Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  I sat down on the edge of my queen-sized bed, running my hands over one of the last homemade quilted bedspreads my grandmother made for me before she passed, and watched Tina. She frantically was picking up garments, inspecting them, then either tossing them toward the head of the bed, or into the suitcase.

  “Well, if I take your suitcase, what are you going to use?”

  “A garbage bag – doesn’t matter,” Tina said breathlessly.

  “Ok, spill it,” I said. “Why … exactly, are you packing a suitcase for me?”

  At that, Tina stopped. She pointed sharply at my chest. “Because you are going on an adventure. A weekend getaway,” she said, then continued flicking drawers open and rifling through them.

  Laughter gushed out of me like a fountain. “With who?”

  “The Pope. Honestly, who do you think?” she snapped.

  I looked toward the windows, realization dawning and tamping down any nervous laughter I had left. “Are you being serious right now?”

  “Do you think I’m packing for my health?”

  Her curtness stung. Tina’s swipes could be razor-sharp when she wanted them to be. But she’d never hurled one at me.

  “You want me to go on a weekend getaway to … where exactly?”

  Tina looked up briefly at me, before darting back into the closet for another round of clothes, and flinging them on the bed. “He proposed the Jonesborough Storytelling Festival, and I thought that sounded like a good idea, so I called it a date, and said yes,” she smirked.

  “Tina! Did you also betroth me while you were at it? Pledge my first-born? How am I supposed to go on a date – for a whole weekend I might add – with someone I’ve just met? He could be a serial killer for all we know!”

  “Molly. He’s traveling with a cat and sells pies,” Tina snorted, and piled more clothes into the suitcase, testing it to see if it would shut.

  “Sweeney Todd sold pies.”

  She hurled a pair of jeans and a sweater at me. The jeans smacked me in the face. I hugged the clothes to my chest. “Stop gawking at me, and get yourself changed, before James get back and sees that truck,” she said.

  I picked up my phone and shook it at her. “If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t. One guess who got delayed and will be back tomorrow. Probably. Most likely, but may have to play it by ear,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  The news was enough to at least get Tina to pause. “Well, that is a bit of luck tossed our way then. But that isn’t what I’m worried about,” she said, squaring her hands on her hips, and leaning back against the sturdy cherry wood dresser.

  “What then?” I asked, smoothing a few wrinkles out of the pretty gray sweater Tina had flung at me. It had been a long time since I’d worn it.

  “You,” she said, as if stating one of the most obvious truths on the planet. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  I looked up at her, puzzled.

  “A gorgeous man falls into your lap, with a ready-made adventure and wants to take you on a date. To a fall storytelling festival no less – and you don’t want to go,” she said, notes of worry clear in her voice.

  “We don’t know anything about him,” I said.

  “And you are too young to be acting this old.”

  I felt myself getting defensive. I’d always been pegged as an old soul, and didn’t see anything wrong with it. I’d felt 40 long before I’d actually celebrated that milestone just this past January. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  Tina sat down on the end of the bed next to me, the old wrought iron frame groaned a little at the added weight. “It means that if you don’t start living your own life, you’re going to be an actor in someone else’s.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “Tina, that’s not fair and you know it.”

  “And I’m not finished,” she said, standing back up to face me. “You’re acting like you don’t have a say in your life. You’re letting people build cages around you, and you’re the one handing them the supplies to do it,” Tina’s hands fluttered like birds as she spoke.

  I shook my head, wiping away tears, and bunching my sweater up in my hands.

  She walked over to me and gently took the sweater from my hands. “Give me that thing before you worry it to bits.” I mutely handed it over.

  “Molly, when I first met you – you were a risk taker. You and James had wagered nearly everything to buy this farm, and start a restaurant. You had plans – and I was inspired to be a part of it. This is your chance to live like that again, on the edge where anything was possible. If you don’t take this chance, in my heart of hearts I really do think you’ll regret it,” she said.

  I couldn’t deny anything she said.

  “And who knows. Maybe I overstepped to the point that I’ve gotten myself fired,” she sighed, and nodded her head. “But, if that’s the case, then I’m ok with that. I’ve grown to love you like a sister, and if my own sister were still here – I’d tell her the exact same thing.”

  I chewed on my lip trying to hold back another round of tears.

  “Besides, I am 52 and I have a more engaging love life than you do. Even Himself would say that’s a problem,” she said, laughter lighting up her face. “But if you want tips—”

  “Oh for feck’s sake, let’s not get graphic woman,” I said, imitating her accent as we burst into laughter. She smiled in approval as I took the sweater from her, and went into the bathroom to wash my face and get ready.

  I had no clue what I was doing, or where those wheels were about to take me.

  But I knew one thing.

  Tina was right. It had been a long time since I felt a rush of excitement. And for that reason alone, I had to go.

  13

  Jake was happily chatting with Tina by the time I made it downstairs. He quickly moved to take the suitcase from my hands, and carried it into the truck with ease before coming around to open the passenger’s side door for me.

  Tiki blinked and mewled in surprise that someone else was trying to take his seat. Until he realized it was another warm human that would give him endless pets. He jumped onto the floorboard with a grunt, waited for me to get situated, then jumped right into my lap and began purring.

  The seat was broad and nicely cushioned, and it felt good to sit down and let someone else take the wheel for a bit, both literally and figuratively.

  Jake gave the truck some gas, and Tina waved to us from the front porch as if we were a parade float sailing by. The YIPPEE PIE YAY thunked and jostled as it rolled down the gravel drive, and over the steel-beamed cattle guards. My stomach leapt into my throat once we turned onto the main road, and my adventure began.

  Every trip down this driveway almost always ended in a left turn, which would lead into the small town of Purgatory. And any trips into Purgatory usually involved stopping at the largest grocery store on the edge of town, sometimes lunch at one of the handful of diners, and on very rare occasions, walking down the tree-lined Main Street after getting ice cream.

  If one continued down Main Street, then west would lead to Knoxville, then Nashville. Memphis. California.

  Whereas a right turn would skirt you around the wispy, blue-tinged peaks of the Smoky Mountains, then up to Johnson City. Greensboro, then Raleigh. The cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

  I watched with excitement as the handsome green steel eaves and onion-shaped cupola of our farmhouse grew smaller in the rearview mirror, the silver weathervane winking in the sun.

  We passed the white split-rail fencing that marked our property lines, and looped past our peach and plum orchards, the trees dropping red leaves in the autumn breeze.

  Scenery blurred into green and gold ribbons as we picked up speed. I rolled down the side window. The rich earthy smells of fall and the last of the fresh cut hay perfumed the air.

  The breeze ruffled Tiki’s jet-black fur, and he squinted up at me in disapproval. I sent the window back up and he turned in a half-circle to reposition, then nestled b
ack down.

  “I think you have a fan,” Jake said, laughing.

  “I’m a warm body, and a lap – I don’t think the cat’s that picky,” I said running my hands over the sweet feline’s smooth head. Tiki sighed, and purred with content.

  “Oh, I think you might be a little bit more than that,” Jake said, grinning at me.

  “Eyes on the road mister,” I said, my face flushing.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said.

  I had never worn much make-up to begin with, and I was positive that the little bit I’d applied before leaving was definitely not heavy enough to mask my burning cheeks.

  “So. Jake Hall. What’s your story?” I said, motioning to the interior of the truck. “How did you and the Yippee Pie Yay meet?” I tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh, horrified when it came out anyway as an undignified snort.

  He didn’t even try to hide his amusement and laughed at me. “Was that a laugh?”

  “Kind of,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow even warmer from embarrassment.

  “Well, it was cute.”

  “And you are a gracious fibber,” I said, straightening my shoulders, my face breaking into a huge smile. Tina was right. It had been a long time, too long, since I’d had anything remotely resembling a love life. Flirting felt deliciously good.

  The truck slowed as we reached a T-junction. Jake’s phone chirped out GPS directions, and we turned east, heading toward Jonesborough.

  “A fibber?” he asked, cutting his eyes at me, smirking before quickly returning them to the road.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means?” I asked.

  Jake laughed. “Of course, I know what it means. I just can’t remember the last time I heard someone use it in a conversation.”

  I smiled, and curled my palms around Tiki, cradling him. “What can I say? I grew up with old people.”

  “Tina doesn’t look that old,” Jake said.

  This time, I did laugh outright, bypassing a snort. “She would smack you into the next century if she heard you say that. And no, she isn’t that old. She’s only 52. But, speaking of age?” I asked.

  “Isn’t that considered an uncouth question to ask in polite company?” Jake asked. “Ye who was raised by old people.”

  “Only if a man asks a lady,” I said. But, truth be told I was glad that he’d brought it up. I knew precious little details so far, except that Jake was definitely a charmer, and I felt myself yearning for details as fast as would share them.

  “What if you had to guess my age? What would you say?” he bantered.

  “I’d say if my aunt had a moustache, she’d be my uncle.”

  Jake burst into laughter. “What?” he asked.

  I shifted a little in my seat, earning a groan from Tiki in return. “It means, in my experience that what-if questions never end well.”

  “Fair point,” Jake said, nodding. “If you’re curious, I just turned 44 in September.”

  The silence in the air was asking me the same question. “January for me, and 40. The big four-oh,” I said, gazing out the window at the pretty panoramic Tennessee countryside whipping past.

  Jake smiled. “Any over-the-hill meltdowns? Big birthday party, black balloons, the whole she-bang?”

  I winced at the memory. There hadn’t actually been a party of any kind. No one in the restaurant even remembered it was my birthday, and it wasn’t exactly like I was going to interrupt the kitchen line to announce the news – and ask them to bring me a cupcake with a candle in it.

  Tina had given me a lovely card and a pretty bracelet, but the opportunities to wear it had been few and far between. I looked at my wrists, the only decoration there, a water-resistant black sports watch with a thick plastic band. A tinge of regret spread across my chest, and I wished I’d thought to grab the bracelet.

  Jake seemed to sense that I might be re-living a tough memory. “Well, all the drama over certain birthdays and age is overrated in my opinion,” he offered. “I think any birthday deserves to be celebrated, no matter which one it is.”

  “Cheers to that,” I said.

  The highway traffic began to thicken and slow, and we saw the first billboard announcement for Jonesborough – promising three days of storytelling fun. The banner featured a group of very photogenic and happy tourists crowding around a pile of books, surrounded by a whirlwind of red maple leaves. The image certainly sold the event well, and I instantly felt myself wanting to be part of that smiling, cheerful-looking gaggle.

  We passed several hand-painted signs that simply read, ‘Storytelling Festival Traffic – This Way’ with crooked swaths of arrows pointing the way ahead. The uneven scrawls did more than tell visitors no stencils had been used to make the signs. It conveyed that visitors weren’t getting some generic cookie-cutter conference, and instead could expect a homegrown, authentic experience.

  My heart knocked hard in my chest, as we crested a final hill, and the charming town of Jonesborough came into view. Every nerve synapse in my body began firing at the intoxicating thrill of adventure ahead.

  14

  A beautiful brown and white rustic sign welcomed us to Historic Jonesborough, Tennessee – Est. 1779, Storytelling Capital of the World. As we exited the highway, and turned onto Main Street, it truly felt like entering another world.

  Quaint, two-story red brick shops trimmed with crisp white eaves lined Main Street. Many buildings offered lovely bay windows, showcasing homemade and handmade merchandise, beckoning shoppers to come inside and step back in time. Victorian lampposts stood like proud sentries in front of storefronts.

  Sprays of flame-orange marigolds and velvety yellow chrysanthemums were tucked into wooden fall planters. Small square hay bales provided the perfect decorating base for dried corn stalks, tied with beautiful gold and red ribbons. Puffy, straw-stuffed scarecrows leaned against porch railings, dressed in their best fall finery of denim overalls and red plaid shirts.

  Couples walked hand in hand down the cobblestoned sidewalks, pausing every so often to pose for pictures together. And parents kept a close eye on young children blowing bubbles in the fall breeze, shrieking with pure joy when one of the bubbles caught the wind and sailed into the bright blue sky.

  The pointy spires of large white tents that would house storytelling audiences peaked over rooflines and tree canopies. The local sheriff’s department had just started to put up white sawhorses and a string of orange cones, rerouting traffic onto side streets and off the main thoroughfare.

  “So, you have never been to the storytelling festival?” Jake asked, as we turned onto a side street, inching our way slowly around parallel parked cars.

  I shook my head. “Nope, never have. Always wanted to, but just never made time to go.” I didn’t add that I hadn’t found anyone to take with me. Or invite me for that matter.

  “I went once, a few years ago – and had been hooked ever since,” Jake said.

  I was about to ask for more details, when we pulled into the rear parking lot of a charming bed and breakfast. A white lattice sign welcomed us to the Evergreen Inn.

  Jake pulled into a loading space for supply trucks, clearly designated with the thick yellow hash marks that warned the space was for LOADING ONLY – TOWING ENFORCED and shifted the truck into park, yanking the emergency brake into place.

  I looked at the loading bay and back to him, pinning him with a wordless stare.

  “I hadn’t been expecting to have the truck with me, so would you mind waiting here while I go check in? I think the last thing either one of us wants us to have this thing towed,” he said, pointing to the posted signage that showed a car being wheeled away by a crane.

  While he went to check in. The words rattled in mind like a loose marble. Up until that moment, I hadn’t even thought about what our sleeping arrangement would entail – and a knot of anxiety began to form in my chest. “Sure, I don’t mind staying with the truck. But, um … about the room?” I asked.

  Based on the s
teady crowds streaming into town, getting an additional room anywhere near downtown would be next to impossible. Let alone an extra room in what looked to be one of the most charming lodges in town.

  A look of surprise lit his face. “Oh! Then I’m guessing Tina didn’t tell you.”

  I groaned and glanced down at my purse tucked by feet, thinking about my phone tucked into the side zipper pocket. Tina, what on earth did you get me into? I thought about telling Jake how Tina had all but shoved me out the front door, but decided against that particular flood of information.

  Jake laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Tina was a little thin on providing details, other than describing everything as an adventure, and insisting that I should go,” I offered, finally.

  “And I’m glad she did. Ah, insist that you come, I mean,” he stammered.

  He sounded just as nervous as I must have looked, and that ray of honesty made him all the more attractive and endearing.

  “The biggest problem we’re going to have is seeing if the inn can find a place for us to park the truck. Not the room,” he said, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “I know you don’t like what-if questions, but how about surprises?” he asked, his deep blue eyes catching the sun like an ocean tide coming in.

  A wave of excitement fluttered in my stomach. “I can do surprises,” I said.

  15

  Early afternoon sunlight filtered in and out of the mature oak trees surrounding the inn. Tike woke up and propped his front paws onto the dash. He began chittering at the windshield, as a set of squirrels raced each other across the parking lot. They dove and attacked each other, tumbling in circles before leaping back onto a tree trunk and chasing each other up into the branches. Tiki clicked and chirped at them until they disappeared out of sight into the deep green leaves.

  I was just about to grab my phone and let Tina know that we’d arrived, when I noticed a grandmotherly woman walking confidently down the inn’s covered breezeway. She was carrying a small white gift bag and seemed to be making a beeline straight for us.