Magnolia Sky

by Susan Crandall

  Luke leaned his weight on the shovel handle. He’d never admit it out loud, but his knee was screaming by this time every afternoon.

  “They announced at school today that Travis is being transferred back to the hospital here in Grover.”

  “Sounds promising.” He waited as Cole’s expression said there was more.

  “They don’t know if he’s going to walk again.”

  “I see. Sounds bad, but it’s early yet. I knew a guy whose doctors swore he’d be in a wheelchair for life who made a full recovery.”

  “That’s what coach said, too. Still . . .” After a pause, he said, “Dave said Travis can’t remember anything past Saturday morning.”

  “Probably best for him.”

  Cole looked slightly surprised. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “How many times have you gone though that accident in your mind? Having that memory wiped out could be a blessing.” If only all horrific memories could be expunged. Luke had one in particular he’d be glad to give up.

  Cole nodded thoughtfully. “A couple of guys at school have started saying stuff.”

  Luke looked Cole in the eye. “What kind of stuff?”

  Lifting a shoulder, Cole said, “Like I chased Travis down and ran him off the road, trying to kill him over Darcy. That I planned the whole thing. Can you believe that bullshit?”

  “Are people listening to these guys?” Luke asked calmly.

  Cole pressed his lips together broodingly for a second. “Some people.”

  Luke took a long drink of Coke. “Travis was the one in the wrong lane. There’s a witness. There are always going to be people who talk without knowing jack-shit. Sooner or later, everyone figures them out.”

  In a quiet voice, Cole said, “Don’t know if I can hold out that long.”

  “What choice do you have?”

  The look Luke saw in Cole’s eyes worried him.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?” Analise called as she jumped off the Bobcat.

  Cole offered her a smile that, although slightly crooked because of the swelling, Luke might have actually bought—if he hadn’t seen the pain in the kid’s eyes. “I came to help.” He held out the other Coke to her.

  “Ahh.” She pressed the cold can against her cheek, then popped the top and took a long drink. “Thanks. And, no.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, you’re not going to help. You’re still too banged up.”

  “Hey, you’ve got gimpy here working with a shovel.”

  “Cole!”

  “Well, I’m as able to work as he is.”

  “He’s right.” Luke handed him the shovel. “I’ll get another one. Two gimps will get this drain finished twice as fast.” He winked at a shocked-looking Analise.

  She shook her head, but didn’t argue further.

  From the Bobcat, Analise watched Cole and Luke work together, shoveling in tandem. It struck her how close to manhood Cole actually was: He was nearly as tall as Luke, his shoulders had broadened considerably this past year and she could easily tell if he went a day without shaving. It made her long for the uncomplicated little boy who came to her with simple problems, ones she could fix. Lately, she couldn’t fix anything—for him or for herself.

  She was having a difficult time keeping her perspective with the aftermath of Cole’s accident. It seemed that instead of turning to her as he always had, he was looking to Luke for support, for advice. Repeatedly she told herself, a boy Cole’s age should naturally turn to a man. And since Cole didn’t have a single living male relative, she should be glad that Luke was willing to help him.

  Luke was there for Cole in ways that Calvin never had been. Calvin had been great for the fun times, the adventures. But the daily grind of his little brother’s growing up hadn’t interested him at all.

  The only problem was, Luke wasn’t going to be around forever.

  Analise looked beyond Luke and Cole. Clint Braynard was getting out of his Blazer. He wore his standard blue business suit and black wing-tips polished to a high gloss—perfect clothes for inspecting a landscaping job. Olivia swore the man had visions of the governorship. Having traveled in those circles herself, Analise could tell Braynard not to waste his time. He worked far too hard at appearing urbane—and his forced efforts were as obvious as the toupee he wore.

  She sighed and shut off the Bobcat. She met him halfway with a smile she didn’t feel, using precious minutes she didn’t have to spare.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Braynard.” She took off her glove and offered her hand.

  As always, he shook it as if she were made of tinfoil and could easily be crushed by his strong, manly hands. “Mrs. Abbott.”

  “Please, call me Ana.” This had to be the fifteenth time she’d said the same words.

  He nodded and gave her his best politician’s smile. “Just wanted to take a little look-see so I can report to the council at the meeting this afternoon.” He put his hands on his hips and exhaled as he looked around. “Looks like y’all have a good way to go yet.”

  “It’s coming along. It’s one of those projects that always makes a bigger mess, then comes together quickly.” At least she hoped quickly.

  “Don’t see the fountain.”

  “I still have it back at my metal shop. No sense in bringing it out here and risk damage while we’re using heavy equipment.”

  “But it’s ready to go?” He looked at her as if trying to ferret out an untruth.

  “It won’t hold up the completion.” That much was true—if she could manage to gather enough strength at the end of one of these grueling days to finish it. She was just about to tell him that she’d get the work done much more quickly if she didn’t have to stand here and indulge his curiosity, when his cell phone rang.

  “Oh, excuse me, I have to take this call.”

  “No problem. You might want to head back to your car, though. It’s about to get real noisy here.”

  He was already moving in that direction, putting his phone to his ear.

  She got back on the Bobcat and continued the boring job of moving dirt from one pile to another. She couldn’t wait until she had the ground sculpted, then the challenging work would begin. This was to be a children’s garden, complete with a whimsical fountain that they could splash through on hot summer days.

  She hoped it would be the first of many such jobs for Magnolia Mile. It had originally been Olivia’s proposal to the county council, but it had quickly become Ana’s pet project. Olivia had graciously stepped back and let Analise take the wheel. Projects like this would offer a much better outlet for her creative impulses than simply selling nursery stock and fertilizer. But she had to make this one work first—it had to be done on time and on budget.

  If she had to give up sleeping for the next fifteen days, that’s just what she would do.

  When they entered the kitchen at Magnolia Mile for dinner, Olivia looked pointedly at her filthy son. “I see you’re feeling better. Good. Mrs. Baker will be glad. I told her you’d help at the Kiwanis Rib Fest tomorrow night.”

  “Mom!” He’d finally gotten old enough not to have to go to that stupid dinner, and now his Mom wanted him to volunteer. As he saw his mother tighten her lips in disapproval, he added, “I was going to stay home tomorrow night.”

  Olivia looked from under her brow. “On Friday?”

  “It’s been a long week.”

  “You can come home early.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Mrs. Baker needs the help and, thank the good Lord, you’re still able-bodied enough to give her some.”

  Cole glanced at Ana, looking for a little backup. But she was leaving the kitchen without as much as a hint that she was going to come to his rescue. School had been bad enough. Didn’t anybody see how awful it was going to be to be busing tables at an event that half the town attended? Oh, look, Cole Lejeune has a black eye—too bad he crippled poor Travis.

  Luke said, “Maybe I can come and pi
tch in after Ana and I get done at the park. If Cole’s tired, I can just take over for him.”

  Cole shot him a grateful look. It didn’t exactly get him out of it, but at least it gave him the possibility of leaving early—if the gossip and finger-pointing got really bad.

  There was something in his mother’s eyes that he couldn’t quite figure out—she looked . . . satisfied. He’d convinced himself she was going to nix Luke’s offer when she said, “All right.” She looked at Cole. “If you’re too tired to take a full shift, then I can’t see that you’ll have the energy to do anything else this weekend.”

  He knew he’d been had. No way around this one. “Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t feel like hanging out with anybody anyway; all everyone wanted to talk about was the accident. Besides, he didn’t have a car.

  After dinner he managed to escape to his room without his mom asking a bunch of questions about what was going on at school. It was bad enough going through it once, but to have to have all of his mother’s detailed questions and, even worse, her suggestions about how he should handle things would be excruciating.

  Maybe he’d blow off school tomorrow.

  Cole did go to school. There was no way he’d be able to skip without a whole raft of trouble—especially with his mom and Mrs. Baker both at Rib Fest tonight. He still hadn’t figured out why there hadn’t been a phone call home to report his absence last Friday.

  Today, as he walked through the halls of Grover High, the stares and whispers were worse. With the news of Travis’s hospital transfer, accident talk gathered new life. Not that Cole wasn’t relieved that Travis was improving enough to be moved; it’s just that if it had happened on the weekend, the news wouldn’t have been so fresh for a school day. Cole’s closest friends told him not to let it get to him, but it was hard, especially with Travis maybe not walking again.

  Finally, the dismissal bell rang and Cole felt escape close at hand. Then Mrs. Baker passed him in the hallway by his locker. “I’m so glad you’ll be helping out this evening, Cole. Do you need a ride to the courthouse?”

  He felt like the air drained out of him—no escape after all, just a change in venue. The school week might be over, but now he had to go face the rest of the town. He considered her question. Used to having a vehicle, he hadn’t really given a thought as to how he was going to get to the square. Time alone in the car with Mrs. Baker? He shivered. Wouldn’t that just be a nut cracker?

  “No, thank you, ma’am.” He guessed he’d be hoofing it. Which was sort of okay: The longer it took him to get there, the less time he’d be hauling chairs and setting up tables.

  “All right, then.” She gave him a smile that said she was glad he was finally turning out to be a good boy and pitching in with community activities. “See you in a bit.”

  As she walked away, he ducked his head inside his locker and made a disgusted face. Not only did he have to work at this dork-fest, he was going to be Mrs. Baker’s pet. At least Luke would save him from being stuck there all night.

  He took his time gathering his stuff from his locker and loading his bag. He was still using his sport duffel, even though he wasn’t attending soccer practice. Only kids who didn’t do sports carried backpacks. Besides, it was stupid to switch all his stuff; the doctor said he could practice on Monday. Good thing. They had a big game in a week, and Coach was counting on him playing goalie.

  By the time Cole emerged from the building, the buses had all pulled out and the parking lot was nearly empty. He felt a little less edgy about what he had to do; at least he wouldn’t have to explain to anyone why he was walking downtown instead of getting ready to go out like everyone else. The afternoon was unusually warm, so he chose to walk on the shady side of the street. It had been a long time since he’d walked to town; he saw all kinds of things that he normally missed when driving by. When he’d been in junior high, the big green house on the corner had had a Rottweiler with a nasty attitude that barked and lunged against its chain when he’d walked past. Now the yard was quiet, the grass growing up where the dog had once worn a large bare patch.

  A huge upheaval in the sidewalk tripped him as he looked at the empty doghouse, just as it had tripped him every time he’d walked by in the past while keeping his eye on the snarling dog.

  As he crossed the next street, he heard a voice from behind.

  “Mrs. Baker said you were going to be helping today. I didn’t believe you’d actually do it.”

  Cole spun around. Becca Reynolds was just a couple of steps behind him. Which meant she’d seen him stumble. He looked at her with heat rising in his cheeks.

  “You are headed to Rib Fest?” she said.

  Of course Miss Goody would be pitching right in. The smug look on her face made him say, “And why wouldn’t I help?”

  She caught up to him and shrugged. “No ball involved. No cheerleaders. Didn’t think you cared about stuff like this.”

  Geez, she made him sound like a superficial jerk. “I care about . . . stuff.”

  She gave him a skeptical eye. He was afraid she’d press for specifics, and he had no idea where the money from this fund-raiser was headed—nor did he care.

  Instead of giving him the third degree, she studied him for a moment and said, “Your eye looks better.”

  His hand absently went to the greenish bruise. “I get the stitches out tomorrow.”

  She started walking and he fell into step beside her. He didn’t know why he always thought of her as stuffy and uncool. She dressed pretty much the same as the rest of the girls in school. He gave her a sideward glance. She was cute enough, with shoulder-length dark red hair and a very interesting shade of green eyes, not pure green like Ana’s, but green with brown in it.

  “Do you always work at Rib Fest?” he asked.

  “Usually. My uncle is in Kiwanis. But this year half of the money from the dinner is going to the animal shelter, so I’m working a double shift.”

  “Where’s the other half go?” he asked.

  “A bunch of different stuff.” She shifted her book bag—her backpack—to her other shoulder. “Scholarships. The children’s hospital. Playground equipment in the park. Stuff like that.”

  “So you’d only work half as long if it was just for kids and not for animals?” He couldn’t keep the teasing edge out of his voice.

  She shot him a look of frustration. “No. I’m working twice the normal amount because it is for animals.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Hardly.” Then she asked him, “Why are you working?”

  Cole gave her a cocky grin. “For the animals.”

  She elbowed him in the arm and he dodged away. She said, “Really, why?”

  “My mom’s a friend of Mrs. Baker’s; she volunteered me.”

  She raised her brows and nodded perceptively. “I see.”

  She didn’t see at all. She assumed it had to do with the accident—some kind of punishment. She thought she knew so much about everything. “Why do you always have to act like you’re better than everybody else?”

  She stopped and looked squarely at him, anger glinting in her eyes. “That’s what you think? That I’m the snob?”

  He stopped, too. “Well, yeah. You don’t do the same stuff as most girls. And you always look so . . . so . . . aloof.”

  Instead of being mad—and he had to admit, he was looking to piss her off—she burst out laughing. “Aloof? I didn’t even think you had such a word in your vocabulary.”

  He pointed at her. “See, that’s what I mean! You do stuff like that.”

  She continued to laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . aloof!” She shook her head. “Jesus.”

  He started walking again. “Sorry I bothered. I see you don’t really want to have a conversation.”

  He heard her trotting on the walk. “Wait a minute.” She caught up. “Okay, okay. I don’t do stuff with a lot of other kids because I’m just not interested in the same kind of crap most of the girls in my class are. Mostly th
ey bug the shit out of me with their giggling and gossiping and their who’s hot for who this week. And the bigger the group, the worse it is.”

  Cole was a little stunned by her language; he’d always thought of Miss Goody choking before she’d say a word like “shit.” “Oh. I guess that explains it.” Actually, she was right. He’d always thought of a bunch of girls together as a dangerous herd that could turn on you in the blink of an eye. A girl alone, however, could be trusted to act a little more sane.

  She said, “I’m not a weird activist or a lesbian or something. I just don’t like wasting my time.”

  Cole sputtered. He tried never to let anyone know they’d shocked him, but he just couldn’t help it; Miss Goody said “shit” and “lesbian” in the same conversation.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing. You’re just different than I thought.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t judge people by whether or not they hang out with cheerleaders.”

  “Point taken.”

  After they walked in silence for a couple of minutes, she said, “Just for the record, I believe Travis caused that accident.”

  Without intending to, Cole slowed his step. “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged. “Because, in general, he’s an asshole. And, specifically, I can’t see why anyone would try to kill anybody over Darcy Thayler.”

  In spite of himself, he laughed. The way she said it shed a whole new light on the absurdity of the rumors.

  “Well”—she looked at him with mock seriousness—“it’s true.”

  They passed the post office and were nearing the square. The Kiwanis had erected a huge red-and-white-striped tent on the courthouse lawn, which must have been in case of rain, because the square had plenty of big old shade trees. There was a catering truck parked on the sidewalk and a giant barrel-shaped barbeque next to it. A delivery truck filled with tables and chairs took up five of the angled parking slots on one side of the square.

  “I heard your mom has a mockingbird in her shop,” Becca said, as they stopped on the sidewalk that led to the main courthouse doors.

  “Yeah. She’s got a ton of animals. They usually are hurt, or somebody dumped them . . . stuff like that.”