“Will you recite something for me?”
“Now?” It really wasn’t the place that shocked her, but the request. It was one thing to talk about the words she loved. It was something else entirely to speak those beautiful phrases to him. She didn’t know if she could. She’d done a year’s worth of sharing in just a few minutes. She wasn’t sure her heart could take any more. But as soon as she considered her heart, wondering about its ability to withstand all the attention, she realized she was too late. There was no reversing what had happened today. The only path left to her was forward.
“You know Homer, right?” she asked.
“Simpson? Sure.”
She didn’t take a breath until he started to laugh. “Hilarious,” she said.
“Oh, the other guy. Old dude. With a beard. Went on and on about ships and journeys and monsters.”
“And battles and true love and family and fate and… Right. That guy.”
“He wrote some good stuff.” He was teasing her, but there was nothing mean about it. He was drawing her out, inviting her to play. “But I’ve never read the original. Or heard it.”
She leaned forward, nodding excitedly. “Exactly. You’ve never heard it, and these tales were recited. If they ever invent a time machine, I want to go back and hear someone perform the Odyssey the way it was meant to be performed.”
“Like a poetry slam―
“―in eight hundred B.C.” She knew she was geeking out but she couldn’t help herself. It had been so long, so very long since she’d talked to anyone who cared. “Can you imagine?”
“I can’t. But maybe I could if you’d recite some.” Just as his sentence ended, so did the song.
They both looked up toward the stage and she felt a stab of disappointment. It always went that way. She’d get a taste, just a hint. She’d be reminded of what it was like in college, surrounded by people who loved studying the classics as much as she did, and then it would be gone.
He didn’t move. “They’ll start again in a second. We’re over here, out of the way.”
She wanted to throw her arms around him but settled for a nod. It was easier to talk now without the zydeco in the background but he hadn’t moved back. Their conversation was just between the two of them. It was as if the rest of the crowd didn’t exist.
“So, will you? And in the original first.” He smiled. “Please.”
That smile. The please wasn’t necessary. She would have recited the entire Iliad if he’d wanted. She took a breath, waiting for something to come to mind. A light breeze touched them, lifting her hair from her shoulders, then it was gone. She started to speak, softly at first, then more confidently. He bent his head, listening intently.
“Beautiful,” he said when she’d finished. “And now what did it mean?”
The band started to play and he pulled her closer. There were almost cheek to cheek and she turned her head a little, speaking right to his ear. “Generations of men are like the leaves. In winter, winds blow them down to earth, but then, when spring season comes again, the budding wood grows more. And so with men: one generation grows, another dies away.”
She felt his response before she saw it. His hand tightened on hers and he lifted his head, as if she’d said something offensive. His face was carefully neutral. “That’s kind of sad.”
“Is it? I thought it was a lovely thought. Generation after generation living full lives, children taking their place in time.”
He looked over her shoulder. “Hey, looks like your evil groupie has finally left the table. Want to head back?”
Something about the set of his mouth told her that she’d chosen the wrong verses. It was if a wall had sprung up between them and she didn’t have any idea what she’d said to cause it.
“Sure. No problem. Thanks for the dance,” she said, smiling as brightly as she could manage.
He led her from the dance floor without another word.
Chapter Seven
Home is where one starts from. ―T. S. Eliot
One generation grows, another fades away. Andy knew that was the way it should be. Like the verse in Ecclesiastes, to everything there was a season. Except when you carried a genetic ticking time bomb, and then there was no perfect circle of life. There was a broken branch that would never bear anything other than more brokenness. There would be no generation following him and Mark. He watched Roxie walking a few steps before him and wished he could go back to the moment before he opened the test results. He would appreciate the innocence and simplicity of his life, treasure all the possibilities that still hovered at the edges of his future. But he couldn’t go back. There was only cold, hard reality.
They were halfway through the crowd when an older woman reached out and grabbed Roxie’s arm. She had the same high cheekbones and soft mouth, the same curly hair and dark eyes. “Sha,” she said, smiling as if she’d just found a treasure. She spoke Creole and Andy didn’t understand a word past the endearment.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Roxie responded in English, giving her a kiss.
“On the dance floor?” The older woman gave him an exaggerated wink.
“Mamere, this is Andy…” Roxie’s voice trailed away and Andy realized she didn’t know his last name.
He held out a hand. “McBride. So nice to meet you, Mamere.”
Roxie cleared her throat. “That means grandma. Her name is Cecile Hardy. You can call her Miss Ceecee.”
Andy felt his face turn red. “I’m sorry. I just moved here and it’s―”
“Bless your heart,” she said. When the older woman leaned forward he thought she was trying to make herself heard over the music but she hugged him tight. “Aren’t you pure sugar? You can call me “mamere” if ya like. You took my girl out on that dance floor and that takes a brave soul, don’t it? I feel like we’re practically related already.”
“Mamere,” Roxie said, sounding frustrated.
“Did ya eat yet? I looked at all that food and my buttons popped off.” She jerked a thumb at the cooking station. “I smell collard greens. I hoped they saved some of the pot likker. I like to sop it up with a biscuit, if they got any.”
Andy wanted to answer her question but he wasn’t sure what sauce she was talking about, so he simply nodded.
She went on. “Mabel LeBoeuf asked me over for supper last week and she laid out a real feast. Turnip and mustard greens, purple hull peas, speckled beans with okra, grilled pork chops and buttermilk cornbread. I was full as a tick,” she said, laughing.
Roxie took her arm. She seemed to be trying to lead her away a little. “I think it’s just a low country boil, Mamere.”
“Well, that’s still good.” She turned back to him, her eyes shining brightly. “You got any family in town, Andy?”
“No, but I have a few friends here. Paul and Alice Olivier, maybe you know them. They own By the Book.” He didn’t know whether to mention ScreenStop. Some of the locals hadn’t been very keen on the new glass and steel structure that towered over everything else. “We’re not really related but I’m godfather to their baby and―”
“Oh, that makes you family, sure enough.” Miss Ceecee nodded approvingly. “And I bet Paul’s mama keeps you fed right. Rosie Olivier is the best kind of Southern woman. She’s real hospitable and knows an empty belly causes all kinds of trouble.”
Roxie put a hand to her eyes and Andy thought he could see her face flushing. For just a moment he understood what she was thinking. Paul talked about the bias that people had against Southerners, dismissing them as slow and stupid because they didn’t speak at a rapid fire pace. The sayings Bix used were charming to Andy, but to some people it probably sounded like gibberish. He’d watched Paul struggle to overcome his own conflict with this place, embracing the traditions and accepting the old ways. Roxie wasn’t anywhere near that point. Everything about her said she’d take the first plane back to civilization if she got the chance.
“You’re right, Miss CeeCee, she
’s been wonderful to me. Everyone here has. I’m still trying to adjust but I find something new to love every day.” His mind was full of Roxie: her quick wit and her low laugh, her apple shampoo and her poetry. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh? And what did you find today?” Miss CeeCee asked, her voice carefully innocent.
“The best beignet place in town. Sunshine Bakery. I think you’ve heard of it?”
“Get outta here,” Miss CeeCee said, playfully swatting his sleeve. “I was feeling as low as a toad in a dry well because I had to walk myself over here from Edilia Moore’s place, but now I’m just plumb―”
“Mamere, you walked down here? From Edilia’s? Auntie was supposed to pick you up at your house.”
Miss CeeCee shook her head. The song ended and dancers were streaming off the stage, and new couples threading through the crowd to the dance floor. She watched them for a few moments, saying nothing.
“Mamere, what were you doing at Edilia’s?”
“Dropping off some dishes. She left them in my kitchen. I think they were hers. They weren’t mine and Edilia’s the only lady I can think of owning that ugly orange pan.”
“Orange pan? The one with the handles? That’s yours, Mamere.”
“Nah, it’s not one of mine.” She seemed more confident now. “I had a little green one with flowers, ‘member, sha?”
“It broke. Last Christmas. And Auntie got you the orange―” Roxie stopped talking and seemed to be trying to regroup. “So, you left your car at Edilia’s? And walked here? That’s almost two miles away.”
Confusion flashed in Miss CeeCee’s eyes and Andy felt a jolt of recognition. Mark got the same look sometimes when he was trying to remember something that had just been explained to him.
“Why don’t we sit down. We can work out the details after you’ve had some sweet tea. That’s quite a walk,” Andy said. He motioned toward the table where Alice and Paul were sitting. “Let’s take a rest. Roxie can call the others and let them know you’re here.”
“What nice young man you are,” she said, turning toward the dining area. “And that’s right. We need to find the others.”
Roxie started to follow, but Andy touched her arm. She looked up, her eyes filled with fear and sadness.
“I’ll go get her some tea. You can call your aunt. Then we can go get the car.”
He watched the emotions flash across her face. Embarrassment, desperation. “You don’t have to―”
“I know. But if you leave it there, you’ll either have to walk back after you take her home, or someone else will have to bring it here.”
“I can’t let you do that. You came to the festival to have fun, not run errands.”
“I came because Paul asked me to. I don’t even eat crawfish. I’ll drive you over to Lydia’s―”
“Edilia’s,” she said.
“Right. And you can drive your grandma’s car back,” he said. “It’ll take five minutes. It’s not going to ruin my evening, Roxie.”
The band started another song and it was odd to hear the hoots of happy dancers as he and Roxie faced each other, tension in every line of her body. Now he understood why she was in Natchitoches. He knew what would bring an urban professional home to a sleepy Southern town, a place she didn’t like and didn’t want to be. He knew why she’d carried that expression of dread when she searched the crowd for any sign of her grandmother.
“Let me help you,” he said.
She hesitated for a long moment. She looked over at her grandmother, now seated across from Paul and Alice. She was holding Aurora in one arm and talking animatedly. Alice leaned forward, laughing at something Miss CeeCee had said.
“She’s the strongest person I know. She’s suffered so much, and worked so hard.” Her voice went high and strained. “She doesn’t deserve this. It’s not fair.”
“I know.” He had personal experience with life being unfair.
“She’d say there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk but…” Tears welled in her eyes and he wanted to reach out, wanted to hug her tight like Miss CeeCee had hugged him just a few minutes before. Roxie took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I owe you one.”
She didn’t owe him anything, but after only an hour together, he knew Roxie was the type of person who always paid back her debts. Whether he dismissed it or not, she’d remember. “I’ll hold you to it.”
A wobbly smile crossed her face and she said, “Good.” Then she turned and walked away, toward the looming family tragedy unfolding in ultra-slow motion. It was like watching a soldier walk into a battle she knew she couldn’t win.
He headed for the nearest refreshment booth. He knew what Roxie was feeling. If Mark needed him, he’d be on the next plane to New York City, headquarters or no headquarters. He would do anything in his power to keep him safe. That’s just the way it worked with family.
He joined the line in front of a little cart on wheels, where a harried young couple filled cups with sweet tea or lemonade as fast as they could manage. Surrounded by the laughter and chatter of the festival goers, Andy felt a heavy sadness in his chest. Roxie was doing what she could for her family. He watched the sweet tea and money exchanging hands but didn’t really see any of it.
He’d been struggling for weeks, unable to decide whether to bring Mark to Natchitoches. Every option had seemed impossible, or too difficult to consider. He’d mull over the possibilities, rejecting every one, deciding on none of them, but unable to come to some sort of peace over his decision to leave Mark back in New York City.
Watching Roxie face her family’s tragedy had brought Andy’s dilemma into focus. Family stuck together. If anything happened to Mark, he wouldn’t know until much later and he certainly wouldn’t be able to reach him for hours.
He reached the front of the line and handed a few dollars to a kid in a backwards baseball hat. Taking the sweet tea, he turned back the way he came. It might be a huge adjustment for both of them, but he and Mark needed to live closer. He didn’t want to get to the end of his life and wish he’d spent more time with his brother. And if it didn’t work out, then Andy needed to consider the possibility of leaving Natchitoches. His first responsibility was to Mark. There was no guarantee of how long Mark had left, how long any of them had left on this earth.
Andy looked to the table, smiling a little at how Miss CeeCee had claimed Aurora and was entertaining her with a dancing crawfish. Alice was leaning against Paul, her head on his shoulder. Andy didn’t need to see their faces to know they were happy. Roxie looked up from her seat next to Miss CeeCee and nodded. There was no welcoming smile, but he understood her. Tough times were coming. Hard choices would need to be made.
***
Roxie waved both arms and shuffled her feet. Another Wednesday, another day inside the cupcake suit. Roxie was starting to wonder if she really was in one of Dante’s circles.
The tourists had thinned out after the festival but Mamere had gotten the strange idea that the bakery needed the cupcake out front every day. Auntie had tried to talk her out of it. Roxie had done her very best to refuse. Even Raylene had attempted to intercede in her own sweet way. But Mamere was convinced a week of the big foam cupcake was just what Natchitoches and Sunshine Bakery needed.
A girl of about eighteen appeared in the tiny view hole. “I need a photo. Mama, take my picture.”
Roxie stopped moving until the two had finished. They went on their way without a thank you, but that was standard. She’d never understood why anybody needed their picture with the big pink cupcake, but instead of feeling annoyed, she was surprised as a little ache of nostalgia settled in her chest. She’d been about that age when her mama had passed away. Undiagnosed ovarian cancer had taken her quickly, too quickly to really prepare any of them. Everyone said it was better than a sudden accident, but there hadn’t been any way to come to terms with her death even as they saw it swiftly approaching.
Roxie shuffled back and forth, trying to quiet h
er memories. She hadn’t thought about those dark days in a long time. Maybe it was being back in Natchitoches. Maybe it was because the last time she’d worked in the bakery, her mama had been alive. Or maybe it was because she was losing someone she loved― again. It was just like before, but slower. She was helpless to do anything but watch.
Andy had helped her retrieve Mamere’s car and nobody had been the wiser, but the reality of the situation was finally settling over her, like a layer of cold lead. By the time Edilia Moore had come by with Mamere’s orange casserole dish, Roxie had realized she wouldn’t be going back to Philly. There was no one to help Mamere. Her aunts had their own families and busy lives. They tried to check in as often as they could, but Mamere needed someone close, someone who could be available at any time.
Sweat trickled down her back and she decided she was moving too much. Maybe less shuffling. She’d conserve her movements until she saw pedestrians. Almost a stand-still, just like her life. She’d never had much of a social life, but what she’d had was now gone. Of course she’d known that Andy was never going to fall in love with her and there would be no happy ending for them, but somehow, in the back of her mind, the tiniest hope had flourished.
Last week her priorities had been all about her― her job, her city, her heart. This week she was facing a future focused only on Mamere and the change that was happening in her mental state. Her dreams had taken a one hundred and eighty degree redirection and Roxie was still reeling. All the possibilities that came with being a young, single professional were now gone. Especially the possibility― no matter how remote― of getting to know Andy better.
Roxie took a deep breath. Bitter, party of one, your table is ready. She didn’t want to be that person who got stuck on what might have been and made everybody miserable. She loved Mamere and knew it was the right decision. It would simply take time to let go of the plans she’d made, and the quiet hopes that had flourished without her even knowing.
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 85