by Lauren Clark
“Are you okay?” Shug gives me a strange look of bewilderment.
I gasp for breath, but can’t stop giggling. How much worse can this get? In the span of several hours, I’ve had my rental SUV attacked, been accosted by fire ants, my religious life questioned, my Diet Dr. Pepper almost refused. Now, I’ve been bathed in a drink so sweet I’ll probably stick to the dining room chairs.
I inhale through my nose and try to swallow. Okay, there, you can do it. Focus.
“It’s just … it’s just,” I glance at Shug’s incredulous face and start to giggle again. I bend over and hug my knees, then pinch myself to get a grip. I try again.
Looking amused, he whispers to Ella Rae. She slips inside the house without a sound.
“It’s just that I am supposed to be in Manhattan. And I’d probably be out at a very nice restaurant where nothing ever gets spilled, and people are very, very serious about their meal, and equally serious about their hundred-year old scotch.”
Shug picks up a piece of glass. It glints in his hand, winking at me.
“I’m supposed to be there,” I say. “But I’m here.” Which is thousands of miles away from home, twenty degrees too warm, a trip that is—so far—just short of a complete nightmare.
Things aren’t turning out anything remotely like I planned. I haven’t done the first interview. And I’m starving. I tap my semi-soaked shoe, trying to gather my thoughts. With every movement, my heels squish. But I’m not unhappy. Not in the least.
“And so?” he echoes, not taking his eyes off me.
I glance down at my outfit, which I have to admit, isn’t completely ruined. It will dry.
“Not what you expected?” he prompts, his face is awash with worry.
“Something like that,” I laugh and dab at my face with the edge of my sleeve.
“Well,” Shug hesitates. “It would mean a lot if you’d stay.”
I’m about to unleash a silly comment when I see his face. And melt.
“What I meant to say is that I’m fine. I’m not leaving,” I muster a determined look and crouch down. “I’ll help clean this up.” My fingertips find the rough concrete as I steady myself and search for shards of glass.
“I have an idea. How about this?” Shug says.
I think he’s found something unusual, so I look up, and we nearly bump heads. Shug sits back on his heels and pushes his palms against his khakis. “We’ll start over,” he explains. “From scratch.” His hand stretches out to me again. “Shug Jordan. Nice to meet you.”
He has my attention now. Anyone who passes by this porch will think we’re insane. On hands and knees, I lift one arm and slide my hand into his waiting palm anyway.
The door swings open as Shug touches my hand. And doesn’t let go.
“Shug? Julia?” I hear a female voice call.
When I glance up, I wrench my arm back and my fingers wiggle free as PD takes in the shattered mess and spilled tea. Traces of liquid are left, but most has soaked into the crevices and cracks.
I paste on my brightest smile and direct it at Shug’s sister. “Care to join in? We’ve been doing gymnastics. Ella Rae was first on the balance beam.”
Beside me, Shug lets out a snicker.
PD just stares as if I’ve sprouted another head.
“Shug was trying for a handstand, but he’s not very good,” I said breezily.
“I think I’ll pass,” PD shoots a strange look at both of us. “Anyway, dinner’s ready. You’ll probably want to get cleaned up.”
The screen door creaks and closes.
“Julia,” Shug begins, “why—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, straightening up and brushing off both hands.
“You didn’t have to take the blame.” Shug’s eyes search mine, curious. “Why did you?”
I don’t know quite how to answer. There are a million tiny reasons, all equally valid.
Just pick one, I tell myself—I was the same way, a little out of control, on the edge of everyone’s nerves?
Or, I could tell Shug that Ella Rae might have ADHD. Or something like it. And remind him that she’s already been in trouble once today.
Finally, there’s this answer: Given a little time—say, the next ten years—maybe Ella Rae will outgrow it. Or learn to manage it better. And she’ll be okay.
I don’t explain.
Instead, I sum it up this way.
“She reminds me … of me.”
Chapter 11
Unlike the streets of Manhattan, the twenty square feet of the Jordan dining room leaves little space to disappear. I press myself against the wooden edge of a side-table, out of the way.
When Mary Katherine and Shug’s father arrive at precisely the same time, the family sweeps them up into a hugging frenzy.
Shug’s father turns to greet me. From his profile, I’ve already noted the same dark hair, the identical angled jaw line. There’s an air of nonchalance in the way he carries himself, a hint of mischievous little boy.
“Julia Sullivan,” I say and extend my arm to shake his hand.
“Toomer Jordan, but you can call me TJ.” With the force of a steamroller, I find myself being crushed, arms flailing, against the barrel-chested man whom I just laid eyes on a moment ago. My feet lift off the floor, and I struggle for air.
Aubie saves me. I hear the kitchen door swing behind her. “Thomas Jefferson Jordan, put her down.” The words, slightly slurred, are rigid, nonetheless.
Immediately, I’m back to Earth, and the soles of my shoes slam against the carpeting.
“Thank you,” I gasp. Do that to a stranger in New York and you’d likely be slapped with an order of protection or get sued. Clearly, behind the Mason-Dixon Line, life is much cozier.
“Aw, Aubie, I didn’t mean nothing,” TJ’s voice lies. He winks in my direction and moves over to bear hug Ella Rae. TJ growls like an animal, and his granddaughter screams with delight as he throws her in the air, millimeters away from the fifteen-tier crystal chandelier. PD watches, tight-lipped.
“May I help with anything?’ I offer, as Aubie makes her way toward the kitchen.
She shoos me away with a firm push of her hands.
“Enjoy yourself, dear,” she urges.
I watch in awe as Aubie transports plates heaping with food to the dining room. She disappears, and I count five seconds, then she’s back with another dish, this time fried chicken, glistening gold. She sets down the plate, puffs of steam rise. Then, she’s gone again.
When I think no one’s looking in my direction, I snatch a moment to check the puffy, red skin on my ankle. As I twist my leg in the light, trying to see, Mary Katherine breaks her conversation with Shug to rush over and inspect my leg.
“Lord have mercy, bless your heart!” In four-inch heels, she tiptoes over and examines the raised, angry spots. “Did Aubie get you with the vinegar?” Mary Katherine asks, covering a smirk with wide-eyed innocence.
Before I can take a breath, Ella Rae pipes up, “Shug dumped it on her. A whole jug of it.” She sniffs the air, “Can’t you smell it?”
“Young lady,” PD cautions, giving her daughter a pointed look and shaking her head.
Mary Katherine, ignoring the insult, lays a cool hand on my shoulder. “You just be careful, honey. Things aren’t the same here as in New York.”
So I’ve noticed.
“I’m going to get MeeMaw,” PD calls out.
“Everyone find a seat,” Aubie says over a pot of beans she sets in the middle of the table. She takes a wobbly step back to survey the scene.
Mary Katherine does her best not to scowl across the table as Shug sidles into the chair next to me. Before I can offer to swap seats, TJ lumbers by.
“You gonna watch Duke this weekend?” He yanks back the chair at the head of the table and nods at Shug. The chair groans as he plops down, leans back, and props one elbow lazily over the armrest.
“If I get time,” Shug answers. “And I think Carolina looks good.”
I blink and take in the exchange, watching Shug react to his father.
“No thanks,” he says, offering an easy smile. “I like my money right where it is.”
TJ shakes his head and rolls his eyes, like Shug has just told him the world is flat, not round. “Son, we’re talking easy cash.”
“There’s no such thing,” PD snaps from the doorway. She is guiding a tiny woman in a wheelchair into the only open spot at the table. As they walk closer, PD pauses next to me. I turn to stand up and greet her.
“MeeMaw, this is Miss Julia Sullivan,” Shug’s sister yells, close to the woman’s ear. “From New York City.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say and take her tiny hand in mine. The woman looks as frail as balsa wood. Her skin is the color of parchment paper. MeeMaw’s white hair is swept away from her face into a simple chignon.
I expect to see the cloudiness of cataracts, the result of age and wear, but her eyes are a sharp, deep, black-brown mahogany. A small notepad and pencil are cradled in the folds of her long, blue cotton skirt.
MeeMaw nods hello, and PD nudges the chair further down the table, fussing over her with tenderness.
Shug bends his head close to mine. “Daddy’s mama. She had a stroke and can’t talk.”
The notebook and pencil make sense now. I can’t imagine losing the ability to speak. Everything would bottle up inside me, fill to the top, and burst.
Aubie downs another swallow of spiked tea. “Say the blessing, TJ,” she commands as she sets her glass on the table.
TJ clears his throat and lifts his arms like the conductor of an orchestra. Everyone, except for me, joins hands with the person next to them. I slide my palm to the table and let it rest there. Shug finds my fingers. Ella Rae’s tiny palm slips into my other hand.
Heads bow around the table.
“Heavenly Father,” TJ begins, “We thank you for this day and all the blessings you have bestowed upon this family. We are humbled in your very presence, Oh Lord, and feel you working in our daily lives. I pray that we may be forgiven for our sins, and remember that you sent your only Son to die on the cross so that we may have eternal life in your magnificent kingdom of heaven.” Shug’s father continues in this fashion for at least another five minutes, adding in blessings for the community, the governor of Alabama, and members of the Auburn University football team.
I try not to wiggle. My right leg is asleep, and my neck is starting to spasm. My eye opens a sliver, just enough to see Ella Rae glance at me from under the fringe of her hair. TJ keeps talking and we sit, smiling at each other.
“And thank you, dear Lord, for sending us Jessica from New York City …”
“Julia,” Ella Rae interrupts and I try not to laugh.
TJ clears his throat. “Thank you dear Lord, for sending Julia from New York City. Watch over her and keep her safe as Julia visits our fine city.” He takes a breath. “Finally, Heavenly Father, bless this food to our bodies and us to your service. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Shug squeezes my hand and lets go. With a clatter, forks and knives are picked up and the conversation begins again in earnest. As I pass the platters, taking a sample of each, I notice that Mary Katherine chooses the tiniest drumstick and scoops only five beans onto her plate. She eyeballs my portion with a touch of satisfaction and sweeps her napkin onto her lap.
No wonder she’s so thin. Oh well.
“Okra.” Shug’s voice pulls me away from worrying about Mary Katherine. He hands me a steaming bowl with pellet-sized pieces of vegetable, each green piece coated with a golden breading. A tangy but sweet smell tickles my nose. I hesitate, then scoop a small helping onto my plate. At least three pieces bounce off onto the table and leave grease marks behind.
I hurry to pass the dish and hear Mary Katherine start to titter. That is, until Shug snaps up the okra pieces from around my plate and pops them into his mouth like candy.
PD, who’s been feeding MeeMaw with microscopic spoonfuls, stops and makes a face at her brother. Mary Katherine glares in Shug’s direction, like he’s just licked the floor clean. Ella Rae giggles and mimics her uncle, but a few of her okra pieces hit the floor.
“Shug,” PD whispers. “Manners.”
Shug winks at his sister and digs into his mashed potatoes with vigor.
Aubie, who’s missed the whole performance, is wobbling to stay upright. “Julia dear,” she slurs, “we are so excited you’re here to preview the Pilgrimage.”
Before I can answer, TJ cuts in. “Now Aubie, I know that’s your pet project.” He turns to me. “There are big plans for ramping up tourism in the area, and not just in the historic district.”
I see Shug frown into his dinner plate.
“Just remember, there’s a lot more to Eufaula than just the Pilgrimage,” TJ lifts his fork at me to emphasize his point.
Aubie ignores her husband’s comment. “When I was just seventeen, in 1965, the city held the first-ever Pilgrimage.” She sighs and clutches her napkin, dabs it to her lips. “There was this reporter.”
PD clamps her mouth tight and closes her eyes.
“It was the event of the century, with lovely parties and so much celebration.” Aubie pauses, her eyes resting on a photograph to her right. I follow her gaze, taking in the young girl in a billowing skirt. A young man is by her side, unsmiling.
“He took that photograph,” Aubie says dreamily. “That reporter. I can’t remember…” Aubie rubs her forehead with his fingertips.
“I get to wear a dress like that to the Pilgrimage. It has a pink bow!” Ella Rae pipes up.
“Shhh!” PD scolds Ella Rae, then directs her attention to Aubie. “Mother, I’m sure Julia would love to hear about the actual Pilgrimage, not—”
“He was so handsome,” Aubie persists, swaying with the memory like she’s dancing. “A real gentleman. And I wore that dress. I still have it, you know, in the closet.” She tries to take another sip of sweet tea, and then scowls into her now-empty glass.
At this point, everyone’s stopped eating. TJ is red-faced, rebuffed. Ella Rae plays with the vegetables on her plate, lining up the okra and creamed corn into a smiley face.
Shug shifts in his seat, watching his mother. I forget about my tingling leg.
Aubie leans her chin toward her open palm. When she does, her jaw misses her hand and lands on the table. The impact makes the silverware bounce and the water in my glass slosh dangerously close to the edge.
“Mama!” PD’s words come out a gasp, but it is Shug who pushes back his seat and springs up. Mary Katherine, annoyed, tries to grab his wrist. Shug shakes off her touch and bends over his mother, whispering in her ear.
I’m holding my breath. Aubie doesn’t respond. Her cheek is pressed against the tablecloth.
“That’s enough,” TJ slams a heavy hand on the table. Ella Rae jumps and begins to sob silent tears. Her small shoulders quiver. TJ doesn’t notice. He glares at Aubie.
“Bless her heart,” Mary Katherine murmurs to herself, her fork poised in the air. She’s not looking at Aubie, though no one else notices. Her gaze is focused on TJ, like he’s the only person in the room.
Shug heaves his mother to her feet. As they step out of the dining room, Aubie clings to her son, head lolling back like a rag doll. Their awkward footsteps sound down the hallway. Clump-slide, clump-slide.
Ella Rae finds her feet and rushes off. I don’t stop her. Neither does anyone else.
A door closes on the other end of the house, and in moments, Shug is back at the table. He grips the napkin he threw down on his plate.
“Ella Rae’s in her room,” he says to PD. He makes no mention of his mother.
I swallow and wonder how many times a month this happens.
And whether anyone reacts any differently.
“So, Julia,” Mary Katherine dabs at her lips with her napkin, the smile of a Cheshire cat behind it. “Tell us all about New York City.”
So, this is how it is, I think. Hit rewind, and it’s like Aubie was never here. I glance at Mary Katherine’s plate, still arranged with her pitiful chicken leg and five lonely beans.
My appetite has disappeared. “What would you like to know?” I answer, keeping my voice even.
Mary Katherine peppers me with questions about shopping and shows, celebrities and clubs. I describe restaurants, exotic dishes, and talk about museums and new projects.
“There you go,” TJ booms. “New buildings, renovation, growth. So much opportunity. Just what Eufaula needs.”
“I don’t know about that …” I struggle to answer. “Speaking of construction, why don’t you tell me about what’s happening in Eufaula. Give me some background for my article.”
TJ looks pleased at my suggestion and Shug’s eyes light up.
“That’s why we’re so excited that you’re here,” Shug begins. “We have some significant renovation projects we’re trying to get off the ground. The Bluff City Inn, next to the Honeysuckle Diner, was built in 1885 by Dr. Reeves as a one-hundred room, three-story hotel.”
TJ clears his throat, looking bored.
“There’s also the Lakeside Hotel and Restaurant. It’s on the shores of Lake Eufaula. Another eight miles up the road is the area’s state park,” Shug adds. “It’s in sore need of modernizing, but we’re trying to tackle the project with some funding from the government.”
TJ now drums his fingers on the table. “Are you done?” he asks, when Shug takes a breath. “Mr. Encyclopedia of Historical Knowledge over there.” TJ jabs a thumb across the table. “Aubie’s brainwashed him into thinking we need to save every shack in Barbour County.”
“It’s my job,” says Shug, his jaw set.
“Well, if you got your candy-ass over to the construction company full-time maybe we could go ahead with some of those building projects I want to tackle.” TJ’s voice is fiery hot. “Some of them houses—”