by R. R. Banks
“Well, are my old eyes deceiving me or am I seeing a ladybug out in this autumn weather?”
I rushed up the steps of the porch and into Granddaddy’s arms. He hugged me close and I breathed in the comforting smell of his pipe tobacco and sunshine in his undershirt.
“Hi, Granddaddy,” I said happily.
“What are you doing here? I thought that you weren’t coming until Christmas.”
“I know,” I said, stepping back from him. “But you said that you wanted to talk to me so I thought I would come down a little early. I had a few extra days of vacation time from work.”
“I told you that we could talk about it over Christmas,” he said. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here just to talk to me.”
“Well, I wanted to come home, too. I haven’t been here for a while and I’ve been missing it.”
“That’s true. It has been a good while since you’ve made it back. I’m glad to see you.”
He leaned in and gave me a kiss on my cheek.
“It’s good to see you, too. What is it that you needed to talk to me about?”
“All that can wait. I have a few things that I need to take care of and if you’re going to be staying for a couple of days you’re going to need to settle in. Bring your stuff in the house and relax for a bit. I’ll see you when I get home.”
I nodded, wishing that he would just tell me so that the dread and anticipation would go away, and watched as he climbed down the front steps and headed for his truck where it was parked to the side of the drive. I waved at him as he drove away and went back to the car to get my bags. The feeling of happiness and safety closed around me as I stepped through the front door into Granddaddy’s house. I had grown up in a smaller house to the back of the property, first with both of my parents, then with my mother when my father left us. That place was dark and sad, and I rarely got near it since moving in with my grandparents after my mother disappeared. This house, though, was warmth, comfort, and happiness. It was love and safety. It was the only place that was really home.
After putting my things away in my old bedroom, I headed out through the backdoor to explore the farm. The condition of the pumpkin fields at the front of the house had been upsetting, but I was trying to tell myself that I might just be jumping to conclusions. The biggest and most popular fields had always been the ones to the back, and those were probably empty exactly as I expected them to be.
When I got to the fields, however, I saw that they were very much like the ones to the front. Still dotted with pumpkins, vines tangled over each other, the patches looked like they had barely been touched this season. I remembered the heyday of the farm, when all of the families used to come and pick pumpkins and eat the doughnuts my grandmother made, buying up the crafts, preserves, pumpkin and apple butters, and baked goods that she would sell. Though some of the heart had left when my grandmother died, the farm had stayed popular for years, remaining a seasonal tradition for many families throughout the Hollow and in the surrounding areas. Now it looked tired and broken down, as if it had seen very few visitors in the two autumn seasons I had missed.
Feeling sad and guilty, I walked into one of the fields and picked two pumpkins, carrying them back into the house. I thought about what was happening on the farm as I cleaned them, rubbed their skins with oil, and tucked them into the oven to roast. I would later turn them into a thick soup for supper.
I had just closed the oven door when Granddaddy came back into the house.
“Right back into the kitchen I see,” he said.
I nodded.
“I’m roasting up a couple of pumpkins,” I said. “When they’re done, I’ll do up the seeds. I’m thinking I’ll do half with salt and half with cinnamon and sugar.”
“Always best to have choices.”
I noticed a sadness in his voice and he seemed to be avoiding looking at the oven or at me.
“What’s wrong, Granddaddy?” I asked, not willing to beat around the bush any longer. “Is something going on? Are you sick?”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing like that. You know me. I’m as healthy as a horse.”
I nodded.
“I know that,” I said, “but you said that you needed to talk to me about something, and by the way the farm looks…”
I let my voice trail off, not knowing what else to say.
“Sit down, Bitsy.”
I sat down at the breakfast table and watched as he stared at his hands for a few moments.
“I’ve decided to sell the farm.”
The blunt words seemed to drop into my stomach like stones.
You could have beat around the bush maybe a little.
“Why?” I gasped. “What’s going on? Are you sure you aren’t sick?”
“I’m not sick, Bitsy. Not sick. I’m just old. The farm hasn’t been bringing in the money that it used to. Families aren’t coming out like they did years ago and when they do they don’t buy as much. There are more things to do a few towns over and more people selling things. It’s just harder to get by. Then some feller came by here a couple months back and said that he might be interested in buying the property.”
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
“I am serious. I can’t keep working as hard as I do just to watch everything that I’ve worked for slowly slip away. If I sell the farm, I’ll have enough money to buy a little house and retire. I can even give some to you so that you’ll be set for a while, too.”
“I don’t need money,” I told him. “I’m fine. I can’t believe that you would genuinely consider selling everything that our family has ever had.”
“It’s not something that I’m proud of, Bitsy, but sometimes you have to do things that you never thought that you were going to have to do.”
My eyes slid over to the calendar he always kept hanging on the wall and I withheld a sigh.
I think I’m about to find that out for myself.
I turned back to Granddaddy.
“Please reconsider,” I said. “Just for a little while. I’ll come back home and help with the farm. We’ll bring it back together, and next year you can make your decision. Just give it one more chance. One more season.”
He stared at me for a few long seconds before finally nodding. I felt relief wash over me.
“Alright,” he said. “One more season.”
“Good,” I said, letting out a breath. “There are a few things that I have to take care of back at my house, but I’ll be back at Christmas and I’ll be home from then on. Everything’s going to be alright. We’ll do this together.”
All of us.
Chapter Eight
Roman
One year later…
Nia had gone for a slightly subtler decorative approach for her Halloween party this year and I wondered if this was an indication that my little cousin was maturing a bit as she slipped ever closer toward thirty. The door opened and I stepped into what looked like a Victorian vampire lair. I heard my name and turned to see Nia running toward me wearing little more than fake blood and a translucent black gossamer cloak.
I stood corrected.
“I’m so glad you came back!” she gushed, hugging me tightly to a chest that had been boosted up until it defied gravity.
“It’s good to see you again,” I said. “How was the reunion?”
She groaned, rolling her eyes.
“You could have at least done a drive-by. I know your mother would have liked to see you.”
“I already have a lunch date with her the day after tomorrow. And I’m bringing all of the grandparents and great-grandparents on a trip back to the islands for the next two weeks.”
Her teasing face fell and she glared at me.
“You rich guys just always have to show everyone up, don’t you?” she asked.
I chuckled.
“You can come with us if you can get the time off.”
“Maybe I’ll put in a word to my boss. I hear t
hat he has some connections.”
I smiled, but I felt distracted. As much as I enjoyed the renewed relationship that I had with my cousin and was looking forward to spending more time with her and my other relatives over the next couple of weeks, my mind was on the woman who would be waiting for me. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her throughout the year and in the last few days the anticipation of meeting up with her again had dominated my every thought. I was surprised at the reaction. I never would have expected that all these months later I would not only still be thinking about her, but feel so intensely drawn to her. The power of my attraction to her was something that I hadn’t experienced before and I couldn’t resist it.
As other guests streamed into the house, I let the rush of people distance me from Nia and made my way to the back porch to wait for my mystery woman.
The night wore on and the party swelled around me, but I kept waiting. A few times I thought that I saw her approaching me or standing with the rest of the guests, but within seconds I knew that it wasn’t actually her. This woman had been living in my mind and occupying my thoughts and deepest, dirtiest dreams for a year. I could see the differences in these women that immediately marked them as not the woman I wanted. One of the women was too tall. Another too thin. A third didn’t have the sway of her hips or the delicate curve of her neck. I knew any other time any of these women would have attracted me and I might have considered spending a night with them, but not then. My mind was focused completely on my mystery woman and there wasn’t anyone else who I would even consider.
As the party wound down and the guests started to dissipate around me, I forced myself to accept that she wasn’t coming. I stalked out of the party and slammed the car door, both infuriated and disappointed. Had she ever intended on coming? When she wrote that note, had she really believed that she was going to come back and meet me, or was this just karma biting me in the ass for all the times when I disappeared on the women who I spent the night with?
Forcing away the pathetic self-pitying thoughts, I tried, for the second time in my limited interaction with this woman, to convince myself that how things had worked out was a good thing. Just as when she disappeared from the penthouse, she had done me a favor. No matter how strongly I felt about her, could I really be sure that it was real attraction. That night had been mind-blowing. It was entirely possible that the intensity of that encounter was so powerful that it was warping my mind? If she had come this year, I would have been forced to confront the reality of her and what further interaction with her would be like. Maybe it wouldn’t have been like it was that night. What would have happened if she had shown up and she wasn’t as enticing this year as she was last? And what if we saw each other outside of the party and found out that we didn’t have any compatibility outside of the costumes and masks and party atmosphere? It could have been a disaster that would not only have been incredibly awkward to deal with, but it would have also taken away the pleasure of my memories of her.
No matter how much I thought about this, however, I was still disappointed. My mouth had been watering looking forward to a treat, but all I had gotten was one hell of a Halloween trick.
Six months later…
“I think that was the first half anniversary party that I’ve ever heard of,” I said as I walked into Nia’s house.
Without all of the Halloween decorations, the house looked quiet and approachable, even welcoming. I sank down onto her couch and let my head fall back, waiting for the air conditioning to relieve the searing heat that had built up on my face and neck in the walk from my car to the house.
“Well, let’s be honest. They’re almost 103. How many more anniversaries are they really going to have?” She dropped down onto the chair across from me and kicked off her shoes. “In all actuality, though, I think that they had the party just to get you back here. They really enjoyed your last visit and thought that they were pretty lucky to have you come home twice in one year.”
“Yeah, well, I think they might be pushing their luck a little.”
I laughed and loosened my tie. The truth was that it had been nice being home as frequently as I had been. My father had avoided me vehemently since the family reunion, making my visits much more enjoyable, and I was happy that my family seemed to be pulling back together after so many fractured years.
“Hey,” she said, sitting up and pulling out her phone. “Do you want to see some pictures from the Halloween party?”
“Sure,” I said.
I wasn’t really thrilled with the idea of watching a slideshow of my humiliation, but Nia seemed so enthusiastic about it that I couldn’t turn her down. She sat beside me and scanned through the pictures, giving me lively commentary as she went. Though I got a whole new view of what had happened during the party, all I could think of was how while all of that was happening, I was standing outside waiting for the woman who would never come. That thought gave me an idea and I waited until Nia finished going through what seemed like a play-by-play of the entire night. Finally, she was finished.
“Do you happen to have any pictures of last year’s party?”
“A ton of them,” she said. “Just a second.” She walked out of the room and came back with her tablet. She took her place beside me again and logged into one of her social media accounts. “You know, in this day in age, it is ridiculous that someone, especially someone like you, doesn’t use social media.”
I had heard this diatribe before and I nodded my way through as she lectured me on the evils of being disconnected and the how much harder it was for everyone to know everything about me if I didn’t share it all. I resisted the urge to tell her that that was one of the most compelling supports for not spending my days updating, commenting, and replying.
“I do use social media,” I said. “Only it’s a group of media managers who do it. So, it’s me, but it’s not really me, and that makes me pretty much like everyone else who uses social media.”
She glared at me, but the pictures had popped up on the screen and I was too busy scanning them to pay attention to her indignance. My eyes fell on a particular picture and I reached over her to enlarge it. It was of Nia posing with my mystery woman. I felt my breath catch slightly, but I tried not to let my expression show my interest.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“That was my roommate. Bi---,” she coughed as if trying to shove the word she had started saying back down her throat. “Beatrice.”
Suddenly she gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
“What?”
“You,” she said, her hand peeling partially away from her face to point at me. “It was you.”
“What was me?”
“Bea, she told me that she hooked up with someone at the party. She didn’t want to tell me, but I finally got it out of her. I can’t believe it was you.”
She giggled and I nodded, hoping to bring her teasing to a close so I could find out more about Beatrice.
Beatrice. Really? That couldn’t be right.
“Yeah, it was me. We were supposed to meet at the party this year, but she never showed. You said that she was your roommate. What happened to her?”
“She left town last year right before Christmas and hasn’t come back.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Where did she go?”
“She went home. She said she had some family things that she needed to take care of there.”
“Home?” I asked. “Where is home?”
Nia looked like she was thinking for a few seconds and then got up from the sofa. She rushed across the room to a roll-top desk that I remembered being in my grandmother’s house when I was younger.
“I think I still have it,” she said as she dug through the drawer. “Here it is. She sent it to me just a few days ago.”
Nia carried over a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. I took it and unfolded it, looking up at her as soon as I read it.
“You’re kidding,”
I said.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Whiskey Hollow?”
“That’s where she was born and raised.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No.”
I let out a breath. She had never left my mind and for the first time in the six months since I thought I would never see her again, I had a way to get to her. I knew that I needed to figure out where this place was and find her.
Chapter Nine
The Holler Holler
June Volume One
Whiskey Hollow Day Celebrations
Residents are reminded of upcoming Whiskey Hollow Day celebrations. Those baking the traditional loaves of bread are asked to make sure that their loaves are baked in time so that they can sit out for the full day in order to stale properly. Whiskey Hollow Day Committee head Loretta Harper has requested that this publication warn all bakers that she has personally been to each of the bakeries and grocery stores within the 25-mile radius and delivered pictures of all those who had volunteered to bake the loaves. They have been warned not to allow any of those listed to purchase any bread or bread-like items beyond a single loaf of pre-sliced sandwich bread between now and the celebration. You will have your choice of wheat, rye, or that Bible bread stuff with all the little seeds and nuts and complicated names. We don’t want any incidents like we had during last year’s Breadgate.
The Whiskey Hollow Day Festival is still looking for vendors. Now, come on folks. Even if you have had a table at the festivities every single year for as long as you can remember and your mama had one before you, you still have to let the Festival Committee know so that they can plan ahead and make sure that there are enough spaces and arrange them right so that they don’t have another Jelly Row situation. So, get those forms in. You know who you are. Also, there are several spots open for new vendors after being recently vacated. Please see the In Memoriam insert.