by MK Schiller
“He gets forgetful sometimes,” Grandma Fern said. “He’s having a bad spell right now.”
“Let’s get you back in the house, Grandpa,” Evan said, walking him back.
The interior of the house matched the outside. Lace doilies lined tables, checkered curtains graced the windows and porcelain knick-knacks sat on shelves. It was every grandma’s house and I instantly felt at home. But it was the smell of butter and frying that lulled me into a state of bliss I’d never known.
“I hope this is righty-tidy for you, Billie,” Grandma Fern said as she opened the door to the bedroom.
“It’s perfect.”
She walked over the windowsill. “There is a window air conditioner but sometimes it stalls out.” She turned to Evan. “You know your grandpa—too stubborn to call a repairman and too stingy to buy me a new one.”
“Don’t worry, Gram. This is fine for us,” Evan said.
She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Oh no, dear, you’re sleeping on the couch.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t giggle at Evan’s gaping mouth. “Seriously, Gram?”
“Honey, you don’t share a bed in this house unless you share some vows first.”
“But…but I’m twenty-eight,” he stammered.
“And old enough to know you shouldn’t rob a sweet girl of her virtue. Now come and eat.”
And eat we did. There were things I’d never eaten before, like fried okra. Things I’d never want to eat again, like pickled herring. Things I wanted to eat every day after that, like sweet potato pie.
Somehow, we’d gotten split up. I sat on the opposite side of the room with his grandfather. We talked for a while and played checkers, the bigger hound dog, Rufus, curled on the floor beside us. My pride stung a little that Grandpa Joe beat me each time. I glanced at Evan, who sat with his grandmother having what appeared to be a very deep conversation. There were a sea of people between us—the lively sounds of chatter and kids playing was oddly relaxing. I caught him looking over at me too, grinning softly.
Evan took out his phone and pointed to it. My phone buzzed a second later with a new WhatsApp message.
Evan: My grandpa’s not doing so well
Billie: I don’t know—he’s kicking my ass at checkers
Evan: He used to play chess. He doesn’t know who I am.
Billie: He has dementia. It’s not because you haven’t been around.
Evan: How do you know that?
Billie: I know someone who has it. Plus, your grandma told me.
“Are you cheating?” Grandpa Joe asked. “Is someone giving you the moves?”
“Oh no, sir. And if they were, I wouldn’t take their advice, because you keep winning. I’m just texting your grandson.”
I placed my phone next to me, noticing his hands. “Your hands are cut.” They were tiny cuts, not very discernible or dangerous, but I noticed them.
He held his hands palm up, a twinkle in his eyes. “From the roses. I can still work the roses. Did you see them?”
“They’re lovely, but you should wear gloves.”
“That’s what my wife says.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
“I cultivated a hybrid rose once.”
I nodded with the change of subject. My conversations with Mrs. Garcia weren’t much different. “What did you name it?”
His face took on a childish glee that had me matching his expression. “Fern.”
Aww, he named it for his wife.
“It was a fiery orange color, but it didn’t do so well. You shouldn’t name a rose after another plant…people got confused.”
“I’m sure it was as beautiful as the woman it was named for.”
“Close, but there is no comparison. The roses remind me of her. Do you know why?”
“Because of their beauty.”
“That’s a good guess and she is a beauty, but no.”
“Because of their scent?”
He shook his head.
“Because they are complicated and have layers.”
He patted my hand, a gesture of warmth with a hint of annoyance. “Young lady, I would be happy to tell you, except you seem to enjoy guessing.”
“Please tell me.”
“The thorns. Do you understand?”
“Not really. Is that a compliment?”
“Oh yes, dear. You see, I’m a stubborn man and if there’s one thing a man like me needs, it’s a thorn in his side. She’s always been that for me.”
His explanation didn’t alleviate my confusion. Thankfully, he continued on, “She pushed me forward when I lost my confidence. She held me back when I went too far. Mostly she just walked beside me when I needed a friend. So, young lady, that’s why I tend to the roses with my bare hands. It lets me feel the thorns. It helps me to remember her.” He held up his hands again. I was wrong. He hadn’t changed the subject.
“That’s very sweet.”
“Sweet nothing, it’s the truth. Every stubborn man needs a woman who’s prepared to be a thorn.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the room. “Some more than others.”
My phone buzzed again with a message from Evan. He was curious what had his grandpa talking up a storm. I responded that his grandfather was giving me valuable life advice that I planned to heed.
“Can you get a message to my grandson for me?”
I smiled at him. “Sure.”
“Tell Owen I say hello.”
My smiled tightened. “Will do.”
Billie: He says hi
Evan: You’re a bad liar
Billie: You can tell I’m lying in a text message?
Evan: I can see it in your face all the way from here
Billie: Did you want something? Cause it’s my move and this is rude.
Evan: You gonna be okay for a few hours? I have to run out
Billie: Yeah fine. I’m so full I can’t move. I so want to unbutton my jeans right now
Evan: What a coincidence—I SO want to unbutton your jeans too
Billie: Quit turning me on
Evan: Gram says you’re too skinny. She thinks you caught a touch of The Anorexia that’s been going around
I laughed because I for sure did not have ‘The Anorexia’—not even a touch of it.
Billie: Did she not see how much food I put away?
Evan: Yeah, now she wonders if you got The Bulimia. I told her not to worry—that you hide your weight well
I shifted my head in his direction, giving him my best non-verbal fuck you.
Billie: You’re lucky you’re across the room cause I’d SO slap you right now
Evan: Quit turning me on
Evan was gone for a long time. Enough time that Grandma Fern and I scoured every photo album she owned, which was quite a collection. And each page came complete with a story. I devoured all of them, happy that she shared her memories, although she skimmed over anything about Evan’s aunt.
It was late when he snuck into the bedroom but I was still awake, rummaging through my backpack.
“Are you looking for your virtue, Price? Because I’m sure you lost that before I met you.”
I stuck my tongue out. “Funny. My cell phone, actually.”
“Let’s look for it tomorrow.” He picked up the backpack and placed it on the dresser.
“You shouldn’t be in here. I don’t want to disrespect your grandmother.”
“I want to lie next to you, angel. I’ll get out before first light.”
How could I argue with that? We lay entangled in each other. A nice breeze came through the window, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle. He played with my hair.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
“Not as bad as I thought. Not great either.”
“Talk to me about it.”
“I realize it’s stupid and selfish, but I sort of hoped things wouldn’t have changed this much. That maybe the world would have waited for me…to catch up. Th
at’s crazy, huh?”
I lifted my head and kissed him. “It’s not.”
“I’m glad I’m here.” He pulled me against his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too. How did it go? You went to see your Aunt Lydia, right?”
“All of them. It went good.”
“How are you going to bring them all back together, Evan?”
“Taken care of—I invited them to the barbeque tomorrow. My uncle declined but that’s understandable. Lydia and her daughter are coming though.”
“How is that going to take care of it?”
Evan laughed. “Baby, this is the south. You don’t agree to break bread with someone unless you’re ready to move on.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I tried not to stare at the sight of Evan, shirtless and sweaty with a tool belt around his snug jeans and a Stetson on his head. I couldn’t. I gave in to temptation and eye-fucked him for a minute. He leaned on the banister, his foot resting on the second step. He’d gotten a lot of sun and his skin glowed a golden brown hue.
“Need help, Grandpa?”
“I can still walk, David,” Grandpa Joe said. Evan helped him anyway. Once he was in the house, Evan turned in my direction.
“Hey, you,” I greeted.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Where were you?”
“Didn’t you get my text?”
“I still can’t find my phone.”
“Grandpa was right. The fence needed mending.” He grinned, throwing a hammer high and catching it.
“You’ve been doing that all day?”
“Gramps and me. Me fixing it and Grandpa handing me things I didn’t need. We had a good talk, even if he didn’t remember me.”
“I’m glad you spent time with him.” I put down the bowl with the potato peelings and stood. His fingers tightened around the banister as his gaze travelled down my body.
“Did you strut your way straight out my adolescent wet dreams?”
I stared down at the cut-off jeans, heavily frayed at the edges, and pink tank top. A straw cowgirl hat sat on my head. It was too hot to wear too much. His gaze paused at my feet, clad in pink cowboy boots.
“One of your cousins lent this to me.” I’d only packed jeans, per Evan’s instructions. The sweet girl had taken pity on me.
“Think she’ll let you keep it?”
“The hat’s too much, right?” I started to remove it.
“Don’t take off a stitch…not one stitch. Last thing I need is you stripteasing me.”
I laughed, making a show of bending down to retrieve the bowl. “All righty.”
He let out a low whistle, shaking his head when I turned around, before uncapping his water bottle, drinking it all down in a few gulps. He wiped his mouth—simple, distract-ilicious gestures. “It’s cruel to hook a man with such fine bait when you don’t plan to fish with him, Price.”
“I’ll behave.” I gave myself a mental slap for turning him on. Unfortunately, the mental slap was on my ass, which only turned me on.
“Sorry I left you all day,” he said.
“It’s okay. I had fun here.”
“Oh yeah? What did you do?”
“Besides the potatoes, I snapped beans and made a pie.”
He licked his bottom lip. “I can’t wait to taste your pie, Billie Marie.”
I blushed, patting his chest. “Now you’re baiting me. Grab yourself a cold shower, cowboy. People are going to be here soon.”
He put his shirt on. It stuck to his back. “Let’s find your phone first.”
We walked into the house where Grandma Fern and Evan’s great aunt Dorothy were making a vat of potato salad. Judging from the size, there were going to be a lot of people here.
“Aunt Dorothy, you came out,” Evan said, although he wasn’t smiling. “It’s nice to see you.”
I’d talked to the woman briefly. She had a sour expression that she carried in her face even when she smiled.
“Evan, I see the accent stuck.”
“I never tried to lose it.”
“Do you know what you’ve put your grandma through? Do you even care, or you too deep into this heathen lifestyle of yours to consider anyone else?”
What the hell is she doing?
“That’s enough, Dorothy. Evan’s here and that’s more than enough,” Grandma Fern said, her voice sterner than I’d ever heard.
“Yes, ma’am, I know what I did and I do care, but with all due respect, that’s between me and my grandparents,” he answered.
“It’s awfully hot in here,” Grandma Fern said, fanning herself. No doubt she was trying to dissipate the growing tensions.
“Sure is. I’ll adjust the ceiling fans for you, Grandma.”
Aunt Dorothy took a step forward. “I pray for your soul, young man.”
“Ah…thank you. I’ll pray for yours too.”
She looked better when she was shocked—less sour.
“Just remember, hell is a lot hotter than Alabama.”
“I don’t know,” Grandma Fern mumbled. “Bet the devil has central air.”
Evan’s face broke out into a laugh. Aunt Dorothy stumbled her way to the backyard.
Grandma Fern stood on her tiptoes to give Evan a hug, but he bent down so she wouldn’t have to. “Don’t pay attention to her, son. She can be mean sometimes, but bless her heart, she’s had too much bible—or bourbon. Hard to tell these days.”
“Thanks, Grandma.”
“It’s nothing but, sweetheart, you sure do smell something sinful though. Please go clean up.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m just going to help Billie find her phone first.” He turned toward me. “Where was the last place you had it?”
His grandma tsked at him. “Evan, I don’t even own a cell phone and even I know that’s a stupid question.”
He shook his head. “Yep, sure is.” He pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling you.”
“No, I’ll find it. Don’t do that.”
His thumb hovered on the ‘Call’ key. I ran toward him.
“Chocolate,” I screamed.
“What?”
“Chocolate, Evan!”
“Relax, Price, I’ll get you some chocolate. Let’s find your phone first.”
Damn…he forgot our safe word.
I did a mad dash as the sounds of Candy Shop by 50 Cent boomed through the room. Evan’s jaw dropped. Aunt Dorothy came in from the patio just in time to gasp. Grandma Fern commented that it sounded like an interesting song. All that happened in the forty-eight seconds it took me to locate my phone under a pile of magazines in the living room.
I looked at Evan, horrified and embarrassed. “I’m going upstairs.”
His laughter echoed in the stairway as he followed behind me.
“My ringtone is Candy Shop?” he asked when we’d reached the top.
“Because you took me to the Candy Shop the day I moved in.”
“Ah, that totally makes sense.”
“It does?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Hell no.”
“That really sucked,” I said, going into the guest room. “What’s your grandma going to think?” I gasped. “And your Aunt Dorothy.”
He pushed me against the wall. “She probably thinks it’s really a song about a candy shop. And I don’t give a damn what Aunt Dorothy thinks. Don’t worry yourself.”
I facepalmed myself. “I’ll try.”
He lifted my chin. “If you feel real bad, I don’t mind cutting a switch and smacking that cute ass of yours.”
“You should take a shower.”
“Yeah, I’m ripe.” He arched an eyebrow. “You wanna join me?”
“No.” Yes. “You’re making it hard for me to be good.”
“And you’re making me hard.”
I brushed my lips against his. He kissed me back with more force. When we broke apart, he bent down close to my ear. “It’s been tor
ture keeping my hands to myself these last few days. I’m aiming to make up for that on our next stop.” He stepped back, took off his hat, and bowed slightly. “Ma’am.”
* * * *
I didn’t believe it could be that simple but Evan was right. The awkward moment when Lydia first arrived dissipated as soon as Evan hugged her.
We ate the best barbeque I ever had. When it turned dark, someone built a bonfire. I sat next to Evan in a lawn chair, enjoying its warmth. He strummed a guitar, his foot tapping against mine.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“It’s mine. Gram kept this one. My first one.”
“Hey, Evan, why don’t you play us something?” a cousin of his said. He politely refused, but more people asked.
“You should play.”
“Any requests, Billie Marie?”
“There’s only one song I can think of when I think of Alabama.”
He straightened up in his seat. “If you think I’d do something as clichéd as sing Sweet Home Alabama just because we’re in Alabama…” He grinned, kissing me on the cheek. “Then honey, you would be right.”
His fingers struck the strings, starting up the familiar riff.
“Y’all know what song this is?” he yelled.
Everyone answered in the affirmative, our voices booming.
“Then sing it.”
And we did.
Chapter Thirty
I walked into the huge house in Orange Beach. I blinked rapidly, thinking this was a mirage. The house was tastefully decorated with marble floors and a floating fireplace in the living room.
“You like it?” Evan asked, coming up behind me.
“Like it?” I pointed to the wall of windows across the back wall. “Do you see this? The ocean is the backyard.”
“It’s actually the Gulf.”
“Amazing.” I took in the white sands, tranquil blue waters and setting sun.
He placed an arm against my waist. I leaned back, loving the way his chest felt. His heart was beating loudly even though his voice sounded calm. As much as I enjoyed staring at the beach, it was looking at Evan looking at the beach that left me completely speechless. He looked younger, his smile fuller, his eyes brighter.