by Julie Reece
“I think you need a prescription. Now stop fooling around and listen. I have to visit six sites in Wyoming and Montana … three weeks. Four tops, but if not before, I’ll definitely be home in time for the Mighty Moo Festival in July.”
“You know I can’t take this conversation seriously anymore when you say moo, right Mom?”
She ignores me. “Don’t give Quinn and Jesse a hard time while I’m gone. Oh, and I’ve sent for reinforcements. Dexter may swing by next week to check in.”
Dexter? “Since when?” The crack in my voice is less than Danger Man material. I like my brothers, fine, but give me a break. First, the newlyweds are enough to make any single guy puke, and now I’m saddled with the practical joking Loki of the family.
“Since forever. You never listen when I tell you things.” Okay, that definitely is true. “I’ve arranged for Ms. Teslow to join our family on the float for the parade this year. I’d also like her to present the pageant scholarship at the dance that night, all right?”
Ooh, well played, Mother. An ugly vision of an irate, gum chewing pigmy hurling a trophy at the pageant winner’s head solidifies in my brain. “Gee Mom, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say that sounds suspiciously like a last minute addition designed to thwart my efforts with Miss Teslow.”
“Really? My request falls well within the scope of an intern’s potential duties. Can she handle it or not?”
“No problem at all. I’m sure Autumn will be only too delighted to comply.”
“Don’t be a smartass, son.”
“Right. I was going for kiss-ass anyway.”
“Don’t make me come down there, boy.” I can’t help my smile. The old girl’s not all bad. “You know you’re not nearly as entertaining as you think sometimes.”
“Admit it, you miss me.” I grin into the receiver. “I’m the good looking son, and sort of charming.”
“You’re sort of something, all right. Oh, and that reminds me, Scott called last night. He may join us for Moo. Not sure yet.”
I don’t answer right away. Scott Frey was my dad’s best friend, in college and after. Consequently, he is Piper’s dad and the husband of my mom’s best friend Lila—before Lila got cancer and died. Scott and Mom are the last two members of their college days, frat house/sorority sister posse. Lately, Scott’s been calling Mom more and more, and I sense their friendship status shifting. At least on his part. Call it guy intuition, but we recognize shit about each other that girls might not notice. Don’t get me wrong, I like Scott. He’s almost an uncle, but when the dude started sniffing around my mother, put together with all that went down with Piper last spring, everything’s gotten it’s-a-small-world-after-all weird.
“You’re so chatty today,” Mom quips. “Have you got something on your mind?”
“World domination? I’m a man of many thoughts, Madre. Today or any other.”
“I see. Well, you can keep them for a while longer, but only because I’m late for an appointment. Busy, busy. We’ll get caught up soon.” Keeping Dad’s company afloat makes “busy” a constant for her. A good distraction at first, but four years later, her workaholism deteriorated into a cop-out for not fully living.
“And you’re extremely busy too, remember? Making Autumn a competent, model employee by summer’s end, or else—”
I’m well aware of the stakes. The one where I prove I’m not a complete screw-up and can choose my own career path. She likes repeating herself, though. Probably in case I try to weasel out of it later, which I might. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. “Sure, sure. It’s in the bag.”
“Mm,” she says, “Just make sure it’s not a body bag.”
I never did like it when my mother tries to be funny.
11
Autumn
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in a deep, claw-foot tub piled high with frothy white bubbles produced from one of the bottles on the counter top. I settle in and relax. The room smells sweet, fresh like honey, not the cloying, artificial scent of Sydney’s perfume. I don’t much care for cloying.
Also, I don’t use the word frothy much.
Other than my conservatory turned bedroom, this may be the coolest room I’ve ever seen. Warm wood floors, white tile, and a huge window made of stained glass relax my frazzled mind. The glass depicts a nature scene: woods, deer near a river, flowers, and honeybees in the foreground with faint gray mountains in the distance.
Letting out a tranquil breath, I’m happy to shed the layers of grime. Despite my protests (and to my secret delight) Jesse wouldn’t hear of allowing me to shower under the outdoor spigot at the shack. There’s a wire basket that connects to the tub housing goats’ milk soap, shampoo, and conditioner. A few are labeled for men, too, and I wonder if Silas uses these products. Or soaks in this tub. I drop the soap and curse, trying to find it again.
I resist stepping out of the lovely bath as long as possible, but finally, the water chills, my fingers prune, and I relent. Jesse left a bottle of lotion on the counter for me to try. You guessed it, goats’ milk. I apply a thick layer, rubbing the creamy goop into my skin when Jesse bursts through the door carrying a stack of clothing.
“Whoa!” I shriek, grabbing for a towel off the nearby rack.
“I didn’t peg you for the shy type.” No apology, just the statement as I give her big, are-you-insane eyes.
Shy might not be the right word, but I’m not an exhibitionist either. “Er … ”
“Oh, right, your clothes.” She walks to the counter, unloading the items in her arms. “I went to the cabin and found you something to wear.”
“Thanks?” I say, tugging the towel tighter around my body as though someone might snatch it away.
“No worries.” She glances at my clothes. “Your style is all your own, isn’t it?” I take in her preppie pink shirt and designer jeans again. “I’d place you somewhere between a Woodstock wild child and bohemian Moulin Rouge, right?”
Ha, ha, ha. No.
I detect no judgment or criticism in her tone. She states her opinion clinically, as if she’s on an archeological dig for science.
I’m white-knuckling the towel but can’t stop. “Okay then, I’ll be out in a minute … ”
“Great. We’ll eat lunch, and then I’m taking you on an adventure.” I wince with her squeal. “Not a real adventure, it’s more of a mission, a—whatever. You’ll lurve it! So, hurry up.”
She’s manic, talking and moving with all the excitement of a seven-year-old promised the circus. I nod, not knowing what else to do.
She flashes her pearly whites. “All righty then. Ta.”
Oh, no she didn’t.
Dried and buttered in goat cream, I adjust my orange, paisley skirt around my hips, the fringe ties in a knot at the side. I smooth my chocolate-colored tank, and lace up my leather sandals. My crochet hat completes my ensemble, and I make my way downstairs.
Jesse meets me in the kitchen with such a warm smile. I can’t help retuning a small one of my own. She doesn’t know me, or my reputation as the Queen of Evil. She’s been nothing but nice, and I admit it, not that bad to be around.
“You’re quite the stunner, aren’t you?” she says with an oddly satisfied expression. I can’t tell if she’s serious or making fun of me. When I don’t answer, she says, “Sit. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
As she lifts two plates off the counter, a guy in a snug white tee and jeans walks into the kitchen. His hazel eyes sparkle as he smiles at Jesse. Shiny chestnut hair falls in soft waves across his forehead. Average height and broad across the chest, he slides his muscular arms around my hostess’s waist. I assume, since he’s practically sucking the skin off her face, he must be her husband, Quinn. Ten shades of PDA uncomfortable, I’m about to leave the room when he comes up for air, and I see his full, russet beard.
My heart slams against my ribs. Isn’t that the guy I insulted at the job fair? True, I didn’t get a great look, I thought I remembered him taller, maybe a little lea
ner, but no one could mistake that beard.
Jesse clears her throat. “Excuse us. Quinn, we have a guest.” She wiggles out of his arms but he recaptures her, pulling her securely against him. “I’d like you to meet our intern, Autumn Teslow.”
“Teslow?” he puzzles. “That’s like the nut job who played with lightning and believed in UFO’s, right?” Jesse’s elbows his ribs. “Ow, what? Isn’t that the guy?”
Is he trying to be funny, or get payback for me calling him a gorilla? “I think you mean Tesla,” I say, voice tight.
“Oh, yeah. That’s it!” He reaches around Jesse to grab a banana off the counter. “So, what sort of name is Teslow, anyway?” Quinn shoots his wife a pointed look. “Apparently, I heard it wrong.”
So now we’ve moved from inventors to my family tree? My arms cross. “My dad is Scandinavian.” His expression turns doubtful as he takes in my dark features, and I save him the trouble of asking. “Mom’s Brazilian.”
“Whoa.” He grins. “I bet that creates an interesting family dynamic, huh?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
His brow lifts. “Er, nothing, I just meant … you know, they’re like, hot and cold continents, temperaments. It’s funny.” Focusing on my slatted eyes, his head tilts as if he thinks I’m missing his point. I’m not. “They’re opposites,” he says. “Oil and water, fire and ice. Get it?”
I’m thinking death by fruit, because if he keeps talking, I’m going to bludgeon him to death with his banana. Even so, a small voice whispers that Quinn couldn’t know that my parents are divorced. What he’s saying is true in the most awful way possible, but I choose to believe this is an innocent introduction gone wrong, so I don’t have to kill him.
Jesse’s smile looks almost painful. “Oo-kay, big guy, out you go. We’re having girl time in here.” She gives Quinn a meaningful stare and shoves the banana against his chest.
“What did I say?” Eyebrows raised, his focus bounces from her to me and back again. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
She spins him toward the door and gives him a gentle push. “Yes you did. Now go. I’ll see you later.”
Once Quinn disappears through the doorway, she faces me with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. He meant well, but you made him nervous.”
“Me?” So it’s my fault her husband’s rude?
She shrugs. “He’s awkward sometimes when meeting new people, especially girls. We had a pretty rough start ourselves.” Her smile is crooked, and for a moment, her eyes get a funny, far off look before she snaps back to our discussion. “Quinn’s a year older, but I tutored him the summer before I started college, if you can believe that. When we met, it was quite literally an accident. You know, he actually asked me if this was my real hair color or a dye job once.” She lifts a lock of her golden hair and laughs at my open mouth. “No one has a bigger heart. He grows on you, trust me.”
That’s the second time she’s asked for my trust. I watch the empty doorway and contemplate bad first impressions.
“Let’s eat, want to? You must be famished.”
A bit bewildered, I take a seat in the cozy window bench in the kitchen. Concentrating on the tablecloth pattern allows my anger to cool, as does guzzling half my glass of sweet tea.
She’s right, though, I am hungry. And grateful because our meal consists of bruschetta topped with goat cheese, what else, diced tomatoes, and fresh basil. The meat-free menu means I can eat it, and spares me another “why vegetarian” explanation that might hurt Jesse’s feelings. Though when I started caring about people’s feelings is beyond me.
My hostess prattles on about making natural beauty products from goats’ udders. I can’t quite place her accent. The tone is definitely southern, but the vocabulary is off. She starts out Ivy League debutante before slipping into red neck, trailer trash territory. The combination has me curious, but as long as she talks, I don’t have to, which suits me fine. My mind is free to wander to things like why my father hasn’t called, and what Silas will have me doing next.
“Autumn?”
I lick a blob of goat cheese off my thumb. “Sorry, what?”
“I was asking how you’re feeling. Silas told us what happened at the rest stop.
“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks though.”
“We’re all so relived nothing worse happened. Thank God Silas paid attention this time.”
“You mean, as opposed to last time?”
“Oh. No, no, I just meant it’s hard to think rationally sometimes when things go wrong. I’m sure I’d panic. Silas asked if we thought he’d handled the situation badly, not going for the cops. Clearly, he was more worried about you.”
“Was he? I thought he seemed remarkably … ” indifferent, irritated, uncomfortable with being thanked “ … calm. Said looking out for me was his job.” But it was a lot more than that to me.
“Did he? How formal of him.” I swear she smiles, but it happens too fast to be sure. “Guys like to appear unshakable, don’t they? In any case, I’m glad he was there.” She rubs her arms as though warding off a sudden chill. “I just hope no one else gets hurt.”
“Yeah, me too.” Guilt pokes an accusing finger in my chest. I hadn’t even thought about anyone else.
When my brow crumples, she touches my arm with her cool fingertips. “I’m sorry it happened on your trip here, and that we’re meeting under these circumstances.”
“Thanks, me too, but I have met your husband once before.” I press my throbbing temple, wishing I could fast forward what I’m about to admit next.
“You have?” Jesse sips her tea. Could she have forgotten? Surely her husband had relayed my gymnasium meltdown to his family in a full color play-by-play.
“At the Deer Creek job fair. When he offered me the job?”
“Oh, that wasn’t Quinn.” She stops so suddenly; I worry she swallowed an ice cube. “Quinn was supposed to go, but we ended up sending someone else at the last minute.”
“Gotcha. Well, he looked an awful lot like—”
“Caden, the youngest brother. He’s working for Mom this summer. Business plans, I think.” She flaps her hand. “None of that matters, now. I only wanted you to know Silas was still ready to call the cops last night. And again this morning. For you.”
Now it’s my turn to stare. “Really?” You’d think someone that concerned wouldn’t make a girl milk twenty goats.
Jesse’s head bobs. “Absolutely.” She’s antsy, even for her, and talking a hundred miles an hour. “He was furious, threatening to swear out a warrant for the guy’s arrest. Or have one sworn out … I don’t really know how that works.”
“Me neither.”
“Anyway, the thing is, if you change your mind, I hope you know it’s okay. We’ll support whatever you want to do.” Her eyes meet mine, all big and concerned, and full of niceness. “I don’t have much control over your internship here, but I know you’re a long way from home. This job won’t be the easiest, and Silas, he’s stubborn, but also completely wonderful.”
When I hesitate, she smiles so sweetly, I wonder if we’re talking about the same guy. She obviously never had him as her supervisor.
“Since you’re the only other girl on the premises, I’d love it if you’d consider me a friend.”
A friend. The idea tempts me, though I have little experience with them. Sisters don’t count, and I’d rather stick my hands in a wood chipper than attempt a spot on the Deer Creek High social ladder. I haven’t had what I would call a real girlfriend since Ginny Thompson moved away my sixth grade year.
However, no one knows me in Cowpens. Mine is a clean slate without a reputation as either principal’s daughter or devil’s spawn to muck it up. Maybe I’ve been looking at this internship thing all wrong. Why couldn’t I use my time here as an eight-week long experiment? Dedicate the entire trip to figuring some stuff out, try on a different … me. I nod. “I’d like that.”
***
Turns out the Land Rover outsid
e belongs to Jesse and Quinn. As we drive through the countryside toward town, she tells me how in 1781 there was a battle here, a turning point in claiming South Carolina from the British. People reenact the fighting the way they do Civil War battles in other places. That’s about it, really. Cowpens greater claim to fame is their proximity to the outlet malls in Gaffney. Sydney would love that.
Downtown is quaint. Sort of. There’s a train depot, old brick buildings, and parking on the street. It’s quiet, unhurried. Peaceful. Main Street boasts a dozen little restaurants, small shops, and a corner market. People open the doors for one another, smile and wave like good southern folks do.
We ease in behind a blue, jacked-up Ford truck and park. There’s a confederate flag in the window with the words “Southern Proud” below and a bumper sticker on the tailgate that asks, Does This Truck Make My Neck Look Red? Jesse checks her lipstick in the rear view mirror, though I don’t know why. She’s perfect. “We have one more stop to make, and then I’d better get you back before Silas has a heart attack.”
Let him, I think as I exit the car. I pop a big wad of bubble gum in my mouth to keep from clenching my teeth. Across the street, someone shouts a greeting. A girl, no ten girls, wearing blue cheering shorts and gold T-shirts wave and point to poster boards that read CAR WASH, and SUPPORT THE CENTURIANS!
Jesse holds up her index finger and the girls nod with cheer-enthusiasm, ponytails flying. “Come with me, Autumn. We can visit afterwards.”
Great. My newfound determination to be different is seriously threatened by the perky squad not twenty feet away. My last run in with a cheerleader ended badly. Her telling me I wasn’t enough woman to keep a man like Alex happy had me flattening her pert, little nose.
I follow my new friend into a store called Busy Bea’s. Plastered to the window is a sign announcing: The Mighty Moo Festival June 21st.