She always knew just what to say to make me feel better.
I stared down at the letter I held in my lap, wishing she was here now, wishing she could tell me what to do.
The paper, worn and soft from carrying it around in my pocket, fluttered in the night breeze. This would be the last letter. After three years in the war, my best friend was coming home tomorrow.
Jake was coming home.
I took a deep breath and finally gave voice to the secret I held closest to my heart, the words drifting into the growing darkness. “I’ve fallen in love, Momma.”
I couldn’t say exactly when it happened during these letter writing years, but the first time I fell in love with Jake was the summer he moved into the old Cooper place across the cove. Jake was just a boy of thirteen, and I was all of ten years old. And Momma was still with us.
My sisters and I grew up living at Piney Cove Marina, passed down three generations on my daddy’s side. But Daddy also had a calling early on to be a preacher and took over the care and spiritual feeding of the Harvest Bay Baptist flock when we were just little girls. It often fell to Momma to run the family business when Daddy was doing the Lord’s work.
So Aster, Lily and I learned the marina business inside and out, and the value of a good day’s labor. It never felt like work, though. At least not to me. Growing up outside in the sunshine on the banks of the Tennessee was nothing less than a blessing.
After Jake moved in across the cove it didn’t take long for him to discover he was always more than welcome to come over and hang out with the other boys and fishermen who frequented the place. I’ve often thought a rod, reel and the purr of an outboard are like a siren song to teenaged boys.
In my case, the lure of the open water came right on the heels of learning to walk.
Being the middle child, I was always looking for a way to define myself, to stand apart from my sisters.
Aster, the oldest, sturdy and practical like the flower she was named for, has always been a more common sense kinda gal. Momma and Daddy knew they could always count on her to be responsible when they weren’t around.
And Lily, the youngest, has always been the artist. Gentle and soft, content to do what is expected of her, she lives for those quiet moments when she can be alone and create.
I too have my practical side—I know my way around a boat engine better than most—and a creative side—I enjoy making up stories whenever I’m alone out on the water or watching the world from my rock ledge. But it was in my love of the water, of swimming, fishing, sailing, any adventure really, that I found my way to be different.
Jake overheard Daddy call me Rosebud one day and took it upon himself to start calling me Bud, just to get under my tomboy skin. The summer I turned twelve, I put an end to his teasing when I used his fishing boat as a launching pad for an early July 4th fireworks show and inadvertently caused it to sink about twenty feet off shore.
Of course, this led to all manner of pranks between us which I chose to interpret as a sort of pre-teen mating ritual, which came to an abrupt halt when he discovered Aster had bloomed right beneath his nose. With the simple act of asking my sister on a date, Jake had ripped my heart out from my prepubescent chest and stomped on it.
I never let on, though. In fact, that was the year I seriously thought about joining the drama club, I’d developed such a talent for hiding my true feelings.
Jake and Aster only dated that one summer, but it was enough for me to decide he’d never look at me as more than just a little girl at best, or maybe worse, his kid sister.
The tomboy tendencies I’d thought helped define me had only kept me hidden.
The next morning, thoughts of Jake’s imminent arrival firmly placed in a box and labeled Do Not Open, I tip-toed into the kitchen and snagged a fresh slippery peach wedge from the heaping bowl next to Aster.
“Stop that!” Aster slapped at my hand as I popped the fruit into my mouth. “Those are for tonight’s cobbler.”
I wished I was like those other girls who couldn’t eat a bite when they were anxious about something. Not me. I had a healthy appetite come rain or shine. Determined not to let on just how nervous I was, I shrugged as I licked peach juice from my fingers and reached for the coffee. “I thought you were making blueberry cobbler?”
“I am.” She brushed hair from her face with a flour-smudged wrist. “I figured I’d make both since Mrs. Branson practically invited the whole town for the welcome home party tonight.”
Nonchalant was not something I did well. And I knew it. I stuffed my free hand into my back pocket to keep the tremble from giving me away and rubbed my finger over Jake’s last letter. I’d been carrying the darned thing around like some sort of talisman or good luck charm, I don’t know which. That single page telling me my true love was coming home at long last had the power to calm me and practically make me sick with nerves at the same time.
A high-pitched screech, followed by excited chatter, filtered in through the open window above the sink where we stood. Aster, hands deep in a ball of dough, shot me a worried look as I pulled back the lace curtain to peer outside.
The activity across the cove in Jake’s backyard resembled the frenzy of ants on a broken hill. Mrs. Branson had recruited a small army of neighbors and church ladies to set up for the party. Some of whom were at this moment scrambling to right a fallen ladder under poor Mr. Thompson, recognizable by his unnaturally white hair and protruding belly, as he dangled from the lower limb of a large sugar maple.
As we watched, Daddy came to the rescue, hefting the ladder under Mr. Thompson’s flailing legs, then kindly taking over the job of stringing tiny lights in the tree.
Crisis averted, Aster turned back to her cobbler, but I sipped my coffee and continued to study the chaos across the water. How was I going to pull it off? How was I going to look Jake in the eye when he came home tonight and not give away my feelings?
It wasn’t that I didn’t ever want him to know I was in love with him. But neither one of us had ever written those three little words to each other. Sometimes, when he seemed especially homesick, it felt like he came close, but I always managed to talk myself out of believing there was anything more than just friendship on those pages.
Turns out, the walls built by the tender heart of a twelve-year-old were made of pretty sturdy stuff.
“Everything’s going to turn out just fine, you’ll see.” Aster slid the heavy ceramic dish full of peaches into the oven and shut the door.
I turned my back to the window and smiled before taking another sip of coffee. “I’m sure it will. Mrs. Branson wouldn’t allow anything to be less than perfect for her one and only son.”
Aster made a face as she turned back to the sink and began washing blueberries. “I’m not talking about the party, that’s a given.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “I’m talking about you.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. Was I really that transparent? I grabbed my tote off the back of the kitchen chair and began sorting through it, making sure a fresh pad of paper and my favorite pen were inside.
Leave it to Aster to get right down to business. Well, I wasn’t about to have this conversation. Voicing my feelings alone in the dark to memories of Momma was one thing. I wasn’t going to risk admitting anything to anyone in the light of day—not until after I’d seen Jake.
And after that, depending, maybe never.
“Yep, everything I need is right here.” I patted the sack as I slung it over my shoulder. “I’m sure you’re right. The article will turn out just fine. You know how nervous I get before each deadline.”
Her words chased me out the back door as I headed for Jake’s place. “Go ahead. Pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. But anyone with two eyes and a lick of sense knows you’re in love with Jake Branson.”
The little smile I allowed myself at Aster’s expense—she hated being ignored—faded with each step I took along the worn dirt path leading to Jake’s. It was a short cut forged over many years of circling around the deep cove between my house and his, and the street he lived on which led directly into town.
Not only did it work as a quick route for the local boys to get to our marina on foot, but when we were old enough, my sisters and I used it for the well-earned trip to the general store for ice-cream or maybe a matinee.
That it ran right alongside his place and offered the occasional chance to see what he was up to was a bonus. I’d offer every chance I got to run into town for Momma, hoping to catch another glance of Jake.
Pathetic.
Sometime during my early years of high school Jake had started working summers at the marina. That’s when we’d slipped into an easy friendship over our mutual love of all things water related. But then, as I’d started my junior year of high school, Jake joined the reserves and was deployed to Afghanistan.
The only thing worse in my young life was when we’d lost Momma the year before.
One thing I’d learned about myself during those years of letter writing was that I did, in fact, have a way with words. So I joined the yearbook club and the high school paper and decided to study journalism when I entered community college. Mr. Smythe had even given me a part-time job covering local human interest events for the Harvest Bay Herald.
Today my assignment was to cover the story of a local boy returning home from war.
I shifted my tote to the other shoulder and sighed. I’d like nothing better than to turn around and spend the day hiding on my favorite perch over the river until Jake got home. If what Aster said was true, about everybody being able to see the truth of my feelings for Jake, how was I ever going to make it through today?
“Momma, I wish you were here.”
I took a deep breath and stepped from the woods into the fray around me. Better to face my problems head on.
“Oh, there you are, Rosie.” Mrs. Branson marched up to me with a basket full of party lights and gave my wrist a squeeze. “Can you believe it? My baby’s coming home.”
Before I could utter a word of response, she shoved the basket into my hands. “Be a dear and take these down to your daddy. He’s draping them around the dock for me.”
She turned away, never doubting for a minute I’d do as she’d asked. Her normally perfect hair looked a little frazzled, as did the blouse pulled out from one side of her lemon yellow capris. Despite her usual bossy demeanor, I couldn’t help sympathize with her great need to make every last detail perfect for Jake’s homecoming.
Half way across the lawn I spotted Lily sitting at the large wooden picnic table working diligently on a flower arrangement, swatches of colorful summer blooms scattered all around her. She caught my eye and waved.
Sidestepping a stack of bright green and white, plastic chairs no doubt meant to encourage party goers to sit outside and admire all the lights, I made my way down the walk to the dock. “Hi Daddy.”
“Hey there, Rosie girl. How’s the article coming along? Any good quotes?” Daddy swept off the ocean blue ball cap he wore, revealing a wild crop of brown curls dusted with gray at the temples, and wiped an arm across his brow before settling the cap back in place. “Thanks,” he said, taking the basket from my hand.
“No, I haven’t started interviewing anyone just yet.” I settled onto the sun-warmed wooden planks next to him. “I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Well.” He scratched his chin. “I’d have to say that I always knew Jake Branson would make us proud. That boy has a good head on his shoulders. A real asset to the community.” He chuckled. “I guess that should read man, instead of boy.”
I grabbed my pad and scribbled his comments, then nibbled at the eraser. “Thanks, but what I meant was, I want to ask you something.”
Daddy sat back and gave me his full attention, a virtue that made him all the more loved by his flock. “Go ahead, Sugar, what’s on your mind?”
The words rushed out before I was even aware of what my question was. “How did you know you were in love with Momma?”
A startled look came over his face, but he quickly covered with a smile as he gazed out over the water. “Now that’s a fine question, Rosie. A fine question. I suppose I could say it was the first time I laid eyes on her, but I’m not exactly sure when that was. We grew up in town together, and it seems like she was always a part of my world.”
Memories clouded up behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, pulled another string of lights from the basket and began to wrap them around a post. Then his hands stilled. “Or I guess I could say it was the night of our senior prom, when she came out of her room to stand at the top of the stairs, looking down at me like a pure angel from heaven. Her blond hair swept up in curls and her cheeks the same pale pink of her dress.”
I closed my eyes, picturing the way Momma must have looked at that young age.
“But to tell the truth,” he bent back to his task, “I’d have to say I knew I was in love the day she put salamanders in my bait can.”
My eyes flew open at his words, and he laughed. “Yep. Your momma was some kinda girl all right. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and mischief was never far away.” He winked at me. “Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.”
He took off his hat again and ran a hand through his hair as he warmed up to the story. “Apparently she felt the need to make me pay for some slight or another. She knew my habit of fishing early on Saturday mornings, so she talked one of her girlfriends into helping her round up some of those little lizards that live in the rocks. They snuck over to the marina while I was getting my gear together, dumped out my worms and replaced them with about a dozen or so of those poor frightened critters.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “I can still remember Hank, my fishing buddy’s scream when I opened that can, and all those salamanders went every which way. Hank jumped up and fell overboard trying to shake them off.”
Daddy paused to look back out over the water. “I stood there in that boat, Hank flailing about in the water, and watched your momma and her friend on the riverbank practically rolling with laughter.” Daddy looked me in the eye. “I knew right then I was gonna marry that girl one day.”
This was a different side of Momma than I’d ever heard of before. I tried to picture the proper pastor’s wife I knew, the consummate southern lady I loved, picking up lizards and shoving them into a can. It couldn’t be done.
“You’re teasing. Momma never told us any stories like that.”
Daddy handed the other end of a string of lights to me, and we began working together. “Well now, she sure didn’t need to go planting ideas in you girls’ heads. Especially you, Rosie. You were never at a loss for making your own kind of mischief.” He laughed. “I still remember the look on Jake’s face as he stood right here on this dock and watched his old fishing boat sink to the bottom of the cove under a blaze of fireworks.”
I bent to hide the blush I felt rising to my face.
He reached out to cup my cheek. “You’re just like her, you know. Even more than your sisters.”
“I always thought Aster—”
He chucked his knuckle under my chin. “Aster was born knowing what she wanted in life, same with Lily. Your momma had to fuss and fight her way into her skin. Just like you.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you, Daddy.”
He rubbed his big hands across my back. “You’re gonna be all right, Rosebud. You wait and see.” He pulled away to look me in the eye. “I have it on good authority.”
The day sped by in a blur of activity, but I had a good head start on my article for the paper. Everyone had been more than ready to share stories about Jake, th
ough it was a miracle I could concentrate at all. By midday all the decorating was done and the food prepared. I’d had just enough time to shower and change and get back to the Branson’s before Jake was due to arrive.
Everyone’s nervous anticipation was sucking all the air from the room. Jake had instructed that he didn’t want one of those public airport scenes, so he intended to take the bus from Knoxville to Oakridge and have his daddy pick him up at the station and bring him home. Each time a car drove by, Mrs. Branson’s eyes would tear up.
I slipped out the back door, intending to wait out by the water’s edge where I could breathe. Before I realized where my feet were taking me, I had followed the worn dirt path leading from Jake’s house back to mine. I stood on our boat dock staring up at my rock ledge.
What was I doing?
Sudden laughter and music drifted across the cove. Jake must have finally arrived home. Sooner or later someone would wonder where I was, why I wasn’t there welcoming him alongside everyone else.
For some reason, the idea, the sanctuary of climbing out onto my favorite spot above the river chafed at me. I couldn’t hide from this any longer. I had to face him. I had to risk him seeing the love I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep from my eyes.
Even if he didn’t love me back.
Jake was my best friend. If that was all I would ever have, it would have to be enough.
My thoughts drifted with the current back to the last conversation Momma and I had sitting high above the river. The last time she’d found the strength to watch the sunset with me. And to my everlasting shame, how I’d asked her if she’d felt cheated of her sunset promise.
“I thought you were supposed to have a lifetime of love and happiness,” I’d said.
Her fragile hand gripped mine and brought it to her lips where she placed a fierce kiss on the back of it. “Rosie, God promised me a lifetime of love and happiness, and He made good on that promise.” She patted my hand. “Yes, He did. A lifetime’s worth.”
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