he backs out, he stops in front of my chair. “And nice to meet you. Carolina, right?”
I push to get up out of the low seat and take his offered hand. “Yes. And nice to meet you, too.”
He steps out with a wave of his paw of a hand, and the curtain swings behind him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” Rose says with a move in my direction and an extended hand.
“Sweetie, this is my friend Carolina. She stopped to see my roses. And now you get to meet my favorite Rose of all.”
We shake hands, and I explain. “I was coming past your grandmother’s house, and I saw the ambulance, so I pulled in to check on her.”
Rose is tall and thin with smooth, long brown hair. She is covered with freckles, which stand out against her pale skin. “Thanks for checking on her, but she’s good now.”
Her voice carried warmth a minute earlier, but that is now gone. She’s not exactly cold, but she’s not gushing like most Southerners would be to someone concerned about their grandma. I didn’t come here to be lauded as some kind of saint, but this is so off, I start stammering.
“Just wanted to make sure and find out what, you know, was going on? I mean, I don’t need to know what’s really going on, but how she was, or is. But it’s all good now.” Luckily, the pink sweater lady shows back up, darting inside the curtain and shoving a clipboard at me.
“Here. You came in at 3:40. Sign fast.”
I scribble my name, and she’s gone just as fast as she appeared.
Everything’s good here, so I’m going to head home,” I say as I lean around Rose to wave at her grandmother. LaVada rolls her eyes at her granddaughter’s back.
“Ignore Rose. You’re welcome to stay. Rose, be polite.”
“No, I really ought to go. Glad you’re doing well.” I reach out to shake Rose’s hand again. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” she says. Taking a couple steps she encourages me right through the curtain, then she pulls it shut.
“Well, that was weird,” I say as I head back to the doors leading to the waiting room. “If I’d had to pay to park for that, I’d have wanted my money back.”
In the car, I roll the windows down and turn the air on high. Even though I hadn’t signed in, I had turned my phone off when I entered the hospital as per the sign on the door. As it chimes that it’s come back on, I see that Laney has called. So, I call her back.
“Hey, I see you called?”
“Yep, just wanted to give you a heads up that we are booked solid for this weekend. Think we’re going to need to come up with increased holiday rates and maybe add on some rooms.”
“We are not adding on rooms. What’s gotten into you?”
“North Georgia Mountains are a hot commodity now. I joined a Facebook page about what to do in the mountains this summer, and the interest in Crossings is off the chart. I’m putting up our own Facebook page tonight when the girls are home to help me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
“Zoe is a godsend! She’s got supper cooking, she’s unwrapped everything for the nursery, and is going to paint it tomorrow.”
“Do not overwork the girl. She’s only twelve.”
Laney pshaws me. “Whatever. She’s happy here. So, now, Susan’s house?”
“Oh, well, it’s amazing. More amazing than I imagined. Are you going to tell her about Susie Mae having Alex up there?”
“I don’t know. See what I feel like when I see her. Back to the house, what’s so amazing?”
I rev the car engine. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.” I hang up because if I try and explain I don’t like being on the phone while I’m driving, she’ll laugh and argue with me and tell me to get that earpiece thingy. But honestly, I need some time not talking and seems like driving is the only time I get it.
And my phone rings. At the stop sign at the edge of the parking area, I look at it, and then answer my daughter’s call. “Hey there.”
“Mom, that stalking thing? It is Bryan. I’m going to kill him. You’ve got to stop this.”
“But how did he get the notes over to her house? I thought we decided it couldn’t be him.”
“He pulls that innocent little boy crap and gets rides helping him deliver his stupid love letters. He’s an embarrassment. I’m going to kill him.”
“Okay, I’m going to the park to get him, and I’ll straighten it out. How did you find out?”
“I mentioned it to Jenna and Angie, and they said they’d both given him rides out there. They thought it was cute.”
“I’ll be home soon. Are you home?” There’s a special kind of silence on the phone when a person doesn’t want to tell you something. “Are you at Alex’s?”
“For just a minute. He wanted to show me something. Geez, Mom, don’t be so suspicious.”
“Ask him how he liked Susie Mae’s house, after all he was there this afternoon alone with her.”
This silence is the kind you get when someone is thinking.
“Gotta go,” she says and hangs up.
This thinking like a skank has possibilities. Wonder if Laney’s put up a Facebook page for that yet?
Chapter 19
July Fourth is on Sunday, and today is Wednesday. I am still not sure what we are doing.
Here’s where you act surprised that the Jessup family has no traditions surrounding yet another holiday. We always managed to find something to do in the past, but I never really planned anything.
If my mom and dad were camping in the area, we’d go see them and do whatever fun things they came up with, eat whatever food they cooked, watch fireworks wherever their campground suggested.
&nb
sp; If Jackson’s parents were visiting, Etta would make some grand old-fashioned meal and we’d eat until we were stuffed. Hank carries a full firework arsenal with him (doesn’t have to be July), so we’d let him put on a show for all of us. Not exactly legal, but Hank is a little fuzzy on fireworks law.
If we were alone, then one by one the kids would end up at some friend’s lake house or pool, and Jackson and I would hang out and do chores around the house until it was time to decide on going to see fireworks. Then we’d decide it was too much trouble, and we’d get takeout or make a frozen pizza. Jackson might’ve grilled, but that would mean me having something on hand to grill.
Honestly, I never imagined folks had Fourth of July traditions. But here in Chancey? It’s a thing. A real big thing. There’s a parade mid-morning and then a softball tournament in the afternoon. In the park next to the softball fields, there are kids’ games with sandwiches and homemade ice cream. There’s a run/walk out at a big church near the highway. That’s done really early in the morning, I think I heard. Everyone ends up at the lake towards Laurel Cove for a picnic dinner and fireworks. Of course, with the actual holiday being on Sunday, all the special events are on Saturday the third.
So, when I say I’m not sure what we’re doing, that’s not really true. Of course, we’re doing everything on this schedule of events. I’ve been told that we’ll be doing all this several times. Matter of fact, every time I say I’m not sure what we’ll be doing, I’m given this exact rundown. And looks of incredulity that I have any doubts.
Looking at the paper I’m holding in my hand, I realize I apparently expressed my doubts one too many times. Missus is seated on the edge of my couch before I’ve even had any coffee. She’s dressed in a red short-sleeved blouse and trim white slacks. Her shoes are low-heeled navy pumps. I have on shorts, a T-shirt, and no bra. So, I’m having to do that whole bit of holding my arms close to my chest and not moving too much.
“So, Carolina, you can see there, I’ve laid it all out. Jackson will give out ribbons at the race. These are those ridiculous participation ribbons for every living soul who manages to put one foot in front of the other for the whole two miles. As ridiculous as they are, it was the cheapest thing to sponsor and get Crossings on the sponsorship list. You and the kids will be running or walking and there”—she leans up and points at the paper—“I have which groups you will be in.” Missus stabs again at the paper. “You’ll also see the times you need to show up.”
“Six-thirty? I need to be out there at the church at 6:30 a.m.? Why are you even involved in this? That’s not your church.”
“July Fourth does not belong to any one denomination or group. We all share in the responsibility to make this a memorable town event. I am on the committee, and we work at all events.”
I screw up my mouth and mumble out the side of it, “Or find suckers to work for you.”
She shrugs at my comment. “That’s not attractive. True, but not attractive. Then after the race, the parade will be downtown, and Gertie says you’re doing an open house for the book store. So you’ll be there from nine until noon.”
“Wait, Gertie and you are working out my schedule?”
She takes a deep breath through her nose. “When would you like to hold your open house? Is there another time you can think of when downtown will be full of people? Are the hours not to your liking? We thought a half-hour before the parade begins and then the hour or so afterwards. When would you prefer, my lady?”
Then she wrinkles up her face just before she takes the paper from my hands and studies it. “Although the softball games do begin at one. It works unless the organizers assign you a kids’ game, which requires much set up. So, do not let them do that. Ring toss or pick-a-duck would both be good for you.” She hands me my schedule back and tilts her head. “For goodness’ sakes, do not let them saddle you with the cakewalk or face-painting.”
“Where do they get the sandwiches and homemade ice cream?” I ask.
She points. “That’s on the back. You need to bring two dozen peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches on white bread cut in four pieces, diagonal. The ice cream is done by the senior citizens council. The older folks love competing over their family ice cream recipes. Plus, they’re good to sit in the shade and visit.”
“Of course. I’m making sandwiches.”
“Do not be petty. Everyone makes sandwiches. Even I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the Fourth of July. It’s what we do.” She stands up and heads to the front door.
I stand and follow her, my arms crossed in front of me, with the piece of paper held strategically in front of where my arms cross. I ask, “Then there are fireworks and dinner out near Laurel Cove?”
“Yes. Near the clubhouse there’s a lake, and they allow everyone to set up on that part of the golf course to eat and wait for fireworks. You can park at the clubhouse or along the road. Laurel Cove began the fireworks and dinner to create goodwill with the town when they were first developing the community. Now, it’s a tradition.” She reaches for the door knob and sighs. “However, it feels much too much like the masters of the manor allowing the peasants to come up to the castle for a free show.” She raises an eyebrow at me and adds, “But have you ever seen how expensive a fireworks show is? We’d all rather bow and scrape for the rich folks and their benevolence than pay for our own. Plus, it is a really pretty venue.”
“And if they pay for the fireworks and dinner? Sounds like a pretty good deal,” I say.
Missus sighs again. “They don’t provide dinner. You bring dinner for your own family. And you can include Will and Anna in that since FM and I will be having dinner with the committee members. We always do a special thing for the committee members.”
I shrug and step out onto the front porch with her. “Well, I can always just make another dozen sandwiches and take them.” At this she stops, her hand on the porch post, and turns to me.
“Really, Carolina? You’d feed your family cold sandwiches for supper on the Fourth of July?” She shakes her head and walks on down the steps to her car. As she opens her car door, she says loudly, “Are you sure you’re Southern?”
Well, now that you mention it…
Back inside, I pause to determine if anyone else is up. I have to talk to Bryan about his stalking of Brittani and I need to talk to Savannah, again, about Alex. But more than all of that, I have to get to the bookstore and see how things are there, since apparently we are having a grand opening this weekend.
Right now the only B&B guest we have is Gertie, and I know she’s already left for town. (I waited upstairs until I saw her leave, which is why I haven’t had coffee yet.) Barefoot, I go into the kitchen and pour coffee from the pot that just started brewing when Missus showed up. I take my coffee and list from Missus into the living room. Just those few minutes on the front porch told me it’s already too hot to sit outside.
As Missus said, on the back she’s written the items I’m responsible for bringing.
2 dozen peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches on white bread. Cut in 4 pieces, diagonally. Smooth.
How insulting. Of course I’ll cut them smooth, like I don’t know to make them look nice since they’re for strangers. Sometimes that woman can be downright demeaning.
At the bottom of the page, I begin my shopping list.
White Bread
Grape Jelly
Peanut Butter
Wait, should I use peanut butter with nuts or sm…
Never mind.
Dinner that night. What should I make? You know people will show up with freshly fried chicken and corn salad and a homemade cake or blackberry cobbler. It’ll be a walking, talking magazine article. There’ll be as much oohing and ahhing over the elaborate picnic dinners as the fireworks.
I know. Football hotdogs. I can wrap them up in aluminum foil, and they’ll stay warm in a cooler. My stomach growls. Football hotdogs are a staple from when Jackson and I used to take the kids to the drive-in mov
ie. One of the last drive-ins in the country was near our house, and we went whenever possible. Hmm, so wonder why we call them football hotdogs if we only took them to the movies? Guess my mom and dad named them that.
I add hotdogs and buns and onions to my grocery list, and before long it takes up the rest of the page on the back of my weekend duty list. There are still no noises from upstairs. So, with a look at the clock, I head upstairs to get dressed. At Bryan’s door, I can hear him softly snoring. Guess I’ll talk to him about Brittani later.
And as for Savannah, what am I going to say about Alex that I’ve not already said and that she would actually listen to? I’ll talk to her about it later, too.
In Jackson’s and my bedroom, I put on a pair of jean capris and an old T-shirt from Tennessee. It’s bright orange, but has a small bleached-out spot at the hem on the side, where I got some cleaning stuff on it. Perfect for a busy morning getting the bookstore in order.
Pulling the heavy front door closed behind me, I can’t help but feel good. New white tennis shoes, travel mug of coffee, and headed to a bookstore. My bookstore. I refuse to consider that my good mood has anything to do with not having to engage with any of my children this morning. Of course, at some point they’ll wake up, but maybe they’ll be totally different people when they do.
Hey, I can hope.
Chapter 20
“It’s like Chancey has cornered the paint market in North Georgia,” I say looking around the florist’s and bookstore. “Andy’s place is dripping with green, orange, and purple paint. Peter painted those old rusty tables and chairs and set them out on the sidewalk. And now this.”
Shannon nods. “I wasn’t too sure about it at first. I kind of liked the old brick walls, but Gertie said it had to be done. Now, I’m liking it.”
Entering our front door this morning I was met by the smell of fresh paint. Imagining a redo of Andy’s Place color scheme, I instantly felt sick to my stomach. However, my fear was for naught. Gertie is having every interior wall in the place painted white. The paint is high gloss, so it makes everything look brighter and bigger. The ceiling is an old tin ceiling, but it was ugly with rust and dirt. She’s having it painted also, a soft blue. She calls it Haint Blue. Something about folks in the South saying that particular color on a ceiling keeps the ghosts, or Haints, away. Whatever, it looks really nice.
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