The cornbread dishes were lined up on a long, white linen cloth-covered table. Everyone had imitated the white and salty, crumbly, dry result of Abilene’s recipe—everyone but Carolyn, who had made her own famous “Yankee” recipe, the one where the cornbread was yellow and moist and a touch sweet.
Abilene received everyone with her white gloved hands as they all said their greetings, anxiously awaiting her taste-testing. Carolyn expected some snide remark about a “Yankee making cornbread,” but when Abilene shook her hand, she paused.
“I hear my grandson is quite taken with your daughter,” Abilene said.
Carolyn relaxed, feeling suddenly as if she was back in the “in crowd.” Sometimes being here reminded her of the insecure high school girl she’d left back in Boston many years ago. “Yes, I know,” she responded proudly. She tried not to think about all of the phone calls that Jess refused to take from him.
“Well, I think they make a cute couple.” Abilene smiled with difficulty under her phoniness and facelifts. “Your daughter,” she continued, “she likes to play with that basketball, don’t she?”
“Yes.” What was she really trying to say? And why did so many people in this town talk about one thing when they meant another? Carolyn wished again that there was some kind of southern Cliff’s Notes.
“It’s just a hobby, though,” Abilene said, as if seeking reassurance.
“I suppose,” Carolyn said. “She really loves it.”
“Of course she does.” Abilene smiled so sweetly it gave Carolyn an odd sensation, as if the room were shifting under her feet.
With that, Abilene turned and began peeling back the cellophane wrapping on the baking dishes. Pieces of each of the offerings were cut and handed out to all the ladies along with a fresh cup of hot tea.
When they settled at the dining room table, a room with vaulted ceilings so high that every voice echoed, Abilene removed her gloves. She sat at the far end of the table as she always did, with six women on either side of her. She obviously enjoyed these meetings; it gave her the chance to pretend to be Queen Elizabeth for a day.
“Isn’t this the warmest fall ever?” she asked everyone.
“Yes,” Carolyn replied along with the other women. She was desperately afraid of small talk. It so often preceded something bad.
“It certainly is,” Marla Gibbons said, “but you know, I’m used to the heat in Georgia.” Marla was a recent newlywed, with a forgettable, bland hairstyle and an expression like that of a puppy dog that always wants attention. She was smiling so hard her cheeks were probably sore, as she tried to find some solid footing in her new, uncertain world.
Carolyn shook her head, watching Marla. She knew no matter how hard Marla tried, she’d already been branded an outsider. If she hadn’t been able to break through in nearly twenty years, Marla certainly wouldn’t either. Although it seemed that Abilene’s grandson’s interest in Jess might be causing the tide to turn…
“Oh, ladies,” Abilene raved. “These are delicious.” She hadn’t yet touched the one on the end, the yellow-tinted cornbread. She cocked her head to the side and looked at the oddity with a playful expression. “Now which one is this?”
“It’s my own recipe,” Carolyn replied.
Abilene’s eyes widened. “You made your own? Your own recipe?”
“I thought we were all working from the same recipe,” Betty Hicks interjected. She looked nervous, as though afraid she’d missed an important memo.
“We were.” Abilene glowered at Carolyn, as she cut a very small piece of Carolyn’s bread and passed it around.
Carolyn watched as everyone took bites; they all seemed to be pleasantly surprised. Abilene, though, was frowning so much her mauve lipstick sagged toward her jowly chin.
“Yankee cornbread,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s more like cake. Too sweet.”
Carolyn glanced around, waiting to see if anyone in the little group had the guts to disagree. No one said a word, of course. So Carolyn neatly folded her napkin atop her plate and rose from the table. Since everyone had taken such small portions of her cornbread, she picked up her baking pan and covered it over again.
“What’re you doin’?” Betty Hicks obviously didn’t want that “cake” to walk out the door. Neither did the other women.
“I’m sorry, Abilene,” Carolyn said. “I forgot to say I can’t stay very long today. I’ll just be taking this, since no one seems to care for it.”
There were unmistakably disappointed faces at the table. Carolyn relished the moment, letting them choke on their cowardice.
Abilene stood up. “I’ll show you out.”
“There’s no need.” Carolyn waved to everyone and walked regally out the door. As she was entering the parlor, she overheard Marla saying, “Abilene, I can’t wait till you make more of your okra casserole.”
“Oh, give it a rest,” Carolyn muttered under her breath. Her face burned crimson. If there was an Antichrist, Abilene was it.
She stomped out to her car, deciding that this was her last day in the cooking club. She regarded all the women with contempt, especially Marla. She wondered how much farther she could put her head up Abilene’s backside before realizing how futile it all was. There was no fitting in with these ladies, though she herself had tried for so many years. She turned the key in the ignition and took off.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Carolyn stirred batter furiously in a bowl. When Dan came into the kitchen, she was so absorbed in her work she didn’t notice him.
“You makin’ dinner already?” he asked, giving her shoulders a squeeze.
“No, just cornbread.”
“Ooh,” he said. “You know how I love your cornbread!”
“Well, you’re the only one,” she grumbled.
“What happened?”
“I’m done with the cooking club,” she responded, turning to face him. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise.” She threw her spoon into the sink with a loud clank, venting some of her anger, then looked in confusion at her empty hand.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She pulled another spoon out of the drawer and resumed her violent stirring.
“Hon,” Dan offered gently. “After all these years, maybe you shouldn’t take everything so seriously.”
The spoon stopped whirling. Carolyn slammed it against the bowl, letting the excess batter plop into long, yellow strings of goop inside. She looked at him with rage. “You don’t understand!” she yelled. “And you never will!”
“Now hold on…”
“Everyone loves you, Dan. But not me. I’m the alien. The outsider! I’ve done everything to make these women see that I’m not that different from them, but it doesn’t matter. They will always treat me differently. You don’t know what that’s like. You’ve always been accepted here.”
“Do you regret I brought you here?” he asked.
“No.” She turned away and busied herself. She didn’t know if she could answer that question honestly.
“I’d think after this much time, you’d have made a few friends.”
“I have made…some,” she conceded, though she’d never consider them as close as the friends she’d had back home—even though the letters from her friends in Boston had gotten less frequent and those friends had begun to feel more like distant acquaintances. She’d never get him to understand the feeling of differentness that she wore like an invisible cloak, separating her from everyone else. It was always there.
“Last church barbecue,” he said, “I didn’t see anybody gettin’ up when you sat down at their table.”
“Oh, please, Dan. They’re not going to do that. I’m the preacher’s wife!” She started beating the batter again. He might be an expert on questions of spirituality and the afterlife, but he sure was dense about social politics.
Jess bounded down the stairs. Her parents paused from their argument to notice her getting a glass of water. And that she was wearing an old backpack she’d
been given a while ago but never used. It was one o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday. They normally didn’t expect to see her awake at this time, much less out of her bedroom.
Carolyn momentarily forgot her anger when she noticed Alex’s football jacket draped around her daughter’s shoulders.
“Where you goin’?” Dan asked.
“Outside,” Jess answered simply.
“You hate outside,” Carolyn commented. “Unless it’s a basketball court.”
“Where’s your ball?” Dan asked.
“I’m not playin’ right now.” Jess looked down. “I’m goin’ hikin’, okay?”
“Hiking?” Dan was even more surprised.
“Why you givin’ me the third degree?” Jess exclaimed.
“Watch that tone, young lady,” Dan ordered. “If I talked like that to my dad, he would’ve taken a strap to me.”
There was a long silence as they watched Jess gather snack bars and other things she might need for a hike.
“We’re your parents,” Carolyn said. “It’s our job to keep you safe. Now who are you going with?”
“A friend.”
“Girl or boy?” Dan was in full interrogation mode.
“Girl. Okay?”
“Good,” Dan replied. “The preacher’s daughter can’t be seen going out in the woods with some boy.”
Jess rolled her eyes in a perfectly teenaged way.
Just then, Stephanie’s car pulled up the drive. It was a silver Pontiac Sunbird.
“Can I go now?” Jess asked, halfway to the door.
“Sure,” they muttered. They were utterly confused. It was as though they were meeting their youngest child for the first time.
“What time will you be back?” Carolyn called.
“I don’t know. I won’t be long.” Jess sighed and shut the door behind her.
They stood in front of a big picture window, watching Jess leave with her friend.
“At what age did your father let you start dating?” Carolyn asked.
“Thirty,” he joked, pulling her closer. “I’m just glad she hasn’t started doin’ too much of that yet. I don’t think I can handle her with a serious boyfriend.” He chuckled to himself. “What’s goin’ on with the Thornbush kid?”
“I don’t know. She’s wearing his jacket.” She arched an eyebrow.
Dan let out a long sigh. “It’s Ivy I’m more concerned about.”
Carolyn knew as well as he what was going on with the neighbor’s son. She started beating the batter again, even more vigorously.
“I gotta pick up a decent wrench,” Dan said, keeping a cautious eye on her as he searched for his keys.
“Uh-huh.” She resumed her work.
“Mine’s rusted to bits,” he added.
He was probably relieved to be getting out of the house for a while, Carolyn thought. Her moods had been ricocheting off the walls lately. He never knew what to say or do to make it better. Judging from the splatters of batter now running down the cabinets, she doubted there was anything he could do, in fact.
He gave her a kiss on the head. “Things’ll get better,” he said and left.
“No, they won’t,” she said to no one, alone in the kitchen.
* * *
“Drive fast,” Jess said as Stephanie backed out. “It’s the Spanish Inquisition in there.”
Stephanie laughed, putting the car in reverse.
“Sweet car,” Jess said.
“It was a guilt present,” Stephanie said. “That’s what happens when your parents divorce.”
“Your parents got divorced?”
“Yeah. That’s why we left Nashville. Dad’s still living there.”
“Wow.” Jess glanced out the window. So much had changed, which only confirmed how much she probably didn’t know about Stephanie anymore. After all, they were so young when they knew each other—only a few years out of diapers and barely eating solid foods. In some ways, it felt like Jess was meeting her for the first time.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Stephanie said. “I got a killer stereo out of it too.” She turned up the radio to a song by Jefferson Starship, “Be My Lady.” The words were distracting: “All my senses, gone, lost in you tonight…” It made Jess blush, so she looked out the window again to hide her face.
“Divorce has its perks,” Stephanie said.
She reminded Jess of the fiery girl she used to know, a lovable know-it-all—the one who acted as if everything was fine even if it wasn’t and who had all the answers even if she herself didn’t. How she’d missed her. She smiled to herself as they drove along the back roads.
* * *
It wasn’t long before Jess knew where they were going.
“You don’t live down here anymore, do you?” she asked.
“No,” Stephanie said. “We’re closer to town. The house is smaller, but it’s all right.”
“Where?”
“Eddington Park.”
“Oh.” Jess knew the neighborhood. It was a little enclave of older, historic homes closer to the center of town where the only stores were.
When they reached the river where they’d gone many years ago, its constant, rushing spray greeted them with a sound similar to the crowd of a roaring stadium. Jess and Stephanie jumped across the fierce yet familiar current, landing on the largest rocks they could find until they reached the little dirt trail that still wound alongside it. Stephanie was so sure of her steps, as though it had been yesterday when she was last here.
Jess followed her up a small hill. “No walking stick?” she asked, seeing that Stephanie had opted not to get one.
“I like to live on the edge,” Stephanie joked.
“Show off!” Jess yelled, trying to navigate the obstacle course of fallen sticks that resembled snakes and questionable plants that may or may not have been poison ivy. Her voice echoed through the trees. She’d forgotten how they sometimes had to shout to hear each other above the babbling noise of this part of the river and the distant rumble from a nearby waterfall. In her memory, it was always much quieter.
As they walked, they came to the spot where the water seemed to take a breath, meandering through the wood and pausing like a pond. For a moment, there was stillness. Jess could almost see their childhood reflections in the water. She wondered if the water had memories. If it did, would it remember them? No, that was stupid. Being with Stephanie always made her think things she’d be too embarrassed to say aloud.
A rustling sound, then a snap, came from the wooded cliff above them. It was loud enough to be heard above the windy trees overhead.
“Did you hear that?” Jess stopped and looked around.
“Probably an acorn falling.”
“Are there any bears here?”
Stephanie laughed.
“What?” Jess asked.
“You asked me that when we were kids,” Stephanie said.
“I did?” Jess didn’t know why, but she pretended not to remember, even though she did now that Stephanie mentioned it.
They rested on the edge of a rock, Jess gripping the curve of it, under her knees because she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.
“So tell me,” Stephanie said. “What’s the one thing you wish you could do?”
“Go to the ocean,” Jess said without thinking. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve been there?”
“No,” Jess said. “Not really. Daytona, but I was too little to remember goin’ there.”
“Then how do you know it’s pretty if you’ve never been?”
“I’ve seen pictures,” Jess replied, kicking at the rock under her feet. They jumped up and started walking again. “You don’t have to go somewhere to know if you’ll like it.”
There was a pause as Stephanie seemed to think about this. “So where are you goin’?”
“To the North Shore of Boston,” Jess answered proudly. “It’s where my mom grew up.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember.”
&nb
sp; After a moment, Jess asked, “What’s Nashville like?”
“It’s okay,” Stephanie said, unenthusiastically. “Same as here but with more buildings.”
Jess smiled at her answer. It made her less anxious that Stephanie would prefer her old life to being here with her now.
Another snap, then crack somewhere in the forest. Jess jumped and grabbed Stephanie’s arm.
“When are you gonna make peace with the great outdoors?” Stephanie asked.
“It ain’t so great.” Just then, Jess’s foot caught in a rabbit hole, and she went down like lightning.
“You okay?” Stephanie reached for her, took Jess’s hand and pulled her out of the hole. Putting her arm around Jess’s shoulders, she helped her limp to the first flat rock she could find. Jess collapsed on it.
“See, it ain’t that great,” Jess joked, trying to act cool.
“Any pain?” Stephanie touched her ankle.
“No.”
“Then you didn’t twist it.” She sighed with relief. “It’s like the poison ivy all over again.”
“Huh?”
“I always seem to get you in trouble,” Stephanie said.
Jess was struck by how incredibly close they were to each other. So many days she’d watched Stephanie from afar, and now here she was. The realization excited and frightened her.
“It’s okay,” Jess answered. “I don’t mind that much.”
“Yeah, you do,” Stephanie said. “You hate hiking. Admit it.” Her lips turned upward, as if she were about to smile. To Jess, Stephanie was the kind of person whose smile would make your day if you were the cause of it.
Jess looked at the rock beneath her feet, which had become very fascinating all of a sudden.
“Remember when we were kids?” Stephanie continued. “You thought if you caught a firefly it would set your hands on fire?”
“That was a long time ago,” Jess said defensively.
“Yeah, I guess it was.”
They sat there a moment on that big rock, past and present intermingling. Stephanie seemed sad. Had she decided that too much time had passed, that they probably had nothing in common anymore?
“How does it feel to play basketball?” Stephanie asked.
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