“I guess. I just don’t know. I feel like he’s teasing me. He hasn’t actually come right out and said anything. I feel more confused than I would have in middle school.”
“He’s comin’ round to it. I know him. Slow and steady with everything. You’ll see.”
He winks and stands up. “Now I’m freezin’ my bean bags off out here. You should get in and tell that daughter of yours to stay away from grown men. That wacky ginger head is harmless, but I’d hate to see him gettin’ himself in trouble with a girl who’s…well you know.”
I smile and think how funny it is that everyone assumes Dawson is stupid because he doesn’t know a lot of things, but he’s often wise to what’s going on. It’s nice to know my girls have protectors here at Pentagon Place.
“You noticed that, huh? Yeah. I need to nip it in the bud.”
I stand up too and rub my freezing cold butt. “Hey Dawson, have you seen the new guy who moved into Fred’s old place?”
He shakes his head and says, “No, I have not. But I would be willing to bet his heart ain’t bigger than Tuck’s. You’ll see. Good night, Molly Mae.”
***
I am back inside now, settled in for the night. Magnolia won’t talk to me because I wouldn’t let her ‘hang out’ with Shawn.
What mother would let her fifteen-year-old daughter spend time with a grown man?
And since when is she interested in St. Patrick’s Day? Last year she wore black to school on the holiday to protest the stupid, childish shenanigans.
Little did she know that ‘shenanigans’ is a word often used by the Irish. This year I expect she will be head to toe in emerald with shamrock antlers and a ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ button.
Shit, I forgot about the kissing part.
I decide to sift through some of the boxes we brought back to my place from Meemaw’s house. I don’t know if I’m looking for some comfort or maybe some advice?
I know the latter is ridiculous. I can’t go around thinking that my late grandmother left me some coded message or secret letter that would help me with my troubles.
Ray ran off after Meemaw passed, so there is no way she would have known that I would need dating advice, or that Tucker Swanson would suddenly want to be more than my neighbor and childhood friend.
I sigh and flop onto the soft rug in my bedroom and lean back against my bed and the fluffy comforter.
As Dawson said, it’s not sudden at all. I was with Ray for all of Tucker’s teen and adult life, and he’s only been gone a year. What kind of an asshole would pounce on that situation immediately?
And that damn Ray…I’m not willing to admit it to anyone but I still love him. And I’m still confused as to why he left. But I may never have those answers, and do I want to grow old waiting on them to come to me?
No, I don’t. But I’m not sure Tucker is the answer, either.
I shake off thoughts of men and start digging through my Meemaw’s private treasures. It feels wrong to snoop, but I guess it’s no longer snooping now that she’s gone.
I don’t have to read private letters between her and Peepaw, for instance. That seems wrong, and while I doubt they were exchanging any erotic fantasies (or realities) in their communications, let’s just say I don’t want to go there regardless.
There are a bunch of letters between Meemaw and her childhood pen pal. I remember her telling me about her. I bet the ink is probably faded on them, but I’ll put them aside in a bundle and read them to see if they are suitable to share with my girls.
They may not appreciate them now, but if I hold onto them until they’re older they would be a lovely legacy for the girls to cherish and pass down to their children.
I pile those in the corner of one of the boxes, and I am surprised at how orderly everything is. I thought it would be a bunch of mish-mosh crap shoved in these boxes. It seems like Meemaw had a system. I’m sure my mother’s boxes look like they were organized by a drunk pack rat.
Hmm…there’s some sweet high school memorabilia. A disintegrated corsage in a box. Wow, that’s old.
Her high school yearbooks, which I know the girls will definitely enjoy. I can’t believe they even had yearbooks back then. Then I remember it was the fifties.
Haha, I sound like my daughter now, thinking everything in the past was so lame. Some things are the same in every generation, like feelings.
I stifle a little sob and remind myself that I said I wasn’t going to let going through these boxes get me all emotional.
I regard the corsage again and try to imagine my grandmother at her high school prom. I wonder who she went with. She didn’t know Peepaw in high school. I’m almost certain she said they met after she graduated.
I root around in the orderly, but jam-packed box, hoping to find a photo of my grandmother and her date smiling in their old-fashioned fancy clothes.
Bingo, here’s a small photo album labeled ‘Florence and Albert’.
Oh boy, Peepaw’s name was Horace.
I remind myself that my grandmother was not some wild chick with dirty pictures hidden in a box in her closet.
Shit, I probably need to start checking Magnolia’s closet soon.
I open up the ancient pages and smile as I see faded photos of Meemaw with a handsome young man. Going to a dance (I squint to see the corsage when it had flowers on it), on a picnic, at a family reunion.
Hmm…it looks like she did a lot with this guy. I’m surprised I never heard about him. It’s not like it’s scandalous for Meemaw to have dated other boys before she met Peepaw. Even my mother had boyfriends before my father, and she’s way more secretive than Meemaw ever was.
I put the photo album in the same pile as the pen pal letters and move on to the deeper contents of the box.
Uh oh…a letter from the mysterious Albert.
Damn, this does seem really private, but I’m dying to know if this is more than…wait a minute, why were they writing letters? Didn’t they live in the same town and go to school together and see each other every day? Maybe he was in the war? Which war? I’m so bad with history.
I study the front of the envelope for clues as to whether or not I should open it and a glaring one shines at me with a magnetic pull.
“Florence Atkinson, 571 West Pulliam Street, Bangor, Maine.”
I whisper the words and drop the letter to my lap. Why the hell was my grandmother in Maine? As far as I knew, she hardly ever left Virginia.
Hell, she barely left Applebarrow, except the few times Peepaw took her to the mountains or to visit his parents in West Virginia before they passed.
Maybe she went away to college for a little while and didn’t want to tell me that she dropped out. Or maybe she ran out of money?
It’s also possible that she went on a trip with a friend, or to visit a relative I’m forgetting about.
Shit, I have to read this letter now.
My hands are a little shaky as I open the envelope and pull out one surprisingly well-preserved sheet of paper. On it is the somewhat sloppy script of a young man who was clearly trying to be neat while writing to his girl but suffered from a lack of penmanship skills.
My dearest Florence,
I wish you would write back to me. I remain confused and hurting due to your abrupt departure. If I did something wrong, I wish you would tell me. I will do anything to make it right.
I got your address from your friend Bonnie. Don’t be mad at her. She said she had to get my sorry sobbing carcass out of her house, and she’d even give me her mama’s secret peach pie recipe if it would get me to skedaddle.
You know how Bonnie is.
Anyway, I miss you and I will love you forever, sweet Florence. I went around your house to ask your mama where you ran off to, and she answered the door with her rollin’ pin and called for your Pa in a voice that would rattle snakes.
Get it, I made a joke there—’rattle snakes’.
Anyway, I could tell your folks weren’t happy to see me, so I chickene
d out and walked back home in the rain, trying to figure out what I did wrong.
There’s no way they could know about the one thing, because I know you wouldn’t have told them. I hope that wasn’t what run you off, and if it is, I am sorry and we don’t ever have to do it again, at least not until—well you know.
I’m not gonna say it because I don’t know where you are and who might be reading this. I wish I could call you, but I don’t know how long I’d have to work to save up money for a call to Maine, even if I knew your number.
I drop the letter onto the floor and jump at the sound of my phone.
Who is texting me at this hour? It better not be Zinnia asking me some question about what we’re doing tomorrow, or the meaning of life, because she can’t sleep.
Yes, she does this.
I glance at my phone and read something that makes my heart beat faster than Albert’s letter.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh Lia, I’m sorry, I see you have company.”
I feel silly now that I’m standing on the front porch of her late grandmother’s Victorian mansion, freezing my ass off, so desperate for guidance that I’m coming to a naive girl in her twenties for answers.
Lia stands in the doorway and backs up with a sweeping motion of her hand. Inside her ‘parlor’, an old British guy waves and smiles, while holding a teacup.
I know he’s British because it’s Axe. Well, his name is really Ian Axel, and he’s Lia’s new surrogate grandfather. A few months ago she found that he had been having an affair with her late grandmother, but it was okay because her late grandfather was gay.
Yes, Lia brought some excitement to Pentagon Place.
Now Axe is a big part of the community and lives in his own beautiful old house, right next door to Lia.
“Don’t be silly. Come in, it’s freezing out there. Axe and I were just having some lunch and a catch up. I invited him to meet me in town, but he likes hanging out in Allegra’s parlor.”
She smiles at the old gentleman as I come in and shake off the cold. Lia takes my coat and I wring my hands—partially for extra warmth, and also because I am nervous and really feel like an idiot for coming here now.
I either have to share my business in front of Axe, find another woman who’s free in the middle of a workday (other than Mama), or wait until Lia is alone, and I don’t have time for that. My dilemma is coming at me like a freight train in a few hours.
“Hello, Axe. How are you? Wow, y’all started a fire, too. How nice.”
All of a sudden, I feel more comfortable and I plant myself in one of the cozy armchairs when Axe gestures for me to sit.
“Yes, I love a good fire. In England, it’s so damp all the time we have them going most of the year. Lia and I were just discussing your business. Sounds exciting.”
We continue to discuss mundane pleasantries, but I can see that Lia assumes I came here for a reason.
“Molly, would you like some tea? I could make coffee. I don’t drink it, but Logan likes a cup to get going in the morning.”
Every time Lia mentions her love, she glows. I remember when I felt that way about Ray, but I don’t know if I can recapture that with someone else.
Especially Tucker Swanson.
“No, I’m fine. Again, I’m sorry to barge in on you, but I knew you weren’t coming to the office today and I was off from my waitressing job and…”
“Dear girl, spill it. I could tell by the look on your face the moment I saw you that you’ve got something on your mind. Don’t worry, I’m not as gossipy as these southern Americans. The British are very close-lipped.”
He makes the universal sign for sealing his mouth with a key and leans forward.
Here goes.
“Well, here’s what happened. I was looking through my Meemaw’s things last night after the girls went to bed. I brought some boxes home from her house. Actually, that whole thing is on my mind too, but it’s not the main reason for coming over.”
Axe dramatically leans back in his wing back chair and sighs, “Oh yes, the drama of the late grandmothers. Lia and I know all about that, don’t we, love?”
Lia laughs and they share a moment thinking about Mrs. DeLuca. Allegra. She was the owner of Pentagon Place and one hell of a cook.
And a big secret keeper.
Lia pours more tea for Axe and says, “Molly, you can tell us what’s wrong. I hope it’s not something with your girls.”
“No, well…they give me the usual teenaged grief. But no. So while I was going through Meemaw’s boxes, I got a text. From Tucker.”
“Why is that weird? Ohhhh, was it like…a you know…sexy text?”
Axe spits his tea—presumably at Lia’s mention of sexting in front of him.
I shake my head and widen my eyes. “No, of course not. He asked me out.”
“Like on a date?” Lia is just as surprised as I was.
Axe clears his throat as he wipes his pants and the table off with a linen napkin. “May I interject? As juvenile and cowardly as it may be to invite you out on a date over text, he may just be very nervous about it. Given your history.”
Lia and I both peer at Axe and she says, “Do you know something about this?”
“Well, Tucker and I do talk. I know it’s odd. The younger brother is just too befuddled for me to have a conversation with, although I did try to teach him about music after he thought Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode was Christian music.” He shakes his head and continues. “Those young men don’t have a father figure, so I have stepped in as a grandfather of sorts to them.”
For a guy who has no children, he sure has a lot of grandkids.
Lia wrinkles her brow and says, “I guess that’s nice. But let’s let Molly finish and then you can give her your informed opinion.”
Axe mocks looking scolded and I continue.
“He said that he saw my light on. I guess he went outside. To smoke. He said he was going to quit, but I don’t know. Maybe he went out purposely to see if my light was on.”
I shift in my chair, and suddenly the heat from the fire on my face is making me feel cooked like a Christmas turkey.
Lia and Axe are waiting patiently and expectantly for me to get this story out. In the open. Where it will then seem more real.
Crap, maybe I should go home.
“So, he said that he saw my light on. Sorry, I know I already said that part.” I offer a weak smile and say, “He said that he is too much of a chicken to ask me to my face, but he wants me to have supper with him tonight.”
Axe rubs his chin and says, “Is that all he said? You made it sound like there was a marriage proposal in there?”
Lia shoots a glare at Axe and he makes the innocent face.
“Well, no, but he also said that he’s been in love with me since he was a kid and when Ray left, he wished he had the nerve to tell me then, but it wasn’t the right time. He said this is the right time. And if I was open to him, to just say yes to tonight. And if not, he would back off and we will never speak of this again.”
Lia fans herself, and it’s not from the fireplace heat. “He said ‘if you are open to me’? That sounds pretty serious. And hot. Oh my God. Axe, what do you know?”
Again we both glare at Axe and he’s probably thinking, ‘Oh sure, now they want to hear from the old guy’.
“Molly, here’s the thing. Tucker is an intense young man. He’s known and cared for you his whole life. So if you reject him, not only is that painful, it’s humiliating. You live next door to him. He’ll probably move away, but then honestly, I don’t know how he would be able to do that. I know what it’s like to love someone you can’t really have. Not in the way you really want.”
“So what do you think she should do?” Lia is clearly looking for a solution for me, and I am on board with that plan.
“I can’t tell her what to do. I just believe that Tucker’s heart is pure, but Molly has to want to give him a chance. What did you tell him?”
“I wrot
e back yes.”
Lia shrieks, “Oh my God, you’re open to him now. This is so exciting.” She quickly contains herself when she sees me jump back at her enthusiasm.
“Okay, rein it in. I am open, I think. I don’t know. I talked to my brothers and at least one of them was onboard, and the other begrudgingly agreed. I’ve just thought of Tucker as a child for so long and I was married…”
“But you don’t think of him that way now, right?” Lia raises her eyebrows.
Axe reaches over and touches my hand. “My dear, life is too short to be worried about what everyone else thinks. I feel like you came here looking for validation. You don’t need it. You’re an independent woman and it’s time you moved on. I don’t think your husband is coming back, and even if he did, he doesn’t deserve you.”
He squeezes my hand as a few tears squeeze out of my tired eyes.
“Thank you, Axe. I see why everyone wants you to be their grandfather. My Peepaw was great, but—”
They both burst into giggles at the mention of the silly name we called my grandfather.
Lia says, “I’m sorry, Molly, that just sounds so funny.”
We all start laughing because of course it is silly, but that’s what we were taught, along with all sorts of other southern sayings.
Axe says, “I’m sorry. That was very juvenile. I blame this spiked tea Lia’s been serving me all afternoon.” He smiles and says, “So go on the date, Molly, and be open to whatever you want.”
I sigh and say, “Okay, I will. I do feel something when I’m with Tucker that I never felt before, and it’s not just…romantic…it’s a deeper respect too. He’s grown up a lot and I realize I missed it because I was married and raising my kids and working my ass off.”
I finally decide I’d like some tea, and I must admit that whatever it’s spiked with is tasty. Now that I’m more relaxed, or at least my heart rate has returned to semi-normal (after all, I still need to figure out what to wear and how to fill in the bags under my eyes from lack of sleep), I venture into telling my friends about Meemaw’s mysterious letter.
“So you didn’t read any more than that one?” Lia asks.
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