Southern Bride

by Knight, Ciara

  He reached for my hand, but I stepped away.

  “You know the real me. The one then and now. I haven’t changed that much.”

  “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  “It’s cut hair and a different outfit. I’m still the one who would do anything to see you smile.”

  I couldn’t do this. Not right now.

  For several moments, neither of us moved. Part of me wished the lunch crowd would pour inside the bakery, but no one entered. It was the late morning, early afternoon vacant time. Sadie was busy with Zoey in the back making delicious treats for the next rush.

  “I’m working. I should get back to the kitchen to help,” I said, abandoning the letters and Dylan.

  “No need. We got it!” Sadie hollered from the kitchen. Obviously they were eavesdropping. I should’ve known that already, though.

  “Aves, I don’t want to pressure or hurt you.” Dylan looked down at me, his eyes pleading.

  “My name is Avery,” I snapped. “You don’t get to call me Aves anymore. That girl is gone.”

  “I doubt that, and I hope to see her again soon. If you read those letters, you’ll understand why I’m here now. Why I didn’t write to you sooner. And why I don’t want to leave Magnolia Corners without you.”

  I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

  Dylan shook his head. “No, you’re not ready. But when you’re done with those letters and you’re ready, I have one more for you to read. One that I hope will change our lives forever in a great way.”

  Chapter Six

  I pulled into my overgrown driveway, parking behind Zoey’s car. Apparently she had decided not to stay with Sadie and Ashton tonight.

  With a turn of my key, the engine quieted and I could hear the cicadas chirping all around me, probably forming colonies in my ankle-high lawn. Mental note. Cut the grass tomorrow morning. Not that I felt like I’d have the energy. My arms were tired from cleaning tables, mopping floors, and serving. My legs were tired from standing all day. But it was beyond a working hard kind of tired. It was a deep inside, emotional exhaustion.

  With heavy steps, I made it to the front walk, where I spotted something on the front door steps. It was a box wrapped in pink and sage ribbons that screamed Dumont kind of gift. Only in Ashton’s family’s social circle would anyone wrap something in such beautiful finery. I went to the front stoop and studied the package as if it contained a bomb instead of a gift. A note tucked where the ribbons crossed read Avery Dixon.

  I retrieved the package, headed inside, dropped my keys in the dish on the side table, and collapsed on the couch to further analyze the box. Upon further investigation, I noticed my name was written in Dylan’s unmistakable squiggly script. Apparently the army hadn’t improved his handwriting skills. I opened the note that simply read:

  You said I didn’t know you, but I know you better than anyone else does.

  My throat tightened. What did that mean? I sat for several minutes, promising myself that I wouldn’t open it.

  Curiosity won, so I pulled the ribbon off the box. I took off the lid, placed it by my side, and then opened the white tissue paper, where I discovered a silver bracelet with three charms: a typewriter, a globe, and a magnolia.

  I knew without needing an explanation that the typewriter was to represent my childhood dream of being a world-famous novelist, a globe to represent seeing the world, and a magnolia to remind me to always come home.

  Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away. My sisters would know my dreams of traveling the world, and I’d told them that I’d always come home to Magnolia Corners, but no one, not even my sisters, knew I had dreamed of being a writer. Only Dylan knew that. Heck, even I’d forgotten since I hadn’t dared to dream of anything since…since Dylan had left.

  I caught sight of another note in the bottom of the box.

  My only goal in life now is to make all your dreams come true. Wear this bracelet to always remind you to pursue your dreams.

  Zoey came out of the back bedroom. “Hey, sis.”

  I hurried to hide the box, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  “Whatcha got there?”

  “Nothing.” I tucked the bracelet into the couch cushion at my side. “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d spend the night with you instead of at the tiny little six-thousand-square-foot home of our sister and Ashton. I get lost in that place.” Zoey leaned down and slid her hand between the couch cushions, retrieving the bracelet.

  I grabbed for it, but apparently my exhaustion had caused my reflexes to dull. “It’s not a mansion.”

  “Might as well be.” Zoey nestled in by my side on the couch, forgetting our personal space conversation, and held the bracelet in front of her eyes, inspecting it like a jewelry dealer. “What’s that?”

  “Um…a gift.”

  “From Dylan?” She eyed it, tilted her head, and then looked at me.

  I only nodded affirmation.

  She smiled. “It’s pretty, but I don’t get it. Why the world charm and some archaic device people used to write with?”

  “It’s a typewriter, and I used to use Mom’s old one when I was younger.”

  “Because we couldn’t afford a computer and we had to turn in typed papers. Doesn’t he want to give you something more useful, like a laptop for school?”

  “This isn’t about school.” I snatched it back when she wasn’t paying attention.

  Zoey shrugged. “Gee… For a man trying to win you back, he sure doesn’t know what to give you.”

  “He gave me everything,” I whispered without thinking first.

  “What do you mean?” Zoey gave me her best I’m-not-leaving-until-you-spill look.

  With a heavy sigh, I set the bracelet back in the box. “It’s just some silly childhood fantasies. The charms represent traveling to the exotic places I once dreamed of going, the magnolia for returning to home, and the typewriter for writing a novel.”

  “You want to write a novel?” Zoey asked with raised brows. “Since when?”

  “Since I was in high school. I started one but never finished it.”

  “That’s so cool! I’d be so proud to have an author for a sister. Why are you going to study social work if you want to be a writer? Wouldn’t you study English or something?”

  English? Classes? Anxiety pushed my pulse into double time. “Oh my goodness! With everything going on, I almost forgot. I’ve got to register for classes.” I grabbed my bag and my laptop Ashton and Sadie had given me for my birthday and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Zoey wasn’t giving up on our conversation, though. She pulled out the Chunky Chocolate Extreme, two spoons, and settled in by my side.

  I tried to ignore her, firing up my laptop and snagging my printed class list from my purse. When I did, Dylan’s letters fell onto the table.

  “Have you read them yet?” Zoey asked.

  “One of them,” I said with a dismissive wave.

  Zoey poked me in the arm with a spoon. “You know he only has three weeks left of leave, right?”

  I felt a twinge deep inside at the knowledge that he’d be gone again soon, but that was a good thing. “No sense in reading them, then.”

  Zoey bolted up, grabbed my laptop, and ran.

  “Where are you going?” I shouted after her.

  The bedroom door slammed before I even reached the hall. “You can have your laptop back when you read those letters. It’s time for some tough sisterly love.”

  “Sisterly curse is more like it. Give me that laptop back!” I pounded my fist against the door.

  “As I said, you can have it back after you read those letters. Not a minute before, so you best get to reading.”

  I knew Zoey well enough to realize that begging wouldn’t get me anywhere. When she thought she was helping, she was like a giant gorilla with a banana-flavored scone. “Fine, but I need my laptop back. Registration ends at midnight.”

  “Then you better sta
rt reading,” Zoey yelled through the door.

  I shuffled back to the kitchen and plopped down in a chair. With my class list on my left, Dylan’s letters at my right, and a tub of ice cream in front of me, I tried to think of a way out of this, but I’d stalled long enough. It was time to move on with my life, and if reading these letters meant that I would, then I should get it done.

  After a huge spoonful of chocolate goodness, I opened the letter dated five months ago.

  Dear Aves,

  I knew it was a long shot for the first letter to reach you. I’ve written dozens more to you since but none that I could send. They were written to you as if we were still together and I was sharing my life with you the way we did in high school, but we’re not together. I realize that I have no one to blame but myself.

  Part of me really wanted to protect you from pain and of losing me again, but after last week…well, that’s a heavy story that’s for my girlfriend, not the woman I wish to win back. Anyway, I realized that I was also protecting myself from the pain. It wasn’t that I had the fear of you running away from me but that one day you’d wake up and realize you deserved better. You are the smartest, funniest, most outrageous, southernly charming girl I’ve ever known. I’ve traveled around the world and can safely say there is no one like you.

  Do you remember that movie you made me watch where, in the end, despite all his screwups, the woman still fell into his arms with only a few words? I can only dream that after I see you, you will fall in love with me all over again.

  Perhaps we have both changed, but as you once told me, we can grow old and wilted, but we can never grow apart.

  The image of you is the only thing keeping me going these last few months. I only hope if your sister is reading this letter, she will decide to share it with you.

  I love you,

  Dylan

  Chapter Seven

  I relocated to the couch, where I sat and read the rest of the letters. Each one of them touched my heart with the way he spoke of our future together. He was the same Dylan. A dreamer, a romantic. But now he was also a soldier.

  By the time I reached the last line of the last letter, I knew how scared he was to face me again. According to him, he wasn’t even this scared the day a kid showed up with a suicide vest on near them in the street.

  I reread the last few lines over and over again.

  If you want a soldier whose only desire in life is to make all your dreams come true, then I’ll be the happiest man in the world.

  A man. A man with a future.

  I couldn’t imagine the horrible things he’d seen. Part of me wanted to go chew out the sheriff for sending Dylan away, especially for not telling me the truth, but it wouldn’t do any good.

  Dylan already knew that the sheriff sending him away had been the best thing for us both. If I was honest with myself, a small piece of me agreed.

  He would’ve been broken if he remained, but now he was solid. How could I argue with something that had given Dylan a real future? Yet, he had still chosen not to write to me until he knew he’d be coming home on leave.

  In the letters I read the subtext of him growing and changing and learning that he was worth loving, but knowing and trusting were completely different. Had he changed enough never to run from me again? Did I even want this Dylan Markham, or was he a stranger to me?

  I curled up on the couch and closed my eyes, holding the letters to my chest. My eyelids felt heavy, and I couldn’t stay awake another minute, so I dozed and dreamed of possibilities. Possibilities with Dylan.

  A whirling sound woke me from a dead sleep. I blinked and covered my eyes from the morning sun flooding in through the window. The sound caught with a growl and vroomed.

  The bedroom door squealed, and Zoey shuffled into the living room. “Do they know what time it is?”

  “Guess not.” I covered my face with the sofa pillow. “And our only morning to sleep in, too. Don’t they know this is the south? They could be shot for waking someone up with a lawnmower.”

  Zoey stumbled to the window with pre-caffeinated coordination. “Ah, I guess we’ll be the ones shot by our neighbors.”

  “What are you talking about?” I grumbled through the pillow still shielding my eyes.

  “It’s our lawnmower making that racket.” Zoey dropped the blinds with a clatter.

  I tossed the pillow aside and pushed up to try to process what was going on.

  Zoey blew her mussed hair from her eyes. “It’s too early to deal with ex-boyfriend drama. You always say I meddle too much—well, this is me not meddling.” She shuffled down the hall, calling back, “Way too early. Good luck.”

  The bedroom door shut with a click, so I went to the window to see what in the world Zoey meant. Through the blinds I spotted Dylan pushing our lawnmower across the yard. Funny how I got a jolt of non-caffeinated-wakeup in a matter of a second.

  I spotted our neighbor Mrs. Welsh on her front porch with pink hair curlers, a robe, and an attitude. Her mouth moved with what I was sure were expletives, but I couldn’t hear her over the rumble of the mower.

  Something had to be done before Mrs. Welsh threw eggs at our door again. The last time was because she thought we took her carrots from her garden.

  After a quick brush of hair and teeth I headed for the door. Not that I cared what Dylan thought of the way I looked, but there was no reason to be seen by everyone in a rumpled state of grogginess. By the time I made it outside, Mrs. Welsh was throwing tomatoes at Dylan.

  I could have moved a little quicker, but it was kind of funny seeing the red splotches on his crisp army green T-shirt and camouflage pants. He looked less perfect, more like my Dylan. No, not my Dylan. The old Dylan.

  The lawnmower finally cut off when he held up his arms to block the assaulting old lady who apparently should’ve played pitcher for the Braves.

  Why did she always throw food?

  “Mrs. Welsh, stop!”

  “Why should I stop? Someone needs to show this blue belly that we mean business.”

  Great. She thought she was fighting the north during the Civil War again. “Because those are mighty fine tomatoes. Did you grow them yourself?”

  “Of course I did.” She lowered the tomatoes long enough for me to wedge myself between her and Dylan.

  “Those look good enough to win at the next fair. You don’t want to waste them on this guy, do you?”

  “Hey,” Dylan protested, but when Mrs. Welsh raised her arm and aimed a tomato at him again, he shut his mouth and slid behind me.

  Some war hero… He could take on terrorists and enemy combatants, but he feared a senile old lady with fruits.

  “Listen, I promise no one will turn back on that mower before eight in the morning,” I crossed my heart with two fingers.

  “Nine,” she shot back.

  “Fine, nine. Now why don’t you head back inside so you can get some more rest.”

  “Rest? You think I can go back to sleep after this? I’m old, and that boy just robbed me of my few precious hours of sleep.” She continued protesting all the way back to her porch, and only the slamming of her door blocked any further verbal insults.

  I about-faced on Dylan, realizing too late that he was so close to me I could see the royal-blue flecks in his eyes. It sent me into an unwanted memory of hanging out by the lake on a blanket counting the number of specks because I wanted to know everything about him. I took a step back and cleared my throat. “What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at the mower and then back at me. “I’m mowing your lawn.”

  “I know that. Why?”

  “Because it needed to be done.”

  I huffed. “I know that. I was going to do it today.”

  He shrugged, an unexpected movement for his new persona, but with the tilt of his head, I saw the old Dylan flash before my eyes. It was like Superman popping out of a phone booth, only to slam it shut again. “Now you don’t have to.”

  Grass tickled my feet, a
nd I noticed the dew had made the blades stick to my toes. “You don’t need to cut my grass.”

  “Yes I do. From what I saw yesterday, you work a lot. I asked Sadie when your next day off was, and she told me today. I asked her what I could do to spend time with you, and she told me nothing. You’d be busy doing chores and resting. That I wasn’t to bother you. This was me not bothering you.” He half smiled, the kind that made me forget I was irritated.

  “Well, you failed. I’m bothered.”

  “I know, and you’re cute when you’re bothered.” He reached up and slid a stray hair behind my ear. He always liked when my hair was away from my face. He had told me my face was too beautiful to hide.

  A heat swept over my cheek, my neck, my arms. “Stop that.” I backed away.

  He dropped his hand to his side. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I thought I could help before I went to visit my father today.”

  “You’re going to visit that man?” I said in a way too harsh tone. “I mean, I didn’t know you were speaking to him. Did he know where you were all this time?”

  “No, Aves…ry. You were the first letter I wrote.”

  Blue and red lights flashed from down the road. We both turned to see the sheriff barreling toward my house. The man who had escorted Dylan out of town, out of my life, approached. The only question was, what did he want this time?

  Chapter Eight

  “What can we do for you, Sheriff Milton?” Dylan offered his hand and looked the man in the eye.

  The sheriff didn’t accept his offering. Instead, he shifted his gun belt and eyed Dylan with a brow-raised suspicious scan of him and then me. The sheriff hadn’t physically changed much over the years. His hair was still full and salt and paper, his frame still lean and tall, but next to the new and physically impressive Dylan, the man didn’t seem so imposing anymore. “What are you doing in Magnolia Corners, Dylan Markham?”

  “I’m here to visit. I’ve turned my life around Sheriff Milton, the way you encouraged me to do.”