“How’s the computer?” Mama dolloped a serving spoonful of peas onto her plate, then turned to Evan. “It refused to wake up from its afternoon siesta today.”
I propped my elbow on the table and sank my chin into my hand. “Cliff thinks it’s fried.”
“Maybe you can do without,” Mama said. “Customers can use cash instead of cards. All you’d need is a notebook to jot everything down and a zippered pouch for the money.”
“No one carries cash anymore. Everyone uses cards. No one will take me seriously if I tell them I only accept cash, then shove it into a pencil pouch. Not with Big Earl offering everything from free gardening classes to buy-one-get-one-free terra-cotta planters. I’ve got to keep up with them somehow. Starting with a working computer.”
“So go buy a new one.”
I stretched my neck, taut from the day’s frustrations. “Do you have an extra thousand dollars lying around? Or even seven hundred? I don’t. Twig doesn’t.”
Mama cut a slice of cornbread and slid it onto my plate. “You’ll think of something, hon. You always do.”
I sighed and turned to Evan. “How was your day? Did you and Ruth make it to the Icebox?”
“Yeah. It was so cold. I don’t understand how the water can be that cold when it’s two hundred degrees outside.”
“It comes straight from Alaska,” Mama said around a bite of rice, as if that town legend made a bit of sense. She gestured with her fork. “It bubbles up from the ground to make Perry’s finest swimming hole.”
Evan looked at me with raised eyebrows.
I shrugged. “It’s what they say.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Who knows, but whoever they are, they were saying it when I was a kid too.”
“Well, it was freezing. After a while, we just sat up on the rocks and stuck our feet in.”
We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments until Mama broke it.
“Oh, did I tell you Elma came in today? She wanted something special for her Sunday school teacher. Poor Georgia’s in the hospital with another kidney stone.”
I searched her eyes to see if she was making a joke.
“What?” Mama asked. “Kidney stones are serious. They’re like childbirth all over again. Elma just wanted to cheer her up.”
“I saw Elma. I was there when you sent her out the door with a tulip.”
“What? No you weren’t. You were up at the . . .” She pointed her finger and gestured over to her left.
“No, Mama. I was there. We talked about you giving away things for free.”
“You were not there, Jessie.” Mama’s voice was harsh, and my stomach swirled. “You were gone, I treated my friend to something nice, and then I stood on the top step and watched her drive away.” She took a deep breath, defusing her anger. “You were not there. That’s all there is to it.”
Silence wrapped around the table and she picked up her fork again. I glanced at Evan. Her eyes were wide. I gave a little shrug like it was no big deal, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure. I thought about Mr. Rainwater’s words this morning. His concern. And then there was that nagging little voice that had sneaked its way into my brain over the last several months. I told myself it was nothing. Forgetfulness was normal. Quick zaps of anger or anxiety were normal. Mama was fine.
“Anyway,” Mama said, then swallowed her bite. “Elma Dean is the sweetest little thing, isn’t she?”
“She is. And I hope next time she comes in, I’m there to say hi. And to make sure she doesn’t leave with something she didn’t pay for.”
“Elma’s not like that.”
“You’re right. Elma is not a thief.” I narrowed one eye, but Mama’s face stayed as calm as a spring day.
“Oh, that reminds me.” She tapped her red fingernail against her water glass. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about this idea I had. I know you’ve been a touch nervous about the shop lately. I still think it’ll all come out in the wash, but have you thought about getting into the wedding business?”
“The wedding business? As in . . . ?”
“As in wedding flowers. It’s a big business, you know. I saw a flyer on the window of Coleman’s Bakery advertising some big wedding-palooza at the civic center in Mobile for brides-to-be. It said over a hundred vendors would be there, including florists. You could get some business cards made up, get you a card table, and tell those brides to call you.”
Evan smirked and I shook my head. “No. I’m not in the wedding business, nor do I want to be.” I crammed a bite into my mouth. “I know enough about weddings to know brides—not to mention their mothers—are not the kind of customers I want.”
“Shoo.” Mama waved her hand in the air. “You’re a genius with flowers. You could do it if you wanted. And it could be a boost for the shop. A big one. You know how fathers who dearly love their daughters will pay hand over foot for whatever the daughters want.” She cocked an eyebrow in my direction.
“Yes, I know that.” My dad had paid extra at the last minute because I’d caved and asked for out-of-season lilies for the bridesmaids and grandmothers-of-the-groom bouquets. I’d never had the heart to tell Mama I’d only done it in the hopes of making Chris’s mother happy. I didn’t even like lilies—the smell always gave me a headache. Fifteen years later, I still wanted to kick myself for having the gall to ask my sweet father to pay even more money just to make an unhappy woman like me.
“Not gonna happen. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life, thank you.” I pushed back from the table and wiped my mouth. “I’m going to change into my running clothes.” I kissed Evan on the top of her head and walked back toward my bedroom.
Just before I closed the door behind me, Mama called out, “What you need in your life, Jessie Mae, is some magic.”
I sighed and leaned back against the doorjamb. She was always telling me that. She never specified what brand of magic she was referring to, but knowing Mama, she was talking about a man. As if they grew on trees way out here in Perry. As if I wanted one, anyway.
CHAPTER 5
Sweet peas are an old-fashioned favorite in any garden. A bouquet of sweet peas can fill a room and your senses with its exquisite, haunting aroma, almost a memory of a beloved scent rather than an actual smell.
—LUCY LANGWORTHY, GUIDE TO FRAGRANT FLOWERS, 1945
JESSIE
Ten minutes later, I stood at the end of our driveway clad in running shorts, a tank top, and my worn-but-still-sturdy running shoes. It was seven thirty, later than my usual after-work run, but the almost deafening roar of the early evening cicadas and the fully shaded road made me rethink my routine.
Glory Road was three miles long, full of houses that looked almost exactly the same as they had when I was a child playing kickball in the middle of the red dirt. Roads in the rest of Perry were paved, but for some reason, the city had never made it to our road. Folks on other roads, in other neighborhoods, might have complained, but those around here seemed to like it. Something about the lack of asphalt kept everything a little bit quieter, a little calmer. Like the red dirt dimmed noises and soothed tempers.
I rarely saw anything out of the ordinary on my evening runs. The same neighbors sitting on the same front porches. The same bright-blue bug zappers dangling from porch eaves. The same sounds in the trees, almost like whispers welcoming me back. The fact that nothing changed on the road was part of the reason it had been such a relief to settle here after Birmingham. It was a comfort to come back and find it mostly untouched, steady as always. I didn’t appreciate or even recognize that steadiness when I was a teenager—the quiet solitude came across to me as too rural, too country—but I relished it now.
My habit was to turn off Glory about a half mile past my house. I’d take one of the handful of smaller lanes that forked off the main road and run until my legs felt like jelly, then turn around. I never let myself think too hard about why I tended to avoid a certain portion of the road. It was an almost-subconscious vee
ring of my feet and I let them take me where they wanted. Tonight, however, they kept me heading straight down Glory Road.
I was lost in thought—Mama’s outburst, the dead laptop, Evan’s face, so pure and startling, and the boys who would soon begin to notice it—when I paused to retie a shoelace that had flapped loose. At another time, when my mind wasn’t so free and endorphin-soaked, I might have taken more detailed notice of where I’d paused, but it didn’t register until I saw the dog.
He trotted down the adjacent driveway toward me, sniffing and smiling as only a dog can. I had no problem with dogs, but I did have a problem with unpredictability, so my first inclination was to keep my eyes locked safely on him. But then details of the scene before me unveiled themselves one by one: the chocolate Lab’s red-and-black plaid collar, telling me he was someone’s well-loved pet. The familiar ranch house, long and low, with the bright-blue door. And the Jeep Grand Wagoneer in the driveway. In the exact same spot where it used to sit. The porch light was on, and a lamp in the front bay window gave off a welcoming glow. Blood roared in my ears and sweat prickled at my hairline.
Meanwhile, the dog sniffed at my shoes, then my legs, then my ear. I leaned back to keep him a comfortable distance from my face, then straightened up again. He regarded me with hopeful eyes and a wagging tail. With one eye on the front window, I reached down and scratched his ear. “You’re pretty cute.”
Before I realized what was happening, he was on his hind legs, his front paws propped all the way up on my shoulders. His tongue slurped the side of my face.
“Sorry, sorry,” I heard behind me. “I’m coming.”
The dog slid his paws from my shoulders as a boy—a young man, really—jogged down the driveway. When he reached us, he grabbed the dog’s plaid collar, knelt next to him, and spoke firmly. “Sit, Stanley. No jump.” Then he stood and faced me. “Sorry about that. I thought I latched the gate in the back, but he must have nosed it open.”
“It’s all right.” I wiped the side of my face with the back of my wrist. My mind raced, trying to place this kid and the house and the Jeep behind him. “Are you . . . ? Do you . . . ?”
“I’m Nick. We just moved in.” He gestured to the stack of flattened cardboard boxes by the garage. “A few days ago. Stanley’s still checking everything out, as you can see.”
Nick. The dark hair. The kid in the passenger seat of the Jeep. The one Evan had seen at registration.
Stanley pushed his nose into my thigh and I reached down again. Smoothed my hand across the top of his head. “So are you . . . ?” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m a neighbor. I live just up the road. I’ve known the Bradleys for . . . for a while. Did they move?” Ben’s parents had lived in this house my whole life, and I hadn’t heard a thing about them moving out. I also couldn’t figure how this kid fit into the picture. Not to mention the Jeep. It was so remarkably like Ben’s, but that was crazy—no way could it still be running this many years later.
Then another thought skittered through my consciousness, so quick I almost couldn’t grab it. But it was there. Could it be? I could have figured it out if my brain wasn’t such a scramble, but as it was, my math skills were lacking.
“Yep, they moved down to Florida. Some retirement place. They like to call it a resort.” He shrugged. “They always said they wanted to live at the beach one day.”
Stanley nosed around a pile of leaves at the edge of the driveway. “So the Bradleys are your . . . grandparents?”
“Right, yes. Sorry, I should have mentioned that.”
Without realizing what I was doing, I began to back away. Stanley trotted over to me and sniffed around my knees. My shoelace had come untied again, but I didn’t stop to fix it. “I need to get going.” I jerked my thumb in the direction of my house up the road.
Nick smiled and reached down to grab Stanley’s collar again.
I took a few more steps, then paused and called out to him. “That Jeep—is it yours?” I knew, but I needed to hear it.
He shook his head. “It’s my dad’s. He’s been driving that thing since he was my age.”
I turned and began walking toward home. After fifty feet or so, I picked it up to a jog, then ran faster until a curtain of trees separated me from the house and the sound of cicadas drowned out Stanley’s excited barks.
When I arrived back home, breathing harder than usual after a run, Mama was on the front porch. The sky had darkened quickly after the sun set, the edges fading to the color of a bruised peach.
“See anything out of the ordinary?”
I sat on the top porch step and stretched my legs in front of me. I shook my head. “Status quo.”
“Old Harvis wasn’t out there feeding his horses grapes again?”
“Nope. All’s quiet on his end.”
“Humph,” she snorted. “He’s always up to something.” Mama creaked back and forth on the porch swing. In the trees around us insects thrummed loud and off pitch. “I may run up the road tomorrow with a pound cake for him. No telling what baked goods he gets these days, being a widower and all.”
“He’s in church every Sunday and most Wednesday nights. You know the DIVAS must bring him pies by the dozen. They’ve been doing it for years.”
“Those women wouldn’t know a good pound cake if it sailed through their window and took out their TV. I’ll bring him one tomorrow. Maybe add a small pitcher of whipped cream. Little cinnamon on top.”
I smiled but hid it quickly when she raised an eyebrow at me. I held my hands up. “I didn’t say a thing.”
“Don’t you dare. I just have to hold my own with those women, that’s all it is. Everyone knows desserts are my territory. I have a reputation to uphold, whether they’re part of the faithful or not.”
I lifted up loose tendrils that had fallen from my ponytail and fanned the back of my neck. “Mama, I wouldn’t want to encroach on your territory if it was the last space on planet Earth.”
“That’s my girl.”
She swung and I sat, silent except for the symphony happening in the trees around us. The pound cake had been a nice distraction, but I returned to thoughts of Ben. Both of us back on Glory Road. Both with nearly grown kids. Surely neither of us would have imagined, all those years ago, that we’d be back here again. At least not like this. I rolled my head side to side, trying to work out the tension in my neck and shoulders.
The Bradleys had lived in the same house all this time, but Mrs. Bradley had always been a low-maintenance gardener. She kept a row of neatly trimmed azaleas along the front of their house and hostas in the shady spots. She stopped at Twig only a couple times a year to purchase her spring and fall annuals. When she did, we always chatted politely, but neither of us tried to extend the conversation any longer than necessary. It wasn’t that anything devastating or horrible had happened between Ben and me. It’s more what hadn’t happened. And what hadn’t happened was probably what a lot of people—including Ben, and maybe even me—expected would happen. And he and I went seventeen years without laying eyes on each other. Until now. I closed my eyes and propped my elbows on the step behind me.
With him right down the road, his son and Evan going to the same school, we were bound to run into each other. Even if he avoided Twig, we’d surely still see each other at the school. Or bump into each other in the grocery store. Or I’d see him or his wet-nosed dog on my evening runs. Perry, Alabama, was small. Glory Road was even smaller.
“Jessie.” Mama’s voice was loud.
“Hmm?” I jerked my head toward her. She pointed to the door.
“Geez, Mom. I’ve called you three times.” Evan poked her head around the screen door, her hair a waterfall of blonde waves. “Where’s the popcorn?”
“Oh, uh . . .” I tried to visualize where I’d put the box after my last grocery run. “Maybe near the cereal? Or the peanut butter. It’s in there somewhere.”
Evan ducked back inside. I reached my arms up over my head and stretched my sides. Ever
ything felt loose, like bendy rubber.
“What’s going on with you?” Mama asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me the Bradleys had moved out of their house?”
“Oh, did they?”
“Don’t give me that. You know everything that happens around here.”
“I ran into Elaine a few weeks ago and she mentioned she and Charles were thinking about moving, but you know how they are, always flitting around, traveling here and there. I didn’t put much stock in it. They never put up a For Sale sign so I forgot about it. Why? What’d you hear?”
“I didn’t hear anything. I just met Ben’s son. Nick. They’ve moved in.”
The expression on Mama’s face didn’t change, but her leg moved almost imperceptibly, rocking the swing back and forth just a touch harder. “Is that so?”
“It is. Apparently the Bradleys moved to Florida. Some retirement resort.”
“Ben Bradley back on Glory Road.” She chuckled under her breath. “Well, if that ain’t something to add a little kick.”
“Yep. It’s something.”
In the house behind us, the familiar strains of The Princess Bride, Evan’s favorite movie, echoed from the TV, but Mama and I stayed on the porch. Her mind was likely drifting into the past just as mine was. Around us, the air was rich with scents—sun-warmed dirt, thick St. Augustine grass in need of a good soak, and that sweet just-before-the-rain smell. Then, far off to the south, a deep rumble of summertime thunder.
CHAPTER 6
Difficile piperis—better known by its common name, “the difficult pepper”—tests even the strongest-willed gardeners. In rare and lucky circumstances, the gardener will learn to give the plant some leeway and the ensuing relationship will be beneficial to both parties. The plant will have an “owner” who understands its particular needs, and the gardener will be blessed with a plant of great temerity and strength of spirit.
Glory Road Page 4