by Lisa Samson
“Boy, do I.”
“Sometimes we have to step out a little. Take a risk here or there.”
“That’s true.”
“Like you’re doing today.” He cleared his throat again. “At my church, they have a …” He paused and gripped the steering wheel. “Oh, never mind. It’s probably a silly idea.”
“Oh, go ahead. It’s only me.”
“True enough. All right. Well, the ladies like to put together a father-daughter banquet every year. It’s just a little thing. Fried chicken. More like a picnic. And the Nada Gospel Trio usually sings.”
He actually felt himself flush. And her broad smile didn’t help matters any.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“I was just thinking that maybe—”
“Do folks there know about me?”
He nodded. “Yep. Been praying for you all along.”
“Really?”
“Why do you think I haven’t had anybody come visit me? I’m not a recluse, you know.”
“You know, you do seem too nice to be a hermit.”
“That’d be about right. And you know, you could say the same about yourself.”
“Hmm, maybe.” She looked out the window. “I don’t really have the right clothing for an event like that.”
They exited off the parkway and west onto I-64.
“Did you bring all your clothes with you after you came back from Africa?”
“I left some at my parents’ house.”
“They in Lexington, right?”
“Yes.”
“Can we swing by? Would wearing one outfit from the old days set you back too much?”
She stared at him. What was she thinking? Did she feel beholden to him in some way? Wondering if she could refuse him after all he’d done. Not that he wouldn’t do it again and for nothing. But he knew this request wasn’t only for him. Maybe it was another step to life.
“We can go by there after the market.”
He tapped the steering wheel. “Good. That’s just what we’ll do.”
“Maybe my parents won’t be home.”
All the happiness he felt faded from flame to a withering tendril of smoke.
Claudius backed the car up along the sidewalk flanking Vine Street, one of the later vendors to arrive. Someone from a farm out in Scott County offered them a cup of hot coffee after they’d unloaded the produce and the flowers. The only rose to bloom so far was a big white blossom May had tucked in with the daisies for good luck.
“So you’re the flower lady!” the woman who gave them the coffee said, walking over to inspect her bouquets.
“That’s me.”
She placed her hand on her hip, its tan contrasting with the pale yellow skirt and matching the copper buttons down the front. “I’m Nellie Poe.”
“May Seymour.”
“Pleased to meet you. I figured the Tomato Man here didn’t make those on his own. Now, his tomatoes. You have to see them for the work of art they are.”
Claudius was proud to be known as the Tomato Man once he began harvesting his heirlooms. Black Princes, Brandywines, Yellow Pears, Green Grapes, Green Zebras, Lillian’s Yellow. The young business folks or those artsy kinds loved them to put in their salads. The Kroger sure couldn’t compete with him on these beauties. Of course, Kentucky Beefsteaks and other nice big, round slicing tomatoes sat beside the unusual varieties.
May sat and listened to him chatting with the shoppers about each variety, almost like they were his children. He was grateful to see a cheerful look playing on her face most of the morning.
“Clearly you’re well liked,” she said during a lull. Lawyer-types, hippies, young people just getting started in life all wanted to talk to Claudius, laugh and joke, and usually get a sample. He was only too happy to provide them a sweet taste of earth, water, and sunshine.
“You can’t expect people to buy tomatoes like these when they don’t know if they taste good.”
A woman came running up to May. She wore clogs on her bare feet, a pair of knickers, and an Indian tunic. Her hair, wild gray and held back in a headband, heralded her arrival better than any trumpeter ever could.
“I love your flowers!” she cried, clapping hands that sported various turquoise and silver rings.
“Oh, good!” May’s face brightened even further.
“I get at least four bouquets each week and make random deliveries at St. Joseph’s Hospital. And usually, I get one for myself.” She scrunched up her nose. “I can’t help it.”
“Thanks. I’m so glad you like them.”
At least ten more people came up and complimented her posies. Claudius puffed out his chest with pride, couldn’t help himself. May made a few bouquets to order. But the most surprising and beautiful part of the day occurred when a young woman arrived around nine o’clock. Her long brown hair, wavy and full, swung beside her cheeks.
“I’m getting married this morning! Over at Duncan Park.”
Claudius had heard of Duncan Park, a square of green in one of the poorer neighborhoods.
“Can you make me a bouquet?” Hope and apology raised her eyebrows.
“This morning?” May’s mouth dropped open.
“Just something simple. It’s a simple wedding. Very simple.”
She looked like an Old World portrait with her soft cheeks, pointed chin, and wide brown eyes.
“Sure. Fine. That sounds like fun.”
Claudius tried to act nonchalant.
—Spontaneity! This might be just the ticket!
May stood up from her chair. “First, why don’t we pick out the flowers you like?”
The young woman chattered as she pulled stems from the tubs. White lilies, larkspur, yellow daisies. “I’m just going to get my favorites. It doesn’t matter if they don’t go together perfectly.”
“I think all flowers go together perfectly.” May turned toward Claudius. “If a real florist heard that, she’d probably want to hang me. But it’s how I feel.”
“And I like nice warm colors.”
“The larkspur will set them off, won’t they?” May asked, gathering each stem into the bundle as the bride handed it off. “Is your dress white?”
“Yes. My mom’s.”
“That’s nice.”
“Me and my fiancé don’t have a lot of money, and we didn’t want to go into a lot of debt for one day. That’s kinda stupid, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t have two years ago. I mean, why not drop fifty grand? But now, I totally agree. How about some of that wine-colored dianthus?”
“Perfect!”
Claudius was enjoying the banter, sipping on another cup of coffee from Nellie. Watching May interact with another young woman made his heart soar like he was atop Natural Bridge. Maybe his prayers were being answered more than he realized.
May ran her fingertips over the top of the bundle. “Lovely choices, good job. “What’s your name?”
“Maria.”
“Okay. I’m May-May. I’ve only got white ribbon. Is that all right?”
“Great.”
—She calls herself May-May.
After arranging for her return in thirty minutes, Maria sidled down the row between the stalls, stuffing produce into a couple of string bags.
“Do you think she’s going to cook up reception food when she gets home?” May asked, holding up the flowers. “People really do stuff like this? I love it!”
Claudius walked over, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing, hands shoved in his pants’ pockets. “What’d that lady want?”
“This is going to be her bridal bouquet, Claudius. Can you believe it?”
“I’d say she’s got the right idea.”
She sat in her chair and tried different arrangements. “It seems to be missing something.” She searched the buckets.
“A few extra blooms wouldn’t break the bank,” Claudius said, turning to help out a customer who held up a Black Prince like it had the Black Death.
When he finished he faced her again. The single white rose from the daisy bucket now snuggled up to the side of Maria’s wedding bouquet.
Maria loved it.
“Just take it!” May flushed. “I want you to have it.”
“Oh, no!” she said. “I can’t do that.”
But May shook her head. “It’s selfish on my part. I’d like say I provided a part of your great day. Please, take it.”
When Maria walked off, her hair swung against her back.
“I wish her well, Claudius.” They stood next to each other, and she put her arm through his.
“Maybe it’ll be the best day of her life up till now.”
May continued hearing nice words from people who had been enjoying her flowers that summer, telling her where they placed their bouquets, who they’d given them to and why.
They ate ribs and coleslaw in the shade of his tarp.
“Claudius, you were right. This was good to hear.”
“And this is good to eat.” He nibbled the tender meat off a bone.
“You said it.”
More custom bouquets found their way into customers’ hands. One woman, not at all a nice lady, got May so flustered, Claudius stepped in.
“Now you need to shape up, miss, right now, or you can just go down to Barney. He’s selling flowers right down there by the bank.”
She threw the bouquet down and turned on her heel. May looked like she’d been slapped. She whispered, “I’ve read in books about people turning on their heel, but that was the first time I’ve seen a real bona fide heel turn.”
“I was surprised she didn’t overshoot the arc and turn a full 360 degrees,” Claudius whispered out the side of his mouth, laying a hand on her arm. She felt shaky beneath his touch. “But she’s in for it now. Barney’s meaner than she is!”
May wiped her eyes with her forearm and gave a shaky laugh. “Something like that would have never bothered me before. I’m a marshmallow!”
Claudius squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry about her. She does that sort of thing to everybody. Most folks are nice, though. You gotta take the bad with the good.”
After he hugged her, she straightened up, sat in her chair, and arranged the remaining stems into posies. By three o’clock they were all sold.
“Oh, no!” A young woman came running up. “You’re all out? Really? Shoot! I knew I shouldn’t have slept so late. But last night, well, you know how Friday nights can be.” She laughed. “That’ll teach me.” She narrowed her eyes at May. “You look familiar.” She hiked her purse, embossed with a mess of Cs, further up on her shoulder.
May just shook her head. “I’m from Beattyville.”
“My family’s from there! Years and years ago, though.”
“There’s a man with flowers down by the bank.” May thickened her Lexingtonian accent into something more country. Like Claudius’s.
He snapped his head around to stare at her.
“You might could try there.”
“Yours are so much better.”
“Why, thank you.”
“See ya!”
And off she went.
May plopped into her chair and heaved out three sighs in one.
Claudius knelt down on his haunches beside her. “What was that about, honey?”
“Did you see her, Claudius? She looked so pretty in those white shorts, that tank top. Did you see those gold flowers embroidered on there? And so tan! Most likely she spent the majority of her summer in the islands or something. Her family also owns a rambling beachfront house on the Outer Banks. When we were friends at Lexington Catholic it was like the princess and the pauper, and my family isn’t exactly poor.”
“She was your friend?”
“Uh-huh. Ashley Caudhill. I was crossing my fingers behind my back the whole time, hoping she’d fail to make the connection. I mean, how could she? I used to look like her, now I look like me.”
“I think you’re a whole lot prettier.” He never did care much for those glamour girls.
“And then she was off, so free of care. Her skin all silky and shim-mery and so perfect. Did you see her arms and legs, Claudius?”
—Oh, sweet Lord Jesus! We were doing so good. Why’d that girl have to show up?
“And she was wearing Eau d’Hadrien, one of the most expensive perfumes in the world. Did you know that?”
“’Course I didn’t, May-May!”
She flinched. And he turned away. He could take almost anything but people feeling sorry for themselves.
His heart melted, and he turned back. “Honey, you have more to feel bad about than overpriced perfume only stupid people would waste their money on to begin with. Don’t pity yourself about the wrong things. You’ll never heal that way.”
—I’d better watch myself. I’m starting to give pretty good advice.
• 15 •
May’s parents had moved since she’d last seen them, and she wanted to see her old house, the one in which she’d grown up, before heading to their new place. They drove east down Main Street, and then right on Ashland where soaring old houses on large lots bullied for first place in the Southern home beauty contest.
Claudius whistled. “Woo-whee.”
“Up there to the right. That yellow brick house with the curved bay.”
He pulled into a brick driveway. “You must have had a good time growing up here.”
He liked the landscaping, lush and with lots of flowers. Mature boxwoods and holly and trellises up the side of the house with roses. “Your parents do that?”
“Yes. But my grandparents set the blueprint.”
“Must have been nice. Nice big yard to run around in.”
“And Woodland Park nearby.” She pointed to a window on the right side of the second floor. “That was my room. We painted it sky blue, and Dad painted big fluffy clouds on the ceiling for me.” She leaned toward him and whispered. “Between you and me, they were pretty bad, but he tried so hard.”
“No one will ever know,” he whispered back. “So where do they live now?”
“Jefferson Street.” Her voice dropped in tone.
“That a bad street?”
“Mixed. I haven’t wanted to think about what it might mean. Maybe they just wanted to be closer to campus.”
Even Claudius knew Lexington well enough to know that it wasn’t closer to campus at all.
When they pulled up to the new address, Claudius reached over and placed a hand on her forearm. “Oh, honey.”
She breathed in deeply, her nostrils flaring. “I had no idea.”
A sagging chain-link fence surrounded a narrow lot in which a small shotgun shack, one room behind the other, was anchored, but barely. The roof had exhaled long ago and forgotten to take a breath again. The white siding was chipped at the bottom, leaving a gap-toothed appearance; the windows, clean yet bedraggled of frame, one on each side of the gray front door, were shadowed by a front porch held up by rusted wrought iron curlicues.
She pointed to the clay pots blooming with portulaca on the porch.
“Mother threw those pots herself as a college student.” Red cedar lounge chairs from the fifties—“Mother stained them every year”—also rested on the cement surface. The cushions were worse for wear, but Claudius figured replacing them wouldn’t be in the budget. Not if they were living in that house.
“Is it ’cause of the medical bills, honey?”
She nodded. “I doubt if Dad’s insurance pays a hundred percent. A stroke is pretty expensive.”
Claudius knew that. His father had had one, and that was back before hospital stays got to be a major investment. He hoped and prayed he never had to stay in one. The vigil with his mother, who’d sustained such terrible injuries after a fall down the stairs, the same stairs he carried May up all those months ago, had been enough hospital to last him the rest of his life, however long or short that might be.
“You heard them talking about their move, Claudius. They made it
sound like a sweet little adventure.”
Claudius opened his door. “Well, are we going in? They’ve told you a thousand times to come home.”
“Not since the move,” she whispered.
“Seems to me they were trying not to burden you. And they were right, May-May. A few weeks ago you couldn’t have handled this. But today’s a different day! You came to Lexington, sold your posies. C’mon, parents are resilient.”
She laughed.
He never stopped appreciating that May always got the joke.
Then her smile dropped off her face. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Then don’t.”
—Oh, Claudius, you fool! That’s the worst thing you could have said.
He closed the car door and turned in his seat. “Naw, maybe not that. Honestly, honey, isn’t it time?”
She shook her head as she gripped the door handle. Beads of sweat pushed through the pores of her forehead. “Let’s go home. They can’t know I know. They can’t, Claudius.” She swept a hand across the car window. “Look at this place. I think I owe it to them to let them decide whether or not they want me to know this.”
He pulled the gearshift toward him and then slid it down into drive. “Well, all right, then.” He pulled away from the curb. “But I think you’re wrong, May-May. I think you should go in. I think they’d want you there no matter what.”
She turned her face to the window and didn’t look over at him the entire ninety minutes back to Beattyville.
His heart sagged. He wouldn’t let it break, though. He couldn’t do that to her, or himself. He had to be ready for whatever came their way tomorrow.
The next day, warmed by the slanted light of the evening sun, they sat at the picnic table outside Dairy Queen, May licking at a swirl cone and Claudius enjoying a Blizzard. “These are so tasty. I think I’m enjoying the Butterfinger variety the most.”
This little foray was a concession for yesterday, and he knew it.
He sighed.
So did May.
“I should have gone in,” she said. “They’re my parents.”