by Kay Shostak
“I may need to go on out there,” Jackson says, looking up from his phone. “It’s a mess.”
“If you have to, you have to,” I say as I reach for another croissant roll. But my hand stops mid-air. “Wait. Now?”
Jackson has stood up. “I just said I need to go on out there.”
“But, now? You can’t wait until we finish?”
He sighs and sits down. “You’re right. I have to eat anyway. The food’s good. Where did Laney get it?”
“She ordered from a lady who sells full dinners to folks in the area. I might need to get her number, because this broccoli casserole is delicious.”
Besides my table and Missus’, there’s one with Patty, Andrew, and Patty’s mom, Gertie Samson. Gertie is all set to move into the Chessie Room after Sunday dinner. Our B&B guests left while we were at church. Patty stayed here to check them out and clean the two rooms a bit, so her mother could move into hers, and so that Missus and FM can move into the bright, airy Orange Blossom Special Room. Patty said she had to stay home from church because she’d promised her mother she’d disinfect her room personally. Gertie is a mountain of a woman, and hard to say no to. Andrew looks to have given up getting on Gertie’s good side and is just shoveling massive amounts of food into his mouth. Patty’s neck, arms, and face are blotched with red, and she’s not eating a bite. Gertie is eating and talking and gesturing at Andrew. When she’s not making observations about those seated at the other tables, like how soon Anna will show. The five tables are small and smushed together, so even without Gertie’s booming voice, we can hear each family’s conversation.
Laney’s family surrounds another table, while Susan’s fills another. Susan usually takes things in stride, but she’s as unhappy about being here as Bryan is. Her mother-in-law asked to have time today with only her children, no in-laws or even grandchildren. Yep, my eyes bugged out on that one, too. And even better, all four of her grown children agreed. Susan says the woman thought her four children could do no wrong, until they brought home the people they wanted to marry. Then they were all wrong. So wrong that not even grandchildren could make it right.
So, with just the right amount of chest pain, a lifetime of practice at applying guilt, and a table for six at her country club, she got what she wanted.
Susan and Laney’s mother is out of town at her brother’s home in South Georgia and she actually took Grant and Susie Mae with her. So that table has only Susan and her oldest daughter Leslie at it. Leslie graduates in a couple weeks and is leaving early to do a special summer session in Athens at University of Georgia. She can’t wait to get there, because, you know, no one has ever gone away to college before. (Insert roll eyes prompt here.). Susan is in mourning, and Leslie hasn’t a clue. Laney keeps jumping up from her table to see to problems in the kitchen, and Shaw chatters with himself whether she’s there or not. Jenna is texting under the table, and Angie is dozing.
As hard as it is to believe, Missus’ table is the happy one.
Chapter 16
And here we sit.
Me and Patty at the Grand Opening of the Book Barn. I’m sitting in the plaid chair. She’s sitting on the couch. We have things we should be doing, but we’re both just kind of waiting. Not sure for what.
Shannon is in the back of the florist area, arranging flowers at her work table, ignoring us. Where are all the bossy people when you need them?
Patty nods her head and repeats the only line she’s had since we opened a half-hour ago at 10 am. “Well, we did it. We opened a book store.”
That makes me get up. I really don’t want to get violent with my new partner on our first day of business. Behind the counter, I look at everything laid out: our notebook, a calculator, a lock box with change in it. A vase of drooping flowers Shannon gave us to celebrate, but the drooping tells me giving these away wasn’t a real sacrifice. “You said your mother is bringing a laptop down for us to use?” I ask.
Patty nods again and stands. “It’s an old one, but Ma says it’s good enough for what we need.” Worrying her hands together, she stammers, “Uh, what do we need it for?”
“I guess to keep a record of our books and so we can keep track of our deposits.”
“We’re going to list all of these books in it?” Patty looks around at our half-empty shelves.
“Yes, and then as people trade in books, we’ll take them out and put the new ones in. It’s important we know if we have a book someone asks for.”
“I guess that’s true.” Patty walks between two of the shelves. “Guess I didn’t really think about what it would be like running a bookstore, besides having a bunch of books to read.”
That frustrates me to the point of tapping my fingers on the counter because I have to admit I didn’t think much about it either. I thought about the books, and keeping the records, but the selling? The waiting for customers? Libraries don’t have those problems. “Probably no need for both of us to be here all the time.”
From the other side of the third bookcase, Patty says something I can’t understand.
“What? I didn’t hear you.”
She comes toward me, twisting the front of her big yellow shirt. It’s a soft yellow, and I can’t tell if it’s fading, or if it started out this color. It washes her out, and the wrinkles along the front tail from her wringing it don’t help either. Yesterday, for Mother’s Day brunch, she had on a coral top and a long black skirt, but they were also baggy on her. She’s not lost weight since I met her; I just think she likes things she can hide in.
When she reaches the counter I’m still standing behind, she stops. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
Her lips don’t move, but she’s blinking furiously.
“What’s wrong? Is it your mom? Andy?” I think for a moment. “Me? Is there something wrong with me?”
She shakes her head, takes a breath, and says, “Andy’s moving in here.”
“Here?”
“And we’re going to sell other stuff. More stuff than just books. You know, he sells a lot of stuff at the flea market. You don’t have to be here at all. You know, like… at all.”
I’m taken aback by this. “I’m your partner. Don’t you think we need to discuss this? And your mother is the landlord. When are you going to tell her about this crazy scheme?”
“It was her idea. I’m supposed to tell you this morning, and they are both getting here…” she looks at the clock on the wall. “…in a minute.”
My jaw drops. Unbelievable. “Andy and Gertie? Both of them are coming?”
She shrugs. “Well, in case you get out of control.”
The morning’s frustrations mount, and I end up yelling, “What do you mean if I ‘get out of control’!?”
Patty backs away. “See, I don’t want you to get mad like that. Andy and my mom say this is really, well, really just my business.”
Trying to keep from yelling, but not doing a very good job, I still shout. “I brought all those books! What about all my work on the store?”
“Mother says she’ll pay you for your books, and Andy points out that he did most of the work since he’s been here so much. And now he’ll be here even more.”
I pause. “Wait, you’re not just talking about the shop. Andy’s moving in here, upstairs, too? Your mother wants Andy to live here with you?” Even though I’m loud, my words are covered a bit by the front door cracking open.
“Yes, I do.” Gertie throws wide the front door and comes in carrying a laptop, several books, and her huge brown purse. “He’s a keeper, so we might as well start keeping him now. I can see that peckerwood Cross boy was too highfalutin for us. You understand, Carolina, we want you to still keep working here. But we need to entice that Andy with a little more than my daughter’s sex appeal. You understand, I’m sure.”
Through her speech, she’s made her way across the sales floor and now sits the laptop, the books, and her purse on the counter.
“Besides,”
Gertie continues. “Looks to me like you should have your hands full with that B&B of yours. It was plum crazy when I left up there a bit ago. I understand you wanting a place to escape to, and we’ll still offer you that. But with me and Andy here, we can handle things for Patty.”
“But you’ll be going home soon. And maybe Andy doesn’t want to manage a book store?”
A big laugh coming in the door announces Andy’s arrival. “Of course I want to manage a book store. It’s what I was made for.”
He comes up behind Patty and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Gertie beams at him, and Patty blushes.
Gertie says, “And you can let me know how much it’ll be for Patty to move into my room at the B&B with me.”
I haven’t felt small since I was in sixth grade and had the mumps. I couldn’t eat for a couple weeks and was, for a small window of time, waiflike, tiny, fragile. But standing across from these three, I’m like a soft, new leaf in the wind. Blowing this way and that, no more than a puff from a dandelion. Small, delicate, tiny.
Even my voice has become light. “Patty is moving back to the B&B?”
Gertie slams her hands down on the counter, and I jump.
“Of course!” she shouts. “No hanky-panky until after the wedding. Lucky they only have a few weeks to wait, right?”
Andy puts his arm around Patty and grins. Patty gazes up at him, and Gertie continues to beam at them both. She addresses me, “And they don’t have to get married like your boy and Missus’s girl did. These are good kids, here.”
“And just like that, I’m out of partnership with Patty. And Will is being gossiped about by Gertie Samson. Gertie Samson, of all people.”
I said I was going next door to get a coffee at MoonShots, but once I was on the sidewalk, I turned the other way. Ruby’s feels more like what I need. So here I sit on one of the stools at the back, talking to Libby as she comes and goes, and to Ruby as she cleans up the morning’s muffin pans.
“Gertie Samson sounds like her old man,” Ruby says from over her sink full of hot, sudsy water. “He always got what he wanted. Some folks even say when he had to leave town, it wasn’t due to the sheriff making him, it was ‘cause he was done with Chancey and ready for greener pastures.”
Libby leans on the counter beside me. “I sure do hate to see you losing your dream of running a bookstore.”
I stir a spoon around in my coffee mug. “I don’t know if it was really my dream. Just something to do. And, besides, I don’t think I was very good at it.”
Ruby pulls the plug from the bottom of the sink. She stands up with her hip leaning against the sink and her arms folded. “Did you hear that Moon place was open yesterday morning? Sunday?”
I nod. “Yeah, she wanted Savannah to work.”
Libby tsks. “That’s not going to go over well.”
Ruby twists her mouth and then speaks up. “She wants to order enough muffins from me to send to every church in town next Sunday.”
Libby and I match with our widened eyes as the word “What?” explodes from our mouths.
“Yep, called me at home last night. Said she figures folks’ convictions will last right up until they get free muffins.”
Chapter 17
Right there in the front porch rocker where our ghost once sat is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Honestly? His appearance is more shocking than a ghost.
He waved as I crossed the railroad tracks, and by time I get to the porch steps, he’s standing and waiting. “Hello, I’m Diego Moon. I need to rent a room. There doesn’t seem to be any way to register online.”
“Oh, Moon! You must be Jordan’s husband.” I shake his hand and turn to open the front door. “I hope you weren’t too warm out here. Our front door is always unlocked.”
“Unlocked?” He echoes incredulously as he picks up his black suitcase from the floor. He then steps over to a hanging bag draped over the porch railing and lifts it, too. “Is that safe?”
When I turn to look at him, I get a whiff of his cologne. He smells better than the Macy’s perfume counter at the mall. I smirk. “Safe? If only a locked door would keep these people out.” When he stalls, like he might turn around, I add, “Of course it’s safe. It’s Chancey.”
He follows me through the door and into the living room. Thank goodness the room we have open is the Southern Crescent room—the manliest of our rooms. The walls are a rich green, as close to the color of the famous Southern Crescent train as possible. We decided this room should be elegant, as well as comfortable, like its namesake.
As we walk past the dining room and down the hall of the B&B, I give him the spiel for the room. “When the luxury railroad liner, the Southern Crescent, cut from New York to New Orleans in an unprecedented forty hours in the late 1800’s, it was the first vestibule train riding the rails in the Southern states. Vestibule meant the cars were connected, and passengers didn’t have to pass outside going from car to car.” I push open the door, and he steps inside.
“The color of the train cars, and our walls, was picked out personally by the president of Southern Railway in the 1920’s, Fairfax Harrison. Mr. Harrison like the two shades of green he saw on the locomotives on a trip to England, so he borrowed it. And here’s one last bit of train trivia: the sleeping cars were named for seven distinguished sons of the South from the seven states the train traveled through.”
When I finish, I take a breath, and darn it. He has the same magic power as his wife, except it’s not Ruby’s Café. It’s my house he’s making look shabby. The dark plantation shutters no longer look like rich, heavy wood. They look like the spray-painted plastic they are. The old wood floor doesn’t shine. It has all the sheen of a dirty paper bag. The wingback chair rescued from Missus’ attic isn’t a family heirloom or antique; it’s one stop short of Goodwill. Mr. Moon smells better than the air freshener sitting on the desk beside me. Turning towards him, I push the 99 cent freshener off the desk’s surface and into the wicker garbage can behind me.
He is still holding both of his bags and appears a bit stunned.
“Mr. Moon, there are hotels out by the interstate. They’re probably not up to your usual standards, but, well, they’re not, not this,” I say with a wave of my hand.
“No, I’m sure this will be fine. Your home is lovely.”
What a nice man, he doesn’t sound panicked at all.
Well, not much.
He puts down his bags and reaches for his wallet. “How much is the room? Can I reserve it for at least a week?”
I wave his money away. “Oh, no, you can pay when you leave.”
“But don’t you want to put my card on your books?”
Now he’s looking at me, and we’re standing close. His hair is so black, it’s got blue streaks in it, like Superman’s hair in the comic books. His teeth sparkle. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating. They sparkle. I mentioned how good he smells, didn’t I?
All I can do is loll my head back and forth, while I stare at him and sniff.
“Madam?”
I shake myself out of the trance. “Oh, no, we don’t need your card. I’ll let you get settled. My name is Carolina. Just holler if you need anything.” Shutting the door behind me, I wince. “Just holler?” I said, “Just holler,” to the most beautiful man alive.
“Carolina, I’m holding you completely responsible for this,” Missus says to my ‘hello’ when I make the mistake of answering the house phone on the living room end table.
I say, “Of course you are,” and hang up. Then I run upstairs, yelling as I go.
“Okay, Savannah, why are you not at school?” As I was kicking myself for saying “just holler” to Mr. Moon, I came into the living room to find not only the phone ringing, but also Savannah scurrying up the stairs, still in the camisole and pajama pants she sleeps in.
I catch up to her in the upstairs hallway. She has a plate in one hand, and she’s running a finger from the other hand in the peanut butter on her toast and licking it. And shrugg
ing. There’s lots of shrugging. “Told you. It’s just reviews.”
“And the reviews are just for the students making A’s? Because excusing everyone else would be the only way you and your ‘Not A’ grades would be excused.”
“Mom. I’ll go tomorrow. I can get more done here studying than in class.”
“Oh, so you’ve been studying?”
When we hear a car pull in the driveway, we both look toward the front the window. We can’t see the car from upstairs, and it doesn’t stay long enough for me to go downstairs to see who it is. “Wonder who that is that saw my van here and decided to leave?”
All I get is another shrug and more sucking of peanut butter off her finger. So I yell some more, “I swear, I’d vote for any politician that would make arranged marriages legal.”
“Can I go study?” She turns around and heads to the stairs to her room.
“You know I’ll know in a matter of minutes who that was just here. One call to whichever of my friends is volunteering at the front desk of the high school.”
“Whatever.”
I flinch when I even think someone is accusing me of something. How does she stay so calm when she’s caught red-handed?
And just who is my local congressman, anyway?
In my bedroom, I unplug my phone where it spends most of its time charging (and not being answered), and dial Laney. “You at the school this morning?”
“Naw, it’s reviews. Nobody goes to school on review day. Well, except the A students. They don’t know better.”