Fireflies and Magnolias

by Ava Miles

  Mama had denied it. Profusely.

  And Tammy believed her.

  Every time she was around her mama, Amelia Ann could feel the noose of her own making tighten around her neck. And the guilt…

  “She tried to ruin my wedding,” Rye finally said in a hard tone, still not facing them. “I don’t want her to screw up my first Thanksgiving with Tory. Or make things hard for y’all. And there’s Daddy to consider… He’s only just starting his life over again. We can leave the concert off the table for the moment.”

  “I know all that, Rye,” their sister said. “Anyway, we don’t have to decide now. I can talk to Mama. See if she plans on speaking with Daddy. I figure he would have mentioned it if she’d said something already.”

  Amelia Ann didn’t envy Tammy’s position as family diplomat to their mama. Sounded like a garment made out of snake coils to her.

  They lapsed into silence, like each of them was fighting their own demons. The evening sounds grew louder without the competition of conversation—the call of a turtle dove, the clack of a croquet mallet against a colored ball. A cool fall wind ruffled the trees, sending more dying leaves fluttering to the ground.

  “Well, that stopped everybody short, didn’t it? What did y’all want to talk to me about?” Tammy finally asked them.

  Rye sighed and turned around. “We can do it another time.”

  The chair rocked forward as Tammy stood. “No need to wait. You might as well spit it out. I can tell your news is about as heavy as mine.”

  Amelia Ann rose to join the group, meeting Rye’s eyes. He nodded to her, understanding her unspoken request that she be the one to raise the issue.

  “Tammy, as you know, Rye’s concert is going to raise funds to fight violence against women.” Adrenaline spiked in her, making her heart race in her chest. “I told Rye I thought it might make the cause seem more personal if we had women share their stories about domestic violence and how they overcame it. The spots would play throughout the concert. Susannah’s volunteered to help out too.”

  Tammy’s slender throat moved as she swallowed, and Amelia Ann knew her sister had already guessed what they were about to ask her.

  “J.P. told me he wanted someone from the McGuiness family to help,” Tammy said in a soft voice.

  “Well…ah…we weren’t sure if you wanted to share your story, Tammy,” Rye said, reaching for her hand, “but we wanted to make sure we asked you. There’s no pressure, mind.”

  Amelia Ann took her sister’s other hand, and then she and Rye closed the circle by linking to each other.

  “You need to do what’s best for you, Tammy, and the kids,” Amelia Ann said softly.

  For a moment, Tammy squeezed her eyes shut. “I suppose this is the next step. Admitting what Sterling did to me to people beyond the family. Taking responsibility for staying with him and letting him… But the kids…”

  Her sister’s grip was almost painful, and once again, the enormity of the suffering Tammy had experienced at the hands of her ex overwhelmed Amelia Ann. To live in fear like that, day in and day out. How had she done it?

  “I…don’t have an answer for you just yet,” her sister finally said. “I’ll need to think about it some more.”

  Rye brought them closer. “Take all the time you need. I didn’t…mean to stir up bad memories, honey. Forgive me if I have.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned this past year, it’s that running from bad memories isn’t possible. They always catch up to you.”

  As Amelia Ann was leaving later, her sister’s words echoed in her ears.

  They always catch up to you.

  Please God, don’t let it be true.

  Chapter 5

  Fresh and fading flowers in pink, red, and white covered his daddy’s grave, mixed in with handwritten letters and battery-powered candles. Every year he came here, Clayton marveled at the longevity of his daddy’s country music legacy. Jimmy Ray Chandler had died in a freak accident with four other band members at the height of his career, when Clayton was just seven.

  The memory of that night would never leave him. He remembered it as if it were yesterday—the rain-slicked roads, the touch of fog stealing over the road like death’s fingertips. He’d been in the bus right behind his daddy’s, his mama singing him to sleep, when the lead vehicle veered sharply to the right, slid down the incline, and rolled. And rolled and rolled and rolled.

  The sound of metal crunching and the gas line exploding, mixed in with his mama’s screams, still woke him some nights.

  Everything in his life had changed in that one pivotal moment, save two things: his mama and his love for country music.

  Georgia Belle Chandler already stood in front of the grave as he approached it. Today was the anniversary of that horrible day. They came every year, though by design, she arrived early and he left late. They honored the need to face this day together as well as the need for some time alone to say their piece.

  The wind tugged at his mama’s red hair as she wiped tears from her shadowed brown eyes. Her usual flair and color always faded like an old photograph here. This was the only place he’d ever seen her cry, and he respected that. As a boy, he’d tried to save his tears for this place too, but some nights the pain had been so bad he’d lain awake for hours in his twin bed.

  His mama had taken everything she’d learned as Jimmy Ray’s wife and convinced other country stars to let her be their manager. For the past six years, she’d been Rye’s. Now she was months away from retiring and turning the reins over to him. He could have become a manager in his own right years ago, but he liked working with his mama. And he loved working with his best friend. He’d always figured if it ain’t broke…

  Walking toward the grave had grown easier over the years. The first visits had been so hard. He used to beg his mama to let him stay in the car, but she would never allow it.

  Georgia was tough, forged in steel by trauma, and she’d raised him to be the same way.

  “Hey, honey,” she said when he reached her side and took her hand.

  “Hey, Mama,” he said into the quiet of the cemetery.

  Clayton could feel himself settling into the place inside himself that was still empty from this loss. His memories of his daddy weren’t as vivid as they used to be, but the photos and videos his mama had kept of their family allowed some remembrance. Just never enough.

  “It always does my heart good to see so many people still bring him flowers,” she said, squeezing his hand and then releasing it.

  After rummaging in her bag, she produced the silver flask his daddy had always drunk from before or after a concert when the thirst drew him. They always drank his daddy’s favorite bourbon here in honor of him. Mama took a long draw from the flask, and the initials JRC flashed as sun and silver met. When she handed it to him, he drank deep.

  “I’ve always figured, if anyone could sweet-talk God into having a drink in heaven, it would be your daddy. That man could sweet-talk anyone into anything.”

  Even though she’d said it before, a smile tugged at his mouth. “He sweet-talked you into marrying him, after all.”

  “Lord knows, my mama thought it was a wild idea, hooking up with a honky tonk singer. She never thought we’d have a pot to piss in. Of course, she ate those words, didn’t she?”

  They weren’t close to her family, and Daddy’s had been…troubled at best. When it came down to it, there were only the two of them. But that was okay—she had always been more than enough for him growing up. Along the way, he’d found Rye and J.P., the brothers he’d always wished for growing up, the ones he’d dreamed he would have had if his daddy hadn’t died. His life was better than most.

  “Are you sure you still want to move to Florida?” he asked her, hoping she would reverse her decision. How was he supposed to carry on without her? “Daddy would hate for you to get all sunburned and freckled.”

  She laughed. “I’ll buy plenty of sunscreen, don’t you worry none. Clayton
, your daddy would understand why I have to leave Nashville if I’m not going to work anymore. I love this business too much to be around it without being in it. Your daddy gave my love for country music to me, and for that I’ll be forever grateful. The only thing I’m more grateful for is you, son.”

  “Oh, Mama,” he said in a hoarse voice and pulled her in for a hug.

  “This is the only place you and I ever allow sentimentality, so I might as well keep going. You and me have worked a spell. Other than your time in college and law school, we’ve never really been apart. It’s time for me to cut the apron strings and let you finish growing into your manhood.”

  Now that surprised him, so he drew back. Her mascara had run at the corners of her dark eyes, but otherwise, she was as show-stoppingly beautiful as she ever was.

  “I’ve never considered myself tied to your apron strings. Are you saying I’m not my own man?”

  She patted his cheek. “Now, don’t get all pissed off at me. That’s not what I’m saying at all. You’re a man, make no mistake, but part of growing into your manhood is finding a woman to love, settling down, and having kids. I’m afraid you won’t do that if I’m around.”

  He looked over at his daddy’s grave, and it angered him when Amanda rose in his mind. Even after four years, she still had the ability to hurt him. “I don’t know that I’ll ever marry, Mama. Look how much loving someone hurt you.” He didn’t say anything about how much it had already hurt him. It would have been disrespectful to so much as mention Amanda’s name in this sacred place.

  Before he could blink, his mama thrust one of her fake signature red fingernails into his chest. He grunted.

  “Don’t you think for a second that I would trade in my time with your daddy because he was taken from me too soon. Who’s to say why it happened? That’s not for me to know. But I loved that man like crazy, and we were so lucky to find each other and have you. As far as I’m concerned, my life has been darn near perfect.”

  A stinger shot through his heart. “I can’t look back on losing Daddy that way. I hate it.”

  She nestled her head against his chest, and they rocked back and forth while the wind scattered the fall leaves around the gray tombstones carved with the names of other people’s lost loved ones. “I couldn’t at first either. That’s come with time and wisdom. You’ll make your peace some day.”

  But not today.

  The claws of a grief never fully squelched dug into his throat, and tears burned his eyes, making him all the madder. “It isn’t fair. I still miss him, Mama. There are so many times when I wish I could call him up and tell him about a concert we just finished or a tour stop we left.”

  “You can tell him, honey. I still talk to your daddy from time to time. How do you think I knew Rye Crenshaw was going to be a star?”

  He pressed back to gaze down at her. “But I thought you heard Rye’s voice and had that feeling.”

  “I did, but I still asked your father. And when I ask him if I’m right about something, I always tell him to put a penny on the ground for me to find if I am. And darn if he doesn’t listen.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?” he asked in total shock.

  Her shoulder went up, and she took the flask from his hand. “I thought you’d think your mama foolish.”

  “Never foolish,” he told her and accepted the flask after she took another drink.

  “I’m going to let you have your time with him,” she said, taking the flask and returning it to her purse. “You talk to your daddy now, but there’s no rule saying you can’t talk to him elsewhere, Clayton. He’s not really here, you know. He’s everywhere we go because he’s inside our hearts and always will be.”

  Crap, he felt tears pop into his eyes like some girl. He blinked hard so he wouldn’t disappoint his mama—or embarrass himself. “I know.”

  Even though she wore spiky cowboy boots, she still had to rise on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “You make me so proud, Clayton. I love you.”

  He hugged her again. “I love you too, Mama.”

  “Ask your daddy to send you a sign. He’ll do it. That man never broke a promise.”

  With that, she headed off, her heels sinking into the freshly mowed grass.

  Left alone, Clayton sank to his haunches and reached for the stationery resting against the grave.

  Dear Jimmy Ray,

  My husband and me recently celebrated our thirty-fifth anniversary. We met at your concert in Dallas in 1978 and played “Love You Till I Die” at our wedding. It’s still our favorite song. We miss you, but I expect you’re happy in heaven. Tell the Big Guy howdy for us. Hope to see you one day.

  Loretta

  Pressing his hand to his forehead, he squeezed his eyes shut. His mama didn’t play that song—ever—but of course he’d heard it before. His daddy had written it for the country redhead who’d captured his heart at a honky tonk in Mobile, Alabama. As a teenager, Clayton had secretly listened to the song when he was blue. His daddy’s love for his mama had been poured into every word.

  He’d hoped to find that kind of love someday, that kind of a woman.

  After Amanda, he’d lost all hope.

  But Amelia Ann was bringing back all those messy feelings again, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  If only Daddy was around to give him advice. He could hardly ask his best friend given Amelia Ann’s relationship to Rye.

  His mind flashed back to a summer day his family had spent in their cabin in West Virginia a few months before the accident. The beautiful day had ended with his mama making them root beer floats inside while he and Daddy sat on the front porch watching the moon rise over the lake.

  Fireflies were twinkling everywhere around them, and Clayton caught one in his hand.

  His daddy cupped his little hand and said, “Every time I see a firefly, I think about your mama. She shines so bright, Clayton. Like the fire that lights this little bug, there’s a fire in that woman, sure as God made the heavens. One day, I pray you’ll find a woman who has that same inner fire—a woman who glows in the darkness. When you do, hang on to her.”

  “I’m only seven, Daddy. I don’t even like girls.” The firefly took flight then. “Oh, catch it, Daddy. It’s getting away.”

  “You can never hold onto a firefly, son. God made them so everyone could marvel at their light.”

  “Do people marvel at Mama’s light, Daddy?” he asked, watching the fireflies continue to wink in the darkness. “Is that why she has so many friends?”

  Daddy ruffled his hair. “Yes, but more importantly, it’s why we love her.”

  He climbed onto his daddy’s lap and hugged him. “Mama is the best mama ever!”

  The hands on his little back felt safe and warm. “Yes, she is, son. We’re so lucky she’s ours.”

  Two months later Daddy was dead. For a while, Mama’s fire had dimmed from grief, but soon it was as bright as ever, channeled into managing the career of a new country singer.

  Up until recently, the only other woman he’d met who possessed that kind of fire was Amanda, but she had betrayed him.

  Amelia Ann had fire too—a roaring blaze of it—and his feelings for her scared him to death. As did her continued pursuit of him like a torchbearer in the shadows he’d chosen to inhabit.

  He set the fan letter back in place against the headstone and stood.

  Ask your daddy for a sign, his mama had said.

  He was a grown man. Signs weren’t something he believed in. Still…

  “Daddy, if you’re looking out for me like Mama’s always thought I wouldn’t refuse a sign.” Saying it brought a flush of embarrassment to his cheeks. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. I’ll watch after Mama, like I’ve always said I would. Of course, her moving to Florida will make it a bit harder, but I’ll do my best, sir.”

  He’d made that promise while he was holding his mama’s hand in front of his daddy’s coffin at the funeral home. Everyone had told him he
needed to step up as the man of the house, and he’d never shirked that duty.

  “I’ll be seeing you next year, Daddy.”

  Saying goodbye was always awkward. Even after all these years, he still didn’t know what words to use.

  When he walked off, his heart was heavy. For the thousandth time, Clayton couldn’t help but wonder how much easier his life would have been if his daddy hadn’t died that night.

  Chapter 6

  Amelia Ann threw her school satchel in the back of her BMW and decided to head over to Rye’s professional office to see Clayton so she could ask him how much time they could squeeze into the concert for the women’s stories. Though it wasn’t her only reason for wanting to see him, it was critical for her to have that information before talking to her points of contact at the women’s shelters, something she hoped to squeeze in before she drove to the Community Legal Clinic.

  Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, she worked from four to seven o’clock, and she worked from two to six on every second Saturday of the month. So far, she’d managed to balance her classes and coursework just fine, and if she wasn’t going out with her friends as often, well, that was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Thankfully Susannah had understood, but once she had a better command of her new schedule, she hoped they could find time to hang out beyond Sunday dinner. For now, it would have to do.

  Clayton’s black pickup was in the parking lot of the building that housed Rye’s professional office. Georgia’s silver Cadillac was missing, and Amelia Ann wondered, not for the first time, what effect the woman’s impending retirement would have on her brother and Clayton. Georgia was the toughest woman Amelia Ann had ever come across, save for her tort law teacher, and she’d be lying if she said the redhead with the red-dagger nails and spiky heels didn’t intimidate the hell out of her.

  When she walked through the door, June, the secretary, greeted her. “Well, Amelia Ann! It’s good to see you, sugar. Rye told me you were volunteering your time to help out with his charity concert. We’re delighted to have you involved.”