by Tracey Smith
On both of the nightstands near the bed were small glass vases, each holding a single white rose that matched the pearl-white embroidered bedspread and plush white carpet. In the sitting area was a larger bouquet of pale peach roses that accented the sheer peach curtains that were draped over the French doors leading onto the balcony, and the tiny sprigs of light blue baby’s breath in this arrangement were a near identical match to the soft blue settee and Queen Anne chairs.
The large walk-in closet had built-in mahogany shelving and a beautiful mahogany centerpiece table adorned with vibrant blood-red roses. And finally in the large bathroom a small bouquet of stunning yellow roses sat in the window where the morning sunshine flowed through, giving the appearance that the flowers were absorbing the color of the sun.
Again Maggie was overwhelmed with the abundance of color surrounding her. Her world of late had seemed so drab, full of nothing but brick and concrete, dark and dusty. As she allowed the magic of this place to envelop her, it made her past seem a distant memory, a bad dream.
Maggie skipped down the stairs feeling refreshed and alive. She quickly found her way to the large kitchen which she had located the day before. For all the traditional charm of this old plantation home the kitchen was entirely modern and comparatively minimalist.
A wall of windows ran from the high ceilings all the way to the granite countertops which wrapped around nearly the entire circumference of the kitchen, only interrupted occasionally by the stainless steel appliances. An island in the center of the kitchen held an impressive bouquet of large sunflowers throwing a splash of color into this room of glass, steel, and stone.
Maggie crossed to the commercial sized refrigerator only to find that it was entirely empty. A quick scan of the freezer revealed only a bag of gourmet coffee grinds, which in Maggie’s estimation was far more important than anything that could have been held in the fridge anyway.
She began happily brewing a pot of coffee then retrieved her fern from the table where she’d left him. She carried Fred back into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to give him some water before unlatching one of the window panels above the sink and pushing it open. The air outside was pleasantly cool, not at all the stifling heat of the previous day. She placed Fred on the ledge to soak up some morning sunlight and then turned back to her coffee.
Maggie poured herself a rich, steaming cup of coffee and headed back upstairs to her room. The cool morning air was so inviting that she decided to enjoy her coffee on the balcony overlooking the grounds.
The view from up there was amazing. Rolling hills extended as far as she could see, covered with rows upon rows of peach trees glistening with dew in the morning light. The sweet smell from the orchards drifted up lazily to the balcony where Maggie sat enjoying the peaceful morning.
She closed her eyes and slowly rocked her chair, listening to the sounds of nature: birds singing, tree frogs chirping. Suddenly a god-awful noise ripped through the air, metallic and guttural and completely out of place in this idyllic setting. The sound continued to grind louder and seemed to be getting closer until it was nearly deafening compared to the peaceful silence that had preceded it. Maggie jumped from the rocking chair and leaned over the edge of the balcony to see what on Earth could be making that horrible sound.
For all the offense the noise was causing, the visual image below completely made up for it. A tall, muscular man stood below Maggie in the backyard, completely unaware that he was being watched as he revved the motor on a large, tractor-sized lawnmower and tinkered with the engine. Maggie realized this must be the groundskeeper. She’d imagined some weathered old man. She was pleasantly surprised as she leaned against the banister sipping her coffee and ogling unobserved.
He wore a white tank top revealing broad shoulders and strong muscular arms, with faded jeans riding low on his narrow hips. A red bandana was tied around his head holding back a mess of blonde waves. His skin was tanned a light golden brown and his muscles glistened with sweat as he worked on the equipment. Maggie tried not to drool.
After several minutes he achieved whatever repairs he was after and mounted the large mower, driving it around the side of the house and out of sight. Maggie sighed disappointedly. She’d been enjoying the show. She set down her coffee and headed back into her room.
She decided that the claw foot bathtub was better saved for late evenings accompanied by glasses of wine, and instead opted for a long, leisurely shower. After her shower, she made her way into the large closet wrapped in a big plush towel. She laughed at how little space her small selection of clothing took up. Coming from Boston she didn’t have a very big summer wardrobe. With the heat down here in Georgia she decided she’d definitely need to shed a few layers from her usual outfits.
She slipped on a pair of jeans and a blousy tank top which she’d only previously worn as an undershirt. She brushed out her auburn hair and pulled it up into a messy bun. A quick glance in the full length mirror met her approval and she was off.
Her first order of business was to find her way to the small town of Sweetwater and stock up on some groceries. She ventured back out onto the balcony to retrieve the coffee mug she’d left sitting on the small wrought iron table. She glanced over the banister casually in hopes of getting one last peek at the sexy gardener. Of course he was nowhere in sight. She didn’t even hear the mower any longer. Perhaps he was already gone. A glint of sunlight caught her eye and she leaned over the banister. Craning her head around, she could see the wall of windows that enclosed the kitchen. To her horror she also saw poor Fred spilled across the brick patio with some furry creature digging through the scattered soil.
“You killed Fred!” she cried in genuine horror, then rushed out of her room flying down the stairs and racing into the kitchen where she had left her cherished plant. She reached the sink in seconds, flinging herself to the window to look out at the massacre below.
“No!” she screamed as she saw the plant completely uprooted and strewn across the bricks. The furry creature continued to root around in the mess completely undisturbed. Maggie ran for the backdoor, throwing it open and running straight into a hard, unyielding chest.
Strong hands gripped her arms and steadied her. She looked up into startling blue eyes and lost her breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked with a charming southern lilt.
“I…” Maggie couldn’t form a coherent thought. She immediately recognized him as the gardener she had been secretly watching earlier. A million things flitted through her mind at once, none of them sticking long enough for her to come up with anything intelligent to say.
“Who’s Fred?” he asked as he glanced behind her, clearly concerned and still holding onto her in a protective way as he scanned their surroundings for any sign of danger.
His question reminded her of the problem at hand. She slumped in his arms.
“Fred was my fern,” she admitted woefully. “And that thing killed him!” she accused, pointing behind him at the scraggly cat that was now watching them curiously.
He released his hold on her and turned to look in the direction she was pointing.
“Your fern?” he asked slowly, in the way you would speak to someone whose sanity was in question.
“Yes,” she confirmed, defeated. She pulled away from him and walked to the mess, dropping to her knees and trying to scrape the scattered soil back toward the mangled plant. The cat looked annoyed that she was claiming his prize.
To her surprise, a few moments later the gardener knelt beside her with a small pot in his hands. He delicately reached out and scooped up the root ball, lifting the remains of the plant and gently placing them into the pot. He continued to scoop up handfuls of soil into the pot as she watched in silent awe. He finally looked up at her, his cerulean blue eyes capturing her full and undivided attention.
“It will be touch and go for a while, but he just might make it.” He delivered the line with such grave seriousness that she couldn’t help but laugh. He c
racked a lopsided grin showing off one adorable dimple. He wiped his hand on his jeans and then extended it toward her.
“Aaron Miles,” he introduced himself. She shook his hand briefly, suddenly feeling very awkward.
“Maggie Overton,” she replied, shyly looking away, no longer able to hold his gaze. Something about the way he was watching her made her feel completely exposed. He stood and reached down offering her his hand. She took it and allowed him to help her to her feet marveling at how small her hand looked in his. She stood before him self-consciously wiping the dirt from her knees. The mangy cat chose that moment to walk between them and brush against Maggie’s leg.
“Shoo,” she hissed at the cat, still taking the attack on her plant personally.
Aaron cocked his head to the side and eyed her curiously.
“So you’ll cry over a spilled plant, but turn your back on a starvin’ cat?” he asked curiously, there was no accusation in his tone only puzzlement.
“He’s starving?” Maggie asked, suddenly full of concern. She looked down at the cat, really seeing him for the first time. He was dirty and some of his hair was matted. He did look awfully skinny.
“He’s definitely a stray,” Aaron confirmed, watching her closely. She continued to watch the cat as it weaved between her legs.
Aaron turned and walked to the backdoor carrying the re-potted plant and entering the kitchen without hesitation. The cat quickly followed after him and Maggie watched the two incredulously as they both walked right into the house as if they owned the place.
She followed after them and saw that Aaron had set the plant on the counter near the kitchen window. He then retrieved a small bowl and filled it with water from the sink. He placed the bowl of water at his feet and the cat happily began to lap it up. Then he looked at Maggie, holding her gaze for a brief moment and stealing her breath once again.
“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Ma’am,” he said with pure southern hospitality as he tipped his head and began to make his exit.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to take the cat?” Maggie asked desperately.
“Nah, looks like he’s making himself quite at home.” Aaron nodded in the direction of the cat and Maggie looked to see that he had curled up on the kitchen floor and fallen fast asleep.
“But I don’t know how to take care of a cat,” Maggie admitted. She’d never had a pet. Perhaps that was why she’d developed the admittedly odd habit of naming inanimate objects.
“They pretty much take care of themselves,” Aaron assured her. “Just give him food and water,” he instructed as he opened the back door to leave. Maggie scrambled to think of something else to say, something clever and charming.
“Alright…” was all she came up with. Aaron smiled and nodded his goodbye, then he was gone. She looked down at the mangy creature sleeping on the kitchen floor and wondered if you could give a cat a bath.
~4~
As Maggie pushed the shopping cart up and down the aisles of the small grocery store she could feel people’s eyes on her. She was an outsider in a small town and she definitely felt the part. She self-consciously rubbed her arms, which were now covered in cat scratches. Apparently, cats in fact did not like baths. Her arms were visual proof of that. She’d considered putting on a long sleeve shirt to cover the evidence but one step outside into the Georgia heat was enough to make her willing to risk a few extra stares at her bared and battered arms.
She pushed her well stocked cart to the register and smiled hesitantly at the girl behind the counter.
“Welcome to Sweetwater.” The cashier smiled genuinely as she began scanning the items from Maggie’s basket.
“Do I stick out that much?” Maggie laughed nervously.
“When you grow up here you learn the faces.” The girl shrugged. “I’m Andi,” she added with another kind smile.
“Maggie,” she introduced herself and returned the friendly smile.
“You’re stayin’ at the Devereaux place for the summer, right?” Andi asked casually.
“How’d you know?” Maggie found it odd that anybody would know where she was staying.
“I’d heard Ms. Devereaux had brought in another stray,” Andi said offhandedly and then quickly realized her words may have been offensive. “Oh… I didn’t mean…” she faltered.
“No, that’s alright. I guess that kind of is what I am.” Maggie shrugged, smiling at her reassuringly. She thought of the stray cat that had intruded on her morning, and her heart softened to him a little.
“Well, we’re glad to have you!” Andi said a little too enthusiastically, obviously still trying to make up for any slight. “So’d you run into a mountain lion or something?” she quickly changed the subject gesturing to Maggie’s scratched up arms, reminding Maggie of why she was still mad at that stupid cat.
“Let me give you some advice,” Maggie instructed her seriously. “Never try to give a cat a bath.”
Andi began laughing loudly and Maggie couldn’t help but laugh with her. An old woman in line behind Maggie cleared her throat impatiently.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” Andi asked, slipping back into her role of cashier.
“Actually, I was hoping to pick up a bottle of wine but didn’t see any.” Maggie thought of the claw foot bathtub waiting for her back at Devereaux Manor. She missed the place already. Sweetwater felt too much like the real world. She wasn’t ready for the real world.
“You can’t buy any here,” Andi replied, sounding rather disappointed herself.
“Is there a liquor store then?” Maggie asked. She heard the woman behind her scoff at her question. She glanced over her shoulder to see a conservatively dressed elderly woman standing behind her in line. Despite the summer heat she wore a high collared long sleeve blouse and long denim skirt. Her thin gray hair was pulled tightly into a severe bun on the top of her head. She openly sized Maggie up, lingering on her tattered arms, and then turned away with a look of disgust. Maggie looked back over to Andi who rolled her eyes.
“We don’t have any liquor stores,” Andi explained apologetically. “This is a dry county.”
“A what?”
“A dry county. No liquor is sold here.”
“In the entire county?!”
Andi nodded as she scanned and bagged the last of Maggie’s items.
“I didn’t realize prohibition was still in effect,” Maggie muttered as she paid for her groceries. Andi giggled. The woman behind her huffed again loudly and shifted around seeming agitated.
“And how are you today, Mrs. Bouchard?” Andi asked loudly, forcing the woman to acknowledge them.
“Well, the Lord saw fit to give me another day on this earth,” the old woman remarked dryly. Maggie wasn’t entirely sure if Mrs. Bouchard was necessarily happy about that fact.
“And all of our days are brighter for it,” Andi replied cheerfully. Her sunny smile only seemed to irritate the woman more. It was Maggie’s turn to stifle a giggle.
“It was nice to meet you, Andi.” Maggie smiled sincerely as she pushed her loaded cart away from the register. “Mrs. Bouchard.” She nodded in the old woman’s direction, the smile gone from her face in a perfect impression of her mother’s cold refined stare. She saw the woman’s eyes widen in surprise just before she turned to leave the store.
As she made the short drive back to Devereaux Manor the air conditioning went out in her car. She should’ve known better than to push Old Betty so hard. This heat was just too much for her. She rolled the windows down but wasn’t really sure if the heat outside was improved at all by the wind created when driving through it.
Just as she turned into the driveway Old Betty began to sputter and lurch. The check engine lights began to flash on the dashboard.
“Oh no! Please no!” Maggie begged as her old car began making a horrible high pitched noise. She tried to drive as gently as possible as the car wheezed its way down the driveway. Just as she rounded the fountain near the front step
s the car died with one last sputtering cough. She’d known this day was coming. Maggie leaned her head against the steering wheel in defeat.
She could feel the panic trying to creep its way in, the anxiety and the questions bubbling just below the surface, but she refused to let them take hold. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and clamped her eyes shut. She would not panic. She could handle this.
The car could be fixed. She had a roof over her head, a rather magnificent one, and a trunk full of groceries. She wasn’t stranded. She had no where she needed to go. That final thought is what did it. She raised her head and smiled to herself. She had no where she needed to go. How wonderfully liberating. No deadlines to meet, no classes to make, no papers due, no tests to study for. The only real pressing issue was the ice cream that was currently melting in her trunk, and that she could handle.
~∞~
Several hours later the microwave dinged and Maggie pulled out a hot potato with an oven mitt. As she dressed it with cheese, salt, and butter, her new cat strolled lazily into the kitchen. He really did look much better after his bath. Unfortunately Maggie couldn’t say the same for herself. Brazenly the cat jumped onto the kitchen counter.
“Don’t push it,” Maggie warned, pointing her fork at the creature. With a haughty meow he jumped back to the floor. Maggie retrieved a can of cat food that she’d purchased earlier and spilled the contents onto a small saucer placing it on the floor for the cat.
“There you go, Killer.” Maggie said as she offered the food to the cat. He rubbed against her leg purring in appreciation. She leaned down to scratch his head. Then she gathered up her small dinner and headed for the dining room.
It had felt strange cooking a simple baked potato in such a well-equipped kitchen, but spending six years living in university dorms only really prepared her to cook with a microwave.
She felt even more awkward eating her simple meal alone in the opulent dining room. Years of conditioning made her uncomfortable in such a formal room without the proper attire. Over the last several years she’d become accustomed to solitude, but there was a big difference between sitting alone in a small dorm room eating a microwaved baked potato and eating one in a dining room fit for hosting elegant dinner parties. The chandelier overhead seemed to be mocking her meager setting. She ate quickly then headed to the library.