When it came down to it, no amount of money or influence, kindness or spunk could protect you from death, whether the death of your other half or the death of a marriage. Love hurt when it ended, and my experience—and that of so many other people—was that love usually ended. Some way, somehow.
Without thinking I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He looked up at me and smiled. Hooked his thumb over mine for a moment.
The waitress appeared then with a tray of food. I pulled my hand away to make room for the dishes she set down. Sumner chatted with her a moment, then she moved to the next table and we dug into our food.
It was exquisite, of course. The pasta was lemony and creamy, the shrimp plump, the salad crisp and tangy. Across the table Sumner’s steak was red and marbled, and it smelled heavenly. When he noticed me eyeing it, he cut off a bite and held it out to me on his fork. “Want to try it?”
I looked down at my fork, unsure of how to transfer the bite from his to mine.
“It’s okay. No germs here.”
I smiled and leaned over the table. He lifted the bite a little higher and I took it in my mouth. It was warm and juicy, and I tasted cracked peppercorn and a little garlic.
“Mmm.” The throaty sound escaped before I had a chance to bite it back.
“Good?”
I nodded, a little embarrassed by what felt like more than just a simple act of sharing food.
He cleared his throat. Maybe he’d noticed it too. “So tell me about your . . . ex, I presume? Although by now, I should know not to presume someone is divorced. I’ve found not many people advertise their widowed status.”
I took a sip of water. “I can see that. But yes, he is my ex. We’ve been divorced almost ten years now.”
“Does he live close by?”
“He’s in Birmingham. We haven’t seen him in . . . I guess it’s been two years. He was in Mobile for a dental conference and he came by to see Evan.”
“Two years? I can’t imagine staying away from my daughter for anywhere close to that long. Especially when she was young.”
I gave a half shrug. “He has other kids now—they’re a lot younger than Evan, so I think he stays pretty busy.”
“Wow. And Evan’s okay with not seeing him much?”
“Oh yeah. She sulks for days when she knows he’s coming. It’s not pretty.”
He laughed. “You seem very accepting of the situation.”
“Well, it is what it is, you know? I think it’s probably easier for him to focus on what he has now rather than what we used to have. It got . . . Well, it was ugly for a while. I’m much happier without him, and the only memories Evan has of him aren’t particularly good. Life is better this way, I think.”
It was a simple answer, but was it true? I’d long ago developed a script to explain away the dissolution of our marriage, and though I hadn’t had to use it in a while, it rolled off my tongue now as easy as ever. The words didn’t quite sit as well with me as they used to, however. Yes, deep down my life was better without him in it—more truthful, in some way—but that didn’t mean it felt wholly complete. It always felt like there was some small part, some missing puzzle piece I couldn’t get my fingers on, as much as I tried to grasp it.
He watched me over the top of his water glass. It was obvious he knew I wasn’t giving him the whole picture. There was so much more I could say, but how did you tell someone your husband cheated on you—had a whole other private life you weren’t aware of—without coming off as completely naive and pathetic? In the face of Sumner’s true tragedy and loss, no way was I ready to let him in on the soap opera that had been my life, the one that had starred a cheating husband and the family he left behind.
I caught the eye of the waitress and gave a small wave. “How about that bread pudding?”
Over dessert, the conversation was easier. He asked me about getting Twig up and running, and I asked him about his work.
“I saw the article in last month’s Southern Living. It said you’re in golf course design. What does that mean? Do you lay out the holes?”
He nodded. “We do everything from designing whole courses to remodeling existing ones. Sometimes it’s as small as laying out a new fairway, and other times it’s working with clients to scout new locations for entire golf communities and using GPS to build the courses.”
“So it’s more than deciding how to keep the sun out of golfers’ faces when they’re playing?”
“You joke, but that’s part of it. We have this software that lets us see whether a particular hole will have the sun in your face at 4:00 p.m. in March or at 9:00 a.m. in August.”
“Wow.”
“I can see you’re completely fascinated.”
“No, it’s just—it’s a career I didn’t even know existed, but I can see you’re passionate about it.”
He twirled the stem of his wineglass back and forth. “I am. I’ve always enjoyed golf, and I grew to love architecture and design in college. This was a way for me to build on all that. I like knowing that I’m making it more enjoyable for others to play the sport that makes them happy and helps them relax. It’s my way of adding a little beauty to the world. You do the same thing, right? You cultivate beauty and make it so other people can enjoy it at their own homes.”
“I guess so. I do like the idea of spreading beauty and helping other people enjoy it.” I was quiet a moment. There was more to it for me, though it was hard to put into words. “I think the part I like best is that I can take this seemingly dead—or at least empty—patch of dirt and nurture it and feed it until it becomes something new. Something alive.”
He took a sip of wine. “You’re very poetic.”
“Only on my good days.”
When we’d scraped the last bit out of the dish of pudding, we both sat back in our seats. The waning candlelight made his eyes sparkle, a deep chocolate brown that seemed even darker there in the dim corner of the room.
I’d begun the evening with my guard partially up, worried about the similarities between Sumner and Chris, but the truth was Sumner’s charm, thoughtfulness, and humor had whittled it down. I’d let myself enjoy his attention, which was copious and focused only on me. His gaze, which had made me feel tight and nervous at the beginning of the evening, now made my smile loose and my shoulders relaxed.
When the waitress slid the check onto our table, he checked his watch. “It’s getting late. You still have a drive ahead of you.”
On the way out, he stopped at the front counter to pay the bill. Though I was no longer in the dating scene, even I knew not to protest if a man offered to pay for dinner. It was one of the first things Mama taught me years ago when she talked to me about dating. In hindsight, I should have been less concerned about Southern-style manners and more attentive to the kinds of men to stay away from. Men like Chris who saw their wealth and importance as a permission slip to do whatever they pleased, no matter who they hurt in the process.
As Sumner waited for his receipt to print, he chatted easily with Donny and the hostess. He carried himself confidently, as if he expected those around him to laugh and participate in the conversation with him, just as Chris had done. But Sumner wasn’t like Chris. They were vastly different men. When we talked, his attention never once strayed. He made me feel like I was the only person in the room. He didn’t showcase his wealth like a badge of honor. Plus, he was a total goner for his daughter, something I’d never sensed in Chris.
Sumner walked toward me now, calling good-byes over his shoulder. When he reached me, he extended his elbow. I slipped my arm though his and we walked across the lot to his car. I was mostly silent on the short drive to his house, my mind muddied by the food, the warm air, and the competing thoughts swirling in my mind.
Back in his driveway, I climbed out and unlocked my car. Finally I turned and faced him.
“I’m glad you said yes to tonight,” he said.
“I am too.”
“Now it’ll be less awk
ward the next time I find you trying to break into my back gate.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Won’t happen again. I promise.”
“I don’t mind if it does. Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned back to his car and grabbed a small brown box off the passenger seat. Donny’s was stamped across the top in a swirly script. “I asked them to box you up an extra bread pudding. You can share it with Evan and your mom.” He grinned. “Or not.”
“Thank you. Tonight was such a treat.”
“I have to admit, I wanted to impress you.”
“Well, you did that, but I would have been impressed with much less. I live in Perry, remember? Our nicest restaurant is Berta’s BBQ.”
I expected a laugh, but instead he leaned toward me and softly kissed my cheek. “Don’t sell yourself short. I think you’re enchanting. I don’t know what happened with your ex-husband or what made the situation ugly, but I know he’s an idiot. He’d have to be to let you go.”
I stood frozen still, unable to unclench my fingers. My cheek throbbed where his lips had touched it.
“I’d like to see you again. Soon, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure,” I said, forcing my mouth to work. “I’ll be working with Mr.—with a friend to make Olivia’s chandelier, then I’ll need to make some phone calls and see if I can get her flowers in the right quantities. I can—”
I stopped when he laughed softly. “I don’t mean about the wedding. I just want to see you. Flowers or no flowers.”
The light above his garage was behind him, casting his face in deep shadow. I could just make out the slight dimple in his cheek and the angle of his jaw. He reached out and touched my arm. I nodded.
“Okay then,” he said. “I’ll make sure it happens.”
A moment later, safe inside the cocoon of my car, I exhaled, long and deep. I closed my eyes for a second, then turned down the driveway. The tunnel of trees was ghostlike against the dark, and above, a universe of stars spilled across the sky. It was a night for air, so I left the window down and let the breeze carry me back home.
CHAPTER 24
If critters get to your tomatoes before you can pick and enjoy them, try picking them earlier—as soon as you see a little pink on the skin—and let them ripen inside on a windowsill.
—EDWIN NICKERBOCKER, 1916 TREATISE ON TOMATOES
JESSIE
The next morning I slept in. I usually woke to an internal alarm clock around six thirty, but after my date with Sumner, I managed to stay blissfully asleep an extra two hours. I only woke then because a crow had decided to land on a tree branch outside my window and caw, caw at every other crow in Perry, resulting in a cacophony of crows serenading me awake. Not exactly the soft wake-up process I’d prefer.
I’d lain awake in bed the previous night until well past midnight, despite the fact that I’d arrived home at ten. I tried to sneak in but it was to no avail. Mama stuck her head out of the kitchen and into the darkened hall as I tiptoed toward my bedroom.
“How was your date?”
“How’d you know it was a date?” I’d escaped earlier in the evening without giving her any details.
“Evan said you were going back over to Sumner’s. In my book if a man invites a woman anywhere in the evening, it’s considered a date.”
“What if—?” I stopped. No use arguing. “It was nice.”
“Nice.” She pondered the word a moment, then shouldered her bag. “I guess it’s time for me to get going.” Instead of a more typical barrage of questions, she just gathered her books and shuffled toward the door.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just a little tired. I think I’ll see if I can find The Golden Girls on TV, then call it a night.”
Mama had always loved The Golden Girls. She fancied herself a Blanche, and in some ways she was. She could give a powerful stink-eye and wouldn’t dream of going out in public without her hair combed and fluffed. But in personality, she was Sophia through and through—wisecracking and honest to a fault.
As I turned off the lights in the kitchen, I saw the small dry-erase board tacked to the front of the fridge.
Cheese
Raisins
Milk
Pine mulch coming Tuesday
Mama—Dr. Dudley Aug. 9
Dr. Dudley was supposed to be one of the best neurologists in Mobile, as evidenced by the long wait to get in to see him. I just hoped he’d tell us her memory lapses and confusion were normal parts of the aging process and nothing more.
Between thoughts of her and my fluctuating, indecipherable feelings about Sumner and my nagging disappointment about Ben and Marissa, as ridiculous and unjustified as that disappointment was, I was awake for hours after I turned off my light. I knew I’d be a tired mess the next day, but turning my brain off proved difficult. Finally, after cycling through my go-to methods of falling asleep, my brain gave up the fight.
I lay in bed the next morning until the crows all flew away in tandem, taking their cackling ruckus with them. The silence left behind was nearly as loud as the crows had been. Strange how the absence of something could sometimes be louder than the presence of it.
Whenever a business in Perry asked me to plant their flower beds, I included a midseason upkeep, where I returned and deadheaded as necessary, pinching off spent leaves or blooms, and pulled stray weeds that poked up through the mulch. Today’s list included Kim’s Café, Jack & Mack’s, and Cliff’s Computer World. Since Cliff’s was on the shady side of the street, I started with his beds.
Twenty minutes passed before Cliff came out to say hi. “Ms. McBride, I’ve just finished up with the fire department’s computers, so I can take a look at yours if you’re still having trouble.”
I sat back on my heels and peered up at him from under Evan’s olive-green military cap. It was the only hat I could find this morning as I rushed out the door.
“Well . . . ,” I began, but another voice spoke over me.
“Already got her covered.”
Ben walked down the street toward us, a to-go cup from Kim’s Café in his hand and a beat-up leather messenger bag slung across his chest. The sight of him was so clear, so reassuring, it was as if I’d half expected to see him. As if after a night with Sumner—surprising, invigorating, refreshingly new—of course Ben would appear with his thick, wavy hair, his beard, his broad shoulders, and his soft brown eyes.
When he reached us, he smiled down at me and reached out a hand to pull me up. When I was on my feet, he turned to Cliff and extended his hand. “Ben Bradley.”
“Cliff Baker. You stealing my customers?” Cliff laughed, but there was an edge to it.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Just doing a favor for a friend.” Ben turned to me. “You have plans tonight?”
“Um, I . . . No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“You do now. My house, seven o’clock.” He paused. “We’re painting.”
“You fixed it? Are you serious?”
“Wait one minute.” Cliff held his hand up. “Jessie, do you know this fella?” He took a step closer to me and lowered his voice. “Does he have any credentials for this kind of job?”
I glanced up at Ben, trying to keep a straight face. “I’m not actually sure about his credentials, but I think he’s fine. I’ll tell you what though. If I have any problems with it, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that.” He nodded at Ben, then turned back to his shop. “The flowers are great, by the way. As usual.”
When the door jangled closed, Ben laughed. “So that’s my competition in Perry, huh?”
“I don’t think you have to worry about him.”
“Good.” He adjusted the strap across his chest and checked his watch, then muttered under his breath. “I have to get home. I’ve got a conference call with a tech company in Denver in five minutes. But I’ll see you at seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
He headed back down the sidewalk. Before he turned the corner,
he called back to me, “Wear your painting clothes. And come hungry.”
I walked the half mile to Ben’s that night. When I arrived, Nick was backing out of the driveway. He slowed next to me and rolled down his window. “Hi, Ms. McBride.”
“Hey, Nick. You’re not sticking around to help us paint?”
He shook his head and dragged his fingers through his hair, a pure Ben gesture. “I’ve been working all day in there, ripping up carpet and pulling adhesive off the floor. I’m taking a break. Some of the guys from the team are getting together to watch the Braves game.”
“Good for you. I’m glad you’re making friends.”
He tapped a beat on the steering wheel with his thumbs, then glanced back up at me. “I’m sorry again for the other day with Evan. I just thought if we were on an empty road . . .”
“I know. Just remember she’s only fourteen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
So much of Nick reminded me of Ben at that age. Arm out the window, freedom in his eyes, the whole world ahead of him. We thought we owned our destinies, but we were such babies, so unaware of all life would throw at us.
“She’d hate me for saying this, but even at fourteen, she’s still my little girl.”
“You don’t have to worry. It won’t happen again.”
“All right. Get out of here then. When you get back, things will look different in your house.”
He jerked the gearshift into Drive. “Good. Anything’s better than the bright green my grandmother liked.”
Inside, I found Ben stretching blue painter’s tape in the sunroom at the back of the house. I smoothed my hand over the wall as green as mint ice cream. “You’ve got a big job ahead of you.”
He peered at me over his shoulder. “We have a big job ahead of us.” He climbed down off the stepladder, pulling a stray piece of tape off his forearm. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m here. And I’m ready to work, although I have to say, whatever you have cooking in the kitchen smells amazing.”
He grinned. “Pizza. And I’m starving. Let’s eat first, then we can paint.”
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