Glory Road

by Lauren K. Denton

  “I guess so. I bet it does for Nick.”

  He watched Stanley on the other side of the creek pawing at minnows. “I’m not sure, honestly. He calls her Marissa. Not that I expected him to call an almost total stranger ‘Mom,’ but . . .” He shook his head. “Anyway, like I said, I think the break is good for both Nick and me. And who knows, maybe Marissa too. Maybe something good will come from it all.”

  Before either of us could say anything else, a car appeared behind us, heading toward the water. Stanley froze, ears perked up, then he bounded across the creek, spraying us with water and flecks of mud.

  “Stanley, stop,” Ben shouted. “Sorry about that.” He scraped a splotch of mud from his shorts, then gestured to my left cheek. “Oh, you have some . . .”

  I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, but it came away clean. “Where?”

  He reached up toward me and hesitated, then brushed a spot of mud away with his thumb.

  “Ben? Jessie? Is that you?”

  Ben’s eyes widened at the sound of Carol Anne’s excited voice. “That woman has incredible timing.”

  Laughter bubbled up from deep inside me and I clamped my hand over my mouth. I took a deep breath, then turned toward Carol Anne. Several kids poured from her car, making a beeline for the water. Stanley danced around in excitement.

  “We were just leaving.” Ben glanced at me.

  “Yes, please,” I whispered.

  “What were y’all doing down here? Your kids aren’t here?” Her eyes scanned the edges of the creek and Ben’s Jeep a little way up the path.

  “Just taking Stanley out for a swim,” Ben answered. “He needed to let off some steam.”

  “I understand. That’s the same thing I’m doing with these kids. Phillip lost his driving privileges for the week after an unfortunate curfew incident, so I’m stuck driving him around. I’m rethinking my discipline plan.” She laughed. “I promised him I’d bring him here if he and my sister’s kids gave me an hour to work on my PTO lists.”

  “Okay, well . . .” Ben waved. “Y’all have fun out here.”

  “We will! And, Ben, I’m looking forward to meeting Nick soon. Marissa says he’s such a great kid. You’ve done well with him.”

  He tensed at Carol Anne’s words. “She’s right. He is a great kid.” He opened my door, then crossed over to his side.

  We were quiet on the way home, both of us absorbed in our own thoughts and memories. The day I found out about Ben and the baby was etched with such clarity in my mind. I’d been in a fog for days after hearing about it. Ben with someone else? Having a baby? I recognized my own hypocrisy—I was with Chris, after all. I knew I had no claim on Ben, but the thought of him finding a landing place with someone else made my chest ache and my fingers clench for months, even after I’d said yes to Chris.

  I was still thinking of those hard days as we pulled in at Twig. Next door, my car was stopped in the middle of the driveway, engine on and doors closed. “Huh. Mama must have needed to run out for something.”

  Surprise turned to shock, then panic as I watched the driver’s door open on my car and Evan stepped out. “What in the world?” I flew out of Ben’s Jeep and jogged through the grass toward her. Ben was close behind me. “Evan? What are you doing?”

  “I—”

  Mama climbed out the other side. “Everything’s fine,” she called. “I realized I was out of Italian seasoning and needed it for dinner. Evan went with me up to the grocery and I decided to give her a quick driving lesson on the way home.”

  Behind Mama, Evan locked her eyes on mine and shook her head. Mama turned and headed up my front porch steps.

  “Mama, wait.”

  “I just need to sprinkle this on the chicken. Be right back.” But her movements as she unlocked the door were quick and harried. Something wasn’t right.

  I held up my hands, but Evan just shrugged. “I wanted another box of cereal so I went with her. On the way home she turned down the wrong street. When I asked her where she was going, she got all confused. She backed up, then stopped in the middle of the street!”

  I put my hand up to my eyes, and Ben squeezed my shoulder, reminding me he was still there. I was grateful for the support.

  “It was so weird, like she couldn’t remember how to get home even though she’s lived here for . . . forever. So I helped her around to the passenger side and I drove back. And did very well, I might add.”

  I gave her a small smile. “I’m glad you’re safe. Glad both of you are safe.”

  “What’s going on with her though?” Her voice grew quiet.

  “She just . . .” I rubbed my fingers over my lips and shook my head.

  “Don’t say she’s fine. She keeps forgetting things. We’ve both seen it.”

  “Sweetheart, people’s minds aren’t as sharp as they get older.”

  I knew she didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe me.

  “Dinner’ll be ready in fifteen,” Mama called out the front door before disappearing back into the house.

  “I guess I’ll go see if she needs any help,” Evan said.

  As she ran up the steps and entered the house, I exhaled.

  “I’m sorry.” Ben’s voice behind me was low. “Has she been . . . ?”

  “Yeah. It’s . . . I don’t know.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should probably get back and check on Nick.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  He turned toward his Jeep but paused. “Jessie, you know you can talk to me if you need to. I’m still . . .” He held his hands up. “Well, I’m here.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Studies show a fascinating relationship exists between plants and sound, specifically music. In fact, one scientist in Maine observed a 55 percent increase in his greenhouse corn harvest when he played Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” in the greenhouse at a soft volume for at least twenty hours a day.

  —WARREN ELLIOTT, THE SECRET LIFE OF FLOWERS

  EVAN

  I’d always loved a good stormy day, and this afternoon I was on the couch waiting for the sky to do something more than tease me with dark clouds and occasional raindrops. I’d been lying here trying to read for half an hour, but my eyes wouldn’t stop straying out the front window. I told myself I was just watching for rain.

  I’d just about given up when Nick appeared between the trees out in front of our house. He wore gray pants and a backward cap, and he tossed a baseball up in the air. He glanced up at our house a couple of times, so I grabbed my rain jacket and ran outside toward him.

  “Hey, kid,” he called when he saw me.

  “Kid?” I asked when I reached the edge of the driveway.

  “You know—kid. I feel like I should ruffle your hair or something.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, so I laughed along with him.

  “How are things?” he asked.

  “Good. Mom’s working and Gus is inside baking something.”

  “And you’re just hanging out?”

  I shrugged. “I need to be over at the shop with Mom soon. But I thought I’d take a walk.”

  “Well, come on then.” He tossed his ball in the air and caught it, then resumed walking. I fell into step next to him, trying to match his strides. Then I heard the other voices on the road. I turned around. Two guys were walking several yards behind us, each carrying baseball gloves and laughing and jabbing each other in that obvious way guys have when they’re making fun of something. It only took a few seconds to realize they were laughing at Nick. Or was it me?

  My stomach dropped and I turned around quickly. “Were they with you?”

  Nick peered over his shoulder and threw his baseball at one of the guys. Hard. The other guy caught it easily in his glove, then he threw it back. Nick laughed. “No, I’m not with them. Well, we were all up at the field together, but we quit when the lightning started. Some of the guys were going to Carter’s house to hang out. Those two bozos behind us are going
to Scott’s grandmother’s house. She lives down near me. I think she has cookies or something.”

  “You’re not going with them?”

  “I don’t know. I might. But I kind of thought I might run into you. And I want you to see our vegetable garden. We got everything planted. It’s crazy—we can already see some shoots coming out of the ground.”

  “That’s what happens when you plant things. They grow.”

  He punched me lightly on the arm.

  “I’ll tell Mom. She’ll be happy we steered you in the right direction.”

  Nick’s house came into view up on the right. I didn’t see his dad’s Jeep in the driveway, which made me wonder if Nick had rules about having girls at his house when his dad wasn’t home. But it didn’t matter. He was a senior and I was a freshman. Or would be soon. Obviously we were just friends.

  “There’s something else I want to show you too.” He fished his key out of his pocket. “Considering your great love of music and all.” He pushed the door open and we stepped inside. The house smelled so different from ours—earthy and musky, but something flowery too. I sniffed and glanced around.

  “It’s potpourri. My grandparents had it everywhere. We’ve tried to find it all, but I think we’ve missed some.”

  On the other side of the living room, several cardboard boxes were pushed against the wall, including an open box full of records. A small turntable sat on the floor next to the box. I peeled my rain jacket off and knelt in front of the records. Tom Petty. Van Morrison. Neil Young.

  “Wait,” Nick said. “I want to show you the garden first.”

  “Are you kidding? This is vintage vinyl. Trust me, I know what a garden looks like.”

  He smiled. “True.”

  We spent the next hour on the floor listening to record after record on the scratchy player. Every time he set the needle down on a record and it began to spin, it felt like time stopped and only the music existed.

  “I’ve never actually listened to a record player before.” I leaned down so I could watch the needle at eye level as it bumped and slid over the grooves in the record. “Just seen them on movies and TV and stuff.”

  “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh yeah. All the scratches and pops make it sound so much more real than a CD.”

  “It’s not actually supposed to sound scratchy. That’s just because the records—and the turntable—are old. Dad said he went on a vinyl kick in college. Bought them all at a used-record store in Tuscaloosa just before it went out of business.”

  “Your dad likes good music.”

  Nick nodded. “His music is all mixed up with my early memories. He used to play records for me when I had trouble sleeping.”

  “How old were you?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Six, maybe? I had nightmares.”

  I waited for him to say more, but he moved right past it.

  “Let’s try this.” He reached around me toward the stack of records. As he leaned, it was stupid, but I breathed in. He was so close, I couldn’t help it. I smelled sweat—he’d been playing baseball, after all—but he also smelled like the air outside when it was about to rain. “Here it is.” He pulled a record from the middle of the pile.

  I exhaled. “‘Hallelujah.’”

  “Mr. Buckley himself.” He slid the record onto the turntable.

  When the first strains of the song came over the speaker, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. Nick leaned back too. When Jeff began to sing, “Now, I heard there was a secret chord,” I couldn’t help myself. I sang too. I’d never sung in front of anyone before—only Mom and Gus, but they didn’t count. Nick counted. And he sang with me. I kept my eyes shut tight and concentrated on the sound flowing from the speaker and my heart that felt like it was trying to pour out of my body.

  We sang the last Hallelujah, the word gradually becoming lower and softer until it disappeared. The music ended but the record spun on, the needle bumping and skipping over the ridges. I was thankful for the noise so it wasn’t just me and Nick and the memory of us singing.

  Then Stanley barked, followed by Nick’s dad’s voice. It’s not like we were doing anything wrong, but we jumped anyway. Nick pulled the record off the turntable, and I stood and straightened the records on the floor, anything to make us look totally normal.

  Mr. Bradley opened the back door. “Evan.” He tried but couldn’t quite hide his surprise. “How are you?”

  I smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “Hey, Dad.” Nick grabbed Stanley and tugged him through the kitchen to the back door and pushed him outside. He was still whining when Nick returned to the living room.

  “What are y’all up to?” Mr. Bradley dropped his keys on a side table and draped his rain jacket over the back of a dining chair, where it dripped puddles onto the floor. Gus would have had a cow.

  “Nothing. We were just listening to some music.” Nick gestured to the floor and the turntable. My stomach was already flipping around like a fish after singing that song with that boy, but Mr. Bradley’s face made it worse. It was like he knew something had happened, even though nothing had actually happened.

  “Come on, Evan.” He picked up his keys again. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Wait, Dad.”

  “It’s fine,” Mr. Bradley said. “I don’t mind. We need to figure out what we’re doing for dinner anyway.” He looked at me. “Sorry, but I’m not quite ready to try my cooking skills out on someone new.” He opened the back door, and I walked out behind him.

  “Hey, Evan.” Nick walked to the door. I waited. “You should sing more often.”

  “Let her go, Nick,” Mr. Bradley called from the carport.

  Nick grinned. “I’ll see you around.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Re: I planted the wrong seed!

  Dear Ellis, Trust me, I understand your panic. I once planted three rows of dianthus seeds thinking they were delphiniums. Instead of ethereal blue stalks, I got short pink clusters. However, my advice is to keep what you planted. It may not be what you expected, but if it showed up in your garden, it’s there for a reason.

  —KATHERINE GRACE, YOUR DAILY DAISY

  JESSIE

  Sumner called a couple of days later. He was in the area and asked if he could stop in for a slice of Mama’s pie.

  “You just happen to be in the area?” I wiped my forehead with my wrist. With the humidity, the eighty-five showing on my outside thermometer felt more like ninety-five. My shipment of pink mandevillas finally showed up, and neighbors had been coming in all afternoon, squabbling over which had the most promising buds and the shiniest leaves. The day’s constant motion had been a good distraction from that afternoon at the Icebox. From thoughts of Ben and Marissa. Of Mama.

  “You got me,” Sumner said. “I’m not anywhere close to you. But I can be soon. What time do you close?”

  “I can always take a break, but the boss usually lets me off around six.”

  “Think the boss will accept a customer right at closing time?”

  “I think she’ll be fine with it as long as he helps clean up.”

  He laughed. “I can manage that.”

  As I closed out the rest of the afternoon—divvying up plants, showing Evan how to root an oakleaf hydrangea, keeping an eye on Elma Dean as she sampled Mama’s sugared pecans—I anticipated seeing Sumner. We hadn’t spoken since he’d left it up to me whether to turn into Honey’s and have dinner with him. I didn’t regret not going, but now I both worried and hoped he’d ask me again.

  And I’d made the mistake of telling Mama he was coming.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” she sputtered. “I wish I’d known earlier. I’m making chicken piccata and green beans. It’s not my best dinner for company.”

  “Your chicken piccata is delicious, Mama, but he didn’t say a thing about dinner. He just wants a slice of pie.”

  “And he can have it. Right after he eats his dinner.”

  I
tried to say no, but she held up her hand. “No Southern woman lets a guest come over at dinnertime without offering him a plate. It’s just good manners.”

  On her way out of the shop, she’d grabbed Evan. “Come on. You can pound the chicken. I’ll whip up some mac and cheese.”

  A few minutes after six, a text message arrived on my phone. Expecting it to be Sumner, I grabbed it off the counter and opened the message without checking the screen.

  I’ve made some progress with the computer. Better get your paintbrush ready.

  I laughed at Ben’s text and tapped out a quick reply. I’m not making any promises. Show me the computer first.

  You already promised. I have a roller with your name on it.

  Just then I heard the purr of Sumner’s Land Rover in the driveway. I left my phone on the counter and walked outside. He slammed his car door and grinned. “I didn’t know a woman covered in dirt could look so lovely.”

  I hoped the pink in my cheeks came across as sun rather than a nervous blush. “Are you often around women covered in dirt?”

  “Actually, no. Never. You get that distinction.”

  I showed him to the strawberry patch along the back fence where the netting protecting the berries from hungry birds had fallen loose. I wanted to stake it back up before any more disappeared, and four hands and arms made it easier work than just two.

  Before we finished, I heard the chug-chug-chug of Mr. Rainwater’s truck coming up the road. I froze, then groaned.

  “What is it?” Sumner’s salt-and-pepper hair was ruffled in front and his short-sleeved button-down was wrinkled, but he still looked sharp. Almost regal. Unaccustomed to our informal way of life.

  I bit my lip. “It’s nothing. I’ll be right back.”

  I met Mr. Rainwater around front as he rolled his truck to a stop. “Hi there, Miss Jessie. I’ve got another small load for you. I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning, and I didn’t want this bit to go bad before I could get it to you.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. Actually, I don’t—”