They dropped to the grass beside the table and began to eat as if it were the best thing they had ever tasted.
Andy made a bowl for Grier and passed it to her. “Thank you,” Grier said.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Andy said, meeting her gaze. Grier wondered whether Andy was talking about the brownie or something altogether different.
They had just stood to clear the table when one of Darryl Lee’s boys let out a blood-curdling, “Daaad! Joe just threw up! And it’s all over my shoes.”
“Greeeat,” Darryl Lee said, looking first at Bobby Jack and then Andy.
“Don’t look at me, “ Bobby Jack said. “Been there, done that.”
“Did not,” Andy said, looking horrified.
“Did, too,” Darryl Lee said. “I personally witnessed it. You were five.”
Andy rolled her eyes.
Darryl Lee crossed the grass to where Joe sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his head tucked low. “Sorry, Daddy,” the little boy said.
“Oh, it’s all right, son. Did you eat your brother’s dessert again?”
“He didn’t want it.”
“You know your stomach can’t handle that much sugar.”
“I know,” he said, looking miserable.
Darryl Lee leaned down to lift the boy into his arms and kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s get you home,” he said.
“Want some Pepto Bismol or something?” Bobby Jack asked.
“Naw, he’ll be all right,” Darryl Lee said. “It’s not the first time. Come on boys, get your things,” he added.
Andy took Jake and Jameson’s hands and followed Darryl Lee to the back door.
On the top step, Darryl Lee swung around and said, “Y’all don’t have too much fun now without me, hear?” And it was clear he wasn’t joking.
Once they had all disappeared inside, Bobby Jack looked at Grier and said, “I’m sure you’d like to go on, too, after all that interviewing today.”
Grier searched for the jab in the words, but didn’t find it.
Just then, Andy stuck her head back out the door. “Daddy, Kyle’s outside waiting on me. I’ll be home a little later.”
“Where are you going, Andy?”
“Out with Kyle.”
“Since when?”
“Since he texted me during supper.”
“Andy, you don’t need to go out tonight.”
“I won’t be too late,” she said. “Bye, Grier,” she added and disappeared.
By now, it was clear that Andy had an agenda. Bobby Jack looked at Grier and shook his head. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” Grier said, smiling.
She joined Bobby Jack then in carrying the dishes inside the house. He rinsed while she loaded the dishwasher. They said little to nothing until she had placed the last bowl inside and asked, “Want me to start it?”
He nodded. “The detergent’s under the sink.”
She reached for it, poured a measure and then put it back, pressing the wash button. The machine began its slow buzz.
“You have any coffee?” Grier asked, feeling like she could use the caffeine lift.
The question clearly caught him by surprise. “Ah, yeah,” he said. “Would you like a cup?”
He pulled a glass carafe from a nearby cabinet, a bag of coffee from the freezer.
“Dunkin’ Donuts,” she said. “My favorite.”
“Mine, too,” he said, measuring four tablespoons into the carafe and then adding water from the hot dispenser at the sink. “We’ll just need to wait a minute.”
“Cups?” she asked.
He pointed at the hutch at the far end of the kitchen.
She walked over and reached for two cups and two saucers, bringing them back to the kitchen counter.
“You take cream or sugar?”
“Nope, just black.”
He pushed the plunger into the carafe and poured them both a cup of the steaming coffee.
“Smells delicious,” she said.
“Wanna have it outside?”
“Sure,” she said and led the way, sitting down in the chair at the end of the table.
Bobby Jack sat down across from her, glancing off once and then swinging his gaze back to her. “So what are you really doing here, Grier?”
“Here in Timbell Creek or here at your house?”
“Both, I guess.”
“In all honesty, I came back because this was an opportunity to boost my business. One I didn’t think I could pass up.”
“Even though you didn’t want to come back.”
She tipped her head to one side. “The reasons for that are complicated.”
“They usually are,” he said. “And the other part?”
“Here at your house?” she said, stalling.
“Here at my house,” he repeated.
“That one, I’m not so sure about.”
“You trying to make Darryl Lee jealous?”
“Hardly.”
“I think you did, anyway.”
“That probably had more to do with you than with me.”
“Ordinarily, I might agree, but not in this case. Were you in love with him?”
“In high school?”
He nodded.
“I think I thought I was. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yeah, actually it is. You two couldn’t seem much more different.”
“Darryl Lee was. . .fun. That was something I guess I needed at that point in my life.”
“He says you broke his heart though, you know that?”
Grier shook her head and laughed self-consciously. “For ten seconds maybe.”
Bobby Jack shrugged. “No, I think you were different.”
“I don’t think so.”
“So why did you leave? I mean I get that you would have eventually. You’re not the type to stick around a place like this forever. But Darryl Lee says you disappeared in the middle of the night.”
The conversation felt as if it had suddenly headed toward a place she didn’t really want to go. She set her cup down on the table and stood. “You know, I really should be going. Thanks for the coffee and the supper.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, standing. “Hey, I’m sorry if I overstepped my boundaries.”
She held up a hand. “It’s okay. It’s late. I should go.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“No. I’m good. Thanks. Tell Andy I’ll see her in the morning.”
He nodded once. “Good night, Grier.”
“Good night,” she said and walked out of the house to the awareness that she had already stayed longer than she should have.
Just when you think you’ve got a game plan in place, life flips the page and suddenly, what used to be a pristine white beach is now quicksand. Any woman who expects to know happiness should be ready and willing to change playbooks as the terrain dictates.
–
Grier McAllister – Blog at Jane Austen Girl
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was nearly ten, and Grier intended to head straight for the Inn. But the county road leading from Bobby Jack’s and Andy’s house back into town was a familiar one, and as she neared the road sign for 219, butterflies danced through her stomach. Just as she was about to pass the turn, she hit the brakes, flipped her signal and hung a right.
The road was smaller than the one she’d just been on, and curvier, too.
The moon was a mere sliver tonight in the dark, enveloping the car, thick enough to prevent her recognizing anything along the way except for the fact that she still knew this road as if she had just driven it yesterday.
Three miles. Four miles. Five. And then six. The Potter farm sat on the right. And the sign for Marcie’s hair salon – the one she ran out of her basement - still hung at the end of the Garmon’s driveway. Another half-mile and the gravel driveway appeared. She slowed, eased the car into the turn and instantly saw there was very little gravel left. She hit the bright switch on her headlights and peered into the darkness at the spot where the house she had lived in with her mother once sat.
It was no longer there. Gone. Completely. As if it had been picked up and dropped elsewhere. Or had never been there to begin with.
Grier felt a smack of shame for the fact that she hadn’t known. And right on its heels a little spurt of anger that no one had bothered to tell her. But then who would have? Her mother herself? Grier was the one who had returned all the letters she’d written during those early years. Grier was the one who had cut off all communication, chosen to act as if her life here had never even existed.
For so many years, anger had fired the furnace of resentment inside her to the point that it had been almost easy not to write, not to pick up the phone and call. She had never let herself question her decision. Her mother had made her own choices long ago, choices that overrode the ordinary protection a mother provided her own child.
At some point in her late twenties, and it had taken that long to get to this point, Grier made the decision to put it all behind her. To move forward in a future that did not include that past. It had taken many thousands of dollars and nearly that many hours for her to get to a place that did not include dwelling on her past.
It had been a choice to kill the store of memories that ate away at her self-esteem, nipped at her heels with constant reminders that something in her had been deserving of what had happened to her. How could anything else be true? This was the question she’d asked herself over and over again until the truth one day simply exploded to the surface of her consciousness, literally waking her up one morning with a bolt of pain that pierced straight through to the core of her.
It hadn’t been her fault. She’d done nothing,
nothing
, to deserve what had happened. She had been a victim. A victim of another human being’s evil.
It sounded so simple in retrospect, from this place of awareness in which she now lived. She had trudged through years of blaming herself for everything from wearing clothes that were too revealing to a smile that was too friendly, eye contact that said something other than what she’d intended. None, of which, of course had been true.
She had put it all behind her. Finally. And she did not want to open any of those old doors again.
In a few days, she would be leaving Timbell Creek and all its memories behind. What was the point in opening up old wounds that had finally healed to the point that she could live with them?
There was no point.
She pulled back onto the road and drove away.
Love is not instant. Infatuation is instant. Love is a thing that begins with the most shallow of roots that reach the depths of our souls only after we’ve given ourselves up to the helplessness of it. And when it’s true love, we are truly helpless.
From a letter Bobby Jack wrote to Andy on
her sixteenth birthday
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bobby Jack had breakfast ready for Andy when she came downstairs.
She’d stuck her head in his door when she’d finally gotten home sometime after eleven and told him she had to be back at the Inn at eight-thirty. He’d forced himself to smile and say, “Don’t forget to set your alarm.”
Clearly, she hadn’t. She came tripping into the kitchen, fully dressed, fully made up with every piece of assistance available in that tackle-box of cosmetics her mother had given her for her last birthday. Bobby Jack bit his tongue, and said, “Pancakes?”
“Ah,” Andy said. “That’s awfully heavy. Maybe I’ll just have some juice.”
“Andy, you need to eat.”
“I’ll feel like a whale if I eat pancakes before going over there this morning.”
Again, Bobby Jack forced himself not to say anything, reached for the orange juice, poured her a glass and silently set about slicing her up a pear.
“Andy, about what I said to your mama on the phone—”
She raised a hand to stop him. “Whatever, Daddy. You didn’t need to tell me I was an accident. Clearly, you and mom never loved each other.”
“Honey, that’s not true either. Your mama and I—”
“Specialize in hurting each other?”
He started to deny it, but realized it was true. “Andy—”
But she cut him off with, “Where are you working today?”
Since it was more interest than she had shown in his schedule in weeks, he could only assume there would be a question to follow that he wasn’t going to like.
“Out at the Bickman place,” he said.
“How’s that going?”
Now he was really suspicious. “Pretty good. We got the framing done.”
“Daddy?”
Here it came.
“I was thinking we might could ask Grier—”
“Andy, no,” Bobby Jack said firmly.
“No, what? I haven’t even said it yet.”
“I can tell by the look in your eye that what’s coming isn’t something I’m going to like.”
“You could like her!”
“Anderson,” Bobby Jack said, tossing the pancakes into the sink and flipping on the disposal with more aggravation than was logical.
It wasn’t the first time Andy had tried matchmaking with him. But Grier McAllister was a far cry from the polar opposite of Priscilla, which was normally the type she steered his way.
“She’s beautiful,” Andy reasoned.
“She’s Darryl Lee’s ex-girlfriend. And aren’t you going to be late?” Bobby Jack suddenly preferred Andy heading off for today’s duke pursuit over talking about why he should ask out Grier McAllister.
“You’re not very good at changing the subject, you know,” Andy said, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “And if I want to invite her over, I guess I can.”
“I guess you can’t.”
“Daddy!”
“Are you sure your interest is in fixing me up with her, or angling with points for George?”
Her face turned into a storm cloud, followed by a thunderous, “I cannot believe you would even think such a thing!”
“Well, she’s not the type you usually pick for me.”
“She’s not the type who usually hangs around Timbell Creek. You couldn’t keep a woman like her anyway,” Andy threw in for a finale and then huffed out the front door. He heard her crank the truck and gun out of the driveway, asking himself why he had just thrown that match on the current fire that was their relationship.
He gathered up the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, all the while trying not to think about those last few moments before Grier had left last night or the nearly physical pain he’d felt in looking at her. She was beautiful. Nobody could deny that Darryl Lee knew how to pick them.
There had been other times, not that this was one of them, when Bobby Jack and his brother set their sights on the same girl, and Darryl Lee always won in the short run because he threw everything he had into the contest. As soon as Bobby Jack got wind of Darryl Lee’s intention, he’d always backed off, for the most part because getting into a pissing contest with his brother was a no-win proposition. With a couple of those girls, it wasn’t that Bobby Jack didn’t think he had a chance. He just cared more about his relationship with his brother than Darryl Lee seemed to care about his relationship with him.