Again, Alabama

by Susan Sands

  Cammie’s cheeks had tears rolling down them. “Grey, I do forgive you. I hope you know that. I’m just so confused right now. Obviously, I can’t deny how I felt back then, how much you hurt me, or that it’s affected me in my trust and relationships with others.”

  He closed his eyes, her words like a body blow against the pain he’d caused. “Again, my damned stupidity ruining lives.”

  It was her turn to squeeze his hand. “No. No more blame and guilt. It’s over. We’re adults now and we’ve all suffered enough. You focus on Samantha right now. I’m fine.”

  He opened his eyes and said, “But I want you in my life. Through everything, that’s never changed.

  “Jo Jo pointed out something to me that my grown-up self never really considered. You see, I’ve been stuck in the same thinking, the mindset of where I was back when all this happened. She made me take a look at Deb and how she really was from the outsider’s perspective.”

  “You mean as the jealous friend who only wanted to get close to you to take what you had and she didn’t?” He asked bitterly.

  Cammie’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Y-yes. That’s exactly what she said. That Deb hadn’t been the friend I’d believed; that she’d actually been the worst kind of friend, one who never had my best interests at heart, and was resentful, no matter how much affection and respect I had for her.”

  “Knowing her the way I did until the end, Cammie, there wasn’t anything anyone could have done to change her attitude or personality. It was a true disorder, fueled by borderline poverty, a broken home, and an incessant need for more. More love, more money, more things, and more of what you had that she didn’t.” Grey tried his best to verbalize what was the dark core of his late wife’s soul.

  “I had no idea it went so deep.” Cammie shook her head sadly. “It sounds…” She hesitated. “Horrible.”

  She looked up at him, tears glittering on the ends of her lashes.

  “It was horrible, Cammie. But you know what helped me get through the worst of it?”

  She shrugged helplessly.

  “You. Memories of how things were between us before I ruined everything with Deb. So, it was that much more awful to know I was at fault.”

  She smiled a watery smile then. “We had some pretty great times, didn’t we?”

  He moved beside her on the loveseat in a single motion. “We had the best times.” They sat together for a while then, hands clasped, sides pressed together, but otherwise not touching. But it was enough. Sharing those memories and healing old hurts and misunderstandings had done more than a couple passionate kisses to repair their damaged past.

  Grey’s phone vibrated then, breaking the spell. It was a text from his dad, saying that Samantha had woken up and wondered where he was.

  “Sorry, I have to go.”

  “No problem. Thanks for explaining—everything. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yep.” He waved, and left her sitting there with a thoughtful expression on her lovely face.

  *

  Cammie’s heart was beating lighter by morning, which made no sense whatsoever, considering how not engaged she’d been feeling lately. Not engaged, because she’d yet to speak with Jason since she’d tried to call him a couple days ago and he’d not yet returned the call. And she’d not made another attempt.

  But still, the conversation last night with Grey had left her in a better state of the mind and heart. The process of forgiving, or at least understanding both Deb and Grey really was cathartic in helping her to dump some of the really acidic and damaging baggage she’d been carting around within her psyche for a really long time.

  So, with this lighter attitude, she was able to think ahead a bit to something she’d seen in the local newspaper a few days ago. At the time, she hadn’t really thought much about it, but now she allowed an idea to take root.

  Cammie remembered that there was an entire festival surrounding the Little Miss Pecan Pie Pageant, and that included the Pecan Pie Bake-Off. It might have sounded like a small-town thing to someone out of the tri-state area, or the Southern region, but Southern Living Magazine was one of the major sponsors of the contest, and it drew some pretty big-name judges from national forums.

  Cammie’s future plan of opening her own “Southern cooking” seaside restaurant had begun to blossom somewhere in the back of her brain, underneath all the drama frustration that had been her life recently. Even before the hair fire, she’d gone so far as to make extensive notes and began working on a business proposal. Part of her strategy was to tout “award winning” recipes. Her pecan pie was kickass from the word go, and she’d been fine-tuning it for years. So, since there wasn’t any rush to get back to her job, or apparently her fiancé, why not stay and help out with the pageant and enter the contest?

  She would need to put some work into her efficiency and tweaking a couple things, but practice always made perfect in a competition like this. One wrong move, or spilled ingredient, could spell disaster—as she was well aware.

  Putting herself out there again, even in such a small market, scared the pants off her, but what did she really have to lose? She’d already made the most ginormous spectacle of herself on national television. Plus, she had her family’s support here, and hopefully some of her friends and local townspeople. Things really had changed in a few weeks, Cammie marveled.

  *

  On the off-hours in between his time at Evangeline House, Grey spent time working with his dad on the old section of his house. They worked side-by-side, installing the new subflooring upstairs. Next came the hardwoods he’d so meticulously searched the county for.

  In keeping with the architectural integrity of the old place, only wide-planked, well-cured red oak boards could be considered an option in Grey’s mind. The deep patina of old wood wasn’t available new, either. He’d had to scour websites and ask around about construction sites where buildings had been either condemned and scheduled for demolition, or God forbid, remodeled—out with the old and in with new.

  One morning, on the way back from a trip to the local builder’s supply, he’d taken a back road due to some asphalt work and flag crews slowing things down on the main route. This led to his passing a great big old farmhouse and orchard, where he saw a hand-painted sign that read, barn wood for sale.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the sign or the property. So, after he picked Samantha up from school, instead of her riding the bus, they headed out to the old house.

  She was less sulky this afternoon, so hopefully she would enjoy their outing. As they passed the area in front of the farmhouse on the way home, Grey swung the truck into the long gravel drive leading toward the old orchard. Samantha’s head swiveled toward him in question. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “I passed by here a couple days ago and wondered about it. Grandpa needs some old wood boards for his floor, and I really love this old house. Just curious, I guess.” He grinned at her.

  “Just the way you felt about it—like it called to you or something?” She did suddenly seem to understand this thing he experienced with old houses. Their green gazes met, and hers shyly retreated.

  “Yep. Just like that.”

  “It’s pretty silly when you say it out loud, you know.” She made a show of rolling her eyes, but not in nasty way.

  “Then we don’t have to tell anyone how houses speak to me. You’re right; it does sound silly out loud.” He ruffled her hair. “You staying in or getting out?”

  There were two pickups with the windows down parked outside the old farmhouse. Grey took a moment to admire the house’s style and grace. The structure was wood and looked to be around a hundred or so years old, with a wide front porch running the length of the house and wrapping around. The paint was peeling, but there were carved cutwork accents running along under the front gutters and at the roof peaks. It was obvious to Grey that a lot of artistry went into this home during construction so many years ago.

  He could see pas
t the age and condition to appreciate the beauty beneath.

  “Can I help y’all with something?” A squat fellow with yellow hair around mid-forties appeared from the front door, catching Grey off guard. Samantha jumped.

  “Saw the house as I was passing by. She’s a real beauty.”

  The yellow-haired gentleman let out a belly laugh. “Is that what you call it? I call it a plain mess.”

  “It’s old and needs work, but has great bones.” Grey surveyed the exterior again to verify his first impression and nodded.

  The man extended his hand, “George Crawford.”

  “Grey Harrison,” he replied, caught in a crushing handshake. After carefully extricating his hand, Grey asked, “You the owner?”

  “My momma owns the place. Daddy passed last year and she won’t set foot on the property anymore. She’s living with my wife and me now. Roof got struck by lightning last week when that monster storm came through and now we got a big hole. Lucky it hasn’t rained since.”

  “You looking to sell?” The words were out before Grey realized what he’d said.

  George rubbed his head like he’d not thought of it until just now. “Might—just might. Have to talk to Momma and see what she’s got on her mind about this place. She and Daddy lived here their whole married life, raised their kids here, just like her momma before her.”

  Grey pulled a business card from his wallet and said, “Give me a call if you want to discuss it further. It’s a beautiful property.”

  “You want to see inside?”

  Yes. Yes. Yes. “Love to.” He checked with Sam and she preferred to wait outside.

  “Watch your step. It’s a little dusty and there’s a few spider webs. We tried to cover everything, but nobody’s been in here to clean for awhile.

  Grey could hardly contain his enthusiasm. The fixtures were nearly as old as the house, and in excellent condition. The residents had loved this home, taken great care with it, and maintained it well over the years. Sure, it had seen some wear and tear, but it was a hundred years old. And it had a great gaping hole in the roof—up in the attic.

  “You’ll need to get a tarp over the roof until someone can fix it.”

  “The guys are on their way up with it now.”

  He wondered who was in the other truck. Must’ve just missed them.

  “There are some real treasures here,” Grey couldn’t help but remarking on the household furnishings and fixtures.

  “Momma doesn’t want anything to do with it right now. We keep hoping she’ll change her mind. She’s heartbroken.”

  “Such a shame. Sorry for your loss.” Grey couldn’t help but put himself in this man’s shoes with regards to losing his own mother. It was still a crushing emptiness at times.

  “That old barn out back is chock full of stuff like what’s in the house if you’re in to that kind of thing. I noticed on your card that you renovate houses. Would you like to have a look? I’ve been told there’s all means of materials and such out there. Be great to unload some of this stuff just sitting and gathering dust. My daddy was a collector, you see.”

  Grey felt his pulse quicken at the words, materials and collector. Judging by what he’d seen inside the house, visions of priceless antiquities popped into his head. “I’ve got my daughter out in the car.”

  “Might be something she’d be interested in out here, too. Lots of stuff.”

  “I saw the barn wood for sale sign.”

  “Yep. Got lots of old wood out there. Y’all go on a take a look.”

  The barn had been converted into a very large and quite organized workshop/storage facility. As George flipped on the double switch, light flooded the huge space. The stalls were organized and labeled with placards according to their contents. Samantha squealed as she discovered the doll and horse collection. Treasure trove, indeed.

  There was so much to see that Grey hadn’t a clue where to begin. He cautioned Sam to be careful picking around and to look for spiders. Then, he spied what looked to be piles of boards up in the loft. He asked George if he could have a look.

  “Be my guest.” George gestured him up the old ladder, which was impressively sturdy, given its age.

  That was where he found the old floorboards. There was a mountain of them. Grey’s heartbeat accelerated even faster than when he’d had his first glimpse inside the house and faster still than when the lights had burst on in here.

  “Found something you’re interested in up there?” George asked.

  Deep breath. “How much for the old wood flooring?”

  “Hundred bucks if you haul it away.”

  “Deal.” Good thing Grey was pretty deep in the loft or the man would have thought he was a little kooky the way he was happy dancing around and fist-pumping.

  “You alright up there?”

  “Yes sir. Just figuring the square footage.”

  “Daddy!” Samantha called from below.

  “Yes, pumpkin?” He peered over the edge.

  “You won’t believe what I’ve found—it’s the horse that matches my other horse. Remember the one we looked for a couple years ago for my birthday and couldn’t find? It’s still in the box, Daddy.”

  “Sounds like you both found something you were looking for. Take the horse, hon. I’m sorry to say, my daddy wasn’t just a collector, he had an online shopping, uh, habit.”

  “Have you considered selling some of this stuff on e-bay?”

  “Naw, too much trouble. Might have a yard sale sometime. But so far, Momma won’t let us. She doesn’t care about any of the stuff, mind you, she just doesn’t want to deal with it. So, here it sits, gathering dust.”

  “Well, if you don’t think she’ll mind my daughter taking the horse, I want to pay you for it. I know it wasn’t cheap.” Grey pulled out bills to pay for both the flooring and the horse. But George only accepted enough for the wood.

  “My daddy would have been tickled for your little girl to have that horse.” His eyes shone. “We weren’t blessed with children of our own, and it would make me proud for her to have it.”

  To Grey’s shocked amazement, Sam shyly approached George and wrapped her thin arms around him in an awkward hug. He patted her back. “Now you enjoy that, you hear?”

  “Thank you, Mr. George. She’s beautiful,” Sam said sweetly.

  Pride surged through Grey and he swallowed a lump in his throat. “George, give me a call if you consider selling the place. It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Will do. You can come by anytime to pick up your lumber. The side door here will be unlocked.”

  Grey couldn’t help but think of Cammie when he’d entered the house. There’d been dried flowers hanging upside down on an iron pot rack. He remembered her drying flowers as a young girl. This was a home she would love; somehow he felt this to his core. She’d always found old items and made crafts or decorated with them. Even the most humble watering can would be painted and used in some creative way. Now they called that sort of thing ‘country chic’ or some such style. She’d always had the touch.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‡

  Maureen decided the wisest thing to do would be draw the threat away from her family. No one here would begrudge her spending a few days at the lake cabin now that a bit more time had passed and she was on the road to a full recovery.

  Rarely did she take time for herself. In fact, her children had been encouraging her to slow her pace before this blasted back injury. She had at least another week or two before resuming some of the daily duties around here, and this decision shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. But how to get someone to leave her there alone?

  She could feel Howard on the periphery, ready to invade her world—more than he had already—at any moment. The cabin had belonged to her parents originally, and was the place where they’d met all those years ago. His note yesterday requested they meet down by the small park on the edge of town, about fifteen minutes away. Of course, the doctor hadn’t cleared her to driv
e yet, and she wouldn’t take the chance of hurting herself and winding up in the hospital again. She was all done with that nonsense.

  There was one difference in this note. There was a phone number scrawled at the bottom of the page.

  Her stomach roiled at the notion of speaking to him. The very idea of lifting the lid on the Pandora’s box of her past promoted the urge to retch. But there was no getting around it. He’d come back here to settle something. But by God, they could settle it without a single one of her family members getting wind of it, if she played this right.

  Dialing the number, she cleared her throat.

  *

  They had an appointment with Sabine this afternoon, and Grey was relieved at the thought. He felt a sudden urge to really talk with her about some of his own emotions where Deb and Cammie were concerned.

  Sabine was thrilled at his willingness to finally share his own situation and feelings, and said so.

  “I hope you don’t think I haven’t discussed this because I don’t trust you, it’s just been difficult to put how I’ve felt into words, still hard to explain.”

  “That’s progress, in my book.” Sabine said.

  He took a deep breath and briefly went back and described the role Cammie had played in his life prior to his marrying Deb, and how Deb had fixated her rage and jealousy against Cammie during their marriage.

  “I totally get why hearing something with just enough of a child’s perspective mixed with a good dose of weighted truth could give Samantha the idea that Cammie’s mere existence drove Deb to such an extreme rage.”

  “Deb’s rages knew no reason. Depending on the day, she would get something in her mind and act upon it. Occasionally, it was a reoccurring theme that came up from the past or more likely, whatever was happening in the moment. There wasn’t a way to predict or explain it.”

  Sabine nodded. “You’ve described her unpredictable behavior, and I agree that anything at anytime could have sent her out the door that night. It’s Samantha’s perception we have to contend with.”