Heart of the Country

by Rene Gutteridge

  I glanced back at Olivia once, and she gave me the stink eye. Essie Mae, one of my favorite women from the church, had an ongoing feud with Adeline Starks, and it was all because Essie Mae felt Adeline always gave her “the stink eye.” Hard to define, but when you saw it, you knew it. Just as I chuckled at that memory, I saw Essie Mae ahead, talking with another parishioner.

  It felt good to be here, even if I had Laser Eyes behind me.

  “Your sister’s bark is worse than her bite.”

  I glanced at Dad, startled. What, had he read my mind? “Olivia is Olivia,” I sighed.

  “She does love you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Dad.”

  His rebuttal was cut short by the sharp moan of the organ. Everyone abruptly stood. Was that Eliza, still on the organ? She was so hunched her nose nearly hit the keys.

  Dad smiled at me. “Yep. That’s her.”

  “How old is she?” I whispered.

  “Nobody knows for sure. She keeps lying and saying she’s in her eighties.”

  I sang the hymns. Knew most of them by heart. Dad didn’t even bother opening the hymnal. I had the voice, but you would’ve thought Dad had the microphone. He was belting it all out, his voice just a decibel under the entire church combined.

  The pastor was new. It didn’t surprise me. This church rotated pastors in and out every two or three years. The young ones came, did their time, then went on to bigger and better. Drove my dad nuts. I still remember Sunday dinners and Dad ranting about it.

  Ironically, or maybe not, the sermon was on forgiveness. My mind wandered a lot, back to Luke, where I really didn’t want it to go. We had a lot of fairy-tale moments. Our first anniversary was in Africa. We’d attended galas and openings and benefits all over the world. I’d never had money before and swore I wouldn’t get attached to it, but it was a strange thing to not have to choose between this and that, or to not weigh the cost of anything. I’d grown comfortable in life for the first time since Momma died. My life was protected on all sides, so I thought.

  “You just going to sit there all day?”

  I snapped my attention upward to find Dad standing over me, waiting for me to exit the pew.

  “Sorry.” I quickly stood, grabbed my purse, filed into the center aisle. Outside, the sun was bright, washing white light over the brick stairs, where Dad stood shaking hands in his weekly ritual. I liked watching him. He was kind, sincere, not just shaking the hand but taking in the whole arm, starting at the elbow.

  “Last time I saw that dress, it was in a SoHo window.”

  I turned, first glancing down at my dress to see what in the world I was wearing. It was a Tory Burch, with chunky colors and a bit too short for this crowd. I looked up.

  “Lee?”

  “Here it is in Columbus County. Small world.”

  “How are you!” I hugged him and stepped back. I hadn’t seen him in . . . years. I longed to see a friendly, fish-out-of-water face. But I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be Lee’s. He reminded me of so many things I wanted to forget. I tried to keep my wide smile. We were never more than acquaintances—his aunt went to our church, and he was a few years older—but sometimes lives collide in unexpected ways, as ours had.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked, trying to fill that awkward silence that seemed to follow me everywhere.

  “I’m a doctor now. Just started in the ER over in Whiteville.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Is that a shock?”

  “The same guy who couldn’t manage to make time to study in high school?”

  “Turns out you can’t make much of a living coasting on old football glories.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So . . . where’s Luke?”

  “Still in New York . . .” I didn’t know what else to say, but thankfully Dad seemed to sense my predicament.

  “Dr. Lee! Good to see you!” He waved from a few feet away, then pointed to his foot. “I got a thing on my toe. Can I talk to you?”

  Lee smiled. “Duty calls.” He walked over to Dad.

  I’d barely caught my breath when another person stood between me and the sun, casting a shadow over an already dark-side-of-the-moon me. “Essie Mae,” I said.

  She took my chin in her wobbly hand. “You look just like your momma. I’d swear she was standing here right now if I didn’t know better. But I am getting up in age, so maybe I’m having one of those dementia streaks.”

  I grinned and hugged her. Before we could continue our conversation, Olivia was by our sides.

  “Hi, Olivia,” I said, hoping that stink eye was going to cut me some slack.

  Essie Mae patted Olivia’s shoulder. “Don’t you look pretty in that new coat.”

  “Hardy got me this from that new outlet down in Myrtle Beach the other day. No occasion. Nothing. Just came home with it.”

  “Now that is something.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  Essie Mae might have been having a dementia streak, but nothing was lost on her. She knew Olivia was sticking the knife in. I could see it in her eyes.

  “Isn’t it wonderful to have your sister back with us?” she said, now patting us both on the arms. “I’ll tell you what, nothing is as special as family.”

  “Absolutely,” Olivia said, and she cast a glance at me. For once, it didn’t look like it wanted to pierce and mutilate my soul. “Absolutely, Miss Essie.”

  “Well, you two, I better get myself to the kitchen. Sunday dinner to make.”

  “You’re still cooking?” I asked.

  “Every Sunday, right, Essie?” Olivia asked.

  “They keep eating it. Don’t know why. That last roast was so tough that I told it to go try out for the football team.”

  We laughed and watched her maneuver down the steps with her cane, stopping to say hi to Dad, who was still talking to Lee.

  “I love that woman,” I said.

  Olivia said, “Hmm,” and nodded slightly. “I hate to see her so sick. I don’t know how much longer we’ll have her.”

  “She’s ill?”

  “That’s what happens, Faith. We don’t just freeze in a time capsule while you’re living it up in New York. People get old.”

  “Listen,” I said, trying to cool the waters a little. “I know. We need to talk.”

  “Do we?”

  “You’re my sister, Olivia.”

  “You and Daddy are coming over for Sunday dinner. We can talk then.” And she was gone, skipping down the steps and joining her family. Nell waved at me and I waved back. Victoria showed me her muscles. I laughed as Dad walked up to me.

  “Have you met our new preacher?”

  I looked at him across the lawn, a circle of blue-haired women surrounding him. “He seems to have a way with the ladies.”

  Dad laughed. “Yeah. Well, these ladies see anything younger than fifty and they start batting eyelashes that fell out a decade ago.”

  “Dad!” I said, hitting him on the arm.

  “What?” He smiled. “Pastor Jim’s a good man. You should talk to him. He’s pretty good with problems, stuff like that.” Dad wasn’t a man of many words, and with that, we walked toward his old F-150. I opened the door and was surprised to find an array of red roses, at least a dozen, on the seat.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “They were on the altar. In memory of your mom.”

  I stared at them for a moment, then picked them up and put them on my lap and shut the door as Dad started the truck.

  “Did you put them there?”

  “Every year.”

  And that was the end of the discussion. I rolled down the window and let the breeze take the strong scent away. I remembered my mom smelling like roses. It was her perfume.

  I knew it. Everybody knew it. But nobody had said out loud that it was Mom’s birthday. And most likely, nobody would. In New York, I never celebrated it with anything like roses on the altar, but it never passed without me sending up a thought to her
. Here, I felt closer, like maybe she was just one block over or something.

  I held the roses in my lap as we drove away.

  23

  OLIVIA

  I OPENED THE OVEN to stick the thermometer in the chicken. The heat hit my face, but my insides were already broiling. Crispy and burnt, as a matter of fact. I pulled the chicken out of the oven and stared it down like it had something against me. But really, I was picturing Faith’s face. It had to set for ten minutes, or believe you me, I would’ve started slicing right into it.

  Instead, I was going to have to put on my polite face and get out the nice place mats. I checked my watch and started setting the table. Hardy came in, squawking about the squirrels eating the pecans.

  “I don’t want to hear about it right now,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “No, it ain’t. You got lucky with me, Liv. I am one of those guys who listens to what you’re saying, even if I don’t understand it. And sometimes just talking about it helps.”

  “Just keep the girls busy. I gotta get this dinner finished up. Dad and Faith’ll be here any minute.”

  He leaned against the kitchen bar. “So this is about Faith.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Maybe it was the fact that you watched her like she was some kind of wild animal, all the way through church. I mean, if her skull had eyes in the back, it might’ve worked, but I don’t think she saw you.”

  I sighed, adjusting the place mats so they were all spaced equally apart. “Hardy, you just don’t get it, okay? How could you? I don’t expect you to.”

  “I know that you don’t talk about her much.”

  “She left. Don’t you see that? She left us. Me. Dad.”

  “Was there a rule saying she couldn’t?”

  “I’d expect you to take her side,” I said, glaring at him over the half-set table. “Everybody does. She’s got that Midas touch. She really can’t do any wrong. I mean, she shows up here, after this many years, and wants to just pick up where we left off? Where we left off was Mom was dead, she disappeared, and I was the only one to try to put Dad back together.” I put down the forks, leaned against the table, trying to keep the tears from starting. “Do you know that I never got a chance to . . .”

  “To what?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to be a blubbering mess when they arrived. Sunday dinner wasn’t about that. It was about family, which she hardly appreciated. Sure, she wanted us when things got bad, but what about all the other times?

  I nodded toward the backyard. “Victoria is calling you.”

  He didn’t have much to say usually, so I didn’t expect him to say much now. Besides, I could tell Faith had already bewitched everyone, once again. She had that effect on people. They instantly liked her within seconds of meeting her. But they didn’t know what I knew. And she certainly wasn’t going to fool me. Dad, now, that man was easily fooled. He had to grieve Momma and then Faith’s leaving. It was no wonder he was making such a big hubbub about her return.

  I finished setting the table and went over to ice the cake. Double fudge, her favorite, on request again from Dad.

  “I just want her to feel welcome,” he told me over the phone last night.

  Maybe I could get a banner and some balloons too. Heck, let’s throw her a parade.

  The girls bounded in, dirty in their Sunday clothes.

  “Girls, I told you to change before you went outside to play.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” they said in unison.

  “When is Aunt Faith going to be here?” Nell asked, jumping up and down.

  “Soon enough. Go change, okay? And wash up.”

  I stepped back to look at the cake. Perfection. And I knew secretly that although Dad had requested the cake on Faith’s behalf, it was really just because he wanted it himself. Thank goodness for cholesterol pills.

  The front door opened and Dad came in, changed from church and in his favorite flannel shirt.

  “Just finishing up the cake.” I smiled.

  “Smells good.”

  “Where’s Faith?”

  “She’s not coming.”

  I turned, wiping my hands on my apron. “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t want to come,” Dad said, looking me directly in the eye. “Said she didn’t want to upset our tradition.”

  I turned and seethed, the whole of my wrath boring right into that chicken. That was just like her, to get the pity pouring on stronger. Setting herself up like some kind of martyr. I picked up the chicken, carried it carefully to the table. And the green beans too. Poured sweet tea for everyone and sat down for the family blessing. When that was done, I promptly excused myself.

  “Where are you going?” Hardy asked.

  I didn’t answer. But I knew.

  24

  FAITH

  THE SMALL HOUSE sat between two giant pecan trees and nestled along the edge of a sprawling sea of corn. It still was so quaint but could’ve used a new coat of paint. I got out, my shiny BMW an eyesore among such natural beauty. The yard was a bit overgrown, but still tidy, and I noticed she’d managed to plant some mums in pots along the porch steps.

  I remembered coming to Essie Mae’s house with Momma. She made tea for the adults, but lemonade for us girls. We’d play out back on a tire swing and sometimes make our way to a creek about half a mile away. When we’d return, she always had sugar cookies waiting for us.

  Before I reached the porch, Essie Mae had flung open the screen door and was waving me in. “Faith, oh my goodness, what a blessing, what a treat! You just missed a big dinner!”

  Inside, it smelled like always, like all old people’s homes. Hints of mustiness. Baby lotion. Vitamins. And leftovers. At least that’s how it smelled to me. It was like the warmth of my childhood had wrapped its arms around me.

  Floral was all the rage then, and as Essie Mae offered me a seat on the wingback with the largest floral print in the room, I gazed around the sitting room, at the dried flowers and the country baskets. Nothing had changed. Even her knitting needles and yarn sat in the same corner.

  She poured coffee from a carafe with a shaky hand. “Guessing you prefer this stuff to that lemonade I used to make you?” she said with a smile.

  “Maybe.” I winked. “But that was awfully good lemonade.”

  “Made fresh.” She beamed and pointed to the coffee. “Still grind my own coffee beans, so I guess this is fresh too. Cream and sugar?”

  “Just black. Thank you.”

  She sat across from me, balancing her coffee on her lap with a small plate underneath. “Boy, have you seen how those leaves are changing? Absolutely beautiful. My favorite time of year.”

  “Miss Essie, you’re as lovely as ever.”

  “May be. May be. But you didn’t come here to tell me how lovely I am, did you, girl? You ready to tell me about that fancy life you’ve been living up in New York City?” She dropped two cubes of sugar into her coffee. “Been singing?”

  “I haven’t sung in a while. But it’s okay. Really, it’s fine.”

  “Hm.” She twirled a tiny spoon around in her coffee. I could feel her stare as I pretended that somehow my drink was particularly interesting. “Why’d you come back home?”

  I looked up at her, tried a small smile. She was feisty as ever. “Too much drama,” I said with a shrug.

  She set her coffee down and shuffled to the sofa near my seat, taking my hand in hers. “Baby, I’ve known you your whole life. And I knew your momma since she was a girl too.”

  I nodded, but the tears came.

  “Honey, you have your momma’s soul.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “But you do.”

  “I look like her. I sing like her. But I cannot live like her.”

  “Maybe it feels like a burden right now, but your
momma will always be a part of you.” She tapped a crooked old finger against the air. “But. You are not your momma. You hear me? When you sing, it’s your voice. It’s you showing the world Faith Barnett—”

  “Carraday,” I said softly.

  Essie Mae smiled and patted me lightly on the hand. “Of course.” Then her eyes grew big. “My heavens, look at that rock on that tiny finger of yours!” She lifted my hand. “Let me see that thing. What a dazzler!”

  I laughed. “It is beautiful.”

  “Mrs. Carraday. A fine name indeed.” She rose again and beckoned with a shaky hand. “Come now. Come with me, honey. I want to show you something.”

  We walked to the next room over, the living room, which separated the sitting room from the kitchen. Doilies covered the arms of the chairs, light streamed through the windows, and country dust, the kind that liked to find the sunbeams, floated in the air. The crisp white trim on the furniture and walls had aged to the color of vanilla pudding.

  She wobbled over to the old upright piano—the very piano I’d taken four years of lessons on—picked up a frame, and held it out for me. I took it in my hands and recognized it immediately. The same picture was in my dad’s bedroom. It was me, twelve, a mouth full of braces and limbs so long and gangly they’d dubbed me “Puppet.” Olivia stood next to me, her arm wrapped around my neck. Her black curls were blown up by the wind, and her face had a fun, surprised look on it, like she’d just been splashed with cold water. Next to her was Mom, as delicately beautiful as she ever had been, wearing a floral summer dress and her hair pinned back in a loose bun. Her arm stretched over Olivia’s back and to my shoulder, and it was so true that her arms were always long enough and her reach wide enough for anyone in our family who wanted to be embraced.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet I could remember the exact moment it was snapped.