Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Tally rolled her eyes and shoved a cookie into her mouth.

  “I’m taking your deflection as a yes. Do you have plans to meet up again as friends?” Ms. Effie air-quoted the last two words.

  “We’re going to the Fourth of July block party on River Street. But it’s not a date or anything.” Best not to mention the illicit plans they had for the water tower. Although knowing Ms. Effie, she’d probably want to ride along.

  “It’s a start. What about Heath?”

  “What about him?”

  “He was here.”

  Her stomach fell to her knees. “When?”

  “Two nights ago. He was banging on your door and hollering loud enough to wake the dead. One of his buddies dragged him back down to a car. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Thought he’d finally given up on you.”

  “He showed up at the Rivershack Tavern that night looking to start trouble. I ended up staying with a friend.” Wanting to downplay her worries, she forced a nonchalance she didn’t feel into her voice. “He was drunk and it was a one-time thing, I’m sure.”

  “You need to go to the police. I know you’re independent—believe me, I sympathize—but some things are too big for any one person to handle. Asking for help doesn’t make you look weak.”

  “How about stupid for letting him into my life to begin with?” She looked away before Ms. Effie could see too much of the truth in her eyes.

  A soft, cool hand took hers and squeezed. “Not stupid either. In fact, you’re probably the first woman to toss him to the curb. He couldn’t keep you under his thumb, and your rejection is stuck in his craw.” Ms. Effie took a sip of tea. “My ex-husband was not a nice man—God rest his soul—and I stayed. I think my son blames me for that. And rightly so.”

  Tally sandwiched the woman’s hand between hers, now the one offering comfort. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Effie.”

  “I got married out of high school, had a baby nine months later, and pretended to be the happy homemaker. Not only did he make my life miserable, he helped tear this town apart with his pig-headedness. I forgave him for what he did to me, but not to my son and not to this town.”

  “I always heard the separation was about fishing rights on the river.” The breaking of the town over the river boundary happened well before she was born. By the time she was old enough to remember the stories, they had grown into outrageous tall tales.

  “Aaron was a blustering loudmouth who attracted followers. He got a group of prominent Louisiana men riled up about men from the Mississippi side trolling for crayfish on this side. We always had the better spot for spawning. He made a big hoopla about it, offended the ’Sips and before anyone could make peace, the town split. A bunch of men playing little boys with their toys is what happened.”

  “No one could talk sense?”

  “We tried. The women would gather at the Quilting Bee and make plans to bring everyone together, but you have to remember the times … the leaders were all men and no one listened to a bunch of biddies who quilted.” Decades-old anger singed Ms. Effie’s words. “We decided to keep meeting in spite of our husbands telling us we shouldn’t. In spite of our differences and in spite of the town splitting, we stayed united.”

  “That’s amazing.” A new respect grew for the gathering of women at the Quilting Bee. They were rebels.

  “We are pretty darn amazing. Those ladies have gotten me through some hard times. Aaron died not two years after the havoc he caused. Can’t say that I missed him even though I worked my tush off to keep us afloat.”

  In all the years she’d known Ms. Effie, Tally had never seen a glimpse of the woman’s past struggles. She seemed the picture of optimism and light. Did everyone have tragedies shoved away in their dark closets?

  Ms. Effie pushed a strand of hair behind Tally’s ear in a gesture so motherly that tears rushed to her eyes. “You’ve already been through so much, sweets, seeing you with a peckerhead like Heath broke my heart.”

  Tally’s heart stuttered, and she was torn between laughter and crying. “Ms. Effie, what if I’m wrong about Nash? What if he’s not everything I remember him being?”

  Ms. Effie’s gleaming eyes flared and a smile tipped her lips. “So you are interested in being more than friends?”

  Tally poked at the ice in her glass and shrugged.

  “Are you worried he’ll hurt you?”

  “Not in the same way Heath might have.”

  Ms. Effie hummed. “Nash might very well break your heart if you take a chance.”

  She waited for more wisdom to pour forth, but Ms. Effie scooted back into the corner of the chair, crossed her legs, and took up her tea glass once more. Tally waved a hand around. “That’s it?”

  “I can’t tell you everything will work out, sweets. Part of life is throwing yourself in the fray while praying you find a safe place to land.”

  “That sounds terrifying.”

  She nodded and pursed her lips. “Oh, it is. It most certainly is.”

  Chapter Eight

  Tally smoothed a hand over her simple tank top and black shorts, the slap of her flip-flops echoing in the empty gym. Maybe she should have packed a sundress to change into for the Fourth of July block party. No. This wasn’t a date. In fact, a sundress would have been silly, considering what they had planned for later. Even so, she’d left her hair down.

  She checked the clock. After six, and still no Nash. What if he’d had second thoughts? She wouldn’t blame him. Painting the water tower was not something adult, upstanding members of society should be doing. Disappointment lurked behind her nervous excitement ready for its cue if he bailed.

  Her phone rang, and she answered without looking at the display. “You’re chickening out, aren’t you?”

  A moment of silence. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  A chill passed through her. Heath’s growly voice used to be a turn-on, but now she recognized his natural intimidation tactic. She hated that it worked. Her hand grew clammy around the phone.

  “Quit calling me.” Her lips barely moved, weakening the command.

  “I want to know what the hell is up with you and that wimp Nash.”

  Anger sizzled like a frayed electric wire helping to unfreeze her tongue. “He more than held his own with you. For your information, he happens to be my”—the word “friend” hung in her head, but something else came out of her mouth—“boyfriend. I’ve moved on and so should you.”

  “Quit fuckin’ with me. No way are you dating Nerdy Nash. I asked around. He’s some wonderboy professor up at the college. He’s smart. You two have nothing in common.”

  His words were as painful as a physical blow. A familiar ache blossomed in her gut. The same ache she’d battled every day on her way to school, where she was met with condescension and ridicule. Coming after Sawyer, who’d been valedictorian of his class and the captain of the baseball team, had only highlighted her struggles, both academically and socially.

  The end of her sophomore year a keen, enthusiastic student teacher had urged the administration to test her for a learning disability. The diagnosis of dyslexia had been both devastating and a relief. She wasn’t technically an idiot, but even with the extra help, school had been a struggle. Her college entrance test scores had been cringeworthy.

  “Nash and I have plenty in common.” Deep down she knew she wasn’t dumb. Her voice wavered with uncertainty anyway. Did she and Nash have anything in common except for a finite number of childhood memories? She shook her head, concentrating on Heath. “And even better, he’s not a jerk.”

  “You’ll come crawling back to me, sweetheart.” The hint of a threat lurked in his statement.

  “If you do not leave me alone, I’m going to the police to get a restraining order. Do you understand me?”

  A double beep sounded. He’d disconnected. She stared at the screen, her hand shaking. The emptiness of the gym normally wouldn’t bother her, but she needed to be surrounded by people. She stepped out, locked th
e front door, and tested it with a strong pull. Someone tapped her shoulder, and she flinched aside, getting her arms up, her hands in fists.

  “Whoa there. No hits below the belt, thank you kindly.” With a slight smile and serious eyes, Nash stepped back, his hands up in a picture of surrender.

  “Sorry. You caught me off guard.”

  “Didn’t think you were ever off guard,” he murmured.

  It felt like a dig, but before she could question him, he fingered a piece of hair that had fallen forward. His hand was mere inches from touching her breast. Her body swayed forward before she forced herself back on her heels.

  “I forgot how pretty your hair was.”

  Teenagelike awkwardness overtook her, and she tucked her hair behind an ear, pulling it out of his hand. “I about gave up on you.”

  “I stopped by the Quilting Bee. Aunt Leora and her cronies decided to finish their patriotic quilt-in-progress.”

  “That’s serious dedication.”

  His hand settled at the small of her back, the heat like a flint to her body. He got them walking side by side toward the river. Discordant notes of several instruments tuning echoed against the bricks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t prop the door open to enjoy the breeze and the music.”

  “Why don’t they come on over? It might be good if everyone could put their differences aside and forget about the festivals for one night. A truce.”

  “Some of the other ladies would be game, but Aunt Leora considers herself above such frivolities.” The cadence of his speech took on a foreign lilt that made her wonder if she knew him at all.

  A cool front had settled over them in recent days bringing a break from heat and humidity. The night was comfortable and dry, and a northerly breeze lifted her hair. The music kicked off, guiding them to River Street. Sawyer had towed out a parish-owned set of generator-run towered lights usually reserved for roadwork.

  Her uncle stood at the front of the raised platform, tapping his foot, his fingers a blur on the mandolin strings. After they’d moved to the trailer, she’d hear him playing and sometimes singing, the sound amplified by the river. Although, she’d hadn’t been able to decipher the words, the way he sang them had settled in her heart and made her cry into her pillow when she was young. Behind his unruffled, easygoing smiles, her uncle understood heartache.

  “He’s good.” Nash nudged his chin toward Delmar. “Actually, the whole band is good.”

  “Most of them have been playing together for a decade at least. Uncle Delmar used to be the youngest one up there. Their old bass player broke his hip and got put in the nursing home last fall. I wasn’t sure if they’d find anyone, but looks like they roped someone into joining them.” A middle-aged black man with a slight potbelly played an upright bass, his eyes closed, bouncing on the balls of his feet to the rhythms he plucked. “Not a lot of interest in learning bluegrass these days.”

  “I used to play the guitar a little.” His face was impassive, his hands stuck deep in his pockets.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I was alone a lot.” The simple statement seemed to hold a wealth of pain, but a slow smile materialized. “Aunt Leora wanted me to learn the piano. I insisted on guitar. I was under the impression guitar players got all the chicks in college.”

  Her lips had curled to match his. “Did they?”

  “It’s a little-known fact that even ‘Stairway to Heaven’ can’t overcome being an acne-covered sixteen-year-old freshman who has yet to hit his growth spurt.”

  Even though he smiled, loneliness still lurked around the edges. She lay her cheek against his shoulder, slipped her hand around his elbow, and squeezed. “It must have been scary to go off like that.”

  He shrugged under her cheek. “Freedom is risky and the unknown is scary. It all worked out.”

  Considering he’d come full circle and was marking time in Cottonbloom, she tended to disagree. Someone hip-bumped her, and she yanked her hand from Nash’s arm, knitting her fingers in front of her.

  “What’s up, girl? How’s it going, Nash?” Monroe poked her head around Tally to grin at Nash.

  He looked around in mock surprise. “Can’t believe you ventured on this side of the river. What would Regan say?”

  “Probably that I’m sleeping with the enemy.” She winked.

  Cade joined them. He handed a lemonade to Monroe before sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her tight to his side.

  “How’re you doing, Sis?” Cade reached over to squeeze her nape. Their father used to do the same, and Tally wondered if it was an unconscious gesture on Cade’s part. “Hey, Nash. Does your aunt know you’re consorting with a bunch of swamp rats? Surprised she didn’t try to lock you in your room.”

  “She never had to lock me in my room growing up. I never got invited anywhere.” His chuckle did little to mask to the awkward silence that blanketed them.

  As the song came to an end, Cade said, “I’m surprised you never snuck down to see Tally.”

  Nash made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh, I did.”

  “What? When?” Tally shifted to stare at his profile.

  Nash rocked on his feet and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  Tally sensed it had been as pivotal as her trip to see him. “Tell me anyway.”

  “Biked by your old house a couple of times before I realized you’d moved.” His jaw muscle twitched. “Then, one day after lunch, I skipped out of school. I was fourteen, I guess. A junior. It had been a … bad day.” Again, she sensed the understatement. “I waited outside of the school for you. Thought I could catch you before you got on the bus.”

  It would have been her freshman year. Her test scores had placed her in honors level math, but remedial classes for everything else. Most of her day was spent with kids who had learned not to care. She still cared, but it had been easier to pretend not to.

  “Did you find me?”

  “I saw you. Barely recognized you. You had grown up. Changed. You were dressed all in black. Dark eye makeup and pale skin. A nose ring. Even your hair looked darker. I was still short and skinny and wore glasses. You got into a car with a couple of older-looking guys. I rode off on my Huffy.” The shot of sarcastic humor tempered the sad bitterness of his recollection.

  “Nose ring?” She could feel Cade’s gaze on the back of her neck.

  “The nose ring was fake. And, I had put a temporary dye in my hair. Goth was the style for most of the kids in my classes.… Let’s just say, I was doing my best to fit in.” Tally ran both of her hands up his arm and lowered her voice so her brother and Monroe couldn’t hear. “If you would have come up to me, I would have ridden off on your Huffy handlebars, I swear.”

  “The Fates conspired against us back then.”

  Tally wasn’t so sure the same forces weren’t at work in the here and now, but she stayed quiet.

  Red flashed in the corner of her eye. “Hello again!”

  Birdie stood in front of them with her hands fisted on her waist and her feet planted wide. Tonight her braids were perfectly aligned and smooth, bows to match her black-and-red polka-dot dress drooped over the tops, the ribbons trailing to her neck.

  Monroe smiled. “And who might you be?”

  Birdie thumbed her chest. “I’m Margaret Thatcher.”

  All four of them burst out laughing. Birdie popped a hip and crossed her arms. “Why do grown-ups always laugh at me when I say my name?”

  “We’re not laughing at you, Birdie. You share a name with a very strong, smart woman from England who had a nickname too. She was called the Iron Lady.” Nash still smiled but Birdie nodded, her face thoughtful.

  “I wonder if I could be an Iron Lady too?”

  “I think you could be anything you want,” Nash said with such confidence that Birdie’s chin ticked up.

  “Birdie lives in Nash’s old house.” Tally shot a look toward Cade, who didn’t react. “Are you e
njoying the music, Birdie?”

  “Not really, but Daddy loves it. He’s up there.” She stuck her tongue out between her lost teeth and chucked her head backward toward the stage.

  “So is my uncle. He’s plays the mandolin.”

  “I know Mr. Del. He’s nice. He always has a candy for me even if it’s all warm and squishy from his pocket.” Birdie grabbed Nash’s hand again and tugged. “Oh, you have to come meet Mama. She thinks I made you up, and I got in trouble. I can’t wait to see her face when I introduce the boy from my closet.”

  “Well that doesn’t make me sound at all creepy, does it?” Nash tossed a smile in Tally’s direction, but let Birdie lead him away.

  Tally waggled her fingers. He and Birdie stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked around. In a flurry of red and black polka dots, he lifted the little girl onto his shoulders so she could scan the crowd for her mother. Nash walked in the direction she pointed with her still perched high. The girl’s giggles floated above the music and the crowd.

  “Well, well, well.” Cade’s voice was a whisper in Tally’s ear.

  She flinched and wiped the ridiculous-feeling smile off her face with a clearing of her throat. Monroe had been drawn into a conversation with a sixtysomething woman who worked her elbow in Monroe’s face.

  “What?”

  “Are you and Nash messing around?”

  “How is that any of your business?” Old resentments bit at her words.

  Cade’s eyebrows rose along with a sly smile. “It’s not. But I think you just answered my question.”

  Tally grabbed her brother’s arm. “We’re not messing around, so don’t you dare go spreading that gossip around. We’re hanging out, that’s all. Old friends.” She dropped her hand and turned toward the band so Cade wouldn’t guess she wasn’t being completely truthful, yet she wasn’t lying either. She didn’t know what they were to each other yet.

  “You two were inseparable when you were kids. I heard Mama and Daddy talk about it more than once.”

  She stiffened. “What did they say?”

  “Mama thought you should have at least one other friend, preferably another girl. But, Daddy laughed and told Mama to simmer down since you were too young to run off and get married.”