I grabbed hold of her hands and held them tightly. “We see it now.”
The sadness in her gaze nearly broke me. “You and I see it now,” she said softly.
She didn’t need to state the obvious—that Mother didn’t see it and wasn’t likely to.
At the sound of footsteps above our heads she sighed. “That’ll be one of your yoga students. I should get the coffee cake warming and get to work on breakfast.”
“Breakfast can wait,” I said. “Why don’t you join us? Stretch the body, heal the mind.”
For a second I thought she was going to say yes, but she shook her head, and her braid fell from her shoulder and swung loosely across her back. “Thanks all the same, but I think I need the peace that comes from the kitchen this morning more than anything at all.”
“I’ll stay and help. I can crack eggs fairly well.”
“No, no. Go on. Stretch your body, heal your mind. Not all nourishment comes from food.”
I hated to leave her, not when we’d just found each other again. Really found each other. But I remembered that life went on. Today was a new day. I wasn’t going to lose her again. “You know where to find me.”
She smiled. “Always.”
* * *
The early morning breeze skimmed the lake, gently rippling the water and carrying on it a whisper of pine from trees that dotted the shoreline. Teddy walked by my side, her flip-flops smacking on the dock. Her teased hair was swept back in a claw clip, and she wore a simple outfit of white twill shorts and a black tank top. A slight cigarette scent floated around her, and I suspected she had sneaked out of the cottage to stress-smoke in the wee hours of the night.
“I didn’t have the heart to wake her,” Teddy said. “She was sleeping so peacefully, and peace is just what she needs right now. She has such a gentle soul. A broken but gentle soul.”
Bree and Nigel were sleeping in this morning, and I didn’t blame them. Sleep was where I found the most peace, especially when I dreamed of nothing at all.
At the end of the dock, I unrolled my mat. “Her spirit shows in all she does. From her manners to the way she interacts with Tucker to her sweet smile.”
“Last night brought back a whole host of emotions for her.” Teddy stepped out of her flip-flops and snapped open her towel, laying it gently onto the wooden planks. “With the ambulance and all.”
“I can only imagine.” Sadie had told me some of Bree’s history, sharing how she’d acquired her scars. It had all but shattered what was left of my already broken heart. She’d survived so much at such a young age, and it was no wonder she was so shy. Yet, she hadn’t given up on life. She had opened up to Sadie and me, and her love for Teddy was obvious. It was inspiring, her determination to keep moving forward and not live in the past with all her pain.
Teddy sat down and crossed her legs at the ankles. “She’s really struggled this year. Dealing with her grief, her injuries, leaving the only home she’s ever known, going to a new school in a different town. My nephew and his wife were granted guardianship of Bree and have done everything they can to try to help her, but with a family of their own, which includes three little ones, it’s been a lot to take on, and they’ve been butting heads with Bree some. Plus, it pains them to talk about what happened to Bree’s mama, and so she holds a lot in, when she ought to be talking it out. It’s why I offered to have Bree stay with me for the summer—so they could all get a little break. Plus, I thought a little lake magic could only help with Bree’s healing, and it’s done just that. Being at the lake has been good for her. She’s been happy here.”
“Is it being near the lake?” I asked, getting comfortable on my mat. “Or is it being with you? Have you thought about having her come live with you? Might be a better fit for her, emotionally. And maybe for you, too.”
“Oh, no.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s a nice thought but impossible. I don’t want to start a family war with my nephew. Plus, Bree’s not going to want to live with Old Lady Aldridge. She’s eighteen. She should be with younger folk. Flying free, as your mama would say.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to fly,” I offered, hoping she heard me. Really heard me. Not only the words but the meaning. “Maybe Bree wants to stay right where she is, with you. You should ask her what she wants. And maybe your nephew would be agreeable. After all, you mentioned they were butting heads. Plus, she’s eighteen and likely doesn’t need his permission anymore.”
In Alabama, the age of adulthood was nineteen, but it was probably eighteen in Indiana where Bree was from. If so, she could likely make her own choice where she wanted to live, even though she still had a year left of high school.
Teddy’s green eyes darkened as looked out over the water and took a deep breath. “My studio apartment is too small. I’m not sure I can earn enough to support the two of us. What do I know about home schooling? I’m old.”
“Sixty is not old.”
“Says the thirty-year-old.”
Smiling, I said, “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. Think about it.”
“Oh, to have that kind of faith in life.” She drew in a deep breath. “What happens if I get too attached? And then she’s off to college and I’m all alone again?”
It suddenly occurred to me that Teddy might have commitment issues. If so, no wonder she’d never been able to find love. She’d probably kept pushing it away out of fear. “There’s a saying from the Dalai Lama. It goes something like, Give them roots to come back, wings to fly, reasons to stay. But you have to be able to give them a home in your heart first of all.”
“My old heart,” she said on a sigh.
“Which still works,” I pointed out, injecting a little of my mother’s drama into my tone. “Now, come on—let’s start with the mountain pose.” Fitting, since she was being stubborn as a rock. We went through a series of stretches in silence before I said, “Thanks again for helping out last night.”
“I wish there was more we could’ve done.” Water slapped against the dock as she bent low. “I’m going over to the hospital later this afternoon to visit with Susannah. Maybe sneak her some bourbon.”
She grinned to let me know she was joking. Or at least I hoped she was joking.
“She’ll like seeing you.” Not only because she loved being the center of attention, but because she loved Teddy. “You’re a good friend to her.”
“She’s a good friend to me. You girls know a different Susannah than I do, and I wish to the heavens that you knew mine.”
I wished it, too, and I hated wishes.
“She’s funny and creative, bold and generous. I’ve leaned on her more times than I can count. Looking for true love weighs on a person over time. Just trust me on that.”
“I will,” I promised solemnly.
As she turned her head to look at me, the sun glinted in her eyes, and the color reminded me of the morning’s dewy grass. “I hope y’all find your way back to each other.”
“Thanks, Teddy. I hope so, too.” I truly did. I was going to try my best to do my part.
“And you’ll tell Bree and me if you want us to pack up and leave, right? I know that’s not what Susannah wants, but I want to know what you want, Leala.”
To ease the knot in my shoulders, I reached down and touched my toes. “I want you to stay. Sadie does, too. And Mother would check herself out of the hospital and drag you back here if you left, so it’s settled. You’re staying.”
She laughed, a throaty, rich sound. “All right, it’s settled.”
When the sliding screen door squeaked, I looked back at the cottage. Apparently my squeak-proofing treatment had already worn off. Iona stepped out, and she waved before sitting down at the patio table with a mug and a book, and we waved back.
A flock of birds flew overhead, their dark bodies a stark contrast to the white clouds above them. “You ready to try the boat pose? Seems appropriate out here on the lake.”
Teddy smiled. “Yep. Let’s keep stretching
these old bones.”
And maybe, I thought, along the way, she’d stretch her heart to let someone else in, because I knew it was more than big enough.
Chapter
17
Sadie
Uncle Camp shuffled down the hallway, bleary-eyed and bedraggled. “Not used to staying up past my bedtime. Apparently this old man needs his beauty sleep,” he joked as he headed for the coffeepot. Then he added, “But I’m guessin’ it was a rough night for all.”
“You’re as handsome as ever.” I pushed the jar of sorghum syrup toward him. “And last night was one I’d rather forget altogether, honestly.”
He’d slept in a bit, and I was glad for it, since he’d had such a late night. Leala and Teddy were still on the dock, and Iona was out on the patio, having drifted through the kitchen a few minutes ago. Everyone else was still in bed.
“I don’t be blaming you for that.” His hand wobbled as he spooned the syrup into his coffee and took a sip. “No one makes coffee as good as you.”
I laughed and capped the sorghum syrup, which I’d never cared too much for, preferring sugar. “You’re the one who taught me.”
The lines around his eyes bunched together as he smiled. “You done one-upped me somehow. Whippersnapper.”
Coffee seemed such a simple drink to make. A few scoops of ground beans, some hot water, and there it was. But when Uncle Camp taught me, he made it seem as though it were the most important recipe I’d ever learn. I’d been just twelve years old.
The original recipe had come from his mama, my great-granny, and had primarily consisted of chicory grounds with a little bit of coffee thrown in, and according to him it’s what had cleared the hair straight off his head. He’d told me all about how she drank it using the saucered-and-blowed method, popular way, way back, when coffee was usually boiled in a tin pot on a woodstove. She’d pour the brew from a cup into a saucer, which she then would hold to her lips to blow across it, cooling it enough to drink straight out of the saucer. To cut the bitterness, she’d add a dollop of sorghum syrup, a habit that Uncle Camp had adopted somewhere along the way.
I’d listened enrapt, because rare were the moments Uncle Camp shared personal family stories, and his were like treasures I hoarded to be brought out and oohed and aahed over when I needed something beautiful to cheer me up.
My heart full of love for him, I said, “How would you feel about doing a piece for A Southern Hankerin’ about making coffee?”
Over the years I’d tweaked my great-granny’s coffee recipe to fit my taste buds, since her version had been much too strong. I used three parts coffee grounds to one part chicory grounds, a blend that to me was just right but was still too strong for others—like Bree, who’d had to use a lot of sugar to sweeten it up.
He chuckled. “Everyone’s got their own way of making coffee. They don’t need to hear ours.”
“I know, but it’s not really about the recipe, is it? I think people would like learning about Great-Granny and her saucers and how you use sorghum syrup as a sweetener. It’s a charming throwback, and I know my viewers will love you as much as I do.” I held up praying hands and gave him the biggest smile I had. “It won’t be anytime soon. Maybe in the fall.”
There was a decidedly dubious look in his eyes when he spoke. “All right, Sadie Way. For you, I’ll do it. Put me on your schedule.”
“Thank you!” I threw my arms around him.
“Sweet-talker,” he mumbled under his breath as he hugged me back then stepped away to top off his cup.
The first time I’d made coffee with him was when the idea of keeping these family stories, these food memories, had taken root. I’d always thought I’d write a book about them one day, but it wasn’t until the day I’d come home from the hospital after my accident that my mind shifted to filming the stories instead. That day, Uncle Camp had served me up a bowl of corn fritters drizzled in honey—his go-to recipe when we were ill—and told me how he’d once made corn fritters for my daddy when he was little and had been down and out with chicken pox. He’d laughed and laughed as he shared how at one point Daddy had used a fritter to scratch an itch. The story had made me smile, the first in days. I’d felt the story. It had lifted me out of a funk, at least for a little while. And I recalled wishing I had a video camera to capture Uncle Camp’s facial expressions and humorous pauses. That story had been the start of A Southern Hankerin’, the seed.
After I dropped out of college, it had taken months on the road working odd jobs to save enough to buy a decent camera. I’d started seeking out those kinds of uplifting stories, those food memories, wherever I could find them. Coworkers indulged me at first, but then word of mouth took over, and the rest was history.
If I hadn’t left Sugarberry Cove, would I have done A Southern Hankerin’? I wasn’t sure. Maybe. The seed had been there, after all. But it definitely wouldn’t be what it was now. I wouldn’t have traveled. And if Will had asked me to stay in town that day I told him of my plans to leave, I would have stayed, despite my feelings of failure and my search for purpose. Because I’d loved him.
“You doin’ okay over there?” Uncle Camp asked.
I pulled puff pastry dough from the fridge, where it had been defrosting, along with red and yellow peppers, and a flat of eggs, and set it all on the prep island. Savory puff pastry tarts were on the menu this morning. “Just thinking about things I haven’t considered in a long time.”
“Taking a hard walk down memory lane, are you? Looking back can be painful. Too painful to even talk about sometimes.”
“Yep,” I agreed, reaching for a bowl.
“But sometimes, it’s a beautiful walk.”
I let out a sigh. “Not today.”
He topped off his mug. “History shapes us, molds us, forms us. You’re where you are now because of where you’ve been and the choices you’ve made. You have to ask yourself, Am I happy? Because if not, every day is a new day to start over.”
Was I happy? It suddenly seemed a complicated question. “I’m not unhappy. I’m just…” I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t find the words for how I felt right now. There was too much spinning around, like a tornado had uprooted all my emotions. “I don’t know.”
The spoon clinked against the ceramic mug as he swirled it around the dark coffee. “Life’s too short to not be living it exactly the way you want it. You have the power to make the changes, the choices.”
“It’s not that easy, Uncle Camp.”
“All I’m saying, darlin’, is that the decisions you make today affect your tomorrows. Choose carefully.”
We chatted for a while about Mama, her condition, and when she might be home, before he glanced at the glowing clock on the microwave. “Hardware store’s opening about now. I’m going to make a run over there. I thought I’d take a page from your book and touch up the paint on the front porch. Give Susannah a pretty welcome home.”
The front porch desperately needed tending to. “I can help you after my morning chores.”
He grinned. “I was hoping you’d offer so I didn’t have to beg.”
“You never have to beg. I’m right here if you need me.” But the words sounded hollow to my own ears, especially since I would be leaving again soon.
“Can’t say I’m disappointed you’ll be staying awhile longer, even though the reason why ain’t the best.”
If I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t disappointed, either, though I knew my delayed departure was going to make saying goodbye that much more difficult. From the hospital last night, I’d called and postponed my trip to Georgia indefinitely and canceled my hotel reservations. I couldn’t leave before I was certain Mama was up and around and well cared for. I’d also taken the time to add Connor’s phone number to my phone, and he’d added mine to his. I’d been oddly emotional over the exchange of numbers. It represented so much more than it appeared.
But since I was staying for a while, one thing needed to be changed around here immediately: t
he Wi-Fi situation. I planned to call the cable company as soon as the breakfast service was over.
Uncle Camp headed for the petty cash tin, an old cookie container, and when he opened it, he was surprised to see it stuffed full of money. “What in the blazes?”
To be exact, there was $300 in small bills in the tin. I knew, because I’d been the one to put them in there yesterday. I always kept a good amount of cash on me when I traveled, hidden away here and there in my car, my luggage, my makeup bag. Right now the cottage needed the money more than I did.
“Do you know anything about this?” he asked, tipping the tin toward me.
“No, sir. I surely don’t.” I took a leisurely sip of coffee.
He stared long and hard, let out a guffaw that told me he knew I was lying, and kissed my cheek on his way to the front door.
A moment later, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Connor and Tucker were heading down, and by the look of it, Tucker didn’t seem too pleased with the early wakeup.
“Coffee to go?” I asked Connor.
“Thanks, Sadie. I’d really appreciate it.”
I poured coffee into a paper cup, snapped a lid on it, and added a protective sleeve. I handed it to Connor and said, “Good morning, Tucker.”
He turned his face ever so slightly and gave me a half smile. Progress!
“Moo?” he asked, holding him out to me.
I threw a questioning glance at Connor, who gave me a shrug.
I took Moo from Tuck’s hand and held the stuffed animal up to my face. “Good morning, Moo. Would you like some warm milk?” I winced. “Do cows drink milk? Seems all kinds of wrong.”
Connor laughed. “Calves do.”
“That makes sense. Can you tell I didn’t grow up anywhere near a farm?”
The Lights of Sugarberry Cove Page 18