“We’re making sure he doesn’t get any more ice cream, aren’t we, Cody?”
The disgust on Cody’s face and the pleading horror in Shane’s voice would normally have me rolling on the floor in laughter. But if I even chuckled today I’d be rolling all right—in agony. I needed to lay off the weights for a few days till those abs quit screaming. Thankfully, Molly showed up with coffee before Cody’s antics had a chance to continue.
“Morning, gorgeous!” She set three heavy mugs around the table, filled the two before me and Shane and added just a splash of coffee to the mug parked at Cody’s place. From her tray, she produced a glass of milk, which she used to fill his mug. Cody’s eyes went wide at the unexpected concoction. “There you go. I’ll be back in a sec with breakfast.”
My eyebrows shot up at my brother once she left. “You ordered for me?”
“You’re predictable, dude. Blueberry pancakes and black coffee.”
I grunted. Cody sampled his drink, then poked me in the ribs and snickered behind his hand. “She called you gorgeous.”
My back arched from the pain of his finger against my tender abdomen, but I somehow managed to not squeal. “That was you, sport. You’re the pretty one at this table.”
Cody huffed. “Boys aren’t pretty. Mommy always told me I was handsome.”
“Of course you are. Mommies are always right.” It was interesting that Cody’s eyes didn’t have that haunted look they usually wore when he spoke of his mom. Still, I let my eyes dart across the table in search of his remaining parent. Where the hell was Shane when I needed backup?
I was saved when Molly reappeared and lowered our tray of breakfast. I rubbed my hands in anticipation as she dealt us our plates. “Wait a minute!”
Shane stuck out his palm to hold her off. “Waffles? I ordered blueberry pancakes all around, Molly.”
She rolled her eyes and transferred syrup to the table. “Um . . . yes . . . well.” Her eyes darted over her shoulder, to the pass-through leading from the lunch counter to the kitchen beyond. Ruby was in full form this morning, dancing in place as she presided over the industrial-size stove, dressed in her white chef’s coat and Carmen Miranda headdress. “You see . . .” A round plate piled high with crispy bacon landed on the table. Cody dug in.
I got it. Ruby was in one of her moods. ‘Unleashing her creativity,’ she called it. “Let me guess. Ruby wasn’t feeling the blueberry pancakes this morning, was she, Molly?”
Molly shook her head. “Nope, sorry. Waffles and bacon.” She didn’t seem especially apologetic.
“What’s that brown stuff in my waffle? Is it bugs?” Cody scrutinized the hunk dripping syrup from the end of his fork as though it actually might be.
Molly’s posture—along with the guarded expression she generally wore in her eyes—softened as she answered him. “That’s chocolate chips.”
“Great! He’ll be bouncing off the walls all morning.” Shane’s sarcastic muttering drew Molly’s attention back to him and the shutters masking her gaze dropped back in place. “I’ll be back with more coffee.” She gathered up the empty tray and left.
“Dad, can I have chocolate chips in my pancakes instead of blueberries every time?” I could only imagine the ideas running through Cody’s head. Good thing I wasn’t living with them any longer. Six months of that was enough to strain the best of relationships.
I dipped my napkin in my water glass and motioned with two fingers for Cody to give me his face. “You’re sticky already, sport.” He was a cute thing, though. Even if he did have maple syrup dripping down his chin.
Nancy would have pounced on him already, had those dribbles all swiped up. As moms went, Cody couldn’t have asked for one better. Too bad nobody asked him if he was ready to give her up.
Shane picked up a slice of bacon, studied it with his lips pinched. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, and the expression there wasn’t any friendlier. “Beth had someone pulled over on the side of the road as I was coming into town this morning. Pretty sure it was Dixie.”
My napkin stilled in midair, and I dropped it to the table. This conversation had been looming since I passed them on the highway this morning, like the dreaded thud of the second shoe. Dixie was back. I rubbed my suddenly damp palms against my thighs. “So? Her dad just died.” Yet for all the reasons she could have come home, that wasn’t the one I figured would get her here.
Cody stabbed his entire waffle and brought it to his mouth. I reached over to cut it for him—any excuse to break eye contact with Shane—then added bacon to my plate. I shoveled a forkful of breakfast into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to speak.
“So . . . you and she were . . . friends. I remember she up and left so suddenly. I also remember how suddenly your college plan changed and you switched from the local J.C. to a Big Ten university a day’s drive away and with barely enough time to reserve a dorm room. What I don’t remember is you ever talking about it.”
Shane’s anger was understandable. It was the same protective instinct that urged me home last year. And no lie, a bit of that hurt and anger was conjured again at just the mention of her name.
I emptied my coffee cup washing down the mass that clogged my throat. Now was not the time to revisit those memories. I dragged them out from time to time, like snapshots I could flip through and then pack away again. But those days—and that friendship—felt like a different life: mostly happy, a little embarrassing, and altogether heartbreaking. I took a bite of bacon and crammed my mouth with waffle. Anything to avoid Shane’s narrow-eyed stare.
“Refill?” Molly stood at the end of the table, thank God, waving a full pot. Shane shot me an annoyed glare that promised we’d revisit the topic of Dixie.
Cody straightened in his seat. “Yes, please.” He shoved his mug closer to her.
She waited for Shane’s nod of approval, then very seriously dribbled a bit into Cody’s cup as he studied her movements. It was inspiring, the patience she had with the kid.
“Molly, somewhere I heard you write books. Would it happen to be children’s stories?” Made perfect sense to me. I’d always heard people should write what they knew.
She laughed as she filled Shane’s mug and then mine, then topped Cody’s off with milk. “Oh, good Lord, no. There are some great ones out there, though.” She turned away, flitted around the dining room like a hummingbird, refilling coffee mugs and taking orders, hustling through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and back out again, bringing with her the clamor of crashing pots and Ruby belting out show tunes.
Minutes later our plates were empty and she was back with her tray. She leaned a hip against the edge of the table, giving Shane her full attention, but anything she wanted to say was cut off by a tap on the glass from outside. With a sigh she wasn’t quite successful at hiding, she started collecting dishes.
My lips tugged into an automatic grin when I saw who was there. “Hey, look who it is! Wave to Aunt Colleen, Cody.” I raised my hand along with Cody as my sister stood on the opposite side of the window, grinning and patting the bulge of her belly before she waddled past.
Molly paused in clearing the table to watch Collen waddle past, then glanced at Cody, who was back to shoveling food in his mouth. She dropped the check, hefted the tray of dirty dishes to her shoulder, and returned to the kitchen.
I followed Colleen with my gaze as she crossed the street and entered the building she’d remodeled into a bookstore, then wrapped my nephew in a headlock. “Pretty soon you won’t be the baby in the family, Cody.”
Cody threw his shoulders back and escaped. “I’m not a baby. I’m five and I’m going to kinnergarden when it starts.
“Wow, you’re nearly all grown up. High five!” We swatted palms.
Shane handed Cody another napkin when he noticed me wiping syrup from my hand. “Pretty soon you’ll be reading to your new cousin just like I read bedtime stories to you.”
Cody stuck his nose back to the window. “Yeah, cool.” But he did
n’t sound convinced.
Shane lifted a hip and dug out his wallet. “So, has Colleen found anyone to take over the store for her?”
I shook my head. Across the street, she came back outside with a hot pink watering can. She’d been babying her half-barrel of petunias since she planted them in the spring. “Don’t think so.” As she’d admitted to her husband Flynn that she wanted to sell the shop and stay home with their baby, he’d been pressuring her to do just that. “I guess they have a realtor looking for a buyer.”
“Something will come up.” Shane laid cash on the breakfast tab—his turn this week—then dropped his cell phone into his shirt pocket and slid out of the booth. “C’mon, cub. Dad’s got to get to the clinic, and Miss Claire will be waiting on you.”
The boy stood on the vinyl booth and hopped onto my lap, putting the family jewels in jeopardy. “Dude, whoa!” I lifted him by the waist and deposited him on the floor, adding a rib tickle to make him giggle. “Help a guy out. I still want a chance to contribute to the McAllister family line.”
And now that Shane put Dixie on my mind, an ancient memory crept in: two anxious teenagers huddled in a motel bathroom far enough from home that nobody knew them. A pregnancy test kit they were afraid to open. Tears of relief when they were granted a reprieve.
Jesus. That had to stop. I pulled a stack of yesterday’s pop quizzes from my book bag and sat back for one more cup of coffee as Cody skipped toward the entrance with my brother following at a more sedate pace. Everything he did these days was at a more sedate pace.
Voices rose and fell in the background, white noise to work by. I eyed those few bites still left of Cody’s waffle. May as well finish that off, too. Fucking Shane would sweat it out of me later anyway, on the mats.
While I waited, I glanced out the window, up and down the street, but no unfamiliar cars caught my attention. Shane had me crazy, watching for Dixie when she was probably nowhere around. Shane and Cody were there, though. Walking down the sidewalk and rescuing Huntley’s bench from Boone, who hopped down, yawned and stretched, then sprawled across the width of the sidewalk. I chuckled as they coaxed the big lug back to his feet and got him moving forward.
The town was only beginning to waken with activity creeping along at a snail’s pace. In a few more minutes I would need to leave for school and my self-imposed summer lockdown. Why again had I thought it a good idea to teach science to a group of hormone-driven underachievers? Who knew? As mysteries went, it wasn’t the biggest in my life.
Dixie, on the other hand, and whether I could manage to avoid her for the time she was back in town—that was a question for the ages.
I followed Beth through town until she turned off with a short honk and a wave. The city park was just ahead, with its newish looking playground equipment and a bandstand that was built shortly before I left. In the center of it all stood the ancient water tower, blue now—I remembered it as green—and apparently still the locals’ messaging system of choice. Looked like somebody loved Sue G. this week. Damn rednecks.
A yawn stretched my jaw about the same time my phone beeped with a voicemail notification. Must be spotty service around here; I hadn’t heard it ring. The display screen warned me it was Drew again—for the fourth time since I started my trip. I’d held party boy’s hand and made sure he got his extremely fine and popular ass on a plane to Colorado just yesterday. If he was in trouble already I didn’t want to know about it.
I had a turbulent red-eye and fifty—I consulted the dashboard clock; make that fifty-three—minutes crammed in this sardine can of a rental car in my near history. I had no patience left for Andrew Hensley. “Not right now, stud.” Later. Maybe. After about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. I dropped the device in a cup holder.
What I’d seen of my hometown while traveling the last couple of blocks seemed bright and friendly with baskets dripping cheerful petunias dangling from elegant light posts along the length of Main Street. Okay, I was impressed. Some might even find it . . . charming.
Break an Egg, the diner where I’d agreed to meet Beth, was just ahead. I turned in the opposite direction at the next corner, where Mrs. Avery’s pretty Arts and Crafts style home now bore a wooden sign hanging from a signpost in the yard. It was The Book Nook now, with pots of bold geraniums on the deep steps leading to the front porch. The sight of it made me curious what else had changed around town. It wouldn’t kill me to meander around and check it out.
The town had grown, expanded, and I drove aimlessly. Roamed as I reminisced, recognized, and discovered Ruby Valentine in her front yard with a garden hose, soaking her azaleas. She’d given me a job waiting tables at her eatery the summer before senior year, a soft shoulder to cry against when my world seemed bleak, and there was no doubt she’d box my ears if she saw me pass by without stopping to say hello.
I pulled to the curb and got out of the car. And held on to my smile even as Miss Ruby glared from her patch of lawn. “Heard about Cooter. Never figured it would take this long to get you back here.”
The woman had been a Rockette on Broadway before hooking the dashing Irving Valentine with her lithe and supple figure, but that dancer’s body was a distant memory. Ruby lumbered a little closer. “You planning to stick this time?”
I sensed she’d be disappointed if I told her I was only here for a short visit, and my ears could do without her hands slapping against them, but I couldn’t mislead her. I shook my head. “Not this time, Miss Ruby. I’m here to take care of Cooter’s funeral, his estate.” That word, estate, nearly had me snickering every time it popped up. “But it’s so good to see you again. You’re one of the few I’ve truly missed.” I let my gaze roam. “Your yard is pretty this summer.” Wide planting beds bursting with color skirted the base of her clapboard house; a neat hedge separated her property from the neighbor next door. And there were the azaleas, ringing the poplar shading the lawn she was now done watering.
“It’s a lot to keep up now that Irving’s gone—four years come fall.” Her gaze swept the yard from the house to the white picket fence I’d walked through a moment ago. “Come on up to the porch, have a sit. Still early enough for coffee, but God, is it warm! I’ll fetch us lemonade and we’ll chat.” She rolled the hose on her beefy arm as she spoke, then turned without waiting for an answer, and dropped the coil near the spigot below the porch before heading inside.
I climbed the painted wooden steps, took a seat in one of the two rocking wicker chairs. Then rose again to remove magazines from the low matching table when she returned carrying a tray. How had I forgotten that a story told in the south never traveled from Point A directly to Point B? We spent several pleasant minutes in the shade as Ruby did her civic duty and shared the local happenings—births and deaths, weddings of people I may have known at one time but didn’t remember. “The town council was in the diner for lunch last week. Nothing new there, but they were discussing a tribute to ol’ Coot to be delivered at his funeral, him being the newspaper publisher for so many years and all.”
Everything inside me tightened. My breath backed up as I waited for her barrage of questions—or accusations—until I realized there was plenty to dish on without going into detail about Cooter, or my return, which apparently had tongues wagging. No sense tempting fate, though. I lifted my glass, turned her attention to its contents. “Miss Ruby, this lemonade is delicious. Is that fresh mint?” I held my breath as she paused mid-sentence, her face flushing with seeming pleasure.
“Why, yes, from my herb garden out back. I’ve got all sorts of delectables ripening this time of year. Thought I might have tomatoes large enough to enter in the Founders’ Day competition, but we had a bit of a deluge last month and my plants have been a little temperamental ever since.”
It was all a little Mayberry, but I sipped through my straw, leaned my head against the back of the chair, and pushed off with my toes for a slow sway. “Founders’ Day. I have good memories.” The parade with floats that always seemed to spike
the lively imaginations of the local civic organizations—and tear through the town’s supplies of chicken wire and toilet paper. The carnival rides that had children lining up and roasting in the heat, tickets in hand and friendly—or not so—dares echoing, each child hoping they wouldn’t be the first to lose their lunch. And then there were the judging competitions—produce, baked goods, hand-pieced quilts—which seemed to bring out the crazy in otherwise rational seasoned homemakers.
Miss Ruby leaned forward from her cushioned rocker beside me and refilled our glasses. Despite my best intentions, a quiet peacefulness settled over me as she continued to rattle on.
She settled back in her seat and fixed a considering expression on me. “Lots of changes around here since you left. New people, new growth. Imagine you’ll get a chance to notice all that for yourself.”
Again with the ‘You’re all grown up now’ speech. I resisted the urge to squirm. This was Ruby, after all, whom I never perceived as maternal, yet was the closest thing to a mother I had for many years.
“I noticed the sign at Mrs. Avery’s house on the corner.”
“Oh, yes. Those adorable young newlyweds have that now. Bought the house only last year when they gave up on ever having a baby, and then turned it into a bookstore. Kids these days are so impatient.” Ruby paused for a sip and to shake her head with a frown I couldn’t decipher.
“Girl found herself preggers about the same time as the grand opening.” Ruby lowered her voice and glanced around as though the neighbors may be lurking. She seemed almost pained to admit as she spoke behind her hand, “Only made a few changes to the place so far. She doesn’t seem to have much vision. Place could really use some imagination.”
“Hmm.” I gave it another glance, but left the imagining for someone else.
Ruby shrugged it off. “They’re adding a special election to the Founders’ Day celebration. You may have already heard.” Ruby interrupted my musings with this seemingly off-the-wall comment.
Heart of Dixie (Moreover #1) Page 2