by Nan Rossiter
“You don’t think you’d get bored?”
She shook her head. “I’d love it,” she said, taking a bite of her pizza. “Is Gage gonna get more chickens?”
“Funny you should ask,” Maeve said, clicking on the movie, “because he’s picking up two new chicks tomorrow.”
“He is?!” Harper asked. “Can I go?”
“If you want to,” Maeve answered, thinking about their plans for the next day. “And then you can come over and help weed.”
“Can we plant something, too?”
“Sure! We can pick up some plants when we’re at Agway.”
“Yes!” Harper said, pumping her fist.
Maeve chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid so excited about weeding.”
As Harper reached for her root beer, Big Mac sauntered in, hopped on the couch, and curled up next to them. “I’m just excited about working in a garden.”
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, GAGE AND MAEVE PICKED UP HARPER. “YOU should’ve taken her home with you,” Macey said when Maeve came into the kitchen and reached for a coffee mug.
“I thought about that,” Maeve replied as she poured the steaming coffee, “but she was sound asleep and I knew she’d have to have her medicine. It was late and it just seemed complicated, but maybe we can plan an overnight soon.”
Coming into the kitchen and overhearing her aunt’s words, Harper grinned. “I could stay over tonight,” she said hopefully, looking from her aunt to her mom.
“Fine with me,” Macey said with a shrug, but then she raised her eyebrows and eyed her sister questioningly. “You just had girls’ night last night.”
Maeve nodded. “That’s okay. We can do tonight. We’ve been talking about it long enough, right? We should do it!”
“Yes!” Harper said, pumping her fist. “I’ll go pack!” And before anyone could change their mind, she was racing up the stairs.
“Make sure you pack clothes for church!” Macey called. Then she turned to Maeve and asked, “Are you going to church?”
“I can,” Maeve said. “It would probably make Mom happy because she thinks I’ve fallen off God’s list of potential candidates for heaven.”
“It probably would,” Macey said. “Should you ask Gage first?”
“He’ll be fine. We don’t have anything goin’ on. Just picking up the baby chicks and working around the house.”
“Okay,” Macey said, sounding unconvinced. “By the way, have you seen the fox again?”
“Not since it took Eggna. I think I scared the bejesus out of it with all my yelling . . . and it’s a good thing because Gage is planning to shoot it if it comes back.”
Macey looked alarmed. “He keeps his gun locked up, right?”
“Of course! Don’t worry.”
“Mm-hmm,” Macey said skeptically.
“Tell me Ben doesn’t have a gun,” Maeve said defensively.
“He does, but I know it’s locked up and the key is tucked away.”
Just then, Gage peeked in the screen door. “You and Harper comin’?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Macey said.
“Mornin’, Mace,” Gage replied with an impish grin, as he came in with Ben behind him. “Forgive me for forgetting my manners.”
“You’re forgiven,” she said, giving him a hug. “Now, tell me, do you keep your gun—or guns—locked up?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Why?”
“Just checking,” Macey said.
“Harper’s gonna sleep over tonight,” Maeve said, “and her worried mom wants to make sure our house is safe.”
“No need to worry,” Gage said. “I’m a very responsible gun owner.”
Ben frowned. “How’d you get on this topic anyway?”
“Mace asked if we’d seen the fox lately, and I told her we hadn’t but it better not come back because it would meet a sorry end.”
“It would indeed,” Gage confirmed.
“Hey, Uncle Gage,” Harper said, coming into the kitchen with her backpack over her shoulder and giving him a hug.
“Hey, Harp,” he said. “I hear we’re stuck with you.”
“Yep,” Harper said, beaming happily.
“Don’t forget to take these,” Macey said, as she handed Harper a Ziploc bag with her medicine in it.
“I won’t,” Harper said, stuffing the bag into her backpack.
Macey eyed her sister and warned, “Sometimes she needs reminding.”
“Don’t we all,” Maeve said, suddenly realizing she’d forgotten to take her birth control that morning. She finished her coffee and set the mug in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, giving Macey a hug.
“You’re welcome. Hope you guys have fun.” Macey gave Harper a hug, too. “Be good.”
“I will,” Harper assured her. Then she hugged Keeper, whispering, “I’ll be back tomorrow, Keep.”
“You do know we have weeds around here, too,” Ben said as he hugged her, too.
“I know, but we’re going to pick up Amelia Egghart and Mother Clucker this morning,” Harper explained.
Macey raised her eyebrows. “Who?”
Harper looked to Gage for confirmation, but he feigned innocence. “I didn’t pick those names.”
“Yes, you did,” Harper countered, grinning. “Aunt Maeve told me you said a fox would never mess with a chicken named Mother Clucker.”
Maeve and Gage and Ben bit their lips, trying not to laugh, and Macey eyed her sister.
“Don’t worry, Mace,” Maeve said, putting her arm around her young niece. “She’ll be fine with us . . . and you can have her back tomorrow after church.”
25
“YOU GOT YOUR CAR BACK!” ALI SAID, COMING OUT OF THE HOUSE WHEN she heard Mason pull into the driveway. She knew he’d been riding his bike everywhere for the last several days, and because balancing a gallon of milk on his bike was tricky, he’d even taken her up on her offer to drive him to the store to do some food shopping.
“Temporarily,” he said, nodding.
She frowned. “What happened to it?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Um, it used to be rusty blue . . . and now, it’s ugly gray . . .”
“It used to be Marina Blue,” he corrected, “and now, it’s primer gray.”
“So, that’s not the new color?”
“Um, no,” he said, as if it was a silly question. “Wanna see under the hood?”
“Of course, I’d love to see under the hood,” she teased.
He raised his eyebrows, trying to decide if she was flirting with him. As he walked around to open the hood, a tall man wearing a dress shirt with sleeves rolled up and a tie, loosened at the neck, came out of the house. He had thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Hey, Mason,” he said.
“Hey, Mr. Harrison,” Mason said.
“I’m glad we were finally able to talk you into joining us for dinner.” He eyed him. “It’s been too long, and you need to put some meat on those bones.”
“Thanks for the invite. I guess I am getting a little tired of grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
David Harrison smiled. “Ali tells us that’s a staple in your house.”
“It is. My mom called it comfort food.”
David squeezed his shoulder. “You must miss her.”
Mason nodded. “I do, but I know she wouldn’t want me moping around, so I’m trying to keep busy. I’ve been working for Black Lab Landscaping every day and, in my free time, Jeff Bresson’s been helping me restore my Chevelle.”
“Jeff’s a great mechanic,” David said. “He knows his cars—especially these old muscle cars.” He looked under the hood at the pristine engine. “Wow, you’ve done a lot—it looks awesome!”
“Thanks! We just put the engine back in. It was a lot of work—thank goodness he was willing to help me. We cleaned off the grime and removed the transmission, bell housing, flywheel, clutch . . . drained all the fluids, got a bunch of new parts—the valve covers, intake
manifold—adjusted the rockers . . . cleaned and painted the block . . .”
Ali laughed. “Sheesh, it’s a good thing you came out here, Dad, because I wouldn’t have a clue what he’s talking about.”
Mason smiled. “It’s really pretty simple when you come right down to it,” he said. “I mean, I knew how engines worked before, but I’ve never had much hands-on experience . . . besides changing oil. I’ve never taken an engine completely apart and put it back together, so I’ve definitely learned a lot.”
“Well, it looks great—very clean.” David eyed the outside. “Looks like you’ve had some bodywork done, too.”
Mason nodded. “We had to find new rear quarter panels—the originals were pretty rusty, and I have new bumpers ordered.”
“What color is she gonna be?”
“Same color—Marina Blue.”
“How’s the interior?” David asked, looking in the window.
“It’s clean but some of the seat covers are cracking. Jeff knows where I can get new ones.”
“Well, it looks super,” he said, clapping Mason on the shoulder. “And it’s a good way to stay busy. Keeps you out of trouble.”
“It does. I’ve been running, too, but I have to get up early or run late because it’s been so hot.”
“You must be dead tired . . . I mean really tired by the end of the day,” he said, catching himself.
Mason nodded. “Yes, I definitely sleep better when I’ve been busy.” He looked at Ali. “Do we have time to go for a ride?”
Ali eyed her dad questioningly, but he shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person—I’m just an underling.”
Ali rolled her eyes. “I’ll go ask.”
Mason closed the hood, and Mr. Harrison took advantage of their minute alone. “Sue told me you asked her to go with you to your appointment with your mom’s attorney.”
“Yes, sir. My mom said everything would be taken care of, but I’d feel better if Mrs. Harrison was there, too—a second set of ears, you know? There are a lot of medical bills coming in, and I’m not sure about paying things until other expenses are settled.”
David nodded. “Sue is very good with money . . . and living on a budget, and even though I work in finance and I hate to admit it, she has more common sense than me.” He paused thoughtfully. “She also said you’re not going to college—at least not right away.”
Mason nodded. “My mom wanted me to go this fall, but I never sent in the deposit, so . . .”
David nodded thoughtfully. “You know,” he began, “if you feel like you’re ready, they might make an exception . . . considering everything you’ve been through.”
Just then, Ali came back out. “Mom says dinner is in half an hour, but she also has appetizers, so if we do go, we have to be quick.”
Mason nodded and opened the door for her, and then saw Mr. Harrison standing there. “Do you want to come, too, sir?” he asked.
David shook his head. “No, no, you two go. I’ll get a ride when it’s all done—maybe we can go to one of those car cruises at the Blue Mountain Diner.”
“That would be fun,” Mason said, his face brightening.
He climbed in and turned the key, and the Chevelle rumbled to life.
David smiled. There was nothing like the sound of an old classic big block. He waved and watched as Mason backed out of the driveway onto the street. Then he stood and listened as they pulled away.
“Very cool,” Ali said, as she admired the graduation tassel hanging from his rearview mirror.
Mason looked over and smiled. “Thanks.”
He turned onto a road Ali had never been down before. “Where are we going?”
“Just up here a bit,” Mason said. “This is where the man I bought the car from lives. I want to see if he’s home.”
Ali nodded and looked out the window at the row of small, neatly kept homes. Finally, Mason slowed down and pulled up to the curb in front of a small ranch with two shutters hanging askew.
“Is this it?” Ali asked, looking at the FOR SALE sign posted in the long grass.
Mason nodded. “It is,” he said, frowning and turning off the car.
Ali nodded, and watched him walk across the lawn and knock on the door, but then he just stood there. He knocked again, waited, and then tried to look in the windows. Finally, he started walking back to the car, but a man in the next yard called out, and he stopped to talk. Ali watched Mason nodding and then, finally, he waved to the man, walked back to the car, and got in.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“His neighbor isn’t sure. He said his family moved him to a nursing home about a month ago, but he hadn’t wanted to go.”
“Oh, no,” Ali said. “That’s sad.”
“Yeah. Back when I bought the car, he said his family was talking about it and, even back then—last summer—he hadn’t wanted to go.”
“It’s so hard,” Ali said. “My grandma is getting to a point where my mom doesn’t know if she’ll be able to live alone, and they’re going to have to make a decision. My mom thinks she might have to come live with us.”
“Mr. Hawkins seemed perfectly capable of living on his own. He said his family was tired of driving up here to see him, and they said he shouldn’t be driving. That’s why he sold his car.”
Ali nodded. “Does his neighbor know where the nursing home is?”
“He doesn’t, but I remember Mr. Hawkins saying that his family lived down near Savannah.”
Ali raised her eyebrows. “There’re probably a hundred nursing homes—or more—down there.”
Mason shook his head. “I meant to come see him sooner, but with everything going on, I never had the chance. He wanted me to restore it—that was part of the deal—and I wanted to show him I was making progress.”
“Well, you tried, Mase,” Ali consoled. “Don’t be hard on yourself. You came as soon as you could.”
“I know. I just feel bad,” he said, looking over. “I guess we better head back,” he added, remembering Mrs. Harrison had dinner waiting.
26
GAGE CLICKED ON THE LIGHT OVER HIS TABLE AND STUDIED THE DRAWING he’d been working on—it wasn’t finished, but it was coming along. In fact, when Harper had walked by it the night before, she’d stopped in her tracks and stared at the intricate details. “Wow, Uncle Gage, how did you make those tiny white lines and highlights . . . and those little wrinkles around his eyes?”
Gage had looked over her shoulder at the image of his grandfather and pulled out a kneaded eraser. He showed her how to twist it into a point that was as sharp as a pencil, and then how to use it to make the highlights in the old man’s eyes and the wisps of wild white hair.
“Here,” he’d said, handing it to her. “I have a whole drawer of ’em. You just knead it—kind of like Silly Putty—to keep it clean. It’s good for stress relief, too,” he’d added with a smile.
“Thanks!” she’d said. “I can’t wait to try it.”
Later that morning, when she’d been packing up her things before heading to church with Maeve, he’d also given her a roll of his favorite drawing paper and two pencils. “You can have these, too.” She’d been wide-eyed, and given him a big hug. “Thanks, Uncle Gage!”
He smiled, now, thinking about it—Harper is so smart . . . and curious about everything. Yesterday, in the heat of the day, she and Maeve—both fair-skinned and freckled—had coated themselves with sunscreen, donned big straw hats, and weeded the gardens. They’d also planted the two new blueberry bushes they’d picked up at Agway, along with the chicks—which were in a box on the front porch, peeping . . . and they’d talked him into getting a bag of sunflower hearts and a bird feeder, which the birds had already found.
The previous night, they’d sat on the porch while Maeve began the newest selection of The Pepperoni Pizza and Root Beer Book Club, and he’d questioned the legitimacy of their meeting because they’d had burgers, not pizza, but they’d said they would agree to make an exception thi
s one time. He’d also warned that if he was allowed to listen to the beginning of the book, it would only be fair that he keep attending the meetings so he could find out what happens to Opal and Winn-Dixie. And although they’d initially frowned at his proposal, feigning uncertainty because it was a girls-only group, they’d eventually agreed to allow it—but just this one time.
Gage absentmindedly kneaded the eraser in his hand, thinking about how lucky Ben and Macey were to have a little girl like Harper come into their lives, and he hoped that, if he and Maeve were blessed with children, their kids would have at least some of the wonderful traits Harper had. As he thought about this, he pulled open the little oak drawer under his table in which he kept his Palomino Blackwing pencils, erasers, and all kinds of odds and ends, including the key to the oak box his grandfather had made for his rifle, several old photos, and an envelope full of tickets to movies, races, and concerts he’d attended when he was younger. He looked through the envelope, fondly recalling each event, and then paused when he came to a faded ticket for a NASCAR race. It was dated August 28, 1999—his fifteenth birthday, a night he’d never forget. Dutch and his father had taken Cale, Matt, and him to Bristol Motor Speedway. Prior to that night, he and his brothers had only watched NASCAR on TV, but that night at the track, the deafening roar of the cars and the excitement of the crowd had been like nothing they’d ever experienced before. He still remembered how the race had ended . . . Terry Labonte had had the advantage over the other drivers because, with just five laps to go, he’d stopped for fresh tires and then easily motored past everyone into the lead . . . that is, until Dale Earnhardt Sr. had come up behind him—as he loved to do—and bumped his car, spinning him around, and then powering past him for the win. The crowd had gone wild, but the most surprising part for Jack Tennyson’s boys was seeing their ever-composed father pumping his fist and shouting, “Woo-hoo! Bump and run, baby! Bump and run!”
He tucked the ticket back into the pile and studied the next one, dated May 9, 1998—a year earlier. He and Cale had been thirteen and fourteen, and Dutch had taken them to Nashville to see Garth Brooks in concert. He’d never forget that night, either. They’d gone to the Loveless Café first, ordered chargrilled cheeseburgers and iced tea, and then had slices of the most amazing chocolate chess pie he’d ever tasted. Afterward, along with the throngs of other concertgoers, they’d headed to the arena. He and Cale had been familiar with many of the country singer’s famous songs from hearing them on the radio, but they’d been mesmerized by the live performance, especially when Garth had sung their grandfather’s favorite song, “The River,” and they’d looked over to see tears glistening in his eyes. Gage smiled wistfully at the memory and then tucked all the tickets back in the envelope, pulled the narrow drawer out all the way, and reached in back for a small black box. He hadn’t had a chance to open the box since he’d brought it home a week earlier because Maeve was always around now. In fact, she’d been sitting in the living room when he’d come home with it in his pocket, but he’d pretended to be looking for something in the drawer, and then tucked it all the way in back. He had no idea when he would give it to her . . . or what he would say when he did, but at least he had it for when the time felt right. He lifted the lid, and the perfectly cut diamond sparkled in the sunlight, casting tiny rainbows on his table.