by Heinzer, HB
Shoulders hunched in rejection and frustration I drop down onto the stool at the island and take a tentative sip of my hot coffee. Carefully placing the overfull cup on the counter, I rub my eyes and sigh. My Katie, the little traitor, did not even tell me goodbye or give me a chance to hug and kiss her. Placing my hurt feelings aside, I realize that I only have about ten minutes to get the other two ragamuffins dressed and ready before she comes back. Once again, I find myself racing to gather up my other two munchkins so that I can wrestle them into their hated school uniforms. Thank goodness, the uniforms are clean! Maggie and Bekah grumble their way through dressing, brush their teeth and excitedly make their way back to the front door.
Just 13 minutes into the promised 15, I hear Mother Tidwell’s car approaching the driveway. I hurriedly gather the girls in my arms and place a gentle kiss on each forehead. Maggie and I rub noses; Bekah and I give each other butterfly kisses, and with a whispered," I love you”, I send two pieces of my heart out the door.
I lean back against the closed door and softly beat my head against it. Taking a deep breath, I anxiously rub my temples, hoping to relieve some of the tension that has gathered there at an alarming rate. Facing off with Mother Tidwell is never my favorite thing to do, but seriously, with no coffee? Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery. That woman has hated me from day one, and I know the only reason she keeps coming back is to try to create a rift between my munchkins and me. Either that or she just wants to drive me bat-shit crazy. Yep, that is probably what it is if I actually take the time to think about it. She would love to have me committed. I would be out of her way, and the girls would be hers to keep. Yep, bat-shit crazy!
With a heavy sigh, I make my way back to the kitchen. I decide that I will finish at least one cup of coffee before I get started on my day. I sit down with my cup at the table and put my head down on the sticky surface. I know that I should be thankful that someone is willing to help by taking the girls to school, even if I have to deal with a nasty attitude. I struggle with many ordinary things. Over the last several years, I have tried to keep all of my thoughts and feelings boxed up inside, but to be honest, I am not quite sure the box is strong enough to hold it all.
My name is Kathryn McCoy Tidwell. My Katie was named after me. Tripp insisted on it. After all, he told everyone who would listen that I was the reason the sun rose each morning and set each night. What man would not want his daughter to be just like his beloved wife, right down to her exact name? Sigh.
Who is Tripp, you ask? Well, that is fairly easy to explain. Tripp was my best friend, my lover, my confidant, my soul mate. He was the salt to my pepper. He was the peanut butter to my chocolate. He gave me love and hope and joy. Together we created our three beautiful girls and together we looked at the world as ours to conquer. In short, he was my other half; the person that completed me.
Tripp and I met in 1992. It was the first day of the new school year, and we were starting the third grade. Mom had made me wear this frilly pink dress and these hideous pink and white ribbons in my hair. During recess, all the kids went out to the playground for recess. I loved playing on the tire swing the most. Tripp saw me fighting with a boy who was trying to take the tire swing from me and decided he would come rescue me. He had no idea that the boy he rescued me from was my twin brother Zack who traded punches with me on a regular basis. He quickly learned that fact when I joined forces with Zack to “take that little twerp down”! From that day forward Zack, Tripp and I were inseparable. Like Tripp always said, “If you can’t beat them, join them!” He introduced himself to us as Channing.
It did not take us long to discover that Channing lived only a few streets away from us with his mom. It took us much longer to realize that the family life Channing was born into was light years from our family. He often would sneak over to our house after school to ride bikes, climb trees or play kickball. On one such afternoon, a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. Because Channing was at home plate for his turn at kickball, his back was turned, and he did not notice either the car, or the angry woman who peered out the window.
Just as Channing reared back to kick the ball, the livid woman shouted out the car window. “Channing Kennedy Tidwell the Third, get in this car right this minute.” She then proceeded to roll her window up and sat there with her nose turned up, staring at us. At first, we all just stared at the furious woman. Then, Channing seemed to snap out of his trance and walked slowly toward the car, shoulders hung in despair. Never one to take things too seriously, Zack yelled from the outfield. “Channing Kennedy Tidwell the Third? What a mouth full! I think we will just change your name to Tripp.” The woman in the car glared at Zack and yelled back to us “Over my dead body!” With that proclamation, Channing became Tripp forevermore to us.
Needless to say, his mother was not happy with the name change. We also discovered she was not too happy with Tripp’s choice of friends. A few years later, we found out that Tripp’s father came from old Atlanta money. Seems one of his ancestors was an early stockholder in a popular soft drink company. When Tripp’s father passed away, his mother sold the Georgia home and moved north to Highlands. It took a few years, but we eventually came to understand what a “trust fund baby” is. Because our father worked as both a landscaper and carpenter, and our mother was a teacher, Tripp’s mother did not think we were suitable playmates for their son. After Tripp ran off to our house three nights in a row, his mother finally relented and gave him permission to come over and hang out with us. Unfortunately, that was the most acceptance we would ever come to expect from her. We McCoys could just never quite measure up.
Thankfully, Tripp never let his mother’s disposition affect us. We continued to play together almost every day during our elementary school years. Tripp was even allowed to spend the night with us occasionally. We never missed not hanging out at Tripp’s house, because our home was slowly becoming his.
During our middle school years, Zack and Tripp played football and basketball while I became their personal cheerleader, pompoms, short skirt, splits, kicks and all. During baseball season, I could be found outside the dugout yelling for my boys wearing my favorite ball cap with the bill turned backwards. Summer break found us swimming in the backyard or fishing down at the lake. No matter what time of the year, the three of us would be found together everywhere we went. When we walked downtown for ice cream or soda and candy, all the shopkeepers would come out and talk with us. During the winters, our walks would find us searching for hot chocolate. If one of us was missing, folks wanted to know what was wrong with the one who was not there.
Tripp became such a fixture at our home that mom and dad started referring to him as “Son. He was allowed to make requests for special meals and mom always made his favorite cake for his birthday. Mom and dad treated him as family, because really, he was family. We all loved our Tripp!
Right before our freshman year of high school began, I started noticing that Tripp and Zack had changed, seemingly overnight. They were no longer these short stubby fellows with unruly hair hanging in their eyes; in the blink of an eye, I somehow missed my boys becoming men. Zack and I still shared the same mahogany colored hair and turquoise eyes that marked us as twins, but that is where the similarities ended. Mother Nature decided I should stop growing when I was barely 5 feet 3 inches tall. Zack, on the other hand, started climbing rather quickly toward the 6-foot mark, with long lean arms and legs to go with it. I guess Tripp decided he could not be left behind, so he grew as tall as Zack. Tripp’s hair had always been sun-bleached blonde, but as he grew taller and broader, his hair darkened to the most beautiful caramel blonde color I had ever seen. During our middle school days, I always teased him about having owl eyes. When I would look at his face, all I could see were these enormous yellow-green orbs. His eyes were so large they seemed to dominate his whole face. As he grew in height, it seemed the size of his head finally grew enough to catch up with the size of his eyes.
When we wo
uld walk through school, we were always still together, but we looked a little like a lopsided hot dog. Zack and Tripp obviously were each a side of the bun. They were so protective of me. I was always between the two of them, so that made me the hot dog. With my head not quite reaching their shoulders, I constantly suffered teasing that someone had taken a whopping bite off my head. Trust me when I say stupid is nowhere near funny!
It was during one such walk down the school hallways that Tripp took my hand for the first time. The thought of pulling my hand away never even crossed my mind. Holding hands with Tripp seemed natural to me. When I looked up to see his face, the smile he gave me was so tender that I could not help but smile back. When Zack noticed that we were holding, his only comment was, “It’s about time.”
For some people, things would have gotten awkward at this point, but not for us. Having grown up together, Tripp was already an established part of my family. He naturally transitioned from best friend to boyfriend. My parents were happy, but not surprised. It seems they thought this would happen all along. Zack took the change in stride, never once complaining or treating either of us differently. For the longest time, nothing even changed.
Tripp was 6 months older than Zack and me so he was the first to get his driver’s license during our sophomore year. We talked about pooling our money to buy a car, but with all the sports my boys played, neither had a job. His grades were exceptional, and he stayed out of trouble, so Tripp’s mom finally broke down and bought him a truck. She attempted to place strict conditions on Tripp’s use of the truck. When she tried to force Tripp to follow her strict, narrow rules, Tripp just handed the keys back. He let his mother know that if he had to choose a truck over the McCoys that the McCoys would win every time. Tripp slammed out the front door, heading over our house. His mother called him back and finally relented to his demands. She gave him the truck, and let him keep us too!
We loved that truck; really, really loved that truck! Our sophomore year was the beginning of the best years of our lives. We took that truck down to Asheville to eat and Wilkes County for Merlefest. We traveled to waterfalls and campgrounds off the beaten path. We had incredible picnics in the bed of that truck, and rode down toward Atlanta every month to see Tripp’s grandparents. Tripp kissed me for the first time sitting in that truck. Yep, we loved that truck!
Acknowledgements
This is always the hardest part of the book for me. I’m always worried I will forget someone and then my scatter-brained tendencies will be in print until the end of time. If you helped me out and don’t see your name here, please know it was not intentional.
To my family, thank you for once again putting up with the times I forgot about dinner until it was too late to cook. Along with that, thank you to the pizza delivery driver for always getting out food to us quickly and for worrying about me when we didn’t order for an entire week.
Thank you to the amazing Katie Mac for helping me whip this book into shape and for leading me to my amazing team of beta readers!
Dee, Nic, Debra and all the other bloggers out there… thank you for helping spread the word. I’ve singled out the three of you for always being there when I’m having a whiny day. How you haven’t told me to take a flying leap yet is beyond me!
About the Author
With the exception of three years spent in the middle of Nebraska, H.B. Heinzer has called southern Wisconsin home. During that time in Nebraska, she imagined one of her favorite authors living on the far western edge of the county, just south of the highway. At the time, becoming a novelist was a distant dream for her. Now, she is the author living in that location. Ironically, she later found out that same favorite author lives just outside the town HB lived in for the first eighteen years of her life.
Now, HB lives in the middle of nowhere but still close enough to the city to not feel isolated. It's the perfect place to let her two kids run and explore their huge yard, teach them about the food chain as they prepare their first-ever garden and debate building a chicken coop. It's one of those dreams that is only possible thanks to the amazing opportunities that have come through writing.
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