by Karen White
She waved good-bye to the guard at the front gate just as the first drops of rain began to pelt the dry asphalt and her dirty windshield, already splattered with the remains of dozens of insects. The rain and bugs were, Merilee thought, a fitting tribute to her old life, the one she couldn’t quite let go of yet had no interest in holding on to, either. She thought of the boxes of old maps shifting around in the back of the minivan, reminding her again of the impermanence of things and how nothing stayed the same no matter how much you wanted it to.
• • •
SUGAR
Sugar Prescott sat at her dining room table in the front room of the old farmhouse, tapping out a letter to her best friend, Willa Faye Mackenzie Cox, on her 1949 Smith-Corona typewriter, her bottle of Wite-Out sitting nearby. She rarely had to use it but always wanted to make sure it was close by just in case. At ninety-three, she didn’t have a lot of time to waste. And Willa Faye had all the time in the world to sit and wait for a letter. Her daughter had recently moved her to a senior living facility with the improbable name of the Manors. If there was one good thing about not having children, Sugar decided, it was being spared the indignity of being moved into such a place, like a box of old toys that a child has outgrown but doesn’t want to get rid of completely.
She glanced outside, not wanting to miss the approach of her new renters. She hadn’t met Merilee Dunlap or her children before, but the Realtor, Robin Henderson, who’d been handling the rental of the Craftsman cottage behind Sugar’s farmhouse, had only good things to say about all three of them. Robin’s children had attended Prescott Elementary with the Dunlap children, making Robin privy to the unsavory gossip surrounding the Dunlap divorce. Not one to gossip, but a good listener, Sugar had suggested the cottage as a good spot for the family to land while they decided what to do next. It wasn’t as if she had any desire to befriend anyone, but Sugar had the feeling that Merilee Dunlap, whoever she was, was suddenly and unexpectedly on her own and in need of help. And Sugar was in a position to understand that need more than most. She suspected, but would deny if anyone asked, that she was getting soft in her old age.
She typed one last word, then drew the carriage back before standing and approaching the front window. The rain had tapered off, leaving a smoking, dripping landscape, her climbing roses on the front porch supports waterlogged, with petals opened as if gasping for breath. The small lake that sat in the front of the property, separated from the road by the white ranch rail fence, was thick like syrup, as brown as molasses because of the rain. She had a sudden image of her brother Jimmy sitting on the muddy bank, fishing for turtles, his feet bare and his freckled nose red and blistered. Although all four brothers were long gone, Sugar now found herself seeing them more and more, as if old age were nothing more than the past and present squeezing together like an accordion until no air was left.
She watched as a white minivan turned off the paved road onto the long drive leading around the lake to the farmhouse, winding between the stately oak trees that had been planted by her great-grandfather before the Civil War, their roots as wide as the trees were tall. The road was a ribbon of red Georgia clay, soft and muddy with rain, the minivan hugging the side, where grass gave the wheels some traction. Sugar smiled to herself, thinking that Merilee Dunlap knew something about driving in wet Georgia clay.
She moved to the front porch and waited for the minivan to pull to a stop. It wasn’t ideal, sharing a driveway, seeing the comings and goings of her renters, but if there was one thing she wouldn’t do, it was have one more strip of her property bulldozed for another driveway. Her brothers had done a good enough job of plowing under all the farmland the Prescott family had once owned, and she would not continue their legacy, no matter how inconvenient it was for her.
The woman who carefully stepped from the minivan wasn’t what Sugar had expected. She was younger—mid-thirties, Sugar thought—and much prettier. As if men didn’t divorce pretty women. She was surprised to find that she’d thought she’d be able to spot a flaw in her new tenant, something that would explain how she’d ended up in the predicament she was in. As if Sugar didn’t know better.
“Hello,” the woman said, stepping carefully onto the flagstone walkway before sliding open the side door of the minivan and waiting for two children to emerge. The children were as blond as the woman was dark. She had straight, no-nonsense brown hair, parted at the side, and hazel eyes that looked almost green. Her only makeup was a flick of mascara, a touch of nose powder, and a sheer gloss of exhaustion.
“I’m Merilee Dunlap,” she said, extending her hand.
Sugar grasped the tips of her fingers, still unused to the way women shook hands these days, but didn’t return the smile. She didn’t want Merilee to think of her as anything more than her landlady. “And these must be your children, Lily and Colin.”
“They are. Children, this is Mrs. Prescott, whose house we’ll be renting.” Both children extended hands as they were introduced, confirming to Sugar that their mother, despite other issues, had done a good job in teaching manners.
“Our old neighborhood was called Prescott Farms,” said Lily, her eyes wide and earnest, her forehead creased as if she spent a lot of time trying to make sense of the world around her.
Sugar’s mother had barely been cold in her grave before her oldest brother, Harry, sold the property for no other reason than somebody wanted to buy it. The memory still hurt. “Yes, well, that was part of my family’s farm back when I was a little girl. Most everything around the county with the Prescott name on it used to belong to my family. But that was a while ago, when there were lots of Prescotts around these parts. Now there’s only me.”
Facing Merilee, she said, “Please call me Sugar. Everybody does. My real name’s Alice Prescott Bates, but I’ve been known as Sugar Prescott my whole life and I see no need to change it now. I was married just a short time before I became a widow, so my married name really never stuck. And the children can call me Miss Sugar.”
“I smell cookies,” the boy said, looking up at her with a hopeful expression. His light blue eyes were the same shade as those of her youngest brother, Jimmy, making her forget, just for a moment, that he’d been gone more than seventy years. And in that moment of weakness, she stepped back to open the door wider. “Come on inside,” she said. “They had sugar on sale at Kroger, so I had to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies. If you don’t want them, I’ll have to give them to my friend at the nursing home, because I don’t eat them.”
“We really don’t mean to intrude,” Merilee said, a hand on each child’s shoulder.
“Yes, well, the cookies won’t eat themselves, so somebody has to.”
The little girl’s eyebrows knitted together. “Are they gluten free? I keep having tummy aches and my friend Beth says I probably have a gluten allergy.”
Merilee put her arm around Lily and sent a pained look at Sugar. “She’s never been allergic to chocolate chip cookies before. I think the upheaval of the last few months has just given us all a bit of a stomach upset.”
“My tummy’s fine,” Colin announced. “I can eat Lily’s if she doesn’t want them.”
Sugar began leading the way back to the kitchen, then stopped as Colin paused at the threshold to the dining room and pointed at the typewriter. “What’s that?”
Sugar took a deep breath, more concerned about future generations now than she’d been ten minutes before. “That’s a typewriter. It’s what people used to use before computers. I used to have a good-housekeeping column in the Atlanta Journal back in the day, and they gave me this typewriter when they retired both me and the column in 1982.”
His eyes widened as if he were being presented with the key to Disney World. “Wow. That was way before I was born.” With a quizzical expression on his face, he turned his head to look up at Sugar. “So you must be very old.”
“Colin . . . ,” Merilee began.<
br />
Sugar waved her hand in the air, stopping her. “You are correct, Colin. I am very old. Ninety-four in December, as a matter of fact. Thank you kindly for pointing that out.”
Lily was frowning again, or maybe she hadn’t stopped. Pointing at the typewriter, she said, “Does that mean we don’t have Wi-Fi in the new house?”
All three new tenants looked at her with panicked faces.
“The young man I hired to update the house said he’d make sure it had all the modern conveniences. His name is Wade Kimball. I’ve got his card in the kitchen, which I’ll give you so you can call him directly with any questions, as I do not involve myself with modern technology if I can help it.”
“I’ve got to have Wi-Fi,” Lily said, still frowning. “I need to access the school portal to check on assignments. I learned all about it in orientation last week.”
Merilee’s voice sounded weary. “I’m sure Mr. Kimball can get us set up right away if it’s not there already.”
“That’s right,” Sugar said matter-of-factly, taking the plastic wrap off the cookies and putting the plate in the middle of the large kitchen table. “No use borrowing worries.”
Merilee smiled, her face relaxed for the first time. “My grandfather used to say that.”
“Wise man,” Sugar said.
“That he was.” Merilee’s face became strained again as she turned to her children and made sure they took only two cookies and placed their napkins in their laps. She didn’t ask for her own cookie, and Sugar didn’t offer her one. They’d already been there longer than Sugar had anticipated.
“Don’t get any crumbs on the floor, children,” Merilee said, hovering near the table, seemingly as eager to leave as Sugar was for them to go.
While Sugar poured two glasses of milk, Merilee moved to the large picture window behind the sink, a real farmhouse sink that had been installed in the house before they’d become popular as a decorating focal point.
“You can see our house from here,” Merilee said.
Well. “Don’t worry. I won’t be snooping in your business.”
Merilee’s cheeks pinkened. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just, well, I guess I’m just used to living in a neighborhood with people on all sides. When Robin showed me the house I almost said no because it seemed too isolated.”
The younger woman looked so young, so vulnerable, that for the second time that day Sugar forgot that she didn’t want a relationship with her tenants. “What made you change your mind?”
Merilee didn’t pause. “It’s close to the children’s activities and their new school and the right price. I didn’t have a lot of options. And the house and all this land are lovely. Perfect, really.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sugar put the glasses on the table and moved to stand by the window next to Merilee. The clouds wore streaks of pink as the late-afternoon sun shredded them like cotton candy, and she saw all four brothers again as they’d been as children, bare chested and barefoot, running across the pasture toward the woods, hollering like stuck pigs. “I think your children will like living there. I grew up here in this house with my four brothers—I was the youngest child. My daddy built the house you’ll be living in when I got married. Didn’t live there long on account of my Tom getting killed in the war. But the house is good, solid construction—not like what they build nowadays. And there’s a cellar for when there’s a tornado. Make sure you know how to get in and out and how to latch it. Nearest tornado siren’s about three miles away and you might not hear it.”
“Thank you,” Merilee said quietly, peering closely at the line of trees behind her new house. “Do those woods belong to you?”
Sugar kept her breathing even. “Yes, they do. But I wouldn’t encourage you or the children to explore. There’s a barn on the far side that might be a temptation, but that’s also off-limits, mostly because kids will think the woods are a good shortcut. They’re not. They’re very dark and deep if you don’t know where you’re going. And we still have black bears and more poisonous snakes than I can shake a stick at. It’s just better if you and the children stay away from the woods.”
She felt the young woman’s eyes on her but didn’t turn.
“Look, Mommy—a rainbow!” Colin sprayed crumbs from his full mouth.
Before Merilee could say anything to him, his sister joined them at the window. “If I had an iPhone, I could take a picture.”
Merilee’s sigh was almost imperceptible. “Yes, well, you’re ten. You don’t need an iPhone. Where’s the small camera I bought you for Christmas?”
“It’s so inconvenient.” Lily paused for a moment, as if to make sure everyone had heard her big word, which she’d probably picked up from her mother. “If I had an iPhone, my camera would already be in my purse.”
“You don’t have a purse,” her mother pointed out.
Lily frowned as Colin shoved another cookie into his mouth, undoubtedly hoping that the conversation with his sister had distracted their mother.
“I saw that, Colin,” said Merilee without even turning her head. “Which means you’re not leaving the supper table until you eat all your vegetables, regardless of how long it takes.”
Colin swallowed thickly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Merilee looked up at the sky, pale pink now, the clouds bruised with shadows. “Thank you for the cookies and milk for the children. The rain’s completely stopped, so we should get going. I’d like to get our clothes hung and our suitcases unpacked before bedtime.” She stared out the window for a long moment without stepping away. “How perfectly quiet and still those woods must be. Like time’s being held back or something, you know?”
Without responding, Sugar turned back to the kitchen table and placed two paper plates and a box of plastic wrap in front of the children, with instructions to divide the cookies evenly. She’d never had children, but she’d had siblings, so she understood the importance of equal measure. Then she pulled out Wade’s business card from a drawer and handed it to Merilee.
“Call him anytime. If there are any repairs, he’ll give me a fair estimate and will actually show up when he’s supposed to.”
Merilee studied the card. “So he’s like a handyman? I’m looking for someone to build me more bookshelves for a collection I have.”
“Just call him directly—I don’t like to be . . . involved with any tenant issues. He’s very handy because he’s a builder, but he does work for me because his grandma is my best friend and I’ve known him since he was in diapers. Just let him know who you are and he won’t say no.”
“Thank you,” Merilee said, taking the card.
Sugar gave Merilee the keys to the cottage before walking them to the door. “I had my housekeeper put clean sheets on all the beds. There are clean towels in the linen closet in the hallway and in both bathrooms. You’ll be responsible for keeping it clean from here on out.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Prescott . . . Sugar. You’ve been more than kind.”
“I didn’t do it to be kind. I did it because it’s my job. And because I don’t want a phone call in the middle of my shows asking where all the sheets and towels are.”
Merilee’s smile faltered as Sugar held the door open to let them pass, noticing the frown on Lily’s face.
“Can you call Mr. Kimball now, Mom? I need to make sure we have Wi-Fi.”
“Please stop worrying, Lily. I’ll call him in just a minute.” There was an edge to Merilee’s voice that hadn’t been there before. As if her last nerve had already snapped and she was grabbing at its threads.
Sugar turned to Merilee. “Just remember what I told you about the woods. They’re fine to admire from a distance, but they’re not safe.”
“Got it,” she said, sliding open the back door of the minivan. “With school starting and all their activities, I doubt we’ll have much time for exploring anyw
ay.”
They said good-bye, then pulled away, Sugar watching all three heads strain forward in their seats as they waited for the sight of their new home to loom into view from under the canopy of the oak trees, baby birds looking for sustenance.
She listened to the drip of water trickling off the porch roof and onto the old wood steps. Looking up at the sky, she stepped off the porch and into the drive, aware of the hum of the Honda’s engine in front of her, just out of sight behind the oaks. Like so much in her life now, Sugar didn’t need to see things to know they were there.
She allowed her eyes to follow the rainbow, noticing its colorful arches ending in the middle of her woods. She didn’t need to go there to know there was no bag of gold or anything else a person would want to find. Her lips turned up in an unfamiliar grimace as she headed back inside, feeling the breeze from the opened windows teasing her with the scent of rain and old memories that seemed as permanent as the red clay that lay beneath her feet and under the tall pines of the dark woods.
Two
MERILEE
A cluster of moms surrounded by high-end SUVs stood in the parking lot following first-day drop-off at Windwood Academy. The women appeared to be listening with rapt attention to the tall blond woman in the center of their semicircle, her hair arranged perfectly beneath her white tennis visor, her long and lean limbs brown and glowy. Merilee noticed this last part only because her ex-mother-in-law had given her a bottle of glowy lotion for her last birthday and Lily had told her it made her look sparkly like Katy Perry in one of her videos. Merilee had thrown out the remainder of the bottle, realizing she wasn’t the type anymore to look glowy, much less sparkly.
