by Toler, B N
We followed Bailor inside and my eyes scanned every inch I could see of the house. The foyer was lined with shoes, mud-caked farm boots, and random things like umbrellas and jackets. Bailor crossed the space, leading us down a long hallway and stopping at the first room to the right.
I swear I could smell the sadness—the aroma of life coming to an agonizingly slow end. Their mother appeared to be sleeping, her body cradled on a hospital bed with pillows and blankets wedged against her and under her arms, propping her tiny body on its side. An oxygen mask rested over her mouth and nose. Her sleeveless nightgown reminded me of my grandmother’s nightgowns my mother had been wearing recently. I glanced at my own mother and saw her lips pressed tightly together as she fought back the tears. The woman lying in the bed was my mother’s age, but I wouldn’t have known it unless I’d been told. The way she looked, so frail and withered, she might’ve been a hundred years old.
“Hey, Joe,” Bailor said over our shoulders, causing us to turn. “This is Betty and Emalee.” In the doorway across from us, a broad man with dark hair and a close-kept beard sat in a wheelchair, his hands resting on the wheels making his shoulders and biceps appear huge. My eyes were drawn to his disproportionately thin legs. While his upper body was well developed, from the waist down his body seemed to ebb into nothing. Despite not resembling either of his brothers, Joe was just as handsome as Cole and Bailor.
“Joe,” Mama said, a kindness in her voice. “It’s very nice to see you. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby.”
“You, too,” he said as he shook her offered hand, but his expression remained blank.
“Hi,” I gave a small wave, opting to spare him another unwanted handshake.
“Betty was kind enough to bring us dinner,” Bailor said holding up the casserole dish. “Would you mind putting it in the fridge and getting our guests some tea while I take them in to see Mom?” Bailor deposited the dish on Joe’s lap without waiting for a response.
“Be happy to,” Joe grumbled as he backed his wheelchair into the kitchen and turned from us.
Bailor’s smile was genuine, but it wasn’t hard to see he was embarrassed by Joe’s less than welcoming demeanor. He motioned to the den. “Right this way, ladies.”
I focused hard on schooling my expression. Like my mother had said, these people didn’t need our pity. I knew not to stare, but also not to seem like I wasn’t looking, too. Bailor said his mother’s name and after a moment her eyes flickered open.
There’s something called the snowball effect; it starts from something small in significance but gradually builds upon itself becoming larger. Growing up can be a lot like that—one moment propelling us into the next, each experience building our perception and understanding. Somehow, in that moment as I met Constance Kepner’s gaze, I knew my snowball had just begun to build.
I fisted my hand and punched the steering wheel as I parked the truck in front of our barn. I recognized the gray sedan parked under the oak tree just beside our house. I’d seen Emalee’s mother sitting in it when we’d come out of the pharmacy a few days before.
Bailor.
I knew he had something to do with this. Bastard. He just couldn’t leave it alone. He’d sent me into town to pick up oil for the tractor, and I should’ve known he was plotting.
I slammed the door just as Bailor burst out of the house, his expression tormented. Maybe he hadn’t expected me back so soon and worried I was going to lose my mind on him.
“You are an asshole,” I growled at him as he approached. “Just had to invite them over. We don’t have time for visitors. We need to be out in the fields.”
“Shut up, Cole,” Bailor said so sternly it silenced me instantly. “Get your ass inside. You’ve gotta see this.”
My heart raced as the worst thoughts came to mind. Was Mom okay? As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he lightened his steps and held a hand up indicating for me to be quiet. The sound of someone strumming a guitar and a powerful, but light voice singing drifted into the hall from the den. Something in me knew Emalee was the one singing even before I leaned around the doorway to see into the room. Sunlight poured in through the window shining on her like a spotlight. Her hair was partly pinned up, but long curled tresses hung over her shoulders and down her back.
“If your heart ain’t busy tonight…” she sang and paused.
“…Maybe it would like to get with mine,” my mother piped in, singing the next line as best she could. The words were long and slurred, but Emalee waited patiently as she sat perched on the edge of the bed, the guitar resting easily on her leg. They were singing Tanya Tucker’s If Your Heart Ain’t Busy Tonight.
Joe was in the corner of the den, his expression unreadable while Betty sat in the chair beside the bed.
Wearing a big grin, Emalee continued singing the next verse, really getting into the music and lyrics as my mom’s eyes lit with joy. She loved music and Emalee had an incredible voice. Something tightened in my chest at the way Emalee looked at my mother and the way she was sitting close and leaning in, engaging Mom. It wasn’t a pity performance for the weak and dying. Emalee was genuinely enjoying it just as much as my mother. They were bonding. Bailor’s expression looked just as conflicted as I felt. Our mother had become a shell of death and somehow, Emalee was bringing her to life.
Unable to keep the rush of conflicting emotions at bay, I slipped outside and busied myself with the tractor, realizing that Emalee was truly a good person, and I’d been too busy being rude to notice.
Eventually, Betty and Emalee emerged from the house and Bailor followed behind them, walking them to their car.
Grabbing a rag, I wiped my hands and walked over to them, stopping just out of their sightline.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her that happy in months,” Bailor said as he ran a hand through his hair.
“She’s got great taste in music,” Emalee noted. “I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring my own guitar with me.”
“Her guitar hasn’t been used since she lost use of her fingers.”
Emalee’s eyes shone with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been for her. I’m honored she allowed me to play it.”
Betty smiled proudly at her daughter before stepping toward Bailor and hugging him. “Thank you for letting us come visit with her today.”
Emalee frowned slightly while Betty and Bailor said their goodbyes. After a moment she said softly, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to come back and see her.” She glanced at her mother. “I’ve got so much time this summer. I mean, if you think she’d like that.” Bailor shot an uncertain glance my way.
“I think she would really like that, Emalee,” I said causing Betty and Emalee to turn to me. “And it’s really nice of you to offer. We want to give her as much joy as we can.”
She dropped her gaze for a moment, then lifted her head. “My dad comes back the day after tomorrow. I’ll ask him to get some old movies. She mentioned she loved the old classics.”
I nodded. “That’s generous of you.”
We bid our farewells and the two of them took off down the driveway.
“That was something,” Bailor breathed.
“Yeah, it was.” I mumbled.
Two days later, my father returned with the items I’d requested and even brought a few gifts for my mother.
She hadn’t been impressed. In the past, she’d loved it when he returned from a business trip with something for her. With each gift he brought her, he’d always offer a reason why he’d chosen that specific item. The color of this dress reminded me of your eyes, or I saw this painting and it reminded me of our trip to Venice just before Emalee was born. Mama wasn’t materialistic by any means, but she’d loved that he’d always thought of her. This time he’d brought her a silk scarf and promised to take her on a cruise where she could wear it.
My mother simply folded the scarf and placed it neatly in the box before saying, “I get sea sick easily, but
thank you for the scarf.”
After dinner that night, Mama went to their room to read and I joined Daddy on the porch swing with my guitar. The high-pitched chirps of the evening insects played in the background. The smoke from his cigar was sweet and tickled my nose.
As I sat beside him, he cast a loving glance my way, his dark eyes filled with pride. “You ready to conquer the world, my favorite daughter?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m your only daughter.” He let a soft chuckle rumble in his chest.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re my favorite.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “You think I’ll make it? Really, Dad? What if everyone thinks I’m terrible?” He’d told me a million times I would, but I asked over and over. My father rarely told me he loved me, but he said it in other ways.
“Are you the oak tree or the acorn, Emalee?”
“The oak tree,” I answered, going along with a ritual that had begun when I was four and learning how to ride a bike.
“What kind of oak are you?” he replied with his usual line.
“A mighty oak.” I rolled my eyes at him but couldn’t stop the grin.
“That’s right,” he said deepening his voice and shaking his fist. “You been practicing for the festival this weekend?”
I nodded. “I’m only playing two songs.”
“You gotta start somewhere. No one in the industry will respect you if you push your way in with money.” My father’s money was helping, but only to cover the expenses to travel around the country to perform at small events and venues. Whether or not I got my break was completely on me. I’d be solo, no band, but he believed I had to earn my way up.
“Daddy,” I said hesitantly and focused on adjusting the strings of my guitar. “Are you and Mama okay?”
He lightly pushed off the porch and the swing began slowly swaying. “Your mama is just having a hard time right now is all. She misses your grandmother. I’m gone a lot with work and soon…you’ll go, too. I think she’s just starting to feel like an empty nester is all.”
I hadn’t thought of that. When I left for the tour, she would be alone. He already traveled a lot for work, but now he’d be meeting up with me instead of going home, which meant she would see even less of him. Of course, she was welcomed to join us, but she didn’t like the idea of living out of hotels.
“You think she’ll be okay?”
Draping a heavy arm over my shoulder, he squeezed me to him. “I do. You focus on your music. Your mother will be fine.”
Putting aside my anxiety for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what my life as a famous singer would be like as I strummed my guitar.
The day had already been a bastard. The tractor had broken down, and Bailor had been working on it out in the middle of the field with the hot-ass sun beating down on him all morning.
Annie was still out of town, so I’d been in and out of the house intermittently to assist Joe. He took good care of Mom, but being confined to a wheelchair limited his abilities to some degree.
I was in the house, drying my hands after washing some dishes, when I heard a car coming up the driveway. Glancing out of the kitchen window, I realized it was Emalee. Her mother was driving, and the trunk was open with Emalee’s bike jammed in. Betty pulled to a stop and Emalee hopped out and trotted around the back of the car, yanking her bike out with an awkward grunt before leaning it against the tree by our house. Then she quickly grabbed two boxes out of the backseat. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was wearing a blue tank top with black shorts and sandals. I’d never seen her look so dressed down.
As I stepped out on the front porch, she leaned in the open passenger window. “Thanks, Mama. I’ll be home before dark.”
As she shuffled up the porch steps, her foot caught and she tripped, the boxes in her arms crashing at my feet.
“Shit,” she groused as she touched at her ankle, wincing. It wasn’t until she moved to grab the boxes that she realized I’d been watching her.
“Oh, Cole,” she gasped as her face flushed. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I guess you didn’t see that step, either,” I joked, but she didn’t laugh.
Shrugging it off, she shot an uncertain glance at the boxes. “I hope nothing is broken.”
“Let me help you,” I offered as I knelt down and picked them up. She quickly maneuvered around me and opened the screen door.
“What is this?” We paused at the door so she could explain.
“My dad got the Blu-ray versions of all the movies I asked him to get; I wasn’t sure if you guys even had a DVD player, let alone a Blu-ray, so I had him buy one of those small combo units with one built in.”
“You bought us a TV?” Then thinking better of it, I corrected, “I mean your daddy bought us a television?” The words felt off. I was being a dick, despite vowing to stop after what she’d done for my mom the other day. Old habits died hard, I guess. She was so frustrating. I didn’t want her to be pretty or kind or giving. Those were all qualities I found extremely attractive, and the more attracted I was to her, the more frustrated I became.
Her mouth perked up defiantly on one side. “I paid him back with my own money, and I didn’t buy you anything,” she clarified. “I bought it for Constance.”
I quirked a brow. “So you two are on a first name basis now, huh?”
Her features tightened with my words and she let out an agitated sigh. “Let me guess. That bothers you. Maybe you could save us both time and just tell me what about me doesn’t bother you.”
For once I really hadn’t meant to be a jerk, but I was in a terrible mood. She’d already done so much for my mom, and I knew I had to fix this, but I needed to throw her off balance to make it work. In desperation, I took a page from Bailor’s book and went for humor. “Your legs,” I said like a smart-ass. “I don’t mind looking at them one bit.”
Our gazes locked, her mouth tight as she squinted slightly.
I thought I’d succeeded, but then she abruptly stepped toward me and rested her hand on my forearm, bringing her face close to mine. She smelled like strawberries and mint and I held my breath, refusing to breathe anymore of her in. Her cheek was beside mine, barely a whisper of space between us when she said, “For me, it’s your mouth. You have a great mouth. Sometimes…I think about what it would feel like against mine.”
Every muscle in my body coiled tightly with her words. Holy shit. What was she doing? “You do?” I rasped, reflexively turning my head and nearly closing the space between us.
She shifted her head ever so slightly, lightly brushing her cheek against mine before she backed away grinning. “No.” A victorious concoction of humor and joy danced in her gaze as she giggled, “Not really.”
She rolled her eyes as she walked inside, and I let my head thud against the screen door I’d been holding open, pressing my mouth flat to keep in the growl of frustration I wanted to let out. Don’t let her get to you, Cole. Just keep your distance. After I deposited the boxes inside, trusting Joe to help her set up the TV, I booked it back outside. I’d take the miserable Kansas heat and a busted tractor any day before I’d let Emalee get to me.
That’s what I told myself anyway.
At the end of the day, Bailor and I made our way back to the house just as Emalee was on her way out.
“You want a ride, Em?” Bailor asked in the doorway to the den.
Emalee glanced out the window. “No, that’s okay. If I leave now, I’ll make it home before dark.” Standing, she set the book she’d been reading to Mom on the chair before adjusting the blankets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Constance.”
Mom smiled and tapped at her device.
Goodbye. Song. Bird.
Emalee was beaming as she moved to exit. “Song bird?” Bailor asked surprised.
“That’s her nickname for me,” Emalee explained. Bailor glanced at me but didn’t say anything. Emalee’s eyes brimmed with happiness. The term of endearment clearly mea
nt a great deal to her.
“Well, I’m hitting the shower,” Bailor told me as he turned for the stairs. “See ya later, Emalee,” he called over his shoulder.
“Bye, Bailor,” she said. I stepped into the room, planning to take her seat beside the bed. I had to wait for Bailor to get out of the shower, so I thought I’d hang with my mother for a bit.
Emalee dropped her gaze as we passed each other. “Bye, Emalee,” I mumbled.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a weak smile. “Bye, Cole.”
I picked up the book Emalee had left in the seat before plunking down into it. Opening it to where the bookmark was, I glanced at my mother and batted my lashes obnoxiously. “You want me to read some of your love novel,” I asked her in a poor imitation of a woman’s voice.
Her eyes lit up with laughter. She tapped her knuckle on the screen.
Yes.
Folks in town always joked that an Alabama heat wave brought out the crazy in everyone. People just didn’t act like themselves. I’d never paid attention to such chattering, but as I took the steps to Sara’s porch and rapped my knuckles against her door, I found myself damning the unforgiving heat that had sweat dripping down my spine. It had to be the heat—what otherworld phenomenon could I blame for what I was doing? For why I was here? When Sara opened the door, her features lit up, shock evident in her eyes. She looked fresh and delicate, probably more so because I felt drenched in sweat. Wiping at my forehead with the back of my hand, I gave her a nervous smile.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I didn’t know I was coming.”
Sarah’s eyes softened. “Life is full of surprises that way.”
I nodded.
Our gazes were locked as the faintest shadow of pink crept across her cheeks. “Have you made your mind up yet, Charles?”
Her question threw me off guard. “Made up my mind?”