by Rebeca Seitz
Tandy shook her head. They’d have to make up stories because this was just a break. She’d stay for two weeks, let Daddy know she was all right, put some flowers on Momma’s grave, scrapbook with her sisters, and be back in Florida in no time, sunning herself on a beach with a Diet Mello Yello in one hand and a thick, fresh novel in the other.
Three hours later Kelly Clarkson sang out again from the phone, and Tandy made another mental note to change that ring.
“Hello?”
“How far out are you?”
“Is no one in this family capable of saying hello first?”
“Hello, my dear darling sister. How far out are you?” Joy’s lilting voice was soft, even over her cell phone, which was always turned to the loudest volume.
Tandy rolled her eyes. “Hello, Joy. And how are you tonight?”
“I’m excellent. A blonde is now a redhead, a brunette is now a blonde, and a truly atrocious redhead is now a very natural-looking white. I’m in the midst of choosing recipes for tomorrow and cannot decide between two dishes, one of which requires overnight baking. Thus the reason for my call. Now, how far out are you?”
“An atrocious redhead? Do tell.”
“I can only assume by your refusal to answer my question that you’ve arrived by now. Which is just like Meg to wait until the very last minute and call me to whip up breakfast for the entire—”
“No, I’m not there yet.” Tandy ’fessed up before Joy’s sense of decorum was offended. “Tell me about the redhead, and I’ll tell you where I am.”
“But I called you.”
“So?”
“So, the one who places the call drives the conversation. Which means I get my question answered first.”
“I’m older.”
Joy sighed. “Oh, please, not the baby stuff again. I’m twenty-eight years old. At what point will you three learn I’m not a baby?”
“When you quit telling us you’re not the baby. The redhead?”
Joy’s sigh was louder this time. “She was seventy years old and should have said good-bye to the red a decade ago. No, that’s wrong. Someone should have said ‘Red is not your color’ a decade ago, or whenever she first selected it, which I’m guessing could be anywhere from ten to a thousand years ago.”
“That bad?”
“Think stop sign.”
“Oh, bad.”
“Abysmal. Do you have any idea what chemicals have to be applied to result in white rather than pink? I spent the entire session concerned she would leave my chair resembling a cloud of cotton candy rather than Angel Soft.”
Tandy laughed. “I trust the Genius Hairdresser produced a snowy result.”
“She was pleased.”
“Since she seems to have been pleased with resembling a traffic sign for a decade, I’m not sure her approval constitutes a job well done.”
“There wasn’t a speck of pink or red anywhere on her head when she left my chair, and you know it.”
Tandy grinned as Joy’s usual calm gave way to a touch of indignance. “Oh, I know it. You’re the best colorist Stars Hill has ever seen. A whiz with chemicals. A magician with mixes. A—”
“All right, I’m amazing. Where are you?”
“I’m going through Atlanta right now.”
“Oh, heavens. How’s the traffic?”
“Atlantian.”
“And you’re talking on a cell phone? Do you have a death wish?”
“No, just a strong need to get this drive over with.”
“Why don’t you stop for the night? It’s eight o’clock. You’re not going to get here until midnight as it is.”
“Worried I won’t see Meg’s sign?”
“How did you know about the sign?”
“Please, it’s Meg.”
Joy laughed. “True, very true. To tell the truth, we talked her out of it.”
“There’s no sign stretched across Lindell? Come on! How will I know I’m welcome at home if there’s no sign?”
“By consuming a full breakfast with all the trimmings.”
“Oooh, are you making your waffles?”
“I’m making a welcome-home breakfast, and that’s all the information I’ll share.”
“Fine, then. I’ll amuse myself for the next three hours with visions of your cooking.”
“You do that. I’ll call Meg and tell her to put the sign up.”
“Awww, you’re the best little sister a girl could ever have.”
“One of these days I just know you’ll drop the ‘little’ part.”
“Hey, how am I going to see the sign if I don’t get there until midnight?”
“Oh yes, you missed the Street Light Debate.” Humor laced Joy’s tone.
“The what?”
“Tanner called a town meeting and spent forty-five minutes explaining how historical streetlights would bring millions of dollars in tourism revenue to Stars Hill.”
“Oh, how sad I wasn’t there for Tanner and his oratorical skills.”
“I can hear the sorrow in your voice. Anyway, Lindell is now lined with what I must admit are quite brilliant streetlights.”
“Streetlights? In Stars Hill? But how will we communicate to the world that everyone should be home with their families by six p.m. unless the entire downtown goes dark?”
“We’re still rolling up the streets.”
“Ah, good idea.”
“See you when you get here, Sister Dear. Drive safe.”
“Will do.” Tandy slapped shut the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat as Cooper whined from the backseat.
“I hear you, buddy. We’ll stop as soon as we get on the other side of the city.” Cooper’s grateful woof made her smile.
Only three and a half more hours and she’d be in Stars Hill.
Three
Pulling into Stars Hill always felt like going back in time. The signs on the businesses around town central were hand-painted, visible from the glow of Tanner’s new streetlights. Tandy pulled into a parking space and got out of the car, pulling Cooper out by his leash.
Even the air smelled different here. Cleaner. Fresher, somehow.
She tilted her head back and took in the thousands of stars in the sky, visible here, where Orlando’s lights didn’t obscure the view. Tulips and irises lining the entrance and steps of the library swayed in the gentle night breeze. Cooper tugged her over to the grass, and she went, noting that Emma’s Attic had become Emmy’s Attic but Fawcett’s Fixtures was still in its usual place. The streetlights reflected off shiny silver address plates and brass fixtures in the store window, and Tandy left the library yard to cross the street and take a look. Something from Sara had expanded into the store next door to Fawcett’s. Tandy leaned into the window, cupping her hands around the glass to see the jewelry, purses, scarves, and baubles Sara Sykes kept in stock. You knew you were loved if someone bought you Something from Sara.
She strolled on down the sidewalk, letting the feeling of home settle back into her bones as Cooper’s nails clicked on the worn concrete. She came to the point where Oxford Street intersected Lindell and looked up to see a diner that hadn’t been there before. A red sign hung above the door under a navy-striped awning, and Clay’s was painted in matching navy letters.
Tandy’s stomach flipped, and she sucked in her breath. It wasn’t Clay Kelner—he was probably in prison or some foreign jungle by now—but the name was enough to conjure visions of long, loopy drives on back country roads and whispered promises in the back of Clay’s dad’s old blue Chevy truck. They’d lain together until dawn, making wishes on stars and dreaming in the moonlight. Daddy just about popped an artery when she came in the door at 6:00 a.m., but Tandy hadn’t cared. That was the summer they lost Momma, and the only person in the world who could make Tandy believe everything would be all right someday was Clay Kelner.
The sign creaked as a breeze hit it, bringing Tandy back to the dark street in downtown Stars Hill. Enough of this. Trips down memory lane d
idn’t get goals met or dreams realized. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Just the thought of Clay Kelner was enough to make the blood zing through her veins again, even if he had been wrong about everything being all right.
Cooper pulled against the leash as Tandy hustled them back across Lindell to the Beamer sitting all by itself. By now the whole town probably knew she was home.
She slipped in and buckled her seat belt, firmly pushing thoughts of Clay to the back of her mind. There were reasons she didn’t live in Stars Hill anymore. She pulled out her cell phone and changed the ring tone to “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.” That’d make Daddy happy.
Slipping the phone back into its cradle, she backed the car out of its space and headed down Lindell to Sunnywood Lane. As always it dead-ended at Mockingbird Drive. Tandy turned right, keeping an eye out for deer caught in the mesmerizing lights of her car. As she guided the car left onto Old Crockett Road, she rolled down the window and inhaled the country scent of fresh-turned dirt. Somebody must be planting corn. April in Tennessee fields was all about getting the seeds in the ground.
White fence line sprang up on her right, and Tandy drew in her breath. Home was at the end of that fence line, but Momma wouldn’t be waiting in the kitchen. Tandy’s heart twisted at the thought. No matter how many years passed, the longing for Momma to be at home cooking in her kitchen, full of assurances that all was right with the world as she added a dash of salt or sugar to a mix, or upstairs scrapbooking, turning a picture this way and that to get the layout perfect, never really went away.
At a break in the fence, a wooden gate painted black with a large white S in the center greeted her. She grinned at the sign hung just below and to the right of the S reading “Welcome Home, Tandy.”
Much better than Lindell Street.
Rolling down her window, she keyed in the gate code at the lock box and watched the big wooden panels swing open. Daddy waited down that winding gravel path. Daddy and a lifetime of memories.
She kept the car in second gear the whole way down the drive, steeling herself. Cooper, ever tuned to her moods, whined and leaned in from the backseat to nuzzle her elbow. “It’s okay, boy. We’re fine. Just wishing for something we can’t have.”
She parked the car and popped the trunk. Cooper bounded out the door and up onto the porch as Daddy came out the front door.
“Well, there’s my girl! I’d just about decided those Atlanta folk got you!” He was wearing the sea-green cotton shirt she’d given him for Christmas last year. It matched his eyes, which she noted hadn’t lost their sparkle. Creases lined his face from squinting against the sun as he planted acres and acres of corn, soybeans, and winter wheat year after year. He grabbed her up in a bear hug, and she was crushed against his big chest. Daddy.
“Hey, Daddy.” She squeezed him back. “How’s the planting going?”
“Corn’s in the soil, but we’re still plowing seeds of the Spirit every chance we get.”
“So Grace Christian hasn’t put you out to pasture yet?”
“Honey girl, it’d take a bigger congregation than Grace Christian’s got to put me out of the pastorate.”
“Meg told me you were having a little trouble.” She walked around to the trunk and pulled out her bags.
Daddy followed her and picked them up, then led her back to the porch. “Did she now?” The third and fourth step creaked, as always, reminding Tandy of the nights she’d forgotten to skip them and been caught sneaking back in. Amazing how she’d always been able to get out but rarely back in. “Sounds like she might have forgotten to mention the congregation is growing and the trouble lies at someone else’s door. It just spills on down the hallway to mine every now and again.”
“Ah, the new music minister. What’s his name again?”
They walked inside the house, and Tandy fought the urge to glance into the kitchen as Cooper ran ahead of them up the stairs. Daddy went straight on through a living room whose couch was covered in a quilt Momma made the last year of her life. Its country charm somehow blended perfectly with the swirls of red and gold in the Persian rug that covered walnut hardwood. Daddy’s leather recliner stood sentinel by the couch, as always, and Momma’s smaller version was still tucked away in the corner beneath a reading light.
Tandy saw it all in a glance as they made their own way to the stairs.
“Kevin Summers. He’s from over in Hohenwald.”
“Let me guess. He wants to sing something that was written after 1960, contains a melody, and may actually cause someone to think of worshipping Jesus as they sing.”
“Close. He mixes new stuff with the old.”
They turned into her old bedroom, and Daddy hefted her bags onto the trunk at the base of her bed. Another quilt stitched by Momma, this one with Dutch girl dolls wearing dresses of pink and green, covered a queen-size bed. Tandy walked over and ran her fingers across the fabric worn soft from years of use. Cooper jumped up on the low chair in the corner, circled a few times, then settled down.
“Do you ever think of her, Daddy?”
“Every hour of every day.” He set down the suitcases and came over to hug her.
Tandy hugged him back, wishing Momma had been there to see her succeed in the city. Momma always knew Tandy could make it on her own. She’d said so tons of times. The first day Tandy walked into the Bank of America building in downtown Orlando, she’d taken the first steps to fulfilling Momma’s dreams for her.
Daddy stepped back and sniffed. “Well, let’s get you unpacked. The girls’ll probably be here soon since word’s already all over town that you’re here.”
“Too late. There was a sign.”
Daddy grinned. “On Lindell?”
“Thankfully, no. They stretched it across the front gate.”
His chuckle was deep and low, and she knew if her head was still on his chest she’d have felt the vibration down to her toes. “Been too long since you’ve been home, honey girl.”
“Yes sir, I think you may be right. But the sisters aren’t coming over tonight. I talked to Joy. She’s having one of her breakfasts in the morning.”
“Really? Well, I’ll make sure not to consume another thing before the morning then. Want me to give Cooper-Scooper there a quick turn around the yard before bed?”
Cooper lifted his massive head as if he knew he was being discussed.
“That’d be great. I think I’d fall asleep on the front porch if I had to do it.”
Daddy walked over and scratched Cooper between the ears. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go do your business before your momma here conks out on us.” He and Cooper, tail wagging, left the room.
She took a deep breath. Orlando, with its tall buildings and beautifully coiffed, nipped, and tucked people, seemed a world away from this room full of country honesty and wisdom. This was a good decision, hanging out with Daddy and the sisters for a few days while she regrouped. Coming home more often was going to be a priority from now on.
Her gaze traveled to a four-drawer chest by the adjacent bathroom door. Roses and irises covered the chest. Irises because they were the Tennessee state flower. Roses because the only way Momma said she could count on them to be around from season to season was to paint them on a surface that wasn’t moving. An image flashed in her mind of Momma out in the front yard, kneeling beside this very dresser, paintbrush in hand, face screwed up in concentration.
“Why don’t you just buy a new chest?” Tandy asked.
“Because I don’t need a new chest,” came Momma’s ever-sensible reply.
“Sure looks like it.”
Momma sat back on her heels and studied her work. “You might be right about that.”
Ashamed for making Momma question her talents when she’d done nothing but be kind to Tandy since they met, Tandy burst forth with, “No, I meant if this one was all right you wouldn’t have to be painting it. It’d be just fine the way it is.”
Momma cocked her head and turned her studied gaze
from the furniture to Tandy. “Well, the inner workings of this chest function just beautifully. The drawers open and close without any effort, and all the drawer handles are still firmly attached. But this chest has seen more than a few years of use, and it’s got some scratches here and there. Even a dent in the wood where one of your sisters threw something or other during a tantrum.” She pointed out the dent with her finger.
“So I thought about it, and I decided I like knowing those scratches and dents are there. Means this piece has some history, some life, to it. So I don’t think I’ll get rid of it. No, I’ll just help it look a little better so everyone else can see the beauty I see.”
Tandy focused back in on the present-day dresser, realizing now Momma had been talking about more than refinishing furniture. All of the sisters had come to Daddy and Momma with cracks and dents. Their new parents polished them up and sent them out into the world.
She walked over to the dresser and ran her fingers across it as she’d done with the quilt before.
Welcome home.
Four
Sunlight poured through the window and onto Tandy’s face, bringing her out of a dream she shouldn’t be having. It must have been that diner that reminded her of Clay. She hadn’t dreamt of him since her first week in Orlando. It was only the diner and being back home that made her do so now.
She sat up in bed and looked around the room again. Cooper was still asleep, curled into a ball on the chair in the corner. Or as much of a ball as sixty pounds of basset hound could make, anyway. Stretching lazily, the knots in her shoulders that had built during the long hours of driving made themselves known. Wonder if Stars Hill had a massage therapist now?