The Secret to Hummingbird Cake

by Celeste Fletcher McHale

  Mamie had been with the Whitfields since they’d moved in and even lived on the Farm in a little house Poppa Jack had built for her. She’d known Mrs. Diane when they were both still in Tennessee, and from what I could gather, she’d run away from an abusive relationship. Nobody ever talked about that too much, not even Jack. I don’t think he knew much more than I did, anyway. All I knew was she wasn’t interested in a man and she loved this family like it was her own. Jack thought she hung the moon and the stars.

  I loved it here, but I missed Laine and Ella Rae. I talked and texted with them every day, and I had repeatedly asked Laine to come out to the Farm for supper, but she was always too busy. She lived for that job. I guessed all teachers must. You would have to for the things you had to put up with. I knew I wouldn’t last fifteen minutes. The first time one of those kids popped off at me, I’d have gone to jail. But Laine always defended them, saying you never knew what things were like inside their homes, or they were just trying to find their way, or they were sometimes really good kids that got dealt a bad hand. Laine’s mother, Jeannette Landry, had just retired from the teaching profession recently, and I knew she’d been the same kind of educator Laine was. That apple sure hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  I was lounging in the wicker swing when Ella Rae called. “Somebody’s going to die tonight,” she said. “I’m either going to smother that woman with a pillow or slit my own wrists.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “What’s your mother done now?” I said.

  “What hasn’t she done? She’s after me all the time. Last night, out of sheer self-defense, I washed down one of those p.m. sleep aids with a shot of whiskey. I woke up this morning being sprayed in the face with a plant mister.”

  “And you’re supposed to stay with her for six weeks?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t see how that’s happening.” Ella Rae paused. “I don’t know, Carrigan. I suspect I’m not cut out to be a nurse.”

  I laughed so hard my sides ached. Ella Rae had many good qualities and I loved her down in my soul, but a nurse she was not. In fact, I think I’d prefer the angel of death to Ella Rae.

  I missed my friends. But I really did love being here. It was peaceful and serene, two things that weren’t usually high on my priority list, but I was learning to embrace them both. Something about this place drew me closer to Jack, though, and I had to be really careful about that. This was, after all, where it had all started. Right here at the Whitfields’ Crawfish Boil when I was sixteen years old.

  The memory came back to me on a wave of passion and sadness.

  I knew who he was, of course. Everybody did. But I’d never actually talked to him. He was twenty-six years old, ancient by my standards. He was good-looking and charming and, trust me, he didn’t disappoint. But I was ready and running on all eight cylinders that night. When I saw him walking in our direction, I told Ella Rae and Laine, “Let me handle this,” and they did. Mainly because they had drool running down their chins.

  He leaned up against the tree we were sitting under. “I believe I have stumbled upon two of the best softball players in the state and the newly elected president of the Louisiana Beta Club. Congratulations on the State Championship, ladies, and on your election, Miss Landry.”

  Laine and Ella Rae wiggled around like praised puppies and honestly, I was pretty shell-shocked myself. This man was exceptionally handsome up close and in person. Those blue eyes alone were enough to make a girl stupid. Thankfully, I recovered quickly enough to say, “Why, Mr. Whitfield, you sure have done your homework.”

  “You can call me Jack, darlin’.”

  “Oh, it’s sweet of you to offer,” I said, “but my daddy taught me to respect my elders.”

  He chuckled and crossed his arms. “A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead to boot? How lucky can a country boy get?” All that and dimples too. I thought Ella Rae and Laine were going to melt into a puddle. I wasn’t feeling too stable either, and my heart was pounding. But I wasn’t going to fall at his feet like everybody else seemed to. Even if I had to jump in a cow trough to cool myself off.

  “A country boy?” I asked, “You’ve been off to college in Baton Rouge and traveled all over the place. You still consider yourself a country boy?”

  “Oh, I consider myself many things, darlin’.” He winked. “Sorta like a Jack-of-all-trades.”

  Ella Rae and Laine giggled like they were ten years old at their big sister’s slumber party.

  “Do you have any idea how cheesy that was?” I said.

  “Was it now?”

  I could see Lexi Carter standing on the balcony of the house watching this little scene with a scowl on her face. I turned to Jack and gestured with my eyes. “While we all appreciate this oh-so-original banter, I don’t think your girlfriend is loving it.”

  “Hmm . . .,” he said. But he didn’t bother turning around. Instead, he leaned toward me until his face was inches from mine. If he’d gotten any closer, he would’ve been able to hear my heart pounding. “Tell me something, Miss Carrigan Suzanne French. Are you always this sweet?”

  I sucked in my breath, willing my voice to stay even. How did he know my entire name? And besides that . . . when he used it, I wanted to wiggle like a puppy. But I found my self-control and swung for the fence. “Don’t that just beat all?” I said. “I was sweet yesterday and you missed it.”

  He pulled away from me and smiled. “Just my luck,” he said. “You girls staying around awhile?”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “Where you headed later?” he asked.

  I smiled the smile I reserved for my daddy when I really wanted something before I answered. “You know, I think we’re headed over to the National Federation of None of Your Business. By the way, we’re children. You could get arrested for this.”

  He laughed in earnest, then leaned in close to me again and smiled just enough that I saw those dimples up close. “Ms. French,” he said, “I am acutely aware of just how dangerous it is for me to be around you.”

  There went my heart again. “We sure appreciate your hospitality,” I said. “But I’m afraid we need to run now. Good night, Mr. Whitfield.”

  Mercifully, the zombie girls followed me as I walked away. It was killing me not to turn around to see if he was still looking, but I knew it would ruin our exit. However, I could hear his quiet laughter behind us, and that pleased me, indeed.

  Before I had this conversation with Jack, I hadn’t really cared if he paid much attention to me or not. I had other stuff going on—sports to play and general fun to be had. At sixteen, I was living for college and an escape from the suffocating confines of Bon Dieu Falls, Louisiana. I wasn’t interested in a relationship. I had always assumed I would fall in love with some baseball player at LSU and we would produce little athletes and live happily ever after.

  Still, I could understand why women were so captivated by Jack, especially after the encounter at the Crawfish Boil. A girl would have to be dead not to appreciate that. Something about him made me deliciously uneasy. The attraction made no sense whatsoever, but that’s what made the feeling so intense.

  And it wasn’t just women who were fascinated by him. Men appreciated him too. He was extremely attractive, extremely wealthy, and oblivious to either of those facts. He was just as at home at a softball game in Bon Dieu Falls as he was at the Governor’s Mansion in Baton Rouge. If the hands on the Farm were fixing fence, he wasn’t in the truck watching. He and Poppa Jack were fixing fence with them. He could drink beer with the good ole boys on Saturday night, then move mountains in the State Legislature come Monday morning. He was perfect.

  Only nobody is perfect.

  So I became obsessed wi
th finding the chink in his armor. And I started looking for it. For months I paid closer attention when he was around. I had to be as inconspicuous as I could, though, lest he was watching me watch him. It was exhausting, but bear in mind, I was seventeen and on a mission. You can accomplish quite a bit when you are young and determined. Then one night, near the end of summer, I thought I had discovered the flaw that would keep him from perfection. What I had actually done, though, was seal my fate with the man.

  There was a boat landing on Red River where everybody from age sixteen to thirty congregated if there was nothing else going on in town. (After age thirty, we talked about you if you were still loitering at the landing, and you were immediately filed under “Creepy” if you showed up.) We were all on friendly terms with the cops, and they would usually turn a blind eye if we were hanging around in parking lots talking and listening to music and drinking a little beer. But sometimes, if there was a new cop in town, we fled to the boat landing for fear he’d try to flex his muscles. Besides, we weren’t troublemakers, just kids and young adults having a get-together. Bon Dieu Falls wasn’t exactly a mecca in the entertainment department. We had to make our own fun instead of buying it. The landing was right on the parish line, and the war had waged for years about which police department had the responsibility of patrolling it. So nobody did. It was a perfect gathering place.

  There were probably forty or fifty people there that night, and there was a pretty good party going on. We never got too rowdy, just built a bonfire, listened to music, and generally escaped our parents. The beer flowed freely, but another thing about small towns is you know who will turn idiot when the tap is turned on. And you know how far they will go.

  For instance, we all knew that Junior Morris was going to strip at some point that night. He was about one hundred pounds overweight, as strong as a bull, and virtually unstoppable when he began whooping and unbuckling his overalls. And when he started the striptease, he’d be about ten minutes away from passing out. His buddies would throw a blanket over him, load him in the back of his pickup, and drive him home. That’s about as out of hand as it ever got. And nobody was impressed with Junior’s striptease, but that never stopped him from performing it.

  On this particular night, I knew everybody, except for a couple of guys who’d driven up on Harley Davidsons. We all eyed them, but they were talking to Eddie Rivers and Johnny Mac, two boys we went to school with, so they seemed harmless, and the party continued. The night was young and Junior still had his clothes on. I was relaxing in the front seat of Tommy’s truck with Laine, listening to an Eagles CD.

  Sometime around nine, I saw Jack and Lexi Carter drive up in his pickup. Lots of people came down here regularly, but I’d only seen Jack here once, looking for a young guy who worked for him. I sat up immediately to get a better view.

  I watched Lexi get out, making an unpleasant face and wiping at a speck of dirt on shorts that looked like white panties. Good Lord. Was I jealous? At the time, I knew very little about Lexi Carter, just that she had gone to high school at Grayson, our parish rival, she was a hygienist for some dentist in Alexandria, and she dated Jack Whitfield III.

  She and Jack started talking to a group of people near where they’d parked. I hopped out of the truck and leaned up against Hunter Tillman’s tailgate and observed from afar. Lexi kept her hand on Jack’s arm even when she was talking to somebody else, which I found childish and stupid. Jack didn’t seem to notice it much at first, but when he did, he pulled away from her, which I found pleasant and encouraging.

  “What are you staring at?” Ella Rae said.

  “Nothing.” I looked away from Jack and Lexi.

  “Bull,” Laine said from inside the truck. “She’s staring at Jack Whitfield.”

  “I am not!” I said. “I’m just bored, that’s all.”

  Laine continued flipping through radio stations. “Whatever.”

  “Y’all wanna go climb the fire tower?” Tommy said.

  Laine groaned. “Please, not again.”

  “That’s only fun the first fifty times,” I said.

  “Y’all wanna get drunk and climb the fire tower?” Ella Rae said.

  “You’re already drunk,” Laine said, “and besides, Carri doesn’t want to leave here ’cause she’s enjoying the view too much.”

  I made a face. “I’m not the one that peed my pants the last time he talked to us.”

  Ella Rae laughed too loud and too long, the way she always did when she was drinking. But it was contagious, and Tommy and I laughed too.

  “I did not ‘pee my pants,’ as you so eloquently put it,” Laine said. “But you have to admit it. The man is good-looking.”

  “He’s all right,” I said. But my heart quickened when he looked our way. I turned hastily toward Tommy before Jack could meet my gaze and found myself staring at a face I didn’t know.

  “Is your name Carrigan?” he asked.

  Wow. Don’t light a match, I thought. Pure grain alcohol breath. “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Garrett,” he said, “and I like what I see.”

  When did we lurch back to the Neanderthals? “Is that right?” I kept my tone cordial but not friendly. “Well, Garrett, I’m flattered, but not interested.”

  “Don’t be like that, baby.” He leaned up against the tailgate. “I got a fine Harley over there that says you are interested. I’d love to take you for a ride.”

  “Horrified of motorcycles,” I lied. “Sorry.”

  “Not a pretty little spitfire like you.” He took a step closer. “I thought redheads liked an adventure.”

  I took a step back. “Really,” I said, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m just not interested.”

  “Come on.” He winked at me. “Just one little ride. Ladies like to ride on my . . . bike.” He cackled drunkenly at his unfunny joke. I could usually handle guys and their unwanted advances, but this fella was making me a little bit uncomfortable. I looked at Tommy, who’d already begun to assess the situation and was helping Ella Rae off his shoulders.

  “Look, man,” Tommy said. “She already told you she ain’t interested.”

  “Who are you?” Garrett asked. “Her husband?”

  Tommy put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s it to you, bud?”

  “Back off, man.” Garrett shoved Tommy’s hand. It was clearly the wrong move. Tommy reached and grabbed him by the collar.

  “We having a problem over here?” a voice said behind me. Without turning around, I knew it was Jack.

  “No problem.” Garrett straightened his shirt as Tommy shoved him backward. “How you doin’, Jack?”

  “It’s all good, Garrett.” Jack’s voice was steady and even. “You been hitting the whiskey pretty hard tonight. Why don’t you go on home?”

  “Just trying to talk to the lady,” Garrett said. “Not looking for trouble.”

  “Did the lady wanna talk to you?” Jack asked.

  Garrett laughed. “I think she’s playing hard to get.”

  “Not likely,” Jack said. “She’s pretty outspoken. Go on, Garrett. Get out of here.” He kept his tone light, but there was no doubt that Jack Whitfield III meant what he was saying.

  I had been watching all this with a growing admiration, but things were about to take a sharp detour south.

  Garrett turned on me, and his demeanor changed before my eyes. “She’s a stuck-up tramp.” He turned to Jack. “And this is none of your business, rich boy.”

  Jack put his hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “You know, Garrett,” he said, “you are absolutely right. This is none of my business.” He walked back toward his truck.
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  What? Was he serious? He was going to ride in like a knight on a white horse, then just leave me here with this drunk? Of all the cowardly moves I had ever seen, this one took the cake.

  This was what was wrong with Jack Whitfield III. He was all hat and no cattle. Well, at least, thank God, I finally knew he wasn’t perfect. I was so infuriated I hardly noticed it when Whiskey Breath began talking to me again.

  “Whatcha say, baby? How ’bout that ride?”

  “Get away from me.” I flung Garrett’s hand off my arm. My anger at Jack fueled my rage. I didn’t care how this idiot reacted. I’d fight him myself.

  I heard Ella Rae’s laugh, then Tommy’s whoop, then Laine’s “Oh my!” about the same time I heard metal crunching and glass breaking. I whipped around to see Jack’s four-wheel drive pickup on top of Garrett’s Harley Davidson. He’d driven over the top of it, and not just once. After the first time, he backed up and drove over it again, sufficiently crushing it.

  Garrett was momentarily frozen, then broke into a run toward his demolished pile of metal. He was screaming obscenities I had never even heard before, and I was an athlete. In the midst of this melee, I remember thinking, Do those words really go together? The girls, Tommy, and I ran over with everybody else to see the mangled pile of what used to be a Harley, shattered beyond recognition. I was utterly stunned. If you hadn’t known that twisted mound of metal had once been a motorcycle, you never could have identified it now. I slowly looked at Jack who had gotten out of his truck and was scratching his head.

  He looked over at Greg Grimes, who ran the auto shop in town. “My clutch has been sticking for a week, Greg,” he said. “I guess I need to bring her in and let you take a look.”

  Garrett unleashed another barrage of obscenities guaranteed to make a sailor blush and ran to his now warped motorcycle. “I will kill you for this!”

  Jack leaned against his truck and smiled slightly. “Be careful, Garrett,” he said.