by Meg Moseley
When nobody else trusted her, he’d let her drive his car. Only on the back roads, and only after she’d proved she could drive a stick without grinding the gears—but still, he’d trusted her. He’d loved her.
“I love you, Grandpa John,” she whispered. “I miss you so much.”
She wanted very badly to start up the engine for old times’ sake, but that would be so, so stupid.
Tish’s Saturday started with Daisy whining outside her bedroom door before sunrise. Mel’s enthusiasm for adopting a dog for the weekend must have worn off already, but it wasn’t the dog’s fault. Half asleep, Tish staggered through the routine of taking her out, bringing her in, and feeding her. By then, she was wide awake so she started the coffee and made toast for breakfast. Through it all, the door to the guest room remained closed.
Eating her toast, she wondered how the car show was going for George. Maybe she would call him later. Hearing his voice might help her recapture a little bit of that lovely, heady happiness she’d felt on Wednesday night. Because, somehow, she’d lost track of it the night before, sitting in an elegant living room surrounded by fashionable gardeners.
By the time the sun came up, Daisy was snoring softly on the couch. Tish put on a warm jacket and work gloves. She headed outside with a trash bag to start the yard cleanup. Si and his wife had left the place in a state that would have horrified the members of the garden club. Broken bird feeders. Old clay pots. Windblown trash.
But it was her yard now, and she’d have it cleaned up in no time. Standing at the bottom of the back steps, Tish smiled. Now she could raise her own vegetables. She had plenty of room. She couldn’t grow mangoes and avocados, but she would have camellias at Christmas the rest of her life.
One of the camellia bushes stood apart from the others. Most of its petals had fallen in a circle around its lower branches, like a pink slip that a girl had dropped past her ankles to land on the floor, but some of the other camellias hadn’t bloomed yet. Their bloom times were staggered instead of making one brief show of color.
Last year, they’d been Silas Nelson’s camellias. Before that, they’d belonged to George’s mother, Jerusalem James Williams Zorbas, better known as Rue. And before that … Tish had no idea, but she’d read that a camellia bush could live a hundred years or more, with proper care. It was possible—barely—that Nathan and Letitia had planted at least some of them, but they probably wouldn’t have tended them with their own hands. They would have hired someone. She hoped Nathan had paid decent wages, but she suspected he hadn’t.
Tish wondered how many times the property had changed hands. Public records would go back only so far. There wouldn’t be any records of the Native Americans who’d once lived on the land. They were the true native southerners.
Mrs. Nair’s lithe black tomcat stalked around the corner of the house, leaving a green trail through the dew-silvered grass. So big that he could have beat up George’s tiny handful of a dog, the cat prowled through Tish’s yard without giving her a glance.
“Snob,” she said. “You should join the garden club. You would fit right in.”
She had to admit, though, that the hostess and several other people had been friendly and welcoming. Either they weren’t up on their local history and gossip, or they’d decided to overlook it.
It was nearly ten and Tish had moved on to raking leaves when Mel finally wandered onto the back porch. She waved, then sat on the top step and pulled a cigarette out of a new, uncrushed pack.
“How was the garden club?” she called, lighting the cigarette.
“I learned all about iris borers and Japanese beetles and other pests.”
“Yuck.”
“Exactly.” Glad to give her blistering palms a break, Tish came closer, dragging the rake behind her. “But it inspired me to get busy with the basic yard cleanup.”
“Want some help?”
“Yes, I do. It’s part of the deal, remember? Housework and yard work.”
“Yeah, I remember. Sorry.” Mel took another drag from her cigarette. “Can I finish my cigarette first?”
Tish watched the smoke drifting into the clear air and sighed. “Go ahead.”
Mel sighed back. “Thank you so much.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah. I’m just tired.”
“But you were already in bed when I got home last night.”
“That doesn’t mean I slept well. So, did anybody freak out last night when they learned your name?”
“Most people didn’t pay any attention to me, and nobody mentioned carpetbaggers. I’ve decided not to worry about those old stories anymore. Every family has at least one skeleton in the closet.”
“Yeah.” Mel stared at the sky. “Everybody does terrible things sometimes.”
Tish took a hard look at her. “How did you spend your time while I was gone?”
“I went for a walk. A long one.”
“Did Daisy behave herself for you?”
“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, she was great. Thanks for taking care of her this morning.” Mel ran down the steps, dropped her half-smoked cigarette on the grass, then ground it out and kicked it under a bush. She reached for the rake. “I’ll do the raking.” Her voice cracked.
Tish hung on to the rake. “What’s wrong, Mel? What’s going on?”
“I’m helping with the yard work. That’s what’s going on. You want help, don’t you?”
“Yes …” Tish’s sore hands settled it. She let go of the rake.
Mel took the rake and disappeared behind the camellias.
Tish tilted her head, listening. She’d never heard anyone rake so fast and hard. The rake was a weapon, and Mel was slashing the ground with it.
George walked slowly across the crowded parking lot through blue smoke and delicious aromas. The first full day of the car show was winding down, and the folks who’d come prepared had hauled out tailgate parties and grills. He enjoyed the freedom of being dogless, but he wished Tish could have been there with him. It would have been at least twice as much fun.
He’d already gleaned a wealth of information from his fellow Chevelle enthusiasts, and he’d picked up a few necessary parts from vendors—after calling Calv to make sure they were the right ones—but the sense of camaraderie was beginning to fade.
These people didn’t necessarily like him; they liked his car. He was just a man alone. He would spend the night in a small and overpriced motel room, eating carry-out with no company.
The show would end tomorrow afternoon with the drawing for the charity raffle. He’d stay until then, on the off chance that he’d won one of the big prizes, but he’d be home in plenty of time to wish Mel a happy birthday.
On impulse, he pulled out his phone and called Stu. Given the way their last conversation ended, it might be awkward.
“Too bad,” George said under his breath.
Stu, when he answered, sounded wary but not hostile. “What’s up?”
“Not much. I’m wandering around a car show. Just thought I’d call and remind you that tomorrow is your sister’s birthday.”
Stu was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Good. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you.”
Stu sighed. “Not if I tell her the Corvette’s sold.”
“It is? Oh boy. She fell apart when she spotted somebody taking it for a test drive.”
“Yeah, that’s him. The one and only guy who took it out for a spin. He’s buying it. Go ahead and tell her if you want to.”
“That’s not a conversation I’d care to initiate.”
“Me either,” Stu said. “Poor Melly.”
“Melly? I haven’t heard you call her that since she was about eight.”
“I feel sorry for her. First the watch, now the car. Not that there’s any comparison, value-wise, but you know what I mean.”
“I’ve been wondering who ended up with the watch. Did your dad give it to you?”
“Yeah. He sa
id that’s what he’d planned to do all along.” The edge to Stu’s voice said he was skeptical, though.
So was George. “Good for him,” he said.
“But now that I know how much it meant to Mel, I won’t enjoy having it.”
“Give it back to her, then. She would love you forever.”
“Not a bad idea, except Dad would be furious.”
“What you do with it is your business. You don’t have to tell him a thing.”
“Good point. Yeah. Yeah, I like that idea. I could give it to her for her birthday.”
“Excellent plan. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.”
“Hey, Stu, did you ever hear that we’ve pretty much cleared up the mystery of why Mel’s cash drawers used to come up short?”
“She said something about that,” Stu said slowly.
“She just didn’t have a clue about how to count change. I think there’s more to it than that, though. Have you ever wondered if she might have a learning disability? Dyslexia or something similar?”
“Come on, George. Dad was on the school board. Mom ran the PTA. You think they didn’t pay attention to how she did in school?”
“Think about it. She’s smart, obviously, but she never did well in school. Sometimes I catch her staring at price tags like they’re written in Farsi, and it’s like pulling teeth to get her to write anything. I wonder if something keeps her from processing information the way the rest of us do. I’ve tried to broach the subject a couple of times, but she’ll never talk about it.”
“Huh,” Stu said. “It’s something to look into.”
George smiled, dodging an elderly gentleman who blundered into his path. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Okay. Hey, George … thanks for giving me a kick in the butt.”
“Anytime.”
Still smiling, George continued walking between rows of shiny muscle cars and smoking grills. His tuxedo-black baby stood at the end of the last line of vehicles, locked up tight.
Of all the cars he’d ever owned, the Chevelle was his favorite. He’d sell it in a heartbeat, though, if somebody flashed enough cash. As much as he tried, he couldn’t understand how Mel could be so attached to a car that had never been hers … unless she’d learned how valuable it was. That could explain it.
He called Tish next, wanting another dose of that fast-talking Yankee voice. He wanted to know what she’d thought of the garden club too.
Her phone rang several times before she answered, and then she sounded peeved with him.
“Uh-oh. What did I do?” he asked.
“Not you. Mel. How much bad behavior can she pack into one day?”
“Is she neglecting her dog-sitting duties?”
“Yes, but that’s not the worst of it. Not even close.”
“What did she do?” he asked.
“What didn’t she do? I’m starting to see why her parents threw her out. She’s impossible.”
“You want to give me the details?”
“She’s gone into a tailspin, George. She’s like a different person. A very difficult person. She helped me with yard work for a few minutes this morning, but then she smarted off and went inside. While I was still outside, working, she went into my office and used my computer without asking. When I said she needed to ask permission, she kicked my computer chair, and then she ran downstairs and slammed the door to her room.”
“That’s not acceptable behavior,” he admitted.
“It gets worse. She knows she’s not supposed to smoke in the house. I caught her once already and chewed her out. So what does she do? She lights up a cigarette in her room and doesn’t even try to hide it. She left the door wide open, like she was taunting me. I was so tempted to kick her out.”
“Why didn’t you?”
There was a long silence. “I don’t want her to be on the street again,” Tish said.
“I don’t either, but maybe it’s time to draw a line in the sand. Tell her if she crosses the line, she’s out on her ear.”
“But what if she crosses the line?”
“Then she’s out on her ear.”
After another silence, Tish said, “Gotta go” in a wobbly voice and ended the call.
He’d forgotten to ask how she liked the garden club.
George unlocked the Chevelle and climbed in but didn’t start the engine. He couldn’t forget what Calv had said about Mel. All her mess-ups were somehow related to abusing other people’s property. Taking things or breaking things. More than that, though, Calv had guessed that her parents hurt her somehow, so she tried to hurt them back.
But Tish had never hurt Mel. Tish had only helped her—or tried to, anyway. Returning the watch to Dunc hadn’t helped, unless Stu was serious about giving it back to Mel.
About to call Tish back and tell her Stu’s plans for the watch, George decided to keep it under his hat. If Mel went off the deep end, Stu might change his mind. He still might keep the watch and ditch his little sister.
The cinnamon rolls for Mel’s birthday breakfast were staying warm in the oven, their yeasty aroma filling the house, and Tish had finished decorating the dining room. Guessing that the birthday girl wasn’t into pastels, she’d festooned the chandelier with balloons and crepe paper streamers in red, turquoise, purple, and lime green. She’d draped a colorful “Happy 21st” banner across the doorway. She’d put yellow napkins on the table, filled a small crystal vase with cherry-red camellias, and tucked the gift into a nest of apricot-colored tissue paper in a small gift bag of vivid orange.
The gift, like the color combination, was over the top, but she wanted Mel to know her birthday was worth celebrating in spite of her bratty behavior. And, if nothing else, giving away treasured possessions was good for the soul. Once Tish had given them away, she wouldn’t have to worry that someone would steal them.
“You can’t take it with you,” Tish told herself in a whisper. With a lump in her throat, she placed the heavy gift bag at Mel’s place.
The downstairs shower finally went off with a heavy thudding in the pipes. Tish placed the cinnamon rolls and fruit salad on the table, then poured milk for Mel and coffee for herself.
Waiting at the table, Tish checked the clock. She hoped she’d be free in time to walk down the street to a church she wanted to try. The service started at eleven. If she didn’t pick up friendly vibes … well, that was one thing about the South. There was a church on every corner.
The bathroom door creaked open. Mel’s bare feet padded down the hall with the scent of shampoo preceding her.
“Something smells yummy,” she called. “Where are you?”
“Dining room.”
Mel stopped in the doorway, her hair wet and her eyes wide. “Whoa! Wow!”
“Happy birthday,” Tish said.
“You shouldn’t have bought all this stuff. Balloons and flowers and everything.”
“It’s nothing. The decorations didn’t cost much, and the camellias are from the backyard.”
Mel noticed the gift bag. Her eyes filled. “You bought me a present?”
“Actually, it’s something I’ve had for a long time. I hope you don’t mind that it’s not store-bought and new.”
Mel shook her head vigorously. “No, I know what it’s like when you can’t afford to buy somebody a present.” She sniffled. “When am I supposed to open it?”
“Right now, if you’d like.”
Mel sat and reached into the bag, her eyes bright with tears and anticipation. Pulling out one of the silver rings, she sucked in her breath. “It’s beautiful! What is it?”
“It’s a napkin ring. There are four of them. I’ve had them for years.”
“It’s so shiny.” Mel turned it over, admiring it from all angles. “Is it real silver?”
“It’s only silver plate.”
“Tish, it’s too much. Especially after yesterday—”
“No. Yesterday’s forgiven. When you have your own place someday,
you can invite me over and use them on your own table. I don’t have to own them to enjoy them.”
Mel’s tears flowed freely as she returned the napkin ring to the bag with the others. “How can you be so nice to me? Nobody else treats me like this. Not even my own parents. My ex-parents, I mean.” She used her napkin to dab her eyes, then reached for a cinnamon roll. “Thanks for making these. They look so good.”
Quietly amused by the power that food had on Mel’s outlook, Tish took a roll too. She passed the fruit salad across the table. “Eat up. If we finish in time, I’d like to walk down the street to church. You want to come?”
“Hmm.” She licked her sticky fingers and wiped them on her jeans, as if she were afraid to dirty her napkin. “I’m kinda scared of church and all that. God, you know? God’s scary.” She frowned, craning her neck to see past Tish to the window. “There’s a cop car out front.”
Tish turned to see. A squad car parked squarely in front of her house was an unsettling sight even for an upright citizen. “Maybe they’re stopping to talk to one of the neighbors.” She resumed eating her breakfast while Mel kept an eye on the police car.
“Somebody’s getting out,” Mel said. “Ooh, it’s Darren. Remember him? The cute guy who stopped to talk when I was at the gazebo that night?” She flashed a smile that was bright but not warm.
“I remember him.” Tish watched Mel’s face carefully, trying to believe she’d have no reason to fear an officer of the law.
We all do terrible things, she’d said, and she’d been mysterious about how she’d spent her evening alone on Friday.
“Ugh,” Mel said. “Robot Face is getting out too.”
“Robot Face?”
“I don’t know him. He’s the new cop in town, and he has a weird, square face like a robot. He always looks mean.”