Around 7:30, it was clear Andy had had enough of the dinner. And the day.
“C’mon, little buddy, I think it’s time to get in your pjs.” Tuck lifted Andy out of his chair while I marveled at the number of accoutrements a baby needed.
Andy leaned and grabbed the corner of my shirt, threatening to pull me to my feet or push himself out of his father’s arms.
“You want Aunt Jo Jo to come with us?”
The little boy nodded solemnly, then grinned to reveal three teeth.
“Well, you’re a hit,” Debra said, not smiling. Did I detect a tinge of jealousy?
I took Andy’s finger and walked with Tuck down the hallway. A white crib was set up in the corner of Tuck’s old bedroom. Across from it were the walnut desk and dresser with Tuck’s football and basketball trophies lined up. Charmingly incongruent were the baby Andy and adolescent Tuck sides of the room.
I pried my finger away and stood behind Tuck as he changed Andy. How could this man who couldn’t reliably wear deodorant as a teen be so gentle, so responsible with his son?
“You okay back there?” He turned his head to look at me. My head was turned, my eyes on the trophies and a Michael Jordan poster.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a little, you know, boy before.”
“Rotten little things. Can get you right between the eyes if you’re not careful.” Tuck grinned. “That timing I cultivated as an athlete comes in quite handy with diaper duty.”
He lay Andy in his crib and started to read The Napping House. I knelt beside Andy’s crib and watched the hues of the house in the book change from deep blues to sunny yellows as the story progressed through a rainstorm. I found myself lulled by the rhythm of the repetitive words. Andy, sucking on his sippy cup, was transfixed by the story—by the simple way in which life turned rain into sun.
As if.
When the book had been read twice, Tuck put it down and turned on the cassette player. I expected lullabies, but what came out was the theme song from Aladdin.
Tuck winked at me. “Memories, eh?”
In April 1993, A Whole New World was the theme of our senior prom. With only weeks left to put the yearbook to bed, I found the chatter about prom themes annoying.
“It’s your senior prom, doll. Aren’t you excited?” Doro asked. We were playing Scrabble one Friday night that I boycotted the basketball game, feigning a cold. It was Tuck’s final game as a senior and Grace’s as a cheerleader. I remember feeling ugly and out of place. A little apartment in Chicago with built-in bookcases where books spilled out in every direction, the lights and drama of the big city. My mind was filled with thoughts of such. And with the University of Georgia, whose campus I had memorized by heart from the brochures.
As much of a loner as I was, as much of a would-be intellectual, I was actually one of the first girls asked to prom. His name was Roger Horton, and we both loved Shakespeare. He had bad acne but a beautiful voice for poetry.
“At least he’s tall,” said Grace, as we headed toward Tuck’s Jeep after school. “At least you have a date!”
Grace’s bad mood was obvious.
“Who peed in your Wheaties?” Tuck asked.
“Nobody. Let’s just go somewhere.” Grace ducked in the back seat, slinging her backpack down beside her.
Tuck and I exchanged glances, then took our spots in his Jeep. I gingerly stepped over a spilled milkshake and placed my feet atop a Doritos bag.
Tuck started the engine but didn’t put the car in gear.
“I’m not moving until we get rid of your bad mood.”
“I’m just tired of hearing about everyone’s prom dates. Why doesn’t someone ask me?”
“Good grief, it’s just March.”
“Jo has a date already. Everyone is pairing up but me.” Sinking down in her seat, Grace stuck her bottom lip out. “I’m ugly.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Gracie, you’ll get asked,” I said. “Besides, as you pointed out, my date has a pizza face.”
She giggled. “Yeah, well I’m sorry I said that. At least you have a date.”
Tuck backed out of the parking lot and headed for the new Wendy’s. Frosties had become mainstays of our after-school diet. He was conspicuously quiet.
“Who are you taking, Tuck?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Probably a girl.”
“Well that sure narrows it down, Einstein,” said Grace. “What girl?”
Another shrug. “Too soon to tell.”
“Why don’t you take Grace?”
“Jo! Shut up!” Grace flushed.
Silence from Tuck.
“See, even my best guy friend thinks I’m ugly.” Grace set her head back dramatically against the head rest.
“Ah, you’re not so bad,” said Tuck. He searched for her in his rearview mirror. “Do you want me to take you?”
“Really?” Grace brightened up.
“Really. Now you have a date and my mom will get off my back!”
I remember being happy that my two best friends were helping each other out. Now Roger and I would have a fun couple to hang out with.
But my feelings changed when I saw them walk into the gymnasium on that April evening. Neither of them had ever looked better. Grace’s cotton candy dress shimmered under the lights. With her long legs and curvy figure, she was captivating. She and Tuck floated onto the dance floor like royalty, becoming such hours later when they were named Prom King and Queen.
My arms around Roger’s neck, I swayed to the sounds of Bonnie Raitt, but couldn’t take my eyes off the couple at the center of the dance floor. Somehow I knew that things were about to change.
“Pssst. Jo!” Tuck was trying to get my attention; I was still at the prom.
We were sitting on the floor by Andy’s crib; Tuck’s right hand extended through the rails, and Andy’s grip on it was gradually loosening.
“How long do we sit like this?” Restless Heart was singing “When She Cries.” “What is this mix tape anyway?”
“I call it Class of ’93. Best sounds of high school,” Tuck whispered, gently removing his hand and tucking a stuffed rat under the snoring boy’s armpit. “It usually takes until ‘Come Undone’ comes on. He was tired tonight.” Tuck motioned toward the door, his sock feet tiptoeing carefully.
“You play Duran Duran as a lullaby?” I said when we were out in the hall.
Tuck gently pulled the door to. “Duran Duran. Bon Jovi. Boy needs to learn music.”
Back in the kitchen, Debra was just finishing up.
“Debra, I would have helped you. I’m sorry,” I said.
“No problem. I know you two want to catch up. Honestly, if you’re here, I won’t have to endure either the noise of the baseball game or Chris’s cussing at his law books.” She leaned up and gave Tuck a quick kiss. “My new People and I have a date in the bathtub.
“JoAnna, I hope we’ll see more of you before you have to head back. It was really, really nice to put a face with the stories.”
Once she was gone, Tuck started to pour me a glass of wine. I held my hands up: “I better not. Long drive.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Tom’s face popped into my subconscious. “I better not.”
“Well I’m going to have another beer.” He popped the cap off a Bud Lite and led me out to the deck.
“I would think a law student would be into higher brow beers, Chris.”
“Indeed I am, but I’m also residing in a football coach’s house, and Bud was always just fine for Coach T.” He settled himself on one of the two chaise lounges. “Yeah, so Debra calls me by my real name.”
“Sorry, but I’m not going to be able to get used to that.”
“I changed it when I started at Samford. I guess I just wanted to reinvent myself. Ever feel that way?”
“Daily.”
“Well, you did that in Chicago, huh? By the way, I was hoping I would get to meet your Tom.”
I flinched at Tom’s name. It didn’t belong he
re, on this deck where I had spent so many Friday evenings after football games. I changed the subject.
“Remember when we had too many people out here and the deck started shaking like it was about to fall? Coach T was pissed.”
“I remember when it did fall, the next summer. You were already off to Georgia by then.”
Like it was yesterday, I could remember the night before Doro and Maddy drove me to Georgia. Tuck, Grace, and I had eaten Taco Bell and seen Sleepless in Seattle. Tuck had complained throughout the movie and afterwards.
“Yeah, like that happens. Love doesn’t work that way.”
“Don’t be such a guy,” I said.
“Yeah, be more like Tom Hanks,” Grace said, her arm around his waist. The two were casual with each other, but there was something about the way he looked at her, the way she looked at him.
It made me curious, all these years later.
“When did you and Grace start dating?” I asked, stealing a swig from his bottle. The beer was like water to a desert hiker.
“Wow, no segue there, Jo Jo.” Tuck repositioned himself on the chair. I could tell he was a bit uncomfortable with my question.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“No, no, I’ll answer. I have to say it started at prom.”
I knew it.
“At least that’s when I started seeing her as more than a friend.”
I couldn’t believe I was sitting here, at Tuck’s house, talking about Grace. As casually as if she were in the next room. And yet maybe this was what I needed, had needed, for years—to have someone I could talk to about Grace. Someone who perhaps loved her as much as I did.
Tuck was quiet for a moment, then got up. “I’m going to get another beer. Sure you don’t want one?”
If I was going to talk about Grace, I needed a shot of courage.
“No but I’ll take a glass of wine after all.”
He returned, and I wrapped my hands around the goblet. Tom’s face hovered in my mind, but I pushed it back. You walked out on me, I thought. You left. The crickets were screeching, and the fireflies lit up the deck. For the first time in how many months, I felt like myself. Like Jo Wilson.
Screw you, Tom Rivers.
“We never kissed, never dated, until college though. Freshman year we would run in to each other, but, you know, we had different majors. She was taking all those math classes, and I was history all the way. Just no overlap.”
I took a big gulp and waited.
“And then she showed up in the ATO house in September sophomore year, and it was like we were meeting for the first time. She had died her hair red that year; do you remember?”
I did. Once I was at Georgia, and Grace and Tuck were at Sewanee, it was harder to keep in touch. Or perhaps it just began to feel that way. The girl who called me her sister had blossomed into a social butterfly. Gradually more time ebbed between our letters and phone calls. Finally we just saw each other at holidays. In the summers Grace continued to help Doro at the Inn, while I did a writing internship in Georgia. In a way, she became more Doro’s daughter than I was.
She had sent me a picture of the red tint she put on her hair.
“It looked awful,” Tuck said. “But I guess that’s because I knew her as the strawberry blonde who could beat me at ping pong when we were fourteen. My frat brothers saw her differently.”
“And you did too.”
“Yeah.” Tuck drank down half the bottle and burped silently. “Sorry.”
“A new Tuck. The old Tuck would have tried to belt one as loud as possible.” My wine was almost gone, and I felt the tingling behind my eyes. The desire for another.
“Yeah, well, I guess law school and Debra civilized me a bit,” Tuck chuckled.
Our conversation droned on, Tuck relaying the beginnings of his relationship with Grace. While I was reading Adam Bede, dating a boy named Jake, and jumping at the thought of a byline in the Georgia Red and Black, Grace was going to ATO parties, and my two friends were meeting for lunch every Thursday and dinner every Sunday. And, then, whole Saturdays.
“I’ve got something to tell you, Jo Jo,” Grace had said on the Friday in June that she asked me to take a hike with her to The Point. Now I knew. Perhaps I had always suspected. She was in love with Tuck.
The truth was that the further we got into college, the more distant I became from Grace. My life was wrapped up in Georgia, in the heartbreak Jake caused me. Even when home on holidays, I felt shut off from Grace and Tuck—from what they obviously had become to each other. I told Tuck as much.
“Yeah, I know. Or I guess I knew. I sensed that.” Tuck leaned back, and I saw him as he was in high school. Broad shoulders. Little bit of chest hair sneaking out above his shirt. That impossibly real tan and white blonde hair. Tuck had refilled my glass, and I knew it was a mistake.
“So let’s change the conversation to you. What about you and Tom. Tell me about him.”
Halfway through my second glass of wine, Chicago seemed as distant as Yemen.
“He’s a very talented photographer,” I said. “In fact, he just won an Addy.”
Tuck looked at me hard. “And he’s good to you.”
“Very.”
At that moment, the awning dipped with the wind and a stream of stale rain water drenched my lap.
“Jesus. Sorry. Something else Coach T will want me to fix.” Tuck ran into the house to grab some dishtowels.
I set my wine glass on the deck and wiped off my lap. “It’s okay. I needed a wake-up call.”
Tuck replenished my wine glass. Was this number two or three? I was relaxed, at peace. Must be glass three. You left me, Tom, I thought. You walked out on me.
The awning sent down another shower.
“Here, come sit with me. We can share,” Tuck shifted in his chaise to make room for me. Nestled far beneath Tuck’s arm against the back of the chair, I could smell a light scent of aftershave. His full lips curved around the bottle, and I felt an unfamiliar yearning.
Grace, is this the man you loved?
“So how is it in Chicago?’ He asked, tipping his bottle to toast my glass.
“Big. And great. But I have to say that at first I felt a little lost and alone.”
There was a pause, then, “On some forgotten highway?”
I giggled. “Travelled by many. Remembered by few.”
“Were you looking for something you could believe in?”
“Looking for something I’d like to do with my life.”
We dissolved into laughter, remembering Adam Garrett.
Adam Garrett was one of Doro’s frequent guests in the early ’80s. He carried a camouflage duffle on one shoulder and a Fender acoustic strapped over the other. John Denver was the lion’s share of his repertoire. In the evenings he would delight Doro with everything from Annie’s Song to Calypso. Long after Denver’s popularity had diminished, Adam carried on. Doro’s favorite was Sweet Surrender. Adam never put away his guitar until that was sung.
“I wish he’d add a little Stones to his mix,” said Tuck.
Doro snapped the dishtowel at him. “Hey, you were supposed to quit an hour ago. You’re off the clock. I’m not paying you to stand around looking pretty.”
“Oh I know, the music was just too captivating to leave, ma’am.” Tuck could accomplish more with a wink and a smile than any sixteen year old before or since. Silver-tongued sarcasm, Maddy said.
Adam was just one of many characters who passed through Mt. Moriah, endowing the Inn with anecdotes.
There was Marjorie Ruff who came through every November on her way to spend the holidays with her children. She carried a wicker purse that sprung open to resemble a box. And into that went her dinner. We watched her—Tuck, Grace, and I—from behind the swinging door. First, Mrs. Ruff carefully divided the food on her plate into two sections. The first she scraped off into the purse; the rest she ate. We learned to seat her at the end away from the other guests. She didn’t care for small t
alk; rather she scowled through the dinner.
“I don’t believe you guys,” said Doro when we first saw Mrs. Ruff in action in the fall of 1989.
“Swear to God,” said Tuck, raising one hand in the air.
“Don’t swear in my presence.”
“Okay, I promise.”
Doro frowned. “Maybe she has financial troubles. Maybe she needs extra food.”
“Maybe she has a crazy sister that is hidden in the room, and she has to bring her food,” giggled Grace.
“Maybe she is the crazy sister,” added Tuck.
“Well, tomorrow night is Salisbury steak. There’s no way she can drop that in her purse,” said Doro.
The next night, Doro and Maddy joined us at the swinging door. Across the plate went the knife, dividing the meal into two. Down into the purse went the Salisbury steak. Taking a quick glance around the room, Mrs. Ruff looked up and discretely reached for her teaspoon, to drop some gravy on top.
“She did not just put gravy in there,” said Doro.
It became a quest, during the three days she was there, to watch her. More importantly, we wanted to see inside that purse.
“Tuck, offer her a to-go box,” Doro said on the final night of Mrs. Ruff’s stay.
Tuck, flashing his most winning smile, offered the Styrofoam box to her.
The woman, who sat four foot ten on a tall day, looked at him with a face that would scare a gargoyle.
“Why do I want that, boy? Don’t you see that I clean my plate every night?”
“Yes ma’am.” Tuck returned to the kitchen. We waited fifteen minutes and then, just as surely as the sun would rise, off went spaghetti and meatballs into the purse.
“I’ll be damned,” said Doro. In fact, she said that every year Mrs. Ruff stayed with us. When she stopped making reservations, we assumed she had died.
“Probably ingested too much wicker,” said Maddy, laughing at his own joke.
The truth was that we never heard the whereabouts of our regular visitors once they stopped coming. When we waved goodbye, we didn’t know if we’d see them again. They were character actors serving as extras on the set of our adolescence.
“Remember Clifford Means?” Tuck asked.
I almost choked. “Oh my gosh, the summer we made Doro watch The Shining?”
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