The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

by Beth Pattillo

  “It’ll be our secret.”

  Camille smiled funny when she said it, which made Hannah wonder. She followed Camille’s gaze to the field, to the sight of Coach Brown stalking the sidelines, yelling at one of the players. And then Hannah cast a sidelong look at Camille and realized why she understood Hannah’s predicament so well.

  After the game, Hannah loitered outside the entrance to the locker room, trying not to make eye contact with any of the cheerleaders or pompom girls waiting on their dates. Camille’s warning kept replaying in her mind, and she could feel the other girls’ gazes from time to time—some curious, some disdainful.

  Finally, Josh emerged along with the other players. His wet hair clung to his head in tight, dark curls. When they were kids, he’d had a buzz cut, soft and bristly at the same time. He used to let her rub the top of his head for luck. That memory sent a strange sensation through her midsection. Or maybe it was the thought of touching Josh now, feeling those curls beneath her fingers, that made her feel like she’d just gotten off the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “Hey.” He walked up to her as if she didn’t embarrass him at all. Other kids called invitations to join them at a party in somebody’s cow pasture or at their parents’ lake house, but he just smiled and waved. “Maybe next time.” He turned back to Hannah. “You ready?”

  She heard a few of the cheerleaders making comments, grumbling about Josh’s defection, but he seemed oblivious. “Sure,” she answered.

  “You hungry yet?” He slung his sports bag over his shoulder. “We could stop at the Dairy Dip and get a burger. You still like Coke floats?”

  She shrugged, suddenly shy. “I guess.”

  When had she ever been so aware of a boy walking next to her? And when had he gotten so tall? She practically had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Probably came in handy for seeing over all those players on the field.

  “Good game, by the way,” she said, even though she barely knew the difference between a first down and a touchdown. The team had won, and everyone seemed happy.

  He shook his head. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose my starting spot. Don’t know what was wrong with me tonight. I couldn’t throw it in the ocean.” She could feel him looking at her.

  “What?” she said, suddenly afraid. Maybe she should have taken Camille’s warning more to heart.

  Josh stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Cars whipped by on the street, kids honking and yelling in celebration of the victory. “I think you were what was wrong with me tonight.”

  Her breath froze in her chest. The dim glow of the streetlight lit the firm angle of his jaw. “What did I do?” She hated the breathless sound of her voice.

  He laughed. “You showed up.”

  “Josh—”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Even if I messed you up?” She couldn’t resist saying it.

  He shrugged the sports bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. “I should have been expecting it.”

  “Expecting what?”

  “You always mess me up.”

  “Josh, what are you talking about?” He moved closer, and she could hear a strange buzzing in her ears.

  “This.”

  And then right there on the sidewalk, with cars driving by and in full view of everyone in Sweetgum, he kissed her.

  And Hannah Simmons, for the first time in her life, decided to believe that dreams really might come true after all.

  Later that evening, inside Tallulah’s Café, Camille stood at the hostess stand and surveyed the crowd of people. She tried to look nonchalant, but every nerve stood on end with heightened awareness. The high school kids were no doubt crowded into the Dairy Dip, but all the adults in town were here at the café—parents, teachers, old coots who themselves had once battled for glory on the gridiron. More than a few heads turned to look at her standing there by the entrance.

  “Evening, Camille.” Tallulah appeared beside her. Her bright blue eyes contrasted with the deep wrinkles in her tan face. No one knew the older woman’s age with any certainty, but she had to be more than seventy, given how long the café had been in operation.

  “How are you, Tallulah?”

  “Fine as frog’s hair.” She picked up a menu. “Is it just you?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting someone.”

  Camille had to give the older woman credit for showing no surprise. “Two then.” Tallulah grabbed another menu. “Table or booth?”

  Camille hesitated. A table meant their conversation would be overheard by half of the restaurant, but a booth would look like she and Dante were on a date.

  “Booth please,” she finally said, deciding that as long as she knew it was just a meal shared by two old friends, that was all that mattered.

  “This way.” Tallulah motioned for Camille to follow her. “I’ll put you back here in the corner.”

  Before Camille could request a less secluded spot, Tallulah headed off and Camille had no choice but to follow. She was just slipping into the vinyl seat when she heard a commotion at the doorway. She looked up to see Dante coming into the café. As if on cue, everyone broke into applause.

  “Way to go, coach,” a man called from the other side of the room.

  “On to state!” another one hollered.

  Dante smiled and nodded, raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Thank you, folks. But we’ve still got a long way to go. Just keep cheering for us.”

  He looked around then, searching for her. Camille lifted her hand—not high in the air, just enough for him to see her. His smiled grew wider, and he headed toward her, stopping here and there to accept more congratulations along the way. When he finally made it to the booth, to her surprise he slid in next to her rather than taking the seat opposite.

  “Thanks for waiting,” he said, settling in, his shoulder rubbing against hers.

  She was already scrunched over as far as she could go, so she couldn’t avoid the contact. The sensation, though, wasn’t unpleasant. Oh, who was she kidding? It was all she could do not to lean her head over and rest it on his shoulder.

  “No problem. I’ve only been here a couple minutes. Merry wanted to drop her daughter off at a party before she brought me.”

  He picked up one of the menus Tallulah had left behind and flipped it open. “So you haven’t ordered yet?”

  “No.” She grabbed the other menu and did the same. At least it gave her something to do until the waitress came to take their order.

  “I could eat everything on here,” he said with his usual good humor.

  “I’m sure Tallulah would be glad to let you.”

  “I’m always too nervous to eat before a game.”

  “Still? I would think that wouldn’t be so bad now that you’re a coach and not a player.”

  “Yeah, you’d think so, but it’s worse.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.” She hadn’t thought about the pressure he would be under. She’d been too busy worrying about the stress his presence placed on her.

  He shrugged. “Goes with the job.”

  “I’m surprised you came back.”

  He set the menu down and turned to look at her. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Because you could go anywhere, do anything. Be anything.” She tried not to let her envy show.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think the rest of the world shares your opinion.”

  “You were a college football star and played in the NFL. I would’ve thought the offers came pouring in.”

  He shook his head. “Washed-up pro football players are a dime a dozen, Camille.”

  “But coaching opportunities—”

  “Aren’t as plentiful for men of color,” he said in a dry tone. “Even with a college degree. There’s a lot of competition, and I’m young. I was lucky to get this job. I know guys I used to play with who are driving cabs and tending bar.”

  “I wondered why you were available after the start of the season.”

  “Coach Stu
lts called me when he decided to retire. I’d given up on finding a coaching job this year.”

  Camille sipped the ice water the waitress had brought, unsure what to say. Here she’d been assuming that he had just kept right on living a charmed life, even after his injury. Surely he’d made enough as a pro player that he didn’t need to worry about money. At least not for a while.

  “You did a great job tonight,” she said. “Coach Stults made a good decision asking you to take over.”

  He didn’t smile, but she could see from the light in his eyes how much her compliment pleased him. “I have to do a better job of getting them ready next week. My quarterback was so distracted tonight, I thought he might start running for the wrong end zone.”

  Camille smiled. “I think what was bothering him might have been sitting in the stands.”

  “Or cheering on the sideline?” He winked at her. “I remember how distracted I used to get. Guess I’ll have to cut him some slack.”

  Camille blushed and then was glad she’d taken a booth in the back where the lighting was a bit dimmer. “Do you know who the distraction girl is?” Hannah might have a crush on the quarterback, but Camille wondered whether the star athlete returned her feelings.

  Dante laughed. “I hope it’s the one I saw him kissing on the sidewalk on my way over here.”

  Camille was intrigued. “What did she look like? Maybe I can tell you who it is.”

  “Some blond freshman.”

  “Probably a pompom girl.” Poor Hannah.

  He shook his head. “No. This was definitely not a pom squad girl. Dirty blond, not those fake streaks. Didn’t seem like the groupie type.”

  Could it have been Hannah? “I think I may know who your mystery girl is.”

  “And is she going to ruin my season?”

  Camille smiled. “Not on purpose. I doubt she cares much about football.” She paused. “I’m just… surprised a quarterback would look at her twice.”

  Their food arrived, and the waitress slid the plates in front of them.

  “Thank you,” Dante said to the young woman. He looked at Camille. “Maybe you should tell me her name. So I’ll know who to be on the lookout for.”

  “Hannah Simmons. Actually, I know her pretty well. She’s in the Knit Lit Society with me.”

  “The what?”

  “My book club. We’re all knitters.”

  “Camille St. Clair in a book club.” He took a bite of his steak. “My, my. Will wonders never cease.”

  “Hey.” She shoved him, just a little. “I have a brain. Just because you never noticed anything but my cheerleading uniform…”

  “Is there going to be a pop quiz when I take you home?” he teased. “I might need to study.” He leaned toward her. “And I might need a tutor.”

  He was smiling, but the intensity of his gaze meant he was completely serious too. At least he was completely serious about Camille.

  She felt overwhelmed, as if the paneled walls of the café were pressing in on her. She reached for her water and took a sip. He’s just flirting, she admonished herself. Don’t blow it out of proportion.

  But panic rose in her throat. Her body was sending her a message. Be wary. Be cautious. Don’t put yourself in a position to get hurt. She knew, in that moment, that Dante Brown still had the potential to destroy her if she let him get too close.

  Somehow she got through the rest of the meal. She prayed he wouldn’t notice the change in her, and he didn’t seem to catch on. When they’d finished eating, he paid the check. So many people wanted to talk to him that it took them several minutes to make their way to the door of the café. Camille ignored the speculative glances. They were good-natured and inquisitive rather than judgmental.

  Outside, he offered to drive her home, but Camille declined. She pretended not to see the disappointment in his eyes. “I’ll walk.”

  He shook his head. “It’s too late for you to walk home alone. I’ll go with you.”

  She looked at him, thought about his knee, and changed her mind. “On second thought, maybe you should just drop me off.”

  He started to say something, and then he seemed to change his mind too. “Come on, Cinderella. I’m not getting any younger.”

  She hadn’t given much thought to the end of the evening until now, but all of a sudden the image of Dante standing beside her on the front porch loomed in her imagination. What if he tried to kiss her? Or, worse, what if he didn’t?

  They made the short trip in silence, Camille apprehensive and Dante apparently lost in thought. When he pulled into the driveway, she barely waited for him to stop the car before she opened the door and jumped out.

  “You don’t have to get out,” she said, waving and backing away from the car. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  She practically ran up the front steps and, spotting the book she’d left on the porch swing earlier, grabbed it before reaching in her purse for her keys. Thank heavens he hadn’t come up on the porch and seen her copy of Romeo and Juliet. He did sit in the driveway, though, until she’d unlocked the door and let herself safely inside. Only when she’d switched on the lamp by the door and turned off the porch light did she hear him drive away.

  Camille looked down at the book in her hands. Shakespeare knew all about doomed lovers. Camille tucked the book under her arm as she turned and mounted the stairs. She’d finish reading the play tonight, to remind herself of what she already knew.

  Her feelings for Dante Brown had to be squashed before they seduced her into doing something incredibly foolish.

  Eugenie resisted the urge to wait up for Hannah in the parsonage living room. Instead, she sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of herbal tea and working on her project for the next meeting of the Knit Lit Society. Her fingers maneuvered the yarn and needles automatically her attention not really on her task. She was listening for the sound of footsteps on the porch, the slide of a key in the lock of the front door. She knew Hannah was safe enough with Josh Hargrove. Eugenie remembered him from when he was younger, before he had moved away. The boy had a good head on his shoulders, and she doubted that had changed.

  “Still awake?” Paul’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. He wore striped pajamas, and his hair was tousled from sleep.

  “I want to make sure Hannah gets in okay.”

  Paul smiled. “I remember how Martha and I used to wait up for the kids. I don’t know who has a tougher time during adolescence—parents or children.” Paul’s children with his late wife were now grown and had families of their own. “Want me to sit with you?”

  Eugenie envied him his sangfroid. She knew she should probably go on to bed and quit worrying, but even though she was sixty-five years old, parenting was new to her, and she felt as green as a blade of spring grass.

  “You go on back to bed.” She smiled at her new husband. “Hannah should be home any time now.”

  He crossed the room and leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Wake me up if you need me.” He tapped the end of her nose. “And don’t worry. Hannah’s just fine.”

  He headed back to bed, and Eugenie’s attention returned to her knitting. A quarter of an hour later, she finally heard the sounds she’d been hoping for—the soft click of the deadbolt on the front door and footsteps in the foyer. Hannah was home.

  “Eugenie?” The girl appeared in the kitchen doorway where Paul had stood a few minutes before. “I didn’t know you were going to wait up.” Hannah looked both pleased and skittish. The girl glanced at her watch. “It’s not quite eleven yet.”

  “I wasn’t worried about you missing your curfew.” Eugenie folded her knitting and tucked it into the bag that sat at her feet. She smiled at Hannah, hoping to relieve the girl’s worry. “I was just trying to finish up my project for the meeting.” She nodded toward the chair next to her. “Are you hungry? Sit down and I’ll fix you something.”

  Eugenie knew that her approach was hardly subtle, but
she hoped Hannah would want to talk about her evening. Eugenie didn’t know everything a parent was supposed to do, but she thought listening to a teenage girl talk about her date fell in the motherly concern category.

  “I’m not hungry,” Hannah said, but she did sit down. “Josh took me to the Dairy Dip for a hamburger after the game.”

  “Was it crowded?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Sort of. A lot of kids went to parties instead.”

  Eugenie knew about the parties Sweetgum teenagers had been throwing for the last forty years. They usually involved a remote location, one or more kegs of beer, and some eventual consequences—usually legal or reproductive.

  “Would you rather have gone to a party?” Eugenie felt compelled to ask.

  Hannah shook her head. “Those kids aren’t my crowd.”

  Eugenie wondered if Hannah even had a crowd. In the months since Hannah’s mother had taken off and Eugenie had been appointed the girl’s foster parent, she’d never heard Hannah mention a particular friend. Nor had the phone ever rung for her. It was as if the girl existed in a vacuum.

  “How was the game?”

  Hannah shrugged. “We won, but Josh didn’t seem very happy about it.” And then the girl did the strangest thing. She blushed, bright as a poppy. Eugenie wanted to find out why but made herself bite her tongue. She thought of Shakespeare’s Juliet, about the same age as the girl sitting beside her. The old bard had been wise enough to know that even the youngest heart could harbor deep feelings.

  Eugenie glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think it’s time for me to get some rest.” She looked at Hannah once more. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

  The girl paused. “Thank you for waiting up.” She looked away, not meeting Eugenie’s eyes. “It’s nice to…,” she faltered, “… well, to have someone who cares if I make it home okay.”

  Hannah’s words knifed through Eugenie, but she forced herself to smile. “You’d better get to bed soon. Aren’t you helping Camille at the dress shop tomorrow?”

  Hannah wasn’t an actual paid employee at Maxine’s, but Camille had agreed a few months before to let the girl help out around the store in exchange for some clothes to supplement her meager wardrobe. And even though Eugenie and Paul could more than afford to buy Hannah whatever she needed, she thought it was good for the girl to have the satisfaction of working for a reward.