Persuasion, Captain Wentworth and Cracklin' Cornbread

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Of course, she’d expected his Sunday phone call for the last ten years. Even when they’d spoken the day before, he’d always kept up the tradition. No, he didn’t want to worry her. He would just get it over with as soon as possible. Hopefully she wouldn’t ask too many questions and he wouldn’t give too many details. He wasn’t trying to hide what was happening in his life. He just didn’t know where to start, or even what it was he felt.

  “Yallow.” Jem had to smile at the way his mama answered the phone. It was a mix of yeah and hello and there was no question in it.

  “Hi, Mama.” He said, working to make his voice as jovial as possible. “Having a great Sunday? How was Mass?”

  There was a long pause. He cringed, imagining her expression. She wasn’t the type to interrupt. She would never demand answers. But if he could see her now, he was sure he’d see an expression of calm assessment.

  He hurried on. “St. James has got a nice choir, but the service seems a little short. Maybe I’m just used to St. Cecilia’s. That organist always went for all seven verses of every hymn, and we’d be standing there singing way past the time Father Mike had gone down the aisle. You know, maybe I should try the early service . . .” His sentence trailed off. He dropped his head in his hand and let out a sigh. Babbling was a like waving a red flag. When he was little, she’d always known when he was hiding something. He’d start chattering and not be able to stop.

  “Nothing better than a committed organist.”

  “We moved the clinic,” he blurted out.

  “I remember you said you were lookin’ for something new.” She was agreeing with him and asking for more, in her gentle way.

  “Dr. Stroud found us a perfect spot. At least, lots of room.”

  “Good.” Jem almost laughed at her response. That was his mama. She was a chatterbox until she knew something was on your mind, then, as if a switch were flipped, she listened to every word you said. And those you didn’t.

  “We moved to Crawford House.”

  There was only silence in response.

  “She still lives there. I mean, I knew that. I was prepared for that,” Jem said. “And I met her the day we looked at the area we would rent. It was fine, really. Everything was fine.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Well, I’m glad.”

  “I mean, we didn’t speak much. Not that day. But I’ve seen her since and it was fine then, too.” He rolled his eyes. Repeating himself wasn’t going to convince his mama that everything was normal. But if he admitted it wasn’t okay, then he would have to face what he felt, and he wasn’t even sure what it was.

  “Is she married?” She sounded hopeful.

  “No, not married. Her sister Janessa is, though.”

  “So . . .” He could feel his mama choosing her words carefully. “You know that I want you to be happy.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “And Lucy Crawford never made you happy, sweetie. In fact, she made you as miserable as a—”

  “I remember it clearly.” He wished he could head off this conversation, but she was too savvy, she knew him too well. “I didn’t call to confess I was going to sign up for Heartbreak Part Two. I just wanted to let you know where we were, and I’d talked to her, and everything was fine.”

  “Oh, honey.” Her voice didn’t hold anything but sympathy. “I wish she was married, for your sake.”

  “I know,” he said. And then he was letting go of the pretense, and spilling it all out, just as he should have done as soon as he called. “It’s like there are two of me, Mama. The thinking part of me knows it’s all over and is sure we can exist in the same area with no hard feelings. I do my job and see old friends and remember the good things about Tupelo. And then there’s this other part that I’m not even aware of most of the time, planning and considering and hoping. I never know what this part is doing until Lucy shows up and then I think something crazy, like how I wish I could get her to laugh because I really love her laugh, or I want to ask if she still loves Langston Hughes, or I wonder what her boyfriends were like and why she didn’t get married. And this part of me, this part I can’t control at all, wants to know if it has anything to do with me.”

  He stopped to draw in a breath. “And the part I hate the most is this little voice that says maybe things could be different now that I have a medical degree and have a solid future, and I start to think of ways to impress her or get her attention.” His eyes were squeezed shut and he waited for his mama to tell him how ridiculous it all was. He needed her to tell him how to close it off, how to get control of this traitorous part of him.

  “Did I ever tell you I saw your father once, when you were about six years old?”

  His eyes snapped open. “No.” She had never talked about his father, except to say he wasn’t willing to stand by her when she told him she was pregnant.

  She sighed, and he could imagine the sadness on her face. His childhood was marked with that image, those lines of grief. “He was married and had a little baby. He recognized me right away.”

  “You’d think he would.” Jem couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “Oh, not really. We only knew each other for a few months that summer. Two young kids with too much time on their hands. And although I thought I was in love with him, I’m not sure I even knew him that well.”

  He had known Lucy for a summer and he would never have forgotten her, not ever. “Did you ask him why he left?”

  “That’s obvious, honey. He was scared. We both were.”

  “But you got stuck with the kid. That’s hardly an excuse. You carried the burden—”

  “Don’t say that. You were never anything but a blessing for me.” Her voice was pure steel for a moment.

  Jem shook his head, not wanting to argue the point. How an unplanned pregnancy could be a gift for an uneducated teen was something he didn’t think she could explain. “I know your parents weren’t happy about it.” He didn’t have many memories of his grandparents. Just a few and they were fuzzy. “A few decades earlier and you’d probably have been shipped off to one of those maternity homes where they hid pregnant teen girls.”

  “No, not in our family. We weren’t rich enough to hide anything like that. But I know I hurt them. Good Catholic girls didn’t have babies out of wedlock. It was about as big a scandal as it could be. I know you don’t think this has anythin’ to do with you, but it does. These things happen.” The sadness was still there, even after all those years. She cleared her throat. “What I’m tryin’ to say is that I was worried about you two.”

  Jem sat up straight. “You mean, Lucy and me?”

  “Don’t get defensive. You gotta remember how young you both were. Love is a powerful thing, sweetie. It’s enough to make you forget what you shouldn’t be doing, enough to make you forget you’ll break your mama’s heart when you have to tell her that she’ll be a grandma too soon.”

  He frowned at the bright summer grass. Lucy and he had been as in love as two people could be, heart and mind, but they had been careful of how much time they spent together alone. They both had plans and had seen too many cautionary tales. She’d told him that her mama had given her a speech about a girl’s purity and honor, as if she’d never heard any of it before. He told her how his mama had lectured about respect and commitment. They’d heard it all, they understood how it happened.

  Then again, he had never wanted anyone else as badly as he’d wanted Lucy. Her touch was like a drug. Just being near her was a physical pleasure. He tried to imagine what would have happened if they hadn’t walked away from each other when they had to, how he would have reacted to the news that all their plans were ruined and they would be teen parents. Of course he’d have been scared, but Jem would have taken responsibility. They would have made it work, somehow, together.

  “I never would have left Lucy, never. I’m not
my father.”

  “I know that.” His mother rushed on. “I’m not expressing myself real well here, but when I saw your father that day, I didn’t feel anything for him. I mean, I felt sad that he didn’t choose me, and that he left me alone, but I didn’t feel what I’d felt before.”

  Jem was lost, but knew that his mama wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t think it was important to tell him.

  “I don’t think I really loved him, because there’s something mysterious about love. You can’t always point to one thing and say, ‘I loved him because of the way he wore his hat,’ or ‘I loved her because of her laugh.’ And if you can, then you probably better hope that thing never goes away.”

  Jem didn’t say a word. He thought he knew exactly what she was trying to say, and he dreaded what she was going to say next.

  “You and Lucy were different. You spent hours on that porch, talking and reading to each other. You didn’t like her for the way she wore her hair or something that could be changed. Whatever it is you loved about her then is probably what you love about her now.”

  Jem flinched at the present tense. He didn’t want to look too closely at whether or not he still loved her, but he could hardly argue with his mama’s words. “But I don’t want to,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “I know, honey. But that crazy part of yourself? There’s no way to turn that off. You loved her once and probably always will. You just have to accept it and go on.”

  Jem hung his head. This wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. His gut clenched at the thought of looking ahead to a life of running into Lucy, day after day, and not being able to control his thoughts, his emotions. He felt a flash of anger so bright it made him want to throw the phone. He’d been so stupid to think he could live in this town and not ache for her. “I wish I’d never come here.”

  “What’s done is done. But give yourself time away from there. Maybe go on one of those river trips with your friend Lars.”

  He snorted. “Taking a river-rafting tour with Lars would make me happy to live anywhere, once I was sure I was going to survive.”

  “So maybe nothing that drastic,” she said, but there was laughter in her voice.

  “Besides that, you’re saying I need to be careful. There’s nothing else I can do.”

  “Yup.” Her voice was soft and sad. “You should be really, really careful.”

  Monday morning had come too soon. Jem dragged himself out of his car and stood staring up at the white columns of Crawford House. He loved his job, loved his patients, but coming to work here every day might just give him an ulcer. He hadn’t slept well. His dreams were long stretches of scenes in which he searched for his stethoscope while patients all shouted out their symptoms, punctuated by short flashes of Lucy’s expression when he had made his speech at the Strouds’. He had finally rolled out of bed before dawn, sick to his stomach and feeling like the new kid on the first day of school.

  He took the footpath around the north side of the house, barely glancing at the rose bushes in full bloom and the year-round cutting garden. The back porch stretched along the entire rear of the house, and he straightened a small sign posted near the stairs. The Free Clinic of Tupelo had some pretty fancy digs. He should be thrilled to be walking around in any part of it. But although his patients would receive better care in the new location, he would rather be setting up shop in the worst neighborhood in town.

  A small sound caught his attention and he looked down at a tiny tabby cat, barely out of its kittenhood. It was thin and its eyes were rheumy, but it rubbed against his pant leg in a friendly way.

  “Hey, buddy. I don’t think you live here.” Jem reached down and ran a hand over the kitten’s back, feeling the knobs of its spine. He scooped it up easily in one hand and gave it a good once-over. A deep vibration started in the kitten’s chest and seemed to travel all the way up Jem’s arm. “Looks like you need a good cleaning. Where’s your mama?”

  The cat reached out a white paw and batted at the air. Jem lowered it to the ground, smiling a little at the way its tail stood straight up like a flag. But, sweet as it was, he had patients to see and wasn’t keen on picking cat fur and who knew what else off his suit before the first appointment.

  “I hope you’re going to wash your hands,” someone called out behind him.

  “Hello, Olympia. Are you here to welcome our first patients?” As soon as he asked the question, Jem was ashamed of himself. He was needling her. He knew very well there was no chance Olympia was going to speak with a patient of this clinic.

  “I’m here to make sure the house isn’t changed more than our agreement,” she said. Her purple linen suit was accented with gold bangles that clattered on her wrists as she moved. “If we don’t watch you people, pretty soon there’ll be a flock of yard birds scratchin’ at the grass and an old couch on the back porch.”

  “I hadn’t thought of putting in a chicken coop.” Jem pretended to consider the idea. “Fresh eggs would be very nutritious for a lot of families.”

  “And the cat has to go because we don’t allow pets. They carry chiggers and poop all over the flower beds.”

  “The chickens would eat the chiggers. They could be free-range.” He paused. “But not all-vegetarian organically fed if they’re eating insects.”

  She didn’t crack a smile, just rolled her eyes. “I’m so sick of vegetarians. Lucy is always trying to ruin a perfectly good dish by taking out the ham and putting in something green.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Just the other night she made black-eyed peas. And guess what?” Olympia leaned in close, her expression deadly serious.

  “It had peas?”

  “It didn’t have a bit of ham in it,” she said. “I knew it right away. That wasn’t ham hocks in that pot. The little pink cubes of something that were supposed to be ham were floatin’ on the top like fleas on a dog.” Olympia shuddered.

  “It’s true that the Southern diet is usually very heavy in meat and cholesterol.” Breakfast had held no appeal an hour ago, but now his stomach was waking up to the idea of something slow-cooked in a cast-iron pot.

  “Well, it’s not just that. One day she cooked some kudzu.”

  Jem started to laugh. “Some leafy greens do bear a likeness to kudzu, I suppose.”

  Olympia straightened up, lips pursing. “I mean it. She grilled a Vidalia onion and stuck big ol’ kudzu leaves in it. It was supposed to be nutritious. Can you imagine? I told her that she needed to learn how to bake a chicken like every other Southern girl and leave the weeds outside.”

  He could see it. Lucy had always been adventurous. She was always searching for something new, devouring everything she could learn about it, and then moving on. He’d thought it was fascinating, until he was the “something new” that she devoured and moved on from.

  “I’d better get inside and make sure we’re ready for patients. You’re welcome to come in and look around.” Jem moved toward the door and the kitten followed along behind him across the porch. He gently shooed it away with one hand. “Not you. Better head on home.”

  “I’ll tell Zeke to take it out and dump it somewhere,” Olympia said.

  “Is Zeke back?”

  “Sure is. That was the first thing Lucy did after y’all signed the lease. I told her to hire the Morgans’ gardener for a few days a week. He’s from Guatemala and they pay him five dollars an hour for a lot more work than Zeke does, but Lucy wouldn’t listen.” Olympia stopped by the door, waiting for Jem to open it for her.

  If any good at all came from this arrangement, it would be having the old caretaker back in his rightful place in Crawford House. Letting Olympia pass through the door, Jem wiggled his shoe in front of the little tabby. It stared up at him and let out a tiny mewl. He let the door swing closed and watched it through the glass. It wasn’t leaving. Jem hoped whoever had
lost a kitten would come to claim it before he left tonight, because he didn’t look forward to walking away from the hungry little thing. He had no idea whether his house allowed pets, but he wasn’t looking to add to his family of one.

  “Dr. Chevy, we got some calls early this morning,” Leticia said, slipping out from behind the appointment desk. She held out a slip of paper and cast a curious glance in Olympia’s direction.

  Jem almost smiled. Seeing the receptionist of the Free Clinic in the same room as his nemesis promised good things. Leticia was a middle-aged mom of three teen boys. She dressed her plump frame in semi-professional clothes and kept her dark hair cropped close, and her accent announced her Detroit upbringing in no uncertain terms.

  “I need to see into those back rooms,” Olympia announced. “The lease agreement said you would only paint and bring in furniture. If I find any nails or hooks in the walls, there will be trouble.”

  “Excuse me?” Leticia jerked upright as if someone had given her an electric shock.

  “Jem, give me the tour,” Olympia said, ignoring the receptionist completely.

  “Nobody put nails in no walls so you won’t be needing a tour, ma’am.” Leticia was leaning closer now, her arms folded in front of her.

  “It’s fine. I can do it.” Jem kept his face straight by pure willpower. If he had to take bets on these two, Leticia would win any showdown. She didn’t survive the mean streets of Detroit’s West Side by letting rich old ladies walk all over her. She was an excellent receptionist for a place like the Free Clinic, dispensing sympathy when needed and a verbal takedown when required.

  “All right, Dr. Chevy.” Leticia stalked back to her desk, letting her expression speak for her.